turns out i’m living in a horror film

Where i’m both the killer and the final girl

-“you first” Paramore

Scarlett and the Professor - poolside sin

[continued from]    [contains NSFW material]

Just as he had known she would, Scarlett had melted for him. At the potency and command in the depth of his kiss, and in soft submission to his will. Though she had managed to surprise him again—first, with those sketches of her Greek boy, an eloquent testament to the reality of their relationship (though for Hennessy’s sake she had immediately tried to downplay it, as if he might grow jealous), and then with…well, it had felt to Hennessy as nothing short of her lovingly rendered drawing of himself—she remained wonderfully easy to read. And she was very easy to like, as well; he always got on best with lovers who were smart enough to hold their own with him, even challenge him at times, and after her initial timidity those few weeks ago (has it only been that long, he wondered) the vitality of her mind had asserted itself in some entertaining and satisfying ways.

There was much about her to view favorably. Such a very bright girl, with a sharp wit when she chose to display it. A gentle, kind, and very loving nature. Scarlett was soft in all the right places, too; not just in how she surrendered to him, but in the quiet way she clung to him afterwards, making no demands but that most elementary, unspoken one of simply laying with him flesh on flesh. No need for silly chatter in the afterglow, nor the trite habit he sometimes encountered, of  lovers asking for promises of devotion and loyalty. And as he had discerned from their first liaison on the beach, Scarlett could be obedient almost to a fault, and possessed a keen need to please authority figures such as himself. Hennessy had initially suspected she had daddy issues, and my oh my, she had confirmed that with a few passing references to a perpetually absent father. In that aspect, she seemed custom made just for him.

Most intriguing of all was a well of passion, which—despite her naivete—dwelt within her to an as yet indeterminate depth. Oh, he would learn that depth before he was finished with her. He most certainly would. The Leviathan that cruised his own depths had been quiet through their weekend together, not unusual as Hennessy had only just broken beneath her surface. But inevitably, it would find its voice and seek release—meaning that he must discover before then if Scarlett was meet enough to satisfy his wickedest hungers. And if she would revel as much in his darker predilections as she had already learned to in the sensual lessons he had already schooled her in. 

When he’d released her from that kiss, her eyes had remained closed, her face soft with that dreamy expression which he had begun to covet. Hennessy allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, before he gave voice to an observation. “Darling, you’re pinking up a bit—you might want to apply some sunscreen.” She blinked open her eyes at his unexpected comment. “I’d hate to see you burn that creamy skin of yours.” 

Scarlett gave a little ‘oh’, enough to make it clear that hadn’t even occurred to her. Leaving him wearing a small, indulgent smile. “You can fetch a tube from the cabana, little lamb—and I’ll even do your back for you, alright?” Goddamn, how pleasant and surprisingly natural it felt to take care of her! As though she was custom made to rouse that tendency in him as well. 

He’d made quick work of it, too, quietly pleased when she hummed softly beneath the care of his hands, then moaned when he ran his fingertips onto the outside swell of her breasts. “All set now, love,” he teased against her ear, even as he slid the backs of his fingers along her ribs and down to her waist, before throwing her a little off balance by simple letting go—for surely she had expected more. Scarlett turned in time to see him give the tube of sunscreen a one-handed toss and catch it deftly, while he grinned at her innocently, and then headed to the cabana to put it away. The look of surprise and wee confusion on her face was priceless, perfect fuel for the little game he had in mind. 

Exiting the cabana, he saw that she’d settled back into her chair and was staring at the sketchpad in her hands, though she hadn’t taken up her pencil yet. Hennessy slipped of his pool slides at the shallow end of the pool, right above the set of underwater stairs, then meandered over to the far end, giving her a chance to grow curious enough to watch him. When he was sure he had her attention, he dived right into the deep from the pool’s edge, swimming along the bottom for about two-thirds the length of the pool before surfacing for a deep breath. Scarlett was tracking his movements almost surreptitiously, her pencil just hovering over the paper. Gottcha, he thought smugly, it’ll be just a few minutes more, and you’ll be joining me for some very wet fun, m’dear. 

As a further enticement—certain that she was bound to be entranced by the powerful strokes of his long arms cleaving through the water—Hennessy propelled himself towards the shallow end, turning underwater and pushing off the wall, and then swam three full laps before coming to lean against the ledge, facing Scarlett. 

But there she was, presenting him a third surprise—for she sat engrossed in whatever she was drawing, paying him no heed, so that he finally had to call out for her attention. “Scarlett…darling,” he aimed to sound casual, “Come cool off in the water with me.” She gave a rather insouciant tilt of her head, and it occurred to him that she was playing hard to get. Perhaps in reply to the way he’d left off so abruptly after applying her sunscreen. This was a delicious, albeit unexpected, turn—though he knew that she would easily give in if her were to use his voice of command. Let’s see how far she is willing to take this…

Hennessy propped his elbows on top of the pool ledge, then entwined his fingers to rest his chin upon them, becoming the picture of patience before calling to her again, “The water is very refreshing, my pet…and I’d love for you to join me.”

 This time she looked up and gave a little shrug so that he smiled and crooked his finger to beckon her over. Scarlett gave an exaggerated sigh, blinking at him in faux innocence, then began to tuck her art supplies back into her rucksack. Slowly and with much deliberation, purposely making him wait. Her recalcitrance was turning him on in a way he hadn’t yet experienced with her, and the sudden image of her splayed across his knees as he prepared to spank her bare bottom in retribution, flashed across his mind’s eyes. Bringing his hardening prick to full attention. 

She stood up and launched into a long, languid stretch, reaching her arms above her head, then bending at the waist to touch her toes, before shimmying out of her capris. Highly amused, Hennessy bit his lip against commenting just yet, for he was busy picturing how hard he was going to rail her when she finally joined him in the pool. 

And then she was drawing near, smiling sweetly as her shadow fell across him—surely unaware of the wicked turn his thoughts had taken—to stand just out of his reach. Naughty Scarlett! He t’sked at her brazen disregard for his directives, even as her surprising behavior was working on him like some powerful aphrodisiac. She indulged in a dramatic sigh, then turned without a word, walking towards the deep end, sparing him a single, backward glance and a coy little smile, on her way to the diving board. 

Hennessy watched with growing fascination as Scarlett mounted the board, wearing an expression of intense concentration upon her lovely features. She took several deep breaths as she stepped onto the board, then briefly closed her eyes as she stood stock still, clearly preparing herself to dive, and then moved rapidly to the end. Once, twice, thrice, she bounced, gaining height with each spring of the board, and then flawlessly executed an open pike dive, entering the water with the barest of splashes, and then swimming the full length of the pool floor without coming up for air until she reached him. Emerging prettily—as if there was nothing to it—as sleek and as wet as an otter, confident in the wake of her skillful display, and eyeing him impudently. 

Gobsmacked for several seconds, Hennessy drew in a long, whistling breath, truly impressed with the grace with which she had moved through the water. A natural grace that affirmed that water was her element—perhaps as much hers as it was his own. “Christ, Scarlett,” he exclaimed, “That explains how you can hold your breath so well. You must be part water nymph after all!”

She dunked her head beneath the surface, then broke though again, leaving her neck and shoulders submerged. “Now you’re just teasing me, Professor,” she pouted, though her eyes told him what his compliments actually meant to her. Without waiting for his reply, Scarlett was off again, slicing through the water on her way back to the deep end, quickly flipping into an Olympic quality turn, to swim effortlessly back to the shallows. 

Twice more she showed him the same neat trick, arriving back in front of him barely winded, all wide-eyed and lustrous, and looking so very ripe for the taking that he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing hold of her arm and hauling her close. “And now you’re teasing me, little lamb. Awakening the wolf inside me.” He was breathing heavily, his voice raw with the lust she had conjured, “A very hungry wolf, at that…” He grabbed her chin with his other hand and kissed her roughly, then pressed his forehead to hers, “Hungry enough to devour you, Scarlett. Is that what you were hoping for?” 

Left speechless by his fervor, she nodded and swallowed hard, finally managing a breathless reply. “I think…I think with you, I…I always hope for hunger. Does that…make me wicked too?” 

Hennessy gripped her by the shoulders, rumbling from a deep place in his chest, “That makes you perfect for me, love. It makes you mine.” When he took her mouth again he pulled her under the water with him and held her chained to his kiss, only surfacing so they could both draw desperate, heaving breaths. 

Scarlett’s eyes had gone their widest and she watched him, mesmerized as he cupped a hand against her cheek. I’d bet that your pretty Greek boy never kissed you like that. Or that you ever looked at him like you’re looking at me now. “Say it for me, Scarlett,” he demanded, “Say what you know to be true.” 

She blinked several times and chewed on her bottom lip, hesitating only briefly as she searched for the words he expected to hear. “That,” she panted, “That I’m yours.” Scarlett breathed a heavy sigh, closed her eyes, and nestled against his palm, her relief clear in both her voice and expression, “I’m yours...my jo.” 

“Exactly so.” Hennessy rested his free hand on the side of her neck, noting the rapid pace of her pulse, while taming the feral edge to his voice—though it seemed every nerve in his body was alive with his need consume her. “You are mine, and mine alone. In this time and in this place, and for however long it pleases me to have it so.” That she showed no fear of such an absolute concept—that she even greeted it with a small, quiet smile—placated to a degree, the hungry beast lurking at his core. He placed his lips against her ear, relishing the little shiver she gave at the hot kiss of his breath on her tender skin, “And this is not by my will alone, little lamb, is it? It’s what you wanted of me from that very first love note you left on my desk.” 

“Yes…oh, yes.” She sounded almost grateful to share her illicit secret. “It was like some…dark magic came over me. Like I recognized you in the moment I saw you—and that all the choices of my life had led me right to…you.” 

Though lust still thundered through his blood, Hennessy held himself in check long enough to nuzzle her ear and then her cheek. Soft-voiced, he assured her, “You’re precious to me, Scarlett. I hadn’t expected that to happen. Not so soon, anyway.” She gave a little moan, which pleased him well again. “I can taste your trust in me in your every kiss, and that is precious to me too.”

Scarlett wrapped her arms around his neck, shivering with need despite the balmy air, molding her body to his, ready to give herself over to his will once more. Stoking his determination to take everything she was. This time he kissed her without need to pull her under, and with nothing to prove to either of them. Doing his best to go slowly, though inevitably raw hunger overtook them both. 

He had been kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders, as she let her head fall back; sucking the water from her sweet flesh, even as his urgency mounted and he moved them towards the pool wall. Once he had her there, Hennessy pulled away only so that he could shed his swim tee and toss it onto the ground behind her. Scarlett raised her arms above her head, inviting him to do the same for her, and then purred deep in her throat when he was able to flex his powerful hands around her bare breasts. Sinking lower in the water, he took one hard bud between his teeth, while tweaking the other between his fingers, thriving on the moans that were her reply. He swirled the tip of his tongue around her areola and then greedily pulled her into his mouth to feast upon. Her smooth moan drew his eyes up to hers, to see her nod ‘yes’, to see her nod ‘more’, so that he began to suck harder. Pulling her ever deeper. Suckling on her so vigorously that she hissed and shot her hands into his hair, while moaning his name unrepentantly. 

Hennessy dove his right hand down, first parting her thighs, and then slipping it inside her bikini bottom, reaching for that precious nub he’d learned so well. Using the thick pad of his thumb to work her as he moved to take her other nipple deep into his mouth. Absorbing the incredible, sinful sounds rising from her chest, sounds purely for him. Triumphant in knowing no man had ever drawn such sounds from her before, and surprised to feel himself grow even greedier for more. 

As much as he loathed to part from her again for even a moment, need drove him to it; though he kept his gaze upon her, he only let go long enough to pull off his trunks, while Scarlett tugged off her bottoms. Hennessy held out his hands and she came to him at once; he grabbed her hips and using the waters buoyancy, he lifted her enough so that she could drape her legs around him. A moment more and he was using one hand to align the head of his cock with her opening, and then thrusting up into her as he pulled her down onto him. The pool water had been wonderfully warm, but Scarlett’s heat surrounding him was heavenly. Her walls enclosing him perfectly while she sucked the water from his skin, all along his collarbone, and then danced her tongue from his Adam’s apple down to the hollow of his throat. 

She was clinging to him, giving out sharp huffs of air at each of his hard thrusts, but having no traction, she could only rotate her hips for him, so that he cupped her bottom in his hands, sinking his fingers into her firm flesh. “That’s right, baby…that’s the way…” he panted, backing her against the wall again, enabling him to grind up and into her mercilessly, eventually finding their ideal rhythm. Fucking her hard while she dug her fingers into his back. 

Soon, her mouth fell open against him, and she was moaning louder and louder with each of his thrusts, driving him on in equal measure to the divine sensation of her walls pulsing around him, gripping him tight. “Scream for me, Scarlett…if you need to, baby…shout to the heavens, if you will…” 

When she did, it was spectacular, crying out his name like an unholy prayer, her heady moans become wicked as she begged him please, to never stop. “Fuck me hard, my jo…fuck me forever!” So shockingly un-Scarlett like, yet exactly what his soul craved to hear. 

Hennessy opened his eyes, wanting to mark her singular beauty in the throes of their excessive sin—and was struck to the marrow by how utterly his she had become. Exactly as he had wanted, but like a thing that had eluded him his whole life. Making him need her, even more than the wanting. Desperately needing to feel the clench of her muscles—at the height of her ecstasy—surround his throbbing cock, needing her to cum hard and milk him dry. Needing to drown in her…in her love. 

And when he commanded her to, she did—oh, she did because he deemed it so—and so beautifully, so hard that it felt like a rocket imploding, and he followed hard upon, buried as deep inside her as he could get. Suddenly, there were words rising up from his chest, but Hennessy caught them quickly in his throat, while his Scarlett was cooing her bliss, unmindful of his uncharacteristic struggle. 

Catching those dreaded words before they could escape and make everything too complicated, and make him appear weak and ordinary in his precious lover’s eyes. He would not, could not, feel them or speak them aloud. Even if they were a product of truth, and not just his hormones. They would destroy the dynamic of his life, the life he’d worked so religiously to build for himself. 

Besides, he’d have to put Scarlett aside, should he say them—for he certainly did not feel them. Especially not now, no matter how mind blowing it had been, not when he had been made vulnerable by what they had just shared. Not now, when the apotheosis of pleasure had laid his soul bare. Hennessy was far from ready to forsake all the glorious promise of her young, nubile body, nor the astonishing softness of her heart, which she had proven ever ready to lavish upon him. He bit his tongue and tucked his face into her neck, while she smoothed gentle fingers against his hair, and they rode out the last waves of shared ecstasy together.

“Hennessy,” she whispered at last, several minutes having passed with only silence between them and his head still resting on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, groaning against her skin, his mind still hazy in the aftermath of not only their extraordinary physical experience, but as much from the jumble of emotions he had needed to deny and then try to lock away. “I’m fine, Scarlett,” he told her, regretfully lifting away from the welcome haven in the crook of her neck, feeling too drained of energy to give any thought to the dilemma that he had just withstood. “Perfectly fine.”

Hennessy realized that given her remarkably sensitive nature that Scarlett would sense, perhaps even feel, the change in him. But it couldn’t be helped. She had intimated more than once her vivid and quite literal dread of going too deep into dark, unknown waters. Well, there were deep, treacherous waters of his own, which he had vowed long ago to avoid. A mere forty-eight hours---not even that long yet---spent indulging in her charms, no matter how beguiling, were simply not enough to tempt him to tread there. 

He pressed a perfunctory kiss to her cheek and then backed away, submerging into the water as though cleansing himself of those things he would deny. When he surfaced, Hennessy caught her eye long enough to see he’d left her perplexed, and even a little hurt.

That’s as it must be---and what choice does she have otherwise, he decided, rolling over to take a leisurely lap to the far end of the pool; the only promise he’d made, beyond those of the sins he would teach her, was that their affair would never broach the boundaries of his black and solitary heart. It’s best you remember that promise now, little lamb. If not, what heartache you may suffer will not be my fault to bear.

(to be continued)

tagging: @strangelock221b @ben-locked @thelostsmiles @splunge4me2art @ben-c-group-therapy @tsukuyomi011 @humanbornarchangel @emilyinnj4real @letterstosherlock @aeterna-auroral-avenger @frowerssx2 @groovyfluxie @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @candiegirl-22

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

Chickles, general AX, or Hammertooth fluff B, if either speaks to you. :)

“Stay”

Well, this turned out sadder than intended. I gotta say though, it hits good. Thank you for requesting! 

Warning: depressive thoughts 

Magnus hid himself under several layers of blankets, sheets and covers, blinding himself in an overbearing atmosphere of stuffiness and self-loathing. Moist, heated anger plumed through each short, nasally exhale, filling his tented world with the nasty, stale taste of warmed air, mixing with the smell of human skin and sweat permanently etched into the covers. A simple rearrangement of the layers, or the creation of the smallest exit point would suffice in making his stay a bit more bearable, but Magnus refused to exit the fetal position, choosing instead to burrow deep, get lost in the rage that tethered him to the mattress, and recount his side of what he felt was an unfair situation.

He spent hours in his dwellings, fixing on words that pained him the most, on voices that argued for his case, and those haunting whispers that informed him he never had the talent, that he was too difficult to work with, too slow, too old. He grabbed fluffy blankets and smothered himself, pushed plush cotton and acrylic firmly against his mouth and nose to muffle his breath, to prepare for screams he never bothered unleashing, and drag the soft material over dry eyes that refused to listen to the heart’s pleas. He stretched, withdrew, faced a wall he couldn’t see, and fantasized about grabbing his wrongdoers and slamming their faces against it. He rolled over to his left side and imagined a world where he could get away with such an act, thought about proving everyone wrong and leave the bed to practice and get work done, dwelled on it longer and immediately gave up. He sighed into warm sheets, eyes shutting and revealing a blackness somehow lighter than the one surrounding him. His head spun with insults, most directed at the ones who rejected his work, but regarded the few that he concocted just for his miserable self.

Because he was difficult to work with, and even when he cooperated, applied as minimal of a creative voice as he could without warranting an argument, the work he produced was less than sublime. His work was mediocre, constrained and tied down with too many demands. His art was misunderstood, rejected on the principle of it being too conservative, repetitious, too classical for today’s tastes or, god forbid, not sounding enough like Dethklok. The final thought stabbed him, a dull knife that lost itself the muscles, wriggled and tore at fibers and bore a jagged, concentrated pain that, despite Magnus having faced before, never gets any easier. If anything, he was tired of it, exhausted of rejection and never being heard.

Mental and emotional fatigue eventually got the better of him. Still fully clothed, Magnus wrapped himself in the blankets, the defeat, covers and the “they’re right, you know,” and he shut his eyes, letting uneven breaths and absolute resolve to not leave for the remainder of the day guide him to a dreamless sleep. The pain muted, died down,  replaced with the concentration of the comforting  plush, the softness of the mattress, familiar warmth shaped from his own anger, and Magnus slept.

He woke up to the bedroom door’s creak, a gentle wail that alerts him he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Magnus.”

Magnus immediately shirked at the sound of his name, retracting further into his curled position, hands shielding his face in the dark.

Some inches away, the mattress sank. He blinked, feeling gravity direct him to the sink. Magnus shifted under the weighted blankets. He felt the force of a god hovering over him, invisible under the permanent, starless night sky he created, but still prominent and rendering Magnus with a dry, scratchy throat.

“You hungries?” the gentility of the voice condensed Magnus further, entrapping him with the now wakened feelings of inadequacy. “Thirsties?”

There was no drive to tell him to leave, to not waste his time. Magnus knew keeping anyone in his world too longer would only leave him resentful. He was committed to ruining just one day, and didn’t want to drag down another.

“Does you needs anythinks?”

He didn’t want to talk about it, either. There was only something so cathartic about having to repeat the same troubles over and over, and to the same person, without it appearing insane. Like he was crazy. Too emotional, like a woman. Overthinking matters. Making things more than what they had to be. Lots of people fail. He failed more than others. It was that simple. They were right, he was wrong. No point in arguing over facts. No reason to fight.

“Wants Toki to leave?”

An exhale escaped his nostrils, fogging his tiny world and lining his face with a sticky moisture. The throat itched and ached, and when Magnus tried to swallow, it spread up his neck and settled into the back of his eyes. After some time, the weight in front of him lifted, and as Magnus thanked himself for another job well done at pushing someone away, the pain that had obscured him suddenly have way, replaced with a greater desire to suffer in company, to sink together, or possibly be saved, if he was worth the trouble.  

“No.” Magnus stared out into the darkness of their shared bed, eyes agape at the single word he had mustered, heaved out with everything he had in him. He waited a moment longer, waiting for the sink, Toki’s weight to return and drag him closer to the edge of the bed. When it didn’t arrive, Magnus broke from his balled form, hand reaching for the edge to create that needed reprieve.

He tore through. “Stay.”

His arm retracted, and with it, the intense light of the day that Magnus wasn’t ready to bear. He felt back towards the center, sinking back into his creation, his mental cage and soft sinkhole, but as Magnus brought his legs closer to his chest, winced at the break of the light now piercing his shrinking world. He saw the silhouetted figure of an arm, an outstretched hand reaching in the dark, probing for him. Blankets and covers closed around it, and as Toki drew forward, his large arm filled around the opening, covering the light, but leaving a fine line for Magnus to clearly make out a single star in his otherwise empty horizon.

Toki’s hand turned, palm open in search of its lost companion.

Using the rest of his strength, Magnus took it.

“This is idiotic,” Damian Wayne spat, staring at the shelves packed with slender boxes. “Asinine. I love none of these people.”

“Little D,” Stephanie Brown cajoled. “It’s not about love. It’s about showing people up and getting candy.”

“We are not allowed to include foodstuffs of any kind. ‘Allergy concerns.’”

“Okay, yeah, that’s dumb,” Stephanie said. “Look. These are glow in the dark bugs. Those are pretty cool, right?”

“How am I supposed to express love or affection with falsely bioluminescent arachnids?” Damian demanded, after a brief perusal of the box of Valentine’s Cards.

“I think you’re still missing the point,” Stephanie said, pulling another box down. “How about dogs? You like dogs.”

“These are not dogs. These are monstrosities with severe ocular issues.”

“You know, sometimes you sound just like your dad,” Stephanie said between her clenched teeth. She slid the box back on the shelf and put her hands on her hips to survey the display. “Anything look good? Anything at all?”

Damian exhaled tightly and his eyes darted from one shelf to the other.

“Those,” he said, pointing imperiously.

“Wow,” Stephanie said, looking at his hand and raising an eyebrow. “It’s almost like you forgot I’m not your servant or something.”

He shot her an expression of profound displeasure and stomped forward and snatched the pink box.

“These?” Stephanie raised an eyebrow and looked at the Disney princesses on the box he shoved into her hands. “Dames…”

“They are obviously mere caricatures of the originals, but the princess stories are referential to centuries-old myths and legends and are, I have been led to believe, an admirable entry-point into the educational pursuit of cultural study.”

“So that’s how Dick got you to watch Beauty and the Beast,” Stephanie muttered to herself. She put the box back. “Sorry, Damian. I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

“Do what. I didn’t want to engage in this mockery of a holiday to begin with,” he snarled. “Those are the ones I like.”

“Kiddo,” Stephanie said, bending and propping her hands against her knees while she got to something close to eye level with him. “I’m all for the deconstruction of gender roles, but this is a fifth grade classroom in Jersey. They will mock the shit out of you.”

“Then we will be maintaining tradition,” Damian said sourly, twisting away. “I don’t care about any of them anyway. Let’s purchase the diseased dogs so we can leave.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stephanie said, grabbing his arm. He shrugged it off just as quickly but stopped walking away. “What aren’t you telling me? What tradition? Do they make fun of you?”

Damian rolled his eyes and then frowned sullenly at the store exit, as if longing for it to be closer. He tapped his foot on the floor and sighed loudly.

“C’mon. Fess up. I gotta know if Auntie Steph has to go kick some tiny asses.”

That got a slight quirk of a smile out of him, but his tone was dismissive. “I can defend myself. I do not require your assistance.”

“And?” Stephanie prompted.

Damian got very, very quiet and still. “They leave me alone,” he said. “The tradition I was referring to was my own fault for misunderstanding the assignment the previous year.”

“What...assignment? D, I’m not following.”

“We were instructed to bring Valentine’s Cards for the class. Art is an area I excel in and I was eager to demonstrate my skill.”

Stephanie felt cold weight sink in her stomach like a cannonball. She swallowed and resisted the urge to cover her face with both hands.

“You drew everyone an individual card, didn’t you,” Stephanie asked, already knowing the answer. She felt like crying in the Bristol Rite Aid.

“It was not received the way I anticipated,” Damian admitted, his tone blank and his face even more so. “It was clear I had misunderstood. The other Valentine’s, even homemade, were uniform in nature.”

“Oh my god,” Stephanie said under her breath. “Why didn’t Dick tell you? Why didn’t…”

“I am not accustomed to asking for assistance with school assignments. He inquired and I told him I was more than capable of managing alone. He was busy at the time, anyway.”

“Damian,” Stephanie said, quick-stepping around to face him. She put her hands on both shoulders and, again, let him shrug her off. “Damian, that was...incredibly, amazingly sweet of you. If they didn’t appreciate that, then they’re idiots. You’re right. They’re all idiots. The entire thing is idiotic. Each one of them should have fucking loved a card like that.”

“It is not their fault,” Damian said stiffly. “I should not have expected American fourth grade students to appreciate accurate renderings of the neo gothic architecture unique to Gotham.”

“Oh my god,” Stephanie said again, dragging him into a brief hug. She let him go and grabbed a random box of Avengers Valentine’s from the shelf. “Okay. This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to buy these, and I’m going to buy a stupid amount of Valentine’s candy, and we’re going to fill them out while eating ourselves sick and watching a movie.”

“I fail to see how this implies any genuine affection,” Damian said, staring at the cartoonish figures on the box with a skeptical expression.

“Congratulations,” Stephanie said. “You’re a grown up. The way you celebrate Valentine’s Day as an adult is by suffering through it.”

“You are not yet 21,” Damian said, his skepticism flickering up to her.

“Yeah, well, I grew up too fast, too. We’re a matched pair. The point is, the genuine affection in this case is you enabling my chocolate craving while we make good use of your dad’s Netflix account.”

Stephanie guided him toward the checkout and snagged four or five bags of candy from a pink and purple shelf display along the way.

“You’re paying for the candy,” she said. “Because I have to save my money so I can afford to pay you for a sketch.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Damian grumbled. “I will, of course, draw you something for free.”

They were at the checkout when Stephanie glanced down at him and her entire heart squeezed with something like, well, affection.

“Don’t freak out,” she said, pecking him on the cheek with a tiny kiss. “You’re a good kid, Damian, even if you do try to stab me once a week.”

This time, the cashier raised an eyebrow.

Stephanie waved her hand dismissively, while the candy and Valentine’s went into a bag. “He’s my little brother or something, it’s fine. Sibling rivalry, y’know.”

She half expected Damian to dismiss this loudly, and awkwardly, in front of the cashier. Instead he took the plastic sack and said, “Another subject I am well-schooled in. Trust me, Brown, if I seriously intended to stab you, you would be stabbed.”

“That’s our cue to leave,” Stephanie said, fairly shoving him toward the sliding doors at the exit. She called over her shoulder to the cashier, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

愛の光

a napoleon imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.

There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.

They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.

And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.

You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.

If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.

Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.

Blood.

-

“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”

The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.

Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.

“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”

“Really? In that case then, thank you!”

There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.

It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.

Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.

Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.

The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.

And then he saw it.

The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.

It reminded him of something.

Fire. Screaming. Blood.

Gunshot.

The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.

One person was missing.

“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.

“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.

“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”

Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.

It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.

A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.

You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.

And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.

Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.

He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.

If not for his love of light.

You + Me + Ink Kids = Family

Here is some art for this!

(about 2200 words)

Joey and Henry share a moment. Or at least they try to.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the croon came out of nowhere, Henry’s arms wrapping around Joey’s shoulders, a nip on his pointed ears. A stifled gasp. Henry smirked, rubbing his hands up and down on his husband’s chest. “You look so nice now, my husband….”

Husband.

What a pleasant word. Thank god they lived near a coast and Bertrum owned a boat. Finding loopholes in laws was Joey’s expertise, and within a year, they were legally married through Captain’s Laws, and no American judge could argue with the sanctity (though they did attempt to revoke Bertrum’s clergy hood, but to no avail as he had received his ordinance in Britain).

“Husband.” Joey murmured, setting down his pen, leaning his head back onto Henry’s shoulder. “I love you, but what’s with the sudden affection?”

“Nothin’,” Henry rubbed his face on his neck gently. “Just thinking about how time is changed… first you were my friend, then my business partner, then my best friend, then my infatuation, then my head and heart ache, and then my crush… remember what came next?”

“It wasn’t boyfriend, that’s for sure,” Joey laughed quietly, Henry chuckling and kissing his hairline. “Oh, it was not that.”

“Oh, you surely remember what I called you, don’t you?” Henry rose an eyebrow and Joey flushed, nodding with a swallow. “Ah, yes. You were my pretty little affair. My lover. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, or better yet, I’d ensnare you here in the studio, trap you in a hidden away room and revel in your moans and whines, my pretty little affair, so sweetly sinful. Your stuttering protests of how I was a married man killed by touches and kisses. Your worries over my daughter silenced by skin on skin. You were my secret pretty little affair. Now, you’re my beautiful tall husband.”

“I love you,” was all Joey managed to breathe. Henry chuckled again, pulling Joey out of his seat. “W-what are you doing?”

“Planning on getting you in bed,” Henry replied easily. Joey let out a hysterical laugh. Henry pushed him against the wall, pulling his legs out from under him to put them on the same height. “What’s so funny, darling?”

“We are at work, and it’s one in the afternoon,” Joey answered in a hushed whisper, blush flowing through his face. Henry smirked and swooped to bite the side of Joey’s neck, licking it and sucking on the skin. Joey gasped, his back arching. “H-Henry! Oh my… hn, ah! N-not so fast! You’re gonna make me-e…. s-slow down, Hen, please!”

“Babe, I want you in bed, I’ve been patient, I ain’t stoppin’,” Henry told him, his voice reverberating against his throat, eliciting a moan. Joey quietly asked him to slow again, and Henry acquiesced, removing his mouth from his neck, trailing a hand down his arm to grip his wrist, holding him to the wall with his hips. With his free hand, he traced Joey’s lips. “So pretty… so delicious… and all mine.”

“Oh, Henry, I always have been,” Joey panted, trying to catch his breath from Henry’s attack on his neck, “I’ve always been yours.”

“Your lips say such sweet lies,” Henry purred, Joey flushing rapidly. “I love it when you tell the truth like this….”

“I love you, Henry,” he smiled lightly, leaning to kiss him softly, pulling back after a moment. “I could never lie to you… you know me too well.”

“I do, don’t I?” he destroyed Joey with those flashing eyes. He felt himself go lax, there was no denying Henry any longer. Henry lifted his head with a finger, and he positively melted. “Yes?”

“Yes, please,” Joey whispered, the blush already gone, lost in love. Henry leaned to him, raising an eyebrow, waiting patiently for Joey to finish his sentence. Now the blush inched back. “Please kiss me.”

The shorter did not wait an instant, their mouths connecting softly. Joey sighed, eyes closing, in pure love. Henry bit his lips, gently but possessively, a silent claim. His hards caught Joey’s free wrist, gripping them together in one hand, using the other to roam the chicano’s skin. He Joey felt Henry grin against his lips as he dipped his thumb into his pants, tracing small hearts along his waist, going further into cloth with every iteration. That son of a… ohhhh, but he felt so good…. Henry chuckled at the groan that escaped Joey, pressing his hips harder on Joey’s, the taller man’s legs wrapped around him and his back flush against the wall. Joey whined, trying to entangle his hands in golden locks or grip a muscled arm, but both his wrists were pinned above his head rendering that impossible. In replacement, he turned his face away from Henry.

“Doll, Joey, let me take care of you,” Henry softly insisted, nuzzling his neck. Joey breathed, leaning his head back. “C’mon….”

“Just give me a second,” Joey replied quietly, shivering. Henry kissed his shoulder, making his way up to his cheek. “Ngh… I did tell you to slow down….”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Henry murmured. “I keep forgetting not to overstimulate you… heh, even right after you reminded me.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Joey tilted his head to press kisses onto his hairline. “Okay. You can continue now, but please, can we go home? Someone could walk in on u-AH! H-ha! Ohh, f-fuck…. Ngh, ah… Henry…!”

Henry smirked, sucking on Joey’s collar, tightening his hold on the taller’s wrists and raising him higher against the wall, rolling his hips onto Joey’s.

“See babe?” he purred into his ear, slowly lowering him to ease his arms. Joey kissed him, breath coming in small huffs. “No one’s walking in o-”

“Whatchya two up ta?” Bendy’s bouncy young tones inquired. Joey, having forgotten about their inky triplets, started against Henry, his fight or flight instincts going into flight overdrive as he lunged forward, knocking over himself and Henry. Henry caught him before he landed face first on the floor. Bendy tilted his head a full ninety degrees to inspect them. “What’re ya doin’, dads?”

Joey found talking an impossibility from fluster, so he looked beseechingly and nervously toward Henry. The man gaped back at him, before realizing the severity of Joey’s stark muteness, and he slapped together the first thing that could make logical sense.

“We were… uh…” he stumbled over the words, his arm involuntarily tightening around Joey’s body. “Wrestling! Yeah! We, uh, ha, were wrestling. For adults.”

“Weird kinda wrestling, if ya ask me,” Bendy commented, frowning. He shrugged and grinned. “But who am I to judge?”

“You are not to judge, since you are our son,” Henry managed to continue, his voice wavering, his face ablaze, Joey’s mimicking the flush even worse than he. “Now, Bendy, you go off and find your siblings. You’re gonna stay with your Grauntie and Grunkle tonight.”

“Really!?” Bendy’s toon cut maroon eyes lit up. In both a literal and figurative sense. “Imma go tell Linda, Bo and Alice!”

“Tell Bertrum and Lacie, too!” Henry called after him. He noticed Joey’s shook look. “What?”

“Wrestling?” his husband inquired, cocking an eyebrow. “Of all things… Henry, I love you, but wrestling? Have you seen my body?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry muttered, slipping his hands into Joey’s shirt. Joey gasped. “Every beautiful inch of it. I might need to revisit the gallery and refresh my memory, though.”

Joey squeaked, unable to reply as Henry’s hand found the curve of his thigh to dwell on, gently stroking it.

“Now that our little dear demon is gone,” Henry mused, “can I get back to trying to get you to heaven in bed?”

“Tu diablo, you don’t need to,” Joey struggled to find the right words, “to make that sound so… so sexual!”

“Joey. Babe. Darlin’. That’s exactly what it is,” Henry, amused, remarked. Joey flushed, looking away and forcing himself not to smile, failing awfully. “So, Johan, my handsome tall husband, can I make you feel good?”

“You always do, no matter what,” Joey answered. Henry did not seem impressed, though he was rather bemused Joey’s expression, loving and doting. Henry rose an eyebrow and the leg between Joey’s. Joey blushed, hurriedly getting up and pulling Henry with him, dragging him to the exit of the office. “Let’s at least get to a bed for that to happen, Henry.”

“Mmm, I’m impatient though,” he reflected, pushing Joey against the door as he tried to open it. He pressed kisses onto his back, wrapping his arms around him. Joey muttered something in spanish, twisting in his hold to lean and take him into his own arms, lifting him with a silenced grunt, Henry yelping in surprise as he found his feet off the ground and taken to quite a distance from the ground. He quickly opened the door, still holding Henry with one arm as he briskly walked down the hall. Henry took this opportunity to kiss his face while not obscuring his partner in everything’s vision, pressing his lips to his temple and cheek and jawline, carefully avoiding that sweet spot under his ear as to not initiate a system shut down. Someone almost bumped into them, clearly meaning to ask Joey something. Henry grinned at the music director, not pausing in his administrations to Joey’s cheek and ear. “Oh, hey, Sammy.”

“Hello, Mr. Stein, Mr. Drew,” he greeted, amused, referring to both with each name. “Could I ask some things about the music for the upcoming episode?”

“Certainly,” Joey, his voice straining and much higher than usual, replied. Henry smirked, keeping eye contact with Sammy as he kissed and bit Joey’s neck. Sammy grinned, unable to keep a straight face at Joey’s absolute fluster. After a few seconds of silence, Joey stamped his foot, flushed and embarrassed.  “Hurry up, Samuel!”

“Alright, alright,” Sammy chuckled. “Did you want the episode to be more bass heavy or treble heavy?”

“Um… treble,” Joey nodded, regretting the action instantly, Henry’s mouth grazing up and down his neck, sending sparks through his whole body. Sammy nearly laughed aloud at Joey’s suddenly blank expression, knowing that inside he was a dumpster fire. “Was th-there anything else?”

“I think I’ll figure it out from here, thanks,” he hummed. He winked at them. “Have fun.”

Joey did not reply, he simply rushed from the studio as fast as he could, focusing getting home as quickly as possible, now glad for the time of day, as no one was out.

He slammed the door with his foot, pressing Henry to the wall, panting, slowly sinking down the soft paint colored wall. Henry lowered his legs to support them, Joey becoming the one held. He kissed him, just nice and sweet.

He swayed as he carried Joey to their room, still kissing him, deepening it as he set him on their bed. He pulled away, admiring at his beautiful almost purple blush. Joey’s eyes slowly opened, and Henry kissed away the tears that threatened to leak from those gorgeous puce orbs.

“Don’t cry, love,” Henry murmured.

“Sorry, honey,” Joey whispered, wiping at his eyes. “I’m crying because I’m so happy… people can die from happiness, right? I feel so far away….”

“Well, I’m right here, and you’re here with me.”

“I know… I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Bendy tramped down the stairs, singing quietly to himself. When the amusement park came into his sight, he picked up speed, yelling, “I’m here!”

Bertrum turned barely in time to catch his ‘great nephew’ in his arms, stumbling back several feet from the shockwave.

“Hey Grunkle Bertrum!” he happily greeted, hugging him tightly. “Dad said me an’ Ali and Bo an’ Linda are stayin’ with you and Grauntie Lacie tonight!”

“Did he now?” Bertrum asked, adjusting his hold on his (heavily spoiled) nephew. “Lacie, my dear, we have four little guests tonight.”

“Ugh, Stein owes us,” Lacie grumbled, but smiled. Linda, beside hir, bounced Psyche on her lap gently, the baby gurgling contentedly, Alice making faces at them. “It’s nice to have the help, y’know, but damn… ah, oh well.”

Both she and Bertrum looked tired. Psyche, growing into their powers, abused them constantly, and their poor parents had to put up with all sorts of demigod insanity. (Lacie nearly lost it the first time she found them on the ceiling.)

Boris smiled, resting his head on Lacie’s lap. She patted his head, and he signed, ‘hungry.’

“You’re always hungry, little wolf of mine,” Bertrum remarked, but still motioned to him, and they went, he still holding Bendy, to the pub room to get food for him.

Alice glanced up at her aunt and Linda, a devious smirk spreading on her pink lips.

“I bet Dad and Pap are gonna fuck,” the angel said, raising an eyebrow and grinning. Lacie kept a straight face and sighed; this was normal. Linda smiled a bit, and it bloomed into a full ear to ear grin. “I bet you ten dollars.”

“Deal, but how would we know?” Linda pointed out, Psyche nomming on Alice’s halo, enjoying the tingle. Alice pondered. “It’s not like they’ll tell us.”

“If Papa has a hard time walking tomorrow,” Alice concluded, grinning. Lacie laughed and shook hir head slightly. “What?”

“Y’know Johan always has a hard time walkin’,” Lacie chuckled. “So I think that ain’t gonna work for ya.”

Alice was silent for a minute.

She looked at Lacie with solemn eyes.

“You ask them, then.”

Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) - CS Werewolf AU - Ch 12

Title: Alii Dimidium Lunam (The Other Half of the Moon) by @artistic-writer   artwork by @cocohook38 & @artistic-writer

Rating: E (overall rating) for explicit sexual content, language and themes throughout. Trigger warnings will follow and be added as they are needed to avoid spoilers.

Art by @cocohook38 - Poster - Emma - David - Killian - James - Walsh - Graham

Chapter Art by @cocohook38 - Ch1 - Ch2 - Ch3 - Ch4 (NSFW)

Art by @artistic-writer - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: This chapter contains a fight scene which does not go in the favour of Killian.  Like, in a four against one scenario.  If you would like to know more before you read, please message me, but the trigger warnings are in the tags.  Lots of you have been asking about the last chapter - and thank you for all your lovely comments - and all will become clear from here on out :D

Massive thanks to my wonderful betas, @hookedonapirate who is one of the best beta’s this fandom has to offer - I seriously love her guys, and she deserves all the good things <3 <3 and @kmomof4 to whom this fic is also gifted for her upcoming birthday, and creating the @cssns  Thank you to my crew, @hollyethecurious  @resident-of-storybrooke@courtorderedcake @doodlelolly0910 and special thanks to @killian-whump @killianmesmalls and @sherlockianwhovian for how they helped later on. And to @flipperbrainwho drew THIS piece of art for this fic in December, before it was even written!

Taglist: @cssns @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook@snidgetsafan@sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight@ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr@blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan  @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver  @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910@tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer@rachie1940 @unworried-corsair

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——————————————————————————————

Walsh took another long drag of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke, which had now become so familiar to his senses that he no longer exhaled in disgust. The back of his throat was coated in the earthy taste of tobacco, the faintest hint of charred herbs lingering along the taste buds at the back of his tongue, and the crackle of burning paper echoed in his hyper sensitive ear canals as the thin paper burnt away. He blew the off white cloud into the air in front of him and threw the remaining butt to the ground where he crushed it beneath his boot. Walsh kicked the butt aside, and the crooked, foam filled tip landed in a pile of discarded kin.

It felt like days since he had left Neverland, half way to Misthaven before he had caught a scent of something intriguing in the breeze. It was familiar, he’d smelled it before, but it was tainted with something that he had not been able to forget since visiting Misthaven and it made his skin itch with excitement. It was a sweet, honey like scent that was poorly hidden by the human sweat that lingered with it, and it made him salivate when he realised what it was.

Walsh could smell Emma Nolan, and she had her wolf heat.

He had hightailed it back in the direction he came from, unsure as to why Emma would have ventured Neverland bound, but trusted his nose nonetheless. The scent became stronger the closer he came to the city and he had followed it around the streets, crisscrossing over his own tracks more than once as he dedicated his time to tracking Emma. James had given his orders, but there was nothing wrong with having a little fun first.

It wasn’t just Emma who Walsh could smell in the wind. He recognised the Misthaven beta too, his scent much stronger in some places than others, but Graham was without a doubt nearby. This meant he had to watch out and be on high alert. Who knew why Graham was in the city, or why he was there now, but Walsh didn’t need to take the risk that Graham would find him. Staying downwind was his only option, so he had been reduced to lurking through alleyways and over rooftops in search of his quarry.

When Walsh had finally seen Emma, he was sitting on the roof of a building, where he had found her scent the strongest. He had waited all night, not eating or sleeping, just waiting to catch a glimpse of her. When he did, she had been coming out of the opposite apartment building, alone and with nothing on her person. She had a man’s sweater on, which was clearly too big for her, and she was smiling proudly to herself. Whatever was in the building had her happy and distracted, which gave Walsh the perfect opportunity to strike.

But he was also intrigued. Why was she here? Why was she so far away from Misthaven, and if she wasn’t with the beta she so clearly did not want to marry, then who was the owner of the sweater whose scent offended him so violently? It was triggering a rage inside of him that was overriding his orders from James, his internal questioning almost sending him insane as he watched her stride down the sidewalk.

As he was about to light up another cigarette for the smokey burnt char taste he had become addicted to, the sun peeked over the top of the opposite side of the building, rendering him almost blind. He heard a muffled scream from down the street, and by the time he had moved his position to the corner of the building, Emma was gone. He quickly scanned the street below for any trace of her, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was about to head from the building to pursue her last known location on foot when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

With an angry growl, Walsh slapped a flat palm on the edge of the building, spinning on his heels and grabbing the phone from his inner pocket. He didn’t even look at the screen as he swiped across the glass, lifting the device to his ear and kicking at some rooftop gravel nearby.

“What?” He spat, jaw clenched and teeth grinding together.

“Is that how you talk to your alpha now?” James asked smoothly, his voice striking fear into Walsh and making his blood run cold.

“Boss, I…” he stammered.

“Never mind. I’ll deal with you later,” James said casually, the air in his voice unnerving. “Sitrep,” he demanded darkly. It was not a question.

“Right.” Walsh swallowed hard, turning to stalk back towards the edge of the building. He still couldn’t see Emma, but her scent was strong as it lingered in the air, so she couldn't have gone too far. “I found her,” he declared excitedly. “Close to home, too. I was halfway to Misthaven before I caught her scent and followed her back to the city.”

“The city, eh?” James’ voice was a little higher, the lilt of intrigue lacing his words. “What’s she doing all the way out here?”

“That’s what I am going to find out,” Walsh said confidently.

“Good,” James snapped. “Find out what she came here for, or who, and make sure she regrets it.” The anger was evident in his words, and Walsh knew it was for David.

Their plan involved hurting Emma, essentially hurting David and causing the start of the breakdown of Misthaven. No one would want to follow an alpha who couldn’t even keep a leash on his own daughter. The intention of leaving Emma with a little souvenir of the Neverland pack would give David no choice but to exile his only heir.

A disgusting smile spread over Walsh’s face, his teeth yellowed from tobacco. “She is in heat, too,” he told James, the words slithering from his mouth. He threw his head back, inhaling a gust of wind that whipped around him, the smell of Emma covering his tongue. “I can almost taste her.”

“You know what needs to be done,” James instructed cryptically.

“And if she resists?” Walsh frowned a little as he peered over the edge of the rooftop once more and spied Emma exiting the diner down the street. In one hand, she was precariously balancing a cardboard tray which held two coffee cups and a white paper bag that was folded over the top and perched across them. As she neared the opposite building again, Walsh spied a man, tall with dark, messy bed hair and a scattering of stubble across his jaw as he greeted her at the door.

He looked familiar, but Walsh could not place him for a second. He was Were, Walsh could smell that, and he smelled like someone he had encountered once - the wolf who had given him the scar on his neck. But looking at him as a man, Walsh couldn’t be sure it was him. They had crossed paths, but that was over a decade ago, and he just couldn’t be sure it was the same wolf. They were both older now and the battle he had lost was whilst they werewolves, but when the man met Emma at the door and turned to give her a soft, lingering kiss, his boyish grin was unmistakably that of his nemesis.

It was him, the mongrel, and he had given Walsh the same shit eating grin when he was but a pup, taking his money and his dignity that night. Walsh instinctively reached up to brush his fingertips over the raised bumps of his scar. It had been years since the bite was inflicted, and the tissue still burned with the fire of his rage every time he looked upon it. The mongrel would pay, and so would Emma. Walsh couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have found both of them at the same time.

“On second thought, I don’t think she will resist,” Walsh grinned, his lips creepily curling back over his teeth.

“You found something already?” James enquired, his interest piqued.

Walsh could hear him taking a swig of beer at the other end of the line. “She’s with a wolf,” Walsh spat. “A mongrel,” he growled, his fingers gripping the phone so tightly his fingernails turned white. “I can smell his disgusting musk from the other side of the street.”

“Sounds like you know this wolf,” James suggested. “Will he be a problem?”

Walsh’s lips curved into a sly smirk. “Oh, on the contrary,” he beamed, watching Emma and Killian walk back into the building hand in hand. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he had relieved her of the breakfast items, which freed up her hand to snake over the curve of his spine. Their affection was clear, and suddenly Walsh had the most tyrannical idea. “I think this will work to my advantage.”

--

“He what?” Killian asked, aghast. “Are you okay?” he all but smothered her, hands running up her arms and over the delicate lines of her neck, trying to find any sign of injury. Emma shrugged him off, but couldn’t deny she loved the attention.

“I’m fine,” Emma assured him. “He just wanted to talk.”

Upon her return, Emma had told Killian about Graham’s ambush and how he had ushered her into the alleyway in order to convince her to help him. She had followed him to the diner to hear him out, and the more she listened to his scheme, the more she realised it might actually work.

“About what?” Killian demanded, jealousy lacing his words as he searched her face once more for any sign of hurt. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on the patch of skin there.

“Killian, I promise, I’m okay,” Emma smiled at him, her tight-lipped smile a mixture of adornment and frustration.

Killian sighed, defeated. “If you are sure,” he nodded at her. To Killian, Graham was just a name and a voice at the end of a phone call. Yet, he wasn’t thwarted from feeling the gut-wrenching rage for the wolf who thought he could command Emma at the drop of a hat. “Tell me what he thinks is such a spectacular idea.”

“Death,” Emma said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Killian gave her a confused look, eyes narrowing and head tilting to the side. “Forgive me, love, but I would call that a rather permanent solution to your troubles.”

“Not mine.” She slapped his chest, his flinch overly emphasised. “His.”

Again, Killian frowned, and although he was tempted by the idea of Emma’s betrothed meeting his end, he wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t be without consequences. Before he had time to question her further, Emma continued.

“If Graham fakes his death, we don’t have to get married and he can be with the woman he loves, who is human and also pregnant…” Emma informed him.

Normally he found her rambling endearing, but he was immediately struck with a sense of utter confusion.

“Wait.” He held up his hands to slow her words, pinching his eyes closed in thought. “So there is a human?”

“Yes,” Emma nodded.

“Who is pregnant?” Killian clarified slowly.

“Yes,” Emma repeated with another nod.

“Isn’t that forbidden?” Killian asked softly, his brow twisting as his temples began to throb. Emma rolled her eyes upwards, twisting her lips into a sideways smile.

“Technically.” She shrugged.

Killian shook his head in disbelief. “And Graham thinks he can fake his own death?”

Emma nodded.

“And then what?” Killian asked more seriously. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Emma’s pack was more than persistent when it came to finding their missing members.

“He thinks he can run away with her and the child, and live a normal life I suppose,” Emma said firmly, almost believing it herself.

Killian’s mother had been human, rejected for simply being that by the pack that owned his father in a bond of blood. It was almost impossible to escape, far short of actual death, and Killian’s scepticism was written all over his face. He had been too young to remember the Werewolf Council’s sentence of death on his father if he had chosen to stay with his human mate, but Killian had heard the stories from his older brother. “Emma…” he offered softly, stepping towards her and taking her hands in his.

“Killian, this means we can be together,” she told him enthusiastically. “You can come home with me to deliver the news of Graham’s demise.” The smile on her face was innocent and childlike, something Killian loved about her and her green eyes shone with a sparkle he saw every time she was so optimistic. “It would be the start of change,” she beamed passionately.

If only.

Before Killian had time to answer, he heard the whirr of an alarm from the street below. His apartment was on the second floor, so it was easy to recognise the loud, high pitched pips as that of his car alarm. With an apologetic twitch of his lips, he dropped her hands and headed to the window. Emma followed him, pressing herself to his back as he peered out of the curtains.

“Son of a bitch!” he barked, spinning on his heels and heading for the door. He grabbed the doorknob quickly, pulling the wood from the hole and letting it hit the wall behind with a thud. He took off, barely slipping his boots on in his haste, leaving the door open in his wake.

“Killian! Wait!” Emma called, but he was gone. When she turned to look out at what he had seen, there were two men, most likely Were from the smell that was coming through the window, with baseball bats in hands and gleeful grins plastered over their faces. They were smashing the classic Ford, one after the other taking it in turns to render the car absolutely worthless by ridding it of every single light, mirror and last bit of trim.

Emma rushed from the apartment after Killian, the feeling of dread in her gut too much to ignore. This didn’t feel right. It felt staged, too planned, and as Killian burst through the doors and onto the street, the two wolves stopped their assault on his car and turned their attention to him. Emma ran out after him, colliding into him as he held her back.

“Stay back, Emma,” he warned, holding her behind him as his eyes flickered between the two wolves in front of him. One of them sidestepped, widening the gap between them and began tapping the wooden bat into his palm. The other ran his tongue over the point of his canines as he approached from the other side, their maneuver clear to both of them. They were trying to cut them off, leave them with nowhere to go. Their intentions were as clear as day.

Killian stepped back, pushing Emma as he moved, holding out a shaking hand between them and the two advancing wolves. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck and disappear into his shirt, the hairs on his skin standing to attention as the adrenaline surged through his body.

“We can take them,” Emma whispered gruffly into the back of his ear, her fingernails digging into his biceps tensely.

“We’re outnumbered,” Killian told her, moving his gaze to the opposite building, where two more burly looking werewolves emerged from the lobby doors, fists clenched and jaws closed tightly. He took another step backward, trying to shield Emma from them as he did so, and inched his way to the alley at the side of the building.

“We can’t run.” Emma looked behind her, the end of the alleyway in sight, but blocked by a chain link fence that stretched between the buildings.

“No, we can’t,” Killian agreed with her as they entered the entrance to the alley and the stench of rotting rubbish invaded their nostrils. Killian’s fist closed at his side and he snorted through his nose, his anger and need to protect Emma pinking the tips of his ears and making his heart pound. “But you can,” he told her firmly, nudging his head towards the end of the alleyway.

“What? No!” Emma protested, but before she could say anything more, Killian was pushing her backwards and lunging forward for the wolves, who had entered the space between the buildings.

“Emma! Run!” Killian screamed as he ran towards their would-be attackers. The gap was narrow and they bottlenecked a little, unable to swing their bats as they had probably hoped and Killian landed a punch to one of their noses with a sickening crack. Blood poured from the wolf’s nostrils, staining the front of his jacket and eliciting a furious growl as he clutched his face in pain, stumbling back into one of his comrades who simply tossed him aside like dead weight.

Emma took heed, rushing towards the fence as fast as her legs would carry her in human form, and launched herself against the cold, metal crisscross panel. It gave a little under her weight, curving outward and she hung on tightly as it swayed around loosely. Finally, it stabilized and she scaled the fence with ease, clambering up and over the top, spinning to face the other end of the alley from the safety of the other side.

Killian was giving his all, grabbing a larger werewolf previously referred to as Rufio, by the lapels of his jacket and smashing his forehead into its mouth. Teeth broke skin as the wolf bit his tongue and cried out, staggering a little until Killian pulled him harder towards him and delivered a headbutt that knocked him clean out. One of the newly arrived wolves grabbed Killian’s shoulders, pulling him off the unconscious Rufio and sending a balled fist into his stomach. Emma cried out when Killian doubled over with a silent gasp.

All of the air left Killian’s lungs, expelled with a strike to his diaphragm, and his eyes glazed over for a second. Time seemed to stand still, and he watched with blurred vision as the cut on his forehead dripped onto the ground in front of him, staining the concrete red with each drop. Finally, he felt like he could breathe again and stood just as the fourth wolf hooked his arms into his and secured them behind him, holding Killian still for more punches.

“Killian!” Emma cried out, gripping the chain link fence in frustration. “Leave him!” she screamed at the wolves, her pleas falling on deaf ears as the back of a closed fist made contact with Killian’s face.

Killian went limp, relaxing into the attack but felt the sting of skin splitting and tasted the tang of blood on his tongue. He lifted his head, a red welt forming under his left eye as it slowly swelled shut, and spat a mouthful of blood into his attacker’s face. He grinned a blood stained smile when the third wolf, Felix, winced away, the spray of droplets coating his face, but it only served to anger him further and the Were shifted his weight, lifted a leg and planted a firm, flat foot right into Killian’s solar plexus.

Killian’s entire body felt stretched beyond control, fighting to curl up against the hold of the wolf behind him. His lungs stung and he could tell every rib down one side was shattered from the impact of the boot, the splinters of bone in his chest aggravating his laboured breathing even more. He gritted his teeth, blood-filled spittle dribbling from his lower lip as he finally gave in to his pain, knowing Emma was safe.

“Enough,” a voice said from behind his assailants and Killian was dropped to the floor. He barely managed to break his fall with one outstretched hand before he collapsed onto the cold, harsh pavement with a gurgling noise from the back of his throat. Killian blinked, trying to clear his vision, and he saw the two still conscious wolves step aside to make way for a fifth.

This wolf was tall, lean and not a fighter. He clearly had bigger wolves do his bidding, but Killian recognised his scent from years ago. He knew this wolf, they had clashed before, only this time Killian was not lucky enough to have found the wolf alone. This time he was the one alone. The searing pain in his spine, the grinding of bones in his torso and the copper taste in his mouth attested to that. Killian couldn’t move, both his fight and flight responses paralysed by pain, at the total mercy of wolf number five.

“Tut, tut, tut,” Walsh enounced slowly, dropping to a squat in front of Killian. He reached out, grabbing Killian’s hair and wrenching his head up and off the pavement until he was choking on the blood that had pooled in his throat. “Do you remember me?” He asked Killian who rolled his eyes away guiltily. “Of course you do,” Walsh said sadistically, reaching up to claw at the scar on his neck with one hand whilst he tightened his grip on Killian’s hair with the other.

Killian spluttered, more blood leaving his mouth as he tried to cast a look to the fence at the end of the alley. Walsh followed his gaze, an evil smile spreading over his lips as Emma recognised him and pale faced with shock, took off down the opposing alley. “Don’t worry,” Walsh told him, looking him over with disgust and then dropping his head again, Killian’s face colliding with the concrete and another gash opening up on his cheek. “Emma will come for you,” he smirked, patting Killian’s cheek before pushing himself to his feet. “I’m counting on it.”

--

Emma ran. Emma ran as fast as her legs could carry her, out of the alley and into the street running behind Killian’s apartment building. Her adrenaline was coursing through every fibre of her being and she panted with each breath she gulped down, the air invading her lungs and burning at the organs in her chest. Killian had told her to run and she had to fight every nerve-ending she had to obey, her devotion to him setting her body into a panic of the unknown, her brain fighting with her legs with each step she took.

The wind rushed past her ears, arms dragging against the side of her torso as she sprinted. She knew where she was going. Sort of. The lingering scent of Graham wafted through the air, the strong, masculine aftershave he always wore having no effect at masking his musk. Emma threw her head back, inhaling hard when she came to a cross in the road and discovered that his scent faded away to the right. He had gone left and as Emma’s nose twitched to confirm her suspicions, the smell of cedar and bergamot flooded her senses.

The only sound Emma could hear was the rush of her own blood in her ears. Her heart pounded, throbbing behind her eardrum at every beat, rendering her sensitive wolf hearing almost useless to her. Emma’s footprints made no sound as she ran, her feet slapping the pavement with only the sensation of her lower legs shuddering with the impact. A fine layer of sweat began to form behind her ear, showing her exertion and wetting the back of her hairline, a few beads rolling down the column of her neck.

Emma had never been so panicked, so struck by not knowing what was happening to Killian. Walsh was a sadist, even more than your average wolf, and her heart ached at the thought of Killian’s fate. They were in Walsh’s territory without even realising it. His domain. He knew every way to extract what he wanted from Killian on order to get to her. It was her he wanted after all, and she knew why.

Emma had felt it for days, the steady buzz under her skin increasing tenfold, the sound of a pin dropping ten times louder than before. She could track a scent far more accurately, the taste buds on her tongue able to process a thousand flavors much quicker than before. She became in tune with nature, yearning to run more often than before, her human self fading into the background. She became at one with the wolf inside of her. It happened once every year and would explain her insatiable sexual appetite for Killian.

Emma had her wolf heat. Killian had said he could smell it coming, he was just wrong about which form.

It wasn’t like a human period. It was far more intense, far more personal, the wolf clawing at the inside of her skin each time she was around him. More often than not, a she-wolf did not have her wolf heat until a suitable mate presented itself, the hormonal reactions invading her body giving her the clearest signal. In human form, and not in heat, Emma would never get pregnant. She was free to fornicate as many times as she wanted with as many wolves or humans as she wanted. Only she didn’t want them. She wanted Killian.

He had been the one to unlock her wolf heat, creating the surge of need inside of her that could only be sated by him. Her body was preparing for breeding, the shift of organs and imbalance of hormones sending her into a daze. It was another seal to their bond, another thread of connection they shared so intrinsically she was sure she could feel the pain he was going through right now. She clutched at her chest, bunching the material of her shirt in her hands and groaning low in her throat. She couldn’t leave him, she wouldn’t, and as the concrete under her feet turned to the dusty, dark red dirt of a farmyard track, she felt relief.

“Graham!” she called out, her voice tiny and desperate despite its volume. “Graham, help!” Emma made her way to the top of the track, her feet kicking up dust as she spun on her heels, trying to pick up the faintest scent of Graham in the wind. Her nostrils were filled with so many smells, of the horses and the feed, the oil from farmyard engines and the faraway remnants of leather, that she didn’t know which way to turn first.

“Graham!” She called out again, a shaky palm flattening over her forehead and pushing her hair back over her scalp. She searched the yard, unable to see the wolf who had left such a pungent odor all the way here, and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “Please…” she whimpered, half to herself and half to anyone who might listen.

The creak of a door alerted her, and she spun away from the barn to face the house. The whitewashed wooden porch with chipping paint groaned under the weight of the man on top of it, his hands gripping the wobbly rails and his eyebrows knitting together in a frown when he laid eyes on her. “Emma?” he called softly, his brunette companion, Ruby, appearing behind him.

“Graham!” Emma cried, relief washing through her words as she hastily jogged towards the couple. “They have him!” She wailed, tears staining her face.

“Who?!” Graham shouted, his voice booming over her sobbing. He almost ran down the steps after an encouraging push from Ruby told him to, and she flew into his arms, her fingers linking together behind his back. Graham held her to him, the force of her impact spinning him around and he gave Ruby a confused look over Emma’s head. “Who has who? What happened?” he asked softly, trying to calm her sobs by running a hand up and down her back.

“Killian,” Emma managed, her breath catching in her throat. “Neverland,” she added on a hiccupped sob.

“Neverland?” Graham frowned, planting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her away from his body. He was much taller than she was, so he had to dip his head down to meet her gaze. “Emma, what does Neverland have to do with anything?”

Emma swallowed hard, the stubborn lump sticking in her throat, not budging. She couldn’t breathe through her nose anymore and quickly wiped it on the oversized sleeve of Killian’s sweater she was wearing. “Walsh, that bastard…” she mumbled angrily, half to herself.

“Walsh?” Graham shook his head again, his hands jumping from her shoulder to hold her face in his hands. He wasn’t getting the answers he wanted; Emma was clearly distracted by her rage, so he forced her to look at him with a stern grip around her cheeks. “Emma, tell me,” he said slowly with an imploring gaze.

“Walsh,” Emma bit out, closing her eyes. “They came for us. We were ambushed,” she said, her lip trembling at the mere thought of her next words. “They have Killian.” She launched herself into Graham’s arms again, tightening her grip around him and accepting the comforting hand Ruby laid on her back as she joined them.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby interjected softly. “Did you say, Killian?”

Emma looked up from Graham’s chest, the hackles on her back raised defensively. She looked at Ruby, the beautiful, kind-faced human full of innocence and she suddenly realised what Graham saw in her. She was more than just stunning; she was angelic, everything from her hair to her words washing over Emma’s senses with a calming nature. She nodded, sniffing. “Yeah, Jones,” Emma clarified. Killian wasn’t a common name by any means, but she felt the need to just make sure Ruby meant her Killian.

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, her hand flying up and covering her mouth. “Graham, you have to help save him.”

“How do you know Killian?” Emma asked curtly, her eyes narrowing a little.

“We grew up together,” Ruby said matter of factly.

“But you are human,” Emma blurted.

“It hadn’t escaped my attention either,” Ruby said with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve known about werewolves my whole life. Killian and his brother Liam are my friends.”

Graham looked between them, Ruby comforting the she-wolf he thought of as his little sister. Emma was overly emotional and he had never seen her like this before, the jealousy in her eyes instantly abated when Ruby gave her that smile he loved so much. Something about her was different, like she was finally relaxed and released of a tension she hadn’t even known she was under. He had felt the same way when he had met Ruby, even in wolf form he felt like he belonged and he would do anything to make sure she was safe.

Werewolves rarely talked of love, but Graham knew it when he saw it. What else was powerful enough to render the strongest wolf he knew such a blubbering mess?

“Why would Walsh attack you?” Graham asked again, still trying to fathom the Neverland packs angle. Things had been good, almost amicable between Neverland and Misthaven, a far cry from the hostility James had once shown them.

“I don’t know!” Emma screeched. “All I know is that he did, and now they have taken Killian!” Emma’s sobs began again and Graham sighed.

“Do you know where they would take him?” Graham asked Emma quickly, encouraging her to focus her rage.

“I can’t lose him, Graham! I just found him!” Emma was shaking, her hands trembling as she nervously fidgeted with her hair again, tucking strands of blonde behind her ear which were already in place.

“Emma, stop. Look at me,” Graham told her firmly, clutching her hands in his even tighter and making her look at him. “We’ll find him. I promise. Now, do you have any idea where they would go?” Finally, lip quivering, she shook her head. “That’s okay,” Graham told her softly. “We can track him.”

“And if he is hurt,” Ruby added tentatively, “I can help him.”

Emma regarded her again, wondering just how it was possible that a human could know everything about werewolves, as Ruby seemed to, but also refrain from exposing them. It was against everything Emma had ever been taught by her father, by The Chronicle, and by her elders, and she was fighting really hard to show her appreciation and not her distrust.

“Now, where were you guys when the Neverland wolves attacked?” Graham prompted, quickly checking the time on his watch. It was almost dusk and prime-tracking time, so if they could make their way back to the scene of the ambush, they could pick up a fresh scent. “How many were there?”

“Uh,” Emma stumbled, trying to remember. “Four. Five, including Walsh.” Her mind was still racing. “At Killian’s,” she said, looking at her feet in concentration. They were covered in mud, her shoes worn unevenly from running so fast, and one of her shoelaces had snapped at some point too. Graham looked up and met Ruby’s gaze.

“I know where it is,” she informed.

“Okay, let’s get going,” Graham said hurriedly, waving them both towards the truck.

“Let me just get my bag,” Ruby told him, ushering Emma into his arms and rushing back into the house. Graham helped Emma to his truck and she melted into the covering of the seat, the exhilaration of her dismay having settled. She covered her face with her hands, emotion overwhelming her once more and Graham simply watched her cry through the tinted windows of his truck.

“This could be bad,” Ruby called from behind him, letting the spring door of the porch close behind her with a wooden slapping noise. She emerged with a huge duffel bag slung over one shoulder, waddling down the steps awkwardly because of her huge pregnant belly. Graham met her halfway, releasing her of her burden and giving her a sad nod.

“Walsh is bad news. Neverland has been biding their time for decades,” he told her. “Their alpha, James, is Emma’s uncle. This has to be something to do with Emma.” Graham looked over to the truck once more, the blonde in the backseat struggling to compose herself.

“You think?” Ruby asked softly, following his gaze.

“Absolutely. James always thought he was the rightful heir of Misthaven and has been even more bitter since Emma’s birth. Her being born meant he would never hold the crown, so to speak, and it hasn’t gone down too well with James who was always under the impression his brother and wife could never reproduce.” Ruby followed his story with a nod, encouraging him to continue. “Emma has her wolf heat,” Graham admitted, looking suddenly sheepish. “I can smell it.”

“Creepy,” Ruby teased, poking him in the bicep.

“I’m just saying, if I can smell it, so can Walsh,” Graham told her. “It does crazy things to less stable wolves. God only knows what James has planned. We have to be careful,” Graham told her seriously, his hand gravitating to her protruding stomach. “You don’t have to come, you know.”

“I know.” Ruby graced him with her trademark smile. “But you can’t stop me. Killian is my friend too. I’ve been patching him up for as long as I can remember.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and covered his hand with hers. “He’s the reason I became a vet.”

Graham snorted a laugh through his nose. “To patch up your werewolf friends?”

“And to run a few over,” she laughed, biting her tongue between her teeth.

Graham rolled his eyes and moved towards the truck. “I’m never living that down, am I?” Ruby shook her head and followed him, her toes curling in her flat shoes to stop them slipping from her feet. When they reached the truck, they paused, each with their hand on the handles, giving each other a last, fleeting smile over the vehicle hood.

“You know this is a trap, right?” Ruby said seriously, her voice losing its playful tone, and her pale face losing its smile.

“It’s definitely a trap,” Graham told her firmly. “But as long as we have the upper hand…”

“Don’t you mean paw?” Ruby winked, pulling the truck handle until the mechanism creaked and sprung open.

“Humans,” Graham sighed dramatically, pulling his own door open and sinking into the well worn driver’s seat.

--

The drive back to Killian’s apartment was quicker than Emma thought, considering it had taken her three times as long to run to the farm as it had taken Graham to drive back. The entire time, she had felt sick with anguish, her head resting against the cold glass window and bouncing against the pane everytime the truck hit a pothole. She was numb to the bump appearing on her forehead, staring blankly out of the window until she perked up when Killian’s car came into view.

Graham pulled up in front of it, Ruby’s gasp of horror shaking Emma from her daze. They all jumped out of the truck and Ruby rushed to the car, running her hand over the dented body work with a forlorn expression. “What happened to his car?” She asked, snatching her hand back when a piece of the bodywork fell off at her feet.

“It’s how they got us out of the building,” Emma recalled. “Killian loves his car.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ruby sighed. “We worked on it together. He’s had it since we were kids.” The look of sadness on Ruby’s face was as much as Graham could take, and he moved to her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the wreckage.

“Where did you see Killian last?” he asked Emma and she motioned to the alley between the buildings.

“Over here,” she motioned with a wave, rushing to the narrow passage, but stopping dead and gasping in horror.

There was blood everywhere. It was low in volume, survivable, but it had been splattered all over the walls, dumpsters and broken crates that littered the alleyway. Ruby covered her mouth with a hand, muffling her gasp and turned away, burying her face in Graham’s shoulder. He held her tight, his heart splitting in two for Emma who simply stared at the scene before her, paralysed.

“He’s okay,” he soothed, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s not enough for…”

“I know,” Emma interrupted him, swallowing hard. Her eyes followed a line of blood out of the alleyway where she had fled before, the chain link fence now cut in half and peeled back revealing a fabricated doorway. It was an invitation, Killian’s blood the breadcrumbs that she had to follow. “It’s a trail. They want me to find him.”

“And where would they be?” Ruby asked, fixing her gaze on Graham’s; she didn’t have to see the carnage behind her. Graham shifted his hold on her and pulled out his phone, swiping the device open and tapping at the screen. “What are you doing?” Ruby blinked in disbelief.

“Checking maps,” Graham told her with a shrug, and Emma was at his side in an instant. “There has to be some woodland or an abandoned building nearby. They can’t have gone far.” Ruby stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “What? We are wolves, darling, not dinosaurs.”

“There,” Emma announced, pointing to a patch of woodland in the upper north east part of the screen. She pinched at the phone screen, spreading her fingers apart and zooming in on a clearing in the center of a patch of trees. Emma didn’t know how, but she just knew that was where Walsh had taken him.

“How do you-” Ruby began, but Emma cut her off.

“I just know,” she said firmly, committing the directions to memory. “Let’s go.”

Leakira AU thing that I’m rly late to but it’s ok.

School is starting now, and I’ve never wanted to kms more in my life, but I’m working on a new fic for the Leakira AU (yes I’m late to the train but it’s whatever)

I’ve already come up with how the story will turn out, although I make a couple minor changes on the journey to write this story. I’ll try to work on it as soon as possible and try to update at least once a month, a preferably once ever two weeks. However, I’m not sure if I will be able to keep up with all the assignments I’ll be receiving and with my terrible case of procrastination. I’ll try my best though. 

The story will contain at least 10 chapters with an epilogue and art work (although this will come after the main writing is complete).

I can confidently say that the first chapter is almost completed.

Here’s a sneak peak. Enjoy :)

“He went down this way!”

Voices echoed down the road as Leandro turned into an alleyway and ducked behind a trash can. He shoves the stolen cash and USB chip into his pockets. He panted as he peaked around the edges. Shouting and lights flooded the area. He sees a small group turn the corner. A single galra with multiple sentries following behind him, all carrying their blasters. “I swear I saw him come here.” He heard the galra say as footsteps drew closer. Leandro felt his breath hitch as they neared. Leandro shifted his position and in doing so, accidentally moved a tin can. It rolled out making significant noise that seemed to have caught the galra generals attention. The sentries turned to the sound as well, readying their blasters. He hears the general approach the tin can, inspecting it. He trailed his eyes to the direction it came from, stopping right in front of the metal trash can Leandro was hiding behind, giving it a suspicious look.

“Fuck.” The cuban mumbles before jumping out of cover, firing his duel pistols. The galra general was taken by surprise and scrambled away from Leandro, who proceeded to take out sentry after sentry. One after another, his accurate shots taking out the robots. He weaves to the side, dodging any projectiles coming his way. He dashes up to them, swinging his leg into a roundhouse kick knocking them back into the wall. He raised a gun, aimed right at their core and pulled the trigger. Their metal bodies fall and slump to the ground like rag dolls. A loud clunk rang as it hit the hard ground. Leandro turns to the galra general, backed up against the wall, clearly afraid of him. The cuban smirks, setting his gun to stun before shooting the general. Leandro lifts the gun up to his lips and blows the steam coming from his guns. Carefully stepping over the bodies, he exited the alleyway. He peeked around the corners of the wall before stepping out.

“There he is!”

Leandro cursed and ran off again. He pulled his turtleneck higher, covering his nose to try and avoid the galra identifying his face. He glances behind him to see groups of sentries, drones and soldiers chasing him. The sentries began to fire as they ran while Leandro dodges, ducking his head as lasers flew above him. The cuban raises one of his pistols and shoots behind him. Most of his shots end up missing but the few that land manages to take them down. Lowering his gun, he looks forward and is greeted with another wave. Both filled with drones, sentries and galran generals. He stops in his tracks. Leandro glanced both ways. No matter which way he took, he would be ambushed.

Leandro’s mind raced, trying to find the best option.He growled pulling out his other pistol and taking a deep breath to calm his heart. He keeps his head down and shuts his eyes tights. He hears the pounding footsteps drawing closer. The whir of the drones deafening in his ears. He steadies himself, feeling a rush of adrenaline kicking in as they near. His eyes snap open.

Leandro’s eyes glowed.

Honestly, Akira didn’t know how he got into this situation. One minute, he was stepping out of the cafe he worked in, the next minute, he was pinned against the wall by a bulky man with a terrible case of cigarette breath. Then he’s surrounded by two others, both wielding knives. Judging by how they’re holding it, none of them know how to properly use it.

Akira lets out a huff. “Seriously? You’re gonna pick on someone thats half your size?” He receives a glare by the man who’s pinned him. The thug brings a hand to grab at Akira’s collar. “What did you say to me kid?” Akira smirks and calls in a teasing tone. “Man, if you guys are too scared to fight the bigger guys and choose to fight me? You’re pussies.”

Akira let out a punch to his attacker. The fist collided with the goon’s head, knocking him out. The other two stared at him before they lashed out, madly swinging their knives. Akira simply side steps their attacks before striking their lower neck. He lets out a kick to their stomachs. They crash into each other and crumbles to the floor groaning, efficiently rendering them immobile.

He sighed and patted his jacket, brushing off the dust. The streets in this area were filled with more and more criminals and thugs and Akira wasn’t liking any of it. He makes his way over to his bike, parked along the wall nearby.

Just as he was about to grab his helmet, he heard a shuffle. Groaning, he faced the angry man. He stood up straight, wiping off a trail of blood coming from his nose. He was twice the size of Akira and he was not happy. “You fucking bitch. Look at what you’ve done.” He growls before running to tackle Akira.

He let out a ‘humph’ as his attacker ran him into a wall, knocking the air out of his body. He groaned and stumbled as his feet touched the ground. Akira huffs and yanks out his dagger from his thigh, holding the sharp end against his attackers neck.

“Right, so I really don’t want to do this, but you’re leaving me no choice.” Akira says in a teasing tone. He presses the blade against the flesh, drawing a bit of blood. He smirks as his attacker’s face morphed into anger. Suddenly the atmosphere dropped. The rims of Akira’s purple eyes began to glow a crimson red colour. He stared dead into his attackers eyes. His smirk dropped. Fear was eminent in the others eyes. Akira’s glare, piercing his soul, like he could read every secret and exploit his every weakness.

In a hushed voice, Akira leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“Trust me, you’ll regret it.”

Any feedback is appreciated 

TOSKA -1- (ReaderXBTS)

Genre: Psyche/Mental Institution AU Romance & Angst

Pairing: ReaderXBTS(Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi)

Summary: “Will you be able to recover and move on, or will your past continue to haunt you?”

Trigger Warning: This Fic will contain explicit language and scenes. It will address controversial topics. We understand psychological illnesses vary from case to case. All contents in the following story are based on fiction. This story will not be suitable for all ages, due to the sensitive topics it will contain. Hope ya’ll enjoy :)

Word Count: 4k+

Collaboration with @riki-leigh-c

Author’s Note:

@anon-luv Hey Guys, I am so excited/nervous to post this fic. I hope you enjoy it as much as we are while writing it. You know I love feedback, so let us know what you think. Feedback, Comments, Reblogs, Likes, and mentions greatly encourage us writers. We are going to leave the final pairing as undecided until we further develop the story. Minor Grammer Mistakes. HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

@riki-leigh-c : This is my first time writing a fic. Please bare with me, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

“Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level, it grades into ennui, boredom.

 White.

In most cultures, it signifies purity, comfort, holiness, cleansing, a beacon of hope.

For you, white had quite a contradictory meaning. To you, white meant prison, endless appointments, a padded room, the pages of the daily journal you never wrote on, and the shirt stained with red that laid upon his chest as the bullet sealed both of your futures. The future that had ended for him, and the one that had gotten you locked into this place.

The monotonous routine and smell of antibacterial flooded your days, causing a sense of panic. If it wasn’t for your best friends’ every other day visits, you would’ve probably collapsed of boredom.

 PTSD, that is what they said it was, the hallucinations, the ones that kept you up at night. Whatever it is, it was the only way you could see him, as if he was still here beside you. You didn’t want to close your eyes, in case he disappeared. Every morning you dreaded having to leave your room, for you had to pretend you didn’t see him standing nearby or smiling at you.

It was your imagination, you knew it…. but you couldn’t deny that just seeing him was what kept you going throughout the day. Even if reality had taken him away from you, the memory of him had fooled your brain into projecting him into your everyday life.

 It was 12:15……. Hoseok was late….. He was 45 minutes and 30 seconds late. What if he had forgotten to change those overused tires that you had scolded him time and time again to get changed?

Was he okay? Did he get sick? You had seen the rain falling mercilessly from your window pane.

The tapping of your fingers increasing in speed as the door opened again, but your eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure once again. It had been 2 weeks. TWO long weeks in this institution and Hoseok had yet to be late. He was always early or right on time.

The sweat forming in the palm of your hands caused an uncomfortable, sticky sensation which triggered your anxiety slightly more. A loud deep laugh blasted throughout the room, causing you to jump slightly. The same young man that you had seen on several occasions was sitting in front of the same black haired girl. She was constantly talking while he just stared emotionless at the white wall in front of her. He never addressed her back, but she never gave up. His eyes suddenly flicked up to meet yours and another manic laugh exploded from his lips. His gaze moved back to the white wall and the laughter ceased almost as quickly as it began.

You glanced back up at the clock on the wall. Another 2 minutes and 17 seconds had passed. Where was he?  Dark thoughts began to flutter through your mind. What if he’s had enough of you? Or what if something awful has happened to him? What if someone’s murdered him? Your breathing began to quicken, and your hands began to shake as vivid images of all the reasons why Hoseok was not there yet burned themselves into your brain, one by one. You could feel the all too familiar feeling of a full-blown panic attack start to creep its way into your chest. Breath, Y/N you thought to yourself, trying to remember the coping techniques they’d been teaching you in therapy. Gulping down air, you tried to get the attention of a warden. The sound of the door opening and closing drew your attention. Hoseok rushed in, red in the face and panting, doubled over trying to catch his breath. “Y/N” he yelled out across the room, causing more than a few heads to turn your way. He rushed over to you, already being able to see the effects of your panic attack. He put his hands on either side of your face and looked you dead in the eye. “Breath, Y/N. I’m here, I’m fine,” he whispered while using the clichè breathing technique of having you copy him. It worked though. Every time. After a few minutes, your breathing returned to normal and Hoseok patted your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, before getting up abruptly. “Y/N, I’m going to have a chat to one of the staff okay? I’ll be right back. No longer than 5 minutes, you can count them, alright?” You simply nodded in response, still slightly out of it after your latest ‘episode.

 There is a rush of adrenaline when people fall, it makes them feel like their insides bundle up, and make their way towards their throat forming a perfect knot just to come back down, just before they hit the ground. That’s how you felt at that exact moment as you saw Hoseok’s familiar messy mop of dark brown hair exit the room.

The numbness within your fingertips was now fading into slight prickles that you could feel crawling up your extremities. The heaviness in your chest that had felt like a piano had crushed it a few moments ago was being lifted, only leaving in its path a soreness that had begun to dissipate. Your pounding heart still beating loudly in your ears as your eyes traveled amongst the room to analyze the number of witnesses that had obtained a front row seat on your full-blown show. Much to your surprise, everyone was focused on their own task and you had gone under the radar. You assumed people were probably immune to the many spectacles that had taken place within these four walls.

There was only one set of brown eyes staring at you, and those eyes seemed to be more amused with the sudden predicament you had found yourself in, than worried. A small smirk lay upon his plush lips as he swept your body from top to bottom absorbing all your figure in as if you were a piece of fine art, on display in a museum.  A shiver ran down your spine. He made you uneasy. His sporadic, maniacal laughter sounded again as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He seemed like the true definition of insane. Just as suddenly as it started, he stopped laughing and went back to staring at you. You felt your heartbeat start to quicken and your palms getting sweaty, the telltale signs of another panic attack. Hoseok made a reappearance right at the moment you had started to feel your chest constricting and your throat getting tight.

“It’s alright (y/n), I’m so sorry I got here late, I got a flat tire on the way over” he said as he sat down on the cold metal chair and scooted his way forward, closer to you. The faint smell of his cologne calmed you down automatically.

The speed of your finger tapping decreased as you examined him from head to toe assuring yourself that he was indeed okay.

“You had me worried, I told you several times to get that thing you call a car checked Hoseok” you said as you grasped his hand “I’m sorry for taking away your lunchtime, you are honestly the only reason I am not in solitary confinement right now, this place is bonkers”.

Hoseok gave you a wide smile as he looked around the area examining the patients surrounding you “Yeah… it does seem pretty crazy huh? It is only for a bit though, Y/N.” Hoseok smiled brightly at you, a smile you always thought looked as bright as the sun, before shifting his chair to sit next to you and gently pushing your head down to rest on his shoulder. “I don’t know about that Hobi,” you sighed deeply, closing your eyes while a montage of memories filtered through your brain at the use of his nickname. You breathed in his comforting scent, already knowing he would smell just like springtime. “I don’t feel like I’m getting better.”

The silence that followed your statement thickened the air that surrounded the both of you. Hoseok looked into your eyes hoping to see the familiar twinkle of hope you used to carry around before that horrible night.

“Well, you know ...Rome wasn’t built in one night. Just promise me you will try, participate in activities and let the counselors in. Please do it for me” he said pouting cutely your way.  You lifted the corner of your mouth in a slight smile, but your heart wasn’t in it when you answered. “I will.”  

The dorm you had been assigned lacked personality. Just like everything else, it was white from top to bottom, with a few accents of a washed out green and mustard yellow. Whoever participated in coordinating the color scheme might’ve been color blind. Despite the general distaste you had for your room’s superficial overall look, it was the only place you felt at ease in. The rock-hard bed was unusually homey, and the fact that there were no windows gave you a sense of safety for some reason. No one would be able to sneak in through your window while you slept. Just the thought of being able to see what the outside world contained while unsupervised up-close gave a chill up your spine.

 The clock in your room showed 9pm, which meant there was a long night ahead and the dosage that had been prescribed for your sleeping medication was shit.  You were tired, but your eyes refused to close. You knew the night that laid ahead of you was going to be long and emotionally tiring. You sat on the edge of the bed trying to practice the exercises you had gone over with your primary psychologist, praying for them to work. The silence within your room was all consuming until you heard deep screams. The words were incomprehensible, but the volume kept rising signifying the person was getting closer and closer to your room. You stood up quickly and slammed your door shut, before peeking out the window, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fuck you! Take me back. That fucking bastard, how dare he fucking touch my shit.” a bleach blond man about your age screamed as two male nurses dragged him, one by the arms and the other one by the waist, towards the door opposite yours. He swung his right arm straight at the nurse’s jaw, which the nurse was barely able to dodge. He was putting up a good fight, surprisingly, for his size made you think he would be much weaker. You hid behind your door a bit more, only your eyes visible now. The man screamed more obscenities as he was thrown into the room and onto the bed, and two more nurses entered the room. They held onto his arms wrapping what seemed like cloth on his ankles and wrists. One of them was holding a visible needle, you were assuming it was some kind of medication. The man was no longer screaming, and you could see how his muscles relaxed into the comfort of his bed, and his eyes drooped. A sigh of relief escaping your lips, as you noticed the nurses had finished attaching the remaining restraints on him. You closed your eyes tightly as you walked back to your bed and covered yourself completely with the blanket, the fear of what was right across the hall getting the best of you. The dorm across the hall hailed a dangerous threat in the shape of a blond-haired man, and even though his features looked peaceful and quite charming as he lay immobile upon his bed, his vile words just now meant you knew better.  You felt the first of the night's many quivers in your stomach, letting you know that the horrible memories you tried to keep buried during the day we’re about to be released.

The shadow of the past, conjured now by your broken psyche, sat on your bed staring straight at you.

“It’s not real….it’s not real…..it’s not real” you kept whispering to yourself, but your eyes couldn’t stop staring at his face as he smiled….that smile you used to love  “He is not here…...he is not here…..he is not here……”

  Black circles flourished under your sunken eyes the following morning. It had been a sleepless night, just as you had predicted. The constant itch of checking up on your new dorm neighbor and the hallucination of who you thought would be your forever kept your eyes wandering around your room and sleep at bay. You weren’t due for a visit from Hoseok and only had a psychologist appoint late in the afternoon. You had absolutely no idea how you were going to keep yourself occupied in between. Maybe I’ll ask the nurses for a book or two, you thought to yourself as you changed into your uniform white shirt and pants, with matching slippers. You had just opened the door to step out when you noticed a number of nurses leaving the room across from yours. His room. After the sedative had worn off, the blonde man had screamed obscenities for hours, only worsening your hallucinations. He demanded over and over for the restraints to be removed to no avail. Eventually, he just wailed, long, harrowing cries that frightened you even further. As the last of the nurses exited the room, you caught a quick glance of the blonde man sitting upright on the edge of his bed, looking down and rubbing his wrists, before the nurse shut the door and began to leave.

“Excuse me,” you called after him, shrinking back slightly as he turned to face you. You averted your gaze and asked softly “is there any possibility of getting a few books to read?”

He smiled slightly before nodding, “sure, I’ll scrounge some up and leave them by your door.”

“Thanks,” you replied before indicating for him to leave. There was no way you were walking with your back to him, despite how nice he came across. You waited, back flat against your door, for a few minutes, wanting to give yourself a safe distance from the nurse. Just as you were about head towards the common area, the door across from you flung open, revealing the blonde man. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his rosy lips were positioned in an unfriendly frown. The fear that had gathered within you from the initial shock of his presence was slightly forgotten as your curious eyes traveled along his pale sugary white face. There were noticeable red marks on his wrists that made you unconsciously rub your own.

“Good Morning” you heard a deep voice say, catching you off guard. Your fly or fight system wanted to run away as soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, but your body was betraying you by staying frozen in place. He waited patiently for a response, but after examining your panicked expression he shrugged it off, and took a step forward closer to you “Yoongi’ he said extending his hand towards you.

You looked at his hand as if it was fire ready to burn you into ashes, but for some reason, your hand found his. Your voice though was not cooperating and all you could do was stare at his figure confused at the contrasting personality that radiated from him this morning compared to that displayed last night.

“Y/N?” he asked you as he read the name plaque outside your room. You nodded as you cautiously took a step back away from him. You felt exposed, and you wanted to escape the feeling of nausea that had started stirring in your gut. The white walls around you closing in as the image in front of you started blurring around the edges. The lack of sleep starting to take a toll on you. Your breathing had become visibly more agitated, but before your knees could give out, you felt another presence standing before you. The distorted image of an unfamiliar silver-haired boy came to view as he hummed a tune and encircled your body with his own as if to block you from any unwanted feelings that had lined up to once again drag you to the deepest pits of emotional hell.

“Calm down and try to match your breathing with mine” he whispered softly with a higher pitched voice than that of the blond boy who was still standing nearby, he seemed a bit uncomfortable as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Your hands were gripping onto the boy’s shirt as if he was the anchor to your sanity. Before you knew it, the heaviness that had settled on your chest had once again faded into nothingness. You quickly stood up and pushed yourself away from the stranger embarrassed at your previous actions.

“Jimin” the silver-haired boy said quickly without any explanation before you could respond Yoongi welcomed himself to introduce you as well as himself.

“I am Yoongi and this is (Y/N), what you just did bro...thank you” Yoongi said awkwardly.

Jimin just nodded to the both of you quickly and then took off as if he was in a hurry. You looked at Yoongi once again, but before he had a chance to speak, you had already started walking off to head towards the common area, taking turns between facing forward and sneaking glances back at him to make sure he wasn’t pulling a stunt behind your back. As you made your way to the end of the hall you noticed his figure had disappeared back into his dorm. The shadow of what had happened still engraved in your mind as you walked into the common area, you just knew this won’t be the only interaction you had with your neighbor and the fear of what will come will more than likely be present throughout the entire day.

 “How is your sleep Ms. Y/N” the doctor asked in a fairly monotone voice. The lack of emotion in his voice aggravating you. His presence was that of a rock, and in all honesty, consulting with a wall would probably have the same effect as this.

“To be honest like shit” you replied trying to be as monotone as he was.

“Anything we can do to aid your sleeping habits?” He said as he scribbled down what seemed more like a doodle than a note on his notepad.

“Memory Foam?  Or one of those water beds. I have always wanted to try one of those.” you replied with fake enthusiasm.

The doctor took that as a queue to stare up at your figure with a serious face “Ms. Y/N, we can’t proceed with treatment without your help. It takes two to tango, so your cooperation is essential for you to improve. Now, I have registered you for some group sessions that I think will be of benefit to your case, and one of those is for patients with insomnia. That one is every night for 45 minutes, you will be learning techniques to clear your mind and be able to get some shut-eye. Also, please start writing in your journal, we find it helps patients significantly.”

You nodded no longer interested in his rant as you grabbed the paper he had placed on the table in front of you. There was a list of 3 different counseling sessions that you were expected to assist other than your 1 on 1 session. You sighed annoyed at your now crowded schedule.

 The green yard in the facility premises was crowded with bodies, some familiar, and some not, ranging from various ages and genders. When you had first arrived, you had felt out of place, but as the days went on you realized you fit in strangely amongst the people that had been locked in here. You had yet to make an acquaintance, but you had already heard a few of the stories, and in all honesty, some made your past look like a fairy tale. There were a few psychos within the bunch, and the rumors that surrounded some of the people were frightening, that is why you had isolated yourself for the duration of your stay. Hoseok had been, for the most part, the only reason you had the courage to step outside of your room. You surveyed the area, making sure not to lock eyes with anyone, nurses, and patients alike. You walked slowly towards an empty seat across the yard, body tense and eyes zipping around your skull, trying to keep an eye on everything all at once. You were monitoring the people on your left when you felt a presence to your right. You stopped dead in your tracks before whipping around, bringing your hands up to your face to defend yourself against whoever had dared to get too close. The first thing you heard was manic laughter, before noticing a semi-familiar pair of brown eyes, creased at the corners, staring back at you. You just about jumped out of your skin in an effort to put some space between the laughter and yourself.  You could feel your chest constricting and your breathing getting shallow. Please, not here. Not in front of all these people, you thought to yourself. You already knew it wouldn’t help. Just as quickly as the laughter started, it was over and the patient behind the laughter was sticking his hand out to introduce himself. Before he had a chance to say anything, Jimin came running over, shoving the laugher out of the way. “Taehyungie, what did I say?” He all but shouted at the guy.

The flourish of activity going on in front of you was causing your panic attack to worsen. Your hands felt like they were dripping with sweat and your throat had begun to feel like it was closing. “Y/N, it’s okay just breath with me again, shhhh,” Jimin said as he grabbed a hold of both of your hands and looked you dead in the eye.

He worked through the same breathing technique that he had done earlier, and you soon began to feel calm.

“Thank you,” you said softly, quickly letting go of his hands and dropping your gaze to the lush green grass you all stood on.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m sorry about Taehyung,” he said as he looked down at him, still laying on the grass. He leaned down and offered a hand to Taehyung, pulling him quickly to his feet.

“Taehyung, introduce yourself the way we talked about please,” Jimin looked expectantly at Taehyung, who inclined his head bashfully.

“Hello Y/N,” Taehyung said, dropping his voice significantly in what you can only assume was an effort to keep you calm. “My name is Taehyung.”

“Hello,” you replied, bowing slightly but still not lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Manic laughter suddenly exploded from Taehyung’s lips, causing you to let out a scream of both shock and fear. You clamped your mouth, placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart and took off running towards the spare seat you had originally been trying to get to.

You took a cautious glance towards where Jimin and Taehyung were still standing, clearly not expecting your escapade. Jimin raised his hand to smack Taehyung in a playful manner behind his head. Taehyung in exchange just hung his head looking a bit disappointed in himself. You averted your eyes before they caught you looking at them, hoping it would give them a clear sign that you were not fond of strange company.

You rubbed your hands against your knees nervously as you inspected your surroundings, hoping that the loud rapid beating in your ears would eventually quiet into nothingness. You took a deep breath as your eyes landed on a red rose bush. Memories of late nights hiding in your neighbor’s yards as you laid upon his chest caused your eyes to tear up. You looked at the figure that sat beside you, a perfect figment of what had been, staring right back at you.

“Jin” you whispered softly as your eyes devoured his familiar features. A pang of pain surging from the last memories you had beside him. His plump lips smiling at you like they had many times before, the temptation of leaning in to feel their warmth taking over, but before the contact was made a voice interrupted you.

“Um…..are you okay?” said a deep familiar voice, snapping you out of the enchantment of your imagination.

Let’s get personal. 100 Questions!

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

"I'm Only Sleeping" by The Beatles

"No Exit" by Childish Gambino

"Friend" by C418

"Beauty" by Tim Minchin 

The old NBC Olympics closing credits mix by various artists

"Rey's Theme" by John Williams

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Damn! I was hoping to meet someone from another Earth. Well I guess if I have to meet someone from THIS Earth it would have to be Stephen Colbert. He seems like a super nice guy. He's also smart and hilarious.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“him.” How to Talk to Anyone, Anytime, Anywhere by Larry King

4: What do you think about most?

If I'm wasting my life doing what I'm doing.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

"Ask Alexa to play Valentine music. It's good and grandma will love it" from my mom.

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

With

7: What's your strangest talent?

Idk if this is a talent but I have a near-encyclopedic of all things Disney World.

8: Girls... (finish the sentence); Boys... (finish the sentence)

Boys are good but some are assholes. Girls are good but some are assholes.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Idk but I don't wanna say no just in case someone did and I just forgot xD.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

Today

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

I have an immense fear of missing out.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

Yes

13: What's your religion?

Not religious, nor spiritual.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Going for long walks

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

The Beatles. Almost every song they ever put out was great. They became the biggest influencers on music in the last century and they did it in just a few years. Most musicians work their whole lives to have an ounce of the influence and raw talent each of them had. Plus they had an incredible effect on culture, notably helping facilitate the change that came from youth for the first time having enough money to buy what they wanted, not what they got from older people. The youth got to decide what they wanted and they wanted the Beatles. Not just the music but their fashion, art, movies and so on. 

17: What was the last lie you told?

I've never told a lie! (He says as his nose doubles in length)

18: Do you believe in karma?

I used to.

19: What does your URL mean?

It's a pun on "a face in the crowd" which is a saying about being unknown and hidden in plain sight and I felt like this applied to my experience with being asexual. Also I typed "ace" into a pun generating website.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

My greatest weakness is fast food. My greatest strength is n/a I'm weak as hell.

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

I like some famous people but I don't really have crushes on any.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Yeah but I didn't like it.

23: How do you vent your anger?

Complaining to friends (still not sure why they put up with it)

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

Mistakes? XD   I used to collect snow globes but they started to brake and get green water so I stopped.

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

I'm so damn lonely I'll take anything. I wish that were a joke.

26: Are you happy with the person you've become?

I hope to be one day.

27: What's a sound you hate; sound you love?

A sound I hate is the smoke detector going off when I'm cooking and a sound I love is that sound (like I think only Disney world fans will get this) when you're out in front of test track and the cars go by on the track above. 

28: What's your biggest "what if"?

What if I'm actually the villain of my story?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

No and yes

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right: fan. Left: laptop.

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

Pine scented candle. I love scented candles.

32: What's the worst place you have ever been to?

My middle School. It was the border between two gang territories. We'd have gun and bomb threats every day.

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

I live on the east coast but I gotta go with West coast just because I've been to more of it. 

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

Idk

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

To find what you live to do and do it as much as you can.

36: Define Art.

If someone makes anything and calls it art, it's art. I think that's how it works now. 

37: Do you believe in luck?

I believe I don't have it.

38: What's the weather like right now?

Sunny and in the 80s. Way too hot for winter.

39: What time is it?

9:33pm EST

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

Yes and no

41: What was the last book you read?

Steve jobs by Walter Isaacson

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

I shouldn't but yeah xD

43: Do you have any nicknames?

Drew

44: What was the last film you saw?

I saw Chris Rock's new stand-up special this morning. It was really good!

45: What's the worst injury you've ever had?

I ran on the top of some bleachers, tripped, and fell all the way down, breaking my collarbone along the way. 

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

I can't remember

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

My most recent obsession has been with anything made by Donald Glover/Childish Gambino

48: What's your sexual orientation?

Ace. I mean... It's in the name.

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

Many

50: Do you believe in magic?

Depends on what you mean by "believe" and "magic". I like magicians xD

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Yes

52: What is your astrological sign?

Idk and I'm sick of googling it every time I'm asked about it.

53: Do you save money or spend it?

A bit of both

54: What's the last thing you purchased?

10 piece chicken nugget meal and a vanilla Coke from Wendy's.

55: Love or lust?

Love

56: In a relationship?

No. Happy Valentine's day!

57: How many relationships have you had?

0 58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

No

59: Where were you yesterday?

Home Depot

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

A strawberry scented candle.

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

No

62: What's your favourite animal?

Cotton-Top Tamarin

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

The Scarab Gun from Halo 2 is a pretty good secret weapon I guess. JK just be yourself. 

64: Where is your best friend?

Oregon

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

As of writing this I don't follow anyone yet so let me get back to you on that.

66: What is your heritage?

A little bit of native American but primarily white eruopean as far back in history as you can go.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

Sleeping

68: What do you think is Satan's last name?

Trump

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

I'm not answering that question.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

Idk.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

Save the dog.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

Honestly this question is so fucking depressing I'm skipping it.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

What is love without trust?

74: What's a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

(Once again only people who've been to Disney World will get it) the music at Soarin' (over California (it's just better)) 

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

Like I'm gonna put my phone number on here. Ha.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

For me... Having one would be just fantastic.

77: How can I win your heart?

Tell me something I Don't know. I love learning.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

I'm not sure it brings on more creativity, but any change in mental state in a creative person will bring on a different kind of creativity.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

Picking the high school I went to.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

10.5

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

I want it to be blank just to fuck with people.

82: What is your favourite word?

Actually...

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

Barracuda

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

Here's the thing...

85: What's the last song you listened to?

"Me and your mama" by Childish Gambino

86: Basic question; what's your favourite colour/colours?

Black, silver and light blue are a few favorites.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

Artists rendering of Epcot.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

Satan Trump. #callback #comedy

89: What would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?

When my family asks me why I don't have a girlfriend yet I'm always afraid to come out and tell the truth to them... That I'm asexual and have no interest in dating anyone except another ace, and because of the rarity of aces its really difficult to find someone. I have no interest in coming out though. It wouldn't change anything.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Laugh my head off because I'm obviously being punk'd. Where's Ashton?!?

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

I mean the obvious superpower I now have is the ability to digest radioactive material. But if I could have any power I'd want to be able to travel through space and time.

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

See now this is why that superpower would come in handy! You wouldn't have to choose! (See how I dodged that question. That's my real superpower!)

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Idk but if I could live my life just as it happened but without being overweight, that would be great.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

If I say John Lennon will it bring him back to life? Cause if so then yes, John Lennon. Final answer.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

My mind says south Korea because the Olympics but my heart says to go to Oregon to see my friends.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

Not that I know of.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

Yes

98: Ever been on a plane?

Many

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

"Can't we all just get along?"

100. Age?

21

101. What’s a good way to spend a Valentine’s Day when you’re single, lonely and bored?

This. 

fake dating! zimbits

It was only by a stroke of luck that Jack happened to look at his phone just as he exits the lecture hall. The group chat was blowing up – the group chat was always blowing up these days – but the lack of all-caps or exclamation marks caught his attention right away.

Eric Bittle: Guys, I wouldn’t ask this of y’all if I really didn’t need this, but I have to ask a HUGE favor of one of you.

Shitty Knight: brah are you dying

Justin Oluransi: You can have my kidney, Bits.

Adam Birkholtz: u aren’t gonna save that for me just in CASE, JUSTIN?

Larissa Duan: shit, bitty, r u ok

Eric Bittle: Um, yeah, mostly, I just…..need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend.

Jack frowned. More than once he’d stepped in as a fake boyfriend for friends and acquaintances, but they were usually drunk women who needed to escape creepy guys at parties.  Bittle’s texts were starting to make him nervous.

The group chat didn’t seem to feel the same way.

Adam Birkholtz: dude this isn’t a favor

Justin Oluransi: this is a MOTHERFUCKING PRIVILEGE

Shitty Knight: AN OPPORTUNITY, REALLY

Adam Birkholtz: WHERE DO YOU NEED US

Shitty Knight: YOUR LEGION OF HANDSOME BOYFRIENDS

Larissa Duan: bits why wouldn’t you just ask chowder, these knuckleheads aren’t worthy of u

Despite himself, Jack agreed. Bittle deserved someone kind and smart and funny and well-dressed and… well, maybe Ransom fit the bill, but even so. Bittle deserved the best boyfriend.

Jack didn’t realize he’d come to a full halt outside of the building until someone knocked into him from behind. His phone arched down into the grass, and the person next to him gasped.

“Oh, fuck, Jack, sorry,” Camilla huffed, bending down quickly to grab his phone. “I just wanted to surprise you, not break your shit.”

Jack snorted. “It’s fine. Look, not a scratch.” He took the phone from her hands and held it up to show. “You check pretty hard for a tennis player.”

Camilla grinned up at him. “What can I say, you boys inspire me. What’s got you so spaced out? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even look at your phone before.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Oh, I think my teammate’s in a bit of trouble, I was reading through the texts. He needs someone to pretend to be his boyfriend?”

Camilla grimaced. “Ooh, yeah, there’s usually never a good reason for that. Did he sound like he was in danger?”

Jack felt his gut sink. “Um, no, I don’t think so…”

“Then he’s probably okay,” Camilla said quickly. “I mean, like, he’s probably just trying to let someone down gently and thinks this is the best way.” She bit her lip, as if she could tell just how quickly Jack was spiralling into panic. “I’ll let you get back to your texts. Let me know if there’s any way I can help?”

Jack nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Camilla,” he murmured. “See you around.”

She gave him a soft, fond smile. “See you,” she said. “And if you need date night recommendations, that new Indian cafe on Main is really good.”

“I don’t know- I’m not-” Jack frowned at her. “How did you-?”

Camilla laughed brightly. “You’re you, Jack. Of course you’re going to help him out.”

“Oh.” Jack watched as she waved and sauntered away, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He and Camilla were friends, but they weren’t close by any means. If she could tell he was going to volunteer…Jack wondered idly what Shitty might say about the whole situation.

With a sigh, Jack plopped down on the nearest bench and opened up the group chat again, scrolling back up to where he’d left off when Camilla ran into him.

Eric Bittle: Because Jason knows Chowder! And though I love him, Christopher is not the best liar.

Justin Oluransi: JASON?

Adam Birklholtz: JASON?

Adam Birkholtz: lol jinx bro

Larissa Duan: deets, bits

Eric Bittle: This guy in my calc class asked me out and I think he’s really gross so I said no but then he asked why not and he’s probably taller than Holster and is on the JV wrestling team and I panicked and said I already had a boyfriend but instead of just dropping it he got really nosy and pushy and I agreed to bring my boyfriend to a party at his place tonight.

Shitty Knight: um

Shitty Knight: so hypothetically what is this dude’s last name

Shitty Knight: and hypothetically would anyone miss him if he died

Eric Bittle: SHITTY

Adam Birkholtz: OK I have facebook pulled up

Adam Birkhotlz: stop me when i get to him

Adam Birkholtz: Jason Mu

Adam Birkholtz: Jason la Posta

Adam Birkholtz: Jason Lowell

Adam Birkholtz: Jason R. Ball

Adam Birkholtz: Jason Paul

Adam Birkholtz: no last name i guess

Adam Birkholtz: Jason Richards

Adam Birkholtz: Jason White

Eric Bittle: holster stop

Justin Oluransi: bits that was so out of line, he shouldn’t have forced you into that situation

Larissa Duan: did u kno there r kilns in the art building large enough for a human body

Eric Bittle: LARDO

Eric Bittle: guys seriously stop

Eric Bittle: i don’t like this guy, but I think he’s fresh out of the closet, too. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but the fella clearly just doesn’t know how to handle his newfound freedom. Cut him some slack.

Shitty Knight: ok bitty but you don’t have to go to the party

Shitty Knight: he can deal with a little rejection

Eric Bittle: What I’m hearing is that no one will go with me.

Justin Oluransi: bits….

Adam Birkholtz: dude, i’m sorry, i actually do have plans already for tonight

Justin Oluransi: bitty it’s not gonna kill him if you bail

Jack frowned at the boys’ reactions and was typing before he even knew what he was doing.

Jack Zimmermann: Bittle, would it make you feel safer if you went with one of us?

Eric Bittle: yeah

Jack Zimmermann: And you’re going to go to the party regardless of what anyone says?

Eric Bittle: it would be rude not to

Jack Zimmermann: What time does it start?

This was a terrible idea.

The party was small, some collection of bland-faced Econ and Business majors Jack had never met before. None of them talked sports, for which he was grateful; at Samwell, there was always a chance someone would recognize him. Jack was almost certain this would not come back to bite him – he wasn’t drinking, wasn’t being overly handsy with Bittle, no one was taking selfies or even pretending to have fun at this party at all. Bittle hadn’t even introduced Jack to half of their new acquaintances as anything other than his hockey captain.

But every now and then, when Jason would look across the room, Bittle would take Jack’s hand and Jack thought he was going to pass out every, single time.

This was a terrible idea.

Bittle relaxed a little somewhere after his first beer, still too tense to do much more than stand next to Jack and politely follow along with Boring Econ Dude #1’s conversation. Jack had zoned him out a while ago, and had no idea if they were talking about the stock market or Game of Thrones at this point.

Tired, bored, and really hungry, Jack placed one hand on Bittle’s hip and pressed a kiss to his hair before murmuring, “I’m gonna hit the head. Be right back.”

Bittle looked up at him with wide, stunned eyes, and it wasn’t until Jack was in the bathroom, washing his hands, that he realized what he’d done.

How could he just kiss Bittle? And it wasn’t just kissing him casually, in front of other people, but Jack had done it without thinking at all! Was he losing his mind? Was he getting sick? Had his hunger really rendered him so delirious?

Stomach churning, head spinning, Jack wandered back into the living room, feeling dazed and confused. It took him a moment to realize Bittle was no longer speaking with Boring Econ Dude #1, who had moved on to a group of well-dressed, stern-looking women. In fact, Bittle wasn’t in the living room at all.

Warning bells went off in Jack’s head, and he slipped around the edge of the room and peeked into the kitchen – the place in any home or apartment that drew Bittle like a moth to a flame.

Jack almost shouted when he first glanced into the small room. Bittle was leaned back against the counter, Jason looming over him, the two of them talking quietly and tersely. Jason really was a big guy, built like a brick wall, and Bittle shrank away from him in the most heartbreaking manner.

But then Jason grimaced and held up his hands in a placating gesture, face twisting into something guilty and ashamed. Bittle’s look of apprehension faded, and he very tentatively reached out to pat Jason’s arm.

Though not as on edge as before, Jack still decided it was time to intervene. “Everything alright?” He asked, marching up to slip an arm around Bittle’s shoulders. Despite his earlier stiffness, Bittle practically melted into Jack’s chest; through the thin fabric of his shirt, Jack could feel Bittle shaking.

“Yeah,” Jason said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was just apologizing to Eric. I, uh, realized that maybe I came on a bit too strong in class today.”

Jack said nothing, just nodding and pulling Bittle a little closer. Jason paused for a moment, as if waiting for Jack to agree or reprimand him or maybe even yell. When Jack did none of those things, Jason continued.

“Yeah, it was really out of line,” he said. “My best friend, Timmy, he really let me have it after I told him. And he was right – he’s always right…” Jason sighed. “So, really, again, I’m sorry, Eric, for being so…aggressive, I guess.”

Still shaking slightly, Bittle smiled. “Thank you, Jason. That means a lot, really.”

“Anyway, I have to say, you guys are really sweet together,” Jason said. Jack could feel Bittle stiffen again, but Jack let himself smile. “We’re always looking for people for our trivia team – we play every Wednesday at O’Flannery’s, you’re both welcome to join us. We always need help with history questions,” he added, smiling at Jack.

“That sounds fun,” Bittle said in a non-committal tone. Jack nodded in agreement. “We should probably be headed out,” Bittle continued, yawning a little. “Someone has an 8 a.m. lecture tomorrow.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s an interesting class.”

Bittle rolled his eyes. “Classes are only interesting if you’re awake for them, sweetheart.”

Jason laughed. “I don’t know how you do it, man. I would’ve flunked out of it by now.”

“It’s a history class,” Bittle said, as if that explained it all. At the look at Jason’s face, he added, “Jack’s very…passionate about history.”

Maybe it was the deliriousness that came from standing so close to Bittle, but Jack was almost certain he heard something else in Bittle’s voice as he said that. Insinuation, perhaps. Innuendo.

This party had been a terrible idea.

“Thank you for having us,” Bittle said. “Please, keep the rest of the mini pies, I made them just for y’all.”

“Thanks, Eric,” Jason said. “Jack, it was nice to meet you. Hope you two can join us for trivia sometime.”

“Sure thing,” Bittle said, and all but pulled Jack from the kitchen. A minute of goodbyes later, and he had them both out of the apartment and speed walking down the street.

“Bittle,” Jack said as they sped away from the party. “Bitty, wait.” He reached out to take Bittle’s hand, halting his forward momentum.

“Sorry, was I going too fast?” Bittle asked, not quite meeting Jack’s eye. “It just got so cold out, I thought I’d have more of a beer jacket tonight, sorry-”

“Are you okay?” Jack asked. “You’re still shaking.”

Bittle looked down at his hands and, for the first time, noticed the trembling of his arms. “O-oh, yeah, I’m fine, Jack. Um…”

Wordlessly, Jack shepherded Bittle over to the curb, sitting him down. After a moment’s hesitation, Jack shed his jacket and draped it around Bittle’s shoulder, just in case any of the shaking was from the weather. Bittle inhaled deeply, eyes squeezed shut, and let out a long, ragged breath.

“I never thought…” Bittle scrubbed at his face. “I never thought I’d have to be worried about other gay guys,” he said softly. “Like, girls are afraid of straight boys, that’s a given. I’m afraid of straight boys. But he was just so big and pushy, there really was a moment where I was back in seventh grade and the football team was throwing me into that stupid closet again. And I’m so relieved Jason apologized, that I was right and he just didn’t know what he was doing, but…the next one could be different.”

Jack didn’t know what to say – sure, he wasn’t Ransom-and-Holster-sized, but he was a big dude who played a very violent sport. Jack had never been afraid that he couldn’t win a fight. So he cautiously wrapped an arm around Bittle and pulled him in, letting him tuck his head under Jack’s chin.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Bittle said softly. “I don’t know why I was so insistent on coming to this stupid party – it was so boring and Jason’s not my favorite person. I guess I was afraid of what would happen if…if I didn’t. If he got mad and cornered me after class. I don’t know, it’s stupid…”

“It’s not,” Jack said. “It’s not stupid. You felt safest coming to this party with one of us, so of course I came. I’ll always have your back, Bits.”

“Thanks,” Bittle whispered. “Ugh, I’m glad that’s over with. I’ve never met a group of more boring people in my entire life, and I grew up going to church with the Whitacres – let me tell you, those folks could talk your ear off all day ‘bout drywall, I’m not even kidding. Family business, and all that. Dull as dishwater.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, they were pretty bad, even by my standards, and Shitty tells me I’m the ‘epitome of boring white dudes.’”

Bittle scoffed. “You are not boring, Mr. Zimmermann. Certainly not like- oh, shoot, what was his name? Michael? Matthew? The one who just kept quoting different Founding Fathers whenever that cute, redheaded girl walked past.”

“The one who was talking about Game of Thrones?” Jack asked.

Bittle laughed, smacking a hand against Jack’s chest. “Oh! No, no, he was talking about the Walking Dead.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, grinning. “I thought he mentioned Ned Stark at least once.”

“Tony Stark,” Bittle corrected. “No, wait, that’s Iron Man. Oh, shoot, was he talking about Game of Thrones? I was so spaced out, I think I asked him about the zombies! Are there zombies in Game of Thrones?”

“I have literally no idea,” Jack said, and they both burst into laughter.

“Oh, lord, I can never talk to any of those people again,” Bittle said with a sigh. “I can’t even remember their names. What a disaster of a day. At least I can sleep well knowing Jason probably won’t become my stalker and that you, sir, are as fine an actor as your mama.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “That’s quite a non sequitur.”

“Not really,” Bittle said. “You did such a good job pretending tonight – I was such a mess, I don’t know how it would’ve gone if you’d been as awkward as me. If you get bored of hockey, you should take your mother’s career for a spin, see how it treats you.”

“Bittle…” Jack could feel his heart beginning to race again, the strange haze of having Bittle in his arms clouding his judgement. “I’m a terrible actor. I was cast as a tree in a school play once, and I was so bad at it that I was demoted to rock.”

Bittle’s hand flew to cover his mouth. “Oh, no,” he gasped, stifling laughter. “Oh, Jack, that’s horrible.”

“No, it’s hilarious,” Jack said seriously. “But I…I wasn’t acting tonight.”

“What?” Bittle pulled back a bit, staring up at Jack incredulously. “Is this one of those ‘what is art’ debates? ‘What really constitutes acting?’ Pretending to be my boyfriend counts as acting in this situation, Mr. Zimmermann-”

“I mean it, Bittle,” Jack said, looking down at his knees. “It was all just…natural.”

Bittle was quiet for a moment. “Natural?” He finally asked, voice hesitant.

“When I kissed your head,” Jack said, grimacing a little. “I didn’t mean to do that. It just felt…”

“Right?”

Jack looked up to see Bittle staring at him, mouth parted, eyes hopeful, so he let the deliriousness of the evening take over once more and leaned down to kiss Bittle properly.

“Oh,” Bittle said, voice breaking, as Jack pulled away. “That’s…natural.”

“Like breathing,” Jack whispered.

Bitty surged up and captured his mouth again, squishing their noses together almost comically. It was awkward and unrefined, but Jack was almost certain it was the best kiss of his life.

“Do you wanna get dinner?” He asked, pressing his forehead against Bitty’s. “Camilla recommended a place today – like, a date-type place.”

“Did she, now?” Bittle asked, smile teasing. “I’d love to, Jack.”

“Great.” Jack leaned down for another kiss, and another. “I’m glad you didn’t bring Ransom tonight.”

Bittle grinned. “You know, I’m starting to feel the same way.”

“I guess you won’t be needing that legion of handsome boyfriends anymore,” Jack said as he stood, holding out his hand to help Bittle up. Bittle took his hand and did not let go, even as he began to walk back to campus.

Bittle smiled at him, blindingly bright. “Who needs a legion when I got the best one?”

Yoongi- Brat

Lowkey been writing nothing. Random unedited, because we all know that the makeup artists have the best job.

"Yoongi come on!" I shouted back at the man walking slowly.

"Shut up brat." He snapped. I frowned at him.

"I do your makeup. You better not mess with me. Next time it'll be a fairy concept." I  huffed to his grumpy face.

"You already mess up frequently enough, rookie. Keep moving." He smacked my butt as he walked past. I grabbed it, affronted by his actions. Not just anyone did that!

"Hey!" I dashed over to him. "I'm not a rookie! I was hired for a reason!"

"Sure, to mess up each time I turn my face?" He snorted. I pouted.

"You're mean. You do it on purpose." He stuck his tongue out briefly, in his stride. I sighed.

I loved my job, I really did. I enjoyed doing makeup as a sort of art, and the traveling, I mean. We really were in an amazing place, in Italy here. I loved it, I'd always wanted to go. With the sun setting, it was absolutely beautiful, everyone walking back to the hotel.

"Get better at your job rookie." He responded. I stuck my tongue at him. "I'm leaving."

"Cause you lost." He snickered lightly. I smacked his shoulder.

"Cause I have better things to do then argue with you." I scampered up ahead, joining Soohe, who was the second youngest in the staff.

"Oh hey," She grinned as I pushed my entire body up under her arms, forcing her arm around me. She didn't pulled back.

"What were you doing?"Soohe asked. I glanced back at Yoongi, who now had Taehyung pestering him.

"Bothering Yoongi, but he got snappy. So I left." I stuck my tongue out at him when he noticed me, and turned to face Soohe, scurrying a bit to keep up with her pace. She was pretty tall, and while I was more leg then torso, I was short. Short then Min Yoongi by a head. And young. I got teased a lot, though they meant no harm. After all, I did material arts!

"Aww..." She nuzzled my head. I broke out of her embrace and fixed my hair.

"What was that for?" I huffed. She rolled her eyes.

"You are just the cutest today. You should wear less makeup!" She giggled. I started at the other makeupartist.

"Soohe, you put makeup on people's faces for a living. Why are you telling me this?" I snapped. She just lifted a shoulder into a shrug.

"You're a cutie, and makeup just seems to cover it up. You have so much aegyo and you don't even notice." She grabbed me, pulling me back into a hug again, and I struggled up ahead even further.

"SEO!!" I called out, reaching Seo big sis. She did Jimin's makeup, because he was the pickiest. She was also the only other makeup artist on the tour.

"Oh, what's up?" She said, startled by my sudden presence.

"Soohe keeps hugging me." I whined, tattling on her. Seo big sis tsked, and pulled me into a hug as well, causing the guy next to her, SEOKJIN? to laugh. They were probably dating. She kept making doe-eyes at him. Which sucked, because I ship Namjin. Not that I tell them that. I know better then to bring my inner fangirl to work.

"Not you too!" I whined, fighting her grasp. I pushed away from her, and zipped back down the line away from her and way away from Soohe, pushing to the back of the crowd again.

"Back again?" Yoongi teased, raising his eyebrows suggestively. I ground my teeth together, annoyed by his antics.

"So mean to me!" I pouted.

"Yoongi's been teasing me all week, and making my job hard, I swear sometimes I just wanna..." I trailed off. What did I want to do? Shut him up. "AGH!!!!" Except my thoughts trailed to a dirtier version of shutting him up. Or at least, rendering him unable to speak.

Soohe and Seo exchanged looks.

"I know how you feel, I do Jimin's makeup. If you want to relax there's hot tubs. Maybe that'll help?" Seo big sis made a fair point. I thought for a second

"Alright. I'll go." I dug through my bag, pulling out the small bikini I brought, because we never really got the chance to go in the water. It was a just-in-case sort of thing, and I never thought I would have to wear the skimpy cloth.

"That's tiny." Soohe frowned as I exited the bathroom, after testing to make sure it still fit right.

"Hell yeah." I grumbled. Soohe picked me up and hugged me.

"You're so cute! I need to come as well." I glared at her as she set me down.

"Are you sure you aren't a lesibian?" I snapped. Soohe shrugged.

"The world may never know." She winked flirtatiously.

"Oh," I growled under my breath. "But I do." Soohe rolled her eyes at me as she knelt down to dig for her bathing suit.

"Ah, this feels so good." Soohe sighed as we sunk into the hot tubs. I smiled tightly. It did, but that didn't mean I was enjoying it all that much.

"You're really close with Yoongi, aren't you." Soohe spoke up quiet suddenly, her eyes closed in bliss.

"I'm not sure what you mean. I think he just enjoys provoking me. That's what it was like when I was younger, all the guys enjoyed riling me up." I drew my lips into a pout.

"Huh," Soohe snorted. "Comparing Yoongi to little boys. That's bound to rile him up, but that's exactly correct. He's like a little boy in love, he's provoking you for a reason. It's adorable."

I glared at Soohe who was reclined, her eyes still closed, and her arms out completely at ease, quiet a contrast to the tense me.

"That doesn't make any sense to me." I sniped. Soohe raised an eyebrow, and finally opened an eye.

"That would explain why you don't have a boyfriend." She commented wryly. I rose to my feet.

"You're horrible!" And I proceeded to splash her. She just cackled evilly.

"I'm not kidding though!" She put up her hands in surrender as I drenched her. (As if she weren't already.)

I pouted in response.

"I'm sure you were a very adorable little girl, and as a result, all the boys liked you. So like any little boy, they tease you. Except you are too innocent to realize that them riling you up is just an odd way of showing affection." She poked my nose. "Adorable."

I swatted her hand away crossly with a grimace.

"Annoying." I grumbled.

We walked out of the locker rooms, towels just barely covering us. I gave up and wrapped mine around my waist.

"Hey, keep your eye out. Watch Yoongi in particular." Soohe whispered in my ear, a slight giggle as she pulled away.

I glared at her briefly, before looking over. And indeed, we were about to pass a small group of the boys, in which, yes, Yoongi was one of them.

He did a once-over as we passed, his facial expression barely changing, his eyes met mine, and he dipped his head into a cool nod. Then he turned away, continuing on the path.

"What should I be watching for?" I coughed lightly.

"You missed him gawking at you." She explained. Except I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Sure."

"Let's go, now it's me that needs to relax." Seo Big Sis groaned. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Are things not pulling through with Jin?" I teased. Except Seo threw a pillow at me.

"Alright. Let's go then." Soohe pulled herself up, and I myself, rose.

We pulled on swimsuits, and dashed down the corridor. This hotel, unfortunately, had a multi-gender sauna.

"Well is there anyone in there right now?" Soohe asked as Seo big sis groaned.

"No, not yet. This is usually a calm hour. No one comes." The young assistant told us, her eyes sparkled in sympathy. Multi gender usually meant old men, which disgusted us enough to go to great lengths to avoid it.

"Alright. Whatever. We'll do it." Seo threw out cash, paying for all of us. Soohe and I high fived behind her back.

"Let's go!" She snapped, irate. We scurried after her, and quickly laid ourselves out in the sauna.

Seo Big Sis took the lower level, laying out a towel before dropping face down.

"I hate my life." She groaned, as I carefully stepped over her, perching right above her.

I laid out on my side, watching her with amusement.

"Spill your heart out. What's on your mind?" I prompted as Soohe just sat with her legs open wide, closing her eyes to bask in the warmth, and dim lighting.

"I don't even know what happened." She lifted her head up a bit, so her words weren't muffled. "Everything was going just fine!" Her voice rose. "But then i just had to go and mess it up with some awkward joke, like, it wasn't even funny in my head! I don't know why I said it but god."

"Ha! That's what's got your panties in a twist?!" Snorted Soohe as Seo's story finished. Seo spun around.

"Excuse me?" Huffed Seo, her entire body twisting upwards so she faced Soohe with a sharp glare.

"Okay. Two years ago, lil me is a cutie. Just got my job here, and I'm pretty proud of that. So I'm on a date, with like, some lawyer, whose making a lot of money. And he brings me out to this ridiculously fancy restaurant, and you know me. When I feel out of place, I just crack some jokes, and it's all good. But I don't want to be serious with this guy, and I'm not sure why he brought me here, and I figure it's just because he thinks that girls like dressing up. And sure I do, but not in that fancy way." Soohe give a nonchalant shrug.

Seo Big Sis coughs. "Talk about it..." She muttered. This time Soohe was the one with a sharp glare.

"Shut your mouth and let me finish." She shook her head, as if to shake away the bad vibes. "Okay, so we go in, and we're seated, and after the waiter leaves with our orders, I'm like 'Wow, this is really fancy, it's almost as if you're going to propose to this free woman.' and I laugh. And then I see his face, and it's so dark. And he was like 'I was.' and oh my gosh!!! I felt so bad, and we had to have such an awkward conversation, and I didn't even get dessert, cause we just wanted to part ways."

Seo Big Sis let out a sharp bark of laughter. Bitter. "That sucks."

"It did. And don't look at me like that, you." She growled. My eyes were open wide with horror.

"Soohe, you're horrible." I shook my head, propped up by my arm.

"Geez," Seo shook her head at my position when she finally turned to face me. "That's the classic 'draw me like one of your french girls' pose. What are you doing?"

"Showing off this s curve." I joked, sticking my tongue out. With that the mood lightened, and we began our usual banter, before falling onto the topic of the boys.

"Okay, but for real. That young camera assistant is a total cutie. Way younger, and slightly shorter then me, you don't think I'll scare him off, do you?" Soohe asked.

"You scare everyone with a face like that!" Seo teased. Soohe groaned.

"No for real. Like, he's so cute. Do you see the way he gets so confused when the camera man explains instructions to him? His eyebrows just get al scrunchy and cute!! Boyfriend material." Soohe grinned widely.

"Please, he's at most worth a one night stand." Scoffed Seo, who seemed to have more standards then Soohe.

"One night stands aren't worth anything." I rolled my eyes at the two older women.

"Ah," Seo shook her head. "That's because you've never had one. You don't know the bliss. So young, you'll know."

"You're so innocent, like how many boyfriends have you had?" Soohe giggled. I glared at the two.

"I've had two. Both of them, I was in a very committed relationship. None of them cheated on me, and I broke up with them on very good terms, and we occasionally still text." I responded, promptly making their jaws drop open.

"Only two!! God, that's not a lot of experience. No wonder you avoid one night stands like the plague!" Seo exclaimed as Soohe shook her head.

"We've got to get you out more often!" Soohe exclaimed, as I closed my eyes frustrated.

"Listen. I don't like 'putting myself out there' as a lot of people like to stay. And I wouldn't say I completely play it safe. But, I'd rather not be ravaged by some random male whose just going to pass on an STD and wake up with a raging headache, and no clue where I am, and generally, that doesn't sound very satisfying to me. I'm just going to say it out loud. I don't want to have sex with someone that I don't love. In no way is the idea appealing to me. In fact, even kissing someone, isn't something I'm comfortable with. It's easy for me to see why that appeals to some people, but it's just not me." I sighed. "And because it's not me, I avoid it. I'll wait til I get some sort of feelings for someone, and figure it out from there."

"Good speech." It wasn't Seo or Soohe. My eyes snapped open. Taehyung was giving polite applause, Jin was the one who spoke, I guess, but his eyes were trained on Seo who was sitting up properly, probably embarrassed to be caught in such a state.

And finally Yoongi, whose eyes were focused on me. Now I knew what Soohe meant by gawking. Yoongi's eyes traveled up and down my body, and I felt red tingling on my cheeks as the room grew just a little bit hotter. His dark gaze met mine, and he forced himself to look away.

"You guys joining us?" Seo asked, as she curled her legs in and leaned against the wall, seeming to want to disappear.

"If you don't mind." Jin responded, sitting down next to her. She looked like she was going to pass out. Quickly, an idea formed in my mind.

"I don't think you can stay long anyways, Jin. Seo Big Sis looks like she's going to pass out from the heat. Can I trust you to walk her back?" I asked, a smug grin coming across my face.

"Ah!" Seo was startled, jumping up a little, as JIn pulled her up.

"It's not a problem. I'll gladly do so." And with Seo's blushing protests, he pulled her out of there, his own blush tinging his cheeks.

"Problem solved!" I giggled, dusting off my hands. Soohe and I high fived, while Taehyung gave a small nervous laugh, and Yoongi broke out into a smile.

"Not bad." Yoongi chuckled, taking their place right below me. I was still laid out on my side, so I curled around him like a cat.

"Oh? Is Oppa praising me? How can this be?" His face immediately dropped.

"Don't know what you were talking about." Impassive as ever. I poked his cheek.

"Ahh, but you were smiling earlier. So emotionless." I continued poking his cheek til he grabbed my hand, holding it in place, and turned to face me, smirking slightly.

"Are you sure you want to continue poking my cheek like that?" He asked, as his eyes met, I felt myself shrink back under his gaze.

"Nope, I'm retreating now." I tugged against his hands, trying to free myself, but he had a tight grip.

"Yoongi Oppa, let my hand goooooo...." I whined and pouted, but Yoongi remained amused, not wanting to let my hand go.

"Oh? And why should I do that?" He asked. I felt myself gain a bit of bravery.

Leaning up quickly I pressed my lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss before pulling back.

"Punishment." I replied, feeling my cheek burn at my actions.

"You're a little mixed up sweetie. That's a reward, and it's only convincing me to hold you tighter." He readjusted his grip on my wrist, and pulled me forward with a tug.

"H-hey!" I protested, as he grabbed my other hand. I heard the door slam closed as Taehyung and Soohe left, leaving me in completely privacy with Yoongi, also did I mention that state he's in? It left me a blushing mess, because in all my time working I’ve never seen him so exposed.

"I heard your little speech before, so it's safe for me to assume you like me." He grinned, and pressed his lips to both my knuckles, causing my cheeks to burn further.

"B-but..." But what? Stop? Give me a few seconds to rethink my entire existence???

"So you don't like me? You wound me, you know." He dropped my hands, but not that cocky attitude.

"W-Well, I-i do! But...." I trailed off, uncertain.

"You want to take it slow?" He asked, leaning forward a little more, slowly becoming serious.

"But you haven't said anything yet..." The words came out on their own. So I went with it. "How do I know how you feel?" I looked back up at him. Immediate regret. His eyes were too easy to get lost in.

"Hmm... It's not obvious?" His eyes flickered downward for a second as well.

"If it weren't for your actions just now, I would've said I annoyed you." I was real.

"Well, that wouldn't be wrong. You annoy me, but I love you." He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Now cover up some, will you?" He huffed, turning away. I grinned, sneakily.

"Oho?" I pressed myself up to him.

"I thought you didn't like to rush into relationships! Why are you doing this!" He squeaked.

"Oh, because it's getting you to blush, and that's adorable."

"You're going to pay brat." He spat, eyes still furiously trained on the wall.

"I love you too." I pushed away from him, pulling the towel I had been laying on earlier, around me.

NRPLUS MEMBER ARTICLE I n a popular movie two decades ago, hard-eyed criminals released into Sydney a woman infected with a virus, knowing that unsuspecting Australians would catch the highly contagious disease and, traveling on, unwittingly spread death across a hundred homelands. This past winter, the hard-eyed leaders of China did worse. They allowed not one, but thousands of infected to leave China and enter an unsuspecting world, a world lulled by Beijing. The crucial question is: Why?“China caused an enormous amount of pain [and] loss of life . . . by not sharing the information they had,” Secretary of State Pompeo said on April 23. America is angry, he added, and while much remains to be known, China “will pay a price.”No subpoenas, no oversight committees, no tell-all books will expose President Xi’s calculations as the novel coronavirus spread inside China. The unelected of Beijing guard well their secret debates. The CCP knows the virtues of opacity, of letting uncertainty, complacency, and wishful thinking paralyze the West. Exploiting these has been its way.In 2018, a major Trump-administration speech called CCP misdeeds to task. Some, including, notably, Japan’s prime minister, applauded. But many nations looked toward their feet, too reluctant, too sophisticated, perhaps too intimidated to bestir. Staggering COVID-19 losses may yet remind the world of the dangers of drift as great powers go astray.Today’s American, European, Japanese, and Asian policymakers, like those of centuries past, bear the burdens of judgment. Uncertainty has ever been the statesman’s curse. America’s famed diplomat, former secretary of state Henry Kissinger, has written, “Nations learn only by experience, they ‘know’ only when it is too late to act. But statesmen must act as if their intuition were already experience. . . .”A reassessment of Xi and the CCP looms. From their actions and practices, from assessments of their motives and apparent long-term aims, today’s statesmen, like their forebears, must judge future risks and craft the surest course ahead. These are early days, but the picture of Beijing presented so far is troubling.Even before the virus spread in Wuhan, Xi brooded over a worrying hand. The CCP could not intimidate prolonged protests on the streets of freedom-loving Hong Kong. And the Party’s oppression there, in determined violation of treaty commitments, spurred voters in Taiwan to rebuff Beijing’s hopes for a more amenable regime in Taipei. The world was finally awakening to Xi’s increasingly autocratic surveillance state, his harsh repression of Uighur Muslims, and his predatory Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). China’s economy, essential to Xi’s hold on power, had stumbled, in part because of the Trump administration’s move to counter China’s unfair, neo-mercantilist practices and to condemn their grim geopolitical implications. Worse yet, America’s markets hummed, raising reelection hopes within the Trump administration, which had also surpassed modern predecessors in challenging China. Rumors of Party dissatisfaction with Xi seeped out.COVID-19’s outbreak in Wuhan further darkened Xi’s prospects. As long as the virus raged primarily inside China -- derailing only her economy, stigmatizing only her government -- his troubles would soar. All the while, the world predictably would have leapt ahead, taking Chinese customers, stealing China’s long-sought glory.The disease’s spread to Berlin and Paris, New York and Tokyo, improved Xi’s prospects, at least in the near term. Pandemic diverted foreign eyes from Hong Kong’s and the Uighurs’ plight. Desperate needs rendered disease-weakened nations more susceptible to China’s goods and BRI’s short-term appeal. Asian states, wary of Beijing, had new cause to doubt the commitment of a pandemic-preoccupied Washington, while a weakened economy and vastly increased debts would likely constrain future U.S. defense spending, essential to Asian security. An unpredictable element had entered into America’s 2020 election.As events unfolded, might Xi have recognized that COVID-19’s leap into the wider world promised such political and geopolitical gains? Some say a desire to protect itself first fed a CCP cover-up, as if putting this before the health of innocents were not bad enough. But were CCP leaders blind, as days passed, to other benefits? It is the Chinese way, the noted French Sinologist François Jullien has written, to exploit the potential inherent in unfolding situations. CCP leaders still study China’s legendary strategist, Sun Tzu, who advised centuries ago that if, “in the midst of difficulties, we are always ready to seize an advantage, we may extricate ourselves from misfortune.”As the CCP realized the imminent disaster COVID-19 posed inside China, Xi suppressed the world’s appreciation of its dangers. By sometime in December, Chinese authorities had learned that a novel, highly infectious coronavirus similar to deadly SARS was on the loose. Yet for weeks PRC authorities, including China’ National Health Commission, suppressed inquiries and, directly or through the WHO, misled the world about the risks. When Chinese authorities finally acknowledged human-to-human transmission, the CCP took steps to isolate Wuhan from other parts of China, but continued to permit international travel. After the U.S. on January 31, and later Australia, restricted travelers from China, Beijing’s spokesmen, artful and indignant, rose to denounce such acts as ill-founded and ill-intentioned.For days, even weeks, after the CCP first knew of the danger, Chinese authorities and customs officers let tens of thousands of travelers, infected among them, leave China and enter an unwary world. In late January, China extended Lunar New Year celebrations, inviting greater international travel. PRC border guards stamped more exit papers. When America restricted such travelers, Beijing allowed more to leave for less cautious lands.Then, as pandemic gripped the world, the CCP brazenly blamed America for COVID-19. Xi once more preened over his authoritarian “China model’s” efficiencies, now cauterizing troubles he denies having caused. In Europe, Beijing postured as a savior offering needed medical supplies -- albeit that its sales favored states where it sought geopolitical gains, often bore high prices, included defective products that could undermine defenses, and drew on CCP surpluses bolstered by January purchases of world supplies at pre-pandemic prices. In Southeast Asia, Beijing proved “relentless in exploiting the pandemic,” a respected, former high-level Filipino bemoans, as it pushed its “illegal and expansive” territorial claims. Inside China, the Party seized the moment to round up leaders of Hong Kong’s democracy movement and reassert unilateral efforts to curtail the city’s special, self-governing status.Even after the virus began to spread inside China, events might have taken a different course. Many had once hoped for better from CCP leaders. Dreams of a mellowing CCP had floated widely among academics and policy elites, perhaps buoyed by the way such illusions avoided, rather than imposed, hard choices. Some yet hold to such views. The benign CCP of their reveries would have alerted others promptly as the novel virus’s dangers became known, shared information, welcomed foreign scientists, ceased reckless practices, and guarded against the pandemic’s spread.Indeed, under different leadership, China could have followed such a path. Traditions of humane governance, venerable and Confucian, are not alien to that land. China’s ancient text, the Tao-te Ching, favors just such a response:> A great nation is like a man:> > When he makes a mistake, he realizes it.> > Having realized, he admits it.> > Having admitted it, he corrects it.> > He considers those who point out his faults> > As his most benevolent teachers.The learned will debate how much such leadership would have eased the wider world’s suffering. Metrics and estimates will vary, but the consensus will be clear enough: The harm would have decreased manyfold.Such openness and grace have not been Xi’s way. As he built up islets in the South China Sea, he promised never to militarize them, then dishonored his promise, disregarded international rulings, and dispatched ships in packs to intimidate neighboring states and expand Beijing’s writ. Pledging to protect intellectual property, he enabled ongoing theft and coercion, ineluctably undermining industries of the advanced democracies, and then pressed forward on China’s newly gained advantages. His BRI professes to aid, then exploits poor countries’ weaknesses. Citing the betterment of all in the cause of greater China, he has imprisoned Uighurs, undermined Tibetan culture, and threatened the peaceful regional order that had enabled China’s rise. He violates treaty commitments to curb Hong Kong’s freedoms. Behind an anti-corruption façade, his prosecutors ruined scores of his rivals, as he consolidated and extended his personal powers. These wrongs he continues still. Xi’s are not the ways of grace and remorse.An angry narrative drives this man. Under his hand, the CCP highlights Chinese suffering and humiliation roughly a century ago under Western and Japanese imperialists, while eliding the democratic world’s helping hand and Japan’s benign democracy over four generations since. He slides past the Chinese millions massacred in the intervening decades by the CCP and Mao -- China’s legendary leader who spread cruelty and death as he judged useful. In imitation of Mao, Xi has issued his own “little red book” of wisdom. Mao’s iconic image looms over Tiananmen still. Coveting Mao’s autocratic power, Xi strove and won it; now he dare not let it go.The bitter recall of ancient Chinese glories; resentment of past humiliations; insecurity bred by corruption and illegitimacy; disdain, even hatred of America’s easy ways -- these are the pathogens coursing through Xi’s circle. A fever for Chinese primacy burns among them. For a time, they might pander to a Western-inspired, rules-based order, a liberal conceit; but this is not their dream. A historic economic rise, technological mastery, a rapidly expanding navy, all causes to be proud of, have freed them to be brazen. Xi now bares the teeth Deng Xiaoping’s smile hid. From South China Sea islets to the New Silk Road’s arid ends, the CCP, ruthless and defiant, pounds the stakes it holds to advance its aims. For Xi’s CCP, it is the fate of small states to bend to the strong.Rules should soon be theirs to set, the CCP believes, and not without some reason. Before Trump, a subtle and experienced Chinese diplomat confessed, CCP leaders marveled at America’s ineffectual response. In the South and East China Seas, on India’s long border, Beijing’s hostile and determined quest had followed Lenin’s line: “Probe with bayonets, if you find mush, you push; if you find steel, you withdraw.” It is to our shame, Trump observed on China’s unfair trade practices, that Beijing had not been held to account by prior administrations. Unanswered, history has shown, the ambitious calculate and, at times, miscalculate.In past American forbearance, CCP leaders have seen a once great power on the wane. In foreign capitals they confided, inside China they proclaimed: It will soon be America’s turn to bend. They claim their own version of the right side of history.The keys to victory, Sun Tzu counseled, lie in knowing your enemy and deceiving them. The cunning men of Beijing have taken heed. They have an instinct for a divided, self-doubting, and weary West. Cloaking their aggressions in ambiguity, they weigh the likely costs against desired gains.Straining to contain COVID-19, President Trump and Secretary Pompeo rightly extend a hand to international, including Chinese, cooperation. But in post-pandemic days to come, the democracies must carefully take the measure of the CCP and hold it to account, crafting strategies for what it is, not what they wish it to be. That is leadership’s task.The late, great professor Fouad Ajami warned, “Men love the troubles they know” -- too ready to slip into a comfortable neglect, too reluctant to face strategic change. Some cite an arc of history, he lamented, to hide behind, hoping it might bear the burdens they would rather shun.With all doubts resolved in their favor, the untouchable leaders of the CCP have much for which to answer. Perhaps in reality, even more.In a time of death, Ajami cautioned: “There is no fated happiness or civility in any land.” As a great river may abruptly rise or fall, “Those gauges on the banks will have to be read and watched with care.” from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/3cZ4kJP

http://newslegendry.blogspot.com/2020/04/to-confront-china-after-coronavirus-we.html

To Confront China After Coronavirus, We Must See the Bigger Picture

NRPLUS MEMBER ARTICLE I n a popular movie two decades ago, hard-eyed criminals released into Sydney a woman infected with a virus, knowing that unsuspecting Australians would catch the highly contagious disease and, traveling on, unwittingly spread death across a hundred homelands. This past winter, the hard-eyed leaders of China did worse. They allowed not one, but thousands of infected to leave China and enter an unsuspecting world, a world lulled by Beijing. The crucial question is: Why?“China caused an enormous amount of pain [and] loss of life … by not sharing the information they had,” Secretary of State Pompeo said on April 23. America is angry, he added, and while much remains to be known, China “will pay a price.”No subpoenas, no oversight committees, no tell-all books will expose President Xi’s calculations as the novel coronavirus spread inside China. The unelected of Beijing guard well their secret debates. The CCP knows the virtues of opacity, of letting uncertainty, complacency, and wishful thinking paralyze the West. Exploiting these has been its way.In 2018, a major Trump-administration speech called CCP misdeeds to task. Some, including, notably, Japan’s prime minister, applauded. But many nations looked toward their feet, too reluctant, too sophisticated, perhaps too intimidated to bestir. Staggering COVID-19 losses may yet remind the world of the dangers of drift as great powers go astray.Today’s American, European, Japanese, and Asian policymakers, like those of centuries past, bear the burdens of judgment. Uncertainty has ever been the statesman’s curse. America’s famed diplomat, former secretary of state Henry Kissinger, has written, “Nations learn only by experience, they ‘know’ only when it is too late to act. But statesmen must act as if their intuition were already experience… .”A reassessment of Xi and the CCP looms. From their actions and practices, from assessments of their motives and apparent long-term aims, today’s statesmen, like their forebears, must judge future risks and craft the surest course ahead. These are early days, but the picture of Beijing presented so far is troubling.Even before the virus spread in Wuhan, Xi brooded over a worrying hand. The CCP could not intimidate prolonged protests on the streets of freedom-loving Hong Kong. And the Party’s oppression there, in determined violation of treaty commitments, spurred voters in Taiwan to rebuff Beijing’s hopes for a more amenable regime in Taipei. The world was finally awakening to Xi’s increasingly autocratic surveillance state, his harsh repression of Uighur Muslims, and his predatory Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). China’s economy, essential to Xi’s hold on power, had stumbled, in part because of the Trump administration’s move to counter China’s unfair, neo-mercantilist practices and to condemn their grim geopolitical implications. Worse yet, America’s markets hummed, raising reelection hopes within the Trump administration, which had also surpassed modern predecessors in challenging China. Rumors of Party dissatisfaction with Xi seeped out.COVID-19’s outbreak in Wuhan further darkened Xi’s prospects. As long as the virus raged primarily inside China — derailing only her economy, stigmatizing only her government — his troubles would soar. All the while, the world predictably would have leapt ahead, taking Chinese customers, stealing China’s long-sought glory.The disease’s spread to Berlin and Paris, New York and Tokyo, improved Xi’s prospects, at least in the near term. Pandemic diverted foreign eyes from Hong Kong’s and the Uighurs’ plight. Desperate needs rendered disease-weakened nations more susceptible to China’s goods and BRI’s short-term appeal. Asian states, wary of Beijing, had new cause to doubt the commitment of a pandemic-preoccupied Washington, while a weakened economy and vastly increased debts would likely constrain future U.S. defense spending, essential to Asian security. An unpredictable element had entered into America’s 2020 election.As events unfolded, might Xi have recognized that COVID-19’s leap into the wider world promised such political and geopolitical gains? Some say a desire to protect itself first fed a CCP cover-up, as if putting this before the health of innocents were not bad enough. But were CCP leaders blind, as days passed, to other benefits? It is the Chinese way, the noted French Sinologist François Jullien has written, to exploit the potential inherent in unfolding situations. CCP leaders still study China’s legendary strategist, Sun Tzu, who advised centuries ago that if, “in the midst of difficulties, we are always ready to seize an advantage, we may extricate ourselves from misfortune.”As the CCP realized the imminent disaster COVID-19 posed inside China, Xi suppressed the world’s appreciation of its dangers. By sometime in December, Chinese authorities had learned that a novel, highly infectious coronavirus similar to deadly SARS was on the loose. Yet for weeks PRC authorities, including China’ National Health Commission, suppressed inquiries and, directly or through the WHO, misled the world about the risks. When Chinese authorities finally acknowledged human-to-human transmission, the CCP took steps to isolate Wuhan from other parts of China, but continued to permit international travel. After the U.S. on January 31, and later Australia, restricted travelers from China, Beijing’s spokesmen, artful and indignant, rose to denounce such acts as ill-founded and ill-intentioned.For days, even weeks, after the CCP first knew of the danger, Chinese authorities and customs officers let tens of thousands of travelers, infected among them, leave China and enter an unwary world. In late January, China extended Lunar New Year celebrations, inviting greater international travel. PRC border guards stamped more exit papers. When America restricted such travelers, Beijing allowed more to leave for less cautious lands.Then, as pandemic gripped the world, the CCP brazenly blamed America for COVID-19. Xi once more preened over his authoritarian “China model’s” efficiencies, now cauterizing troubles he denies having caused. In Europe, Beijing postured as a savior offering needed medical supplies — albeit that its sales favored states where it sought geopolitical gains, often bore high prices, included defective products that could undermine defenses, and drew on CCP surpluses bolstered by January purchases of world supplies at pre-pandemic prices. In Southeast Asia, Beijing proved “relentless in exploiting the pandemic,” a respected, former high-level Filipino bemoans, as it pushed its “illegal and expansive” territorial claims. Inside China, the Party seized the moment to round up leaders of Hong Kong’s democracy movement and reassert unilateral efforts to curtail the city’s special, self-governing status.Even after the virus began to spread inside China, events might have taken a different course. Many had once hoped for better from CCP leaders. Dreams of a mellowing CCP had floated widely among academics and policy elites, perhaps buoyed by the way such illusions avoided, rather than imposed, hard choices. Some yet hold to such views. The benign CCP of their reveries would have alerted others promptly as the novel virus’s dangers became known, shared information, welcomed foreign scientists, ceased reckless practices, and guarded against the pandemic’s spread.Indeed, under different leadership, China could have followed such a path. Traditions of humane governance, venerable and Confucian, are not alien to that land. China’s ancient text, the Tao-te Ching, favors just such a response:> A great nation is like a man:> > When he makes a mistake, he realizes it.> > Having realized, he admits it.> > Having admitted it, he corrects it.> > He considers those who point out his faults> > As his most benevolent teachers.The learned will debate how much such leadership would have eased the wider world’s suffering. Metrics and estimates will vary, but the consensus will be clear enough: The harm would have decreased manyfold.Such openness and grace have not been Xi’s way. As he built up islets in the South China Sea, he promised never to militarize them, then dishonored his promise, disregarded international rulings, and dispatched ships in packs to intimidate neighboring states and expand Beijing’s writ. Pledging to protect intellectual property, he enabled ongoing theft and coercion, ineluctably undermining industries of the advanced democracies, and then pressed forward on China’s newly gained advantages. His BRI professes to aid, then exploits poor countries’ weaknesses. Citing the betterment of all in the cause of greater China, he has imprisoned Uighurs, undermined Tibetan culture, and threatened the peaceful regional order that had enabled China’s rise. He violates treaty commitments to curb Hong Kong’s freedoms. Behind an anti-corruption façade, his prosecutors ruined scores of his rivals, as he consolidated and extended his personal powers. These wrongs he continues still. Xi’s are not the ways of grace and remorse.An angry narrative drives this man. Under his hand, the CCP highlights Chinese suffering and humiliation roughly a century ago under Western and Japanese imperialists, while eliding the democratic world’s helping hand and Japan’s benign democracy over four generations since. He slides past the Chinese millions massacred in the intervening decades by the CCP and Mao — China’s legendary leader who spread cruelty and death as he judged useful. In imitation of Mao, Xi has issued his own “little red book” of wisdom. Mao’s iconic image looms over Tiananmen still. Coveting Mao’s autocratic power, Xi strove and won it; now he dare not let it go.The bitter recall of ancient Chinese glories; resentment of past humiliations; insecurity bred by corruption and illegitimacy; disdain, even hatred of America’s easy ways — these are the pathogens coursing through Xi’s circle. A fever for Chinese primacy burns among them. For a time, they might pander to a Western-inspired, rules-based order, a liberal conceit; but this is not their dream. A historic economic rise, technological mastery, a rapidly expanding navy, all causes to be proud of, have freed them to be brazen. Xi now bares the teeth Deng Xiaoping’s smile hid. From South China Sea islets to the New Silk Road’s arid ends, the CCP, ruthless and defiant, pounds the stakes it holds to advance its aims. For Xi’s CCP, it is the fate of small states to bend to the strong.Rules should soon be theirs to set, the CCP believes, and not without some reason. Before Trump, a subtle and experienced Chinese diplomat confessed, CCP leaders marveled at America’s ineffectual response. In the South and East China Seas, on India’s long border, Beijing’s hostile and determined quest had followed Lenin’s line: “Probe with bayonets, if you find mush, you push; if you find steel, you withdraw.” It is to our shame, Trump observed on China’s unfair trade practices, that Beijing had not been held to account by prior administrations. Unanswered, history has shown, the ambitious calculate and, at times, miscalculate.In past American forbearance, CCP leaders have seen a once great power on the wane. In foreign capitals they confided, inside China they proclaimed: It will soon be America’s turn to bend. They claim their own version of the right side of history.The keys to victory, Sun Tzu counseled, lie in knowing your enemy and deceiving them. The cunning men of Beijing have taken heed. They have an instinct for a divided, self-doubting, and weary West. Cloaking their aggressions in ambiguity, they weigh the likely costs against desired gains.Straining to contain COVID-19, President Trump and Secretary Pompeo rightly extend a hand to international, including Chinese, cooperation. But in post-pandemic days to come, the democracies must carefully take the measure of the CCP and hold it to account, crafting strategies for what it is, not what they wish it to be. That is leadership’s task.The late, great professor Fouad Ajami warned, “Men love the troubles they know” — too ready to slip into a comfortable neglect, too reluctant to face strategic change. Some cite an arc of history, he lamented, to hide behind, hoping it might bear the burdens they would rather shun.With all doubts resolved in their favor, the untouchable leaders of the CCP have much for which to answer. Perhaps in reality, even more.In a time of death, Ajami cautioned: “There is no fated happiness or civility in any land.” As a great river may abruptly rise or fall, “Those gauges on the banks will have to be read and watched with care.”

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