#after a certain point angst is worthless; like you have to grow out of a place where angst is all around you & bundle it up

[magical1wonderland]

Klaus Mikaelson x Teenage!daughter Reader

Disclaimer: I have only watched episode one of The originals, but I am fascinated by these gorgeous people, therefore I will write!

Ps. English is not my first language so sorry for the mistakes.

Ps. Sorry for any mistakes I made within the storyline as well as the bashing hope. I don't dislike the character, I simply live for fiction drama and angst.

Summary: Reader is Klaus daughter and twin to Hope Mikaelson. Reader is human and a rebels againts her family for treating her like an outsider. She is always overlooked until a certain thing happens that changes the family dynamics.

Tw: Negligence, Kidnapping, Violence, Blood, mental health issues.

Stranger

(Y/N's pov)

I woke up to the sound of my alarm, sighing I reluctantly got out of bed to get dressed and ready for the day. I took a quick shower and got dressed in my gray sweatpants and a tucked in black skin tight sweater. My hair was causually hanging down my back and I couldn't be bother to comb through it. Lazily walking down the steps and into the kitchen, I froze once I saw everyone sitting and talking, never once acknowledging my presence. This was what I was used to. Being a ghost in the background. I cast a quick glance to my sister Hope to see the presents surrounding her and a smile gracing her features. I can't renember a single time anyone has remembered my birthday... the irony of it all was that it was on the exact same day as Hope's, yet mine was never acknowledged. I hated birthsdays with a passion. It reminded me of everything I wanted but couldn't have. Then again it was my fault for being born a human after all. I wasn't perfect or powerful like Hope, therefore I was nothing more than a burden. I've heard it numerous times growing up whenever I made a mistake. Broke a glass accidentally, useless. Got a bad grade, worthless. Asking questions about my first period, annoying. After a while of trying to prove that I am just as valuable as Hope, I gave up. What's the point when nobody ever gave me the time of day. Walking out of the kitchen just as they begun to sing that horrible song a memory hit me that left me with a dull pain I had long since gotten used to.

It happened on our 6th birthday party. All of hope's friend had been invited to the party and I was left watching from the shadows as nobody wanted to play with me. When the time came to blow out the candles I had taken my seat next to Hope. After the song I proceeded to blow out the candles only to have Hope in a screaming/crying fit and me being scolded and grounded for celebrating OUR party.

I vowed never to attend any family function after that. In fact I vowed never to get close to anyone as I believe that everybody will only cause me pain. Growing up I learned a lot through the internet or books I had found lying around the house. I even started practicing magic by the age of 8 and now in my 17th year of life I am proud enough to acknowledge that I am better than most average witches. Walking out the door I left for the only place that brought me comfort during my teenage years. It was an old abandoned barn on the outskirts of New Orleans. It was quite the walk but I never minded as it cleared my mind of the darkness that it possesed. I had found this barn after a rather ridiculous argument with my parents.

Hope had just burts into my room to yell at me for talking to her school crush. Calling me names I have already grown accustomed to. I sat calm and collected as I listened to her raging on about how she was prettier and how he will never fall for me. I never once reacted until she said the one thing she knew I always craved. "You know, I find it quite pathetic how you keep trying to fight for their attention", she said while laughing eerily, "They will never deem you good enough to be their daughter, you are just a worthless, powerless, weak disposable human." Before I could even comprehend what had happened, Hope was laying across the floor, unconscious with cuts littering her flesh and she was bleeding profoundly. My parents immediately rushed into the room as they heard the ruckus. They were at her side in an instant trying to heal her. Sitting on the bed dazed at what just happend I hadn't realized that mother was in front of me until I felt a sting on my cheek. The whole family had witnessed what just happend but paid no mind as they rushed to help Hope. The moment hope was out, my father had came after me and lashed out. They left me on the ground, my body littered in bruises, their final words being that if I ever pulled something like that again, they would dispose of me in an instant.

That was 5 years ago, but the pain of their words was still fresh. Like an open wound that will never heal. I ran away that night and found this barn which I made my home for 3 nights before Uncle Elijah found me and gave me lecture on the importance of family and willed me to come back home. Ever since things changed. I was only ever at home when I needed to eat or sleep. I managed to drop out of school when I turned 14. After removing myself from every social setting the mikaelson family could provide, life seemed to have picked up. I made some friends that came from similar situations as my own and they would join me at the barn and we would end up spending the night, drinking, smoking, laughing causing all types of trouble during the late hours in town. I finally felt like I belonged. Finally after a long walk I walking into the barn only to find my friends all standing around with a present in each hand and a small cake on a nearby table. To say I was shocked was an understatement. "What is all of this?" I asked perplexed. "Celebrating! Of course" came the reply from (y/f/n). I immediately ran into their arms. The amount of love I had for these 4 people was unconditional and I would probably lose my mind if something had to happen to any of them.

Unbeknownst to me, a certain hybrid had witnessed it all and soon after my reign of happiness would come to an end.

#Angst #neglected #klaus x daughter reader #pain #vampire #loss #anger #hate #the originals #TvD #x reader

[moral-turpitudes]

A Sister’s Intuition:

A/N: The gif has nothing to do with this one. It just made me chuckle cuz this most certainly has fighting.

Also, this is a weird mix of Arthur actually killing the church dude, but instead of Linda trying to shoot him right after like in the show, this story is like the event that causes her to go off the rails and try to shoot him (and fictionally, Y/N lol can you imagine). So this, in my fucked up mind, is the calm before the storm that is the lovely Linda with a gun.

Trigger Warnings: Fighting obviously, Mentions of Blood, Angst, Family Drama?, Cheating, Taunting, Swearing.

Word Count: 2,114

Characters: Shelby Family x Shelby!Sister Reader

Requested: Yes, well it was suggested but still. Long story short I have a bone to pick with my brothers gf and this was cathartic. 

Request by: Anon, you can find it here.

Summary: Linda is being Linda and Y/N can’t stand her messing with her brother Arthur’s head another day. She just snaps. People and their feelings get hurt. Nothing like a nice bloody family dinner at the Shelby-Gray household.

Y/N’s skin crawled as she heard the voice of the woman downstairs. Her heart racing and fists clenching as she heard the half-hearted laughs and forceful exchange of pleasantries that were painstakingly muttered by the rest of the Shelby family.

As she smoothed out her dress, she heard Polly calling for her, surely to help with setting the table for dinner. With shaking hands she opened her door, her eldest brother Arthur’s laugh echoing through the lavish house as she made her way down the stairs.

“Y/N, nice of you to join us.” Thomas said, patting her on the shoulder as she sulked to the kitchen, avoiding Linda’s ever-judgmental gaze.

“I’ll set the table.” She said, Polly nodding at her with an annoyed expression as she glanced out into the dining room. The feeling fortunately seeming mutual.

“How’s the farm treating you brother? Having fun with the baby?” Ada asked, as Karl reached for one of the rolls in the basket Y/N was setting down.

“It’s good, quiet.” He said, his eyes looking tired and emotionless as the years went by.

“Don’t eat too much now, you won’t want dinner sweetheart.” Ada said, giving him a warning glance as Y/N silently set the table, glancing at Arthur’s troubled state. Thomas couldn’t help but notice his youngest sisters rage as she harshly set the silverware down, especially the knives.

It had been two years since the first conflict between her and Linda. The whole thing starting as Linda slowly brainwashed Arthur. No one really noticed at first, how she sunk her claws into him. How he’d stop his excessive use of cocaine, or his anger fueled drunken rampages on a dime. How he’d mess up on missions, putting them at risk. Or how he started asking Linda for permission to go places and her ordering him to be home at certain times when on business. No one noticed that while some of his habits were best left in the past, he was also leaving part of himself. The part of him that she knew and grew up with. The part that smiled and joked. The part that didn’t question himself and his worth on a daily basis. This was how she pulled him in, and he was forever tied to her now. Seeing as their 1 year old sat in his lap, giggly and oblivious to the pressures and expectations he’d be raised on years later whether Arthur wanted him to be or not.

The big blow up between them though, was when Y/N learned she cheated. If she inherited one good thing in life from the Shelby family it was her intuition. Her ability to sense when a person meant harm. Her ability to know when someone was nothing more than a snake. A soul-sucking, venomous snake.

The night she found out, she made sure Arthur was alright, or at least alive, knowing how he could spiral at any given moment. That was one thing about growing up around a dysfunctional family. Knowing when the others needed help, and knowing when to help set others straight. And he had seemed okay, at least until a few days later.

That same week Arthur killed the man she’d cheated on him with, going down a dark spiral as he grappled with his sins. His eyes brimming with tears and hands stained red as he walked into the house unannounced, nearly giving Polly a heart attack.

Y/N remembering how she sat him down and wiped the tears from his eyes and blood from his busted knuckles as he stared at her.

“These are the hands of a devil, Y/N...how can I be saved like this?” He asked through tears.

“Don’t ask how god can save you. Ask how you can save yourself.” She said, wrapping his hands in gauze.

“What?” He asked, confused. The tears streamed down his face as she urged him to drink a glass of water, given he was already in a drunken state.

“You have to save yourself, Arthur. I can’t do it for you. Linda cheated on you yeah? Well it’s not the first time she’s hurt you. No one else can really see it...not even you...but I can...She’s made you into someone you’re not. You may need to slow it on the drinking and drugs, and get your anger in check, but you don’t have to completely ruin yourself over some words in a book or some girl alright? I want my brother back...” She said giving him a strong hug. She wasn’t known for talking much, always preferring to stay in the background and being quiet, but she threw insults and plans around in her head just like Thomas. But when she did say something, people listened.

The day after Arthur attacked Linda’s lover, she decided to meet with her at her house. The rain pouring down as she made her way up the winding dirt roads, her thoughts running through her mind as she reluctantly stepped inside the farmhouse.

“Oh, Y/N. Wasn’t expecting you.” She said, a disgusted look on her face.

“We agreed last night to meet but I guess you didn’t remember. Must’ve been a bit preoccupied I see.” Y/N said, leaning to the side as she saw yet another man walking around the house that wasn’t Arthur. There was a long, awkward silence before she continued.

“I’m just here to warn you that you’ll get what’s coming to you. You don’t fuck with the Shelby family.” She said spitting at her feet.

“You know Y/N? You’re just like the rest of them. No morals...no class...nothing.” She said.

Y/N smirked as she inched closer to her, standing almost eye to eye. With a quick draw of her arm, she landed a harsh slap to her face. Her handprint stinging and bright red as it adorned Linda’s cheek.

“You’re one to talk about morals and class. People like you make me sick.” Y/N spat, walking off as Linda stood there holding her cheek. Her mystery lover nowhere to be seen as he’d retreated back to the bedroom in hiding, most surely thinking Arthur was there.

As she set the final glass down, she was brought out of her horrendous memories by the voice of her brother John.

“Aye Y/N, how’s your training been going with Finn and the guys? Think you could take him out yet?” He said, a mischievous smirk on his face. Linda scowled as she glanced over at Y/N, probably remembering how her face stung after the blow. The event seeming years away due to the hectic business of the blinders and the growing number of kids in the family.

“I highly doubt she could. Even if she grew up with you lot as brothers. Besides, it’s not ladylike. You can’t fight around the children.” Linda said, sipping her tea.

Y/N’s eyes pierced hers as she sat there. Her appetite fading as she got up from the table.

“Y/N...now’s not the time for this. Sit down.” Polly said, pointing at the empty chair between her and Thomas.

“I have no desire to sit with someone I can’t trust. You’ll get what’s coming to you Linda. I swear it on our mums grave.” She said getting up from the table again, this time making it to the kitchen before hearing quick footsteps.

“You said that last time and nothing happened. What are you going to do? All this family does is make empty promises. You’re just a worthless girl with nothing but her families bad manners and filthy blood money...” Linda continued, Y/N zoning out as she unclasped her earrings and threw them on the counter. Her eyes scanning Linda’s movements as she stepped closer, cracking her knuckles. John got up as soon as he heard her bad-mouthing his sister. Finn stood and made his way near her only for John to hold him back with a smirk, knowing this was long over-due.

She didn’t say anything as she swung a left hook, a loud crack sounding through the room as Linda stumbled back. John cheering slightly as she regained her composure.

“I told ya you’d get what’s coming to you.” She said, as Linda lunged forward and went to slap her in the face, but failing as Y/N blocked her hand and twisted causing a scream to erupt from her lying mouth. Blood was dripping from her nose as Arthur and Thomas came in. To her surprise, they didn’t jump in nor did Arthur try to stop her, knowing all too well his once precious Linda was bound to pay somehow. Polly and Ada shielded the children, holding their hands over their eyes as the mini brawl panned out.

“You’re going to hell!” Linda yelled, punching Y/N in the shoulder as she cried.

“I’ve been there already love, it’s quite nice.” She said moving back and raising her arms up to guard her face, looking for an open spot, eventually landing a final blow to Linda’s ribs that left her on the ground gasping for air.

Thomas suddenly grabbed Y/N’s arm and yanked her back. She wasn’t kicking and screaming, but he could see the rage in her eyes. The way his and Arthur’s often looked.

“Enough. Alright? She got the message. Enough.” He said.

“No. No I don’t think she did. Get off me.” She spat, trying to wrestle her way out of her brothers grasp.

Thomas let go so he wouldn’t hurt her, but watched on as she stalked towards Linda and Arthur.

“You can see how you’ve torn this family up right? I can’t speak for everyone, even for the man you’ve hurt, but I can speak for me and I’ll never accept you into this family again. Never. Now get out of my fucking house.” She said lowly, grabbing Linda’s arm harshly as Arthur tried to stop her.

“Y/N I’ll take her, you go cool down.” Arthur said, his hands shaking a bit as he was still torn between the hurt from Linda’s past actions and the love he had for her. 

Y/N stood up with her arms crossed, her knuckles bloodied and aching as she stared her brother down.

“Arthur...do you remember what I told you that night? You have to save yourself. She’s going to keep you trapped in those same situations again if you don’t do something. She’ll hurt you if you don’t watch out.” She said, wiping a tear from her cheek as she shoved past her brothers and Polly, the children crying as an awkward silence fell over the house. She sulked back up to her room, cleaning her knuckles and bandaging them the best she could, knowing everyone probably hated her now.

“What was that aye?” Thomas asked.

“Fucking hell Tommy.” She said, jumping slightly at his voice from the doorway.

“I was just doing what no one else wanted to fucking do. Someone had to make her and our idiot brother see reason.” She said, wincing as she tried to wrap the gauze around her knuckles.

Thomas silently came over and helped her, trying to think of something to say as he snipped the last of the white fabric.

“You all hate me I already know. I just couldn’t sit there as she acted like everything was fine. Like she didn’t hurt him multiple times. She’s nothing but trouble and no one fucking understands that.” She said, tears welling up in her eyes.

“He can protect himself...I’m sure he’ll come around. And we don’t hate you. Besides, if I was betting on you that would’ve been the best fight of the year. I know for a fact you can take down Finn.” He said, trying to lighten her mood.

“I already did, he just doesn’t talk about it.” She said giggling and wiping the tears away as she gave him a hug. He sighed as he wrapped his arms protectively around her.

“She also had it coming. She said I had no morals...and no class....I just couldn’t let her talk that way about me...and about our family.” She said.

“Aye she did have it coming, I’ll agree on that. But you can’t listen to her. There will always be people who’ll say those things. They just don’t understand us.” He said.

“Well, they should work on that then aye? I guess next time I’ll try not to beat anyone up. I’m not promising anything though.” She said, Thomas chuckling as she broke from the hug and went into her room.

“I’ll see what’s going on down there. You just rest. But uh,,,do me a favor aye?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“If someone does say something, don’t go at them alone. Tell me alright?” He asked.

“Okay...” she said with a sigh, hoping the night could be over with.

“Good, I’ll see you at the family meeting tomorrow then. Bright and early.” He said with a smirk.

“Oh fuck off Tommy...Goodnight.” She said, play-punching his shoulder.

“Goodnight.” He said, putting his cap on and making his way out the door to whatever family chaos awaited him.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x shelby!sister reader #shelby family #shelby family x shelby!sister reader #can u tell I have a lot of pent-up rage?

[saltymongoose]

the AU thingy

Son of a ----

Okay.

So.

    First things first. 

I’m like 90% sure I’m not actually human anymore. My vision is all weird and I haven’t blinked once so… no eyes probably. Also, my skin is both grey and I’ve got a decent layer of fur, so that’s definitely an indicator that I am no longer a Homo Sapien.

Not ideal, but I don’t think a species change is the biggest issue on my list right now. I’ve got other shit to deal with.

I did a quick check of my body and everything on me. I was wearing a black shirt with open shoulders that goes up to my neck, black leggings, brown combat boots. Belt with shotgun shells and a pocket full of more around my waist. Another pack around my right leg that’s filled with way more sniper rounds than I think is physically possible to fit in there. Same goes for the one around my waist.

Not that I’m really complaining about the ammo. I’d rather have more than less and if my bullet bags are kinning Mary Poppins’ handbag then I’m not really going to complain.

Green hair, no eyes. I’ve got a sniper rifle on my back and a shotgun right over the small of my back. I forgot that I used that, or more accurately my sona used it. Oh, hey a knife on my chest. That’s useful.

But enough about inventory. I could take a better look later, once I’d had a nice mental breakdown and a good cry. I could really use a good cry right about now.

Later. Here isn’t very safe. 

Not that I know where exactly here is but considering the context clues when it comes to my body and the fact the sky’s red, I’m going to say mother fucking Nevada.

Most likely in the Combat Madness universe.

It’s been a while since I played the game, having finished it once and getting pretty far in Arena before I finally died and decided I’d take a break. Of course, having ADHD and terrible prioritizing skills means ‘taking a break’ quickly turned into not having touched the game for half a year. 

But I’d still written stories and drawn a bit and had worked on a “post-arena” tale for my character.

Agent Echo, a grunt with a genetic quirk that made her female, smaller than most other grunts, and the fastest bitch in the west. Nevada was the west right? 

I’d worked on making it so my character could have a shitton of ammo but also incredible aim, and she wasn’t worthless when it came to hand-to-hand either. So, thank God for small mercies.

After tearing through scores of other grunts and a multitude of battles, but not really being cut out for actual combat against the likes of Hank and the crew (and oh boy would meeting them be fun if I didn’t instantly die) the Auditor decided to order the little killing machine be shoved into a lab for some radioactive testing.

The results? 

Bright green hair (like grass, not eye-bleeding green), a slightly higher than normal level of radioactivity that could kill people if utilized correctly, and a special combat ability I had named “The Las Vegas Glare”. 

If you’ve ever played Fall Out, you know that at a certain point you can begin to pick and choose where exactly you shot your enemies, which meant that if you wanted to blast them with a headshot, you could do so every single time in slow motion and high definition.

So of course, I gave my sona that ability. Not without side effects because I’m a sucker for angst.

While in combat, Echo could dramatically increase her radiation output, which would allow her to a pair of eyes and see everything in slow motion.

If she’d been a deadly sniper before, now she was simply the definition of lethal.

But again, side effects. 

Increasing radiation made her sick as a dog and there was also the fact that growing eyes spontaneously wasn’t a very comfortable experience, nor was dealing with the after-decay either. Eventually the eyes would be gone again, but it was a good idea for Echo, and now me I supposed since I was stuck in her body, to wear a visor to contain the radioactive flesh. 

Sometimes if the ability was used for too long it would cause certain parts of her body to begin to just… quit. Say “no thank” and fuck off and die after deciding they weren’t dealing with the radioactive killing machine. 

I already checked, but just like in my story, my right leg was completely gone. Up to the hip, but surprisingly easy to use after falling more than once.

Then again multiple people have been shot in the head and survived in the Madness Combat universe, so it’s not a surprise they can literally just replace somebody’s leg.

But the whole ‘replacing the leg’ thing is why Echo in the story left. A couple higher ups decided her recovery was too much work and the time she spent healing would be better spent training somebody else to take her place while they disposed of her body.

And in true angsty fashion, I decided that didn’t happen, but something a little worse instead.

One good old 2B-Damned erased Echo’s memory and sent her loose in the Nevadan landscape. After dropping her off somewhere decently safe and giving her ammo and weapons.

I remember vaguely seeing him, still too disoriented in waking up in a body that wasn’t mine and figuring out who I was after having my brain wiped.

So I only really registered that I had met 2B once he was leaving.

That wasn’t ideal. Especially since I had a few questions like how the fuck did I get here.

ANYWAYS, introductions over. I’ve explained some background, given you an overview of the character I’m currently in, a little bit of exposition.

Not that I’m actually talking to anybody, but it’s nice to think that someone somewhere is watching me and paying attention to the ramblings in my mind. It helped me really register where I am and what’s going on anyways. So, win-win.

So. Current situation.

Not human anymore, somehow in Nevada and in the body of a radioactive grunt who got injured and then yeeted out into the desert by a slightly crazy doctor who wiped her memory and in doing so somehow yoinked my soul into this universe.

 I never really did decide if 2B had shoved me, and I guess I’m referring to Echo as me now, I always did like the name and this is my body now, into the desert to save my life or to prevent the scientists who made me this way from being able to use my body.

I’ve always been one for sentimentality, but I think the second option is more accurate. Maybe if I find 2B again I can ask him.

Currently I’m walking through the streets and holding my shotgun to my chest like it’ll save me and take me home. I’ve never actually fired a gun and I’m a little terrified I don’t have any abilities here. 

I don’t know if I could kill somebody if it came to it, but I’m in Nevada now. It’s going to come to it. I’m not naïve enough to think I can live here and not kill people to survive. Pacifism will get you killed in a warzone, and I’d rather not die yet. Some sick part of me hoped I’d end up killing somebody sooner than later so I wouldn’t have to deal with the anticipation, and maybe I’d get over it faster. 

Oh, hey a warehouse! This could be useful. It was better than being out in the open in any case. 

--------------------------         Fellow-09 considered himself a relatively decent guy.

He had friends in Hank and the gang, he was a little closer to 2B-Damned than most expected, and he was, in Deimos’s words, what most would consider a gentleman.

Which is why he felt a little bad for the tiny grunt 2B was having him follow. 

2B had given him the job with the basic overview of what the grunt was capable of, and the fact she’d had her mind wiped. Apparently, it was easier to possibly recruit very deadly agents if they didn’t remember the fact you were their enemy. 

Fellow could understand that, but at the same time it was a little pitiful watching the kid, and even if she was older than him according to her file, she’d had her mind wiped, so yes, she was basically a kid, look around the area like there were monsters in all the shadows.

There weren’t, Fellow had made sure. It wasn’t a good idea to have a potential asset be instantly shoved into a battlefield, though Fellow was sure Hank would’ve said it would be a good way to test her abilities. 

But Hank wasn’t here, and Fellow was a gentleman. He noticed that she had gone into a warehouse, and he quickly entered from a different entrance. 

He knew her name but decided that he’d wait for her to introduce herself before he used it. Wouldn’t want her to be freaked out by him knowing things he really shouldn’t. And honestly, he shouldn’t be talking to her at all. Observe and report 2B had said.

If he asked, Fellow would just make an excuse about the grunt finding him half asleep.

2B would never believe it, but the joke would take the edge off and there wasn’t much 2B could do once the decision was made. So. He was going to introduce himself.

He sat down at one of the empty desks, kicking his feet up on the old wood as he waited for the girl to make her way into the office. He’d gotten a better glimpse of her as he entered the warehouse, and he could admit she was cute.

Not his type, he was strictly men, but he could see Deimos fawning over her. Of course, Deimos would chase after anything with legs that was legal, (but Fellow would never say that to his face. That’s what Sanford was for.)

Then again, Sanford was always into shorties, (now that was something Fellow would call Deimos to his face. It was funny seeing the smoker get pissed about his height.) so he wasn’t fully off the list of people who might flirt with the new girl.

And he was doing it again.

Fellow had a very bad habit of considering people part of the group or team before he’s even met them. Subconsciously adding them to his register of people to protect before they even meet.

There was no guarantee the girl would even stay.

Speaking of the girl, Fellow was snapped out of his musings by the very audible sound of a shotgun being cocked. (Heh. Cock)

Fellow slowly raised his hands, revealing that he held no weapons (there was a pistol in his pocket, though he was happy to see her). Don’t make the girl nervous, and hopefully don’t get shot.

“Hey there.” He drawled, his voice light and welcoming. He’d been a spy for years, and he knew all the tricks to get somebody to let their guard down, even if they didn’t realize it. “Mind putting the gun down?”

The girl relaxed fractionally, her grip shifting on the weapon. She licked her lips, and Fellow noticed with a bit of surprise that she had fangs. Interesting.

“Who’re you?” She asked, voice quiet but confident. Mid tones, not too deep not too high. If he didn’t know from her file and the fact she had boobs, he wouldn’t have been able to tell her gender from voice alone. A good trait for prank calls.

He’s been hanging out with Deimos too much.

“I’m Fellow-09. Friendly, promise. What’s your name?” He answered and asked, his tone still calm. Don’t overwhelm her, keep her calm. Mostly get the gun put away.

Surprisingly, the grunt in front of him relaxed instantly, tension bleeding from her body as she lowered the shotgun. He knew he was good, but he didn’t realize he was that good. He wasn’t complaining.

“Oh, thank god. I really didn’t want to shoot you.” She said, voice watery in the way that meant she was trying not to cry. 

She’s upset but relieved. This is the perfect opportunity to cement himself as an ally.

“You look tired.” He said softly, standing up and reaching out towards her. “How about you sit down and tell me your name?”

The grunt hesitated, her expression conflicted before she nodded, stowing her shotgun into a holster on her back. She walked over to the desk slowly, hopping onto the wood itself rather than the chair. Fellow took a moment to register how small she really was. Even sitting down on the desk which came up to his hip, she still had to look up to see his face. 

Fellow took a moment to wonder if her small stature was less of a genetics thing and more of a side effect from malnourishment. The grunt was skinny enough for that to make sense. She shuddered and rubbed her face, and Fellow quickly grabbed the water bottle he kept in his bag.

“Here ya go,” He murmured softly, holding the water bottle up to her. “Drink slowly, you might be dehydrated.”

  ------

I was pleasantly surprised to find Fellow-09 in the warehouse. It was a relief to know he was there, someone decently trustable. Kinda cute too. 

I sipped from the water bottle he gave me, feeling the cold water go down my throat. I was definitely dehydrated, and the water was a blessing. I took in his features, trying to commit them to memory. 

He was taller than I expected. Probably around 5’8 or 5’10. Somewhere between those two numbers. Big too, in a body size sense. But definitely all muscle. His skin was a pale white, different from my light grey. I chalked it up to being a different type of grunt and focused more on his face. Visual cross, no nose. Cute smile and short white hair that was swooped over on the left side. Solid 8/10 as far as grunts go. I probably stared at his hands longer than was necessary, but I don’t think anybody could blame me.

He had paw pads. And claws. I glanced down at my own hands and saw that I had a similar hand structure. Dope.

The biggest difference between us though was the fact that while I was covered in a solid half-inch of fuzz pretty much everywhere, Fellow only really seemed to have hair on his head.

It was kind of interesting to know that grunts did in fact have hair. I was worried I’d have to deal with a bunch of hot bald boys. Not that there’s anything wrong with being bald, but I personally liked to play with people’s hair.

I’ve been staring for too long.

I swallowed, giving Fellow a nervous smile as I handed the water bottle back to him. 

“Thanks.” I murmured, kicking my legs back and forth as I looked around. Huh, the fake leg was slightly lighter than my own when I’m not standing up. I wonder if the pouch around my leg is meant to add extra weight to balance it out. I didn’t add that in my original story, but it’d be a reasonable decision to make. 

Fellow grinned back, obviously waiting for me to get out of my thoughts so he could talk to me. His voice was relatively low, but nothing extreme. He sounded a little like that guy from Transformers. The movies with the mechanic guy. Always hated that plot point about his daughter and the 18-year-old. Creeped me out. Fuck you Bay. I’m getting distracted again.

“Feeling better?” Fellow asked, placing his water bottle back in what I assumed was his bag and not just some random backpack he found and was going to leave behind.

“A little bit.” I admitted, watching him move and trying to think around the headache I still had.

“Well, that’s good! What were you doing out alone? This is a dangerous area.” Fellow explained, moving to stand next to me. Well sort of, I was sitting on the desk, but he leaned on it next to me. Not in a creepy way, he was facing the same direction as me and gave me some space, but I moved slightly closer. 

I had heard that the grunts’ skin texture was like clay, and I was a little bit curious if it was true. Of course, I wasn’t going to touch Fellow without his permission, but still. If he let me, I wouldn’t say no.

It took me a moment to register that he’d asked a question and I chuckled a little bit when I realized I had spaced out again. 

“Just trying to figure out who I am, literally.” I replied, frowning slightly. “I feel like I just woke up for the very first time, and I’m a little out of it.” 

I rubbed the back of my head, scratching my neck in my normal nervous habit. I quickly pulled away, cringing at the feeling of my skin giving underneath. Right, claws.

Note to self, try to be more careful about scratching. Wouldn’t want to accidentally give myself an injury. 

Fellow looked concerned and leaned closer to me. He seemed to be scanning my body for injuries, and I tried to make myself look bigger. I was perfectly fine, just really really  out of my depth.

“Well, you don’t look hurt, so that’s good.” He encouraged, and I smiled at him. “And speaking of finding yourself, you never gave me your name.”

I stilled trying to think of an answer. I didn’t think that my real name would be one to share, and I never did feel comfortable sharing it with strangers. I never gave my character an actual name, and she had never been referred to as anything other than “Agent Echo”. But honestly, I don’t think that it would really matter if I called myself ‘Echo’ considering I was technically supposed to be dead but looked the same. Changing my name would just make me seem like an idiot. 

“I’m Echo.” I settled on, holding out my hand. 

Fellow grabbed my hand and shook it gently. 

“Pleasure to meet you Echo.”

Huh. 

He felt like soft rubber. 

-------

End of part 1 :3

Hope you enjoyed!! 

This was exactly eight pages in my word document. 

#submission #vibrating anon #ALRIGHT SO #time for a review #this is fucking great ❤️💖💗 #I really like the little abilities you gave Echo #(I happen to be a pretty big fan of the fallout series so I'm bias for VATS clones haha) #typically speaking making drawbacks for ocs is a difficult balance but I felt you did it really well #It's also pretty gruesome #so perfect for Madness lol #I generally tend not to be a huge fan of first-person pov in fics #(bad wattpad fics traumatized me lmao) #but you've somehow managed to write something where it doesn't actually bother me? (what??) #(it's actually pretty impressive imo so kudos haha) #Something else I like is the tone you used throughout this if that makes sense #It's serious enough for Madness but also incorporates humor at the right moments to avoid being dull or taking itself too seriously #Also I love the ending it was perfect. #This whole part was great and I'll be eagerly awaiting the next one :D 💕

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countdown to the truth

title: countdown to the truth pairing: im changkyun/reader genre: fairytale!au/fake dating!au/1960’s!au summary: being part of an academy full of women shouldn’t be much of an issue—until she is the last woman over twenty to remain there, unmarried and with no plans on ever doing so. the problem comes to life for her when she’s threatened to be kicked out, so she does what anyone would do in that situation: talk to the stranger that hangs out in front of the academy and ask him to be her fake boyfriend. insanity would be the way to call this plan. type: fluff/angst/romance/humor word count: 22,842

Vanilla scented candles engulfed her senses, mixing with the incredibly sweet smell of pastries. In any other day, baking would have been a perfect distraction for what she calls ‘graduation season’, but with the amount of people in the kitchen, her anxiousness only grew exponentially. Fingers clammy, nose oversaturated with dulcet scents, and a mind filled with utter sentimentalism, and not the one that came with pride and relief, but with envy instead.

Perfection, it came after days of hard work and nights of insomnia, it was the jewelry everyone wished to have wrapped around their necks, glistening under the lights of the sky along with the stars. The academy taught her that excellence is the only goal for a woman, along with being desired enough to get married and have one of those love stories that lasted for a lifetime, written in books as a vision of the past, captured in pictures that would tear at the edges by the time their grandchildren saw the type of love they had to envy. Graduation time, of course, came after a woman turned twenty-one…with marriage, a man by her side, dresses that reached a little bit lower of what they would use when single and an immaculately crafted life.

She was only a child when she started going to that academy, the daughter of two prestigious politicians that would not even dare to touch a poor person’s hands without a set of gloves covering their fingertips, but now…the sixties arrived with new fashion trends and even more expectations for women. Dared to be called less of a woman for not finding a man that fit her, she spent most of her days at the academy—perfecting her baking technique, reading more books, preparing herself to become a teacher in the place that turned her into a talented individual, only to be denied every time she tried. Graduation time came earlier for other people, but for someone as difficult to love as her, it could possibly never happen.

If she had worked so hard to be the best version of herself, there shouldn’t be any less of an expectation for the person that she wants to love her back. The man by her side should be worth of her intelligence, of her low nights and her glowing mornings, of her shy smiles but the anxious moments, too. More than a vest to show to his friends, she wanted to be, but the only men she had gotten to know treated her as if she was another hole in their belts.

Whisking the mixture that Jiahn had prepared, she scrunches up her nose at the mere smell of the vanilla in the mix. It’s supposed to be a simple, nude cake, but the smell is horrendous. Measurements are important for her, numbers that mathematics would prove correct, dignified by cups and spoons, but it seems like people don’t live with such strict settings anymore. People rush through life, like a shooting star wishing to travel around the world, going from one point to another and forgetting that there was beauty in the slowest moments. Instead, a majority of the people in the academy live for the thrill, find a person that makes them feel loved once and that is enough; they stop trying at life, putting all the weight on fate.

Because destiny solves everything, they say in their love-cladded smiles. Destiny knows what the hell it is doing.

Unless her concept of destiny is broken, it is not like that. She is, at the very least, two steps away from being kicked out of her own home—the lady academy that had watched her grow into her little pair of high heels and her plaid dresses, only because she is considered worthless. What kind of dress should be worn without jewelry?

The necklace she needs is a man, the principal had told her. A man that demonstrated just how put together she is.

The glass bowl is pushed up to meet her nostrils, her nose flaring to smell the overly sweet substance. Not that Jiahn cares, really, clinging to the suit-covered man by her side as the two of them read over the newspaper. Her brown hair cascades down her back, braided in certain spots and clasped prettily by bows to push her bangs away, for Jiahn is the epitome of the type of woman this academy aims to create for those rich parents that don’t really want to raise their children. Elongated face, small nose and equally as small lips, Jiahn is a pretty doll that sits on the stool next to her perfect man. Kihyun, the nephew of two of the most outstanding actors in the entire country, a gold mine with his serious mannerisms that can only be bettered with his sweet smile. “How many spoonfuls of vanilla bean paste did you put into this, Ahn?” She questions, not even getting a glance from the couple. Jiahn’s arms are wrapped around Kihyun’s taut shoulders, her cheeks resting against the surface as she speaks.

“Four.”

“Four?!” She repeats, much louder than she intends and of course, life becomes a comedy in her darkest times. The knot on her throat, obviously created by the burning sensation of stress, only tightens at the way the couple looks at her as she rants. “Jiahn, now I have to make the mixture for your cake once again! This is inedible.”

Jiahn’s engagement party, the reason why everyone is going around the academy in hopes of preparing every single detail to outstanding flawlessness. Jiahn doesn’t look half as bothered, perhaps because she is finally getting out of the academy and with someone who loves her by her side, at that. Some people just think love is enough, and in her own head, it sounds impossible. There has to be more to life than just looking for a half. Books to read, stories to share, people to talk to, instruments to play, songs to sing and experiences to recall. “Hey, do not stress out—”

“I shouldn’t, really. You should be the one stressing out about this.” She says while tossing the bowl inside the kitchen sink, pressing the tips of her fingers to the inner corner of her eyes to relax. Very rarely does she get to hear her own voice in such a state, torn to the point sounding exhausted, but the constant pressure that comes with this time at the academy has her on edge, tipping in between the sand and the sea. “How could you have thought that four spoons of vanilla paste were going to taste nice on a cake?”

Jiahn shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just…I was distracted, I guess.” Thick silence fills the air when she reaches down to throw out the entirety of the concoction to wash the bowl, but instead of using the water as a way of relaxing herself, it was a reminder of the work that she had put into the cake, only to have it ruined by someone else. “Damn, why are you so grumpy?”

“I am not.”

“You love baking. You normally would be singing to The Beatles by now, but you’re not doing that—”

“Because you ruined my cake, maybe?” She asks, the roughness of her voice only matching her stare when she looks at the couple over her shoulder. Kihyun glances at his fiancé, puckering up his lips before biting down on the skin, roaming his eyes everywhere but at the woman in front of them.

Kihyun clears his throat. “I don’t really like cake…”

“And if we’re talking about facts, it’s our cake.” Jiahn corrects her and she sighs deeply. The weight of her breath is supposed to make her feel better, as if the anger that coils deep within her lungs will fade into darkness, wishing upon having a smile on her face by the time the sun sets and she has to get ready for the engagement dinner. Instead, she feels even worse—not because she doesn’t have a man by her side, because that is the least of her worries, but because she would not be able to stay at the academy for long, much less as a teacher. The only plan her mind had conjoined for the entirety of her life is getting burned in the middle of the forest, taking everything away with it. Her happiness. Her goals. A little bit of her sanity, too. “Hey, what’s up with you?” Her friend’s voice is much softer, contrasting the sound of the stool that drags against the flooring when she moves over to pat her back.

Instead of putting up a front, like she had done for the past three days ever since she talked to the principal about her position as a teacher, she decides to let go. Perhaps, that is her future—finding a man that does the absolute minimum for her, sees her as a pair of legs to grab for when he is needy, a trophy wife that cooks for him throughout the day and clouds his mind in orgasms at the end of the night. A learner, instead of a teacher. “New students are going to come to the academy in about a month, and this is the season when older students get married and leave. So, I didn’t get the position as a teacher because I’m not qualified…” A brief pause settles her down on the floor, puts her to rest and then wakes her up in reality. Not with a gentle kiss to her inexperienced lips, but with a glass of cold water. “She said I need to be a married woman first, that I would be perfect if only…you know, if only I found a man. Same old problem. I’m going to be kicked out of here if I don’t get that spot.”

Tugging at the edge of her dress, she waits for Jiahn to say something but instead, she is met with brief silence. “Finding a man is the easiest part.”

She widens her eyes comically, picking up the white and red bag of flour only to place it neatly inside the necessary amount of cups. “I do not want to find a man.”

“That would be because…”

“Men only want one thing!” A repetition of exactly what she has seen, she claims. She remembers the early days in the academy, when she would walk down the hall with her teddy bear in between her fingertips, looking for the bathroom only to hear the older students talking. Heartbreaks, sex, love, it all came together into a big mess, just like a war of the heart and the mind, and with the fear of ever getting her heart broken, she promised herself to sought for a man that would never break her heart. “And I am not willing to have my heart broken by anyone.”

Kihyun clears his throat from his spot. “Not all men want what you’re thinking.”

“But a lot of them,” Jiahn clarifies before twirling her fingers on the few strands of hair that fell on her friend’s face as she bakes. “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the ride. Love is a joyful thing, and pleasure is also a good thing. As long as you don’t mix your future love status with some…experience, I don’t think it would be bad to meet people without the mindset that they are going to hurt you.”

The idea of being in the messy bedsheets of a motel, wearing her pretty floral dresses only to have them disregarded by any men, whispered sweet nothings roaming in her ears in the form of lies and someone kisses her in the form of a one-night stand makes her feel anxious. Not because it was wrong, because it worked for a lot of people, but the more she thought about it…the less she felt like love and affairs were for her. She needed to bask in conversation, to get to know someone to deeply that she felt them carved in her skin, to be loved with the intensity of the wind, not seen at all times, not spoken loudly in most occasions, but ever present. Steps, steps, steps, she believes in the dance of love, in the blossoming friendships and the sweet endings. In the fight, the thrill, the quietness after the storm and the beauty in it, and no one has been willing to give her that.

This world is all about rapidness, about marriage or relief, orgasms or titles. It is never about the ride.

Shaking her head, she gives Jiahn a small smile. “I know it worked for Kihyun and you, but I don’t think it will work for me.” Kihyun’s cheeks tint slightly at her words, although Jiahn seems unfazed. Two different personalities altogether, Kihyun coming from a strict household meanwhile Jiahn was the heartbreaker of the academy. “I don’t need a man. I just need to convince the principal.”

“The principal never considers women complete unless they get married.”

“Maybe,” She starts whisking harder, as if all her anger would be piled into a prettily decorated, tall, tasty and not overly sweet cake. “M-Maybe I could get her to change her mind. I’ve been an excellent member of our community for my entire life—”

“I doubt it.” Jiahn presses, clicking her tongue soon after. “But if nothing else works for getting that position as a teacher, just find yourself a man that is a little bit less intelligent than you, offer him something in return and have him as your fiancé for a night. No one has to know.”

“That’s the plot of a movie, Ahn.” Kihyun tries to complain, only to have his cheeks squished by his fiancé to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Shut up.” Jiahn whispers, their love exuding from their expressions before they smiled at one another. Instead, the moment is broken when she looks down at her mixture, realizing that it looks as perfect as she wanted it to be at the beginning. Some people were good at love, others were good at everything else. “So, consider it an option.”

She shakes her head, taking some of the batter in her index finger to taste it, licking the substance to be met by fluffy, soft and perfectly sweetened cake mix. “I doubt I will have to go that far. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to the principal.”

Destiny has never loved her, they are two people fighting for the same form of control, and destiny always wins. What a coincidence that destiny thinks the absolute opposite of what is going on inside her head.

⏰

A tap on her shoulder makes her look back, the brightness of the Sun closing her eyes partially as she tries to make out the figure of one of the students in the academy. The nine-year-old lady brings her fingers up in front of her body to talk to her, sign language their form of communication. Maybe, she just wants to teach something different from what she had learned in the plenty of years she had in the academy—concentrate more on numbers, philosophy, history, autonomy in the form of education, to create women that could fend for themselves; instead of just teaching how to sit straight and cross one leg over the other. Some students are not too fond of her, scrunching up their noses or giving her faux smiles whenever she talks a little bit too much about literature, a lover of books from the moment she understood one of them, but some of them are enchanted by the bites of knowledge she serves whenever she passes by a group of students, no matter their age.

“What about Zeus?” The little girl asks, unaware of the heat that surrounds them, or perhaps ignoring it, for she is far too concentrated in mythology. Her name is Lia, her short hair braided on each side of her face, shorter than most in her class.

Her legs open slightly to cage the rolled up pamphlets that she is trying to stick to the walls around the neighborhood, and she has barely started, the hotness of the morning mixing with the smell of cigarettes and at the early rendezvous of the Saturday morning, alcohol. “Zeus is the bad guy,” She points out with her fingers, then taking a moment to think what she is going to say next. “I told you, you should read the books, Lia.”

Mouthing a ‘no’ after her pout, Lia shakes her head. “I don’t understand the book you gave me, Miss.”

She chuckles, giving the duct-tape to Lia so she slices a part of him. Pamphlets mean that the new year in the academy is starting, welcoming elementary school girls of high standards in society just so they could become a perfect part of it, they say. This academy sold ‘immaculately prepared women’ to the public, only to come up with wives and the right-hands of plenty of men. They aren’t taught about their visions in life, to see themselves as the president of their own worlds, instead, they live the life of the person they love, trying to fix them, while forgetting to live for themselves. “We can read it later.” She indicates, unwrapping one of the pamphlets to press it against the wall of a very famous bakery in the same street as the academy. “But I have to put these up.” Soon after, she presses the paper to the wall, taking the bits of duct-tape Lia gives her to make it part of this boring and bland city.

Once they start walking, the two students exchange a glance. “I thought last year students aren’t meant to do this, Miss.”

Replying with hand motions, she chuckles at her words. “They shouldn’t.”

“So, why do you do it?”

“Because I want the principal to realize I am a good person, so I don’t get kicked out of the academy.” She tries to keep the explanation short, not wanting to bother anyone with her own issues, much less a child that probably wanted to hear about Achilles and Zeus, Poseidon once she discovers his existence. Her steps are quick against the concrete, damning the moment she decided to wear a dress so tight in the waist. The flowery pattern of the dress stiffens like a corset on the waist, gifted to her by the principal herself a year prior to that day, but all she wants is to slip the fabric away from her body in one swift motion, skin becoming one with the sheets of her bed before tucking a forkful of the cake she had baked three days ago inside her mouth. The leftovers were still delicious, and perfectly put in the amount of vanilla it had.

Lia claps to get her attention, making her frown as she halters her steps. One hell of a sweet girl, Lia is, but she is never one to be so fidgety—she is smiling on her spot, jumping the slightest on her step when she takes the oldest by the shoulders to make her see what she has to say. “A man is looking at you, behind you.” Excitedly, Lia narrates the story as if it was a fairytale, but the moment she looks over her shoulders, she is met with the complete opposite of a prince. Albeit gorgeous, his bangs are pushed away from his face by his own hands, although the strands fall on the same spot repeatedly, his hands are delicate, veiny, a little bit calloused thanks to his work as a house painter, the brush coating the white wall in yellow paint. She fears for his white tank top, clinging to his body in sweat, highlighting the swift marks of his abdomen and his tanned arms, but the paint could easily get on the fabric. His mouth remains half-open, breathing softly as he spares her a simple glance, eyes a form of seduction on itself. She can tell her tries too hard, by the way he makes a show out of painting now that he has her attention.

“He looks like a douchebag.” She replies, only to have the younger smiling.

“He looks like a prince.”

“What kind of books have you been reading, Lia?”

“The ones that you like, Miss.”

Carved in her soul has always been the immunity she possesses for men in suits, with charismatic smiles and perfectly spoken words. She has always wanted something raw, as natural as it can get, with laughter that merges into conversation, into late-night kisses and hushed goodbyes, with breakfasts shared in complete silence and love whispered in the form of open-mouthed touches of someone’s lips to her neck. Crave is what she does, for the intelligence of a man that knows how to get her interested, that sees her as more as a pair of lacy underwear under a conservative dress, more than a lady to show in the streets only to degrade her in the sheets. Friendship that blossoms into love, a worm that turns into a butterfly…

Is that so difficult to get nowadays? Less of a rush to get married, she needs and instead, she wishes for a partner that pushes her to be her own individual before becoming the same heart.

It shows in her taste in books, perhaps, she likes the figurative, metaphorical, abstract romances, not so much of the ones that people talk about in the academy. However, this is not something she accepts, shaking her head and taking another pamphlet when she decides that the heat is far too unbearable, a trail of sweat running down her spine at the uncomfortable weather.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the baker, who screams at the top of his lungs a big: “Hey!” Once she turns around, she is met by the chubby, mustache-sporting baker that everyone knows about. His boisterous laugh almost wakes everyone up early in the morning, but his pastries and bread make up for any disturbance.

Nonetheless, she thinks the man is talking to her, turning around and opening her mouth to as what happened. “I—”

“Changkyun!” He screams a name louder, interrupting her softer tone. Much to her surprise, douchebag with the mouth breathing technique turns around, running his fingers through his hair to push the strands away. His legs are long, she notices then, cladded in a pair of jeans that fit him somewhat presentably, reaching high on his waist. His eyes look for the woman once again, making her flush in the way the sun casts down on his tanned complexion, his chocolate-fountain eyes that drown her in just one glance, attraction in the form that Jiahn has always talked about. In her words, Jiahn would describe this man as ‘the one who ruins you, and you thank him for it, because no man will ever compare to the way he made you feel with just one night’. Not that she would ever be able to do such thing with someone, much less with someone like this Changkyun guy. “Your dog is trying to eat my croissants, come pick him up!”

Changkyun’s alluring act falls immediately, his eyes widening as he looks at both sides of the street to rush towards the bakery, trotting to the entrance of the place. “I-I am so sorry!”

But the baker laughs, loud and clear, enough to bring a smile to her face because of the mortified expression on Changkyun’s face. The idiot now has another description inside her head: clumsy.

⏰

Words turned bitter for her; gone were the days of praise, the achievements that would be highlighted by excellence, the friends that lingered around her whilst promising a lifetime of memories. Some of them are married, graduated years ago and are now living their happily-ever-after’s with some businessman near the most expensive part of the city. Some are holding their babies, those she doesn’t envy so much, they wake up to the sound of screaming—and she thinks it could come from either their husband or their child, because women like the ones in the academy are taught that men are gods of renewal, seeking purity and slavery both at the same time. Others, like her friend Daum, had the opportunity to find love in the same place she grew up in, and she was one of the culprits that helped her run away with another woman. Something that the principal deemed as impossible.

“You really are a rotten one, huh?” The principal is talking to her, but she concentrates anywhere else. The pictures the woman shows of her dead husband by the walls, all in black and white, carrying the five women that she raised with him in some of them. Her place is immaculate, too sweet for her taste, smelling like coconut and vanilla at the same time, drowned in the perfection that she is asked for every of her actions. Spotless, conceptualized, written; everyone’s future in that academy could be described by those three words, but she is the exception. “Look at me.” The strong tone that accompanies the principal’s voice startles her the slightest, dragging her gaze to the piercing eyes in front of her. “Every bird leaves the nest. Every single one. Not only did you help two birds leave the nest together, as a couple, but you also ask me to stay after that—”

Daum had left earlier that morning, with her love shown in the slits of her fingers that connected to another graduate. Love, for them, was always there and she is not anyone to stop a person from feeling something so strong. “If they wanted to leave, they had to leave.”

“You’re not helping your case here,” The principal explains. “Daum’s parents called me. They are petrified by the situation, because I, apparently, was unable to take care of two women over their twenties, and Daum hasn’t talked a word to their parents—”

“I didn’t know that, Principal.”

“You claim to know everything, to be knowledgeable enough to be a teacher and you make humongous mistakes like this.” Her tongue wets the roof of her mouth, breathing out through her nose. Her words prick, like a thorn that holds on to the sight of a rose, and she is there to see it all. This side of the principal is not the same one everyone else gets to see; the calm smile, the witty remarks, the wisdom-filled eyes that everyone wants to imitate. This is the type of people feared in the world, dictators that turned their followers into a carbon copy of what they think, that dress them in ignorance to lounge in knowledge. A power battle; the weak versus the strong, and she has always been weak in the principal’s eyes. “But you don’t know more than a few words in a textbook. I can’t have someone as open minded and weak as you as a teacher, I just can’t.” Instead of battling for her rights, she bites on the inside of her cheeks, watches as the woman takes a long gulp of her coffee. “You are not going to stay in this academy as your home, I am so sorry. Your parents should have enough money to find you an apartment somewhere. A house, even.”

But the academy is her home, with its students that always greet her, with the library that she loves visiting and the kitchen that she feels like belongs to her. How could she simply leave home like that? She doesn’t think she remembers much of her past house, how it looked like and why it was supposed to feel candid and warm. If anything, it has been years since the last time she went back home. “B—But…Miss, I could stay here and really, I’ve prepared myself to teach literature perfectly. I swear—”

“No.” The Principal clicks her pen, opening a folder that read Daum’s name and information, along with some pictures as she grew up through the educational standards of the academy, just like a school. “I give you one month to leave. Find a man and I’ll consider having you teach the students,” She easily states. “Do not find a man, and you’ll leave without any job of any kind. Call your parents for money, if you don’t want to live off a man.”

Living off a man, what a distasteful title. “Please, don’t say that.”

The Principal rolls her eyes, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose before sighing. “Leave my office, please.” She says, looking up at the woman briefly before scribbling a big ‘X’ on the folder beneath her. “Do not come in here until you have either your engagement ring or your bags to leave. One month, after that I’ll call the police, and you don’t want to ruin your parents’ little legacy.”

Swallowing all the tears she wishes to drop, she bows before giving the same affirmative answer that she has been taught to give. Once outside of the office, the heat of the wind makes her feel uneasy, as if she is trapped in a box and is unable to leave, her lungs contract, her tongue itches, her fingers can’t stop moving, won’t stop moving even if she asks them to, her knees are wobbling with such intensity that they could look like she is losing all sense of sanity, dancing along to the problematic tune of reality. She thinks she sees Kihyun when she walks towards the kitchen, standing by the door as he waves at her, a smile on his face after giving a kiss to the woman he loves, but she feels envious. Not because she can’t have someone to love, for that is the least of her worries, but because she is being obligated to love someone just to be worthy.

Validation, that is what she needs and exactly what she thought she would get by showing her talents, her knowledge, the hours of hard work she put into books and reviews, only to be met by silence. Deafening, really, to the point one glass of water down her throat makes her feel like she is about to throw up. The idea of going back to her parents’ sounds terrible, another anarchy to have her dressed up in even tighter dresses to introduce herself to a world of money, such as politics, to be a robber amongst well-spoken manipulators. If she ends up in the streets, she doesn’t know what would happen—in that case, she would ask Kihyun and Jiahn for help, for in only two weeks they are going to get married, but in their new home, it would be difficult to have Jiahn’s friend over. Marriage is a matter of two people, not three.

She could find a job, that’s not the worst thing. Maybe, she could start working at the bakery at the end of the street, hope to save some money and perhaps, come up with a plan that was not given by the principal.

Two plans, that’s exactly what she needs.

Plan One: To find a job at the bakery, keep it as secret as possible and save up some money. That way, if she ends up being kicked out of the academy, she would have a kick-starter for an apartment of sorts, all on her own.

Plan Two: Or as she likes to call it, Jiahn’s plan. To look for a man that would be willing to act up as her husband, fiancé or at the very least, her boyfriend and see if she can get a position as a teacher. The academy needs more women of assertiveness, power held in strong voices.

Wielding herself with tears, she pushes the strands of her hair away from her face when she fights back the salty liquid to run down her cheeks, creating a path of hurt, pain, memories and conviction. The principle of being a woman goes past skirts, being born as one or simply loving a man, but the sixties were far too enclosed in their own opinions, afraid of the strength a new wave of people could bring to the world—people who were already there, but are now tired of such treatment.

Her hands rub at her face, not caring that her makeup smudges at the action—she can’t bring herself to be a lady, when people have torn her apart for it. The tears become one with her skin, dissipating in the thick air with such easiness, so much she wonders if this is what she is bound to feel, like her life is falling apart, not even rotating, not even moving, and if it moves, it is way too fast.

Fast, it moves, when she looks up thanks to the sound of barking. There, she sees the dupe of a Dalmatian, instead of black dots, the dog wears beautifully beige spots on his skin, jumping on his spot as he takes the brush from Changkyun’s hands.

Right, the house painter.

She saw him two days ago, and she had to see Lia talking about him nonstop, moving her hands so widely she thought they were going to fall. Lia says he is a prince, with that paint-cladded tank top he wears and that overly confident personality that is as wronged as faux fur, for it doesn’t fit him, neither is it cute. Also, he is an incredible slow worker—or maybe, the new house that is being built is just too big for just one person and his dog, who keeps wiggling his tail in excitement even though Changkyun is hissing at him.

But no, that can’t be the only men in the world. She has to think about the good men that she has met in her life, even if they seem to be nonexistent.

The feeling of a pencil in between her fingers, as well as glue, brings her back to the crafting days on her first day of elementary school—before she was ever introduced to the academy. Once she is brought back to that memory, she swears she feels the fingers of someone tugging at her hair, presumably at her braids, but she isn’t wearing braids at that moment. Then, she remembers the smile she used to see whenever she turned around in those days, being met by a guy who didn’t even know how to pronounce his name, but the kid was cute. Min-Guk, is how he introduced himself as, but his name is actually Minhyuk. He was nice, probably a bit out of his head, but dreamy to her young eyes. Too much of a prince and probably married. Pass.

The guy who sells milk every Monday at the street, always wearing that tacky white uniform and trying to get women to talk to him, only to be shushed away because he is not a potential man to date. There is no charisma, no romance, no elegance, no intelligence…just milk, really. She embarks in conversation with him every once in a while, interested in getting to know the farm that he frequents for his milk and how the industry works, but he is over forty…and really not her type. Maybe, if he was younger, she likes that awkward vibe on men that try a little bit too hard, but he is much too old for her.

Kihyun is getting married to her friend, so he is obviously out of the picture.

“Bruno!” Changkyun screams at the top of his lungs, running behind the dog as if to get the brush. That is probably what he is trying to do, really, but she can’t tell anymore.

It’s like life is telling her to go there.

After using a napkin to rub her tears away, checking on the mirror that her makeup is not that smudged—not that it’s there anymore—, she decides to go out of the academy. Some of the younger students are having a class outside, something that she can’t care about as she trails her eyes towards the good looking Changkyun, a house painter…sure, not the most outstanding of careers, but it is somewhat interesting the way he manages himself, running behind a dog and all. The house is incredibly pretty, as well, and she knows the owners; a family of six that are expecting to grow even more, so it is no wonder the space is so big.

Once she gets to the front yard of the house, she hears Changkyun complaining about something to his dog, who simply sticks his tongue out in excitement, thinking it is time to play with his owner. “What are you doing?”

The muscles on his shoulders tighten at a frenzy, looking back to spare her a glance before his features soften. One of his eyebrows quirk up when he takes the drool-covered brush on his hands, a small smile playing on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.”

Changkyun seems surprised by her answer, opening his mouth to say something before cutting himself off. He repeats this action repeatedly, sporting a shy smile soon after. “Painting. Duh.” He claims, going closer to the wall he was painting before his dog’s interruption. Bruno, she thinks its name is. “Don’t they teach you how to paint in your pretty doll house?”

She chuckles at his words, pointing with her thumb towards her home. “The academy, you mean?” The house painter gets to work once again, dipping the brush on the paint before sliding it across the wall. “They do. Really, we are not a dollhouse of any sorts.” She thinks of her words, biting down any type of opinion she should have, but…this is Changkyun, a man that she wouldn’t even imagine with a dressy, black suit on. “Some…Some of our students think it is, but I am not like that.”

The painter hums at her words, his tanned cheeks receiving a rose-gold color. She likes to think it’s because of her, but maybe it’s the Sun doing its wonders. “I would like to see that.” Changkyun comments, more likely talking about seeing her paint, but when he moves his hand to indicate his point further, his brush paints over her pretty baby blue dress, leaving a terrible white imprint. “Oh shit, I am so, so sorry!” His apologies fall quickly, just like how he unwraps a towel from around his neck to dab it on the material. Mind him, this is the same towel that he uses to wash his sweat and technically, it shouldn’t even reach her dress, but there he is, kneeling down in front of her as he rubs the material against the dress.

“Don’t be, really.” But she is speaking through gritted teeth. It is definitely going to be a headache to get that stain out.

This is not what her prince charming should be like, rubbing on her dress as if it is a table that has a coffee stain. “God, this dress is probably worth more than my salary. Geez…” Changkyun is talking to himself, looking up at her eyes while haltering his motions, only to give her a crooked smile. This is the enchanting part of him, the aftermath of his try-hard attempts, valuable and charismatic for his sweeter side, the one that he probably doesn’t show to a lot of people.

She laughs at his words. “It is.”

“I’ll pay for it! Just…give me time, okay?”

“No, no.” She tells him, taking the cloth from his hands and sniffing at the smell. God, what exactly is her concept of a prince charming?! The smell is horrid, quite clearly. She gives it back to him, right after taking him by the wrists to bring him up to his feet, which he does slowly, while still looking into her eyes. “I—This is not what I expected when I came here, but I’ll take it. It’s just a dress, just don’t rub it with your sweaty towel, please.”

Changkyun puts his towel around his neck once again before dumbly grinning. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ll just have to pay it in another way.”

“What do you me—?”

“Miss!” Someone squeals from the academy and the two people conversing turn to look at the fourteen-year-old girl that waves to call for the attention of one of the older members of the academy. “Could you help me out with my homework, please?!” If the principal heard her speak like that, that student would be expelled immediately, if not scolded, but instead of waiting until that happened, she starts moving towards the academy quickly.

“Sure, sweet pea!” She tells the young girl, who smiles at either the nickname or the help, but once she is on the other side of the street, her eyes look for Changkyun, only to be met by the man who stares at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She squints her eyes, her hands reaching to fix the bow on her head before mouthing a small:

“We’ll talk later.”

And she really means it, because Changkyun is her last option.

⏰

“Tick, tock, darlin’.” The principal told her in her friend’s wedding, basically mocking her bridesmaid dress from the moment she put it on. Her expression was readable, all series of distaste and a sense of fortune in winning that never escapes her. The principal pointed at the clock that rested in the form of a necklace in her cleavage, showing her nothing but the exact time. “Two weeks until I kick you out of my academy. If Jiahn did it, so can you.”

That’s when it hit her. She had lost two entire weeks of her second plan, all for concentrating on the first one.

The good part of it all is that she gets to bake at a good spot, surrounded by flowers…from daisies to roses, all settled in her line of sight as she works with pastries. The mornings are the busiest, when her boss immediately makes her work the fastest she can. He needs the breads to be baked to its fullest potential, not too crunchy and not too soft, a good bite able to be a good companion for any moment of the day, whether it was the early hours of it or the late ones. The baker also told her to call him by his name, so more often than not, she shyly asks for his help when it gets to be too much. She shortens it, though, going for a brief ‘Woo’ whenever she needs him the most, and the man with the funny mustache answers immediately, sometimes calling her the sweetest names because she supposedly reminds him of his daughter, pure yet strong.

Whilst reading on the morning paper, her apron neatly tied around her neck, she likes to concentrate on the literature section, seeing what books are going to come next in the market, making sure to highlight the ones that interest her the most. Two in the afternoon, a time where the bakery is rarely visited and it is at this moment that Woo puts his music on loudly, making sure to dust off anything that surrounds the tables that his costumers used previously. He dances happily, humming to the tune in a way that calms her down. The Principal is whom she has always lived with, so seeing a man that is the complete opposite of what that woman is…feels like heaven.

“So I heard,” Woo initiates after turning off his music, his elbows resting atop the counter with his hard breathing interrupting his words. “Changkyun and his dog are leaving today. The house is almost finished, he is simply painting the insides and making sure everything is tidy and ready to go.”

She widens her eyes at that, be forgotten the new book that she is reading about, her lips parting at the reminder that her second plan includes him, and finding another man in less than two weeks is going to be a headache, much more with an eventful dinner being planned by the Principal as a way of celebrating the recent marriages and engagements. “W-Why? How? That house is huge!”

“Changkyun is a nice kid. I know his father, so if he is as equally as hardworking as him, then he is good.” The man seems unfazed by what he is saying, but she is interested beyond what she can explain. Something keeps pushing her towards Changkyun, call it idiocy for being so stubborn on being a teacher, or she is actually as attracted to him as she pretends not to be. “It’s weird, though.”

“What is?”

“Changkyun’s family is very educated, very studious. I am not sure why he is a house painter…”

She pushes the newspaper towards the edge of the counter, shrugging her shoulders at his statement. “The majority of us young people don’t become what our parents were or are.” She indicates, knowing well that Woo wouldn’t understand. The bakery is a family business, one well-earned at that, cozy and the most beautiful spot to spend some time in daily. A fresh reminder that things are going to be okay. “I have my lunch break right now, right?”

“You spent ten minutes of it reading that newspaper, but yes.” The baker points out, taking the newspaper in between his fingers and jokingly swatting it against her arm. “Stop reading studious stuff and go eat something. You worked hard.”

She licks her lips, looking through the pastries displayed through the glass before picking out two brownies, coated in the juicy texture of white chocolate syrup. Woo taught her his precise recipe, saying there is nothing better than what he adds, and indeed, the secret to the recipe gives it a bit of spice, perfect to wake sleepy students up. “I’ll pay for the extra one,” She indicates, pushing another one into a paper bag before sending a wave to Woo in the form of fluttery fingers. “I’ll see you in a bit, Woo.”

“Have fun with your boy!”

She shouldn’t be running on the streets and if any of the teachers in the academy see her, they will swat her hand with a ruler, telling her that a lady never rushes. Nonetheless, she wants to make sure Changkyun is still there, not that she gets a nice response at first, given that the entrance of the house is completely empty. The door is open though, widely so, and it smells like paint, a kick-starter of the fact that Changkyun might still be there. Her fingers clutch the paper bag, creating ugly folds on it, perhaps crushing the brownies, but she can’t bring herself to care, too reckless and desperate to even care about what she is going to ask to this stranger. Supposedly a nice guy, in Woo’s words.

Peaking her head inside, she doesn’t see anyone at first glance, until one wobbly step on the wood flooring makes a creaking sound and Bruno starts barking, quite loudly. Panic settles deep within her, much more when she hears human steps following after the dog, clear and fast, an indication of running. Changkyun goes down the stairs rapidly, only stopping when he catches a glance at the woman by the door, and even so, he doesn’t have the time to put on his ‘cool’ front.

“Uh, hi?” Changkyun asks casually, going the last row of stairs before patting Bruno’s fur with his hand. “I…Hi.”

“Hello,” She adds in between a sweet smile, holding the paper bag up for him to see. “I brought you some brownies so we could eat together.”

The man is even more confused by that statement, his eyebrows furrowing as he pushes his hair back. He is less sweaty, thankfully, but his skin is still painted in those red blotches caused by the heat. “Cool, but…why?” He tilts his head to the side, coming closer to get the bag from her hands and look inside it. Once he sees the brownies, she thinks she can see him licking his bottom lip, but maybe that’s just her mind speaking. After all, it is creepy to just come up to someone and offer him brownies, when all she has done is serve him meals at the bakery for the past two weeks, saying greetings and then, some brief goodbyes.

“Woo told me that you’re going to stop working here today.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Okay, you’re not making it easy on me.” She replies quickly, looking back to see if anyone is checking up on her from the academy, but everyone is on class right at that moment. The soft touch of the wind makes her sigh deeply, getting closer to Changkyun so their conversation falls in between their ears. “I need a favor from you.” After crossing her arms over her chest, she drops the bomb on him. Changkyun raises his eyebrows, his lips parting momentarily before one of his eyes closes at the touch of his bangs against it.

“Mhm, the one thing you told me I had to pay you with when I ruined your dress.” Changkyun questions, more so indicates, and she nods her head at his understanding. The man doesn’t seem to be faced by the statement, instead pointing to the edge of the stairs. “We can sit there and talk,” He starts and she lets her eyes trail towards the wooden material. “Sorry if it’s not a throne, Queen, but this is all I have here.” She chuckles at his sarcasm, taking a seat beside him. The sound of the paper bag being torn apart slightly to create two surfaces for the brownies is all she hears, watching as Changkyun carefully puts her brownie with a napkin and the paper bag underneath it on her lap.

“I am not some rich girl that is scared of sitting on a staircase.”

“Not that, though I do know you’re the child of politicians and very rich, too.” The intelligence that Changkyun possesses would not be expected from a house painter, but it is clear in the way he speaks. “But you’re in that academy. All girls that come out from that academy think they can only talk to rich people, and that’s true.”

“Questionable, but I see where you’re coming from.” She replies, slicing a bit of the brownie with her fingers to plop it inside her mouth, even though Changkyun is already delving on his treat. “I see you dislike the academy.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Education is important, but not when you teach…how to be a lady.” He spits the statement out as if it is a joke, and sometimes she thinks it sounds like it. “That’s bullshit.” Soon after, he laughs at what he says. “But you probably can’t say that word because ladies don’t curse or some shit like that. Nonsense, really.”

“I can say it.”

“Then, say it. Say something like shit, ass, asshole…”

“Shit?” She adds the word in the form of a question and Changkyun’s head immediately throws back at the sound of her voice, merely having a fun time by making fun of her.

“Thank you for the food, goody-two-shoes.” The man comments and soon after, she bites down on her bottom lip. The closeness between the two makes her feel warmer than ever, their knees touching ever so slightly, the type of intimacy that people often ignore, but it is felt nonetheless. Changkyun is much more good looking than people give him the benefit of, most of the time judged as some simple house painter. “What’s that favor that you want to ask me for?”

The moment of truth falls on top of her and with a shaky breath, she decides to be brave. The worst can already happen, and that is being kicked out of the academy—or her opportunity to be a teacher to be dismissed, exactly. “I want you to act.”

“Act?” He asks, pointing to his chest before scoffing. “Oh, baby, I’d do anything to get your attention, but I am no Tatsuya Nakadai.”

At the name of the actor, she scrunches up her nose. “Not even a tiny bit of a good actor?”

“I could try…” Changkyun trails his voice before nudging her side slightly. “For what kind of movie, though?”

At the sight on his face, she immediately catches why the smirk on his face is so prominent and she shakes her head quickly. “Not that!” The squeal that leaves her brings laughter to rumble on Changkyun’s chest once again, joyful of being there with her. “It’s actually…” Now that she is thinking about her idea, it sounds ridiculous. It damn right feels like she is out of her head, jumping on the oh-so-called field of happiness that her druggie friends have talked about once or twice, perhaps it is not that, but craziness itself. “Listen, I need a man to fake date me. And before you say anything, I really want to work as a teacher in my academy, but I won’t be accepted unless I show that I am capable of getting a man.”

Changkyun frowns at that and the open mindedness of him surprises her, because most men would have run away at the mere sound of the opportunity, unless given something else, but he is there, munching on his brownies before sighing. “You’re not capable of getting a man?”

“I-It’s not that—”

“Then, why can’t you get a man?”

“All the men I know are trashy…” She admits, pushing her head back to keep her hair away from her face. Now, she pushes more food to her mouth so she shuts up, but she doesn’t. With Changkyun, with Woo, with other people that are not part of the academy, she feels like she can speak without judgement. “With their suits and their wife concepts. I hate to have to deal with men that expect me to be something. I don’t want to have the expectations of wearing corsets and cooking for him, and stroking his ego just because I have to. That’s not me.”

The man pushes out a breath, in a sigh or in a huff, something along those lines. She doesn’t look at him, too afraid of the bowl of reality he is going to serve her immediately. “Because that is the type of men people like you are bound to meet. Rich, stupid guys who think they are better than everyone else.” His back rolls slightly, cracking a few articulations before he speaks up once again. “For how long do you need the fake boyfriend?”

At his remark, she lifts up her gaze. Something within her bursts, excitement or relief, maybe even fear. This is a complete stranger she is going to introduce as her boyfriend, after all. Insanity could never compare. “For…okay, for forever?”

“Oh…God…” Changkyun indicates before rubbing the back of his neck. “Do I have to go there or is it just using my name?”

“Go there.”

“No. Hell no.” The house painter stands up to his feet, pushing his piece of the paper bag to a trashcan nearby. “What do you want me to be? One of those preppy, stuck-up boys that go to your academy to meet girls? That’s not me. Why are you talking to me, anyway? You have a whole town of those at the center of the city. From anywhere around the world, you just have to look for them.”

For a moment, she ponders on leaving him alone, until the stubbornness clings to her once again. “Because…you’re the only man I know I…see as the type of man I would marry.”

“Marry?”

“You’d act as my fiancé, of course.”

“Okay, you’re drunk. You had your first try of alcohol and that is why you’re acting like this—”

Pushing herself off the stairs, she walks over to him before shaking her head. “No! Do I smell like alcohol to you?” That’s another thing she has tried. In the academy, women did things behind the principal’s back, drinking, smoking, hooking up, trying new things out, but she had never been like that. For the first time, she is doing something against the rules. “And it’s just for one night. I can just say we got married but that we live separately. Or that you broke the engagement or something. It’s just for one night.”

“One night of fake dating me?”

She presses her hands to Changkyun’s mouth after finishing her brownie, his soft lips dragging across her skin absentmindedly when she shushes him. “Don’t speak so loudly. People may hear you!”

Taking his hands in hers, he pulls her closer by the wrists before sighing. “Okay, goody-two-shoes. I’ll help you just because I know that dress was expensive shit and because I hope to get more good brownies like those for free.”

Batting her eyelashes out of complete surprise, she steps away slightly as a smile creeps up her face slowly. Changkyun rolls his eyes, for he is a man of honesty and down-to-earth matters, he doesn’t believe in a lot of the things she has grown to trust in, but blind is anyone that couldn’t tell these two are attracted to one another. “Thank you so much!” The happiness in her voice is clear, clasping her hands together before she feels Bruno walking in between her legs to stand in between the commotion. “I love your dog, but your dog can’t go to the dinner we’re supposed to be going to, okay?”

“I plead for some leftovers for Bruno.”

“I’ll cook him an entire meal if that’s what you want.”

Reaching down to grasp Bruno’s paw in between his fingers, he smiles. “We’re getting meals, Bruno. We’ve made it.”

A sense of calmness leaves her, one that she thought she had until she realizes Changkyun is not the type of man people in the academy would accept. A house painter, not cladded in suits the majority of the time—if every, really—and just a little bit inappropriate with his wording.

Good things never come without some hard work, she supposes.

“I’ll leave now, okay? Pass by the bakery tomorrow and we can talk about what we’re going to do. Eight on the dot.”

Changkyun looks up at her, standing up so quickly he loses his balance before humming. “Yes. Honey, bunny, apple of my eye, left butt-cheek to my right butt-cheek, precious being—”

While she walks towards the door, she shakes her head. “Baby was alright, the rest…is not what I want.”

“Okay, kitty cat.”

“No!”

This isn’t really going to be easy.

⏰

“I am engaged.”

“What?!”

The stages of disbelief show through people’s faces, as readable as a popular fiction book, and she learned about them after confirming—in different times to different people—that she is going to “get married”. First is the audible response, normally followed by a tilted head, something as simple as a noise that slips past that person’s lips, wanting to hear what has already been told into the universe, looking for some form of doubt. Following is the silent response, a blink, a quirk of their eyebrows, a smile, a frown, all placements of this stage, equally as nerve-wrecking as the other. Finally, there is denial and she has to fight this one, completing her set of lies with another group of them just to make it believable.

The only one who knows the truth, and only because she was unable to make him believe her, was Woo. According to his precise knowledge of being an old man, father of someone who acts exactly like her, one can just tell that she is lying—the situation has moved on far too quickly for her liking, too forced, and that is not like her. Changkyun, although very handsome and charming if you squint, is not the type of person to change that, if anything, he’d just shrug his shoulders at her manners, thinking that people are the way they are because that’s how life asks them to be. She doesn’t find it in her to burn his allegations with facts, indicating that for the past three days, Changkyun has been going to the bakery before going over to his next job, not even near her workplace to start with, always slipping food in his mouth as she speaks, partly about the plan and also about his health. Sweets are just not the go-to breakfast.

Changkyun doesn’t listen, saying he is stronger than diabetes, and he goes off once again, away from her whilst promising her that Thursday is the day they meet at his apartment to practice their act of a couple at the dinner they shall attend.

Getting out of the academy late at night with a suitcase hanging from her arm is already difficult on its own, with the teachers sparing her glances while she laughs nervously. Before anyone could ask her anything, she springs out of the door and into the crisp air of the night, thanking her tights for keeping her legs warm, but wishing she could wear a pair of pants that could keep her warm at such a time. The night is eventful, dark and with a gorgeous sight of the moon, yellow and near enough it feels like she could grasp it within her fingertips, holding it as a beautiful memory of difficult times.

Someone calls for her name, the tone deep and somewhat hushed, for she told him to wait for her by the bakery and not to make a lot of noise, considering the people at the academy could be listening. She rushes towards him, almost falling on her steps if it wasn’t for Changkyun’s arms extending on each side of her body, eyes wide as he speaks:

“Be careful,” He tells her, looking at their surroundings to make sure no one is seeing them. For a moment, she thinks that Lia is right: Changkyun is the new version of a prince. Oversized striped shirt tucked underneath a pair of pants, belt making sure that it keeps in place, his hair is parted slightly and he does not dare to sleek it back like most men of his generation do, but his face under the gleaming lights of the stars is a sight to never forget. “If falling on these streets is easy, imagine how easy it is falling for me.” Changkyun adds, silent meeting his statement as she lifts her gaze to look into his eyes. “No?”

“Not even one bit. I didn’t like it.” She continues, a smile blossoming on her face when she wraps her arm around his, turning him around so they are facing away from the academy. “Take me to your palace, poor excuse of a prince.”

“…Excuse of a prince,” Changkyun scoffs, as if it is ridiculous of her to speak in such a way. His eyes cast down on her as they walk the streets towards his home, peace of mind and soul in the form of awkward, softly spoken conversations. “Princes wish they were as cool as me.”

His apartment is unexpectedly cozy for such a secluded, small place. The white walls remain intact, clear as the day they were painted, highlighting some pictures he taped to the surface—some of them places he says he wants to go to, others pictures of his friends, some with his family. A shoebox would be more of a comparison, where his apartment starts, it also ends, a small kitchen at the corner of the room, separated by doors that led to their respective spots. He apologizes for the mess over his table, the lack of living room not a problem for her as she watches Changkyun diligently cleaning up such a big part of his life. What a person reads is what makes them, and she sees that Changkyun is always looking for a second, third or even fourth job, using a red pen to encircle whatever catches his attention, what he thinks he is capable of doing. In the table, she sees cut-outs of coupons, all in things he wouldn’t even need—but hey, if he found them, it’s for a reason.

Dragging the seat across from him, Changkyun starts talking about the absurdities of life while brewing some hot chocolate. His back is turned to her, delicate and broad, the two slices of reality she liked in a man’s physique, to bring her both edges of a well-rounded person. His fingers are what catch her attention, skinny and average sized, though they move with chillness, all worries thrown into the Sun the moment the night arrives. His voice lowers when he wants to impress her, she notices, handling himself well when he rants about how his family consists of university professors, medals and diplomas surrounding his house and while he doesn’t live up to that, he’s proud of where he comes from.

“And why didn’t you study in university?” She asks, watching as Changkyun turns around to lean his hands on his small counter, crossing one leg over the other and she gulps on the small bit of saliva she has inside her mouth, gone dry long ago at the mere sight of him. Her words could shush him as a man of the rest, but she hasn’t actually looked at someone that had made her feel like she craves for his touch, or his validation in one way or another. The desire to have him projecting the same interest in her aches within her, hanging on to the small threads of curiosity he had shown before.

“There’s plenty of that already…at least, in my family. Not that it makes education any less important but,” Changkyun stops a moment on his words, hissing at what he is trying to say before moving his hands slightly. Legs as long as a highway, enticing her at just a glance, wondering how someone like him as such poise in his way of standing. Hands that she wishes to have on her, caressing a few strands away from her hair, holding her hand, even hugging her as tightly as he wants, for the days in which she feels lonely, which are not many, in her opinion. And now, a serious expression that can’t take away from her mind, for Changkyun is ever serious. “I want easy money, that’s one thing.” The confession makes her chuckle, watching as a smile takes over his face again just in time for him to hide it by turning around, picking up two mugs and filling them with hot chocolate and marshmallows. “But painting is fun. Really, people think most of us house painters only do the job to check girls out on the streets and just scratch our asses, but I see past that.” Thick is the smell of chocolate and damn her for even believing Changkyun was not capable of making a tasty hot chocolate, for a piece of calmness is brought to her in the shape of another sweet treat, all courtesy of the not-so-sweet guy she is fake dating, by now. “I’m not a good painter, like I can’t draw for the life of me…”

“Uh huh.” She urges for him to continue, taking the small spoon Changkyun gives her before swirling the contents of the hot chocolate around.

“So when I told my mom she was like: “Changkyun, are you fucking out of your mind?! That was Picasso that was actually good, not you!”.” Imitation is the worst kind of compliment, she believes, and the faux high voice Changkyun uses to portray his mother has her laughing at how bad it is. “I decided house painter would pay the bills, and I would get to be somewhat of an artist without having to live with the criticism of being bad.” Before sitting down, the man stands up quickly, his eyes widening comically. “Let me get Bruno out of my room because he’ll start crying if he hears us talk and he’s not here.”

“They let you have Bruno here?”

“Yes,” Changkyun sarcastically adds as he opens the door, the white dog sprinting towards her to rest his paws on her legs. Her fingers hold on his ears, playing with them slightly but her entire concentration is on Changkyun. Some smiles are able to heal any type of pain, and the anxiousness she felt when deciding to go out at night with her fake boyfriend was unbearable, the ache on her eyes a clear indicator of her lack of sleep, along with the redness that reaches the inner corner of it. He makes her feel better, however, much more when he takes his seat in front of her, legs intertwining with hers thanks to the small table. “As long as they don’t know Bruno is not actually a dude. That’s why I named him after a person, I wanted my landlord to think Bruno is human.”

Whilst blowing on the cup of coffee, she decides to speak up. “Your secret is safe with me.” Though Changkyun doesn’t answer with anything more than a wince after burning his own tongue, sticking it out to let the air soothe the throbbing discomfort. “Be careful with that. You have to know some table manners, Changkyun.”

“I know ‘em.”

“Then, why don’t you use them? You just burnt your tongue—”

“Because I wanted hot chocolate.” The man whines, making her roll her eyes as she takes a small sip of the drink, only to click her tongue against the roof of her mouth thanks to the burning sensation. “See? Manners or not, heat exists!”

“Stop.”

Her movements seek to fix her legs, not wanting to be impossibly close to Changkyun in an uncomfortable way, but her knee grazes his thigh softly, making the man raise his eyebrows questioningly after taking another sip of his drink, this time smaller. Changkyun has one of those moments where he loses his character of a guy with so much confidence that it radiates off him, and one glance at her ashamed face is enough to have him sighing. His fingers glide down until they rest on top of her knee, moving it at the same time that he drags his seat back, their knees interlocked at the end of the effort. “Here we go,” The faint whisper is dry, making his voice sound impossibly appealing. “Comfier?”

“Yes, sorry.” She mumbles quickly before clearing her voice. Although the situation is embarrassing, she doesn’t want anyone at the dinner to realize there is a visible line of awkwardness in between the two. For a couple that supposedly fell in love in just three weeks, they have to act rushed and dizzily in love. “So, I brought that suitcase with a suit that you can try on later, but for now, I am going to ask you some questions and we’ll talk about our preferences. You have to know my entire life story; I have to know yours. Your tastes, what you like, what you don’t…and vice versa, alright?”

“Alright, Mrs. Im.” The name makes her frown deeply, a shaky breath leaving her lips whilst Changkyun smiles dumbly. “Sorry, I thought since—you know, we’re pretending to be fiancés, you’d end up having to use my last name…but…”

“Okay, I’ll have to get used to Mrs. Im.”

“Don’t say it.” The man adds after a chuckle. “It sounds weird. Let’s avoid saying that.”

“Agreed.”

Friends have never been a problem for her, she has had them, mostly women or their boyfriends, but having someone like Changkyun is different. They are not exactly friends, but whenever they talk to each other, any trace of awkwardness bursts into laughter, creating an atmosphere better than any candle lit romance. In the realm of her insecurities, Changkyun lives up to the expectation of remembering her tastes just after she tells him everything he needs to know. Her favorite color comes easily to him, as if he has seen her wear the shade time and time again. His lips wrap around the name of her first pet prettily, and remembers the story about how the principal had it kicked out because pets aren’t allowed in the academy. Enjoyment is what he shows through his expression, listening to her every word with his lips parted—like they always are—and his eyes concentrate on her, leaving no room for hesitance.

His mouth is runny as he speaks about his life, boosts about the important bits that he thinks are the most outstanding, some jokes thrown here and there that would have had her choking on her hot chocolate if she hadn’t finished it so soon. Changkyun has that magic within him, ones that people never talk about his fairytales, to be charismatic but in the most realistic of ways, bringing taboo topics to light and making it seem normal. Talking, to him, is a form of sanity more than an element of bonding, thinking that laughter is exactly what people need. Going as far as saying that it is what she needs.

The easiest part to remember about him is his distaste for anything that has to do with the academy. “You can do so much better. Be a teacher in a real school, that would be better.” He says, but the words die down on her throat with stubbornness. She needs to feel like her time in the academy was worthy, that she showed the Principal that she is better than whatever had been envisioned about her.

Just as they are about to leave, Changkyun insisting on getting a taxi back to the academy, they are reminded of the suitcase that had been coated in small speckles of dust through their conversation. She pushes the suit Kihyun had gifted her for him towards his body, watching his pout grow at the sight of a suit. Tank tops are his uniform, he says whilst he locks himself in the bedroom, and her mind goes to the branches of possibilities from this outcome. Surely, Changkyun has been having free pastries at the bakery ever since he agreed to be her fake fiancé, but something as difficult as that couldn’t simply be paid with brownies. Maybe, deep within him he just wants to spend some time with her…but…

No!

She erases the thought before she can further delve in the depths of romance. Ever said before, she knows romance is not for her—not the touches, not the commitment, not the non-committal part of it. Not because she is not capable of getting it, but because she doesn’t think she would be able to make it last, too ambitious to ever want to be glued to a man’s side.

The door opens widely, in such a rushed manner that she thinks Changkyun might have gone insane in there. His fingers hold the doorknob as he lifts one of his legs to hold in front of her gaze, the shortness of the fabric surprising her.

“You got this from the kid’s section?” Changkyun asks and she chuckles loudly, imagining the embarrassed expression Kihyun would have on his face if he was there.

“No. It’s my friend’s.” She comments, tugging him closer by the vest of the suit before clearing her throat. “The vest is not so bad.”

“The blazer fits me like a crop top!” Always the complainer, he adds, pushing the confines of his shoulder pads with his fingertips. “And this brassier in my shoulders, I don’t even know what it is, but it is not pretty on me or anyone under the age of a hundred.”

“Changkyun—”

“Baby, listen, just listen.” Pushing her away slightly, he turns around to lift the blazer slightly to show the high waisted dressy pants. “I don’t have enough ass for this pair of pants, sorry.”

Her eyes linger on the way the suit fits him, just not for him in the slightest, but she would never dare to say that, although he doesn’t see it, she thinks the size of his body and its proportions are just the type she likes. “Okay, we’ll have to go suit shopping this weekend.” She comments, swatting her had as if it is nothing before ordering him to turn around. “The bottom wasn’t so bad, though. You’re just exaggerating.”

“Say ass.”

“Why?”

“Bottom is so…so old lady, come on.” The man pushes, nudging her side with his finger only to have her scrunching up her nose.

“The ass wasn’t so bad. Happy? Now take me home, please.” Speaking in a rush, Changkyun’s smile widens at the sound of her voice before cooing at it.

“My pretty ass is taking you home, even if these pants don’t do me justice.”

She wants to retract on the fact that she ever thought Changkyun was not confident, for the man has his moments where his ego is taller than any skyscraper she could have ever visited as the daughter of politicians, and that is a lot to say.

⏰

Lesson two starts badly when Changkyun says:

“John Lennon is going to leave The Beatles someday. Mark my works.”

“That’s it. Get out of my home.”

She doesn’t kick him out, really.

In the dead of night, she pushes Changkyun inside of the academy, aware that most people are already asleep and that it is a high possibility that Changkyun won’t find a way to go back home if it’s not by walking, considering that taxies don’t roam around the city at midnight. Like a dream he looks, until he starts to talk as she preps the settlement of the dinner she prepared for the two, arranging the plates and the utensils for them to practice his table manners. It seems like he is far more interested about teasing her about her love of a band, constantly bringing up the fact of their separation. In some moment, when she finally closes the door of the kitchen so they couldn’t be heard, she slaps one of the forks against his head.

His mouth never shuts up, he never thinks about what he is going to say, but he simply says it. He wants to get to know the world far more than it is intended, for he thinks there are higher beings and conceptualizations that no one gets to notice, but he deems himself as powerful enough to get to know them. She listens intently, although Changkyun is talking a lot while she pours two glasses of orange juice, making sure to softly lift the chair from the flooring so it wouldn’t drag once she sits down.

“We are just one dimension; you know?” Changkyun says as he picks up his fork, but instead of twisting the utensil around to grab a bite of food, he simply places as much spaghetti as he desires inside his mouth. “Even in these meatballs, there may be smaller beings than us living their own lives. This word is filled with life and we think we are the only ones that matter.” He scoffs, the sauce of the pasta clinging to the side of his face and she chuckles at his antics. Her stomach folds when she reaches for him over the table, sweeping the sauce off his skin with her fingers before cleaning them on her napkin. “What?” Changkyun’s eyes widen when he looks at her, slowly descending back into her spot before placing her napkin over her lap.

“You’re eating like a dog.”

“Bruno and I share more things than an apartment, I guess.” The man jokes around, watching as a huge smile glues itself to her face. Some would dare to say it’s his effect and only Changkyun’s, to flutter her heart with a simple smile, to caress it with his words and keep it safe with his antics. He is opening up, and she doesn’t have the time to stop herself from following after his steps. “So, lesson two is about eating?”

Taking her fork in between her fingers, she shakes her head. “Table manners, Changkyun.” She tells him, fluttering her eyelashes before reaching for his hand with her free one, making sure that he is holding the fork correctly. “You want to slice a bit of the meatball first, because you don’t want to leave something out of the plate before you start eating.”

“That’s what people say before eating ass,” Changkyun indicates and she scrunches up her nose out of disgust, watching as he tries to control his laughter in silent shaking. “My bad. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Also, don’t say stuff like that.” However, her fake fiancé follows after her step, slicing a bit of the meatball before lifting his gaze to look at her as she speaks. “And you poke it.”

“Poked it.”

“Stop narrating what you do.”

“Stopping.”

Whilst rolling her eyes, her smelling senses remind her that she hasn’t eaten, In the depth of the night, they are two faint shadows bathed in the glow of a yellow light, the little stars dancing at the tune of their fake love, roaming around to hear their muffled steps, the candid laughter, the birth of a friendship. The beauty of something new that she hasn’t experienced, although very different from what she has already lived, brings some sense of purpose to her. “Now, after poking the meatball, you want to roll the spaghetti on the base of the fork. This way, you’re getting both parts of it, you don’t make the cook feel bad and you’re eating just enough. And you don’t have to slurp.” She comments, watching Changkyun’s fingers as they move quickly, wanting to get everything done with—or perhaps, he is just as hungry as she is.

After doing as she says, she notices that he eats with his mouth slightly open, but that is not much of a bother anymore. “Slurping is a big part of eating. It shows people you enjoy what they’re eating,” Changkyun tries to reason, already reaching for the glass of juice before he downs the bite he took of food, but she stops him by placing her hand on top of his.

“One thing at a time.” The scolding tone on her hushed voice has Changkyun swallowing quickly before taking a sip of the orange juice. “And don’t choke on your food. It’s not going anywhere, geez.”

“Okay, now that I learned how to use a fork. Can I eat normally?”

She shakes her head, following after her instructions to eat before speaking up. “There is more to table manners than you think, and since you were working this week, we couldn’t practice sooner. Now, you only have one more week to become the perfectly put boyfriend.” She tells him, watching as Changkyun’s expression turns into one of boredom. Her feet kick his calf under the table, hearing him release a shaky breath before she interlocks their legs, just like they did in his house. “First, you have to greet the people at the table. Not all of them individually, say a greeting, way until the oldest people sit down and you sit before the youngest, of course.” She indicates, hand movements a reminder of how many times she has gone through this lesson in her life. What a lady does to seem posh and put-together. “Be nice, help people with serving drinks and try not to make a mess. Always place your napkin on your lap,” Changkyun follows after her instructions, letting the piece of fabric fall on his lap. “And eat at your pace. Talk to people as you eat, don’t take too little, but don’t take too long.”

“Everything has to be perfect in this place,” Changkyun releases a big breath before doing exactly what she told him. “You prepared this, I imagine?”

“I did.” The embarrassment on her face is clear. “You don’t like it.”

“I love your cooking. What the hell are you talking about?” Raising one of his dark eyebrows, Changkyun lifts his body slightly before dragging his seat across the floor in the most silent way he could do it, sitting by her side on the table before resting his head against his free palm, the other one slicing a bit of a meatball. “As delicious as my beloved fiancé.”

“Ew, Changkyun—”

“Yeah, that was disgusting.” Changkyun chuckles at his own words before filling his mouth with more food, his knee resting beside hers and moving in a bit of a frenzy. Her mind makes out the idea of Changkyun feeling a bit nervous now that the date of the dinner is approaching, but that is almost impossible. “Can I ask for something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I really don’t want to say the cheesy lines.”

“I never asked for cheesy lines, Kyun.”

As if releasing all the weight of his body in a sigh, Changkyun slumps back on his seat with happiness. The sight alone is enough to make her coo inside her mind, thinking that he looks like a daydream whenever he wants to, even if he acts like a nightmare. At her stare, the man straightens his back before putting a single bit of spaghetti inside his mouth, trying to speak with the piece stuck in between his lips. “Let’s do a competition.” She hums at what he says, swallowing her food down. “Whoever slurps on a noodle faster has to gets to have another glass of orange juice.”

She chuckles at his words, but instead of denying the offer, she puts a noodle in between her lips, laughing at her reflection on Changkyun’s shiny, happy eyes. “I could serve you another glass if you want. We don’t have to compete.”

“One, two, three, go!” Of course he is faster, smiling widely when the noodle disappears in between his lips and he claps his hands together as softly as he can, soon after grabbing her face with his hands to show more of his pride off. “What does it feel like to lose?”

“It—”

“Lady!”

That is not the Principal’s voice, for the owner of the academy is far too old to even be awake at eleven at night, but one of the oldest teachers calls out for her, making her stand up from her spot immediately, as if she had just been kicked in the guts by reality. This situation has happened to a lot of people in the academy, most worse than she has had it—tangled in sheets, kissing in the laundry room, sometimes even doing so much as talking, but it has never happened to her, loveless as it gets. The old woman with rollers on her hair is so filled with rage her steps make the strands of her hair move, her fists tightening at the mere sight of the ‘couple’ being so close.

“Lady, I think it’s explicitly clear that we do not accept visits of boyfriends or fiancés to the academy late at night. It’s inappropriate.” This is the life that was picked for her, to be a ‘lady’, so polished and perfect that she is not human. She makes a sound of acknowledgment, lowering her gaze as she mumbles that Changkyun was about to leave, only to gasp when the man shakes his head from his spot, taking a big mouthful of spaghetti and meatballs.

“Nah,” He speaks in between a bite, making the two women in front of him scowl. “What is so inappropriate about me eating spaghetti with my fiancé? It’s not like we’re having sex on the ta—”

“Kyun!” She complains, pressing her lips together to send daggers his way, but Changkyun is a warrior, simply shielding himself and ignoring the stare she gives him. “Teacher, I will make sure to have him out the door in a second. We were just eating, like he said.”

The teacher scoffs, her wrinkled expression making Changkyun even more annoyed. She swears she hears him curse as she puts his plate away, along with hers, to serve the leftovers on a plastic container for him to take back home. “Yes, just eating. I didn’t know eating was the way of getting pregnant.” For a brief moment, the calmness of silence fills her, but Changkyun is not the type to stay silent when he is feeling threatened, so it doesn’t surprise her when he speaks only a few seconds after.

“It depends,” He intelligently says as his ‘girlfriend’ pushes him out of the kitchen, but he takes the moment to turn his back to look at the old teacher in the kitchen. “If you’re eating someone’s d—”

“Changkyun!” She says a little bit louder, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the entrance. Once the door of the kitchen is closed, Changkyun’s angry expression changes into one of fulfillment, waltzing in his step because he lives for making authorities burn in their own anger. However, once he looks at her, he realizes that there may be more to that statement. Standing in front of the door, she doesn’t know if she has to laugh at the situation or be terrified that the Teacher will end up telling the Principal and she is going to lose her job. “I am sorry. This academy…we have set rules and all.”

“Yes, it’s not your fault.” He tries to reason, hearing the rustling of a bag as she hooks it around his finger. The contents are, of course, the container with spaghetti and the full bottle of orange juice. It’s what he deserves, she tries to reason with herself. “I better get going before they tell us that looking at each other will get us pregnant.”

A brief chuckle leaves her lips at his words, leaning forward to rest her lips on top of his cheek, kissing it softly as a goodbye. “I enjoyed our short dinner.”

“We could have a real one soon. I’ll have to see if I have a free night and all…” The man whispers, watching as the Teacher comes up from the kitchen to glare at him. Only to make her even angrier, he leans down to press a kiss to his ‘fiancé’s’ cheek, leaving a burning sensation along with stickiness, all the pleasantries put into his tiny bit of mischief. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye.” As always, Changkyun’s back welcomes her with a good sight, letting her gaze trail down as she dreamily stands by the door. Someone clearing her throat behind her makes her stay away from her daydreaming, closing the door to talk to the Teacher. “I am so sorry I brought someone over at this time. Please, don’t tell the Principal—”

With a sigh, the Teacher fixes the rollers on her head. “I won’t.” The old woman points out. “Tell your terrible fiancé that the dinner has been rescheduled to three weeks from now, because some of the parents won’t be able to make it. Yours included.”

The thought of not having her parents over makes her smile, for she knows she will get even more judgement and arguments if they see her with someone they don’t approve of. Instead, she nods her head, rushing towards the stairs to go to her room. “I can’t thank you enough, Teacher.” She says whilst haltering her steps, letting her head rest against the railing of the staircase. “Have a nice night.”

Changkyun would tell her otherwise, though, but that is the magic of their fake relationship. They are so different and unfitting that they would have to really try to make anyone believe they are together.

⏰

There are memories that will forever be by her heart, engraved in such clarity that she feels like she can relive them, and her wish can only be to live up to that expectation. With the sun setting, yellow turning a rosé colored hue, mixed with orange and small droplets of blue, she thinks of the nicest memories of the past year. Her degree, for starters, received by the best of the best in the academy, all h0nors in her education, is one of the memories she loves the most. The moment one of the members of the academy fell in love, so truly and beautifully that it shakes her, just like Jiahn’s wedding. Countryside visits, all with the people that she grew up with, and the teachers that either left the academy or the spot by her side.

She would have never thought that having friends outside of the academy would come so fast and yet, so comfortably. Perhaps, she shouldn’t give either Woo or Changkyun the title of friends too soon, but it feels like those people have liked her for far more than just her manners; past the stuffy dresses and the fake smiles, a situation in her life brought a new set of memories with it, stronger and more vivid each and every single time.

In her little box of memories, implanted deeply in her heart, she wants to draw the shape of Changkyun—with his back turned to her, like always, not because he means it…but because their meetings are always cut short. With her magic pencil, she would draw the curve of his lips, always parted thanks to his mouth-breathing habit, paired with the wide nose that sometimes gets dusted by the graze of a shade or a color. His eyes, albeit prettily looking at her even if he doesn’t mean it, are always interested in the world that surrounds him. Not only the physique of him, she wants to portray, she also wants to bring the huge amount of things she has learned about him in just two weeks.

Two weeks of knowing Changkyun hates suits, but he also adores reading a good science fiction book. He prefers movies, quite clearly, and can’t sit through a children’s film without crying his eyes out. He doesn’t admit it, the clumsiness that he says is nonexistent within him, but she sees it shine in its brightest lights at every given moment that they have spent together on the daily for two weeks. Right now, as he is in his zone, in his own way of being an artist, painting another house just a few minutes before their date is due, he looks at her with a smile on his face, giving her his painting brush.

“Please, don’t ruin another one of my dresses.”

Changkyun scoffs at her words, looking up and down her body before shaking his head. “Don’t say that out of context ever again. I’ll end up laughing.” His voice is soft, for some reason after she has apologized profusely about having him kicked out of the academy a few nights ago, he feels a little bit more lightweight, much more knowing that they are going to a ‘date’ in a place that he enjoys. Although, he completely ignores her tries of pushing him to buy his suit sometime this week. “This is my favorite part,” Changkyun initiates. “The last bit that needs to be painted. It’s relaxing, in some way, and it teaches me I can actually finish something and change a place with my own version of art.” The deep meaning of such a mundane action sounds foreign in Changkyun’s lips, who simply drags her closer to him before standing behind her. “Come on, paint the last bit.”

“What if I ruin it?” She asks insecurely, looking back at Changkyun who is glancing at her, chuckling at her antics.

“How are you going to ruin an entire wall by just painting one line?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“Well, you fucking can’t.” Changkyun tells her, taking her by the elbow to lift her arm up towards the small bit that is unpainted. “Do it.”

A shaky sigh is what she gives him, running the brush over the small bit of the wall before giving the brush back to him. “There, I did it.” She tells him, perhaps a little bit scared of seeming dumb or simply having him laugh at her way of acting, but Changkyun simply smiles, putting the brush down on a container with some liquid inside it, perhaps to clean it up. His fingers reach for his backpack, unzipping it to get his shirt out of it, putting it up his body to cover his black tank top.

“Let’s get going, then.” Changkyun tells her, making sure to grab the keys of the house and locking it behind them. She feels weird whenever she is around Changkyun, because he has brought a version of herself that she never shows to anyone to light, and he acts nonchalant about it—if anything, he likes to see her as more than just a ‘lady’ or ‘the girl that gives him pastries’ or ‘Woo’s employee’. In his eyes, she thinks she is an interesting person, and that is something no one has ever thought about her. “You’re so going to love this place.”

Walking by his side, she hums at his words. “What makes you think that I’m even going to love something that is not rich, perfect, stuck up like myself?”

“Because you’re rich, but not stupid.” Changkyun tells her, looking up at the sky to have the colors of the sunset falling upon his skin. Now, the color is a softer shade of pink, melting into purple. “You know, you’re one of the few rich people in the world I have actually talked to and haven’t looked at me like I am some scum.”

“You’re not scum.” She points out, resting her hands inside the pockets of her skirt before sighing. “And I’m not the typical rich girl.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m a lady.”

“No, you’re not.” Changkyun adds in between laughter, finally sharing a glance towards her. His eyes are the most beautiful part of him, because he is always joking around, speaking his mind out in such a messy mannerism that she finds herself groaning at his words most of the time, but in his eyes, she can see intelligence. “Ladies in your academy are taught to be the equivalent of a piece of cardboard. You’re cool.” She smiles at his words, turning on a street as she follows his steps. “I wouldn’t have accepted the whole fake dating thing if I was embarrassed of the woman I would be paired up with, but…you’re nice.”

“Just nice?” She raises an eyebrow at his words, pulling one of her hands away from her pocket to drag him closer, wrapping her arm around his as they did on their first night out to his apartment. “You can do better.”

Changkyun seems surprised by the bustling confidence that she feigns to have, a habit that she is trying to take from him, but instead of clinging to the surprise, he laughs at her words. “Nice. That’s all you are. Nice.”

“Changkyun!”

Lowering his head slightly, as if to keep the secret in between the two, he sends a kiss in the form of words. “And gorgeous, inside and out. I look at your intestines and I’m like: mhm, what a fucking woman!”

“…You prick.”

“Asshole, you mean.”

“Ass…hole.”

“That’s it. Swear all you want, baby.”

A part of him radiates from the restaurant that he brings her to, even when it is totally inspired by some type of city in Spain, red and gold and loud with tango playing in the background. People are dancing, some are drinking and a few are eating, leaving a lot of work for the bartenders and very little to do for the waiters or waitresses. It’s just like Changkyun, difficult to miss out on, and he seems to be at ease even with the loud music, taking a seat in a place near people, wanting to feel like he is accompanied in the eventful night.

One would think Changkyun doesn’t know much about food, but he claims to be an expert about what is good. Fried food, that is his concept of a good meal, sitting by her side to point out the dishes that he enjoys the most, and all have the description previously told before its title. Excited he is, promising one hell of a night by teasing her with the idea of dancing as closely as those couples do in the dance floor, but she swats the idea away by laughter.

The staff seem to know Changkyun by the time he orders, calling him by his name and even going down and hugging him out of affection. The orders he gives must be his usual—seriously, she worries about his health—, for the waiter is gone by the time she opens her mouth to thank him. “You really seem to be popular around here.”

“I sang one or two songs here once,” Changkyun tells her, leaning back on his seat and extending his arms to rest his palm against her shoulder. The touch makes her feel comfortable, a burning sensation going up her stomach and burning at her heart. “I was low on money, still figuring out the whole painter thing and they needed a guy to sing. I know the chefs and the workers here.”

She bites on her bottom lip after what he said. “I didn’t know you sing.”

“Huh, I do many things.” The boisterous way he speaks about himself has her smile dropping as she shakes her head, sometimes tired of the way he changes every situation to a joke. “I’m kidding!” He tells her, grasping her shoulder tightly and moving her from side to side. “Tonight, I’m going to teach you how to eat like a real person.”

A throwback of Changkyun’s eating makes her turn to him with a petrified expression. “No forks?” The cuteness of her tone is supposed to have Changkyun melting at her remark, but he nods his head rapidly.

“Just our fingers, dude.”

“That sounds nasty.”

“It’s not, liven up!”

Changkyun is the type of man that wants to give her whiplash with this new sight of a new world she has gotten to see, stuffing more food into her plate just so she picks more up and puts it up to her lips. Laughing at her antics, complimenting her and embarking on conversation, there is never a dull moment for this pair of strangers. From far away, anyone could see the happiness in her expression, a new shade of makeup that she has never used, pushing at his chest when he gets her to the dancefloor simply to dance horribly, claiming that he has taken tango classes when it is clear he hasn’t (“Kyun, you know tango dance is actually from Buenos Aires and not anywhere from Spain, right?” “…Of course, I know all the stuff about tango dancing. I just look like a tango dancer, don’t I?” “Why did I even pick you as my fake boyfriend?”, they argue on the dancefloor).

The bill is on him, the sunset turning into the deep night, the smell of rain lingering on the air even when, through the fun times, she couldn’t even tell that it had rained. Changkyun is by her side, talking her ears off about something when in reality, she is just watching how his lips move with every word, perhaps a little bit buzzed on excitement and happiness. He steps on puddles absentmindedly, like he does not give a damn about his shoes or getting them dirty, so she does just exactly that, finding that she doesn’t care about the heels getting a bit stained. Not all days had to be perfect, she shouldn’t have to be caged at all times.

“I hope you had a great time.” Changkyun says when they near the academy, dragging his steps to make the moment longer and a huge breath leaves her lungs, because the concept of a great time has changed entirely for her.

“This is the first time I’ve felt like this,” The confession she gives him has him beaming with the same happiness, falling into a sweet grin that she would like to photograph to keep in her room, taped to the walls just like Changkyun has in his apartment. “You know, as a student in my academy, I don’t really get to go out at night. Or step on puddles. Or just eat without forks and knives and spoons. And it’s stupid, I realize now that it’s really stupid.”

“Stepping on puddles is all you care about?” The young man questions in between laughter and he watches as she does so, giggling at her own antics.

“It’s damn fun.”

“It damn right isn’t, but okay.”

“Let me live,” She pushes at his shoulders, watching as the academy comes into view. A few moments of silence follow soon after, making her realize that she has to come back to reality. This is the life that she has gotten to live, being a lady just for the sake of pleasing other people but not herself. “We’ll have to enter through the backdoor, but I think I can walk back there. Bye, then—”

“I’ll walk you there. What are you even talking about?” Everyone else thinks the option is pushy, that Changkyun is trying to fit himself into her life, but she is enamored by the idea of getting to see him for a bit more. The moment seems paralyzed, stuck in this tension that she can only describe as constricting, although yearned. The walls of the academy look less like a palace and more like jail as she nears it, standing by the back-door when she hears Changkyun speak. “I want to ask for something, but you can say no if you want to.”

“A cup of coffee?”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disbelief at what she has just asked him and maybe, his judgement is clouded—the Changkyun she knows would never give up on some free food. Nonetheless, he grabs her by the crook of her elbows, bringing her closer to him before speaking softly, unlike him at all. “I want a hug.” She nods her head, speechless beyond understanding, hearing the sound of his breathing when their bodies connect. The crickets are singing their tune in the near distance, but she can only think of the way Changkyun’s arms rest on the curve of her waist, his fingers tracing soft patterns on there. Her palms want to reach all of him, to claim him as her own just for one night, but she simply places them on his back, her head resting on his shoulder. The moment is sweetened even more when his fingers reach for her nape, trailing up to her cheeks to connect their gazes. “This…” His voice cracks a little bit, making him chuckle at the sound. “Can you imagine what would happen if I kissed you?”

Her heart picks up, thinking of the possibility of having his lips touch hers even if it’s just for a second. A kiss was never necessary for her, or even remotely wanted, all she knew is that people loved the feel of it, as if grounded by the simple touch of lips. It’s complicated, how her hands are practically tugging at his shirt when he says it, knuckles lightening at the pressure. “I don’t think you’re going to kiss me.” She wants to believe this, that Changkyun is just like any other man she has met. Trapped in between his own glory, egocentric past normality, blind and drunken by his ego. This only leads to heartbreak, to stairs and stairs to climb just to get to someone’s heart. Love is supposed to be easy, and this feels far too much like it.

“You think I’m not going to kiss you?” Changkyun asks, tilting his head to the side. Slowly, very much so, his gaze drags down to her lips. “Or you don’t want me to kiss you?” His tongue peaks out to wet his lips, out of a movie that she would avoid watching just because of fear. Romance is even worse than horror.

“I don’t think you will.” She breathes out, voice becoming a mere memory or a plea. She wants to convince herself Changkyun is just getting free pastries and a good time, not exactly following after his attraction.

“I think I will,” is the last thing she hears before she feels Changkyun’s lips softly pressing down on hers. Firstly, she is far too surprised to even react at the kiss, the simple caress of his skin upon hers making her sigh. Her hands drag up his chest, resting upon where his heart is, seeking sanity in the feeling that engulfs her and somewhere within her mind, she thinks she feels Changkyun grabbing her by her waist, pulling her impossibly close before he lets his hands rest upon her hips. Sweet laughter follows the short meeting, one that she can’t even look at because she doesn’t want to open her eyes. Maybe, he is disappointed. “Kiss me like you mean it, dumbass.” He jokes around, biting down on her bottom lip slowly, so softly she almost doesn’t feel him when he delves down to press another kiss to her lips. This time around, Changkyun is the one that takes the lead, and the dream that she has made upon a star for the moment to last becomes true. The warmth of his body seeps through their fabrics of clothing, his heart starts beating as fast as hers does before becoming relaxed.

Though Changkyun is not a man of patience, his kisses feel like he is taking all the time in the world to undress all she needs, all she wants, all she never knew she looked for. His fingers look for hers, interlocking together on each side of their bodies when he pulls away, resting a few more kisses upon her lips before finishing it off with a chuckle. She doesn’t know if he’s laughing at the situation or if she should open her eyes, but something inside her tells her to do it, and she is met with the most adoring look she has ever been given.

Changkyun’s lips are red thanks to the kiss, somewhat smudged with her lipstick and she realizes then that his breathing is raged. In hopes of taking his breath away, she wraps her arms around his waist and presses another sweet touch to his lips. “Thank you.” She whispers soon after, only to have Changkyun cackling, trying to muffle the sound immediately.

“You’re saying ‘thank you’ for the kiss?”

Shaking her head, she stutters out whatever she can say: “A-Ah, not that…I was actually thanking you for…yeah, the kiss and the night and everything.” The air feels so much more lightweight and maybe, this is what people call romantic tension. Changkyun lets his thumb rub against her bottom lip, biting down on his own at the sight.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” The seriousness in his voice surprises her, even more when he continues. “I kissed you because I think you’re amazing. I…I guess I took your first kiss?”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“I know,” He points out before giving her another long kiss, the sound alone making her smile against his touch, leaning closer to the point their chests are pressed together. The man stands on his tip-toes, tilting his head far enough so the kiss is stopped. The position is silly, of course. “No more kisses. Some teacher will come out and they will tell you I’m getting you pregnant out here.”

She chuckles at his words, swatting her hand over his arm before reaching for her keys, looking for the one that opens the back door and pushing it open, welcoming the smell of the academy. “Kyun…”

“Huh?” The man turns around, lifting his eyebrows when she goes towards him to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

“Get home safe, okay?”

Though, when he returns the kiss, she wonders if this romance is fake anymore. He isn’t her fiancé, of course, far too much of a stranger to ever be so, but she finds him incredibly attractive.

⏰

“I am not letting you look at me like this. I feel like I’m dressed as a clown, and I don’t really like clowns, you know? I’m one but—”

“Kyun, stop babbling on about clowns. Let me look at the suit!” She tries to speak to him through the changing rooms, smiling at some worker that looks at her with a stinky expression. In any other occasion, perhaps a month back, she would have cared about it, but now she simply tries to look away to stop stressing out about it. Just four days away from the dinner celebration, she is surprised that Changkyun has still not gotten his suit, for it took a lot more ranting and babbling to get him to finally give in and go shopping with her. However, after getting his measurements taken and trying on the suit, she can’t even see him. “I want to look. I am sure you really look handsome.”

Whiplash is what follows soon after, for she is literally swooped off her feet and kicked by oxygen when Changkyun opens the door of the changing rooms as quickly as possible, dragging her inside and locking the door behind him. The space is short; to the point she can feel Changkyun’s back pressed to her chest once he stands in front of the mirror. The first thought she has deals with what others would think; a lady like her getting into a man’s changing room and…simply staying there, it doesn’t sound possible, but the more she thinks about it, the more absurd it sounds. Instead, she tries to get a glimpse of Changkyun’s clothing, but he is covering up most of the mirror just so she doesn’t look at him.

Her arms wrap around his waist, bringing him closer to her and away from the mirror, looking up from his shoulder to see his reflection. Changkyun would never give himself enough credit for how elegant he looks with a suit on, like a man that is ready to kill with his stare. His black hair is pushed away from his forehead, his face leading to the most gorgeous black suit with a white tie to match, digging nicely on his waist, even more highlighted by the nice fitted pants and the broadness of his shoulders comes naturally without the need of extra fabric—or bras for the shoulders, how he likes to call them—. Surely, it doesn’t look like the Changkyun she is used to, but he looks breathtaking nonetheless.

Maybe her look of appreciation isn’t enough, for the man continues to babble about how he feels uncomfortable. She grabs him by the shoulders, giving a few steps back to feign checking him out. “The ass looks good in this one, and everything else does, too. I don’t know why you’re being so insecure.”

Going past the fact that she has just cussed, Changkyun plays with his fingers before clearing his throat. “It makes me look dumb and like one of those guys that are always at your academy trying to court you.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, per usual. “No. You look even better.” She pushes, wrapping her arms around him once again before resting a soft kiss on the fabric covering his shoulder blades, making sure that her lipstick doesn’t stain it. “I like you with your normal clothes, but you really do look great.”

“Do I?”

“Like a prince.”

“Ugh, I hate that.”

“Okay, then like a villain from a movie that rules a starship and is ready to take over the world.”

“Ooh, that sounds better.” Changkyun coos at the name, turning around and pressing his back to the mirror behind him simply to bring some space in between them. She is more-so stuck to the wall, becoming one with the uncomfortable woodened material, but Changkyun doesn’t seem to mind as he rests his hands on each side of her body, caging her in with a smile on his face. Faint at first, then bigger. “I would have never done this for anyone else, you know? I just have this soft spot for you.”

Most of his words take the air away from her lungs in laughter, but these ones make her heart constrict so badly she thinks she is going to have a heart attack. “I, uh…I…”

“My whole family has these big events at all times and I go there in a button down, but I wear a suit for you. That’s big.” His voice lowers lightly, letting his gaze trail down to her lips before pecking them softly. These past few weeks, they have only shared a few kisses—given when he is in a rush and he doesn’t have the time to think about the situation, or when she is really craving his touch, but most of the time she is lost in the limbo of not knowing where they stand. If this is Changkyun acting…then she doesn’t know what she would do. “I’m doing this for you.”

“I know,” She whispers against his lips, opening her eyes to see his are closed, lost in the trance of whatever is in between them. “So, this suit is the one for you?”

“If you like it…” He shrugs his shoulders, licking his lips before kissing her once again. “I’ll wear it.”

But her mind wants to stop him from kissing her, afraid of having her heart broken by the situation that surrounds them. She doesn’t know what is fake, what is real, if Changkyun is simply trying to prove to himself he is a good actor or he has actually caught these feelings. Maybe, he doesn’t even call them feelings at all, he is simply doing as he pleases, going with the rhythm of the beautiful nights that they board in. With thoughts that eat at her brain, she leaves the changing rooms, sparing a glance at the worker that keeps looking at them.

What would happen after the dinner? Would Changkyun finally come to the conclusion that this is not a ‘forever’? Would he lose all the interest he apparently has?

She doesn’t want to question it, but it lingers on her brain. It makes her feel useless, for she has never worried about romance and there she is, giving an ode to the confusion in her brain.

⏰

The first one to notice is Kihyun, squinting his eyes at the mere sight of the ‘eventful couple’, and that is enough to set her off. The evening for the dinner is set with candle lights, gorgeous piano music in the background, people dressed in their best attires, children laughing, couples sharing drinks and of course, her appearances in the kitchen whilst everyone is having fun. Long ago, she had finished the last plate for the dinner, but she is far too concerned about not putting up a good act to even go out. It is hard to breathe, half of her head is thumping with pain, settling mostly in her eye and Changkyun is simply standing there, one leg over the other whilst he leans back on the counter, plopping some food inside his mouth before he has to put the utensils to use out there.

“Everything will be fine.”

“I don’t think it will.”

One thing is pretending to be together in front of one or two people, mainly because they have never really tried, but another thing is putting on an act of being engaged. The Principal is somewhere around there, waiting for her to fail and she wonders what she really wants. On one hand, she has Woo’s bakery and the opportunity to work there full-time, knowing well that she is going to have a paycheck to pay for her own place. On another hand, there is the fact that she could pull up with this and simply trust Changkyun, that has done no less than excellently while greeting people with all the elegance of the world, even getting brief compliments from older couples and parents. Then, there are the millions of opportunities that she could pick from, like working as a teacher outside of the academy, or simply staying with Changkyun without really having to fake. It all goes through her brain and she is far too scared about everything to even go out.

Even the prettiest of dresses can’t mas her nervousness, and Changkyun stops eating for a moment simply to hold her, take her by the arms and rub at the skin there, pressing down lightly on the tension that she has in said muscles. “You’re even making me anxious. Relax. Everything will turn out alright. People are loving us thus far.”

She tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ears, aware that the cooking must have ruined her hairstyle, but Changkyun looks as relaxed as ever, as if he doesn’t really care about the setting. She wants the moment to end, unlike all the times that she has spent with Changkyun, because this is not him. This is not her. She is not this preppy, perfect lady that has simply decided to get married because that is what she has to do. She doesn’t think she even knows the concept of love anymore; she simply feels what she has to feel. “Are you sure?”

“I mean…I guess.” Changkyun’s lips pucker up as he speaks, muffled by his own thoughts. “What’s bothering you so much?”

“You.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighs, shaking her head before resting it against his shoulder. “Not you. Well, yes you but not in that way.” She tries to excuse herself, resting her chin against his pectorals before biting down on her bottom lip. “I feel so bad for making you go through this and now I wonder why I thought changing you was a good idea.”

Changkyun shakes his head at what she says. “I don’t understand it myself. I mean, I’m awesome as I am,” As always, he jokes around and for the first time in that night, she feels at ease. “But…if your dream is getting that job here, I’m helping you. As your fake boyfriend, as a friend.” The word ‘fake’ makes her heart do something that she doesn’t understand, her stomach becoming a mess of words, food and emptiness. She feels sick, pushing her weight off him and releasing a sigh before she hears the sound of the door opening lightly, closing soon after and then, her name is being called.

What she doesn’t expect to hear is the sound of a plate being thrown to the dishwasher, along with food that immediately gets drowned in the few droplets of water that were there. A gasp leaves her lips, although not audible, looking up to see the source of such an atrocity, for one of her meals is thrown down the drain immediately. The Principal looks at her, stoic and old as always, sharing a glance with the couple before lifting her chin in mightiness.

“What a disgrace,” Her mind can’t make up what the Principal is thinking, or why she has thrown the plate on the dishwasher. If she ever felt better, she doesn’t remember it, there is not a trace of that feeling within her chest anymore. Changkyun becomes her anchor, once again bringing her down to a more peaceful reality. “This food is not gourmet. It’s fried and distasteful. It’s…ordinary. My guests would have been repelled by such a sight, something as terrible as that.”

She tries to find the words in her mouth, instead coming up with a soft excuse. “It’s a new recipe. I found it in a book and I thought it would be tasty—”

“This is unlike you.” The Principal spits out and it has been like this for the past few years. After all, the Principal sees her as that useless individual she has to cook for the more important people; the women who are getting married, the men that are in businesses. Even when ‘engaged’, that is never going to change. “I don’t even know how you’re going to please this young man right here. Not that he probably asks for much, I heard the younger students talking about how he was painting the house in the front not too long ago.” The statement makes the Principal scoff to herself, but she simply gets closer to Changkyun, feeling how his hands wrap around her waist and tighten over the stuff material of her dress. “Is this the type of men you find? Of course, you have never—”

“She has never been like you, that’s why you talk to her like that.” Changkyun finally pulls away from her, his eyebrows frowned entirely as he stands in front of the Principal, shaking his head at the words the woman said.

“Kyun—”

“You’re so envious. She has always been exactly what you asked everyone to be but no one met that expectation for you. You wanted people to be like you, and when someone surpassed you, you went bat-shit crazy.” The way he speaks has the Principal blinking quickly, the color drains from her face quickly, and even she is at a loss of words. She knows Changkyun is like this, but just a few minutes ago he was so set in making this work. Her dollhouse fell a long time ago, but now Changkyun is playing with the crumbs. “She is the perfect teacher, everything you could ask for and more and I’m proud of her.”

“Of course, all you do is paint houses. You’d be proud of this.” The Principal points at the mess in the dishwasher before laughing bitterly. “It’s as ordinary as you.”

“Enough you two. I don’t want to hear this—”

“Your manners are up your ass, I see.” Changkyun points out, taking the time to look the Principal up and down before releasing a shaky sigh. “Get a life and stop trying to ruin other’s. This dollhouse fantasy you have, it’s sick. You’re creating slaves, not actual people.”

The Principal has a grin on her face, crossing her arms over her chest before pointing at the door. “Good, that’s good.” Her body is shaking, unaware of how her life is falling apart right in front of her, everything that she has believed to be her home is now being taken away from her, something within a lie and the truth falling in a humbled mess. She is a mess, too. “I want the two of you out of my dinner.”

“But, Principal—” She tries to argue, standing beside Changkyun to try to speak up.

“You were never even going to be a teacher to start with. Just get on with your man and get out of my house. Tomorrow, I’ll have one of the younger ladies taking your stuff in a suitcase to the bakery, but I don’t want you here for another second.”

It is not Changkyun’s fault, she tries to convince herself as the bruising heat of the night engulfs her. Changkyun is by her side, of course, having taken off his blazer and resting it on top of her shoulders, shaking at every sob that leaves her lips. At some point, when she realizes she doesn’t know what her life is anymore, she drops to her knees and lets herself get everything out.

Because she doesn’t know if there is a reality outside of the academy, too brainwashed with the idea of being a trophy-wife, of being this perfect girl. She has saved enough money to have a place, she has friends by her side that could help her, and yet…she doesn’t know if this is reality. All this time, she thought her life was set to be lived in the academy, and in just a month, a bunch of people had made a home out of her and seen her as livable.

People had seen her as worthy, and Changkyun is one of them.

Surprisingly enough, Changkyun drops to her side, wrapping his arms around her to speak his reality: “I’m not going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. I know you think this academy is the shit, but it really is not. There is no pattern for a lady to follow, and you know this, you are not a trophy-wife, you are not the amount of meals you cook for your man…you’re what you like, what you do, what you’re good at. I accepted to help you, but…but now I care about you and it sickens me that you want to be part of this.” The words he tells her make her feel at peace, but at the same time, the argument that surfaced with a person that she had cared about in the past aches within her. She looks up at him, watching the anger in Changkyun’s face dissipate to worry. “…You’re not mad, are you?”

She sniffles, covering her face in fear of seeming too weak, but that is exactly what she is not. “I am so confused, Kyun.” She confesses, pressing her face to her knees and letting a loud sob escape her. “I don’t know what is true anymore. I could find a new apartment, find a new job…and I don’t know if it will work for me. I really don’t…I really don’t know if I’m capable of ever meeting someone’s expectations.”

“You should only care about the expectations you set up for yourself.”

“That is easy to say. You have not been trained to be like me.”

“I haven’t,” Changkyun tells her, pushing his weight off the sidewalk to lift her up her feet, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a chaste, soft kiss to her temple. “That is more of a reason for you to get out of that place. Be the real version of yourself, alright? Kick some ass. After all, all those girls are going to feel bland after a while, because that is not a good way of living. Take this as a nice chance to start over.”

In his eyes, everything is so easy. Changkyun sees the world as a wall, ready to be painted over, all mistakes erased with the magic of colors, but she sees past that. She thinks there are more complexities to it, memories that stick to her, the judgement that always follows her. Even so, she knows there are other questions in life…but Changkyun is there, even when the entire ‘fiancé’ ordeal is over, there is something there. A romance that they silently talk about through their gazes.

At her lacks of words, she simply wraps her arms around him, crying even louder onto his shoulder and tugging at him for dear life. He is one of the few people she has. “T-Thank you…”

“I’m going to,” Changkyun clears his throat, letting his hands rest on her back before sighing. “We’re going to book you a hotel for tonight, okay? I would offer my apartment, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. So, uh, fuck, let’s go?”

This isn’t scripted, and she realizes then that the unscripted Im Changkyun is the one that she truly is falling for. Suit or not, he is incredibly important to her, as a friend, as a romantic interest, as the man that keeps her warm that night with the faint promise of everything turning alright at the end.

⏰

The ringing atmosphere of tango immediately buzzes her senses, pushing her boss through the door with quick steps. Woo is normally a man to spend time with his old wife, loving the way she talks him to sleep, or basking in their silence that indicates comfortableness. Some would say their love is more of a routine right now, but she always tells him there is more to it—there is love in silence, strangely enough, in the untold truths about romance. This is why he is so shy while she brings the couple over to the spot Changkyun introduced to her three months prior to that, when she was stuck in an academy that didn’t appreciate her.

Though, it is difficult to get over the little demons that float around her head that tell her that she was unable to meet the expectations of the Principal, but she pushes them away with another roll of the pastries on the counter, continuing with her work as a baker. On the evenings, she tries to do something with Changkyun…help him with his own work, perhaps, or get him to take a walk with Bruno and herself, and at nights, when she really is lonely in her tiny apartment, she takes up on reading and trying out for new jobs, grabbing on to that habit of Changkyun’s of filling her tables with newspapers and encircled job opportunities.

In between every kiss, she tries to put a name to it. She wants it to be called more than a ‘romance’ and sometimes, when either of them tries to push the words out, they realize what position they are in their lives—Changkyun is carrying around four works in his shoulders, and she really is trying to become a teacher, so they push the thought away before it is too loud. She clings to his side and he does to hers, like two different spectrums that simple ended up together in the same story.

“I’m going to look for Changkyun, but you can sit down here and one of the waiters will come soon after.” She knows where the man is, probably by the entrance to the kitchen trying to talk to the chefs, for he really considers them good friends. With a quick movement on her step, a highlight of the rainbow that follows after the storm, she finds excitement prickling at her bones, being the reason why she is there with her closest friends—her boss, his wife and Changkyun, for her girl-friends couldn’t make it.

Indeed, Changkyun is by the open door of the kitchen, talking excitedly about something that keeps his hands moving. The chef doesn’t seem so thrilled, telling him his own theory that is suddenly cut short when her cold palms press to Changkyun’s skin under his shirt. The man jumps on his spot, cussing loudly at her before a big smile appears on his face. The chef secretly thanks her, she knows so, and she thanks him, too, for having Changkyun’s entire attention is something that comes easily to her right now, but it wasn’t as perfect in the past. After all, their story started with brownies and a crazy proposition.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Because I wanted to?”

“Huh, that’s not the only reason.” Changkyun squints his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest before lowering his face to look at her as if inspecting her. “You’re hiding something from me.”

She chuckles at his words, pressing her palm to his chest just to feel his heart. A habit of hers now, because Changkyun doesn’t show he is excited or nervous most of the time, wanting to seem cool and poised, but his heart gives it away. “Before I tell you what I’m hiding, if I’m hiding anything, I need us to say all the cuss words we can remember.”

Changkyun chuckles at her cringe-y words, shaking his head at what she said. Really, she thinks it is stupid, but she is too excited to care. “You just want us to curse?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay, you start.”

The giggle that escapes her lips is inevitable, for she is starting to get more used to the language now that she is surrounded by Changkyun. “Fuck.”

“Ooh, we’re starting strong.” The man teases her before biting down his bottom lip. “Shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“That’s a long one,” She tells him, only to have him chuckling.

“Have heard that before,” He tries to joke around, only to have him taking her by the shoulders to shake her slightly. “But tell me what you wanted to tell me. I’m dying over here—!”

Taking one step forward, she feels all the weight of the world being taken off her shoulders when she speaks her reality to him. “I got a job as a teacher in a small school at the center of the city. I’ve made it.” She confesses, not even realizing what has hit her when Changkyun takes her by the waist, lifting her up in the air to smile at her before pressing a loud kiss to her lips.

“That’s my girl, fuck yes!”

Or maybe, it’s just a countdown to the time they actually discover they have been a couple all along. The truth surfaces in their loving gazes, all memories a picture could never pinpoint.

#i.m scenarios #changkyun scenarios #monsta x scenarios #monsta x changkyun #monsta x #i.m #kpop scenarios #writing #1960's!au #fairytale!au #fake dating!au #monsta x fluff #monsta x angst #monsta x au #i.m fluff #i.m angst #i.m au #so this is my first monsta x piece so.....it's long but i think it's good #i wanted to bring the fairytale concept to life so this is what i did #i know mbb need a lil bit of a lift me up and i hope this helps out with it!!! #thank you so much for reading babs

[sixqueendom]

New Fanfic: If Only You Would Listen, Chapter 2

So, after having a few requests to, I’ve decided to post my new fic on here as well as AO3. If you would prefer to read on AO3, I have included the link below! No real warnings for this one. Just the usual angst I'm sure you've grown accustomed to with my fics if you’ve read any of my previous work!

A huge thank you to Phoebe (@theatergirl06), Lilac (@timetoriseabove) and  Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone) for beta-reading this fic! You  guys are the best!

AO3 Link -----------------

When Catherine slowly entered Jane’s bedroom, she found her curled up in a ball on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, sobs racking her whole body. It was clear that Kitty’s cruel words had crushed her, broken her heart. Kitty had, in her moment of turmoil, struck the older woman’s weakest point and brought her tumbling down. Now, hearing her cry, Catherine felt a desperate need to console her. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, placing a gentle hand on Jane’s arm. This prompted Jane to prop herself up, making a futile attempt to wipe her tears, before Catherine enveloped her in a warm hug.

“You know she doesn’t mean what she said,” she soothed, stroking her hair comfortingly as Jane continued to sob into her shoulder. “She’s just taking her frustration out on you.”

Catherine was furious with the younger girl for her sudden outburst and, in particular, the unnecessary tirade fired at Jane. Yes, she had to admit that there were occasions when even she thought Jane was being a little overbearing on the youngest Queen, but she knew Jane had always been full of good intentions. Jane simply doted on Kitty. The motherly woman looked out for them all, but it was Kitty she had formed a particularly strong bond with. Catherine assumed it served as a coping mechanism for Jane, like a substitute for the loss in her past life. It was undeniable that anyone could ever replace her beloved son, but she’d seen Kitty, the young, sweet girl who had been so unloved in her past life, as an opportunity to be some kind of a mother and fulfil a desire she’d yearned for for years. To help nurture and care. She was so thoughtful: she always baked them their favourite cakes for their birthdays. She was patient, always willing to listen and offer sound and sensible advice. And, on the rare occasions where disputes and minor altercations broke out, she was the referee, always finding a fair solution or compromise and ensuring a reconciliation. Jane was undoubtedly the glue that held them all together. Without her, they would all simply fall apart. So, when it was Jane who was in pieces, none of the Queens knew how to pick up the broken parts.

After a few minutes, Jane’s tears began to subside. 

“Am I really that overbearing?”

Catherine drew back so she could face her properly. 

“There’s no excuse for what she said back there. None at all, and I don’t condone it. But the trouble with Kitty is that she’s never really experienced the unconditional love and care that you provide. Let’s face it, the poor girl was pretty much on her own, left completely to her own devices. I mean, she really did have a terrible upbringing. She was shunned by her parents, who showed little interest in her, then passed on to a neglectful stepmother who was responsible for the sorry mess that damaged her in the first place. She’s never had any guidance on how to navigate life, or been shown any affection. So, perhaps her idea of love is a bit skewed...a bit different from what say, you and I, would consider love to be. So to her, maybe it seems a bit much.”

Jane kept her head bowed. When she didn’t speak, Catherine continued. 

“Oh, Jane.” She gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “We all know you only want what’s best for her. She’s very lucky to have you.”

Jane gave a small smile. At least Catherine understood her. But there was another issue that was also gnawing away at her.

“We should never have shut her out of our conversations like that,” Jane shook her head despondently. “We assumed what we were doing was the right thing, but…” She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. Their attempt at keeping Kitty from getting upset had been futile.

Catherine sighed in resignation. “Maybe we should have included her more. But again, we were just doing what we all thought was for the best. We were trying to protect her.”

The group had collectively made the decision the morning after one of Kitty’s particularly bad nightmares. It was clear that the girl suffered enough in her sleep, so they decided to try and avoid certain topics when she was around, not wanting to add to her distress or further exacerbate her already horrible nightmares. It had been Anne who had prompted them, voicing her concern and wishing that she didn’t have to console her distraught cousin most nights. They had all agreed, some more enthusiastically than others, hoping their decision would shield Kitty. How wrong they had been. Instead of keeping her at a safe distance, they had inadvertently pushed her away. 

“I know you don’t like to leave things unresolved, but I think on this occasion it’d be best to sleep on it…let everyone have the chance to calm down. We’ll see how we all are in the morning.” Catherine had to admit she was tired, longing for the comfort of her bed. She got up to leave, but not before giving Jane another quick hug.

“What about Anna?”

Jane hadn’t missed the slamming of the door, followed by Kitty’s soft cries as she hurried upstairs. She’d assumed it had been Anna who had left, knowing the German had little patience with arguments and often knew when to walk away. 

“I’ll have Cathy listen out for her coming home. She won’t have gone far,” Catherine assured, pausing at the door. “Try and get some sleep.”

------------------------

Anna had decided to escape the chaos and clear her head with a walk. Whenever she was upset or angry, she always knew fresh air would help calm her down, rearrange her jumbled thoughts and make sense of what had happened. It helped ground her again. 

She’d been appalled at Kitty’s eruption, but the final straw had been targeting Jane. Yet, she hadn’t exactly set a good example herself. She too was guilty of firing words that she hadn’t meant. Now, she was beating herself up for uttering those harsh words. So, really, was she any better than Kitty?

Unbeknownst to the youngest Queen, it had been her and Jane who had been most opposed to the suggestion of cutting Kitty out of conversations concerning their past lives. They had, after some convincing, agreed, but reluctantly. Anna had felt the urge to defend her loyal friend in her absence, to make her case heard. She knew that the rest of them underestimated Kitty. Anna knew from their friendship in their past lives that behind that seemingly quiet, reserved facade was an intelligent and strong girl, with more resilience than anyone could ever know.

How long had this been brewing? How long had Kitty been dismissing her true feelings, pushing them to the side, tolerating their behaviour towards her and making her feel...worthless? How long had this hurricane been building before it finally reared its ugly head? What’s more, how had she missed the signs? 

As a friend, Anna felt like she’d let Kitty down in that respect. She should have checked in on her more, sought her out during quiet times of the day to see if she wanted to talk. Instead, she had continued as normal, not taking into consideration the impact their decision as a group could have on the younger girl. Of course she was eventually going to wake up and realise something was amiss. They had been foolish to think otherwise. 

She would talk to Kitty as soon as she got home, Anna vowed there and then. She would apologise for her hurtful comment, try to make amends, prove how much she meant to her as a friend. 

Anna owed her that much.

--------------------------------

Anne lay in the darkness, filled with guilt. It had been her idea, hadn’t it? She thought she’d been suggesting the best thing to help her cousin. Clearly traumatised from her past, Anne just assumed it was for the better if the Queens didn’t discuss any topic she’d find triggering in her presence. Whether it be interview preparations or just casual conversation, Kitty was not to hear any details or reminders of her past life. Instead of helping, it had only frustrated the younger girl, making her feel excluded from the group. That, alongside Jane’s maternal fussing, had left her feeling like a child. 

She decided to text Kitty, hesitating on the “Send” button. When she gained her resolve and sent the message, she heard the reassuring “ping” through the wall. She waited in anticipation, hoping her cousin would be willing to respond. The response never came. After fifteen minutes, Anne sent another message. Half an hour later, Anne, growing concerned, finally knocked on Kitty’s door. No response. Anne tentatively opened the door a crack. Still nothing. When the door fully opened, she gasped. The room was empty. In her confusion, Anne didn’t hesitate to press the call button. Her face paled as she heard the familiar ringtone, her eyes drawn to the lit up screen of Kitty’s phone on the bedside table. 

Anne fell to her knees.

Kitty was gone.

---------------------------

As soon as Kitty left the house, she had withdrawn as much cash as she could out of the nearest ATM  before purchasing a new Oyster card at the Tube station and riding to Leicester Square, where she hoped to blend into the crowds. It was one of the benefits of London being so busy; it was easier to hide in amongst the throngs of tourists and commuters. Sitting on the Tube alone, though, surrounded by complete strangers, she could feel herself getting anxious. Her determination began to falter; the cracks beginning to show. She forced herself to take some deep breaths, counting the stops until she could make her escape. 

She walked the streets aimlessly for an hour, just allowing her feet to take her anywhere. She wandered amongst couples, families, businessmen...people from all walks of life. All with a purpose. Everyone around her went about their evenings, and Kitty began to imagine their stories. That man in the smart blue suit was heading home to a loving family, a wife and two kids who would wrap their arms around him as soon as he got through the door. The young love-struck couple, walking hand in hand, were out on their first date, probably heading to the cinema to see a comedy and kiss in the back row. Then there was her, with nowhere to go. No destination in mind, no family or loved ones to go home to. As she grew more and more tired, she realised she had no real plan. She decided to check-in to a nearby hotel using a false name, figuring she could think straight in the morning after some rest.

But once she was settled into her room, it didn’t take long for loneliness to creep in. Realising it was later than she initially thought, she decided she should at least attempt to sleep. Crawling under the covers, wrapping herself up like a cocoon, Kitty prayed for sleep. But, in this unfamiliar place, with the constant hum of a city still alive even this late outside her window, it was useless. Instead, she found herself taking out the photo again. She gazed at each of their faces, tears pricking in her eyes as she realised the familiar ache in her heart. She missed them. 

Cathy, who was the only one guaranteed to still be awake at 2am, diligently writing, who she often sought out for comfort when, like now, she could not sleep. They had spent many an hour in her bedroom, just talking over mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows, gazing out the window thoughtfully at the stars.

Anna, her close friend even in her past life, who always cheered her up when she was down, cracking jokes and playing silly antics in their dressing rooms backstage; the class clown. Between shows, Anna always dropped into her dressing room to hang out with her and Anne. They’d shared so many fun times together: spontaneous dancing, lip-synching songs...just being, well, them. If there was one thing about Anna, she always brought out her wild, fun side. 

Catherine, older and wiser, offered good advice and a calm demeanor. She preferred to enjoy her mornings in solitude, engrossed in her magazine with a mug of tea. The rest of the group knew better than to disturb her. Yet, she made an exception for Kitty, who she occasionally invited to join her, letting her flick through the colourful pages of beautiful dresses and shoes she could only dream of wearing. Catherine would indulge her curiosity and fascination, each of them marking their favourites from the pages before giving their opinions and critiques on each. 

Jane...at the thought, Kitty felt her heart wrench. She was the motherly figure of the group, the shoulder to cry on. The one everyone could depend on for her patience, sensibility and empathy. She’d taken Kitty under her wing and treated her like she was her own. Whenever Kitty was having a rough day, she could guarantee Jane would bake her cupcakes or cookies to cheer her up, or get her out of the house with a visit to the city or just a simple walk. Jane always knew how to make her smile again. And she’d thrown it all back in her face. A solitary tear fell down Kitty’s cheek. 

Lastly, there was Anne. Her partner in crime; her beloved cousin. She was responsible for helping bring Kitty out of her shell, with her mischievous and loud personality. If there was chaos in the house, chances are Anne was the culprit. But usually, Kitty wasn’t too far behind. She had always felt she could be herself around her cousin; she felt more confident in her presence. It was Anne she often crept into bed with after a bad nightmare, the one she trusted with all her secrets.

As Kitty closed her eyes, she recalled their first show. How thrilling it had been taking their bows together, hearing the audience cheer and applaud so loudly. She remembered looking at each of the Queens and smiling, thinking this is my family. She had been so proud to call them that, so thankful. They’d been united by their past, awful events that they had revived and reclaimed. Proof that good could rise from bad. After all, it would have been easy to think six Tudor Queens reincarnated together, with past tensions, would have been a recipe for disaster. At first, it had admittedly been a challenge. Definitely not plain sailing. Yet, they’d put their differences aside and called a truce. They had become a family. 

Without them, Kitty felt lost. What’d she’d give right now to have Anne snuggled close beside her, whispering into her ear. To have Jane fuss over her, to call her just to check in and make sure she was safe. Suddenly, she regretted her outburst. She’d made a huge mistake. She just wanted things to go back to normal. She wouldn’t take anything for granted anymore. 

But it was too late. The damage was done. She couldn’t turn back now.

Instead, Kitty clutched the photo close to her chest, a pitiful imitation of the people she wished were there. Curling up, she allowed the tears to fall.

#six fanfiction

[panda-noosh]

No Longer the Same {Sokka x Reader}

Words: 9k

Summary: For years, Sokka thought you and him were the same. He was wrong. 

Genre: angst

Warning: nooooothing 

Notes: hello you lovely lil humans. if you didn’t have a good day, i’m going to be upset :):):) 

----

Children could be so innocent sometimes.

    Of course, you were a perfect example of this. Young and naïve, trying to make things happen that could never happen in a million years; it was the hope within you. It burned bright when you weren't aware of the corruption yet.

   There was plenty of said corruption, especially within the water tribes. Growing up, it was almost an everyday occurrence for you and your friends to stand by the edge of the ocean, waving off boats as they drifted off to sea. You couldn't talk to anyone who didn't have a relative fighting somewhere else, or died in the battles that were being fought just so you and your people could have basic rights, basic freedom.

    Back then, it was all you knew. You thought it was normal. You would wave and smile and run around like nothing was happening, when in reality, everything was happening. People were dying. People were getting injured, losing limbs, losing their abilities to a force that could have been settled if other people could just see equality for what it was – necessary.

    You grew up eventually, though. Not too fast, not slow enough that you were left blind to the truth until it was too late; your parents tried their hardest to keep you away from it all, but they knew the point where the line was drawn. They could see you gaining more and more interest in the world around you, and they weren't selfish enough to keep you out of that for long.

   It was at this point you realised you were different, though nobody told you that. You figured that out on your own, and it didn't take long. Growing up, you saw it. Sensed it, but not the hostility that came with it, the implications, the burning feeling of worthlessness that could have easily taken you hostage if you let it.

  Your mother bent down, pulled you into her chest. The sofa furs of her cloak pressed into your cheek, and you remembered that feeling more than anything else. Her voice was a whisper when it grazed your ear. “You don't need bending abilities to be special. You're perfect just the way you are.”

   At the time, you hadn't even understood what she was telling you.

  Sure, you had seen it. Everyone in your class at school could make cool things happen – water sprouting from holes in the floor, shapes appearing in the air that they could control with their hands. You were never been able to do that, but you'd never tried. At some point, you were even scared of it, wondering what kind of brain power it took to be able to do such a thing.

  You didn't worry about it until your mother was telling you not to worry.

  “But Sokka can't do any of that stuff either,” you said to your grandmother one day, following her around the kitchen with a plate of fish in your hands.

  She barely even looked at you. She never really did. Her eyes lost their warmth a long time ago, almost immediately after Granda hadn't returned. “Sokka might learn,” she told you. “His sister and his grandmother are very strong water benders.”

   You had frowned at the time, because the idea of Sokka having powers was beyond your imagination. That was one of the things you two bonded over – the fact that neither of you could really do anything. If he suddenly learned how to water bend, that would destroy everything.

  You told him this the following day. The two of you were sat against one of the igloos, sharing an ice pop. You only managed to steal one from your grandmothers home that afternoon, so you were forced to share it with him. You didn't mind, despite the argument you put up.

  Sokka screwed his chubby face up in confusion, licking a stripe up the side of the ice lolly before handing it back to you and wiping his sticky little fingers on his coat. His mother wasn't going to be very happy about that. “I don't think I'll learn.”

   “Why?” A common question for a ten year old; whywhywhy?

   Sokka shrugged. “Katara got the powers. I missed out.”

  “But you're older than her,” you pointed out, handing the ice lolly back to him. “Surely that means you should get first pick?”

  “Katara didn't pick. She was chosen.”

  He said it so whimsically, reminding you of some creepy mage in a forest, ushering little kids into their shrine.

    Sokka caught your confused expression and shrugged again; that was something he did often. Whilst you were constantly asking why, he was constantly shrugging. An answer to a question. Maybe that's why you were best friends.

    “Well,” you started, “if you ever feel yourself getting water bending powers, tell me. I want to be the first to know.”

  “Nosy.”

  ---

   That was when you were ten.

  The world had changed since then. Your thoughts had changed since then. Nothing was the same.

  Sokka's mother died.

   Correction, was killed. Right in front of Katara.

  Your parents fled the water tribe, heading for the Fire Nation in a battle they refused to give you any details on. You were left with your grandmother. You loved her, hated the life she provided. She was sad. Losing her husband and her daughter was too much for her, and she left you to raise yourself.

  Raise yourself you did.

  Your seventeenth birthday was just round the corner, and as per usual, Sokka was more enthusiastic about the date than you were. You enjoyed the celebrations that came with a birthday, but there was a certain responsibility to it that stressed you out more than excited you. Sokka, on the other hand, shouldered that rationed excitement and took it for himself.

  He jumped at you when he saw you, the day before your birthday. He had turned seventeen only a few months prior. His training for the army had started, and it was clear in the fresh build of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the way he walked as if he was constantly stuck in a line of soldiers. You had laughed about it multiple times, and he had waved you off with a, “You won't be saying that when I'm avenging our tribe.”

  Now, though, he was all floppy hands and goofy grins. He grabbed you by the shoulders, whirled you around and yelled, “Happy birthday!”

   “It's not my birthday until tomorrow,” you replied.

  Sokka rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Details, details.” He let his hands drop to his sides, and you didn't fail to notice the small blush that crept up his face when he stuffed them in his pockets. “Are you still coming over for your birthday dinner?”

  You nodded. “As I do every year. I can't believe your grandmother still cooks for me.”

   “She loves you.” Sokka wrapped an arm around your shoulders and the two of you started towards the Ice Market. “Your grandma is welcome to come if she wants. The invitation is still on the table.”

  You were barely able to hide your wince. It wasn't as if Sokka was oblivious to the state your grandmother was in – he was just too polite to take any notice of it. He gave you pitying glances every now and then, asked you how she was, even asked her how she was, even if she only replied with a faint grunt of acknowledgement. Not an answer, but typically more than she gave you.

  But Sokka was a firm believer in letting things run their course. In his mind, your grandmother would snap back to reality soon enough.

   Soon enough had dragged out through the last seven years. He still had hope, bless his soul.

  “I'll tell her,” you lied. “How's Katara's training going?”

   Sokka grumbled, his grip tightening on your shoulders. “It's all she talks about. All she complains about.”

  “It's not going well?”

   Sokka shrugged. “She doesn't let me watch. It's just her and Grandma, but she's always in a bad mood when she gets home. I don't think she's finding it as easy as Mum or Grandma did back in the day.”

  You frowned, remembering your mothers words all them years ago: she said Katara was a natural, just like her Mum, just like her grandmother.

    “Odd,” you hummed. “I thought she was pretty good back when we were kids.”

   Sokka nodded. “She was. Mum was teaching her.”

   You looked away at that, heat creeping up your neck. This happened all too often – your tongue would get too loose and you'd make some irresponsible comment about childhood and growing up, forcing Sokka to think about the mother he had lost to the Fire Nation when he was only ten years old. To you, talking about your childhood was nothing, a quick get-away, even, but Sokka didn't have that luxury. He had ten years of memories that he wanted to block out purely because his mother was no longer present to share them with him.

     “I don't know if Grandma's just getting old,” Sokka continued, his voice a sigh. “I don't think she's teaching Katara the moves right.” He raised a hand in defence, even though you hadn't spoken. “Don't get me wrong, I haven't seen them training. Katara could just be being dramatic – but I don't know. She's never in a good mood any more, and Grandma's always tired. I think the two of them need a break.”

   “So why don't they? Surely if it's that much hassle-”

   “Grandma thinks Katara needs to learn so she can be like Mum.”

   Sokka's words startled you. Your head whipped round, but his profile revealed very little. This happened when he mentioned his mother; he shut down. He tried to hide how much it really hurt to talk about her. The only sign he gave you that he was feeling anything at all was the twitch in his jaw and tensing of his arm slung over your shoulders.

     “She hasn't said that to Katara, has she?” you asked. “Your Mum was an incredible water bender. Even the suggestion that Katara can-”

   But Sokka was nodding before you'd even finished your sentence. “I know. I know. That's what I told her but she's old and I'm pretty sure she's going deaf, so she won't listen.” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. His arms tensed again; he seemed to realise that his muscles were a direct give away to how he was feeling, as he uncurled his arm from your shoulders and dropped it back to his side. “Katara already compares herself to Mum. She thinks she needs to fill in the gap she left.”

   “That's impossible. She's fifteen. It took your mother years to master what she's trying to do.”

  “I know.” Sokka hollowed out his cheeks. “I know.”

  The conversation died when the two of you entered the gates of the market. As per usual, it was full – as full as it could be when it was located in a water tribe. The population was fairly small, but so was the market. The cramped space helped you believe that perhaps not everyone had gone off to war.

  “Do you even want to buy anything?” Sokka asked. His voice was grim now, that twinkle leaving his eyes and his mouth turned down only slightly – just enough for him to be assured that you didn't notice, even though you did.

    “I'm gonna get something for my dinner tonight, I think,” you replied before nudging him. “And you, mister, need to get me something for my birthday.”

  Sokka raised a brow, glancing down at you. “What makes you think I haven't gotten you something already?”

  “I don't know. Maybe it's the years of watching you be an unorganized mess.”

  He hummed. “Fair point.” He nudged your arm, took a step forward as if to start sprinting, but his track was blocked when a small, chubby kid appeared in front of him. The two of you froze, looking down at him because he was looking up at you and for some reason, his angry face wasn't as cute as it should have been.

  It actually startled you a little bit.

  Sokka straightened up, taking a single step back so he was beside you again. “Hello.”

    The boy sneered. His black hair was sticking up in all directions and he wasn't even wearing a coat – he was what the world would often describe as a mini thug, because clearly he had some nerve walking round without a coat on.

    You and Sokka shared a confused glance before Sokka repeated himself: “Hello.”

  The kid raised his hands and water exploded in your faces.

  You spluttered, stumbling back into the crowd before Sokka managed to reach out and grab you, pulling you into his side. Water dripped from your nose, the ends of your hair, soaking into the thick material of your coat. Sokka was even worse, his jaw already clanking up and down with his new found jitters. His hair stuck to his temples, his eyelashes dripping.

  You would have laughed if you weren't also soaked.

  The kid, on the other hand, had no such qualms as he immediately let out a bellow that was far too deep for someone his age. He kicked ice up at the both of you before saying – in a kid-like sneer - “What are you gonna do about it? You can't even water bend!” His voice rose at the end of his sentence before he turned on his heel and barrelled down the length of the market.

  You wrapped your arm around Sokka's upper arm before he could even think of chasing after him. “Let him go. He's about seven.”

   “I don't c-”

  “Sokka,” you said, sterner this time. “It's not worth it. Let him go.”

  Sokka's eyes fluttered closed. He inhaled deeply, exhaled in the way you had taught him to when the two of you were only seven years old – you used to get scared when he got angry, so you taught him how to not be angry. At the time, you thought you were some kind of scientist.

  The fact that he still used them same exercises almost made you jittery. Almost.

  “Are you alright?”

  Flicking your gaze up, you saw he now had his eyes open. Your fingers were still curled around his upper arm. Now that he looked calmer, you let your hand fall back to your side.

   You nodded, running a hand through your hair. “I'm fine. It was just water. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”

  “That's not what I meant.” He reached forward, plucked at your soaked hair. “What he said. That didn't bother you, did it?”

  It did. Kind of. It was a subtle kind of bother, settling in your stomach rather than your head, or your chest. If you concentrated hard enough on something else, you could ignore it.

  You shrugged. “He was just a kid, Sokka. He probably thought he was being clever.” You tugged on the fluffy lapels of his coat. “Besides, we're not the ones that are gonna die of hypothermia.”

  ---

  The morning of your seventeenth birthday, and nothing felt different.

  Seventeen wasn't a special age. This was made clearer and clearer as you walked around your home, opening cupboards in search of something to eat – your grandmother hadn't gone shopping again.

  Damn, you thought. That's seven years in a row now.

  Your stomach growled, but you ignored it. You got dressed. You brushed out your hair. You kissed your grandmother goodbye and walked out the door. It was a daily routine, and the fact that you were another year older didn't change that. It was almost sad.

  Sokka was waiting for you in your usual hideout, back leaned against Old Man Partridge's igloo. The elderly man was a myth amongst this place; the igloo itself had been abandoned ages ago, with Sokka's grandmother throwing a story onto it for the kids to enjoy; that was how Old Man Partridge came to be, and why this igloo was the place you and Sokka met up at every morning.

  His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his lower lip juttering out. It was colder than usual these days, and even you had to pull your fluffy hood on over your head to keep the chill from clipping at your ears.

  “Took you long enough,” he called over when you finally emerged over the hill into view. “I've been here for a good ten minutes.”

   “As long as they were a good ten minutes.” You grabbed his hand before he could retort with some stupid comeback. “Let's go to the river. I'm starving, and Grandma didn't get anything from the market.”

   Sokka raised a brow. “Again?”

  You shrugged as if it was no big deal, as if your stomach wasn't growling, as if you weren't starting to get a headache from early morning hunger pains.

  You and Sokka arrived at the rivers edge and sat down on the ice mounds. The water tickled your toes through your sandals, and you smiled down at it, as if somebody was smiling back up at you beneath the waves. You had half a mind to dip your hand in, but you didn't get the chance to before Sokka was suddenly sliding a fishing rod into your palm.

  You looked up, startled. You didn't own a fishing rod of your own, couldn't afford one nowadays. Fishing was always just something you admired from afar, watching Sokka and Katara play about in the water until they finally collapsed and took their wooden fishing rods out of their bags and started fishing; you often craved to join them, but sticking to the sidelines was all you knew how to do. It was all you thought you could do.

  But this was a brand new fishing rod. The wood was freshly carved, sparkling with a fresh layer of sealer. It was slightly rounded, but there was edges to it that fit against your fingers perfectly – and in the handle, your name was carved into the wood.

  Your eyes snapped up, jaw dropping open, words evading you. You were a jumble of thoughts and emotions and words, but your mouth wasn't cooperating and you were fairly certain the sentence you wanted to say would come out as nothing more than a babble if you were to even try and communicate what you were feeling.

  But Sokka was Sokka. You didn't need to talk for him to understand exactly what you were feeling.

  He smiled sheepishly and looked down at his lap, pulling at a loose thread on his brown trousers. “Happy birthday.”

   You don't remember moving. You don't remember squealing, don't remember dropping the fishing rod and wrapping your arms around Sokka's shoulders. You remember the impact, though, of your elbows slapping against the ice, the sound of Sokka's amused and startled laughter echoing right beside your ear. You wanted to bottle the noise up and pocket it, a little birthday gift to yourself.

  You squeezed your eyes closed, hugging Sokka closer. He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other struggling to keep his back away from the ice. Eventually, he gave up and flopped backwards, you resting on top of him with your head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. The threat of tears was much too fierce for you to even think about looking up right now.

  “Happy birthday,” he repeated through laughter. “That's from Katara, Grandma and me.” He paused. “It was mostly me, though.”

  You pressed a kiss to the space just above his ear. Maybe it was a little too intimate. Maybe you should have aimed for his cheek, but you didn't care. You got up, dragging him up with you by the lapel of his coat. He was grinning from ear to ear, cheeks bright red, hands working into the fabric of his coat.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  You picked the fishing rod up, running your thumb over your name. “I love it.” You looked at him. “How did you know I wanted one of these?”

   “I see you standing by the edge every time me and Katara come down here,” he replied. “You think you can hide, but I notice you everywhere.”

  You pursed your lips. “I don't really know how to use it, though...”

   Sokka's face lit up. He scooted over to you, grabbed the fishing rod from your hands and said, “Well, this is where I come in handy,” and the lessons began.

  Sokka's excitement dribbled through each of his words. His smile illuminated the waters surface, distracted you for moments at a time until strict, stern Teacher Sokka would snap his fingers in your face to bring you back to the present. You would only smile, watching him close as he explained the basics of fishing, lost himself in his own teachings.

  You knew why he was so enthusiastic, even if the reason was sad. You didn't like thinking about it, but when the opposite side of the spectrum was so giddy and excited, it was difficult to ignore; he had never been useful.

  Of course, to you, he was everything. Your best friend. Your rock. The person you could turn to when the world was grey and it felt like nothing was going to get better. To you, he was the world and maybe more than that.

  But to others, he was Sokka. He was the boy with the dead mother, the cheeky little sister, the boy who wanted to follow his father to the ends of the earth just to prove himself. He was the boy who joked around to the point where nobody believed in him; his training was a joke to most people, a way to keep him busy, to keep his hopes up. You heard the whispers, and they angered you.

  And yet here he was, finally teaching something rather than being taught. He was good at it. He explained things clearly. He made sure you understood until the two of you were sitting side-by-side, feet dangling over the edge, toes barely grazing the ice cold water, fishing rods dipped into the cool waves.

  “Who needs water bending?”

  The statement startled you. “What?”

   “We certainly don't,” he continued, more-so talking to himself at this point. “We don't have an ounce of power in our system, and it's working out pretty well for us, don't you think?”

   “Where is this coming from?”

   Sokka shrugged. He didn't seem upset, just reminiscent. “What that kid said to us yesterday...”

  “Sokka...”

  He shook his head, waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the idea that was lingering in your tone. “I'm not upset. He just got me thinking. People really do think we're useless sometimes, don't they?”

   You stared at the side of his face, willing him to look at you so you could see just what it was that was bouncing around in his head. You were good at that, catching his emotions, trapping them in little bottles like they were fireflies and you were in darkness.

   But he didn't turn to look at you. He kept his hard gaze on the swaying ocean in front of him, messing idly with the handle of his fishing rod.

   “I'm sorry,” he grumbled. “It's your birthday. I shouldn't be saying this stuff.”

  “It's okay.” Your voice is hoarse, quieter than you planned. Maybe it's because it wasn't okay. Maybe it's because you want him to be quiet, want him to stop putting so much attention upon something a seven year old boy had said the day before.

  It almost made you angry, though you didn't want it to. You turned back to the ocean and fiddled with the engraving on the end of your fishing rod, willing yourself to calm down before the storm erupted and you were unable to stop it.

   You came to Sokka to stop the nightmares. You came to Sokka to get a break. You came to Sokka because he was your best friend, your light at the end of the tunnel. Having his words corrupt that safe place made you want to stand up and run as far from this as possible, because if Sokka has let society get to him, then there's no way in hell any of the other tribe members are making it out alive.

  The two of you sat in silence after that. Sokka knew he had said the wrong thing. He didn't apologise. You didn't ask him to. They were his feelings, whether you wanted them to be or not.

  ---

  The pain was unbearable.

  It pulled you from your sleep. It dragged you into consciousness and didn't let go of you until you were arching your back off the mattress and gasping for air which was too cold to inhale and too important to ignore.

  It started in your stomach, the right side of your upper abdomen. Like needles. Needles, needles, needles, prickling your skin, puncturing organs. You tried to stand up, but your knees were weak and your palms were slick with sweat. You reached for your lamp, ended up knocking it off the bedside table; all you could do was watch it smash. The pieces of glass were piercing your stomach – that's what it felt like. Your insides were a mess of feeling and jumbled pain and your brain was a mess of feeling and jumbled emotions.

  You tried calling out for your grandmother, but the words came out as a scrambled groan instead. You pulled yourself to your knees, balanced on the end of your bed, doubled over in the hopes that some pressure would help – it didn't.

  It really, really didn't.

  The world tilted and you fell with it. You tumbled to your side and screamed into the mattress as tiny fire ants ambushed your stomach, crawled into your throat, lit your skin up with invisible flames that engulfed your entire body. Your legs kicked out against your will. Your bare foot slammed into your bedside table and the wood splintered, but you were twitching and you couldn't stop it and it was painful and you had no idea what was happening.

  It lasted only minutes before the big finale. You felt it building, and for a minute you thought the rising pressure in your throat was a scream hauling its way to the surface. When you opened your mouth, nothing came out.

  When you opened your mouth, the world exploded.

  The wall, made entirely of ice, shattered into a million pieces. Water burst from the floor. The darkness outside illuminated with thunder as it ripped across the night sky, and it was then that the pain started to fade. It was gradual, allowing you to sink back into your mattress even as you stared up at the damage in shock; your mouth was agape, your heart beating to the point where you thought it was going to beat straight out of your ribcage and take off across the ocean.

  The wall was gone. Entirely gone, nothing more than a few ice shards digging into the ground. The floorboards were also ripped up, tiny spurts of water shooting up from beneath them.

  Your fingers trailed over your stomach. Your mouth formed words – a cry for help, maybe – but nothing came out. The stars blinked back at you, the sound of the ocean louder than ever before. Your skin was sweltering, sweat sticking your pyjamas to your flesh.

  Your grandmother stumbled into your room, took one glance at the wall and grunted in what you could only assume was displeasure.

  You gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  ---

  It was still dark when you stumbled into Sokka's house with your arm wrapped around your shivering grandmothers form.

  Sokka's grandmother wasn't going to let you sleep in a house that had no wall. As soon as she heard about what happened, she insisted you both come over and spend the night at her house, spend as long as you needed in her house until things were sorted.

  Sokka wrapped a blanket round your shoulders. You snuggled into its warmth, even though your skin was burning and your eyes were burning and your stomach was still reeling from the abuse it had taken moments before.

  Sokka sat down beside you. His knee brushed your own. The touch was too much, and you flinched away even though you couldn't pinpoint why.

  He was fresh out of bed. You could tell by the haze in his blue eyes, the slouch of his shoulders, the mess of his black hair. He tried to hide it, because he knew you would feel bad for dragging him out of bed at this time, but you saw right through it.

  “You should go back to sleep.”

  Sokka grunted. “How did I know that was the first thing you were gonna say?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Grandma told me what happened.” He pursed his lips, looking away. Your heart clenched. Even though you told him to go to bed, you needed him to be there for you right now. You needed him to not be weirded out by whatever description of events his grandmother had given him.

  You nudged him. He turned back to you, caught your eyes and looked down at the place where your knees met.

  “So you were a water bender this entire time, huh?”

  The words don't compute for a second. They were true. There was no other explanation. Even your grandmother in her deluded, unresponsive state was able to acknowledge that something had happened – something explainable, something that made sense but something you didn't want to admit to because it was terrifying to think that the self-loathing you had relied on for all these years was going to be ripped away.

  “M-my Grandma can help you, you know,” Sokka continued. “If you want to learn how to control it, she knows how.”

  You shook your head. “I don't want to use it.”

  “It's a part of you.”

  “It hasn't been a part of me for seventeen years. I've never needed it. I've never wanted it. I especially don't want it now.”

  “You sound awfully ungrateful.”

  Your head whipped round. Sokka raised his hands in mock defence.

  “I'm just saying. I would do anything to wake up one morning and be able to bend. Do you know what this means?”

   There was genuine excitement in his eyes. It broke your heart.

  He shook his head dumbly, gazing out at the living room – his living room. The living room you had infiltrated because you had lost control of yourself and destroyed the only home you ever had.

  “I'm happy for you, Y/N,” he said. “This is gonna be the start of something awesome for you – I can tell.”

  “It won't be.”

  He frowned, forehead creasing. “Stop being so negative-”

  “I don't want it.” Your tone was harsh, but you didn't reign it in. “I liked what we had before. I liked that we didn't have bending powers. I liked that we didn't have the responsibility.”

    Sokka was silent for a little while. “If it's me you're worried about, don't. I'll be fine.”

  You wanted to believe that. In every sense he had showed that he didn't care what others thought. He was perfectly happy being himself, with or without bending abilities, and yet when you looked at him now, you couldn't miss the twitch in his jaw, the way he clenched his hands, the way he refused to look back at you.

  He was more hurt about this revelation than he let on. He was realising that maybe he was more on his own than he originally thought.

  ---

  You knew word would get around fast. That didn't make you want it any more.

  The onslaught of curious eyes and questions was nauseating. People popped up from nowhere, asking you howhowhowhow and you wanted to answer them, but there was no answer to give; you didn't know. You didn't want to know, because coming to the conclusion that you had gone from one end of the Weird Spectrum to the other was too much for your mangled brain to take right now.

  Sokka glanced over at you, biting his bottom lip. He had been oddly quiet since the two of you woke up, though he tried to hide his emotions through smiles and hand-waving and pretending everything was alright when you knew it wasn't. Both of you knew it wasn't. Something was going on with you, and you didn't want to admit it.

  “We can go back to my house,” Sokka said after yet another person had come up to bombard you with questions. “We don't have to stay out here. Grandma and Katara have gone to train-”

  “It's okay.” Your words were abrupt, leaving no room for argument. “I'm fine.”   Sokka nodded. He had the decency not to push you any further than you were comfortable with, but the thrill of confusion buzzed off him just as much as it buzzed from everyone else; the thing with Sokka, though, was that he knew you better than anyone in the entire world. He could take one look at your expression and just know then and there that talking about last nights mishap was the last thing you wanted to do.

  So he let the subject drop.

  He let the subject drop, and silence consumed you, and you were engulfed in the feeling of your fingers fizzing up, bubbling over with the need to do something.

  It had been like that all morning. From the moment you opened your eyes, you felt different; in the beginning, you blamed it on the exhaustion. You had been woken up in the middle of the night with an indescribable pain, hadn't managed to go back to sleep until Sokka had crawled into bed behind you. But it was more than exhaustion that was clawing to the centre right now – it was power. Pure power that had waited seventeen years to finally be unleashed; it wasn't waiting.

  His hand covered your own. The feel of his fingers dragged you back to reality, forcing you to release a breath you hadn't even realised you'd been holding. Slowly you shifted your gaze until you were looking at him, and he looked right back. There was a tilt to his head, a small smile on his lips that just said Sokka.

  You flipped your hand around until your fingers were intertwining with his. “Maybe we should go and see Katara and your grandmother.”

  ---

  “Oh, Y/N, sweetie, it's so good to see you out of the house.”

   Sokka's grandmother slapped a kiss to your face, wrapping you in her arms before she had even glanced at her grandson. He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out as if to say gross before she pulled away from you and he forced a smile.

  “And you,” she said, pointing a knobbly finger in his direction. “You shouldn't have kept them hidden away in your room all day. The poor thing probably has no idea what to do with their new abilities.”

   You winced. “Actually, I don't plan on doing much with my abilities.”

  His grandmother froze, her lips inches away from Sokka's cheek. Her grey eyes snapped round to look at you, and never before had you felt so under the scope. Sokka often wore his emotions on his face, but his grandmother's expression was made of steel.

  That made it even worse.

  You shifted awkwardly, glancing to the floor. “I just came here to ask if there was anything I could do to make this feeling go away.”

   She slowly peeled herself away from Sokka, raising a brow. “Feeling?”    “You know.” You showed her your palms as if that would explain it all. “The feeling. Like there's fire ants crawling up my skin or something.”

    His grandmother stared at you. She wasn't looking at your fingers, wasn't interested in the awkward shift of your demeanour as you tried – and failed – to make yourself seem comfortable in her presence. Once upon a time, Sokka's grandmother had been almost like a second grandmother to you, but things had changed. She looked at you with a glint of appreciation in her eyes that wasn't there before – to anyone else, this would have been a good thing, but to you, it was different. It was strange and you didn't want to deal with the unfamiliarity of it all.

  “It's normal, right?” Sokka stepped up beside you, grabbed your hand and inspected your fingers for himself. “Y/N isn't going to combust all of a sudden, are they?”

   “The power wants released,” his grandmother replied. Her eyes were still burning holes into your own. “You can live with this feeling forever by not giving in, or you can learn to control your abilities.”

   Bile rose in your throat. You squeezed Sokka's fingers, even though you didn't want to, even though he could already tell exactly what those words did to you. “I don't want to.”

    “I can help you,” she said. “This isn't a journey you have to take on your own.”

   “Yeah, Y/N!” Katara exclaimed. Throughout the conversation, she had been busy practising her own water bending abilities. “You and I can train together.”

   You shook your head. “I don't want to.”

  “Y/N, don't get-” Sokka began, but his grandmother cut him off.

  “You're afraid of who you are, Y/N. That in itself is going to rip you apart from the inside out.”

   Your breath was ragged. Your hands were trembling. You balled them into fists, tried to breathe, tried to remind yourself that none of this was a big deal. Water bending wasn't extinct. It wasn't going to kill you. Just because you were unfamiliar with it, didn't make it dangerous.

  And yet you couldn't stop the images of dead bodies flashing through your mind. Battle fields. Faces of people you knew twisted into screams of agony as water burst from their insides and the world collapsed around them; having bending powers wasn't a blessing, and it certainly wasn't something you wished for.

  Sokka leaned in. His lips were inches from your ear, his breath making your hair whisp around your face when he spoke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

   You swallowed, brought yourself together before you squeezed his fingers again and turned back to the friendly old woman. “So there's nothing I can do about this feeling? I'll just have to put up with it?”

   Her wrinkled face fell. It was disappointment, and it made your heart squeeze, but you couldn't take her offer.

  “If that's what you choose to do, then yes,” she said. “It will only get worse.”

  “Okay, that's enough now,” Sokka exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and turning you towards the exit. “This was a lovely little chat, but I'm afraid Y/N and I have places to be, people to impress, a failed birthday to celebrate! See you at dinner!”

  You stumbled after him, hissed his name no matter how grateful you were for his distraction. He sent you a cheeky, knowing grin before the two of you disappeared. You pushed all thoughts out of your head, deciding then and there to just enjoy your time with Sokka.

  ---

  You were going to die.

  Fire ants. Fire ants. Fire ants, living in your skin, burrowing in your veins, sinking their teeth into your flesh. Fire. Fire. Fire. It burned. It ran up your arms. It sprinted through your system, snapping open your sweat ducts until your mattress was damp and your hair was glued to your forehead.

  You tried to keep it in, tried to bottle up the scream that was fighting its way to the surface, but it was impossible. It ripped from your throat, sounded out through Sokka's bedroom, bounced off the walls and echoed back to you. It taunted you. It teased you, called you cowardly, made fun of you-

  Sokka's fingers splayed across your stomach, pushing you back into the mattress even as you writhed and arched away from it.

  “Y/N? Y/N, oh god, what's happening? What's going on?” His voice was distressed but distorted in your ears.

  You shook your head ravenously, unable to form words that could answer his question. There was an answer there, playing on the tip of your tongue because you knew what the problem was – you felt it intuitively, scratching at your insides, refusing to let you think it was anything other than exactly what it was.

  Sokka scooped you up in his arms. He ran. Your head bounced against his chest. Your fingers prickled. The fire ants were loose. They were loose and hungry and refusing to show you any mercy – you didn't deserve mercy. You knew you didn't. You made this choice, the choice to ignore what was building up inside of you, and it was finally coming back to bite you.

  “Sokka,” you choked out, gripping his shirt. He didn't stop running, but his blue eyes flicked down. “Sokka, you need to let me down. This is dangerous. I need – I need to – I need to-” Your words were blocked by a scream.

  Sokka winced, but did exactly as you told him. He set you down on the sofa, immediately ran his hands through your sweat soaked hair, pushing it away from your forehead. His hands were cold – they always were – but it did little to soothe the all-consuming burn that engulfed your body.

  “What's going on?” he whispered, voice trembling. “Tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

  “I don't – I don't know what to d-do,” you choked out. “I think it's the – the w-water bending.”

  His eyes lit up. “You ignored them. You said you didn't want to-”

  “I know.” You winced, curling a hand around your stomach. “I know w-what I said, b-but I d-don't t-think ignoring th-them is an o-option any more.”

  “Then you won't. I'll go get Grandma. She can help you.”

  He stood up, darted towards the door before turning to look at you over his shoulder. He opened his mouth. There were words there, but he did not speak them. He didn't really need to. His blue eyes softened. He offered you a smile, and then he started back down the hall in search of his grandmother.

  ---

  Training was difficult and tiring, and far from what you wanted to do, but it was the only option, and you were slowly learning to get used to it being part of your daily routine.

  You trained alongside Katara, her grandmother yelling orders and directions from the corner of the river. Katara was good, but you were getting better and better everyday – Sokka's grandmother claimed it was because your powers had been waiting for the moment they could release themselves, whereas Katara had been gradually building throughout her entire life.

  It was a relief. You no longer went to bed feeling one hundred pounds heavier, no longer woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Your grandmother was no longer scared of you. Everything was working out exactly how it should have.

  But Sokka was a different story.

  He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well. He was a sensitive man, whether he showed that to the world or he didn't. You could read him like an open book, and the fact that he was doing everything in his power to avoid the topic of your new-found water bending abilities spoke volumes.

  He was feeling more worthless than ever before, and it broke your heart to see.

  You invited him to watch you train that afternoon, purely because you knew he had nothing else to do. The idea of him walking around on his own, waiting for you to finish up with that sad expression on his face made your heart clench; having him beside you would be refreshing, would maybe open his eyes to what it was you were actually doing.

  He stood by the waters edge, hands stuffed in his pockets and head tilted back. His eyes were closed, the sun beaming down on his already golden skin, illuminating it even more. His throat bobbed every time he swallowed. It was mesmerizing.

  Water crashed into the side of your face.

  You stumbled, just barely managing to grab on to a branch and tug yourself back onto the rock you were balancing on. A single look at Katara told you she found her surprise attack very funny.

  “I wasn't ready,” you grumbled, waving your hand and tossing water back in her direction. It didn't hit her face; you didn't want it to. It soaked the bottom of her dress, made her frown, and that was good enough for you.

  “He looks like a lost puppy over there, you know,” Katara said. “Why did you invite him here in the first place?”

  You raised a brow. “He has every right to be here.”

   “I never said he didn't. He just looks like he doesn't actually want to be here.”    You frowned and glanced over your shoulder; there he stood, still as a statue, eyes darting to and fro. He did look incredibly awkward. As soon as he saw you looking at him, he forced that fake smile onto his face and waved. You waved back slowly before turning back to Katara.

  “I don't know what's wrong with him. He's been like this since-”

   “Since he woke up to see you dying at the side of him.”

   You winced. “I didn't think it scared him that much...”

   “He was terrified.” There was disbelief in her tone, as if she couldn't believe you would think any differently. “Like, terrified. I've never seen Sokka like that – trembling, crying, barely able to talk kind of terrified.”

    Your heart clenched. “It was a crazy night.”

  “Plus, it can't be very nice to be in your shadow now.” She said this casually. However, your heart jumped.

  Your head whipped round, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean? Sokka isn't in my shadow – he's never been in my shadow.”

   “He is now,” said Katara. “You're all anyone talks about nowadays. People don't even care that Sokka went up a rank in his training. They don't even care that he now knows how to tie fourteen different types of knots in five seconds flat, and then undo them in ten seconds flat. He was really proud of himself, and nobody else was.”

  Your mouth was running dry, mind reeling at a thousand miles per hour. Of course you had listened when he was talking about these achievements. You were the first person he told, and you had given him the exact same enthusiasm back – that didn't mean everyone else had, though.

  You swallowed down the golf ball sized lump in your throat, flicked some water up before you mumbled, “I think I need to go and talk to him.”

    Katara's eyes lit up. “Now? We're still training!”

   But you were already jumping from rock-to-rock, back towards the waters edge. “I'll make it up to you. I promise!” For now, you had more important things to worry about.

  Once you made it back to land, you headed directly for Sokka. He raised a brow, opened his mouth to say something but you gave him no chance; you looped your arm through his and dragged him back into the trees.

   “Woah, woah, woah!” he exclaimed, stumbling to catch himself. “Is your training over already?”

   “I can tell when you don't actually care, you know,” you said.

  He frowned. “Alright then... what's wrong?”

  “You know I love you, right?” It was the first thing you could think to say, the first message you needed to make exceptionally, exceptionally clear.

  Sokka blushed, stuffed his hands back into his pockets. It made your heart ache with fondness. “I know that.”

  “And you know I'll keep loving you no matter what happens, right?”

  “Y/N, what is this about?”

 “Right?”

  Sokka looked up and nodded. “Right.”

    “The fact that I've got water bending abilities doesn't change anything between us. And it doesn't make you any less of a person.”

    His face fell. It was the moment he realised what this conversation was really about, the moment he understood that these emotional mood swings he had been dealing with weren't as subtle as he thought – at least not to you.

  “Y/N...,” he mumbled, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

  “You're incredible,” you said. Even you were startled by your own words, but pushed on because you were telling the truth. “You're brave, and talented, and you have every bit of potential to do whatever you want to do, whether you do it with water bending or not.”

   He blushed again. Your heart beat raced. “It would be better if I could do it with water bending-”

  “Sokka, no. Get that out of your head right now.”

   “Don't be so bossy.”

  You closed your eyes, inhaled slowly. “I just – I hate the thought of you thinking you're less than amazing just because you can't water bend.”

  For the first time in a long time, Sokka's breath caught in his throat. You heard it, the sharp little gasp that he tried to cover with a cough, failing miserably in the process. His eyes burned holes into the side of your head until you were all but forced to look at him, get a glimpse of what was going on behind the false emotions he put on show.

   He stepped forward and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why do you care about me so much?”

   The question startled you, because the answer was obvious. It was a light constantly flashing in every word you said, a little kid yelling for attention – that was what you always set it up to be.

  “Because I love you,” you whispered, and maybe the words meant more than you let on, and maybe he knew, but he said nothing and you were okay with that.

  Sokka's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He was quiet. His hand drifted up, gently cupped your jaw, his thumb trailing beneath your eye and it was only then did you realise you were getting emotional. The tears were dotting your water line; you blinked to get rid of them, but they were already seen.

  Sokka smiled lightly. It wasn't much, barely a hint of what you knew he could show you, but you didn't complain. It looked real. It was real. You hadn't realised just how much you craved to see a genuine look of happiness on his face these past few days.

  “I'm sorry.”

  Your eyes snapped up. “What?”

  “I'm sorry,” he repeated, voice still soft, hand still pressed to your cheek. “I should be happy for you. You're a water bender – that's such a big deal, and all I could think about was the fact that I'm on my own now.”

  “You're not on your own.” The words were ripped from your chest, desperate.

  He chuckled breathily. “I know. I know that. Of course I know that, god, but I already felt so useless before – at least I could feel useless with you by my side.” He looked away, smile fading. “I can't do that any more.”

  “You're not useless. You've never been useless.” You reached up and pressed your hand over his own. His palm was firm against your cheek now, but his touch was still soft, still full of care. “Remember when we were younger, the night your mother died and your father went away?”

   Sokka stiffened. You gripped his fingers a little tighter, urging him not to let the memories whisk him away, urging him to stay with you.

  “Do you remember?” you whispered.

  Sokka bit his bottom lip, nodded anyway.

  “Katara was distraught. She was paralysed, Sokka, and you can't tell me she wasn't, because I saw her that night. I saw her curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth – and I saw you gathering up all of her stuff, grabbing the canned goods and the good fish. I saw you doing everything you could to make sure she was okay.” Your other hand came up and rested on his heart. “I see you nowadays, training and doing what you love, and I know you're gonna make this world a better place. You're gonna be part of the reason we finally find peace in the long-run. I know you are.”

  Sokka's heart raced beneath your fingers. His eyes never left your own. He didn't once step away from you; it was weirdly perfect. The weight of words could sometimes be crushing, but Sokka stood up straighter now, pulled up by the reassurance that he was enough, always would be enough, always had been enough.

  “Do you think Mum would be proud of me?” His voice cracked. Your heart shattered.

  “More proud than I will ever be able to tell you,” you whispered.

  “Are you proud of me?”

  Your breath hitched. “God, yes.”

     And he kissed you.

  Unexpectedly and unpractised but perfect in every sense of the word. His lips fit over yours, his nose brushing your own, his eyes fluttering closed once he realised that you wanted this just as much as him; it was a risk. Years upon years worth of friendship could be destroyed in a matter of seconds, but as soon as his lips met your own, as soon as his hands were curling over your waist and dragging you into him, you knew that couldn't happen because you and Sokka were different, and the world was just going to have to put up with that.

  Water exploded from the river, tiny droplets spilling over the trees and dousing you and Sokka, but neither of you pulled away. Sokka merely grinned against your mouth, water dripping from the point of his hair which had now fallen loose from the bun he always had it in. You giggled, breaking the kiss – Sokka had the nerve to groan at the disconnect.

  “That was you, wasn't it?” he whispered.

  You nodded, still grinning brighter than you ever had before. “I think so.”

   He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “My talented little water bender.”

#avatar the last airbender #atla #atla fic #atla fanfic #sokka fic #sokka fanfic #sokka atla fic #sokka atla fanfic #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar the last airbender fanfic #avatar fic #avatar fanfic

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Review Response, June 21-27, 2020

Well, I guess the DE update doesn’t exist. So I’ll see that story again in Valentine’s Day.

But a miracle has happened in this week, so... yay!

Destiny #017

1)  Hi! I know, long time no see. I’m incredibly sorry for not reviewing sooner, but I guess better late than never, huh? In any case I’m here to stay! Reading this chapter reminded me of how interesting this story really is and I can’t wait to read more. But seeing as it’s been some time I’m going to reread it in order to freshen my memory (I decided to review anyways since I can still review the quality of your fic, which is as I remember, very good). I admit when Peter first mentioned that Ruby was easy to control because of his lack of control over his emotions (and whatnot) unlike Sapphire, I was a bit confused. Wouldn’t it be the other way? I thought to myself, but then I remembered that Sapphire had done some growing up herself. She might’ve not had as much control previously but she certainly does now. As this was kinda proven later on when she was contemplating on what emotion she should be feeling at the moment. And this can be seen as indecision, but I rather thought that this was proving your previous statement correct and that this was her way of finding a little control of the situation. Speaking of what happened a bit later, I was pleasantly surprised of Blue sparing Sapphire’s sanity. I always had hope in Blue despite her obvious turning... but this really proves that Blue can (and most likely will) realize that despite Peter’s kindness she’ll have to betray him because what he’s doing simply isn’t right. I realize now that she probably also followed him because of him brainwashing her, but I can’t remember this particular detail... damn maybe I should’ve reread this before reviewing. Ah well, I’m this far into it anyways. In any case, although this chapter was short I fully enjoyed it. Especially Y’s inner monologue at the end. I do have a soft spot for light angst :’) (I’m sure you can call it that, right...?) so, thank you!

WELCOME BACK!! Yes, it’s always better late than never. After all, as I said before...

I’LL WAIT A THOUSAND SUMMERS!

For Ruby and Sapphire’s “control” issue, I was actually thinking about their little Hidden Power interaction. Sapphire has strong intuition and instincts, and is in full control of her senses. Or at least that was a part of it, anyways. This chapter was written years ago, so I don’t remember all the details. Hehe.

As for Blue... There’s a little character arc for her across all of my stories. If you read my stories in order of creation, you can kind of see it. First is when she’s neglected and is just rolling with it while feigning cheeriness (SE/SA/SR), but then it just piles up and she goes into depression (SA/SL/Destiny), then she kind of snaps and goes rampant (SL/Destiny), then she finds the one piece of true happiness in her life and starts to turn it around (Destiny), and eventually successfully attains happiness and stays that way (Destiny/Legacy). So you’re at the moment in Destiny where Blue has gone rampant but is trying to turn it around.

... I think I need to reread this story too. Hehe. I don’t really remember what happens in each chapter... except for a certain few, that is.

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Destiny #018

1)  That’s... awful... Poor Y, who was already suffering so much, both physically and mentally. She didn’t even get to hear X say what he wanted to say to her. And if they don’t meet again she’d live the rest of her life not truly knowing where she stood with X. Always filled with guilt. Such is the sadness of the situation, but I can still hope! Hope that Y will meet X again and he’ll be able to tell her his thoughts. Though come to think of it, poor X too. He’ll have to speak with his seniors and he’s obviously really uncomfortable with that and doesn’t even have Y around to help him. Welp, to go to another depressing topic there’s also Sapphire’s situation to discuss. It is at the point not that disobeying Peter *would* be interfering with his plans, since it’s crucial that Sapphire be broken. Will Blue be able to disobey? Impossible to know, you can only hope that she does. On another topic, after rereading the fic (oh god I’d forgotten how long this was, it’s truly amazing the dedication you’ve had for this fic) I kept thinking back to Peter’s “blank eyes” you mentioned in the earlier chapters. This is a vague and rather shoddy theory, but the only thing I could think that would be the cause of the blankness is him being brainwashed as well. This is rather obvious, but this leads to who might be brainwashing him. Clearly this would be someone (or something..?) that would benefit from the restoration of the legendary’s and this would bring us to suspect #1: Zygarde. Now, I haven’t actually read the XY arc nor played the game (ik ik but I can still have a fellow feeling for X and Y) so I don’t know what this dude is capable of, but I can assume that this is within the realm of possibilities. And it would make sense with the whole blinking lights thing that Blue noticed that was going on a couple chapters ago. ‘Cause I mean, why else would this random guy help the legendaries, it’s all just a bit too sketchy. I am no detective, so I think these are fairly obvious, but they’re all I have going for me right now. This was a lovely chapter (writing of course, I can hardly apply that to the atmosphere), and I can’t wait to read the next one.

Poor Y indeed. Really. Poor Y... hehehe...

Destiny’s not THAT long, is it? ... 220 000 words... well, it’s not longer than SA which has 225 000, but... that difference is practically negligible. ... I wonder how long Legacy would end up... Anyways.

I don’t know if it’s obvious or not. I have a hard time with that. Sometimes I put in obvious hints in my stories and no one catches on. Sometimes I put vague hints in my stories and no one catches on. So I can’t tell if it’s subtle or blatant. I think for the Mega Hunter, there were a lot of subtle and blatant ones.

Now for Zygarde... well, the Neural Para... er... mind control is not really in its arsenal. Destiny’s plans were written shortly after XY games were released. Zygarde was kind of worthless there, but given what happened with Kyurem, I suspected that it would get a cooler new form. But then in SM, it turned out that its cooler new form was just a massive health buff. And it still gets annihilated by Xerneas, so... pfft. But I think I used its signature moves pretty well. Especially, say... Core Enforcer. Hahaha.

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Destiny #019

1)  Ok, first of all, WHAT KINDA QUESTION IS THAT? How can I choose? Both options of your review survey thing are so sad... but after a moment’s thought, I think the second option is better. If Y were to continuously push herself then she’d just die. End of story. But with the second option, although incredibly risky and kinda pointless for X to go save her, the chances of them both staying alive are possibly higher, and Y would know Ax’s true feelings. This I think, would be what you referred to as the “happy ending”. Unless you actually said it outright that it’s the opposite and I just completely missed it. But anyways I’ve spent enough on Y’s situation lmao. I think I might switch over to Blue now, because something has been nagging me for a while. I feel like slapping this woman. I know she’s partially under the control of Peter (or assuming that my previous theory is correct, Zygarde’s), but, murder? Thankfully she admitted this chapter that she was, in fact, NOT wanting to murder anyone. But when she let anger blind her she was quite willing to do away with Green. And she has reason! Was Green did to her was beyond shitty, but killing him is just a little overtop. And she tried to justify it by saying, “Peter is the only one that has been kind to me” so it’s ok that I betray even my closest friends whom I’ve known for years even if I haven’t kept much in contact (besides Silver smh). She clearly knows what Peter is doing is wrong and while I don’t think that anyone is a saint and everyone makes mistakes, I’m still thinking “come on”. Plus, it’s not difficult to see how Peter’s kindness is really just a way to benefit him. Though I can let that one slide since it’s easy to fool yourself. Despite all that, later on in the chapter after feeling annoyance at Blur for seriously trying to blame Y for wanting to give X back *his* Mega Ring (plus why do they call it ring) just because it’d been a gift to her (and reminding myself that she also had reason to feel that way but whatever) it was very nice to see her being selfless. Which might be an awful thing to ask of her now, but it was the right thing to do. And that’s gratifying on its own, right? I feel as if these reviews have started to just be me ranting at this point. Can you still enjoy these..? But honestly there isn’t much to review at this point. I’ve touched a lot on your actual writing in past reviews, and since it’s the same fic the style hasn’t exactly change. Though I can still admire how seamlessly you seem to write, even while changing point of views. Quickly changing scenes from something a little peaceful, to a battle, which you are able to describe in detail and yet still be engaging. Ah, I got kind of sidetracked, didn’t I? In any case all I have yet to do is speculate what’s going to happen next, but alas, I have no idea. I assume there’s a somewhat happy ending, with a final battle with Peter and the legendaries, not to mention the plot twist. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

Huh? ... Oh right. The review survey. Hahaha. Second option, huh? I think I remember most people choosing that option. But... if you look at the choices, it seems pretty clear, right? And I just love to break expectations. Hehe...

Now, as for what’s happening with Blue, it’s explored a lot more in the upcoming chapters, with everything being explained in... 25? 26? And I do believe that all the issues you have will be resolved.

Hehe. Asking a girl, who after being neglected for years is finally trying to find some happiness for herself, to be selfless? How awful! Hahaha.

Of course I still enjoy these! Despite being called “reviews”, they’re more like “comments”, really. Just tell me what you liked about each chapter, what you didn’t like, what you hope to see in the future, what you don’t want to see, and/or just your thoughts/feelings while reading. So precisely what you’ve been doing already. It’s fine~! :)

I greatly look forward to seeing more!

#qna

[amandaoftherosemire]

One Foot in Heaven...

Fandom: Marvel Dark AU

Pairing: Demon!Steve Rogers X Angel!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Joseph Rogers, Sarah Rogers, Maria Hill, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Nicholas Fury, Natasha Romanoff, James Barnes, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8,332

Format: Two-part One-shot

Warning: Violence, angst, fluff, flangst, language, implied smut, implied torture, implied abuse, domestic and child, minor character death.

Summary: In a 19th century New York City carved up between angels and demons, you and Steve have roles in the eternal war you neither asked for nor wanted. All you really want is each other.

A/N: Written for @buckysforeverprincess’ Into the Nightmare 2K challenge. 🎉🎉🎉Congratulations, dearest!! 🎉🎉🎉 I had such a great time with this challenge. Everyone should go follow her right now cause she’s great!

Set in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, but I stayed vague so that I didn’t end up spending the rest of November doing research in the interests of historical accuracy. I am a pedantic butthole so that is totally something I would do. I had intended to have this up before Halloween, but once I got going I couldn’t stop, because I am also a verbose butthole 🤨🤔. I had promised to make this a one-shot, however, and though it’s been split into two parts for clarity’s sake, it is complete.

Prompt: Angels and demons have never played fair.

One Foot in Heaven

Upon the news that his third wife had borne him a daughter, your father beat a servant to death.

At least, he thought, the otherwise useless creature he'd tied himself to this time had managed to survive pregnancy with his child, something no other woman had managed. Though a daughter was worse than worthless to him, this was the first child to survive as well, so perhaps his vapid little wife would have some use other than her money after all.

Truth be told, all he'd wanted out of a wife was an heiress who could bear his children. She may have disappointed on her first try, but she'd done better than her predecessors. As he stood panting over the broken body of the maid he'd destroyed with his fists on the floor of his study, he considered using some of her money to buy his stupid little wife something sparkly for the birth. Not that he cared enough to know, but he imagined that as a woman she'd like that, and with the smell of blood in the air he was feeling indulgent.

As you saw your father only once in a blue moon, growing up you were mostly insulated from his disdain for you and his growing impatience with your mother. Though he exercised his husbandly rights on a regular basis to get the son he so desperately sought, his unassuming little wife rarely conceived. On the few occasions she’d gotten pregnant, she miscarried, but survived each time. He had begun to hope that she wouldn't survive the next so that he could be free to seek out another, younger wife who might finally be able to give him an heir.

To his frustration, he was reliant upon human women and their weak bodies to get what he needed. As he couldn't be certain he'd ever find a woman capable of giving him a son, he used your existence as a backup plan, arranging your engagement to a powerful family with the potential to be extremely useful to a creature with ambition. The boy was weak and sickly, but your father figured that would make him easier to manipulate. If nothing else, marrying you off to the little invalid as soon as possible would minimize the danger you posed.

You couldn't remember a time that you didn’t know Steve, didn't know that one day you and Steve would marry. You couldn't imagine a world in which you didn't adore every single thing about him, a universe in which you weren't meant to be together forever. Three years old when you were born, Steve had been your world your entire life. Because Steve's mother, Sarah, and your mother were old friends and comrades, both were delighted with the match.

Unbeknownst to their husbands, your mother and Sarah were intelligent and strong-minded women. Though they weren’t aware of it, Joseph Rogers and your father were being outmaneuvered by far more brilliant minds and your betrothal was only part of it. The only concern was whether you and Steve would comply. By the time you were sixteen and Steve nineteen, however, it had become clear that neither of you had eyes for anyone else.

Steve was small, both short and slim, and prone to illness. He spent most of his time inside, both because he was often sick, but also because any number of things outside could set off a fit of wheezing. He was pale both from the lack of sunshine and the arsenic used to treat his asthma. You knew that others looked at Steve and saw weakness, but you saw strength.

Steve wasn't just your betrothed, your beloved, he was also your best friend and the person you trusted above all else. You knew Steve wasn't weak, but quiet and shy. Steve had an unshakeable concept of right and wrong and a complete inability to ignore his conscience.

He also had not just a willingness, but an eagerness to fight for what he thought was right. If Steve thought something must be done, he would do it, regardless of all else. Between you and James, Steve's brother in arms and best friend, you had barely managed to keep him alive. His utter disregard for his own health and safety made it a nearly impossible task.

You may have been mad, but you looked forward to a lifetime of it.

Not long after your seventeenth birthday but shortly before the wedding, all hell broke loose.

You and Steve had inadvertently set the stage for the calamity a couple of days prior. You had taken a rare chance to be alone together; both your mothers had been very careful about chaperones for years.

The gardens of your father’s country estate where he most often left you and your mother to your own devices were massive and elaborate. Near the center was a little bower where the trees had been tied to force them to grow together into an arbor. After years of neglect and tucked away where you had to almost crawl in, you and Steve had found it as children and immediately claimed it as your secret. You’d spent hours there together, talking and dreaming.

Years later, in that place of childhood dreams, you and Steve had exchanged vows of your own making before making love for the first time. As you promised to love him forever and a day, joy, bright and brilliant, burst upon you like sunlight. As you moved together, tentatively as each of you was afraid of hurting the other, the pleasure was so pure and radiant you were sure it had to be magic.

 You weren’t really surprised. You and Steve had always made magic together.

A few days later, in the library of his family’s house in Brooklyn Heights, you and Steve sat next to one another on a sofa in the corner. Under the fan of your skirts, Steve had taken your hand and was brushing his thumb over the back of your fingers, something he'd done a thousand times before.

This time, though, knowing what his face looked like flushed with passion, how his eyes had glowed as they took in the sight of your body finally bared completely to his gaze, even that little touch was electrifying. Completely distracted, neither of spoke as you each focused on that point of physical contact. You could hear the little catches in his breathing you knew to be the surest sign of Steve's excitement. You'd heard them before every kiss he'd ever stolen.

You didn’t notice your mothers sending one another worried glances at the change in your behavior; you and Steve normally held animated conversations whenever you were together. You didn’t notice the looks of malevolent glee your fathers traded or the subtle smell of brimstone that permeated the room as the men tossed back celebratory glasses of brandy.

You did notice, however, the look of corrupted lust that lived in Steve's father's eyes when he crossed to you, his voice booming out. "Well, my dear! We always considered you one of the family. The day after tomorrow, it becomes official!” Joseph Rogers' eyes raked the bared skin of your chest your neckline exposed and made your skin crawl. Now that you knew what healthy desire looked like, it seemed easy to see the twisted, malignant kind for what it was.

When he reached out and snagged your hand in his, it took everything you had to not yank it out of his grip. Afraid to make a scene, especially so soon before the wedding, you forced your hand to lie lightly in his and allowed him to draw you to your feet. It seemed almost painful in that moment, but you let go of Steve's hand as your skirts fell around you.

"A kiss for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" he announced with a leer that a week ago would have looked avuncular and harmless. You didn't know why Steve's father, who had always seemed to you like a mostly benign drunkard, if a little over familiar, now looked like a demon from the pit. Mesmerized by the flames that danced behind his eyes, you didn't cringe away though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

As his overly wet and deeply unpleasant mouth met yours, blinding light bloomed behind your eyelids and a sound like you were directly underneath clanging cathedral bells screamed inside your head. A searing pain shrieked through your body, leaving you unable to feel, see, or hear anything. It couldn't have been long before you came back to your senses, but nothing made sense when you did.

Your mother was cradling you in her arms where you'd fallen to the carpet. Your father was looking at both of you with a sneer of disgust that didn't hide the predatory gleam of anticipation that shone in his eyes. You shuddered as you looked at him; it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

He was a handsome man, but under his skin something… revolting lived. It was the raw red of a dangerously warm wound but mottled with what looked like bruises in varying states of healing, ranging from green to purple. Your gorge rose at the sight and you ached to scramble back, away from boiling black eyes so cold they burned.

"Obviously we'll have to call off the wedding." Joseph was saying cruelly. He flicked a dismissive glance your way. You were fascinated to see a similarly hideous red creature beneath his skin. He glanced at Steve, and the disappointment on his face was so clear, you wanted to claw out his eyes.

Steve looked to you as he always did, beautiful, but the bleakness on his face had your heart galloping in fear. He was cradling his mother in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder. You thought you could see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and wondered if this was the source of the sadness that always seemed to haunt Steve's eyes.

Steve's eyes were on yours, liquid with love and sorrow. Underneath his skin was the loveliest golden glow, like his soul was as beautiful as his face. His mother was as golden, if not as bright, and together they created a little sun for you to focus on as you tried to catch your breath.

Your mother was holding you in her arms and murmuring words of reassurance and remorse. You couldn’t understand why she was apologizing as she rocked you, but her arms were tight around you and her voice was thick with unshed tears. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a glow emanating from your mother that matched that from Steve and Sarah, but hers was silver.

"Pity," your father was saying, his voice both bored and irritated. "An alliance between our houses would have been formidable."

"Once we get this cleaned up," Joseph replied with a roll of his eyes toward you and your mother, "we should discuss other options." The two men smiled at one another and the sight had chills of terror running down your spine. You were trying desperately to scramble to your feet and run, grabbing your mother, Steve, and Sarah on your way. You were weak as a kitten, though, and could barely lift your arm to reach toward Steve.

Only once your arm was outstretched, however, did you realize that the silver light that had been teasing the corner of your eye was coming not only from your mother, but from symbols etched all over your skin. You wondered if they were confined to your arms and shoulders or if you were covered in them. You didn't understand what they meant or where they came from, but unlike the golden glow of Steve and his mother, or the silver glow of your mother, everyone else seemed able to see them, too.

"I-- I don't understand," you said, your voice a near soundless whisper, as your throat was as raw as though you'd been screaming with all your might.

"Excellent," your father said with a sigh of relief. "She's untrained. That will make this much easier." With that, he walked across the library to grab you by the knot of hair at the back of your head. You tried to struggle as he dragged you to your feet and scooped you into his arms, but your muscles felt like water. "Come along, Lydia. It looks like I found a use for a daughter after all."

Your mother rose to her feet, every inch of her body taut with haughty disdain. You'd never seen her like this, like a cruel queen dismissing a disappointing servant. "Only because you hold something of far greater worth than you can imagine. Perhaps you should be more careful with her."

Rather than growing stronger the longer you were conscious, you seemed to be getting weaker. You reached out to Steve again, your mouth forming the words even though your voice couldn't carry them to him. "Help me." The last thing you saw as darkness descended was Steve turning away.

You awoke in tears.

You were already crying as you swam toward consciousness, but once you broke the surface, you were shocked to hear the wracking sobs tearing from your throat in harsh cries of betrayal, heartbreak, and terror. Almost immediately you stuffed your fist in your mouth to stifle the sound of your tears, but even as you gained control over your body, your heart continued to weep. You slowly became aware of your surroundings and as you did, you began to tremble.

You were in what you thought was the cellar of your father’s house in Brooklyn, but a part of it you'd never been in before, not that you’d spent much time here. Around you was a cage, and around your cage were more cages. In the one next to yours, a girl who looked a lot like your mother but closer to your age rocked back and forth and sang softly to herself. The wounds in varying states of healing all over her bare body made you sick to your stomach at the thought of what she must have endured. You hoped she'd found a more pleasant place in her mind.

You were still wearing the gown you'd worn to your fiancé's house, though it was stained with heaven knows what from the floor you'd been laying on. The pungent coppery smell told you the identity of at least one of the substances you were now covered in. You looked down at your arms and saw the symbols still glowed the slightest bit but would not be noticeable in light any brighter than that of a single candle. The only light in your dungeon was dim, golden light from a crack under the door leading into what you assumed was the wine cellar.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the rattle of bottles as the rack in front of the door was moved aside. Your heart was pounding with the fear that your father had come for you. The door opened, and you relaxed a fraction when you saw the female shape of the silhouette, even as part of you grew more frantic at the flickering light at the shadow's back.

"Miss Y/N?" The voice whispered tentatively, as though afraid to make any more sound than absolutely necessary. Nonetheless, you recognized the voice as belonging to the personal maid your mother had brought from her own household, Maria.

"Maria," you whispered back, still unable to speak out loud, though that would seem to be an advantage in your current predicament.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "Let's get you out of here." She went to work on the lock of your cage, pulling what you thought must be lockpicks from a pocket in her petticoat.

As she worked, you noticed the smell of smoke wafting into the room through the open door. "Maria, where's my mother?"

"I'm sorry,” she answered briskly, but with sympathy nonetheless. “Your father killed her before he set fire to the house. He was more cunning than either she or I expected." Having made quick work of the lock on your cage, she turned to the cage next to yours with pity on her face. "I don't know if I can save you," she said to the girl in low and soothing tones as she worked at the lock, "but damned if I'm not going to try." She sounded almost put out by it.

As she worked at the other lock, you crawled out of the cage and got tentatively to your feet. For reasons that escaped you, rather than your earlier weakness, your muscles now felt stronger than they ever had before, and a burst of energy made you feel like you could fly if you had to.

You could tell the effort was likely futile, but Maria was right. You had to try. Once Maria had the lock open, you reached into the cage and pulled the young woman out. As soon as she was standing on wobbling legs, Maria was wrapping her in the cloak she'd pulled from her own shoulders. You and Maria moved to each side of the girl, bracing and supporting her.

Maria didn't move toward the open door, however, but toward the back of the dank little room. That's when you realized that wisps of smoke were streaming from the door through the room before disappearing into a little crack at the darkest back corner.

Maria pushed, and a slab of rock that looked as though it couldn’t have been moved by a giant swung easily aside to reveal a hidden passageway. The girl between you seemed to wake up a little at the smell of fresh air. To your surprise, she moved forward without a murmur of protest.

The passageway was tight, especially for three people, but though you expected your father to come out of the dark behind you to snatch you back, you made it nearly to the end, and escape, without incident.

A gust of cool air blew over the three of you, making you and Maria shiver, but seeming to wake your companion. She gave a quiet whimper, dropped the cloak and turned around, running naked back toward the house. You tried to turn and catch her, but Maria prevented you.

“I can’t let you risk yourself. The house was already engulfed in flames when I ran down to the cellar. We can’t save her now.” You wanted to yell at her for her callousness, but the sadness in her eyes stopped your voice. “Come. Your uncle will be waiting.”

You sat on a settee in your uncle's study with your face buried in his chest as you shook like a leaf in a hurricane, reaction from the events of the night finally setting in. Your aunt draped a blanket carefully around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arms through the fabric like she could take some of the pain away through her palms. Sadly, no one had that power. To lose your mother and Steve in the same night was devastating beyond belief. Though you hadn’t shed a tear since you’d awoken, inside you sobbed like your heart was breaking. Because it was.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. This was all my fault." Tony's voice was low and throbbing with remorse. The loss of his dear little sister wounded him to the deepest place in his heart. The loss of his most trusted lieutenant in the never-ending war left all his carefully laid plans in shambles. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of the twenty-year long plot to take his enemy down from the inside. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of his Lydia. He met Pepper's eyes over your head and took solace from the love and understanding there.

"If everything had gone to plan, you never would have been in danger." Tony's heart hurt, because he was almost certain he knew where his plan had gone awry. If his sister had been a better soldier than a mother, perhaps things would be different now, but he would never have wished it so. "One of two things must have happened, and one is far more likely than the other." Your uncle and the last of the family you could trust pulled you away so that he could look into your eyes. His will almost broke when your pale, grieving face came into his view, but he pressed on. "Did you allow Steve the rights of a husband before your wedding?"

He knew your answer by the way your face blanched and your eyes dropped to your lap. "I did. We were to be married in a few short days. I didn't see the harm." Your voice was a rasp, still damaged from whatever had happened when Joseph Rogers had kissed you. Pepper continued to rub your arms and the sympathy in the way she squeezed your shoulders made you feel better.

Tony stood and moved to the desk where a decanter of brandy sat. He poured one for each of you as he spoke. "If you were a normal girl and Steve a normal boy, there probably would have been no harm."

Maria came up behind you and placed a cloak around your shoulders. You were standing at the rail of a steamship taking a last look at New York. You were believed dead, so it was best that you get gone before someone saw you. The bodies of two women had been found in the still smoldering remains of your burned down house, your father was nowhere to be found, and your uncle was buying two headstones, one for his sister, the other for his niece.

You were going to England to be trained.

Steve… well, you weren't sure. Your Uncle Tony had told you that he'd chosen the other side in this war, that he'd joined his father, the Demon King of Brooklyn, to become a creature like that you had seen lurking beneath the surface of Joseph’s skin. You could hardly imagine your Steve doing such a thing.

He told you Steve had helped kill his mother.

You didn't say it out loud, but that you didn't believe even a little.

Of course, you didn't think your uncle was lying, though you wouldn't put it past him if he thought it was what was best for you. Hadn't he, and your mother, and Maria, and Pepper and everyone else in your mother's family lied to you your whole damn life about who you were and your place in all this insanity? You may have understood, but you were also furious, and you'd vowed to never be used like that again.

If they’d only told you about the spell that hid you from demons, you would not have broken it by making love with Steve.

The fact was, even though he'd turned away from you at the end, you knew Steve. Steve would never have harmed a hair on his mother's head. He adored her, would die protecting her without hesitation. You could not believe that he could have had a hand in her death. If part of Tony's information was flawed, the rest was suspect. You wouldn't let your heart truly break until you'd seen Steve for yourself, heard the truth, or god forbid a lie, from his own lips.

Unfortunately, Tony had been adamant that your continued existence could not be known by anyone. He would not allow you to contact Steve in any way, was in fact shipping you off as quickly as possible to get you under the thumb of someone he trusted to control you. You were going along with it so that you could learn what you needed to obtain your revenge.

You may have chosen the angelic side, the "good" side, but you'd done it for all the wrong reasons and you knew it, not that you were concerned. You'd finally been told why your mother, a being from a powerful angelic bloodline, would have a child with a creature from the pit, a demon of a less powerful demonic bloodline. You were a weapon, but despite what the others thought, you would decide how your power was to be wielded.

As you raked the New York skyline with eyes burning with unshed tears, trying to sear the sight into your memory until you could come home again, you hardened your heart. New York meant Steve, but you had a mission now. Every day that ended with your father still breathing was an offense. You wouldn't rest until he'd breathed his last. For your mother. For a girl whose name you never learned but that now lay at rest under yours. For all your broken dreams.

Five years later you stood in front of the house in Brooklyn that had been built in place of that once owned by your father. The fire brigade had managed to save the houses around it, but your father’s house had burned to the ground. You didn’t know why, but apparently he had cut his losses and bolted. The last Tony had heard, he was in New Orleans trying to make alliances against the Demon King of New York. Your mentor's spies said the same and Fury's spies were almost never wrong.

Fury, a dark man who seemed humorless at first but, when he relaxed a little, was in actuality very funny if a little melodramatic, and the ever-faithful Maria had spent almost every hour of every day training you for the day of your return. You'd had physical training until you were agile as a cat and deadly with a blade. You currently had your favorite strapped to your thigh under the thick black skirts that could be removed with a pull of a string. Underneath you wore breeches and boots in case you suddenly needed to move unencumbered. Tony had sent him a soft, sweet little rich girl. Fury had sent back a warrior.

You hadn't been trained in only martial talents, however. The long history of your bloodline had finally been passed to you. You understood now what had happened the night your world came apart. Now that you'd been taught to use the power that had flowed through you that night, you were nigh unstoppable. Not that you had any intention of using that power today.

You'd given Maria the slip so that you could go back to your old neighborhood, thoigh you’d never spent much time at your father's house in Brooklyn. He had much preferred that you and your mother stay at the country estate. It made a lot more sense once you'd finally been told of his vicious and depraved appetites, seen the evidence of them first hand. You hoped those that lived there now never learned of the horrific things done on that unholy ground.

Almost against your will, your feet turned you towards Steve's house. To indulge his new wife, with whom he was delighted due to the size of her dowry, your father had bought his city home just a few doors down from the Rogers'. He hadn't known that he was buying it from his brother-in-law, nor had he known that it had been outfitted with an escape route in the wine cellar. But then, you wouldn't expect even a demon with your father’s pedigree to know that he'd married into an extremely powerful angelic bloodline. The Starks were nothing if not secretive.

You weren't worried about being recognized, hiding as you were in widow's weeds and a hat with a heavy veil. You slowed but remained carefully casual as you walked by. You wondered if he was in there now. What would happen if you walked up to the door and knocked? Would he welcome you with open arms? Or would he kill you on the spot?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't notice that you'd come to a stop, all your training forgotten as you stared at the house that held your heart, even now. You also didn't notice the green-eyed redhead behind you whose eyes had sharpened when she followed your gaze.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The redhead's voice was low and almost bored as she walked toward you. When you turned in her direction, your eyes widened but you saw her intent a split second too late. In a move almost too fast to see, she had your wrists in her hands and wrapped in black rope that seemed to smoke and seethe. "Looks like I caught an angel," she murmured with a smirk as she pulled you by the rope across the street. If you were an ordinary angel, the rope would have burned like ice, but as it was it only held a somewhat pleasant coolness.

You didn't try to escape. Some part of you had been hoping for something like this, some excuse to see Steve, to find out if your heart could be trusted at all. The traitorous thing wouldn't stop beating for him. Maybe if you saw him as the creature he'd become, you could finally talk your heart out of its stubborn loyalty. When the front door opened to the house you'd run tame in whenever you'd come to Brooklyn, your heart leapt at the knowledge that for better or worse, you were going to see Steve again. You couldn't help the small smile that curved your lips.

"Since you're so compliant," the redhead was saying as you looked around, wondering at the small changes you could see, "we can put you in the library until James and I figure out what to do with you." Your head snapped around at the name James, the first acknowledgement you'd given the woman's words. "I see you've heard of our ghost story," she replied with a smirk. "At least now I know I didn't capture a doll."

She showed you into the library, though you knew very well where it was. Your familiarity with the house wasn't lost on the woman, who wondered even as she determined to get James as soon as you were trapped in the hidden sigil meant to hold captive angels. Once you were seated, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, she couldn't help but notice your apparent lack of fear considering you were an angel among demons. You folded your hands loosely in your lap as you made yourself comfortable on the sofa across from the massive wooden desk that sat with its back to even more massive windows.

You had been dreading this room more than any other, afraid the sight of the place where your life as you knew it had ended would break you despite your training. You were relieved to see that it had been changed in nearly every way. Every scrap of furniture was different; the carpets, the wallpaper, even the books seemed to have been replaced. You wondered if Steve hated this room as much as you did.

"I hear our little spider caught something." You recognized the voice as soon as you heard it. Low and warm with humor, the good-natured man was someone you'd missed almost as much as Steve. It took everything you had to not leap to your feet and hug him as hard as you could. As it was, you remained still. Fury had taught you the value of staying quiet when in doubt.

"Something special," the little redhead replied. "I think Stark either sent something top-tier, or something unusual. I wouldn't have looked twice if she hadn't stopped in front of the house."

"Give her a break. Who could anticipate our Natasha?" James was chuckling, his voice a touch flirtatious. You'd heard it enough times to see the smile on his face in your head without turning to look. You knew better, but you just couldn't help yourself. Five years with Maria and Fury had also honed your tongue to a razor edge.

"Please tell me women are not still falling for that," you said clearly, your voice dry as a desert, with an almost cracking sandpaper rasp. Your throat had never recovered from the damage done the night your blood had responded to the demon holding you. Even so, the tone and timbre were still recognizable to anyone who knew you well. You kept your gaze on the gardens outside the windows behind the desk, but the sudden silence told you that you had their attention.

A small smile curved your lips in response until you heard James breathe, "Y/N? You're alive?" The sound of his genuine grief mixed with hope broke your resistance. This was why you hadn't been allowed to see these people. Your heart was too vulnerable. It didn't matter that they were on opposing sides in an eternal war, you loved them. With a sigh, you lifted your still bound hands to your hat to remove the pin holding it on and pulled the veil from your face.

You turned and looked at James as you replied, your eyes tired and sad. "If you can call it that," you smirked.

With a whoop, James was hopping over the back of the sofa to snatch you up into his arms and squeeze you until you squeaked. "He always said he'd know if you were really gone." As he was talking he was alternating pulling back to cup your face in his hands and yanking you back into his arms to hug you again. You were laughing, though your voice was thick with tears you would not let fall. You hadn't allowed yourself to cry since the night your mother died. "I can't believe Stark let us believe you were dead. I understand hiding you from your father, but Steve? Where is Steve?" The last wasn't directed at you, but at Natasha.

"He's getting ready for his meeting with the King of Long Island about his daughter's hand." Natasha was answering James, but her eyes were on you. You stiffened involuntarily and cursed yourself. Another break in your training and you'd only just gotten back. Some soldier, easily caught, hugging one of your jailers, and jealous that your enemy(?) had been courting another.

James felt your body tense and grinned. "Not anymore, I bet. I'm going to get him. Do not let her leave." With that he let you go to run through the door and from the sounds of his pounding footsteps, up the stairs.

"I guess he forgot about the sigil I'm standing on." You spoke to the suspicious Natasha for the first time, a small smile curving your lips.

"I take it you didn't. It's supposed to burn, you know."

Your smile widened when you saw that this one wouldn't underestimate you. Good. You were grateful Steve had had suspicious, dangerous people at his back. "Is it? How odd."

"So are the ropes."

"Maybe you need new ones." Your voice bored, you sank down onto the couch and turned your gaze back to the windows.

"Buck, I really don't have time to deal with whatever spies Stark is sending now. He's been spying on me for years; I don't know why Natasha even bothered to capture one."

Your breath caught, and your heart leapt when you heard his voice. Your eyes closed as you floated on the sound you'd missed more than anything from home. That beautiful sound was different somehow, though, the timbre lower and deeper and you hurt that you hadn't kept such a sacred memory with true fidelity.

On top of that, Steve sounded different. His voice carried the tone of command, the sound of a man sure in his position and confident he'll be obeyed. You grieved a little for the shy boy who'd won your heart practically before you could walk.

"Yeah, but this one's special, Stevie. Trust me." James was practically dancing he was so happy. Steve was amused, but less than enthused. His best friend was at his most dangerous when he was this excitable.

Now that the moment was here, you couldn't seem to make yourself move. You wanted to stand, to turn and see the face that had haunted you through most of every day and all of every night for years. Tears pricked at your eyes and were viciously blinked back. You would not look at Steve for the first time again through a sheen of tears.

Natasha piped up. "The ropes and the sigil don't burn her, Steven."

For the first time, Steve sounded interested, though he still didn't sound like your Steve. "I see. Did Stark send a nephalem to spy on us this time?"

This was the moment. You stood slowly, your hands still folded in their bonds, and though you weren't aware of it, your training had left its mark. As you stood, Natasha and Steve both braced, alert to the danger you posed by your smooth movement, the sign of a highly trained assassin. As you turned to face Steve, your heart galloped in both excitement and fear. "No one sent me." Your eyes were soft as you turned to face the man your heart insisted was your husband. You'd given him your heart, your body, and your soul without hesitation, taken vows for all they’d been for his ears alone. You wouldn't take it back now, no matter what he'd become.

Your eyes had expected Steve's face much lower than it was. As your eyes lifted to his, they traced over a massive chest, brawny shoulders, and huge arms. By the time you'd reached his face, your expression was one of fear and confusion. He looked like Steve, but not your Steve. His gorgeous blue eyes were cold when they met yours and your heart failed.

You hoped he'd at least let his face be the last thing you saw before you died.

Then something strange happened. You'd been holding back your other sight, terrified you'd see the hideous red creature you knew had to be beneath Steve's skin. You cursed yourself again, angry at how weak you were, how desperate you were to avoid facing what Steve had become. Tony had told you a thousand times in person and in letters to accept that Steve was lost forever, but you were still holding onto the memory of a love that could never be.

But when you looked into Steve's eyes, you caught a flicker of that golden glow you'd seen in him that last night. Your heart murmured insistently. The corner of your mouth lifted slightly with the hope that your Steve was still in there, in this body you didn't recognize. The smile fell completely when Steve took three angry strides forward and closed his hands hard around your upper arms.

Steve lifted you up, his face a mask of rage. “Who are you and what horrible magic has Stark done to give you her face?” The flames you’d once seen in his father’s eyes danced behind Steve’s, but you weren’t frightened. You didn’t struggle against his grip because under that anger you could see his heartbreak, his grief, as fresh as when you lost each other.

“Is that really more believable than I faked my own death?” You were a little surprised to feel the buzz of irritation under your skin, but you didn’t like being frightened by Steve. These days you responded to things you didn’t like with anger. Of all the reactions you’d imagined, skepticism wasn’t one of them.

Steve set you down, hard, and his grip on your shoulders remained almost painfully tight as he answered harshly. “Yes. Because I cannot imagine why Y/N would let me think she was dead.” He towered over you as he lifted you onto your toes to bring your face closer to his, the experience dizzying in its unfamiliarity. “For years.” Steve’s eyes were sizzling black and gold, his voice a menacing growl.

You closed your eyes as guilt assailed you. "You're a demon," you replied, your voice cracking as you held back the tears. Seeing Steve like this was almost more than you could bear, proof that at least some of what Tony had told you was true.

Steve released you with a curse, turning to glare at James. "They didn't even get the voice right," he said in a tone you'd never heard from him, scathing and cruel. He turned back to you, his jaw set in rage. "Did Stark really think I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?"

Standing in the room where it had all fallen apart, where every naïve dream you'd had ended up broken under your feet, as the love you'd never been able to escape turned its back on you, you wanted to weep. But you’d learned years ago that tears were worthless. Instead, as always, you channeled that feeling into anger of your own.

You lifted your bound hands as you stepped forward. The smoking ropes vanished in a sizzle of silver light and the sigil did nothing more than tickle as you crossed its boundaries. Natasha moved into an immediate defensive crouch, ready to leap. You stopped where you were and pulled the string at your waist, letting your skirts fall to your feet.

"The last time I was in this room, Steven," you began, your voice rasping even more harshly with your pain and rage, "you and I sat on a sofa against those windows. You had my hand in yours under the edge of my skirts and we were both thinking about..." Your trailed off as your skin ran with heat at the memory. Caught, Steve turned slowly to face you once more. "When your father kissed me," you went on, drowning in the bright blue eyes you’d never stopped dreaming of, "everything went crazy, blinding light, clanging bells, pain like I was burning from the inside out." Steve was walking slowly toward you, his eyes never leaving yours even as Natasha growled in protest. "I think I screamed, but I don't remember. My voice has never been the same."

Steve stopped directly in front of you, his hands coming up to once again close around your shoulders, but with infinite tenderness this time. His big warm hands were squeezing gently as his eyes seemed to devour your face like they were starved for the sight of you. He looked astonished, but belief was beginning to take hold. "Why?"

In that moment, with Steve’s hands smoothing up and down the outside of your arms and his eyes rich with the same love that had always lived there, you didn’t know how you’d ever doubted him. Whether or not Steve had given into his demonic heritage, he was still your beloved. You knew what he was asking; he deserved the truth.

“That last night, I reached for you and you turned away.” Tears were standing in your eyes again and the sight had Steve’s hands coming up to cup your face. “After that, I heard so many things and didn’t know what to believe. When Uncle Tony decided to ship me off to England, I didn’t argue.”

“I was grabbing a knife. Well, a letter opener.”

You gave a little hiccup of a laugh, one tear breaking rank and slipping down your face. Steve lips were there to kiss it away and the feel of his mouth on your skin made your heart ache. When he licked his lips, a flash of golden light winked in his eyes, but you were too busy looking at his mouth and wondering if he tasted the same to notice. “I should have known,” you murmured, unsurprised. “I think my heart did.” You looked up at Steve, a disorienting experience as you’d never had to do so, and the wave of love that hit you was so huge you felt you might drown in it. There was no guarantee you wouldn’t do so willingly. “I could never convince it to give up on you.”

The next thing you knew Steve’s mouth was on yours. Like coming home, he tasted exactly the same, honey and cinnamon and Steve. As odd as it felt to kiss him from this angle, you still sank in, the sob you wouldn't loose caught in your throat. When he pulled away, you saw his eyes boil black for a moment, and a shiver ran over your skin.

Even so, you didn't move away. Steve held you infinitely more securely than the rope that had bound your wrists. His hands cupped around your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks kept you in place when their sigil could not. His eyes, blue and green and beautiful, had caught you as surely as any diabolical snare demons had ever devised for angels. Or vice versa, to tell the truth and shame the devil.

"Should I send a message to the King of Long Island that you won't be joining him after all?" James couldn't have sounded happier if he tried. He loved you as a sister, almost as much as Steve did, and though he was furious that he'd been allowed to grieve you unnecessarily, he was too delighted to have you back to hold on to it.

"What?" Steve turned to glare at James as he barked the word. "Yes!" he shouted, his voice rich with disbelief that his friend even asked. "Go now. And close the door." Natasha made a tiny sound of protest and straightened out of her crouch as she stepped forward, making you wonder not for the first time who she was to Steve. James grinned and winked at you before taking Natasha's arm and guiding her from the room. Steve didn't see her turn to glare at you as she was led away, his eyes immediately returning to yours once he'd issued the command.

"She's my lieutenant, and my friend, nothing more." When you raised a questioning brow as your gaze returned to Steve's, he smiled. "I can still tell when you're jealous, my love. Your eyes go to smoke. I used to try to make you jealous just to see your eyes smolder."

"Did you?" You murmured the question, your lips curving in pleasure. Steve had always had a way of making you feel like the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Once again you were taken completely by surprise by Steve’s mouth on yours. You couldn’t understand why, despite all your training, you couldn’t see it coming. Then Steve’s startlingly brawny arms were wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against his broad chest and you couldn’t think at all, too focused on the press of his soft lips against yours. This, thank god, hadn’t changed.

The next thing you knew, you were being settled across firm thighs as Steve sank to the sofa you'd been sitting on and pulled you into his lap. "St--" The moment you were back in his arms, Steve's lips were once again on yours and all the questions you needed to ask went up in flames along with any thought you had of resisting the wildfire that had flared between you.

To your utter shock, Steve’s hands were already at the buttons of your bodice, unfastening them with deft but hurried fingers. You had no intention of trying to stop him, as eager for him as he for you, but this aggressive confidence in Steve’s touch was foreign to you, and thus of note, if not concern.

“It never occurred to me that breeches could be arousing, but it never occurred to me to imagine you in them, so…” Steve trailed off to bury his face between your breasts, his hands moving to unhook the modified corset you wore. The low rumble of Steve's voice sent a shiver of pure lust down your spine and you arched against him with a gasp. The delicious sound teased at your memory and you realized that you hadn't misremembered; Steve's voice really had changed.

"That's why you keep surprising me when you kiss me!"

Steve lifted his head from running his lips under the parting fabric over the curves of your breasts to smile at you. For the first time since you'd laid eyes on him again, you saw your Steve in his smile. You didn't know he was thinking something similar about you, that it was the first time since he'd heard your voice again that he'd heard his girl. It wasn't the cracked rasp, but the bored indifference that had made him question your identity. "What?" he asked with a laugh.

"Your breath doesn't catch when you're wound up anymore." You smiled softly, unable to hold your heart back from Steve, your Steve, as you lifted your hand to brush at the lock of blond hair that always fell over his forehead whenever he got disheveled. You'd always adored disheveled Steve; and absence truly had made the heart grow fonder.

Your face seemed to Steve like it was shining as you smiled down at him. His heart, whispering from wherever it hid from the demon he'd allowed to infest him, had insisted that you could not be lost to him forever, that it, that he would know if you were truly beyond his reach. Should his heart be right, and he'd never allowed himself to give that thought credence for longer than a sleepless night, he'd never dreamed you'd look at him like this ever again.

All he'd been able to hope for was that you still lived; he'd never allowed himself to hope you still loved. The sight of not only the same love as when he'd been only a man, but an even deeper, richer love, had his breath catching in his throat.

The sound had the two of you grinning at one another before you dived.

…The Other in Hell here

Tagging the usual suspects:

@hellzzzbelle @suz-123 @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @rishlo @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @getbuckylucky @california-grown

#intothenightmare2k #steve rogers x reader #demon!steve x angel!reader #marvel dark au #steve rogers fanfiction #one foot in heaven #the other in hell #pantswrites #two-part one-shot

[whumpbeans]

Soulmark

So I’m writing this bc when I was a young bean I was told that if I didn’t get married at 16 I was worthless, and then when I graduated high school I was degraded by my nuclear family so this piece contains some of that good venting hurt lmao. Also be gentle, I’m not a good writer and this isn’t edited lol.

Tw: suicide attempt, bullying, suicidal thoughts, near character death

Characters: lance centric angst, Keith, hunk, Pidge, Coran, Shiro, Allura (eventually), axca

Part one

He stood on the edge of a ten story building. The cold night wind sent a shiver up his spine. The hair on his arms stood up. He lifted a foot in front of him. He tested the gravity. No solid ground touched his foot. His heart pounded in his chest.

His foot firmly planted back on the ledge. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

His head pounded. He looked up at the sky. The stars obscured by city lights. Lance’s knees wobbled under him and he almost fell forward. He managed to stabilize himself and took a step down from the ledge.

This time he opted to sit on it instead. His feet dangled limblessly. He closed his eyes tightly and tilted his head back. His fingers gripped the ledge. He scooted himself closer to the edge. He let out a shaky breath. A wave of pain crossed through his chest. Something heavy and cold weighed his heart-or what used to be his heart.

“Soul-bonds, huh?” Lance chucked a crumpled piece of cement onto the pavement. Most people in the world were born with odd marks somewhere on their bodies. Once their destined touched them, the mark grows into a bigger tattoo. Lance stared at where his clean, unmarked flesh sat. His soulmark never existed. Likely his destined died in childbirth. Lance never even got the chance to meet them. “Fuck…” his voice choked. Hot tears slid down his cheeks.

“What’s the use of a soul if it’s incomplete?” His mother said this to his abuelita over the phone. She didn’t know he heard her.

“But it’s true,” Lance whispered to himself. He sighed. No point. “To be fair I never had a point here.” He chuckled, but his throat grew tight and hot. He coughed.

“I heard people lose their soulmates when they whore themselves out.,” his uncle glared at Lance. Lance was seven when he heard that. He shook his head.

“He’s broken, don’t touch him,” a woman grabbed one of his classmates arms and pulled him away from Lance.

“Broken,” Lance repeated numbly.

His eyes felt wet and burned. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He opened up his eyes and stared ahead. The shadows of tall buildings covered his frame from detection of any passerby in the street below. He took a deep breath and stood to his feet again. Another deep breath. He glanced behind himself. His neon blue sneakers sat propped on the base of the ledge. Lance’s eyes returned ahead of himself. Another deep breath.

Lance took a step forward. His eyes stared at the street. Time seemed to slow down. His body weight inched closer to the pavement. All the blood in his body rushed into his ears. It filled his head. He felt light.

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He closed his eyes. Lance waited for impact.

Except there was none.

Except someone held onto his hips. Strong arms wrapped tightly around him. His body half dangled over the ledge. The person who held him grunted. He pulled Lance back. Lance didn’t fight it. Instead he leaned his body backwards which allowed the guy to not fall over the ledge with him.

Lance fell backwards and onto the person who held onto him. He grunted. A sharp jab pressed against Lance’s ribs. Lance yelped and rolled off of the guy. He glared at the guy. His eyes immediately softened at the familiar face.

“Fuck me,” Lance groaned.

Keith-fucking-Kogane saved him. The most emo and well liked student amongst the garrison. He practically followed through Shiros, the school’s original top dog before he went MIA, footsteps. Why was he even here? Lance scattered to his feet and backed up. His back hit the wall of the ledge. Keith sat up quickly. His eyes wide. He quickly jumped onto Lance as if Lance would immediately try to jump off of the building. Lance struggled with Keith sitting on his hips. He tried to buck Keith off. Keith kept him pinned down.

Lance thrashed his head back and forth.

“Listen to me-hey!” Keith yelled at him. “Snap out of it!”

Lance tried to move his arms from under Keith’s grip. He Threw his head back and forth again. Keith wrapped his arms then around Lance’s torso. His body now supported by Keith. Lance froze.

Fat tears rolled down Lance’s cheeks. He buried his head into Keith’s shoulder. Sobs wracked his body. His hands clutched Keith’s stupid cropped jacket.

______________________________________________________

Lance was sure Keith didn’t recognize him when they got blasted into space. By the way he acted, Keith either could win a grammy with his acting performance or he didn’t recognize Lance. He felt pretty certain of the latter.

Now the team stood on an alien planet. They tried to recon with the planet but the planet was ambushed by galra.

Lance leaned his head back. His heart pounded in his chest. Blasters sounded off in the distance. He heard the familiar sound of a lion taking to the air. Now if he could just get to red…

“Get to your lions! We need to form voltron!” Keith commanded over the comms.

Galran soldiers yelled off directions. They stomped closer to where Lance hid. He readied his bayard. He took a deep breath in. He aimed. He shot down a soldier. He exhaled. The Galra turned towards Lance’s direction.

Lance took that as his cue to run like hell. He turned around and ran straight into someone. He quickly backed up, but his weapon got knocked out of his hand. Lotor’s squad. The big hunk of galran meat, Zethrid, grinned at him. Her murderous eyes filled with mirth.

“Can we do this another day, I gotta plane to catch,” Lances voice shook.

She grabbed his arm and threw him against the back of a tree like plant. He gasped.

“Lance! We don’t have time to joke around!” Pidge grunted through the comms.

Zethrid threw a punch at Lance. Lance ducked. He side-rolled. Lance ran forward. Zethrid grabbed his ankle and swung him into the ground. All the air in his body left him. She punched his chest plate. Lance choked.

He struggled against Zethrid, but she pinned him.

“Guys?!” he struggled to say into the comms, “I got trouble!”

The comms buzzed. “Lance, what’s your position?” Keith asked.

Zethrid raised her arm. Lance’s eyes widened. “I-”

She threw her hand down. The impact of her hand against Lance’s helmet cracked it. His head slammed against the ground. He felt dizzy. His eyesight blurred.

He could hear the comms buzz, but the sound they made didn’t make sense. Zethrid filled his vision again. She held up her hand again. Another punch. Lance felt the impact. His jaw ached. His eyes burned.

A neon blue colored bird landed in front of him. It bounced around and then took off. And with the bird, so did his consciousness.

Warmth spread through him. It dripped from his head and through his body.

Something pressed his shoulder. Something shook him. Lance lazily opened his eyes.

A purple galra shoved a clay cup into his face. Lance took it. He stared at the cup. His head dizzy and thoughts constantly derailed. He took a sip of the water. The water held no taste. Satisfied, the guard left. A cell locked in front of him.

Across from Lance sat another empty cell. Both areas purple and dark. Lance shivered. A cold draft passed through the cells. His head throbbed. Lance squeezed his eyes shut.

What happened? “Prisoner,” Lance’s eyes snapped open. He got taken. He looked down at himself. He wore nothing but a pair of scratchy, brown colored cloth pants.

“You’re up,” said a shrill voice.

Lance shivered.

His cell door squeaked open. A pair of sentries and a druid came in and cuffed him. They placed a magenta colored collar around his neck that attached to a similar colored leash. The druid held the leash behind Lance.

Lance’s heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed thickly. The robots lead him into an off room adjacent to the prison cells. In the room sat a large lab. Many large tubes filled with strange purple and silver colored liquid stationed around the lab. A large dissection table with straps attached. Off of the center stood something that looked like a pillory.

The druid yanked his leash. It sent electricity through the leash and onto Lance. Lance yelped. He quickly matched his pace to the druid. It lead him to the pillory. Lance felt shame burn his cheeks as they locked his head into place.

“Blue paladin,” the druid almost sang. “I have been given permission to test you in the most lethal ways, how wonderful!” The druid drifted towards one of the control panels. It picked up an item sitting on it. The druid levitated back to Lance. It displayed a long whip at Lance. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Fear gripped Lance’s stomach. “He-hey! I’m not really into this stuff,” he stuttered, “Maybe we should, um, do something else?” His voice became shrill. The druid disappeared from his vision.

The first strike always hurt the worst. Lance squeezed his eyes shut.

“These freaks deserve worse,” Charlie Diaz rose his stick up again. He slammed it against Lance’s back. Lance screamed. He couldn’t fight back. Charlie was much bigger than him being a fourth grader while Lance barely stood a chance at seven years old.

The second strike snapped against his back. He felt blood trickle down his shoulder.

A hand wrapped around his throat. “This is wha’ ya get!” His uncle slurred. “Soulmateless...ha! You’re a sorry excuse of a life.”

Tears burned Lance’s eyes, but he held them back. He’s been through worse. Another snap of the whip. Lance’s knees wobbled. After another hit, his knees gave out. He barely held on using his ankles to support himself in an awkward squatted position. His body weight now half leaning against the pillory.

Several more whips attacked Lance’s skin.

“Lo siento, mijo,” his mother kissed his forehead. “No tienes una media naranja.”

Lance didn’t really understand her words. Soulmates were for parents anyways, and he didn’t need an icky partner. They had cooties anyways. “No la necesito,” he whispered. He looked into his mother’s eyes. The whites of her pupil red and wet. Her cheeks flushed. She hugged him.

The pillory’s lock snapped open. Lance fell to the ground. His back ached. His limbs too heavy to move. The druid yanked on his leash. The zap of electricity brought to life his jelly-like limbs.

Lance stood up and followed the druid. It lead him next to the table. He laid onto his back. He yelped from the pressure on the lashes that covered his back. The druid strapped him in. It tied Lance’s leash to a pole attached to the side of the bed across from his head.

The druid then returned to one of the control panels. Lance took several deep breaths. It came back with a syringe filled with some strange neon blue colored liquid in it. Lance glared at the syringe. The druid slapped his arm a few time. It then held his elbow steady and injected the serum.

The prick distracted Lance briefly from the pain in his back. A familiar heavy feeling sank in his chest. The serum took full effect. The druid unlatched Lance from his restraints. It didn’t undo the leash from the pole. Lance cautiously sat up. Fatigue crawled through him. The druid levitated to a high vantage point.

Lance sat against the table. His head felt dizzy. His back hurt. His chest felt empty. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head against them. His heartbeat slowed. He swallowed back a sob and bit his lip.

He blinked hard. He wanted to...he shook his head. Not now, Lance ordered himself.

The blood on his back trickled. Unable to keep clotting. Lance let out a trembled sigh. He laid on his side. His eyesight blurry. He heard the druid levitate closer to him.

#langst #fanfiction #langst fanfiction #vld whump #lance vld

[otome-addicts-notsoanonymous]

This is the entry from @otomemonogatari for the fanfic giveaway! Remember, in order to vote, you must COMMENT on this post! To find the rules for voting and the master post, look under #fanficgiveawaymaster or here. The other submissions can also be found under #fanficsubmissions.

Title: WORTHLESS GIRL

(aka when you give up on making cool sounding titles do you just riff off of ‘imperfect girl’.)

Summary: In a bathroom somewhere in the world, a hapless girl finds herself overwhelmed by the world.

Genre:  drabble, angst, slight romance

Pairing: mc/eisuke motherfucking ichinomiya

Rating: mature probably

WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE NEAR THE END

Author’s Note(more like incoherent ramble tbh): so this be my first “””””””eisuke fic”””” in that focuses more on mc and her inner turmoil. How I got this this idea was because in the past few days I discovered @catchthespade ‘s account and one particular post on mc and eisuke’s relationship they did. It looked at them, their relationship and how it is presented throughout season four. They ‘talked’ about mc’s lack of self worth and esteem and was just a real great break down of both characters. It’s a great read and something when I read it I felt it said what I’ve been thinking for a while  but way better. They also just framed certain scenes that shone them in new lights which me at twelve am doesn’t really ever notice.

So basically, I read this really thotful post and was like ‘mhmmmn, I gonna write about that.’

so I hope you enjoy.

She had once heard of the phrase ‘walk tall my friends…”. It was a baffling phrase. One whose origins she couldn’t remember, and whenever she did try to do so all that was garnered was a perilous sense of loss. But, like most things of torturous sadness, it had stayed with her all the same. The meaning chasing after her in a never-ending maze.

To Walk Tall.

What was it like? What was it like to be able to ‘walk tall’?

She was stubby, small, a midget. She couldn’t walk tall. Whatever god that had decided that didn’t allow her to. She slouched, was wobbly and couldn’t prance in heels. It was a permanent disadvantage to her life. It made it impossible for her to function in the society that had been thrust upon her.

Although, even if she weren’t stumpy and short and incapable of walking she still wouldn’t be able to ‘walk tall’. She was a leech, a parasite,‘an organism which lives in or on another organism and benefits by deriving nutrients at the other’s expense.’She took from him, Eisuke Ichinomiya. She was a negative force in his life that simply stole from and caused him trouble. He’d tell her not to worry, he always told her not to worry, but that never changed the fact that she attracted trouble. It never changed her being useless, and it never changed the fact that she could not walk tall because of her very nature.

Ahh, but dear, they’d cry,don’t worry. It’s just like how we kill our world slowly and how half the population is dying. We know it, oh it exists, but we just don’t worry about it. Ignore it, it shouldn’t matter to us. Instead of worrying, just let it grow, let it swell to a magnificent proportion that absorbs everything with it.

‘Become what you claim yourself to be, you can if you want to. I don’t mind.’Was what he had told her oh so many times.

And, he says that but: Would he really tear himself apart for something so selfless? Would he really allow her to become such a horrible leech on his life?

How could she walk tall then? How could she if she leapt into the arms of her failings? How could she when there would be nothing about her that would have a reason to? How could she when she was so useless? How could she if all she ever did was lean and prop herself up on another?

How could something so pitiful ever even breath?

‘Please. Please. Please just stop. Don’t exist for a minute. All of it, please, for one tiny moment as short as my worthiness, please just stop.’She screamed.

The window in front of her, it long and bearing her for all the world to see, was frosted with ice and snow to the point where it burned skin to a blazing heat. Inside out, her organs too were burnt to a crisp that would never fully heal. The white fire always so close that her tongue danced with its taste as if it were a crème brûlée flamed to perfection. It the best treat you could ever eat.

In the window pane itself, there was a girl. Now, the girl wasn’t there when she had first entered the lofty bathroom, there was nothing but the stillness of a frozen world. But once her toes touched the toasty waters of the tub, the girl appeared stark and bared for all the world to see.

And she, the girl, was a small thing. Pathetic you could say. Frame weak and fragile to the touch, she was almost like amber: easy to shatter and break into millions and million of teeny tiny itty bitty pieces. You could tell of her childish nature from how she carried herself. She slouched, shoulders bunched high and eyes downcast, almost afraid to look at the world as it was. There was nothing spectacular about her: body without any major curves with everything small, whatever beauty she sported not once ever captivated on.

She was, in short, a missed opportunity. Not quite a women in too many regards. A poor example of what a women should be.

She closed her eyes, head face up and did not look at the girl in the window. Her and the light reflecting a truth too vibrant to witness with open eyes. Too real to bear its consequence. She wouldn’t even peak a sneak.

Don’t think. Don’t give it a chance. Don’t give her room to breath.

Shoving it all away with hands and knees and elbows and anything she could use, she felt uncomfortable in the deep tub. The bathroom was too large, so much space completely useless for anything but walking. The marble floors cost an amount that would certainly make her head implode, with the bath itself able to fit too much.

In it she felt so tiny, like a rat scrounging for somewhere to live. To be truthful, she always felt like a rat and sometimes she even thought she had more in common with them than actual people.

It never used to be like that, however. Along the way she had devolved to such a pathetic way of existing. Where that had began she could pin point exactly however it was not like she could say it. To do so would admit a lot and neither of them could. She couldn’t face the fact and he couldn’t acknowledge her, and so it ended up as another shard of her reality that would chase after her like it were the hunt. Haunting her for all of eternity.

Ah~ But that was a bit dramatic, a bit of an exaggeration, a bit too much of a lie. There were moments where she forgot all about it, forget who she was and the way which the world she lived in worked and how vast it was. How poor of a person, a women, she was. It came in rough kisses and exposed breasts and tantalising touches that trailed up further and further along her thighs. Mewing like a kitten so hopeless in its ways.

Oh, how sweet those poisonous moments were~ Even now they brought a smile to her lips. The fact that drinking something that killed her made her happy too disgusting.

Although: was it better that there were times where all she knew was the man know as Ichinomiya?

Although: wasn’t that her life already?

…

…

…

Drawing in her legs, she tried to abandon that too. Yet, how could she when it was just her and them?

Then she couldn’t help but hope for there to be something else. For there to be the pattering of rain or even just a ringing hum. Just some noise so she wouldn’t be so alone.

Ahh, but that was all she ever was.

She chuckled.

No wonder she couldn’t stand tall. She was begging for things as simple as that.

Eisuke, on the other hand, stood tall. If anyone ever stood tall it was him. He was the tallest. And there she was trailing behind him, so insignificant and so small.

If anything he was untouchable.

If anything he was irreproachable.

She wasn’t worth him.

Wasn’t worth anything.

Her arm followed the dripping water, then the rest of her soon followed too, and then everything was clear. Or unclear. It wouldn’t matter much longer.

Instead, stay here for awhile, Don’t get up. Rest your pretty head, the watercalled.

Under neigh, everything was so blue and so beautiful. Was she too, for once, beautiful? A crown? A gem? Twenty million? Was she that?

And now, she could feel it. She could feel the water take her in its arms and it felt so good and so lovely and so right. Her breath was stolen and her checks became a blush red and her thighs dripped.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

More and more she cried.

More and more she wanted her vision to fade.

Body to fade.

World to fade.

Fade, fade away.

For there to be nothing but stardust.

Such pretty pretty stardust

#fanfic #fanficgiveaway #fanficsubmissions #kbtbb #kbtbb eisuke

[myka-writes]

In Fair Verona - Chapter 02

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Omega Katsuki YuuriAlpha Victor Nikiforov, Rivalry, Angst, Romeo and Juliet AU

Read on AO3.

“Get in, Yuuri.”

Yuuri feels the lump in his throat grow and his chest tighten. The silk against his skin itches. The gravel under his bare feet like needles.

His mother points to the box. A small stone sarcophagus garnished with signage of the Katsuki clan. The sarcophagus sat at the center of their water garden. “Please, Mama.” Yuri shakes as he forces the words out. It seems those words are the only things he can say lately.

“Don’t embarrass this family any further, brother.” Mari’s voice hits him like a blow. Specially coming from her. She’s the only one that knows how much Yuuri hates this thing. How when he was six, he accidentally locked himself inside it and screamed until he lost his voice to be let out. Mari was the one who found him back then. She had been the one that swore he would never have to be inside it again.

“Did you leave your scent around the manor?” Hiroko asks.

Yuuri closes his eyes. “I walked around all the rooms in the manor three times and touched as many things as I could like you requested, mother.”

“Good. If one of the alpha guests catches your scent, they should be able to find you here.”

“And if no one finds me?” Yuuri dares ask. Would he remain in the box? Would he be forgotten as the worthless omega he now was.

“If no alpha can track your scent, father will bargain to find you a mate. Don’t worry, brother. You’re still an omega and can give an alpha valuable pups.” There is a snicker in her tone. Something that makes Yuuri’s stomach flip.

Someone pushes him. Yuuri bites his bottom lip, not wanting to see who and continues forward. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. He thought it would stop hurting to hear their horrible words, but it never does.

His feet ease into the water. The hard surface of the man-made pool rough on his soles. Mari follows behind him.

Yuuri feels his heart thump louder and louder with each step. Until his fingers can reach the sarcophagus at arm’s length. Mari comes around him and opens the lid. It creaks and the sound forces memories Yuuri doesn’t want.

“Hurry up. The alphas will be here within the hour.”

“Please…” Yuuri knows his words won’t be heard, but he can’t help himself. How could his family who loved him so dearly a month ago, treat him like this now? How could his sister who was excited to hear his ideas on bringing in one of the northern clans now tells him to go inside a box she knows he deeply fears. “Please, please…”

“Don’t make me grab you and throw you inside.”

Yuuri feels the fear abide for a second, like a sharp intake of air. The world around him quiets, a ringing swallowing him whole. It’s the acceptance that no matter how much he pleads, life was never going to go back to how it was. His family will never look at him the same way. He will never run away from this. He will never be free again. His thoughts didn’t matter. His wants didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

“Yuuri.”

A final warning.

Yuuri takes in a deep breath. Perhaps he didn’t matter. Perhaps he will never be free. He was no longer yuuri Katsuki, only son of the Katsuki family. He was just an omega. His life will be chosen for him, but that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

“I dare you.” The words are a snap. A sharp bite. He starts to turn around. Hell with tradition. Hell with their rules. Hell with being omega.

Mari growls and before Yuuri can give another step. His older sister’s arm wraps around his waist, hoist him over her shoulder and throws him inside the dark sarcophagus. Dropping the heavy lid down with a thunderous thud and drowning Yuuri’s world and screams in darkness.

Victor makes sure his mask is secured on his face as he blindly hands the invitation to the gate guard. They are let in without a fuss and Chris drops an arm around his shoulders as they step inside the Katsuki manor.

“You are now officially Count Victor Giacometti. For one night only.”

“Can’t believe you used my real name on the invitation.” He shifts out of Chris’ reach and adjust his high ponytail.

“It makes it easier. Victor is a common name and this way I can call it with no one batting an eye.”

“Can’t believe you convince me to attend this thing. This is nothing but a party of alphas.” He glances around at the males and females already in attendance. The air is invaded by the strong scent of alpha. “You’re a beta, how the heck did you get an invite to this thing again?”

“Sometimes money talks better than a secondary gender.”

“Not surprised,” Victor scoffs. He always knew the Katsuki’s valued wealth over reputation. That was no surprise.

They reach a grand hall where all the guests have come together. A large open hall in the middle of the manor. All the doors to the adjoining rooms were wide open. Something rather unusual since high-society balls tended to be localized to a preset space by the host. No host wanted their guest to wander aimlessly in their home.

“This is a weird ball,” Chris comments as they reach the main floor.

Victor spots a couple of alphas that make business with his family too. He would make note to tell his father. Multiple sets of eyes follow him as he wanders. He is aware some of the alphas had already identified him. After all, he didn’t know of any other alpha’s that had long silver hair like he did, his appearance was unique, something he prided himself of. Half the room already knew who he was, but no one would dare mention it as long as the rules of the masquerade remained. As long as the masks stayed on.

They keep to the edge of the room. Passing by large arrangements of strong scenting flowers. A steward passes by with a tray of food. Chris grabs a piece of chicken and swallows it without chewing.

“Do you smell that?” Victor’s eyes fall on a large marble column a few feet ahead.

“The food? Or the alpha stench?” Chris mock gags. “Everyone is releasing their pheromones hoping to attract this rumored omega.”

“Are they?” Victor steps closer. “I’ve never been to an omegan ball. Is that what you’re supposed to do?”

Chris elbows Victor on the ribs. “Go ahead. Release yours. Play the game.”

“I’m not going to belittle myself like these sorry excuses for alpha. It’s unsightly to release your pheromones for show. To beg pathetically for an omega. To hope one would come to you without lifting a finger. Unsightly.”

Chris moods drifts a bit. “Everyone wants a mate. Omega’s are hard to come by.”

“I already have a mate.” Victor pauses by one of the large columns. Suddenly reaching out to the white marble. “It’s here. That scent. Don’t you smell it?”

“No…” Chris frowns. His eyes catch something. “Hey, I see Leo down by the entrance. I’ll ask him to join us.”

Victor doesn’t listen. His fingers touch the marble, bringing the scent to his nostrils. “Oranges…” He feels a small rumble deep in his chest. Something was wrong with the scent, something twisted that made his stomach drop and forces him to release a low guttural growl.

He searches for the source of the scent. Feet moving hastily until he finds it again by the doors. Again down another hall. Deeper and deeper inside the Katsuki manor he goes. Deeper inside the world of the enemy. Not caring if Chris will find him again. Not caring if he’ll find his way back. His feet moving with haste as he follows the scent of oranges.

When Yuuri opens his mouth to cry all that comes out is a weak pitiful whine. He tucks himself in a corner of the dark space. Knees up to his chest, hands and feet raw and bleeding from trying to push the box open.

He’s given up long ago.

He has no more screams. No more tears. Now he just waits. Waits even if he knows that no one will find him here. No one will come until the time had ended and his mother and father decided he was worthy to be let out. To be let out and offer him up as a price. A reward to the highest bidder. To the alpha that will bring his family the most power.

He will have no choices anymore. Not in a mate. Not in a home. Not in how many children he’ll bear.

For a second Yuuri wishes to disappear into the dark. That the darkness that surrounded him would take his consciousness too.

There’s a small click. Yuuri’s eyes widened even in the dark. He feels the box shift and drop a few inches, making him yipe. “What—” he doesn’t have time to process anything before there’s a second click followed by the sound of flowing water.

Yuri jumps when liquid reaches his feet. His mouth opens in a soundless cry along with the horror of the realization that the sarcophagus was sinking. It was filling with water!

“Mama!” Yuuri finds his voice again despite the ache. Finds the strength strewn from panic as he tries to push the lid open once more with everything he has.

“Please! Please! Mama! Papa! Mari! Please!” He cries and cries. Feeling the water rise and rise. Hoping they would not be this cruel. Hoping this was just an accident. “Please let me out!” he screams and screams.

But nobody comes. Nobody helps. Yuuri only feels the box continue to sink and the water reaching to drown him.

Victor runs.

He runs desperately through empty halls, through empty rooms and he has no idea why.

The soft sweet scent of oranges suddenly tinged with sorrow and deep fear. Victor follows it like a madman. Like he’s lost his mind and nothing matters but this scent.

He makes it outside in the night. Stumbles into a large garden, slipping on the moist gravel. His mask falls from his face in the scuffle, his clothes torn as he rises back up. He continues running. Not knowing where he is going, but at the same time certain of every step.

At the far end of the garden. Where the noise from the ball could no longer be heard. Victor reaches a large water garden, a small sarcophagus sits in the middle of a pool and it appeared to be… sinking?

He sees it move further down. The terrified scent forcing a growl. Victor hops inside the pool without second guessing himself. Half jumping, half-running on the foot of water. He reaches the sinking sarcophagus. His fingers desperate on the lid. There had to be a way to open it. There had to be!

After seconds of frantic searching, his fingers touch a round surface. Something protruding. Victor pushes it down. His heart thudding at the sound of something becoming unlocked. He pushes the lid open.

Breath catches inside his throat.

The world slows to a crawl.

The night becomes oranges.

Victor carefully pulls a soaked terrified omega from the coffin. Pulls it close to him. Carries it safe in his arms.

He breathes. One. Two. Three.

Brown eyes look up at him. Victor doesn’t blink away. The moment crawls, becomes endless. The world vanishes around him, the only thing in the world was in his arms.

Trembling fingers touch his cheek. He feels the warmth spread like wildfire, like life intertwined. Victor feels the world is sinking in those beautiful brown eyes.

He pulls the omega closer to his chest, desiring more of that skin. More of everything.

And as soft arms wrap around his neck and soft breaths spread on his nape. Victor knows one absolute truth.

“My omega… mine.”

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfiction #victuuri #my writing #omegaverse #yoi #fanfiction

[ajax-b1ue]

Suspension of Disbelief: Ch 8

2018 Big Bang Fic Challenge Submission Amazing Artist, Big Bang Partner, and Header Creator: @ahoardofsides​ TW: Villainous Deceit, angst, manipulation, gaslighting, self-deprecation, self-harm, anxiety attack, violence, blood, attempted murder Pairings: Platonic LAMP WC: 2756

( Master | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Chapter 8: All’s Well That Ends... | 9 )

Thomas sat cross legged in the middle of his bed. He tried to take slow, deep breaths, hoping that might help to calm the painful palpitations in his chest.

The alarm clock read just after 2:00 in the morning. He was once again soaked with sweat, and shivered as his air conditioner kicked on.

He’d just had what he didn’t think was an exaggeration to call the worst nightmare of his life. He couldn’t remember it now, only that he was absolutely terrified— and that he woke up thinking he was having an actual heart attack and dying.

Thomas wanted so badly to call on his sides again. Something more had to have happened; it was killing him to not know what was going on. And he knew Patton said he should call them if he needed them. But Thomas was also aware that it had only been a few hours. If it was like last time, the sides probably had their hands full trying to take care of things themselves.

Thomas held off as long as he could, but he couldn’t stave off the growing anxiety in him forever. It wasn’t just that he was still in the dark about whatever it was that was going on— but the thought that it might keep happening. He didn’t want to go back to sleep if it brought on another nightmare like that. Or what if he had another unexpected anxiety attack? There was no way he could possibly leave the apartment, not with the chance that one could hit him while he was driving. 

He did his best to hold it together as the hours crept by, to try to distract himself with things like music and Netflix and warm mugs of tea… but Thomas felt too frayed to focus on anything for long. He just couldn’t seem to calm back down, or keep all the terrible ‘what-if’s out of his head.

Sitting on his couch in the quiet and dark of the early morning, Thomas was almost to his tipping point, when without any warning or preamble two of his sides appeared on their own.

Thomas leapt to his feet, heart pounding again, but he was too relieved to care. “Patton! Logan!” The sides didn’t get an opportunity to speak, as Thomas frantically questioned them. “Is Virgil still okay? And where’s Roman? What’s been happening?? …Are those bruises?” Thomas asked all of a sudden, staring.

Logan and Patton looked to each other, before Logan admitted, “Yes.” 

“You guys can get bruised?” Thomas asked incredulously.

“We can get a lot worse than that,” Logan muttered, and Thomas fell silent in shock. Patton shot Logan a look; it took a moment, but Logan at least appeared a little abashed as he realized his indiscretion. 

Thomas was still taken aback at the implication, mouth working as he tried to find what to say.

Finally he settled on, “Guys… please. Tell me what’s going on.” He looked between his two sides, pleading.

“…Deceit,” they answered simultaneously. Thomas reeled, taking an unconscious step back.

“It’s a long story,” Logan warned quietly.

“Okay…” Thomas slowly sunk into his couch, then looked back up at both of them. “Okay,” he repeated. “Tell me.”

When Roman awakened again, he at first made the mistake of thinking he was alone. Alarmed, he tried to push himself up on his side, hissing at the pain in his shoulder. A quiet voice startled him into halting: “You probably shouldn’t sit up.”

Roman snapped his head over to see Virgil still sitting in the recliner. He had one leg curled up, his hoodie draped over his knee and across his lap, and was eyeing Roman. As soon as they made eye contact, though, he glanced away. Roman dropped his eyes as well, feeling heat prickling up the back of his neck, but settled back down on the couch.

“You need anything?” The question surprised Roman, whose gaze darted back up to Virgil; the anxious side was staring at something in his lap, but seeing as there was no one else present, Roman was the only person he could be speaking to.

He opened his mouth, hesitating, then shook his head slightly. “No, I’m… I’m fine,” he answered, voice small, suddenly aware of the dryness in his mouth. That wasn’t worthy of asking Virgil to get up, though, particularly considering the crutches that Roman just then noticed on the floor beside Virgil’s chair.

Virgil paused in whatever he was doing, glancing at Roman from under his bangs before looking away again. “There’s a bottle of water on the floor next to the couch,” he said simply.

Again, Roman was surprised, then he flushed. Still, he rolled over just enough to find that there was indeed a bottle of water resting there, cold and covered in condensation. He took it, propping himself up on his elbow to open it and take a drink before resettling himself.

Neither of them spoke. Roman couldn’t help but wonder where Logan and Patton were, but didn’t ask, and Virgil didn’t volunteer the information, instead focusing on something in his lap. Roman tried not to watch Virgil, certain his attention was unwanted.

After a few minutes and a lack of anything else to draw said attention, however, Roman found his eyes wandering back to the anxious side. It took Roman a few moments to realize what he was working on, before he saw Virgil pulling on a needle and thread— he was sewing up part of his hoodie. He was— 

He was sewing up the cut in the sleeve.

Roman was stricken once more, and hastily looked away, his stomach rolling. Virgil couldn’t miss Roman’s reaction, and stiffened. After a moment, he set the hoodie to the side, shifting uncomfortably.

Roman would have had to be completely oblivious to miss that Virgil was still upset being around him. How could he blame him, though? The creative side was miserably aware of how much he deserved Virgil’s anger, even hate, after everything he did to him.

At length, Roman could stand the tension no more, even though he was certain Virgil didn’t want to speak to him. He didn’t want to do this laying down, though. Not that Roman thought he could manage looking Virgil in the eye, even if the other side wanted to, but he already felt weak and pathetic and small.

And so— even knowing how badly it would hurt— he pushed himself up into a sitting position, sucking air between his teeth and clutching at his shoulder.

Virgil of course immediately took notice— “Roman!”— but it wasn’t as though he could jump up to stop the other side, who just forced himself through it. He had to say this. 

“Virgil— I—” And already, he choked, having no idea what he could possibly say, how he could express what he was trying to, how to fix any of this.

“Roman, it’s fine,” Virgil tried to defer, but Roman shook his head.

“No— it’s— it’s not. I don’t…” He let out a breath that was half sob. “I don’t even know how to… I’m sorry,” he said at last, voice cracking. He brought his hands up to press his palms to his eyes, trying hard not to cry. It sounded so pitiful and worthless in his ears— how fitting, he couldn’t help but think.

“Roman, you don’t… have to do this.” Virgil still sat stiffly, and grasped his left forearm, just above where it was bandaged. 

Roman lifted his head ever so slightly. “I don’t have to apologize for trying to kill you?” His words may have been rueful, but his voice and expression were sickened. Virgil inhaled sharply, trying to cover his unease and failing. Roman watched Virgil for a moment longer, before his eyes drifted away, staring across the living room, unfocused and glassy. “…For almost succeeding?”

“…It wasn’t you,” Virgil insisted quietly. “It… wasn’t your fault.”

“How is it not my fault?” Roman cried, taking Virgil aback. He buried his face again, then raked his fingers upwards through his hair. “I let Deceit gain power over me! Just because I was too stupid to realize that’s what was happening doesn’t mean I’m not to blame!” Tears now streaked freely down his face, and he dropped one hand to wrap around his stomach, the other wrapped around the back of his head.

“Roman,” Virgil tried to cut in, but Roman went on.

“And what about in the imagination? Deceit wasn’t controlling me then, that was me!” He ducked his head towards his knees.

“He was still deceiving you,” Virgil managed to get out, the words awkward and fumbled. “You were just trying to protect everyone.” Roman let out a choked laugh, shaking his head, clutching himself tighter. “Roman— I’m… I’m not…” Virgil let out a harsh breath. “Last night. What happened…”

“You don’t have to do this, Virgil.” Roman’s voice was thin and thready. “You don’t have to make excuses for me.” He gave a mirthless laugh, eyes swollen and red. “…You’ve always had the right of it, you know? I am a clueless moron, one hundred percent of—”

“Would you shut up and let me talk??” Virgil’s outburst made Roman flinch. “I’m trying to thank you for saving my life.”

Roman stared, unable to respond to that at first. Virgil started to hunch his shoulders, glancing away, though Roman could see him starting to flush.

Then Roman’s expression twisted into incredulity. “Saving… I’m the one who put your life in danger in the first place.”

“No,” Virgil insisted, shaking his head. “That was Deceit. Even if he hadn’t succeeded with you, he’d have just tried something different.” Virgil’s expression became rueful. “He obviously had it out for me. For all of us,” he amended.

“Just you and Patton, actually,” Roman supplied weakly. “He meant to let Logan live.” 

Virgil gave Roman a flat stare. “Comforting.”

They both fell silent, neither quite knowing what to say. Part of Virgil guiltily wanted to call the other sides back, as heartfelt conversations were miles beyond his comfort zone. But even he had to admit, this was a conversation that had to happen, and it had to be him— even if he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

He took a moment to just watch Roman— confident, brave, proud Roman— but now he looked so fragile. Pale, bandaged, arms wrapped around his middle, starting to curl in on himself again… and self-loathing rolling off of him in waves.

Virgil took a breath, thinking. Then, with some effort, he started to push himself up from the recliner. 

Roman didn’t realize what Virgil was doing until he was already up, balanced precariously on his one good leg. The princely side didn’t get the chance to protest before Virgil grabbed the arm of the couch, using it to support his weight and hobble over, before flopping into the cushions next to Roman.

If Virgil was being honest with himself, it was a bit closer than he was strictly comfortable with, but pressing himself into the end of the couch as far away from Roman as possible wasn’t going to send the right message. 

From the way Roman was staring at him, he’d taken the creative side off guard again. Despite the awkwardness, Virgil forced himself to speak, trying not to trip over his words.

“You’re… you’re a good person, Roman. Deceit— he used that against you.” Virgil could feel his face burning from embarrassment, and his eyes were firmly fixed on the coffee table, but he kept talking. “He wanted to use you, but he knew you’d never deliberately hurt any of us.”

Roman lifted his head at that, looking into Virgil’s face, before his eyes dropped to the anxious side’s arm. “…But I did hurt you, Virgil,” he whispered, clenching his eyes shut. 

“The imagination…” Virgil shifted in place, taking a breath. “That wasn’t you. That was Deceit gaslighting you.”

“I should have known,” Roman breathed.

“Roman. You…” Virgil wished he was better at expressing himself, like Patton, or at least more verbose like Logan. “You protected me.” Roman frowned, forehead wrinkling, turning to look at Virgil— who pointed to Roman’s injured shoulder. “When Deceit was controlling you, you… You sacrificed yourself. For me.” Now Virgil pointed repeatedly, shaking his head slightly. He struggled to find the words, because the conversation had become entirely too earnest for him, but it was important that he got this out: “That’s the real Roman.”

Now, Virgil made himself meet Roman’s eyes and not look away. Roman was just staring, mouth hanging slightly open, tears leaving tracks on his cheeks. He was clearly at a loss for words, and Virgil had run out. The stunned look the creative side wore made Virgil think that he’d at least gotten through to him.

And yet… Roman still looked so small, so uncertain… Virgil understood that all too well, and wished he were better at comforting people. 

But maybe… he could try?

This was way, way outside of his bubble, but then, the last twenty four hours had pretty much shredded the bubble. Is this honestly any worse than almost being killed? And so, very hesitantly, Virgil started to lift both of his arms, holding them awkwardly out to his sides. 

Roman stared, trying to process. “…What?”

“Is it… is it okay to hug you?” Virgil mumbled, flushing once more.

Roman’s mouth hung open again, and he was suddenly blinking a lot more rapidly. After a moment, he nodded, unable to find his voice. Still uncertain, Virgil slowly wrapped his arms around Roman’s shoulders, and pulled the other side towards himself.

It took a second for Roman to respond, but then he lifted his own arms, tentatively putting them around Virgil’s back. Virgil took that as permission to tighten his grip a little, which apparently was okay since Roman did the same. Then Roman let his head dip to Virgil’s shoulder, which was soon soaked by the creative side’s tears.

Thomas perched on the edge of his couch, eyes unfocused, still trying to process everything Logan and Patton had told him. 

What they had said… he was shaken deeply.

Patton asked gently, “Kiddo. Are you okay?”

Thomas glanced up. “I’m just… I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the thought that my deceitful side tried to kill my anxiety and morality.” He looked to Logan. “Is that even possible?” 

“We’re not sure,” Logan admitted. 

“And we weren’t really too hot on the idea of finding out,” Patton added, grimacing. 

Thomas raked his hands through his hair. “What would that have even done to me?” he wondered out loud, gesturing with both hands. 

“Probably cause you to become a sociopath,” Logan answered, matter of fact.

“What?!”

“Ooh, Logan—” The logical side looked from Thomas to Patton, who was wincing.

“…Not helping?” Logan hazarded. Patton scrunched his face and shook his head. 

Their attention was recaptured by Thomas exhaling hard; he closed his eyes and cradled his head in one hand, looking not unlike Virgil did before they left the mindscape. Logan’s expression became one of chagrin. “…Thomas. I want to apologize, for causing you more distress in what is an already stressful situation.”

Thomas gave him a weak smile. “It’s all right, buddy. I know you didn’t mean to.” 

A moment later, Patton abruptly asked, “Would you like to visit the mindscape?” 

“I— what?” The question clearly caught Thomas unprepared.

“To see Virgil and Roman,” Patton elaborated. “I know you’re worried about them, and I think it’d do you a world of good.”

“Yes— absolutely.” Thomas started to push himself up. 

Logan asked Patton in a murmur, “Do you think Roman’s up to that?”

“I think offering Roman all the support we can is a good thing,” Patton returned, equally quiet.

Thomas was already on his feet, looking at the two of them expectantly, and Logan bit down on any other reservations he might have. As he considered it though, something more occured to the logical side. 

“Actually… perhaps it would be best that you accompany us back to the mindscape.” Thomas and Patton both gave him questioning looks at his change of heart, and Logan went on. “I think we need your help with Deceit.”

Thomas’s expression faltered, though he tried to cover it up. “Right…” He took a breath to steel himself. Then Thomas glanced up at his two sides, who were watching him carefully. 

He breathed out, then nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

#suspension of disbelief #ts fanfiction #sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #angst #big bang

[merryfortune]

Day 2 - Awakened

Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc V Angst Week // A Stacked Deck

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: injury, blood, berserk mode, bullying

AN: slight AU but its set pre-canon. I don’t want to spoil it but that’s all y’all need to know.

  Yuto used to run a Forest of Spirits deck. Most would be surprised to hear that given his current personality; Ruri had even laughed at him when he told her that, but he didn’t mind. The purpose of telling her was to prove that he could trust her with more vulnerable and embarrassing information about himself. To make her laugh had been the point. But still, it was surprising.

  Those halcyon days of running a Forest of Spirits deck was quite some time ago now. Or at least it felt like it. He was fourteen, after all. It was when he was still just a little kid, about eleven, really, that he used to run his Spirit deck. He wasn’t even out of elementary school yet. However, the shift between using his Spirit monsters and using his Phantom Knight monsters was quite a difference. Honestly, that day left a lasting impact on Yuto for more than a few reasons. For a start, it marked him as different but that’s getting ahead of the story.

  So, let’s start simply. Yuto used to run Forest of Spirits deck. Why? Well, because he was a kid. He used to be a cute kid. He still was a cute kid, according to the likes of Ruri but he used to be a cuter kid. One with wider eyes and a stranger headspace. Because that’s just how kids were. How he was; even long before the war and destruction of Heartland.

  He loved fantasy stories. He still does love fantasy stories. Its just he used to love romantic fairy tales a lot. Now, he preferred fantasia which came with a heavier price than “happily ever after” but back then, he liked stories filled with pure and wondrous imagination. He liked stories where heroes slew the dragon and won the heroine’s love and they would go onto live a blessed life that savoured love and glory.

  It had been hopeful stories like that which had kept Yuto going. He’d always been the odd kid out. He was shorter and bit of a cry baby; he had bad eyesight and wore dorky glasses. He talked to his cards like they were real people. His family situation was mysterious at best and pitiful at worst. And there was also this aura about him. Like something wasn’t quite right; like there was something lurking beneath the surface which wasn’t right. Thus, where there was the inability to meet conformity, bullying resulted.

  And there was this one kid in Yuto’s grade whose favourite pastime was making sure the odd one out in their class remembered his place. For the most part, Yuto was a cowardly victim; remaining in line and licking his wounds later. He didn’t want to be noticed. He didn’t want to stick out. And the teachers weren’t being helpful. He wasn’t dumb. He knew there was something off about him as well, or maybe that’s just what had been drilled into him the course of being bullied and not having any defences. Any defences except for books and, of course, dueling.

  Yuto hid in the library most of the time. There were so many nooks and crannies so, he was able to find suitable places to wear out time with. Plus, he could read all the fairy tales he wanted so that was good too. He dreamed of the day he would be able to don a red cloak and take a sword into battle.

  So, he found his weapons of choice: cards. Not just in the library, but in class too, Yuto studied with the intention of becoming the best because he knew, if he could just win one duel – the right duel – everything would fall into place. He wouldn’t have to be a target anymore.

  Over and over, he would recite his plans for heroism to Elemental Mistress Doriado. People would tease Yuto and say that Doriado was useless and weak. Just like him. But he didn’t mind. He thought she was perfect just the way she was. That’s why he crowned his Elemental Mistress Doriado as “ace” of his deck.

  And it was because he crowned such a ‘worthless’ card his ace that one day, when everything which had been brewing over the course of his bullying, that one day, his tormentor snapped and decided he would take everything from Yuto. Well, perhaps not everything. Just that which meant most him: that ‘worthless’ card.

  At some point during, what had been an otherwise uneventful school day, the class bully stole Yuto’s deck from him. Yuto was both terrified and delighted. This is it. this was the moment he had been waiting for. This was the day he would take upon a hero’s mantle and rescue the heroine. In this case, the heroine was his beloved ace card, Elemental Mistress Doriado. So, he marched himself out of the classroom and into the courtyard, intent on doing something to his tormentor the moment he saw that cruel child. Yet he shook in his boots the whole way.

  And it hadn’t taken Yuto very long. In fact, his bully greeted him with a tutting smugness.

  “You really are dumb,” he said, “I mean, it took you all day to realise your precious cards were gone.”

  “D-Duel me.” Yuto mewled.

  The bully’s brow twinged. “Is that little voice the best you got, Ute? You sound pathetic. Like a girl.”

  “Duel me!” Yuto yelled with more conviction this time; his little fist in a tiny ball that quivered in front of him and yet, he seemed to be growing more confident as time went by.

  The bully clicked his tongue and sent Yuto’s deck flying. The cards went scattering and Yuto picked up each one with clawing desperation. The bully laughed. But, Yuto stood on his haunches regardless. He set his Duel Disc and D-Gazer.

  “Duel me.” Yuto instructed.

  “Sure,” his bully replied, “on one condition: the ante rule. We both put up our best card.”

  “Done.” Yuto replied.

  There was a pause. The bully set his own Duel Disc and D-Gazer. Then, a moment later, both youths yelled at each other: “Duel, start!”

  This duel had been like none other. It had been fuelled by Yuto’s passion. This bully – Ryuji – would be the dragon that he would slay to win his heroine and honour. If he could win, he could win everything. And, if he lost, he would lose it all. It was truly a picture-perfect battle.

  The best part was, Yuto was winning. He had stumbled at first. His plays were hesitant, and he had made mistakes and yet, he believed in his cards. He knew, deep down, that he had what it would take to win. He could feel glory and victory in his heart and he would bring it to fruition and with that pure-hearted conviction, he changed the tides of battle. With just a turn, his Forest of the Spirits deck had been able to overcome everything his bully threw at him.

  And yet, he hadn’t been able to play his best card. It was coming down to the wire now. Yuto and Ryuji had equal life points: 300 hundred. And Ryuji’s best monsters were in the graveyard with no hope of resurrection and the monsters he did have on his field, were fodder for stronger troops which were unable to be summoned; at least in this point in time.

  Best of all, it was the beginning of Yuto’s turn and he had just drawn a card which would end this battle magnificently. His third copy of the Pre-Preparation Rites card had been drawn! The other two had been sealed off from use during the course of the battle. His heart pounded as he read the card’s title over and over again. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, now was the time.

  With a shaking hand and excited smile, Yuto placed the card into position: “I use my spell card, Preparation of Rites!” he called out.

  The card glittered as the Duel Disc recognised his turn. The castle which appeared on the card appeared in the holographic space between them. It drew up from the ground with hallowed reverence and soon, options flashed across Yuto’s screen as he vibrated with pure joy. This would be the moment in which he would summon Elemental Mistress Doriado and show not just his bully, but the whole world, that his ace monster was the best ace monster ever!

  Yuto made his first selection. “I choose the spell card Doriado’s blessing!”

  His deck spat out the card. It had come from the very bottom. Yuto plucked it with eagerness and added it to his hand. He could hardly contain his elation as the screen moved to the next phase of the spell’s effect.

  “Now, I choose Elemental Mistress Doriado from my deck!” Yuto cried out excitedly.

  “Heh.” His bully choked out what was supposed to have been a laugh.

  “Huh?” Yuto mumbled and then, his blood ran cold.

  Error. Error. Error. Card not in deck. Unable to retrieve. System error. Those sorts of messages ran across his screen. Yuto forced his gaze across the battle field. Ryuji laughed raucously. He tipped his head back.

  “You really are stupid, Ute!” he bellowed.

  He fumbled with something in his breast pocket. Yuto’s quivering ceased being of a euphoric nature and turned to something far more fearful. His heart pounded in his ears and he felt hot, pinpricks of tears in the corner of his eyes.

  “What’s… What’s going on?” Yuto asked, his voice crumbling in the air.

  “Were you looking for this?” Ryuji asked, and he brandished a card.

  Through the dimness of sundown, Yuto wasn’t immediately certain what it was but he knew better. He wanted it to be anything else than Elemental Mistress Doriado but alas.

  Ryuji smirked. “As if I’d let you defeat me using a trash card like this. Beat me like a man, you wuss.”

  And then the unthinkable happened.

  Yuto could take verbal abuse. He would even have withstood a bashing or similar. However, this was far worse and far crueler than sticks and stones and words.

  Ryuji held the card on its side. And he tore it in two. The ever-smiling Elemental Mistress Doriado was now smiling through her death sentence. The sight of it tore Yuto’s heart in two.

  Yuto screamed out. But Ryuji delighted in the act of shredding the card in two. He delighted in how Yuto begged for him to stop. And he especially delighted in how Yuto slumped to his knees; hands dragging in the dust and that look upon his face was palpable.

  Big, fat tears welled up into Yuto’s eyes and a sadness like no other filled him. But that sadness, that grief over the destruction of his ace card and best friend, was not an ordinary sadness. It soon gave way to some sort of anger as the sky darkened and the sun sank below the earth. It didn’t seem a nary star was out.

  Truthfully, Yuto didn’t know the emotion that flowed through him in that awful moment. But it had been a very powerful anger and it had not been a righteous one. Well, perhaps it could have been if Yuto had been a different person, but alas, he was Yuto: one whole of a whole person.

  The anger which coursed through his veins didn’t match the description of the righteous anger that Yuto had come to recognise from the hours he had spent faithfully reading fairy tales as they were a godsend and were basically sacred texts. When the hero was angered at trickery from a heinous villain, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be so… awful feeling. It had felt more like how the awakening of an evil monster was described.

  Yuto’s body and his lips peeled back in a snarl. His heart hammered and every hair on his little, often frail, body stood on end.

  “The fun… has only just begun.” he breathed and each sound was steeped deeply with seething.

  “What the hell, Ute…? What’s happened to you?” Ryuji asked.

  He was slightly terrified of Yuto. He got up slowly. Mechanically. It was like something had possessed him or if a marionette’s cross existed invisibly above his head. Regardless, there was something cold and inhuman regarding Yuto’s movements. They were jerky and rigid at the same time.

  Then, a light exploded forth from where the extra deck was stored on the Duel Disc. The error messages from before had faded away. Yuto slammed his summoned Doriado’s Blessing into the Graveyard. He smiled evilly. Ryuji shivered. Something was not quite right. In fact, it was extremely wrong, even.

  Yuto thrust out his arm. His fingers twitched. He didn’t know or understand the words in his mouth. He had always been an oddball. That’s partially why he played a Ritual Deck in a school, nay a world, which preferred XYZ Summoning with seeming prejudice unto the few other summoning methods there were, and yet… That’s what he found himself on the brink of summoning, as impossible as it was.

  Furthermore, what was more impossible than summoning a card that he should not own was summoning a card which should not exist period.

  “I overlay these two level four monsters, Fairy Dragon and Fairy’s Gift, to build the overlay network…” Yuto began very slowly and very eerily.

  His monsters which, he had intended to switch into attack position, so he could destroy his opponent’s defending monsters and leave cards in his hand as fodder for his ritual. Therefore, he could have Elemental Mistress Doriado land the final blow but instead, they were becoming the sacrifices for a summon which was not ritual born.

  Instead, the defending Fairy Dragon transformed into a glittering and cascading trail of pale green and Fairy’s Gift became a similar, effervescent light of gold. The lights intertwined and the virtual and primordial pool they were being sacrificed to arose underneath the battle field and simpered with hellish lights. The sacrifices were accepted.

  “From the black darkness, the fangs of rebellion that fight against the powers of oppression descend!” Yuto yelled.

  Something was in that primordial and nearly cosmic ooze. Lightning strikes arose with dashing crescendos from within. Each lash of blue light electrified Yuto’s heart and he felt some sort hunger, one he had never known before, was satiated. It felt like he had been reunited with someone very important; someone he had, perhaps, known in a similar life. Or, perhaps, that was an illusion rising from the impossibility of this situation and from the heinous anger he felt inside of him.

  “XYZ Summon!” Yuto yelled.

  There was a roar. A deafening roar that put the fear of God – no, the Devil – in Yuto’s tormentor. He trembled with fear whereas Yuto stood strong as he brought forth this new power from within his fiendish extra deck.

  “Rank Four! Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon!” Yuto screamed.

  The beast which had been summoned was like no monster either of them had ever seen before. It was a gorgeous creature with dark scales and a maw that seemed to ooze with infernal breath and the ability to tear through anything and everything. Including the both of them. But, it was loyal to its master who stood, shoulders squared, which welcomed it to the stage in which it would fight.

  “Attack, Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon!” Yuto yelled.

  Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon let loose a ferocious roar and attacked with all its might. It blew through the monster Ryuji had to defend. He then, unable to draw a good card, then forfeited his next turn. Thus, Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon attacked again. Lightning rich with hellish heat blew through with a powerful blast. Now, Ryuji’s field was empty and hopefully, it would stay that way. Yuto relished every moment.

  Ryuji could tell there was something wrong about both this monster and Yuto. He sacrificed yet another turn. He knew when to bow down, like a dog. But, he refused to let Yuto win. He didn’t want to let that creature of a child to win. This was totally unlike him.

  “I draw.”

  There was a pause. Ryuji glanced at his card and licked his lips. He looked as though he had something to turn the tide of battle against the two thousand attack points that Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon possessed.

  “I summon Alexandrite Dragon in attack mode.”

  Soon, a card slammed onto his Duel Disc. There was a glittering cascade and a dragon was brought forth. It roared but as beautiful and lithe as it was, its glamour and power seemed to diminish when compared to the dragon it stared down.

  “Now, I activate my spell card: Black Pendant!” Ryuji said, and he began to laugh.

  His dragon now donned a necklace and its attack strength increased until it was the same as Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon. Yuto snickered. He realised what sort of desperate planed Ryuji had concocted. It was going to suicide out of this attack and let Black Pendant’s effect rid him of the last of his life points.

  “Attack, Alexandrite Dragon!” Ryuji yelled.

  “You’ve activated my spell card!” Yuto yelled. “Negate Attack!”

  Yuto’s trap card flipped up and there was a blast of wind. And Ryuji cowered. He ended his turn and he couldn’t help but feel like more than this duel was on the cusp of ending now that the turn was handed to Yuto.

  “I draw.” Yuto said calmly and he drew his card.

  He checked it and smirked. Rather than placing it, even briefly, in his hand. He placed it on his Duel Disc.

  “I activate Healing Wind. For every monster on the field, I receive two hundred life points. So, that’s four hundred life points.” Yuto said.

  The numbers which signified his life points grew to eight hundred. That was enough to narrowly avoid the penalty of destroying a monster equipped with Black Pendant. And now, with that settled, Yuto was swift to move to the battle phase of this turn but first, he had something important to do.

  “I tribute both overlay units to use Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon’s effect.” Yuto said. There was a dark crispness to his voice.

  “Wh-What? What does that do?” Ryuji cried out.

  “I can halve your original attack points and feed that half to my Dragon.” Yuto explained. “And since I’ve halved your dragon’s attack points… all that remains is that Black Pendant of yours.”

  The numbers which signified Alexandrite Dragon’s attack points dwindled rapidly until there was all but five hundred of them. Meanwhile, Yuto’s Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon received a grand total of two thousand points to add to its power. His dragon howled and the whole courtyard shook. Dust and leaves dwirled.

  “It ends now.” Yuto said. “Attack! Lightning Disobey!”

  Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon roared once more but there was a derisive finale to this roar. It shattered the concrete beneath them and it brought trees to their weakest. It even broke bones. Alexandrite Dragon shattered and Ryuji attempted to protect himself. He rose his arms to protect his face and shards of his dragon, what was supposed to have been trump card, scratched him.

  Blood threw scratches. As though they were real. They shouldn’t have been real.

  And it was in that moment, Yuto felt fear again. Not anger or anything akin, but fear.

  He watched, uselessly, as Ryuji slumped down. His stomach wrenched. Something was wrong. Dueling wasn’t supposed to leave injuries as severe as this. The monsters were holograms. They couldn’t really fight. And yet, Ryuji was down for the count and seemed to have injuries.

  Yuto glanced at his dragon. It looked back at him and bowed its head. Something about this situation was sick. It was really sick. And then his gaze returned to the body, cowering and bloody, of his tormentor. Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon softened until it was a figment of his imagination and of phosphenes scattering around the darkening scene.

  Yuto didn’t know what to do. He panicked. He called for help and eventually horrified adults gathered at the scene, but so many parts of that evening were a blur. He remembers at one point, someone came for Ryuji and there was an ambulance. He remembers flashing lights and sirens. And he remembers the way Ryuji’s parents looked at him with disgust.

  How dare you do this to my son? They both had that searing question in their hateful eyes.

  Yuto was terrified for the whole of that evening. After all, he had been the one to cause Ryuji’s injuries and they were more extensive than first thought. A couple of busted ribs, a cut to his eye which meant vision loss, and some other stuff. Yet it was weird. No one blamed him even though he knew he was the direct cause. It’s just. No one believed him. After all, Duel Monsters was an exceptionally safe game to play, especially in circumstances like this: in the courtyard of an elementary school.

  Still, Yuto took the occurrence deep into his heart. He didn’t understand where Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon or how it managed to inflict real world damage, but Yuto still took it all to the heart. He didn’t know what had happened. He was old enough to realise it was something awful, but he wasn’t old enough to understand it. All he knew, with straightforward conviction, was that he had a curse and a horrible one at that. Maybe it had been better if he had never found out and had never won a duel but regardless, it was knowledge he now carried.

  And it was knowledge that changed him. He didn’t want to hurt people. He didn’t want to be some sort of demonised and ostracised outsider. He just wanted to be a fairy tale hero. Right now, he felt like the dragon that had to be slain to save the princess and the townsfolk. He didn’t feel like he was the one who ought to raise a falchion blade but rather, the one who was pointed with such a weapon.

  After that, the dynamics of the classroom changed. Yuto wasn’t someone you could pick on now. People were scared of him and it lasted right until graduation. And after graduation, Yuto made sure to pick a middle school far, far away where rumours may not spread that far. Unfortunately, they had. Everyone in Heartland seemed to know him as the kid who could hurt people but with the fresh start, at least he was given a chance.

  A lot of things about Yuto changed after that fateful duel. He learned a sort of maturation beyond his years. He learned to be kinder and wiser. This othered him but it wasn’t the worst form of othering he had experienced.

  Then there were two other things about him which changed. One of which happened to be a change in his taste for literature. He still liked fantasy. But now, he preferred stories which were gaslit and dark with endings which were bittersweet with best. Still, of the changes, this was perhaps the most minor, but it was still important as it echoed into his dueling style.

  With his beloved ace monster torn in half, a fact that was conveniently omitted from the story that Ryuji’s parents spurned, Yuto couldn’t bring himself to use his Forest of Spirits deck anymore. He felt like he had desecrated such a pure-hearted deck so now, they mostly collected dust. Once in a while, he would say hello to his old friends but without Elemental Mistress Doriado with them, he couldn’t bring himself to do it often. It felt wrong without the card which was supposed to have been his eternal best friend.

  Instead, he had a new ace to fill her role and with a new ace, came a new deck. Yuto adopted his Phantom Knights deck after that duel. It seemed fitting since it cobbled together his old self and his new self. Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon seemed pleased with its new surroundings. It being summoned from Forest of Spirits archetype monsters was just wrong.

  But, Yuto still didn’t understand that monster and the feelings it had been awakened from. Truth be told, Yuto was terrified but he accepted it in good heart. He felt as though as rightful master to the impossible dragon that was Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon, he should remain level-headed and in control. After all, he didn’t want to be at the helm of something worse than the duel which had engraved on him so deeply and so darkly.

#arcvangstweek #writing tag #arc v fanfic #yugioh #yugioh arc v #arc v #yuto #yuto (arc v) #enjoy i had a lot of fun writing this fic

[bthump]

hey. asia... do you have any modern au coming out thoughtz?

(sry this took a while to answer bc i had to think about it lol)

tbh i could see so many different possibilities being in character, esp depending on the details of the au. But like, assuming this AU is as close to canon as possible while still being set in the present w/ current identity politics and a gay community etc, yk both still have traumatic histories, griffith still has a dream that requires marrying a woman, etc etc, I can maybe throw out a few ideas. tho again like, nothing set in stone.

I guess ultimately I really want them to be each others’ realizations.

I like the idea of Guts’ being a slow realization that kind of sneaks up on him, where first he realizes that he would absolutely be dtf Griffith and it’s not til after that realization that he figures out that makes him gay. Like I mean he’d fall into that “it’s not guys, it’s just you” cliche but he eventually realizes that no, actually it is men.

He might try experimenting too - like surely it’s just because Griffith looks androgynous, so being with a woman would be better - but nope, doesn’t work.

Might be worth mentioning here (tho i’m sure u already know this) that I hc Guts as gay rather than bi bc Miura did a great job of making his interest in Casca feel super inauthentic to me lol.

Also I think it’s fair to assume that his csa trauma would lead to some discomfort here, but at the same time I don’t think he’d consciously like assume all gay people are predatory or even assume his rapist was gay and not just a pedophile. He might be uncomfortable being checked out in bars at first, and I feel like he’d be prone to worrying that his sexuality makes him specifically more likely to hurt someone bc feeling like a monster is kind of a canon issue he has, but he’s smart and fairly self aware and wouldn’t make it anyone else’s problem for the most part, barring like flashbacks during sex or smthn.

Also he’s tough enough that he’d never really feel like he’s in physical danger with anyone else. So assuming he’s in a good place in his personal life (ie not in a walking disaster “don’t touch me” phase) I don’t think he’d show any discomfort. (And I mean in canon the first time we ever saw him relaxed and happy was while having a water fight with a naked dude who he thought came onto him when they first met a few days earlier. I really don’t think it would be a huge issue.)

And overall I think he’d be fairly low-key about it. He’s gay but it’s just a description to him rather than an identity to build his life around. He wouldn’t be closeted but he wouldn’t be out to everyone in his life like, idk coworkers or w/e. Tho eventually I think everyone would realize because I think he’d kind of want to show Griffith off lol.

Griffith I could see like, simultaneously knowing he’s gay all his life and refusing to fully acknowledge it. He’s gotta achieve a goal which requires a certain image which requires heterosexuality. Maybe he’s not actually attracted to women, whatever, but that doesn’t actually matter as far as he’s concerned.

So with Guts being his realization, what that means is that Guts is the breaking point where Griffith realizes he’d rather have Guts than the dream. Yk, like in canon, but with a) no torture chamber, and b) the addition of this realization leading to the larger realization that he can live as his authentic self and be happy.

Like I’ve mentioned before that in Berserk you have this dichotemy of the dream/het marriage/emotional repression vs guts/emotional expression and yk in a modern AU you can add coming out to emotional expression.

Like we’ve talked about this b4 but I’m saying it again bc I love this idea where Griffith realizing he’s in love with Guts and would rather be in a relationship with him than achieve whatever his modern AU dream is is like a catalyst for dropping the image of respectability and ~finding~ himself. He’d make a bunch of gay friends, start experimenting with more gnc looks, volunteer at pride, go to protests, etc.

Though if his motivations for achieving his dream are similar to canon (mb not the whole for the sake of the dead thing, but yk guilt, to assuage a feeling of inherent worthlessness, to justify things he did to achieve it that he’s ashamed of, w/e) there’s also plenty of room for some angst and drama in between that realization that he wants to give it all up for Guts and embracing a new life. Some “am I selfish/terrible for choosing Guts” soul searching or w/e.

ALSO I feel like modern au griffith could’ve been fairly gnc as a child - wanting to play with girls’ toys, singing along to britney spears, saying he wants to marry the disney princes when he grows up, wanting his hair long, playing dress up in dresses, etc - with some kind of catalyst that hammers home this idea that to get the thing he wants he has to police his behaviour and be like everyone else. this is self indulgent but i just like this concept of like, knowing what you’re about as a kid and then having to unlearn everything you’ve internalized since then. it’s an appealing narrative to me.

And like I could see Griffith’s trauma with Gennon actually affecting him and his opinions wrt sexuality/internalized homophobia more than Guts’ trauma affects Guts, mostly because Gennon was such a goddamn evil gay stereotype in canon, plus Griffith’s own self-loathing compounded w/ the idea that he’s always sort of known he was gay = a secondary motivation for trying to embody the image of a heteronormative ideal, to distance himself from the idea that he’s anything like Gennon. Like Griffith’s trauma comes with a side of effeminate stereotypes and ostentatious homoerotic castle decor, etc. But I don’t think it’s necessary either, like it’s not something I’m super interested in exploring and hey maybe modern AU Gennon is less of an offensive stereotype. and/or Griffith is v socially aware and capable of recognizing that Gennon isn’t representative. w/e, kind of a take it or leave it thing I guess.

Also I’m not really envisioning these 2 concepts (guts and griffith) in the same story lol. Maybe they could fit together but I didn’t really think about it.

And again like, I’m just throwing stuff at the wall lol, not saying this is my Official Take on Sexuality and Characterization or w/e.

#madchen #ask #ty for asking and lmk what you think too wrt this topic #like i know some of your ideas but they're always good so #b #headcanons #long post

[swordsandparasols]

A lot of the Strongest Deliveryman commentary is primarily about how Jin Gyu is a tortured sympathetic woobie.  And, I mean, ok, I’m in the minority that prefers Kang Soo to Jin Gyu, but he’s a good character and any problems with him certainly don’t compare to some of the horrors I’ve seen fandom go gaga over.  I do think, however, that there are some interesting things going on with him that’s being lost in that.

 Foremost, and possibly most pertinent to the show, is that Jin Gyu is essentially a study of how there’s no such thing as benign privilege or entitlement.  Jin Gyu, when we meet him, is drowning in both, and only now has lost some of the former, but very little of the latter.  He’s almost devoid of actual malice (we only see some from him in episode 6 when he doesn’t want to free Kang Soo from prison, and even that isn’t near what we’d expect) but is consistently destructive.  The reason for this is that his response to problems is to throw money at them, with disastrous results.  Dan Ah saves his life and he tries to fix it with the promise of money, but because his hubris (and terrible father) catches up with him, he instead leaves her with a debt-mostly caused by his intentions of goodwill-that wipes out the majority of her savings.  

 When he learns that his “entertainment” resulted in a person not being able to receive medical attention in time and ending up in a coma, his reaction isn’t “oh wow I messed up I’m so sorry,” his response is “let me throw money at this so it will go away! My money isn’t making this go away? HOW DARE YOU PERSECUTE ME!”  Had he accepted moral and legal-not simply financial-responsibility when he learned of the result of his actions, things would have gone differently for him.  He would have been disowned by his father either way, but that’s more because his father is a nightmare more than anything else, but if he’d admitted his fault, he most likely would have gotten a slap on the wrist and a fine.  Instead, his refusal to admit fault after his initial exposure leads to a media circus focusing in his rich kid entitlement, he flees arrest, loses the two people who were almost his friends at that point, resists arrest, and ends up penniless, friendless, disowned, disgraced and in jail.  The one time his actions in the first 5 episodes actually had good results was when, instead of throwing his money around, he covered Dan Ah’s job for her when she was hospitalized partly because of him.

 He gets out of jail though someone else exerting a similar privilege and power that is family possesses, but has learned nothing from his experience, still believing himself to be faultless and the true victim of all the events to date.  He knows he wronged Dan Ah but can only see it from a financial standpoint, and truly doesn’t get why her new dislike for him has to do with more than the money she lost because of him, and tries to force her to accept his money, thinking that if she does, he’ll have fixed what he did wrong. Since he isn’t actually a terrible person, he knows he did wrong, but he doesn’t truly understand WHAT he did wrong, so he just assumes that if he throws money at his current problem (having let Dan Ah down) it will fix things and he’ll be redeemed.  It takes two attempts on his life, being confronted by a gang of deliverymen, being hated by literally everyone in his life except maybe the woman who effectively owns him, and a peptalk from a nice old lady for him to actually accept any moral responsibility for his actions and apologize for them.

  The fact that the show doesn’t sugarcoat any of this or play up the sympathy card for him seems to have had a lot of people thinking that he was going to be made a villain, but the idea that he would be a villain never would have occurred to me just from watching the show.  Because he’s also been consistently portrayed as kind and well intentioned, as well as being portrayed sympathetically.  It’s simply that no excuses are made for him.  He isn’t mean, he isn’t malicious, he’s never thrown his family’s wealth or influence around, but he’s also irresponsible and refuses to take responsibility for his actions, relying on money to fix his problems, and believing that he’s been horribly wrong if it doesn’t.  He’s a semi-antagonist who had to hit rockbottom and get a few wakeup calls so that he can redeem himself and slowly work towards redemption.  He’s slowly starting that particular journey, but he still has a long ways to go.  (In particular, that pedestal he keeps trying to put Dan Ah on has got to go.)

 The other front that I think is getting overlooked is also about Ji Yoon, and kdrama character types in general, and the writer of Strongest Deliveryman really likes to go against types. That’s why our male lead is the idealistic  and endlessly nice and forgiving earnest and hardworking poor boy who always forgives his love interest for snapping at him and always rushes forward with god intentions even if he doesn’t have much of a plan, while our female lead is the sarcastic, emotionally closed off and cynical martial artist (who regularly uses her skills, and not in the typical “tee hee isn’t her high kick cute?” way) who is hyper organized and has long term goals and plans.  In the 2000s, the majority of kdramas I watched were sageuks, but when I read about or watched other kdramas, there were certain trends I noticed. So very, very many chaebol sons and heirs as the main and secondary male leads.  If he was responsible and emotionally closed off, he was the lead, if he was less responsible and flirty, he was the secondary lead.  Either way, he was emotionally damaged in some way.  The heroine was often an earnest and hard working poor (or at least, not rich) girl who somehow got entangled with them and healed them with her virtue or some such.  This, IMO, is part of why it’s significant that Dan Ah and Jin Gyu aren’t romantically paired, because their relationship is deliberately antithetical to that trope, and Dan Ah has rightly called him out on trying to force him into it.  Over time, South Korean sentiment changed and it was reflected in kdramas.  Chaebol heir leads faded out a bit.  They’re still around ,but focus shifted from the melodramas of old and in recent years, they’re been more about the working and middle class, lawyers, the media, political corruption, etc.  They’re making a bit of a comeback lately, but recently, the default setting for chaebol sons has been the worthless rich boy who had everything handed to him but is a fairly worthless human being who throws his weight and money around and thinks he’s better than anyone.  Jin Gyu is interesting as a partial combination of the two.  He’s “worthless” in that he has no apparent skills and seems to have been content to spend his life blowing his allowance on cool things but never actual working or making an effort to do something for himself, but he’s also justifiably emotionally damaged.  He throws his money around like it will fix everything and doesn’t think he should be held accountable for his actions, but he lacks the malice the most of his contemporary compatriots have.  He’s partially a deconstruction of one version of the chaebol son, and partially a critique of the other.

 Then there was The Rich Girl.  Hoo boy. While the traditional kdrama love square has never gone away, it’s become considerably more nuanced and varied in recent years.  The love square used to be :#1 probably lower income, virtuous and plucky heroine, #2 most-likely-rich-guy  A WITH ANGST, #3 most-likely-rich-guy B WITH ANGST (but with less money and angst than Rich Guy A), and #4 the bitchy and selfish rich girl.  The bitchy and selfish rich girl usually had A History with Rich Guy A, and would relentlessly chase him throughout the drama no matter how little kindness or attention he paid her, feeling completely entitled to him and convinced that he either loved her and wouldn’t admit it, or WOUld love her if that pesky heroine wasn’t around.  Sometimes she was rich because she was a successful careerwoman, or an athlete or model or some such, but just as often, she was just a spoiled girl who liked being born with a silver spoon in her mouth.  She usually had few, if any, redeeming qualities.  (You might be getting an idea of why it took me a while to widely venture outside of sageuks, given how many popular and easy-to-find-subbed dramas either fell into this formula one way or the other, or ended with everyone dead-and if everyone is dying in my show, there are going to be swords and rebellions and political wars involved.)  If the female lead was a rich girl, she probably needed to be humanized and brought down a few pegs by a less-rich male lead.  There was also frequently what I call, The Gift Bag Scene. In The Gift Bag Scene, the male lead has bought the female lead a gift and it’s on a table or somewhere else very visible.  The rich girl comes in and immediately sees the gift bag and assumes it’s for her for no apparent reason other than that it’s there, so obviously the male lead bought it for her as an apology for his behavior (usually just…not being interested in dating her) and won’t let him get a word in edgewise before she takes off with it.

 Then we have Ji Yoon. The Rich Girl-both protagonist and antagonist-has taken on more varied forms in recent years than the chaebol sons-and otherwise rich guys- and female secondary leads have thankfully become considerably more nuanced and sympathetic in recent years. On the surface, Ji Yoon appears to have many of the qualities of the Rich Girl, but…she isn’t. She’s entitled, hangs all over Kang Soo, has her own version of The Gift Bag Scene, and was obviously pretty spoiled growing up.  However, she’s also kind is determined to go her on way by choice and not by force, and has reasons for the things she does.  Unlike Jin Gyu, Ji Yoon chose to leave her family.  And unlike Jin Gyu, she knows she can go back home if she’s willing to put up with a few “I told you so”-s from her mother.  She set out on her own, failed miserably at it, and is giving it a second go. She hasn’t really learned much about her own entitlement and privilege yet, but she actually chose to go this route herself.  Jin Gyu doesn’t give up because he can’t, Ji Yoon can give up but doesn’t.  She’s aware that her actions seem foolish, but she wants to try to make a living and provide for herself instead of relying on handouts from her parents. She thinks Kang Soo has feelings for her because he’s endlessly nice and tolerant of her antics.  Even when he’s visibly annoyed, he still goes out on a limb for her.  He literally found her starving on the street and gave her food and shelter.  We may find her antics annoying, but we’re given reasons for her actions.  We the audience know that Kang Soo views her as an irritating younger sister, but we don’t have to take illogical leaps to see why she thinks otherwise.  Ji Yoon even has her own version of The Gift Bag Scene, one that seems to be a direct callout to the older version.  In her version, Kang Soo did not actually wrong her, but he was inconsiderate to a degree, and the bag wasn’t a gift to someone else, but a gift given to him as a result of a subplot that’s one of the show’s truly weak points.  Unlike the Rich Girls of the past, Ji Yoon seems to be perfectly aware that the bag isn’t for her, she’s just milking Kang Soo’s guilt for all it’s worth, and even directly calls out the trope, coyly challenging her to tell him that it isn’t really a gift for her.  (Kang Soo’s downfall: strong willed women who are well aware that he’s a sweet pushover.)

 All the above is why the scene in episode 6 where Jin Gyu and Ji Yoon are selling off her designer bags because she has to move to a more expensive apartment and end up making less than half of what she originally expected to make.  The scene is played for laughs because they were both drowning in rich people guilt, but they’ve both come a fair bit from where they started just by having that guilt.  Jin Gyu at the beginning probably would have given the bags away, but not because the sob stories made him realize how much better he still had it, but because he couldn’t be bothered and didn’t need the money or want the annoyance.  Ji Yoon is still a mercenary little thing, but she was a more hardcore mercenary little thing at the beginning, with little concept or interest in money beyond how it benefited her.  This is the girl who, barely having escaped homelessness and starvation, threw her lunch at a guy for annoying her, but also snuck back into her parent’s house to get all her nice things once she had someone else’s roof over her head.  

 As characters, Jin Gyu and Ji Yoon are both headed to roughly the same place.  Ji Yoon is going there a bit faster because she deliberately put herself on the path, even if she hasn’t learned as the moral or realistic economic implications of the path, but she also has the security of going home if she decides to leave it.  Jin Gyu has a slower and harsher journey down that path because he was literally forced on it, but will probably end up more committed to it because he doesn’t have that out.  Both have recognizable roots in the rich leads of the past, but have come a long, long way from those roots.

#kdrama #strongest deliveryman #i spent way too long on this #why is it almost midnight and i haven't showered yet?