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fullfiresiren · 3 years

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beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

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moonbeamsung · 3 years

Text

Right Side of Town

Will an age-old rivalry stop him from listening to his heart?

for @fruityutas ’s ‘the outsiders’ collab

member: chenle (featuring wayv)

au: soc!chenle x gn!reader, ‘the outsiders’ au, ‘grease’ au, 1950s/60s au

word count: 12.0k

genre: angst, drama, action, romance, suggestive, fluff

warnings: underage drinking and smoking, profanity, unhealthy mindsets regarding status and wealth, mild violence (verbal conflict + mentions & very brief descriptions of weapons/blood/injury), suggestive content (vague allusions to & implications of sex which are neither graphic nor between chenle/reader + kissing/making out), mentions of food, use of slang from the time period, hospitals

author’s note/disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional, and the actions of the characters do not depict their actual personalities in any way. I do not condone this behavior. Also, this is the first ever collab piece I’ve written and I’m very thankful to be participating! Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

taglist: @nakamotocore @navyhyuck @chicksung @mrkcore @mieohmy @rouiyan @sicluvz @kunrengui-reblogs @luvdhl @berrysungie @rousrxxn @m1ss-foodi3 @hyuckefi @angelhee @jisungsmochi

Zhong Chenle has everything, and what he doesn’t have, he gets. From money and a flashy car to a tight circle of friends that will stop at nothing when it comes to defending their high-class clique, what more could he possibly want?

Simple: he wants to make life as miserable as possible for the town’s rivaling gang of greasers.

Miles away from Chenle and this divided community, you’re anxiously awaiting the life that lies ahead of you within it, shifting nervously in the backseat of the family car. With everything you’ve ever known packed up and sealed inside several cardboard boxes, you’re at the mercy of the highway as it rises and falls, twists and turns to take you to the place where a new chapter in your story will begin. In the front seat, your parents are gushing over the flourishing suburbs you’ll be living in, but you’re sick to your stomach.

The uneasiness you feel only grows once you get there. From chain-link to white picket fences, they both look equally uninviting, with razor-sharp edges and rusted locks or pristine latches shut tight, as if they contain something sinister. Every shadow looms like it’s someone’s darkest secret, and there’s a palpable tension lingering in the air when you step outside. You can breathe it in, lungs inundated with something that’s not unlike smoke. You wonder what’s been burning. The ominous stench weighs you down like a ball and chain.

In this town, you have nothing. No past, no reputation, no expectations. Any other person your age might feel free, but you? You feel lost.

Little do you know that moving into a house on the west side will become your one-way ticket to fitting in, to belonging. And when a certain boy takes notice of his new neighbor, you eagerly accept the security he offers.

The ‘sold’ sign has been removed from your freshly cut lawn for a few days now, so Chenle decides that it’s time to scope out the latest additions to the picture-perfect suburban streets. He definitely doesn’t ignore the sleek Ford Thunderbird that’s parked in the driveway, undoubtedly an indication of the kind of people he’s dealing with. But what was he expecting? You live on the west side of town; you’re automatically the most superior of socialites.

Chenle’s smooth strides take him all the way to your front porch, and he rings the doorbell just after putting on the most welcoming expression he can muster.

“Would you get the door, please?” Your mother doesn’t even bother answering it herself, instead calling out your name as soon as she looks out the kitchen window through the patterned curtains and sees a boy around your age. It’s about time you made a friend, anyway.

Timidly, you turn the knob and step back to let the door swing open, meeting the eyes of your visitor.

“Hey,” he purrs out a deep, suave greeting. “You must be the new kid. Welcome to the neighborhood.” When you only smile and give a well-mannered nod, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stuffing balled-up fists into his jean pockets as his mouth opens again.

“My name’s Chenle, by the way. What’s yours?”

You tell him, and he raises a groomed eyebrow at your confirmed ability to speak.

“So that’s what you sound like,” the boy smirks a bit. “You’re a quiet one, huh? Well, don’t be nervous. Nothing to be scared of around here.”

You think otherwise. It seems like there’s plenty to be scared of. And what’s up with him treating you like a pet that just learned a trick?

With a slight frown you ignore his patronizing comment, changing the subject entirely. “I don’t suppose you go to the high school down the road?”

“Yeah, I do. You going there too?”

“Sure am. What’s it like?”

Chenle shrugs dismissively, tapping a foot. “Like any other school, with your typical hierarchy and all. You have us, and then you have the greasers.”

“Hold on,” you cut in. “What do you mean, ‘us?’ Who are you, then?”

“The Socials, or Socs for short. You’re one, too. We all live on this side of town, and all the greasers live on the east side. Don’t even bother associating with them, though. You stick with me and you’re golden. Unless… you don’t want to.” His voice lowers with the last syllables.

Great. There’s always a catch. According to what Chenle’s told you, instead of getting a valuable education at the highly-esteemed school your parents heard about from all the way across the country, you’re being sent into a raging battle between two competing socioeconomic classes. You start picturing corridors full of confrontations, insults and rogue punches flying. A social bloodbath of sorts. And Chenle’s offering to let you join his side.

You consider your options. He’s all you have right now, and the last thing you want to do is get on his bad side by doing the opposite of what he just advised. You’re not exactly sure what he’s capable of, but you don’t want to find out.

“...Okay,” you eventually respond, failing to conceal the fear both in your voice and on your face as well as you had hoped. “As long as I don’t have to fight anyone.”

He snickers at this and at your obviously distressed expression. “Oh, don’t worry about that. No one’s gonna drag you to a rumble or anything.”

Chenle’s shrill laugh, despite being at your expense, contrasts his demeanor and lightens the mood, so you try to smile.

“But I hope you like parties. There’s one almost every weekend.”

“I’m not sure… my parents probably won’t—”

“They don’t have to know,” he waves a hand. “Just tell ’em you’re going to the Nightly Double. They show 4 movies a night on weekends, so you’ll be covered for hours. Speaking of which, we should go.”

“Huh?”

“To the Nightly Double. It’s a drive-in, you’ll like it. How ’bout I pick you up on Friday? You can meet my friends.” He’s talking so fast that your brain struggles to keep up. Is he seriously asking you out?

The front door has been closed for some time now, but it’s at this moment that your mother pokes her head outside to check on you. Upon seeing Chenle’s tall frame leaning against one of the porch’s columns, she asks, “Who’s this?”

“Zhong Chenle. I live a few streets away,” the boy extends his hand and she shakes it, approval in her eyes, before she turns to you for an explanation. “He invited me to go to a drive-in movie with him this Friday. May I?”

“Of course, dear, but we’ll need to discuss a curfew with your father.”

Chenle’s used to hearing this. He suddenly interjects as politely as he can, the confidence in his voice compelling. “If I may, I should tell you that this is a very safe neighborhood, and most everyone here agrees that a curfew isn’t even necessary.”

Her gaze turns inquisitive, though more scrutinous than critical. “Your parents let you stay out late?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And his practiced persuasion works like a charm, because she agrees without any further interrogation.

“That’s fine, then. I’ll leave you two be,” your mother excuses herself with a smile, disappearing into the house just as quickly as she emerged from it a minute ago. “Easy,” Chenle grins. “Now you can get away with just about anything.”

But should that relieve or frighten you?

Before you can decide, Chenle’s already starting down the steps. “I’ll see you on Friday. It’s a date,” he winks.

You retreat back inside once he’s gone, marching upstairs to your room and all the while trying to process whatever the hell just happened.

When that day rolls around, a car you’ve never seen before pulls up in front of your driveway. Even as the twilight sky above begins to fade, you can still identify the model: a Mustang, coated in shiny red paint and seemingly without a scratch anywhere.

For a moment you’ve completely forgotten your commitment, but one glance at the driver’s seat and the memory comes flooding back to you instantly. A halfhearted promise to be back at a reasonable hour is made and directed towards very unconcerned parents before you’re off. Maybe too unconcerned.

Three others are haphazardly piled into the backseat of Chenle’s car, presumably the friends he mentioned a few days ago. The passenger seat has been left empty for you, so you slowly climb in next to the boy behind the wheel.

“Glad you could make it,” he hums. A hand motions to each of them in turn, then shifts the cramped vehicle into gear. “This is Sicheng, Ten, and Yangyang. We’re all tight.”

“Hey.” His friends greet you in something close to unison. You note that they appear to be at least a year or two older than Chenle, but it’s like he reads your mind before you can even open your mouth and ask, informing you that it’s not unusual for students to get held back at least once, or even multiple times.

Deciding it would be rude not to, you briefly return the favor by introducing yourself to them over the top of the seats that separate you, and are met with smiles that seem to mask an underlying intention. Good or bad, you can’t decipher. This is quickly forgotten, however, because a few minutes into the drive they’ve become totally absorbed in their own rowdy discussion. The volume of noise emanating from behind you is deafening, and any conversations that you might try to strike up with the other occupant of the front seat are rendered useless, the sound of the radio only adding to the chaos as it grapples for dominance against their voices.

By the time you reach the drive-in theater, a large amount of the lot’s parking spaces are filled, mostly with cars that look just as expensive as the one you’re in. Chenle isn’t phased by this, taking his time, and he swiftly puts on the brakes when he finally manages to secure a good spot in the middle. As soon as the vehicle rolls to a halt, the rest of his friends scramble to exit, backseat doors flinging open and narrowly missing the side of a Corvette that pulls in next to them.

“Son of a bitch, Yangyang! I give you a ride and you give me a heart attack by almost denting another car? That’s the last time I’m taking you anywhere.”

The boy offers a half-sheepish, half-smug apology, since he knows Chenle doesn’t really mean it.

“We’re getting popcorn,” one of them declares, and the rearview mirror’s placement allows you to see a few more people joining the three as they walk off towards the concession stand.

“Grab two sodas for us!” Chenle shouts hastily, before they’re out of earshot. Ten’s hand raises in acknowledgement of the request.

He digs through his wallet for some money to pay them back, placing it on the car’s dashboard, then leans back and directs his attention towards the supersized screen. The first movie of the night has already started, but there are plenty of kids just milling around the lot and talking, only there for the social scene.

“What do you think?”

“It’s—”

“Well, what do we have here?” A harsh knock on the open passenger windowsill interrupts, startling both of you. “Look at this, boys! Zhong’s got himself a sweetheart.”

The perpetrator looks different than Chenle and his friends. He’s clad in a leather jacket with gelled-up dark hair, wearing a mischievous smile on his face. Something tells you he isn’t a Soc.

Chenle sneers and confirms your assumption. “Beat it, greaser.”

“Aw, you want me to leave so you can neck in the backseat?” He chortles, his booming laughter attracting more attention than either of you would like.

“Cool it, Lucas,” another voice cautions. “You don’t wanna scrap with that one.”

“Actually, Kun,” he hisses, cracking his knuckles. “I’m just trying to have a good time here. He’s the one that’s looking for trouble with us, don’t you think? I’d love to give him a taste of his own medicine.” The second greaser comes into view, frowning and tugging harshly at the taller one’s collar.

Chenle currently sports the most menacing facial expression you’ve ever seen on anyone. “Your friend there’s got a point. Better back off now,” he growls.

Lucas smiles coldly, “What you gonna do, pretty boy?”

His last comment must have struck a nerve, because before you know it Chenle is swinging the driver’s side door open and angling his wrist to throw a punch. “Get lost before I skin you alive, hood!”

With the verbal threat of violence in play, both boys whirl around and run, being joined by two more figures in the distance and disappearing into the eerie darkness of the streets, where only the stars remain to light their way.

“Those bastards,” he seethes through clenched teeth once back inside the car. “Now you’ve seen it for yourself. Greasers are just lousy, good-for-nothing bums, always asking for a fight.”

You say nothing. Though the encounter did make you uncomfortable, you feel like there’s more to this story, more that Chenle isn’t telling you. It’s going to take a lot for you to trust him, and he knows it, too. But for now, you both turn back to watching the flickering film.

At some point he asks if you’re cold. Despite the shake of your head you still feel him reach over to drape his letterman jacket around your shoulders. His hands graze over your skin for a moment, and they’re warmer than you would have expected.

Yangyang and Ten return shortly after, one bearing a soft drink in each hand and the other with a palm outstretched in Chenle’s direction. He hands over the loose change he had gathered earlier while wondering aloud, “Where’s Sicheng?”

“Probably making out with a girl he met in the concessions line. She dragged him to her car and we haven’t seen him since.” Your cheeks suddenly heat up as you remember Lucas’s remark. People really do things like that at a drive-in?

“You’d be surprised by what goes on back there,” Chenle adds, seeming to sense your shock. How does he keep doing that?

Gesturing with a thumb stuck out in said direction, the boy draws your eyes over to the lot’s far end, slightly less illuminated and with the poorest view of the movie screen. Only a few vehicles fill those spaces, but it’s too dark for you to see anything else. You don’t think you want to.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

There’s silence for a while. It’s broken when Ten reaches into his pocket for something, and you instantly recognize the small objects he procures from within the fabric compartment as cigarettes.

“Light me up, will you, Liu?”

“Sure thing.” Yangyang extracts a shiny box from his own pocket and flicks open the cover, a small flame igniting the end of the paper tube. “Want one, Chenle?”

“No, thanks.” He shoots you a glance from the side, asking the same question with an eyebrow quirked.

“I don’t smoke,” you defend quickly.

“You don’t smoke, or you never have? There’s a difference.”

Yangyang’s smart-mouthed reply is nearly enough to make you lose your temper, but Chenle’s abrupt grip on your arm stops you from acting rashly. “Shut your trap and quit bugging them already.”

“I just asked a question! Damn, what’s got you all considerate lately?” He scoffs at the younger boy, indignant.

Ten suggests the two of them roam around to try to find Sicheng, and if they’re lucky, maybe someone with a convertible so they can sit and enjoy the remainder of the second movie. Once again you’re left alone, but thankfully no slick-haired strangers approach you this time.

What encroaches upon you, however, is Chenle himself. He must think he’s being smooth when he reaches across you and into the glove compartment for something, yet you see through every last gesture. It’s almost laughable, how bold he is. But Chenle doesn’t do subtleties, a fact that’s evident in the hand he leaves behind to rest lightly atop your thigh. Not in the slightest.

Even so, it works. You don’t brush his hand away, and neither do you shrug off the arm he tosses over your shoulder in the midst of a highly exaggerated yawn. He knows he’s triumphed when you slump against the back of the seat, head resting against his shoulder and cheek pressing into his thin shirt. You’re relaxed, no longer on edge. And that spurs something within Chenle. He’s always wanted to be feared instead of adored, but you are slowly becoming the lone exception to this golden rule, one that he’s lived by all his life.

The film ends, and it’s only when his friends come into view that you break the physical contact. Sicheng has rejoined them, with hair askew, plaid shirt untucked, and the faintest print of lipstick adorning his jaw. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit flustered, either, which is odd considering you all know exactly what he’s been up to. Actually, he looks rather pleased with himself.

“How was the movie?” Sicheng inquires breathlessly.

“Why don’t you know? You were here too.”

He scoffs, “Um, I was a little busy in case you forgot.” Sicheng punctuates his sentence by pulling his undershirt to the side and revealing more of the crimson marks, smirking at Chenle with mirthful eyes the whole time. Everyone save for you and the latter of the two boys erupts in obnoxious hoots of praise and congratulations.

“You sly dog,” Ten murmurs proudly to him while delivering a firm pat on the back. Yangyang wolf whistles, doing the same. He glances over his shoulder at your indifferent gazes, “Some fun you two are.”

Chenle remains unamused.

“I’ll take that cigarette now.”

After celebrating Sicheng’s score for a much longer amount of time than he deemed necessary, the night’s designated chauffeur finally wrangles his three friends back into the car and sets off for each of your houses. Somewhere along the way, in between puffs of tobacco, Chenle misses a turn.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, Zhong? The suburbs are that way.”

“I know, Lee,” he snarls. “You trying to tell me how to drive?”

Ten subsequently quiets down.

But by now, they all know where they are: the east side. You pick up on the change in scenery as well, noting the run-down homes and desolate parks. Sitting there in the front seat and expecting him to turn back around at any moment, you’re puzzled when he only continues on, his speed lessening but foot never leaving the gas pedal.

The truth is, Chenle’s spotted the same gang of greasers from the drive-in, and he’s watching them like a hawk from behind the wheel as they amble down the sidewalk, then turn down a smaller street narrowly separating two buildings.

He makes one more loop around the central grassy area that resides between several blocks of homes, giving them just enough time to disappear between the shadows and lull themselves into a false sense of security, but not too much time. They won’t get far, he’s certain of it. Sure, it may be their territory, but when Zhong Chenle has an idea in mind, nothing and no one dares to stand in his way.

It’s only when he skids to a stop next to this same alleyway that you speak, still partially afraid you’ll be scolded just as Ten was.

“...What are we doing here?”

Chenle doesn’t answer you right away, instead glancing at the passengers in the backseat with an expression that says trust me. They look just as confused as you feel, but they follow him out nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, baby. The boys and I just have to take care of something. We’ll be right back,” he leaves you with a reassuring smile that isn’t very reassuring at all. You suddenly wish this Mustang had actual windows.

The four of them circle up just in front of the hood of the car, where Chenle explains his plan. His back is to you, so you can’t see his eyes darken dangerously, as if they and his words are infected with a fatal poison. All that’s visible to you is the image of them nodding in mutual understanding, vanishing into the gloom shortly after.

You contemplate doing something stupid like running away, but that idea is quickly thrown out the window considering you don’t even know where you are, much less which way is home. The same wave of uneasiness that had settled over you when you first set foot in this town is returning, comes flooding back as you’re abandoned entirely, with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Chirps of crickets and the mechanical hums of flickering streetlights pass through the air, ultimately obscuring a few distant shouts and the sickening thump of fists against skin. Switchblades flip open, high-top sneakers pound against the pavement, and though an even match, the skirmish ends with one party far less fortunate than the other.

There’s something disturbing, something artificial in the smile Chenle flashes at you as they return. It’s too dim in the car for you to see his hands gripping the steering wheel, much less his bloodied knuckles. You aren’t even looking. You just want to get home.

When the following week begins, so does the school year. The main courtyard is buzzing when you reach the campus that bright Monday morning, filled with students milling around and talking to their respective cliques. Once the bell tower produces a resounding chime, all the small friend groups combine to form a horde of teenagers, and you fall in line among the mass of complete strangers as they rush past the doors, swarming the corridors like moths to a flame.

Nothing inside the building appears to be out of the ordinary. Lockers line the walls, the lights overhead glow a harsh, blinding white, and the classrooms are seemingly the only places where Socs and greasers can coexist without being at each other’s throats. Though you suppose it’s not by their own volition, and more due to the threat of a teacher’s punishment.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” are the words that reach your ears just as an arm slings itself around you, and you’re not at all surprised to see that the voice in question belongs to none other than the supreme Soc himself, whom you’ve been avoiding all weekend.

Ever since Chenle brought you home Friday night, you had stayed cooped up inside, trying to make sense of every last encounter the evening had entailed and ceaselessly replaying every moment in your mind like a broken record. The way his demeanor switched from one extreme to the other so quickly was off-putting, as were Lucas’s words about the boy and his mysterious venture to the east side. Top it all off with the vague excuses about his strange disappearance into that ominous alleyway, and you’re thoroughly unnerved.

You never should have doubted your first impression of the place, because somewhere, somehow, it’s not quite right. You’re sure of this. Below the surface something is lurking, and now that your curiosity has been sparked for better or for worse, there’s no backing down.

“Hey, Chenle,” you reply, hoping the reluctance in your voice isn’t too evident. In an instant it seems like all eyes turn towards you, as if your association with him is a coveted rite of passage. Greasers and Socs alike stop to stare at the two of you, gazes sharp and shrewd.

The attention doesn’t faze him whatsoever. “Don’t mind them, it’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”

You shrug, fixing one of your sleeves and opting to regard the tiled floor with excessive interest, thinking solely about how you can’t escape this hallway soon enough.

“Where’s your first class?”

So you tell him, and he walks you there, undoubtedly earning a few looks from those already inside. The teacher is nowhere to be found, and two boys linger by the large window at the back of the classroom, sneaking a few cigarettes. At first you don’t believe you’ve ever seen them in your life, but your opinion changes abruptly upon laying eyes on their non-smoking companions: you recognize them as the same greasers from the drive-in, Kun and Lucas.

They must have gotten into some sort of trouble, because the former of the two has a black eye and a busted lip. The latter clearly didn’t fare much better, attested by the scrapes visible on his exposed arms and littering the sloped curve of his throat, and the unnamed greasers display similar afflictions on the parts of them that aren't concealed by shiny dark leather. That makes four, you conclude, so they’ve got to be the owners of the other two silhouettes that joined Kun’s and Lucas’s as they bolted from the lot.

Resentful scowls are briefly exchanged between the rivals, and Chenle’s hand leaves the small of your back when he turns to go. This leaves you to find an empty desk, but by the time their silent staring contest had ended many more students had filed in, so now you’re stuck in a seat that’s much nearer to the greasers than he would approve of.

You’ve decisively learned their names once the teacher finishes calling roll, Xiaojun and Hendery being the two new additions. All four of their voices sound much gentler than you had anticipated, but maybe it’s just the setting. You can still recall Lucas’s thunderous tone from the other night and its occasional ringing in your ears.

The class itself goes by rather quickly. In what seems like the blink of an eye you’re packing up your things and starting for the door, but the greasers’ formidable figures block your path, preventing your exit.

“You,” the one named Hendery glowers. “You see these bruises?” He rolls up one sleeve to unveil a sickly-colored canvas of black and blue spots, embellishing his flesh like souvenirs of the pain he felt upon their infliction.

Hendery keeps his eyes on you all the while, even when yours lower to glance at his injuries. “Know how we got ’em?”

Chenle’s constant warnings to you about not so much as conversing with what he deemed the inferior social class seem relatively void now, since you suspect you won’t get anywhere without providing a response. You shake your head.

“No?” He shares a look with the rest. Of course you don’t. “I’d love to tell you, but I’m not sure you’d believe me if I did.”

Xiaojun leans over slightly as if to murmur something in Kun’s ear, though his words end up sounding anything but discreet. “He’s probably brainwashed them already.”

Growing impatient with their cryptic statements, you huff, folding your arms across your chest. “Just spit it out, would you?”

“Since you’re dying to know,” Lucas snickers threateningly, “your boyfriend and his little posse did this to us. Surprised?”

“We fought back, of course,” Kun adds. “But it’s not exactly fair when they pull switchblades on us.”

You’re caught in a stunned silence, not even bothering to correct his inaccurate reference to Chenle. They really got out of the car on Friday night just to jump these guys? Surely you could have prevented it somehow, right? Perhaps he would’ve listened if you’d said something. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference.

A sincere “I’m sorry” is about all you can muster, and it dawns on the greasers then that maybe you’re not too far gone. Xiaojun steps forward, gaze suddenly warm, and places a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look like the type, anyway.”

“...What?”

“You don’t have to be like him and all the other Socs, you know. No one’s forcing you,” he imparts, palm lifting and moving towards your face now. “You can be different. Set an example.”

The moment his fingertips make contact with your cheek you jerk away, wide-eyed. He must mean well, but you feel like you’re falling into the hands of the enemy. You notice that his steps forward have created a gap in the broad-shouldered wall that surrounds you, so you don’t hesitate to dart past them all and out the door, seeking the boy in question. The promise of the moment passes; you’re already lost to the current.

To the greasers’ dismay, the dynamic hand of time begins to mold you into someone else. You no longer represent their hopes of ending the bitter rivalry that envelops this small town, a rivalry they don’t even know the origins of in the first place. These hopes are far-fetched, they’re well aware, but who can blame them? You can’t, for you once wanted to do the same.

As days blur into weeks, your grip on Chenle’s hand in the halls gets tighter, your actions grow less good-natured and your attitude sours. If you’re being honest with yourself, Xiaojun’s words never leave your head for one second, although they’re concealed by the public persona you had felt so much pressure to acquire. You gave into it, and you gave into everything that came with being a Soc.

Well, almost everything.

Chenle shows up on a chilly Saturday evening to take you to one of their notorious weekend house parties. It’s been months since school began, and yet you’ve never attended. In a way, you’re holding onto a piece of your former self by way of your abstinence from experiencing such a thing, but you suppose he’s not going to let you make any more excuses tonight. So you leave your true self at the door, slipping into the disguise of malice and conceit you’ve fashioned for yourself ever since you discovered its necessity in your everyday life.

“C’mon, it’s gonna be fun,” he drags out the last syllable childishly, tugging on your arm as he leads you to his car. “Promise I’ll take you home if you don’t like it?” He attempts to compromise, and it seems genuine enough.

“...Fine, but I’m holding you to that, Zhong.” You grumble, shoving his shoulder across the Mustang’s center console. He catches your hand before you can withdraw it and plush pink lips meet knuckles in a spontaneous kiss, the boy’s sly smile never faltering.

The smile reappears when you pull up to the event’s location, and he spots your slack-jawed reflection in his rear-view mirror. You had thought the homes in your neighborhood were nice, sure, but they all pale in comparison to this one. If they’re mansions, then this is a whole damn palace.

Clearly, you’ve still got a lot to learn about this place.

It takes a few minutes for him to park somewhere, seeing as the gigantic driveway is full and the small suburban lane is crowded with cars on either side. He eventually engages the manual brake a few blocks down and offers his hand as you start towards the luxurious residence, sauntering next to the road. This casual pace is quickly interrupted, however, because without warning a car speeds by and startles both of you.

Of course Chenle barrels down two-lane streets at high speeds from time to time, but in an act of blatant hypocrisy he curses out whoever is behind the wheel for nearly running you over. You crash directly into his chest when he yanks you backwards by the hips, and gasp, though it’s more due to his immediate reaction than the peril you had just narrowly avoided. His breathing feels labored against your shoulders, and the fact that he seems more shaken up than you is inappropriately comical, since a near hit-and-run is no laughing matter.

“Asshole,” he rasps, and his eyes flash with contempt as he glares at the retreating tail lights, steadily fading into the distance.

A bit unaccustomed to his touch, you pry Chenle’s hands from their position and shrug, “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

You don’t have the energy to repeat these actions when his wrist slithers around your waist one stretch of sidewalk later, simply allowing him to hold you close. Upon approaching the front yard, you can start to hear the muffled roar of rock and roll blaring inside, but your eardrums are unprepared for the sheer volume of all the improvised guitar riffs and drum solos that flood the night air when the door opens.

The person standing behind it is someone you recognize from your high school’s hallways but nothing more. Despite living here for quite some time now, you’ve never really gotten close to anyone besides Chenle and his friends.

A cold breeze nips at your skin and you’re eager to be let inside as soon as possible, but as your luck would have it this acquaintance decides to strike up a conversation with Chenle, talking about his folks hardly ever being home and how he’s always able to throw these parties. You watch warily as the host takes big swigs of the beer bottle in his hand between each sentence, nose wrinkling at its pungent odor.

It’s like you aren’t even there for a few moments, but his peripheral vision is probably hazy from the alcohol he’s consumed, and finally he steps to the side to let you and Chenle into the foyer.

Solid purple lights glare down at the partygoers from the ceiling, making every figure inside glow a blazing violet. You hear a familiar voice approaching, and Ten appears in front of you just seconds later.

“Hey, guys,” he greets, speech slurred and smile vacant. “Drinks are in the kitchen.”

The older boy begins to lead you two from the entrance and down a hallway, passing dozens of delirious bodies swaying to the deafening music along the way. It’s so loud in here that you can barely hear yourself think.

Someone drags Ten off in another direction mid-escort, but fortunately Chenle doesn’t seem to get lost, only clutching you tighter and continuing to navigate through all the crowded rooms. You reach the liquor cabinet soon after, with its contents raided and doors already ajar.

Glossy flasks of whiskey, wine, and everything in between litter the adjacent counter, along with discarded cups, some still half-full of god knows what. He manages to procure an empty and seemingly unused one from somewhere nearby, and reaches for an undisturbed bottle of vodka.

The liquid bubbles up and he takes a languid sip, letting it slide down his throat with an acidic burn he’s well accustomed to by now. He’s distracted for a moment, a moment in which you decide to snatch a cup for yourself and do just the same. You don’t smoke and you don’t drink, but to hell with that. Everyone’s always telling you to live a little, so tonight you will.

It’s darker in the kitchen than in the rest of the house, meaning that Chenle doesn’t notice you’ve grabbed the vodka until you’re lifting the rim of the cup to your lips and, consequently, coughing once you taste its contents.

“Shit, you know that’s booze, right?” He plants a slap on your back, hard enough for you to regain your breath but not quite enough to hurt.

“Of course I do, wiseass.” The chagrin dripping from your voice nearly makes him flinch, so he doesn’t ask any more questions. All he knows is that you’re bound to get wasted much faster, being a novice drinker. There’s no telling how you’ll act when you’re all boozed-up, and in a twisted sort of way, it thrills him.

You reluctantly digest more of the substance, pinching your nose in order to avoid its pungent flavor as much as possible while dealing with the unpleasant buzz it leaves behind on your tongue. But Chenle remains largely unaffected, appearing much more clear-headed in comparison to you as you begin to stammer and stumble, rapidly losing your grip on sobriety.

The alcohol makes you loosen up, and he can’t help but chuckle when you stagger into another room with him in tow, beginning to twist and shout to the Beatles song that just came on the radio. Everyone around you spins and bounces to the rhythm, crowd pulsing like a heartbeat. There’s a wide smile blooming on your face, and Chenle absolutely loves it.

He loves when you pull him in by the shoulders, loves the blissful elation glimmering in your eyes, loves how you dance like you’re the only two people in the world. This is a side of you he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

A familiar tune by the Beach Boys follows and has everyone shouting along in tipsy delight, then the tempo relaxes. It’s a slow song.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingertips brushing over the soft locks of dark hair at the nape, and it feels euphoric. The way you lean your head on Chenle’s chest makes his inebriated heart race; his hands begin to sweat at the tenderness of your every breath. But no feeling is quite as euphoric as the sensation of your lips, rising to meet his own after delicately departing from their idle place against the elegant curves of his collarbones.

Awestruck, the boy freezes, yet melts at the same time. He’s heard the sayings, heard how drunken words reflect sober thoughts, and by extension he gathers that drunken actions must represent sober desires. If you’ve wanted this all along, why haven’t you said so?

Truthfully, you’ve resented yourself for it from the beginning. Developing a crush on someone so reprehensible in thought, word, and deed was never an aspiration of yours, yet here you are. Perhaps fate knew what your heart wanted before you did, but why him? He’s so…

He’s so him, but you’re you, and you suppose that’s not much better. The vows you made to uncover the secrets and the stories behind this mysterious town were broken, and you relinquished them for a fabricated identity that’s a burden to display. You did just what you said you wouldn’t and fell right into the trap.

In spite of these mistakes, hope still remains, and not just for you.

Most of the time, Chenle appears cruel and uncaring, but no one is truly and completely evil. Not even him, an Elvis-esque devil in disguise who’s polite at first but shows his true colors when he’s around the rest of his preppy, madras-wearing gang. You know this, and you’re reminded of it through his occasional gestures, miniscule but nonetheless meaningful. You remember when he holds the door or lends you the coat off his back that those parts of him are the parts you fell in lov—well, you’ve learned to appreciate. In due time, you feel as though redemption could come within Chenle’s grasp. It’s up to him to accept the invitation.

But redemption isn’t something either of you are looking very worthy of right now.

Not when mouths and hands and eyes are wandering in the middle of this makeshift dance floor. Not when you’re kissing him like this, movements so full of haste and impatience that they might just tear the very fibers of your soul apart.

He doesn’t hesitate to match your pace, easily pressing against your lips with an addictive vigor and wrapping his arms around your body. The lights, the music, and the people all fade away, becoming mere supporting roles in this romantic scene while you two steal the spotlight.

After what seems like an eternity, your lungs begin to yearn for air, so you break away just for a moment to satisfy their demands with a few gasps of oxygen. You’re all too keen to bestow more of your frenetic kisses upon Chenle’s skin, and this time your gaze falls lower than his lips, ravenously eyeing the area beneath. You don’t get very far down his neck, though, because a better idea comes to you, and now you’re all but tripping over your own two feet as you haphazardly guide the boy out of the crowd.

It’s true that Chenle is no stranger to what goes on at Soc parties. He’s seen it all, so he’s quite familiar with the visual of couples coming and going, sneaking in and out of spare bedrooms to fool around. Chenle is also smart enough to know that such a short-lived impulse is far from a good idea, and if his gut feeling is any indication, he has a pretty good idea of where this is going—or where you want it to go, at least.

He lets himself be stolen away and follows your shaky footsteps down one of the house’s many corridors, your grasp on his wrist shockingly firm given your current state of mind. He lets your lips meet his once again, not even two seconds after you fling open a random door and slam it shut behind the both of you. He lets your warm breath fan over him and he lets your hands roam his torso. But the moment he feels you pull on his shirt, as soon as it comes untucked from the waistband of his jeans, he intervenes.

Chenle’s moral compass may be skewed, but at least he knows better than to let that happen.

“Easy, easy,” he cautions, escaping the position of being caught between your figure and the wall. “We both know you’d regret it in the morning.”

You only hum in protest, reaching out a stray palm to tug yourself closer so you can plant more kisses along his jaw, but it’s obvious that you’re fighting a losing battle. He proves resolute, despite it taking nearly all of his strength and self-control for him to push you away a second time. Reluctant as you may be to suppress such newfound and passionate displays of affection, you comply, touch melting into a more innocent one. “Fine…”

Context is crucial, however, and it’s something that Sicheng severely lacks. He happens to be passing through the hallway when he glimpses one of the bedroom doors opening up, and the sight of both of you exiting is enough to make him assume the outrageous.

In a mix of disbelief and amusement, his eyebrows arch beyond his bangs. You look dazed, eyes glassy as you cling to Chenle’s side, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, placing a casual arm at your waist. What else is Sicheng supposed to think?

So he only laughs at the younger boy, dismissing his attempts to explain. “Dude, we didn’t—”

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m not stupid, Chenle, I know that look.”

Realizing the effort is useless, he decides it’s easier to agree than continue to argue. Chenle sighs and returns Sicheng’s insistent remarks with a shrug of resignation, “Yeah, but I’m gonna take them home.”

“You had booze?”

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

It really isn’t that far between this house and yours, plus the roads are virtually empty in the middle of the night. Except for a close call or two in the form of nearly driving up onto the sidewalk or colliding with a street lamp, you both make it back safely, though Chenle isn’t looking forward to your admonishments for being under the influence.

On the bright side, you’ve sobered up slightly by the time you get there, your body having had several minutes to process the alcohol it’s been flooded with. After being brought along on so many late-night escapades by his group of friends, you obtained a spare house key in case of any possible emergencies. With droopy eyelids you manage to recall where said key is located, and though the term ‘emergency’ is ill-defined at the moment, you deem it necessary for the current situation. It’s at least a small stroke of luck in this atypical evening.

He watches you dig through a potted plant on the side of your porch until you remove your hand from the dirt, triumphantly hoisting the small metal object into the air.

Sure enough, the lock turns. So does your companion, but you catch him by the jacket.

“Stay.”

You’ve never been more glad that you come from a family of such heavy sleepers. Even in the darkness of the house you can see Chenle’s eyes, as round as saucers in frightened anticipation of a discovery that never happens. The creak of the stairs makes no difference, and you easily reach the second floor without incident.

All that’s left for him to do is remove his outerwear and crawl underneath these unbelievably soft-looking blankets of yours, so warm and so tempting. The added heat from a second occupant, namely you, doesn’t hurt either. But he stops short, an unfamiliar sentiment clawing at him from the inside.

Is he, the Zhong Chenle, actually nervous?

It may sound absurd, because of course he’s been nervous before. What makes this particular instance different is that he’s never had the time to actually acknowledge such a feeling’s presence in his own heart like he does right now. He’s nervous to be close to you in more ways than one, and to label you as anything more than a friend to him. He’s nervous, and it’s all because of you.

You. You bring out something new in Chenle, something that’s like fabric snagging on a roughened edge. He’s caught, entangled in you. You’re the best kind of thorn in his side, giving him an aching feeling that perhaps the life he’s always known isn’t the only life to live.

His friends say he’s going soft, which they never do without also casting a pointed glance in your direction. It’s a fact, unavoidable and undeniable, that you’ve rubbed off on him.

Most stunningly of all, Chenle is starting to think that’s not such a bad thing anymore.

But this sort of intoxicated self-reflection is hardly an instantaneous process. More thoughts soon begin to infiltrate his head, pertinent and irrelevant alike, and Chenle finds himself pondering more deeply than he ever has before. He sits there on the edge of your duvet, listening to your breaths level out as you presumably drift off to sleep, still clad in the same clothes you had worn to the party.

Maybe it’s the vodka talking, but if you had asked him to give up everything then and there, he would have listened.

Too bad you’re passed out cold when he’s just reached his most persuadable mentality.

At last the act of contemplation becomes too overwhelming for his dwindling consciousness, so he gives in to the sweet embrace of rest. Tomorrow will bring a headache, for sure, but a part of him hopes it will also bring some recollection of these revelations.

And bring a headache it does. Except it’s not the kind he was expecting.

“Chenle!”

His ears ring and his forehead throbs with the volume of your harsh warning, albeit a whisper, but it’s loud nonetheless. There’s barely any time for the boy to register what the hell is happening, his only explanation coming in the form of a singular, second-long image: his discarded jacket flying across the room and a satin avalanche of pillows drawing near, about to obscure his vision.

The cushions produce a soft thump against Chenle’s figure, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when another voice that definitely doesn’t belong to you sounds throughout the room. Oh.

“How was the party?”

“Fun,” you assure your father with an authentic but strained statement, trying to hide the exhaustion and apprehension in your voice. He seems to buy it, and makes a few offhand comments before resuming his strides down the upstairs hallway.

Realizing that the door’s been left ajar, you move to close it, but out of nowhere he appears in the entryway once more. Your very own surprise sends you tumbling backwards onto your bed in order to hide the suspiciously human-shaped lump covered by the sheets. Chenle winces underneath the abrupt pressure, his sleepy mind and body still adjusting to the jarring surroundings in a way that’s far from desirable.

“I almost forgot, honey. Your mother and I were thinking—are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Your words begin to slur as panic builds in your chest, all while you mentally apologize to the boy you’re currently and unwillingly smothering for all the early-morning commotion.

Your father can’t leave the room soon enough, but thankfully he shuts the door this time. Chenle is nearly gasping for air by the time you snatch the blankets away, letting out a sigh that’s just slightly overdramatic.

“Geez, what was that for?”

“I had to! You know my folks would kill me if they knew I brought a boy home from a party, much less saw him in my bed!”

“But they know me,” he counters.

“…Not really.”

Chenle is confused by this. He studies your downcast expression regretfully, the space between you instantly filling up with a thick and brooding tension.

Like most parents of west side kids, yours have remained blissfully ignorant of the Socs’ antics thus far, and you hope it stays that way. They’re quite possibly the only ones who know the true you, for that matter, seeing as you’ve never once altered your demeanor at home. It’s always been an escape from the demands of having a vivacious social life over the course of these past few months.

So they don’t really know Chenle, and when you’re outside their walls they don’t really know you, either. You’re living a lie, an illusion that’s wearing off and wearing you down. Sooner or later, the wool’s bound to be pulled from their eyes, and the eyes of everyone else.

Ultimately the memories of last night that came crashing down as soon as you opened your eyes this morning, however hazy they may be, are more than sufficient to convince you of one thing: your little charade has gone on for far too long. You simply can’t keep it up. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” He breathes out with large, curious eyes, tinted red and the tiniest bit puffy from his hangover. Oh god, you must look far worse. Your dad didn’t notice, did he?

It’s no matter; Chenle commands your attention again as he moves the conversation along with an admission of his own. “Well, I do, too. You first,” the boy insists, in a voice that’s far too cheerful for what you’re about to reveal.

“I don’t want to be a Soc anymore.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, he’s baffled by the initial shock of the sentence, as its words completely oppose his entire perception of you. Or it seems like they should.

But he’s no fool. Chenle has undoubtedly picked up on your reluctance to join his and his friends’ schemes, yet you always give in. You’ve likely undergone the same sort of character transformation he felt like carrying out the night before. Unless…

A fear, irrational and ridiculous as it is, worms its way into his thoughts, injecting an unchecked fury into the response he gives before you even have a second to elaborate. With a start, he pushes himself upwards to stand, towering over your slouching figure that still remains seated on the fluffy mattress.

“What did they say to you?” He seethes, already forming a mental hit list that contains the names of four certain someones. They must have put you up to this. He’ll kill them. He’ll—

“What are you talking about, Chenle? Who?”

“That crowd of hoods!” His tone is assumptive and bitter. You’ve never heard such a sting in his words, even with all the risky confrontations he’s gotten into. “You’re just like them. They put you up to this, right? They’re only using you to use me—”

“Calm down,” you stutter out, not used to dealing with his volatile emotions when they’re directed at you. “No one put me up to anything!”

A breath of relief leaves you when he stops throwing around such accusations, and instead stalks over to one of the windows in your room. It’s silent, and oddly so, while he inspects its view as if he’s anticipating the sight of a few leathery figures beneath, huddled behind some bushes.

“I’m telling you, there’s no one there.”

“Do you swear?”

You fail to suppress a disapproving scoff; you shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. “Yes. I swear.”

He turns around, pacing back towards the bed and reclaiming his spot beside you. The fire in his eyes dissipates.

“This is exactly what I mean,” you admit softly. “I see how you act, and it makes me realize that I’m tired of pretending.”

“What?” His voice is timid now, cautious, as if the indestructible walls he’s built up around himself for so many years have come tumbling down and he’s left powerless, vulnerable.

“It’s like all you want to do is pick a fight or drink and smoke and party. I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with the way you live, and I’m tired of pretending I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for someone like you. But I need to stop telling myself that you can change because it’s clearly too much to ask.” The conviction in your speech is remarkable, and it makes Chenle wish he was more like you instead of himself.

The question he asks next is probably—no, definitely stupid, but he does it anyway. For peace of mind.

“So… you’re not a greaser?”

“God, no. And I don’t want to be one. All I’m trying to say is that I’m not fond of how you spend your time, and I’d rather not be involved in it.” Gaze meeting his, you return the questioning look on the boy’s face with a sad smile of your own.

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”

Before you can get another word out, you feel two strong arms envelop you in a hug.

The sudden embrace lasts for a few minutes, or perhaps for just a few seconds; you aren’t sure. It feels like heaven either way. Soon you feel a vibration against your shoulder, right where his face is buried. Upon asking him to repeat himself, you finally make out a small “I wanna change,” and you think you might be dreaming.

“Really?” A nod. “How do I know you’re not still drunk?”

“I’ve been sober since I woke up, I swear.” Chenle lifts his head, eyes shining under the light emanating from your ceiling. “I’m starting to see that I’ve done a lot of bad things. You’ve helped me realize that. But I don’t really know how to do good ones. Can you…”

“I’ll help you,” you pledge, arms still wrapped around his middle and hands absentmindedly toying with the fabric of his undershirt. He smiles, warm and true, and your heart is now fluttering for multiple reasons.

Actually, you have a request of your own, and it’s a bit impromptu. You can’t help it. Your feelings for the boy have swelled and reached a new level after hearing him accept some accountability by admitting to such things. To say the least, you’re proud of him.

“Since we’ve gotten that out of the way,” you change the subject almost inappropriately quickly, taking a shaky breath prior to speaking again. “Can I…”

The way you trail off and glance downwards to trace the angles of his face with your vision is enough to reveal your intentions. His lips have never looked more inviting, and this time it’s his turn to approve with a small tip of his head.

“Are you still drunk?” He questions, raising an eyebrow.

You hum and look away, flustered by the suggestion. “No! I really like you, Chenle…”

“Then yes. As long as you don’t try to take my clothes off again,” he teases. Just because he’s willing to give up messing with others doesn’t mean he’ll stop messing with you. You’re too cute and you make it far too easy.

“Don’t remind me," you cringe.

Chenle bursts into laughter at the reaction, but the eagerness of your kiss swiftly cuts off the sound.

It’s somewhat different from when you kissed him last night. Now you’re fully aware, more deliberate in your movements, but the same amount of zeal remains. His hands come to rest gingerly behind your head and yours grip his sides in desperation, the moment in itself a mix of soft and strong. Once again he mirrors your speed and uses just as much force, enough to send you backwards at one point.

The image of you crashing onto your bed urges him to take more drastic action, so he wastes no time in leaning down to pepper light pecks along your skin. Chenle allows you to return the favor some moments later, delighting in every feeling, every sensation, and only stopping when the rhythm between you slows down naturally. You hold him close, lazily nuzzling into his chest as you press kisses wherever you can reach.

With the morning’s sunshine filtering in through the windows and your arms around him, a new day has begun for Chenle. If he’s going to change his tune, it has to be now. He may have everything, but the one thing he can't stand to lose is you.

He just didn’t expect it to be this difficult.

While Chenle’s trying so hard to make a change, everyone else at school isn’t. The dynamic is tense as always, and corridors and classrooms are full of students with glares so piercing they could bore holes into the steel lockers.

Other Socs flock to his side, not even uttering a greeting and instead launching into conversations about their next act of hostility against the greasers to establish some sort of superiority. No matter what they do, it’ll never be enough, they’ll never be satisfied. The closest they could ever get to having a ‘last laugh’ would entail eradicating the east side itself.

If someone had asked Chenle a few months ago, he wouldn’t so much as hesitate to endorse such a plan. But now, he knows better. Much better.

Anytime he feels his long-ingrained social instincts start to kick in, he squeezes your hand, an action that passes under the radar of all except you. Or so you think.

Yangyang notices his uncharacteristic denial of a cigarette. Ten is shocked when he passes up the chance to jump a couple of younger greasers walking home. Sicheng can’t believe his refusal of a party invite. His three closest friends could become your biggest obstacles.

So when they all insist that both of you join them at a local diner after school one day, you know exactly what it’s about.

By the time you arrive they’re already occupying a booth in the corner, each boy holding a cherry-topped milkshake or an ice cream cone. The oldest spots you first and the rest follow suit, gazes as cold as the desserts in their hands.

After ordering treats of your own, Ten waves you over, motioning to the empty side of the table. No one speaks at first, until Yangyang gets impatient enough to slam his chocolate shake down with a huff.

“What the hell is up with you, man?”

Chenle feigns confusion with a clueless expression, but it fails. “Don’t give me that look, Zhong.”

Sicheng echoes the younger’s question. “What’s going on?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk.” He feels your foot nudge his beneath the table, giving him a boost of confidence.

“I just don’t like living this way anymore. It feels wrong and I’m not proud of the person I’ve been, okay?”

The boys stare blankly, dumbfounded.

“...Living as a Soc, you mean?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A chorus of protests erupts, everyone at the table beginning to shout except for you. The other customers look over with contempt, rolling their eyes and trying to return to their private discussions. Kids will be kids.

“You can’t do that!”

“Are you crazy?”

“You’re practically king of the school!”

“I know, I know! I don’t care,” he declares. “I’ve decided I don’t want any part of this. If I’m labeled an outcast, so be it.”

“Oh really?” Ten turns his gaze towards you, and you instantly feel small. “Tell me, Chenle. Did they have something to do with this?”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Yangyang jumps in. “They come along and all of a sudden you have a conscience?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” you argue adamantly. “It was his decision, not mine.”

Confirming your words, the aforementioned boy nods. “I may have gotten a bit of a wake-up call from them, but this is what I want to do.”

The three hum, exchanging glances in the silence that encompasses your five-person group. Distant chatter fills the rest of the room, but it doesn’t interfere. They’re all starting to follow his logic, but whether or not they’ll follow in his footsteps is still up in the air.

“What about us, then?” Sicheng inquires stoically.

Chenle takes a final sip from his milkshake glass. “If you ever come to the same realization that I did, you’re free to join me.”

At his signal, you slide out of the booth and he does the same, displaying his newfound habit of holding your waist shortly after.

“But it’s your call.”

Ten, Yangyang, and Sicheng look on, open-mouthed and astounded, as you both stride out of the doors.

What just happened?

You’re asking yourself the same question weeks later, when you’re sitting in the familiar front seat of Chenle’s car. He’s walking out of the school’s main entrance, beaming from ear to ear.

“You’ll never guess what I just did,” he chatters, settling in behind the wheel and beginning to back out of his parking space.

“Hm?”

“I asked Kun and his gang to meet me downtown this weekend, to talk things out.” Chenle sounds pleased with this arrangement, but your gut twists. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? It’ll be like making a truce; I’ll just say we’re square.”

You explain that you have a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he continues to assure you, saying that it’ll be fine. Eventually you relent, but only after he promises to bring you with him.

“You should ask the other guys to come with you, too. Safety in numbers.”

“Ah, I dunno. They’ve barely spoken to me since that day at the diner.”

Though Chenle’s a happier and much less hostile person now, you see the flicker of hurt in his eyes when he remembers how his friends chose to stay behind, to cling to their old mindsets as they’ve always done. He doesn’t hold it against them, but he wishes things could have been different.

And his altered demeanor hasn’t gone unnoticed by the greasers, either. They find it off-putting, since they’ve never known a Soc to treat them like they’re anything more than an inconvenience. Lucas especially doesn’t like the sound of Chenle’s request. None of them do, really, but he’s the only one that’s able to get his hands on a surefire way to make sure the boy doesn’t try anything.

On the selected day, almost every street is bustling with activity. Every street except the block the two parties agreed to meet on, conveniently. As you near the location, the rate at which your stomach turns begins to increase. You can feel something heavy lingering in the air, and your brain is screaming at you to turn around. You have half a mind to reach over and yank the wheel in the opposite direction, but this will be good for Chenle.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself for the rest of the drive, and the words keep repeating even when you step out of the Mustang. A clock tower tolls nearby, signaling the top of the hour, and just like that, it’s time.

“Just stay here,” Chenle advises. “I didn’t mention that you were coming, so if they see you they might think I’m up to something.”

Pretty sure they already do. That’s what you want to say, anyway, but you remain quiet.

Four figures await at the end of this chosen alleyway, which lets out onto an equally empty road. One of them peeks around a shallow corner between the buildings and alerts the rest as soon as they see Chenle making his approach. Lucas slips a large hand into the pocket of his jeans.

You're anxiously leaning against the side of his car, where he had told you to wait. Once the boy turns down the thin passageway and you become unable to see him, the pounding of your heart grows louder in your ears, now overpowering the buzzing sounds of the town’s center. You can’t help but notice how narrow of a space it is. Surely he wouldn’t have much room to turn around and run? If need be, of course.

But as time goes on, the unlikelihood of that scenario seems to shrink.

This was a bad idea from the start, because how are they supposed to recognize that his intentions are good? After years of only having only bad ones, surely they’re jaded enough to think it’s all a ruse.

You don’t know why you start to run, why your legs begin to carry you faster than they’ve ever carried you before, but a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach guides your accelerating footsteps.

“Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble.” He’s trying his best, but Chenle’s efforts to explain that he’s got nothing to hide, no tricks up his sleeve, are in vain.

“Right.” Hendery deadpans. “What’d you say… you wanna talk, right?”

They have him backed up against a dumpster and facing the street he entered from, meaning that the quartet’s backs are turned to you. Even Lucas’s frame is tall enough to temporarily obscure the sight of a lone figure, your figure, charging down the alley and towards the group. None of them see you coming.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You run faster.

“Yes! Yes, that’s all. Just talk.” He takes a step forward, one stupid step. One too many. “Gimme a chance to—”

Bang.

Several things happen then, all in the span of about half a second. With a strength you weren’t even aware of possessing, you burst through the gang’s barricade-like stance to tug Chenle to the side. Unfortunately, it’s at this moment that your footing decides to fail you, and you end up essentially switching places with him.

The tallest of the five boys looks on in pure horror as the lead bullet punctures not Chenle’s arm, but yours.

What’s most surprising to you, though, is the fact that you don’t fall to your knees or pass out. Not at first. You just stand there, trying not to look down at the place where your shirt’s been torn by the projectile, leaving behind a scarlet wound that smells distinctively of rust.

Movies always made it seem much more dramatic.

Someone’s screaming. Maybe it’s you. Everything is muffled, your vision is fuzzy. Chenle’s next to you and his mouth is moving but you don’t hear any sound come out, feeling only a dull pain in your ear from the presumably high volume.

The pain. It reaches you slowly, like paper absorbing a droplet of ink, flooding your left shoulder and surging all the way down to the ends of your fingers.

So much for managing his hostility. Chenle is spewing obscenities at all the greasers while simultaneously recovering from his own wave of shock, stunned by what he so narrowly avoided and by what you put yourself in imminent danger of.

By now, the gun has clattered to the ground, and Kun turns his attention to his companions. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out who brought the weapon as it’s laying right next to a pair of distinctive shoes, some dirtied high-tops that he knows belong to Lucas. The man’s face is nearly ashen, struck with regret.

“Bringing a heater? Really?” Kun reprimands him. “You didn’t even think to mention that, did you? I know we all had our doubts, but this?” Xiaojun reinforces the admonishments, sticking close to Hendery while they decide whether or not to offer help.

Lucas doesn’t respond, his only movement being when he kneels down next to Chenle as he tends to your now-crumbling form, but the hand he extends is quickly swatted away. Curses are still flying under the youngest’s breath in order to keep his mind and mouth busy, too busy to cry, while he wraps his letterman jacket around your upper arm.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, trying to reassure you and himself at the same time.

You retain no memory of the ambulance ride or of your arrival at the hospital. The next time you open your eyes, you’re told that two days have passed, and you’ve already had surgery on your shoulder.

An off-white ceiling glares down at you, but the presence beside you is far more comforting. Along with a nurse, Chenle’s face is visible in your peripheral vision, and you can see your whole family standing at the foot of your bed as well.

She notices the way your face brightens a bit, some of its normal color returning. “He’s been here holding your hand the whole time. Except during the surgery, of course.” The nurse finishes her thought with a smile, expression warm and kind. Chenle squeezes your palm in his, standing up and stepping outside into the hall to let those you’re closest with have some time with you.

As the door opens, seven sets of eyes snap towards it, only three of which Chenle was expecting.

“What are you doing here?”

Xiaojun, Hendery, Kun, and Lucas appear the most apologetic he’s ever seen. Granted, such an emotion doesn’t make its presence known on their faces very often, but there’s a first time for everything.

“We came to see them.”

“And to say sorry.”

“I don’t think so,” he starts, but Ten catches him by the wrist. “Give ’em a chance. We’ve been talking.” Chenle looks to the others, and Yangyang nods, followed by Sicheng.

So when your family exits the room and your mother waves Chenle back in, all seven of the boys follow him.

It’s a bit overwhelming to see eight faces peering down at you, but even more puzzling to you in your groggy state is their dynamic. No one’s arguing or trying to start a fight, and if it weren’t for the difference in attire, you’d believe they were part of the same friend group.

Apologies are given, though they’re not just from Lucas. Among the rest of the guys, numerous expressions of shame and remorse are exchanged, too. It’s most likely the direness of your situation that’s to blame for their heightened awareness of emotions, but the incident itself seems to have been the incitement of change that they all needed. If it can happen to them, what’s stopping the effects from rippling throughout the whole town?

A contented grin on your lips, you lift your good arm to wave at the boys as they exit. The sun has gone down at this point, and your family just returned with dinner for themselves. Your food rests on a tray that the same nurse from earlier brought a few minutes ago, and Chenle has reclaimed his spot at your side, as faithful as ever. He knows he'd be the one in a hospital bed right now if it wasn’t for you.

The boy gently pecks your cheek, his loving gesture enough to melt away any pain that might have remained.

“Thank you, Chenle.”

“For what?”

“For everything.” You chuckle a bit, “There's no one I’d rather jump in front of a bullet for.”

“Don’t say that!” But he laughs along.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Chenle whispers softly, just like he did some 48 hours prior. And this time, he believes it.

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

Text

Fanfic: Loki x Sylvie Oneshot (Hurt/Comfort, Rated: teen, no adult content. Set before, during and after that scene in 1 x 05)

She should be inside, talking to the other Lokis, learning more about this place and its dangers, and strategically planning their next move. Instead, she is out here in the open, staring into the abyss, like she has been almost her entire life. She has lived in apocalypses, watching the colors of the sky change as people merrily went on with their lives, completely unaware of how fleeting it all is. Yet, in the middle of all that death and destruction, there she always has been, the epitome of survival.

[[MORE]]

This “Void” is no different. This is another place where death and destruction reigns but she remains standing at the end of the day. The sky is blue, but far away, where it meets this foresaken land, is a menacing shade of purple, resembling the one in Lamentis-1. It brings back memories of that night.

As if on cue, Loki comes and sits down beside her. For a man who never shuts up, he’s unusually quiet. She wonders what he might be thinking about. Their impending battle, his future plans, the TVA, Asgard, Thor…

Or whatever it is that he was about to tell her before he got pruned.

—

It’s not the best time to talk when you’re driving a shoddy car away from the mouth of a hungry demon cloud, but that won’t stop him.

“Hell of a Nexus event you caused there,” Mobius comments.

Sylvie’s heart skips a beat. “You know what my Nexus event was? You know why I was taken from Asgard?”

Mobius winces internally. “Oh, that. Sorry. I am in the dark, just like you. I don’t even know what my nexus event was.” His heart breaks at the thought of what home might be like. Does he have a family? Kids? What did he leave behind?

The car hits debris on the road, and they both bump their heads on the hood of the vehicle. “I’m talking about the Nexus event at Lamentis-1”, he clarifies.

“Yeah, about that. How did you know where to show up? What was the Nexus event?”

Mobius smiles. This one is just as clueless as the other one. And even though he has been hunting her for as long as he can remember, he can’t bring himself to voice it quiet as harshly this time. “Well, you and Loki had a connection back there. That’s what sent the timelines into a dizzy. Two Lokis falling in love.”

She feels the air leave her lungs. “I’m sorry, did you just say, love?”

He doesn’t answer, and in the silence, punctuated by the creature’s evil roar, she realises she’s been so focused on what was happening- the running, the fighting, the revelations, the pruning- that she never really stopped to think about how it made her feel.

That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always has to be when you’re on the run through space and time.

And though she is still being chased at this very moment, she can’t help but contemplate this time. How does she feel?

Now that she thinks about it, deep down, she knows, no matter how many times she tells herself she is only doing this to find who is behind the curtains and get her life back, she would have gone about it in a completely different way, like she always has- hiding, fighting, planning and executing. There is only one reason why she would ever stab herself with a pruning stick.

(Love is a dagger, after all. A glowing, pruning one.)

—

“Mobius is not so bad.” She begins, and it doesn’t take them too long to completely deny their feelings for the other as well as promise their undying loyalty and pledge to be at each other’s side when all this is over.

She snuggles closer to Loki. “Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“If this is not a table cloth, then it’s surely a cape, right?”

He laughs, and it does something to her stomach that she still has to find a name for. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you ditch your hood?”

She shrugs. A whole life spent in the shadows, away from the spotlight, against the very basic instinct of a Loki. And now? “I’m tired of hiding, I guess.” Her voice is resolute, and her eyes shine with glorious purpose. “I want to be seen.”

“I see you,” he says softly. “I’d like to see more of you.”

She looks up at him with a curious smirk.

“That’s not what-” He’s visibly flustered, and it’s so much fun to make him squirm like this. “It’s not how it sounds. What I meant to say is, I’d like to see you again, when all of this is over.”

She smiles. Didn’t he say this already, when she was scared that he would leave her when all this is over?

Is he just as scared of her leaving him when all of this is over?

“I don’t know”, she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. “Do I want to torture myself so much?”

He feigns offense. “I will have you know, kings and presidents and Gods have begged- begged just to be granted an audience with me. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Lucky me”, she says only half- sarcastically. “Stuck here with you under the same-”, she tilts her head to indicate the green material that is currently shielding two frost giants from the cold, the ridiculousness of this not lost on her, “-blanket.”

“Lucky you,” he repeats unironically, and his hand finds its way to hers, their fingers intertwining.

He’s held hands before. He’s had women snuggle up to him too. But not like this. Not anyone who matters. Not anyone whose eyes sing “Come home”.

He places a soft kiss on her hair, the lips that have uttered a thousand lies now focused on the one truth.

She feels her whole body burn.

She’s seen a thousand worlds die before her own eyes, always escaping before the blistering heat found its way to her, never having the ability to save even a single life, knowing it’ll cause a Nexus event and she would be discovered. She’s witnessed so many people’s death- people who gave her food, shelter, clothing, shared a laugh or two with the orphan child from Asgard- the poor, lost, scared, little Sylvie.

Now she’s here, and she’s not completely certain that she’s not going to die.

Yet, this is the most alive that she has ever felt.

Her grip on his hand tightens, and he squeezes in return. Mobius would have a field day if he was to walk out and see them like this now.

“Loki, if I don’t make it-” she begins.

He cuts her off firmly. “Don’t.” The thought of losing her has been on his mind since the moment he got pruned, and he doesn’t think he can handle the thought of losing her again.

“How did you feel when you got pruned before you could tell me what it was you wanted to tell me?”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows what he wanted to say, but he doesn’t know yet what it was he was going to say. The words were about to roll off his tongue, and then it was gone. All hope, all possibilities of a future, snatched away in just a moment. “I felt distraught.” He confesses honestly.

“Exactly.” She sits up now, facing him directly, crawling out from under the blanket, but never letting go out of his hand. “If I don’t make it, I’ll feel the same way.”

His face clouds with hope and confusion at the same time. “What are you saying?”

She’s not sure. She’s learnt at least thirty-four different languages from her life in apocalyptic worlds, yet, no language has the words to capture quite how she feels.

“Sylvie?” He prompts again, daunted by the silence.

“Loki.” She says his name. Because that’s all there is. The one word. This is about him. Maybe it always has been, maybe all those poets and musicians and dreamers are right and your whole life does lead up to something.

Maybe her whole miserable, horrible, terrible life has been leading up to this.

This moment when she closes the gap between their lips.

Her eyes are wide open, just like his, and they are staring at each other, waiting to see how the other reacts.

Maybe this was a mistake, she thinks, but his lips press harder against hers.

It’s still just a tender, sweet peck, and their eyes are still open, but his hands give hers another squeeze. He pulls back and leans his forehead against her, making their noses brush.

And then his lips find hers with a fever that mirrors her own, and their eyes flutter shut.

She’s lived in apocalypses. She knows that worlds are dying at this very moment. And at the same moment, other worlds are being born out of this, this dance between their lips- a Nexus event that is creating new timelines, new life.

(Love is a dagger, indeed. And you can see yourself in it, after all. But when you reach for it, it doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes, it’s so very real.)

#sylvie x loki #sylvie laufeydottir #loki disney+#loki x sylvie #fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki #sylki fanfic

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zintranslations · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 120

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 120: The Thirteenth Door

Right after the new year, it came about time for Gu Longming to enter his door.

Ruan Nanzhu selected a sixth door hint slip, and on it was a name familiar to all—Minotaur. A monster from ancient Greek mythology with a bull's head and a human's body that guarded a maze.

In the myth, it was a creature of an extremely violent temperament born of a human and a white bull. Shut away in the Labyrinth on the island of Crete, it ate seven pairs of boys and girls each year. Then it was killed by a bastard son of Athens, Theseus. Point was, there wasn't much intel to gain about the door from a hint like this. Only once they went in and encountered the actual situation could they connect it to the hint on the paper slip.

Lin Qiushi also showed this hint to Gu Longming ahead of time. After Gu Longming received it, he expressed his thorough gratitude for Lin Qiushi, and Lin Qiushi too was forthright with a vaccination—he said that in this door, he could not be responsible for Gu Longming's life, and Gu Longming ought to prepare himself accordingly.

Gu Longming agreed to every stipulation, and said he had already prepared himself for never coming out.

Their time of entry was roughly the tenth of the lunar new year, when celebrations were trailing off, leisurely vacations were coming to an end, and everybody grew busy again.

Lin Qiushi readied everything and began to wait for the door.

The tenth quickly came. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, and few people were in the mansion. There was only Lin Qiushi sitting in the living room eating Lu Yanxue's freshly cooked pumpkin seeds. Lu Yanxue's culinary skills were, as usual, the best; the pumpkin seeds she fried up were flavored with the five spices and fragrant as all hell. Lin Qiushi could pass an entire afternoon with just a handful of the stuff.

Ruan Nanzhu had already gotten changed and was waiting upstairs. Lin Qiushi saw that it was about time, and so hoisted his hefty backpack and headed upstairs to go look for him.

Due to their last door, Lin Qiushi intentionally stuffed his bag with a great number of food items. Daily necessities from outside could be brought inside, but weapons that were more against the spirit of the doors were not. Guns and other firearms, for example, could not be brought inside.

Once you'd entered the doors, of course, there might exist some special limitations, like in the sanitarium door when the NPC told them the rule where they could not eat food brought in from the outside. The reality was that these kinds of limitations were rare, but all Lin Qiushi wanted to achieve was the principle of Better Safe Than Sorry. At any rate, the condition from the tenth door where they had to open a chest if they wanted to eat had left quite the shadow on his psyche.

Lin Qiushi entered Ruan Nanzhu's bedroom and sat with him on the bed for a while. Then he felt the atmosphere around him change. It took only the time of a blink for Ruan Nanzhu, who had been sitting right beside him, to disappear without a trace. Lin Qiushi pushed open the bedroom door in front of him and saw that what had originally been the hallway was now a series of twelve black metal doors. What a familiar sight.

He walked to the sixth door and gave it a tug. The next moment, Lin Qiushi was sucked in by an immense force. The scenery around him was also altering dramatically, and by the time he opened his eyes again, he could feel a faint rocking beneath his feet.

Lin Qiushi took a closer look, and discovered that he'd appeared on a large old ship. It was just about sunset, and there were black clouds frighteningly low in the sky, as if they were going to smother the horizon at any moment. Inky seawater tossed before him, blown into violent waves by the winds.

Lin Qiushi smelled the gamy salt of the ocean, and because of the excessive waves, the ancient deck beneath his feet was ceaseless in its swaying. He saw that on the floorboards, there were seaweed-clung creatures clutching at the wood, making for an immensely uncomfortable sight.

Lin Qiushi took a few steps forward and saw in the ship cabin a dim-glowing light. He followed the corridor to the interior, and heard miserable wailing coming from inside.

"Uwaaaa, why am I here? What the hell did you all do to me?!" It had been a while since he last heard these cries of a newbie—Lin Qiushi was actually a bit surprised. He spotted the crying person immediately. It was a young woman, wiping at her tears with her hands. "You goddamn perverts, you guys must have kidnapped me. I'm going to call the cops and have you all arrested!!"

Most people were listening to her sob in silence. Newbies, after all, only ever reacted in so many ways: most cried; some tried to run; and some, of the truly psychologically frail sort, came in and pretty much had an immediate meltdown.

Lin Qiushi stood where he was. He noticed that around this girl were a few people who didn't look so good, who also seemed in various degrees of panic. They clearly weren't prepared to enter a door, and were likely newbies like the girl. But at least they weren't wailing endlessly like the young woman, and were still calm in comparison.

Lin Qiushi's gaze searched through the crowd and very quickly found its target—a woman seated in a corner and smiling at him.

The woman wore a long dress—the same outfit Ruan Nanzhu wore before they came in.

Lin Qiushi had the script in his head, and he took his time approaching the woman and holding out his hand: "Yu Linlin."

"Zhu Meng." The woman took his hand and smiled. "The red thread of destiny found us inside this door, let's cherish this meeting."

Lin Qiushi couldn't help but laugh.

"Indeed. Let's cherish this meeting."

Really, this little drama queen of his—putting on a show even when there was no stage to be had.

Just as the two were talking, a young man came tumbling in through the door. Though his face was unfamiliar, his clothes told Lin Qiushi his identity—it was Gu Longming, who'd agreed to meet with Lin Qiushi over the internet.

Gu Longming was entirely soaked. Once he came in he began to curse under his breath: "fuckers, throwing me on a lifeboat—why don't you just throw me into the ocean huh? Goddamn jealous of my beauty or what—"

Though he kept his voice down, Lin Qiushi's hearing was superb, and so could easily hear all the crap he was spewing. For a moment, Lin Qiushi himself didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, he didn't laugh. He only cleared his throat once and covered his mouth with his hand, swallowing down the urge to smile. Gu Longming's eyes lapped the gathered people and very quickly fell upon Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu. He came over with a bright grin, greeting the two as if they'd just met completely by coincidence.

As a matter of act, this little trick where they faked a chance encounter was only useful for the earlier doors. Once in the later doors, that old fox-spirit manifested in everyone, and not having a partner actually made you the odd one out.

As for whether or not somebody would identify them as part of the same crew, Lin Qiushi used to worry about that. Now though, not so much.

The cabin of the old ship wasn't big, nor was it bright. The only lighting equipment was a handful of tiny kerosene lamps overhead, flickering periodically with the sway of the ship.

The sky grew darker outside, and the number of people kept increasing. Finally, it stopped at the count of fourteen.

Everybody assessed their surroundings as they met up with their own teammates. The crowd seemed to be very quickly divided up into teams, with the handful of newbies left out. Without much choice, they had to make up their own team.

Just as the crowd grew noisy with discussion, a middle-aged man came in from the outside. His get-up looked a bit like a medieval pirate, and he carried a swaying kerosene lamp in his hand.

"Welcome to the Black Skerry," the man spoke. His voice sounded quite raspy, like the effects of long-term drinking or smoking had brought about irreversible damage to his throat. "I hope you all have a good time here."

After he finished saying this, he laughed like a maniac, and his high-pitched laughter, like fingernails scoring a chalkboard, sent goosebumps rising along the skin.

"In ten days, the Black Skerry will reach harbor," the man said. "Our voyage will end then, so please enjoy our wonderful time together."

Just as he finished speaking, somebody rushed out of the cabin. Lin Qiushi first thought that this person had gotten scared, but not long after, there came from outside the sound of violent vomiting—it seemed that some unlucky bastard was seasick.

"Where in the world are we?" The sobbing young girl had also been scared by the man before her, and she spoke: "are we filming a show? I'm really, really scared, can I please quit? I don't want to play anymore, I'm begging you…"

The man completely ignored her. He merely went on watching the crowd with a cool gaze.

The girl seemed to want to go up and take hold of him, but when she got to his side she suddenly stopped, face draining of all color. She then backed up a few steps, as if she'd seen something truly terrifying.

Lin Qiushi's eyesight wasn't as good as Ruan Nanzhu's, and due to the dim lights he didn't see a thing. It was Ruan Nanzhu who quietly explained the situation to him:

"That person's covered in some sort of black insect."

Gu Longming shivered.

"Is he dead or alive then?"

"I don't know," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Doesn't look too good either way."

Under typical circumstances, only the NPC who provided them with the key information was somewhat normal. If even that NPC wasn't normal, then there really weren't any normal people to speak of.

Lin Qiushi hadn't imagined that their door this time would be an ancient ship. And by the looks of things, the time limit was ten days.

"Come along, I'll take to to where you'll sleep," the man said. "It'll be dark soon…and it'll rain."

After this, he began that manic laugh again, and the group was even more disturbed.

The man brought them to the guest cabins and began divvying up the rooms.

Most of the rooms here were doubles, with a rare triple here and there. At first, Lin Qiushi was assigned a double, but Gu Longming brazenly went and found a man to switch room numbers with, strong-arming them into a triple.

"You'll bargain for even this sort of thing?" Lin Qiushi shot Gu Longming a look of admiration.

"Well I'm scared of dying, aren't I…" Gu Longming said. He didn't want to sleep alone, and though it wasn't quite right to be a third wheel, being a third wheel was much better than being dead.

Ruan Nanzhu’s smile was inscrutable.

"That's fair."

They'd planned to inspect the entire ship, but because the night was already so dark, moving about outside would be too dangerous. They would rest first, and wait until tomorrow to make plans.

And so the three got their key and went to their room, getting into bed after quickly washing up.

When Ruan Nanzhu went to change, Gu Longming took the opportunity to poke at Lin Qiushi, whispering, "yo, not cool man, how come you didn't tell me you had such a pretty girlfriend?"

Lin Qiushi answered a vague: "…mh."

"Oh she's stunning," Gu Longming said with a sigh. "If I had a girlfriend like that I'd want to stick around her every day too."

As he spoke, he looked to Lin Qiushi with an expression that was both envy and admiration.

Lin Qiushi watched him back and wondered how he would react if he knew Ruan Nanzhu was drag queen. Of course, it wasn't something he could tell Gu Longming now. Gu Longming was not yet part of Obsidian, and the fact that Ruan Nanzhu wore drag was Obsidian's biggest most vital secret…

After Ruan Nanzhu got changed, he came back inside.

"What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Lin Qiushi answered in brief. "He said you were pretty."

Ruan Nanzhu replied with a meaningful oh.

Gu Longming: "…" Why did a chill suddenly go down his back?

The beds on the ship all emanated a damp smell—very uncomfortable for the people lying on top. At this point, the waves and wind were getting bigger, and even the sleeping quarters were beginning to rock. Lin Qiushi remembered that ridiculously seasick, endlessly vomiting pal of theirs from earlier and thought that that guy was pretty much done for.

The sky outside gradually darkened in entirety, leaving only the bellowing winds and the sound of waves beating against each other. With his eyes shut, Lin Qiushi grew drowsy—but before he could fall asleep, he was woken by a sudden crack of thunder. It was like lightning had struck right above their heads. With the loud boom, all three of them awoke in an instant.

After that, it was the pattering pour of rain. The rushing rain and the howling wind—they seemed on the verge of destroying everything.

Their quarters rocked even harder. Lin Qiushi sat up in his bed.

Through the window, he looked to the black evening outside. He saw, however, two illuminated lights. It seemed like the only light sources on deck were kerosene lamps, but how did these lamps stay so bright in the middle of a thunderstorm…? Just as Lin Qiushi wondered this, he suddenly felt that there was something off about those two lights, and Ruan Nanzhu, sitting behind him, spoke up quietly:

"Don't look anymore."

Lin Qiushi, "hm?"

"Those aren't lights," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Those are eyes."

A pair of yellow, inhuman eyes. The owner of the eyes spied through the darkness with malicious intent, as if a beast looking for its prey.

Lin Qiushi instantly looked away, and asked, "what is that thing?"

"I don't know, I can't tell," Ruan Nanzhu said. "The shape is humanoid, but it doesn't seem to be human."

Lin Qiushi's brows lightly furrowed, but by the time he looked out the window once more, the eyes were gone.

Thunder rumbled on and on, and that stench of ocean salt grew thicker and more cloying.

Ruan Nanzhu climbed into Lin Qiushi's bed, and holding each other, the two very quickly returned to sleep. However, the only bachelor present Gu Longming didn't have such luck. Lying beside Lin Qiushi, he stared with plaintive eyes, thinking that in the following days, he'd be fed enough dog food to bloat.

The rainstorm lasted until dawn, and though the rain let up, the weather did not turn any sunnier. Black storm clouds still hovered over the ship, and when the alarm rang, Lin Qiushi actually thought it was not yet morning. He checked the time, however, and saw that it was 8AM. It was just still dark outside.

"Good morning," Ruan Nanzhu greeted Lin Qiushi.

"Good morning. It's so dark outside today."

"It's probably going to keep raining," Ruan Nanzhu said. He walked out onto deck with Lin Qiushi and watched the black waters roil underneath the ship.

Looking up, they couldn't see any land, only the endless swath of sea. Only the old ship beneath their feet felt like any sort of reality.

This sort of isolating environment was easily taxing on the psyche. Even for Lin Qiushi, the scene before them was discomforting.

"Come on, let's go get breakfast," Gu Longming called to the two.

"He's pretty thick-skinned," Ruan Nanzhu commented after hearing Gu Longming's call.

"Yeah," Lin Qiushi said. "His nerves are petty good."

Inside the doors, you didn't have to be too smart, but you definitely had to be brave enough. Before terrifying situations, fright could make a person abandon a large part of their cognitive abilities. The smartest person could lack a strong heart and still do worse inside the door than the obtuse, oblivious Cheng Qianli.

The three went to the dining area and found there an atmosphere that could very well be called lifeless.

Lin Qiushi didn't know why at first. After he saw the menu, however, he couldn't help but also feel a touch of depression.

All the ship offered was fish. And it wasn't even fresh fish—Gu Longming poked at a dead-eyed staring head with his chopsticks and said, "is this thing even edible?"

It was disgusting just to look at.

"It looks gross," Lin Qiushi said. "Try a bit?"

Gu Longming took a bit of meat from the gills and gave it a taste. His expression twisted.

"Fuck, did they deduct the food budget for this door or what? It's disgusting. It's like they’ve had it outside for three days. You try it?"

Lin Qiushi, "oh no, no thank you."

Gu Longming: "…"

The breakfast served in the dining room was, for the most part, stale fish. Aside from that there was only flavorless noddles and peas. The environment had already been vicious enough, but the food in front of them now was salt on top of the wound.

But Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu didn't care at all. After seeing the inedible breakfast they snuck back to their room and fetched from their bags the food they'd prepared.

Gu Longming watched as they pulled out a bottle of chili sauce, eyes bulging out.

"You guys even brought Lao Gan Ma? Did you come here to picnic?"

"Want some?" Lin Qiushi drizzled the Lao Gan Ma over some noodles they'd brought out of the dining hall.

"Yeah yeah yeah. More please." Gu Longming's expression was shameless.

With breakfast finally done, they got ready to search the ship.

There were a total of three decks in the ship, constructed a bit like the sailing vessels of the great nautical era of the Middle Ages. It was extremely old, was all, covered in the marks and traces of times past.

Beside that NPC, they didn't see any other crew members on deck; there was likely only the one NPC on the entire ship. Wait for the ship's return was the mission the NPC left for them this time, but Lin Qiushi had thorough reason to believe that if they couldn't find the door in ten day's time, this voyage of theirs would cycle back and repeat—and they'd experience the ten days all over again.

When Lin Qiushi climbed onto the second deck, he heard a sort of thumping sound, and was uncertain if Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming had heard it as well. So he asked, "did you guys hear that?"

"What?" Gu Longming didn't seem to have heard.

Ruan Nanzhu said, "I think I did, but not very clearly."

"I think it came from the corner…" Lin Qiushi followed the sound forward. "Let's go see."

But before they could get close, Lin Qiushi was hit with a thick, fishy stench. It was disgusting and nauseating to smell; fortunately Cheng Yixie wasn't here, or he might have passed out immediately upon smelling it.

The source of the sound and smell was the same room, and they were close enough now that both Gu Longming and Ruan Nanzhu could hear the thumping noise as well.

The three of them slowed their steps, and through the window, looked into the room.

It was a kitchen with knives and other tools hanging inside. The most eye-catching thing, however, was the dense masses of dead fish hung up on hooks all over the sides.

A person in an apron stood in the center of the room with their back towards them and head down. They were chopping something. After some observation, Gu Longming almost gagged, and said, "don't tell me he's making our breakfast—"

Ruan Nanzhu was very calm.

"It's possible."

Gu Longming did gag. He'd even had a bite of that fish that morning.

Lin Qiushi gave Gu Longming a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

This person in the kitchen, however, was the second living NPC they'd found on the ship.

The three of them stood watching in the kitchen doorway for a while, and saw that besides chopping fish, this person didn't do much of anything else. And so they decided to go see elsewhere first.

Very soon, they discovered a more peculiar room. This room was locked, and curtains were drawn over the window. It was quiet inside, but they could still smell that thick waft of stale fish. Lin Qiushi initially thought the smell had clung to them from the kitchen, but after a careful sniff, found that it was coming from inside the room.

"Do we go in?" Gu Longming was pressed against the window trying to look in, but he could see nothing.

Ruan Nanzhu gave this some thought, before saying, "let's try," and getting out a hairpin to pick the lock.

Watching his adept motions, Gu Longming's eyes widened. Then Gu Longming glanced at Lin Qiushi.

"Is this…is this a basic skillset that y'all come with?"

Lin Qiushi grinned as he joked, "yeah. You have to learn to pick locks if you want to join us."

As he said this, there was a click. Ruan Nanzhu really got the lock open. But oddly enough, after he unlocked the door and gave it a push, he found that though the door lock was undone, there was another lock hanging on the inside. The chain on that lock held the door closed, and they could at most manage a crack—it couldn't be opened at all.

"Wait," Lin Qiushi suddenly said, stopping Ruan Nanzhu from going up and pushing the door. "Stop for a second. There's movement inside."

Ruan Nanzhu halted, and just as he stopped mid-step, a hand, sharp-nailed and covered in scales, reached out of the door. And through that crack in the door, a pair of yellow eyes looked out, peering at the world outside with malicious intent.

Translator’s Note:

The name of the ship could more simply be translated as “Black Reef,” but “Black Skerry” sounds more like a ship name? Let me know if you think otherwise (or know if it’s a specific reference to something).

Lao Gan Ma is a brand of **hot sauce (edited: 7/26), as you can probably tell from context. The original next never uses “hot sauce” though, and just call it Lao Gan Ma in both the prose and the dialogue.

[Ch. 119] | [Ch. 121]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #NEW ARC #i like ships where the people take on characteristics they like about each other #and this is the peak 'rnz is a horrible influence on lqs' arc #but also rnz is a great influence on lqs #honeymoon door baby

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Before Rewrite - Hades

*Spoilers for D3 rewrite~!!!! takes place from when Hades gets to the isle to the scene where Mal takes the ember from Hades!*

Hades cursed the rulers of Auradon every hour of every day for putting him on this wretched isle of filth and trash. He was a god! The god of the undead, the underworld! He was a crucial player in the mortal's circle of life; without him, there would be no place for souls to go, Thanatos would harvest them but with no one to claim them; they would wander around the lands forever.

He could already sense the disturbed souls, miserably watching their families walk by, or through them. All alone with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

He had only been here for two weeks and he was already sick of it; he may have never liked it but his job was important and he needed to get back to work

Two weeks and four days…that's all it took for the gods to replace him. He didn’t know who it was but they seemed to know what they were doing, claiming souls so fast Hades could hardly sense when one had left the mortal world to live in the underworld.

Hades perked up at the sound of crying

Oh, Hadie.

He turned on his heel and speed over to the makeshift crib of his son, rubbing the top of his fuzzy blue hair and picking him up; gently rocking him as Hadie continued to cry, Hades didn’t know from what but he would try to find out.

Like the little god he was, Hadie unexpectedly thrived on the barren isle of the lost; with what little food he got and with little sun, Hadie grew quickly and strong. At four years old he was already growing into his namesake; though Hades couldn’t ever resist being a dad over his little gap tooth in the middle of his teeth.

Hades just wished Persephone could see Hadie grow, and Hades wished he could see his little flower, Melinoe, grow into the headstrong warrior she was meant to be.

Whaaaaaaaat the fuck did he do….what in the actual fuck did he DO?!

He had stupidly gotten black out drunk at Gaston’s bar and somehow ended up with Maleficent! Of all people on the isle?! No-not out of all people, just with someone in general!?

He had prided himself in being the most loyal husband of his brothers, Zeus who had slept with a woman every time Hera blinked, and Poseidon; who wasn’t any better.

Hades had always been loyal and true to his wife…well there were those two times BUT compared to his brothers; he was loyal.

AND NOW HE HAD TO GO AND FUCK UP THAT STREAK; over 1000 years, 1000 years! And some bad whiskey had to ruin it.

He left that bed without a word, rushing home to his 4-year-old son who luckily hadn’t woken up yet from his sleep; and Hades swore if nothing came from that mistake, Hadie would never know about it.

Welp…that was something that came from the mistake. 11 months after the incident with Maleficent-

-There, right in front of his gates to his underground lair; was a little baby girl, halfheartedly swaddled in a green blanket and set at his gate, a little note taped to the front.

‘your problem now -M’

Hades leaned out of the gates, looking around for any goblins or any sign of the mistress of evil herself. But there was nothing. Hades sighed and crouched down, gently picking up the baby girl and holding him to his chest, her cries quieting as her cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

She opened her eyes, vivid green with sparks of gold and yellow. She laughed, reaching up to his hair with a gummy smile. Hades sighed again and turned on his heel, closing the gate with his foot.

At least he got another chance at raising his daughter, and he would do his best to do as he would’ve with Melinoe.

Hadie had asked a billion questions when Hades placed the new baby in Hades old crib, leaning over and peering down at his little sister. Hades had explained it the best way he knew how to a child; but Hadie miraculously understood, didn’t blame him. All he did was reach down towards his sister and grin as the baby took his finger.

“I like her! Are we keeping her?” Hadie had asked, his gap tooth making his little grin seem even bigger.

“she's not a dog Hadie, but yes that’s the plan. I don’t think her mother’s coming back.” Hades rubbed Hadie’s fluffy blue hair and then reached out to rub his daughter's bluish-purple hair gently, her two-month-old hair curling around his fingers.

“What's her name?” Hadie continued to babble off questions, his yellow eyes staring directly into his sister's emerald eyes.

Hades thought for a moment, pursing his lips as he looked at the note and turned it over. Nothing other than Maleficent's writing and initial. Either the fae hadn’t given the baby a name or didn’t care enough to tell him.

“Morana“ the pagan Slavic goddess of winter and death; he had met or once or twice, not enough to know her but the name matched the baby girl before him well enough. (in this world, gods of all religions/beliefs exist in the same universe, they usually keep to themselves and rarely interact.)

Hadie repeated the name, pulling his finger around with Morana still holding onto him. “I like it!”

Three months later, Maleficent returned and took Morana from him; not even letting him give her a damn thing to remember him by. “I need an heir, that evil queens been bragging about her little rat and I won't let her get the upper hand with it” Hadie watched from behind Hades legs as the fae walked away with his little sister, her blue-purple hair stark against the black of Maleficent's sleeves.

Morana cried the entire time, reaching out for her father with tears streaming from her sparking yellow-green eyes, her face red with the flurry of confusing emotions she was feeling.

Hades took a step forward, going to take his daughter back but was stopped by Maleficent's goons, all glaring at him.

He was outmatched.

He stepped back, glaring at Maleficent's back as she took back their daughter she had abandoned so heartlessly three months ago.

Mal. That was her name now. He had heard many talk about the newly revealed daughter of evil; the daughter of Maleficent. Mal.

Hades clicked his jaw at the thought of her name, Maleficent had been shellfish and named her own daughter right after her; Hades would bet his stash of chocolate that Mal’s full name was just Maleficent.

At least Hades had been original.

Throughout the next couple of years, as Mora-Mal. Grew up, Hades kept out an eye on her; just out of sight from her and just barely stepping in if any of the older people of the isle, who had…less than ideal moral compasses, got any ideas about his daughter.

A few times he tried to go up to her, but each time she saw him she either ran away in fear, or stared him down with no spark of familiar want or recognition.

So he kept away, respecting her non-verbal wishes and leaving Mal to herself.

It didn’t stop him from trying to keep her safe. He left her food on the nights Maleficent or her goons forgot, never charged her when she came into his restaurant, was never harsh with her. Some of the other villains got curious at his gentleness with Mal but quickly shut up with a spark of red in his eyes. He might’ve lost his magic but he was still a god.

Hades watched from the shadows as Mal and her three ‘friends’ climbed into the limo, the son of Hook and son of Gaston climbing in alongside them. Mal looked up at Maleficent, who did an odd gesture and Mal nodded, sliding in and closing the limo door behind her.

He followed the limo all the way to the bridge, watching his daughter leave the isle for the first time and go to Auradon. If she didn’t end up burning it down; he hoped she would have a good life away from her mother.

Over three years later, his son was chosen to go the Auradon by his sister, and Hades watched melancholy as Hadie packed his things; fiddling with the dull ember between his fingers. Hadie hefted his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his duffle bag, nodding at his dad; who stood and walked over to his son “stay safe” Hades muttered, pulling Hadie in for a side hug, his hand resting on the back of Hadie’s head. “say hi to your mother and sister for me?” Hadie nodded against him, using his free arm to squeeze Hades back, and turned on his heel, walking out of the mines.

Only an hour later Hades stood at the bridge plaza, ember in hand; pointing it at his daughter, who cried out in pain against the embers draining powers. He pulled back as much as he could, he needed to get out; he just couldn't do it anymore, the isle was hell and he needed to leave.

Mal screamed in pain again and Hades faltered, remembering her cries for him when Maleficent took her oh so long ago. But the girl besides Hook took his falter and rushed at him, slamming him back behind the barrier and walking back through it a moment later.

Hades growled to himself, he had failed his attempted escape and hurt his kid. He stood and walked away from the plaza, planning to stay in his lair for the rest of the week in shame.

It was just the next day when he saw his kids again, Hadie and Celia standing in front of him; giving the excuse of a forgotten bass and some delivered goods. But Mal wasn’t as quiet as she should've been, he grabbed her hand just as she grabbed the ember and pulled it from her grip, staring her down behind his sunglasses.

She meekly asked for the ember multiple times, and on the third time, he raised his brow, holding up the ember in the air as he looked down at his daughter “You’re only half Hades, the ember won't do everything for you that it does for me” Mal huffed and gestured to Hadie.

“Hadie’s gonna be the one to use it anyway, I just wanted-to…” Mal looked up at him wide-eyed and shocked, and Hades had a startling realization that Mal might have not known about him at all.

After a few minutes of Mal screeching about her mother’s lies and her not being able to understand how ‘she’ happened, she demanded the ember once more “if you wanna make up for being a lousy dad” ouch that stung, he didn’t mean to be one; he just was forced into that position “gimme the ember”

Hades gave Mal the ember and watched her walk out, sighing sadly as he realized he could’ve been there for Mal a long time ago if not for his stupid assumption. He warned her about the ember getting wet and she just pushed past him, Hadie sharing one last glance with him before following after her.

Hades sighed, collapsing back in his minecart turned chair and leaning his head back. So much for respecting her wishes as a child, she hadn’t even known he existed as her dad.

-end-

people who i want to read this cuz ahhhh ya know?

@disneyfan50

permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @imtryingthisout @rintheemolion

@thecaptainsgingersnap @jatp-rules-my-life @verboetoperee

@saryguerrero

#disney descendants #d3 rewrite #hades descendants #POYW #rewrite part of your world #Descendents #mal daughter of maleficent

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meant-to-be-a-hero · 2 years

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Current List Of Eddie Fics

Reposting, since I've written some new stuff/finished things.

Go Your Own Way - 10/10, Complete. (Eddie x Reader)

After a year of tragedy you didn't think you'd ever smile again, until you joined the Hawkins High Hellfire Club. The fact that Eddie Munson, your Dungeon Master, is perhaps the hottest person you've ever met doesn't hurt matters, either. When you're around him, things feel bright again, and you begin to feel as though your life might finally be getting back on track.

But when Eddie finds himself at the centre of a police investigation, you're drawn into a mysterious conspiracy involving otherworldly monsters, dark alternate dimensions, and a terrifying curse. It'll take everything you have, as well as the assistance of the most unlikely of allies, to clear Eddie's name and save the entire world (and yourself!) from the demon known as Vecna.

And then there's the matter of your heart. With the world going insane around you, the only thing that doesn't seem in question are your feelings for Eddie. Is it even possible that he might feel the same way about you, or is your love life destined to be a critical fail?

[Set during the events of Stranger Things Season 4]

Come Back To Me - 12/12, Complete. (Eddie x Reader)

You’ve had about enough of Hawkins. Between the disappearances, the murders, and now an earthquake, it’s about time for you to relocate to some place a little safer. But those plans fall apart, literally, when you find yourself plummeting through a fissure in the ground and into a hellish dimension beyond.

Trapped in a terrifying reflection of Hawkins and stalked by dangerous creatures, things take a turn for the worse when Eddie Munson makes the scene. As you spend time with Eddie though, you come to realise that perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you’ve heard on the news about him. Logic and reason have always been your go-to, but when it comes to Eddie, maybe this time you’ll have to think with your heart instead of your head. If you don’t lose them both first.

As the shadow of Vecna threatens to drown Eddie in darkness, the pair of you fight to uncover the secret behind his resurrection so that you can both forge a path out of the Upside Down and back to the surface. And maybe, you might just forge something else along the way. A bond strong enough that even Vecna’s evil can’t break it. A bond of friendship, and maybe even...love.

[Set after the events of Stranger Things Season 4]

The Music's No Good Without You - 7/14, Updates Tues/Thurs. (Eddie x Reader)

Leaving Hawkins to chase your dreams in New York feels like the best decision you’ve ever made. At least until you get there, and realise that chasing your dreams is actually a lot harder than you thought it’d be. Feeling creatively suffocated, you decide to join a band so that you’ve got somewhere to sing when the rest of the city seems to want you to do anything but.

The band in question however turns out to be made up of very familiar faces – Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley and...Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since high school. There’s only one problem: Eddie doesn’t date – he’s too focused on achieving his dream of superstardom for that. But maybe you can show him that achieving his dream doesn’t have to mean closing off his heart in the process.

It’s not going to be easy, especially when an old flame returns to make your life, and the lives of your bandmates, miserable. Together though, you can overcome anything. You’ll win Eddie’s heart, and achieve both of your dreams, no matter what it takes.

[Rock Band AU - doesn't reference the events of the show]

Little Bites Of Happiness - 4/15, Updates Mon/Weds/Fri . (Eddie x Steve) Vecna has been defeated, and Hawkins is safe once again. The battle is over, and the danger has passed at last. There’s just one problem: Eddie Munson is still dead, and for Steve Harrington, that’s unacceptable.

Steve’s not sure why he cares so much. What he does know is that he has to bring Eddie back, no matter the cost.

And hey, if psychic powers and other dimensions exist, then surely magic isn’t far behind?

But what he and Robin bring back isn’t Eddie. At least, not entirely. It’s something darker, something deadlier, and something hungry.

With Robin at his side, Steve sets out to rescue Eddie and purge the darkness that has tainted his resurrection. But to do that, Steve might have to face his own secrets, and finally come to terms with feelings he has long been denying.

[Set after the events of Stranger Things Season 4, with vague allusions to some version of Season 5]

#Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Stranger Things #Eddie Munson X Reader #Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington #Steddie #And there's one more in the pipeline that I'm slowly writing too

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

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@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

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