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metalhoops · 1 year

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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.

It was almost six. Shit.

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.

Then Eddie remembered.

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself.

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.

Eddie screwed up his nose in response.

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.

“Stevie, you didn’t.”

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

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sykokilljoyy · 1 year

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secrets - wroetoshaw imagine

request: none! however it does kind of link to a few :p words: 1538 warnings: little bit embarrassing i can't lie. implied smut, allusions to sex, but generally just a lot of second hand embarrassment.

tl;dr: harry and y/n have been seeing each other for a while, but the secret's out when harry accidentally exposes some very intimate truths

“Come on, Harry,” Simon laughed, glee written all over his features. He holds onto JJ for support, who chuckled beside him.

“Boys, this is awful!” Harry‘s cheeks were burning, laughing along in front of the camera, which was setup haphazardly on the astro-turf football pitch.

“You said you would do it!” Ethan yelled playfully, holding his friend to his word, “At least give us odds.”

“Fine. Odds of 1-10,” Harry sighed.

It was just a stupid forfeit. He’d accidentally hit the goalpost and due to the rules of the Sidemen Sunday, he would have to do the next 3 penalties with his shirt off. It was the middle of January, so the bite of cold was nipping at his neck already, intruding through his layers of clothing.

“Bet,” Ethan giggled from behind the camera.

“Alright, boys,” Simon called, “3…2…1…”

“Six.”

“Fuck!” Harry cursed, a pit of nervousness pooling in his stomach.

The boisterous whoops and laughs from his friends helped to spur him on a little, but he had never been very confident in front of the camera, let alone topless in the middle of winter, outside the safety confines of his flat. A little part of him was beyond thankful that you were here, tucked behind the camera to help with filming. None of the boys knew, but Harry and yourself had been seeing each other in secret.

It started with just hanging out after filming every so often, grabbing lunch or rides home, just enjoying getting to know each other as a little more than acquaintances. This, however, turned quickly into a couple dates, which fell into long nights and messy mornings, legs tangled in his bed and hands reaching to wherever they could. Not that either of you were ashamed of the other, but there was a certain thrill of keeping it all under the covers that neither were fast to get rid of.

“Come on, Bog,” Ethan hollered. This triggered a wave of ceremonious chants, something along the lines of ‘get your tits out’ from his friends.

Sighing in defeat, Harry shook his jacket off hastily, presuming that if he just gets it over and done with, it’ll be less mortifying. Cheers continued until he was down to his last layer, only himself noting the memory of you wearing this exact t-shirt in his flat the night before, he tried not to think of the fact it still smelt like you.

As his lifted the shirt above his head, the blush dusted upon his freckled shoulders very visible, silence fell on the group. Now, it really wasn’t often that this hyper group of men were dead silent, but after seeing the litter of hickeys cascading down Harry’s chest, sensual scratches marking the skin of his back – a pin could drop and it would sound like something nuclear.

Behind the camera, you blushed deeply, pulling the hem of your hoodie to your nose to hide it. Your eyes followed the lines of the scratches on his back, the memories of the night before still more than fresh in your mind. Averting your gaze to the floor, you could feel your cheeks on fire. Luckily, your friends were all too distracted to notice.

“What?” Harry was immediately self-conscious at the unexpected reaction, pulling his shirt to his chest to cover himself. It was only when he caught a glimpse of something crimson, that it clicked.

“Oh fuck!”

Ethan was the first to laugh, a cackle that broke the shocked tension, the dam of silence bursting open as all of his friends jump to embarrass him.

It was a perfect overreaction, realistically it was only a couple hickeys and such, but as Harry had been historically private about his love life to his friends, this was an ideal opportunity to grill the youngest Sideman.

“Are you dating a vampire or something?” Josh joked first, earning a robust reaction from the group. Followed by waves of playful digs at the already embarrassed blonde boy, who was sheepishly pulling his shirt back over his chest.

“Who knew Harry was getting laid so much?” JJ was flabbergasted, playing up to the camera for a reaction.

“Seems like a very satisfied customer,” Simon chuckled, ruffling Harry’s hair – much to his discomfort, he pouted like a kid.

“Ask her yourself, isn’t that right, Y/N?” Josh chuckled.

He had only meant it as a joke. He had no idea of your relationship, only meaning to embarrass the boy further, as he knew Harry found you attractive.

However, when the pair of you froze like deer in headlights, your throat dry as you try and stutter a whimsical response, panicked eyes darting to each other for support, Josh’s eyes blew wide like dinner plates.

“Oh fuck, was it actually you?” All eyes were on you now, your heart pulsating loudly in your chest, waves of embarrassment hitting you. There was a reason you stayed behind the camera, the pressure of attention being directly on you made you crumble.

Harry knew that, so he spoke loudly to drag eyes back to him, now fully-clothed, “Yeah, uh, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”

“I knew it!” Tobi called, turning to Simon with a victorious grin on his face.

“Fuck!” Simon cursed, “I said it was bullshit.”

“How did you know?” Harry asked Tobi, blush still tainting his cheeks.

“Harry, you practically can’t keep your eyes off her when you think no one’s watching,” this made you flustered, avoiding Harry’s dazed eyes.

“Fuck sake,” JJ interrupted, everyone turning to him as he fiddled with the camera, “Does that mean we can’t use any of this footage now?”

Chuckles rose from the group, but ultimately it was down to you and Harry to make that decision. His gaze found you, blue eyes laced with affection and a tiny bit of an apology for the embarrassment. Now that the cat was out the bag, he couldn’t care who knew. Of course, there was a terrifying reality of the fans reaction, but you’d been shipped so many times it seemed redundant by now.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” You smiled nervously, Harry looking at the football on the ground to hide his boyish grin, kicking it around a little at his feet.

Before everyone hopped back into recording the Sidemen Sunday, returning to their football forfeits, he made his way to you, whilst his friends were distracted retrieving the footballs that were kicked haphazardly across the pitch.

“You okay?” He asked softly, his cold hand ghosting over yours. The pair of you were used to keeping things out of the public eye, subtle glances, fleeting touches, whispers shared whilst no one was looking.

“I’m nervous,” You replied gently, feeling tense under his watchful eye.

“Don’t be,” His head dropped to kiss your cheek carefully, letting his lips linger on your icy skin, a safe way to reassure you that he was there.

It was only small; a gentle expression scratching the surface of his affectionate ways, but your heart skittered at the feeling of his hand playing with yours and his warm lips pressing against you. The strong scent of his cologne hit you at the closeness, the heat radiating from him in the bitter January air. You were still riding the coat tails of a silly schoolgirl crush as he pulled away, the exhilaration of being able to touch him outside the privacy of closed doors spurring you on.

Reaching up, you touched his cheek savouringly, leaning up onto your tip-toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. His hand slipped under your jacket and onto your clothed waist, pulling you towards him only lightly, smiling into the kiss once he felt the corners of your lips curl. Pulling apart, he hid his flustered blush by placing a kiss to your hairline.

“Do you want to get dinner after this?” You enquired hopefully, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

“Only if I can get a couple more of these,” Harry whistled playfully, pulling the collar of his jumper down to reveal the tender, crimson love bites.

“Harry!” You buried your face in his hoodie, embarrassment heating your cheeks promptly, his chest stuttering as he chuckles at your flustered reaction.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He giggled, and you peeled yourself from his embrace, glancing over to see the rest of the group getting ready to film again.

“I’ll take you somewhere real nice, to make up for it.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Mr,” You punched his bicep lightly, pushing him away, back towards the camera setup, “Now, go film. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He nodded, pressing a quick final kiss to your cheek before jogging away sheepishly, batting away the childish calls and digs from his friends.

You watched him happily, smiling at the way he carried himself, the light in his eyes as he joked and battled with his friends, an extra pep in his step as the secretive weight off his shoulders were lifted. He was finally able to care for you in public, to touch you, hold you, tuck the hair behind your ear and kiss you gently without worrying who would find out, and you the same.

It would be hard, when the video releases, and the audience would see the announcement, but you weren’t worried. As long as he was with you, you wouldn’t be scared.

However, you weren’t sure you’ll ever live down the hickeys.

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creative-caramel-coffee · 14 days

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Icicles and Injuries

Pairing: Wandanat x Reader

Prompts: Frozen (Day 2) + No way out (Day 11)

TW: minor injury, being trapped, hypothermia, mentions of death, partial nudity (consented)

Words: 2K

Summary: Reader gets trapped and needs to be saved before she freezes to death.

For once the miss had gone well. No injuries or accidents or hidden traps. It had been a breeze. Now all that was left was to sit tight in the nearest safe house in the woods and wait for Tony to send a jet to come and collect you. ‘You’ being Wanda, Natasha, Kate and Yelena.

By late afternoon it was still light outside and snowing lightly. A white dust of flakes covered every available surface in a thin layer of pale snow.

Being in the woods it was a beautiful sight to behold, yet Natasha and Yelena having come from Russia were most winters bordered on nuclear, did not share your enthusiasm.

Wanda and Kate had spent some time in Europe before and were a little more used to it. And sure, you had seen snow many times, but it was always a point of beauty to you. It helped you relax. Soft and cold it continued to drift down from above coating the landscape below.

“Wands? Natty? Do you guys wanna come with me for a walk?” You asked popping your head into the lounge room of the cabin.

“No thanks detka. Not right now. Yelena and Kate were going to watch a movie and I think Wanda was going to start dinner soon.” Natasha said looking genuine.

“Okay.” You said feeling a little saddened by the fact nobody would be coming with.

“Make sure you take a coat. It’s cold.” Nat said over her shoulder as she positioned herself between her sister and her sister's girlfriend with a shit-eating grin. Always the older sister, you thought rolling your eyes.

You said a quick goodbye to Wanda who echoed Nat’s statement about a coat before putting one on and a pair of gloves, boots and a beanie before entering the snow scene outside the cabin.

You headed for the trail behind the house. It was marked with signs on the trees as it snowed enough around here for trails to be easily lost without proper signage.

You sighed, feeling at peace and relaxed as the snow crunched softly underfoot. Setting off down the trail it was lined with fresh snow and small animal tracks, probably squirrels or rabbits.

As you continued down the track the cabin grew smaller behind you. It was a loop and came out down by the other side of the house.

Seeing the first sign on the tree you smiled at the small red arrow which was on a wood-stained oak board nailed into the tree.

You continued down the track listening to the serene quietness and peaceful sound of snow and birdsong.

Pulling your coat around you some more it was getting colder as the evening wore on and your nose was surely frozen as small snowflakes collected on your eyelashes.

As you continued down the short trail a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. A small squirrel had hopped up onto what looked like the snow-covered husk of an old tree. The little creature chittered at you and you smiled softly at the peacefulness of the moment.

But before you could even think the squirrel ran up the tree. The tree looked like it had survived many winters and was well past due to be fell in the summer. The squirrel continued up the branches which were creaking eerily already laden with snow on the branches. Then there was a sharp cracking crunch, and the tree began to fall.

At the last minute the squirrel jumped onto a nearby branch out of harms way. Yet you stood frozen. You just had time to duck and cover as the tree crashed down onto the path. It fell in a way that had managed to avoid hitting you but had pinned your coat under its heavy trunk. Your left boot was also pinned, and you bit a cold breath of air back in shock.

The snow continued falling, however it seemed almost menacing now. If you stayed out much longer into the evening the temperatures would continue to fall, and that beautiful snow might be the thing that kills you.

You cursed yourself from forgetting your phone, not that it would have a signal, but it would be better than nothing. They may have been able to track you at least.

The sun began to dip under the tree line and the temperature began to drop faster without the sun to provide warmth.

The snow was collecting on top of the tree making the chance of escape seem slimmer and slimmer.

The snow was beginning to build up either side of you now. Blocking you inside the wooden ribs of the tree. The branches caving around you with the snow beginning to form a roof and sides.

It was cold and it no longer felt like just your nose that was frozen. Your cheeks stung with the cold, and you wiggled your fingers and toes to try and warm them up as well. Frostbite was a very real thing and one you did not want to ever have experience in.

As the sun began to cruise lower and lower in the sky it continued to get colder. The light was starting to go now as well, a dusky overcast type of light was all that was left. If this continued on for much longer you worried, they may never find you until the snow thawed, by then it would be too late.

Back in the cabin the movie was almost over. Yelena and Kate had ended up beside each other again with popcorn in their hair after flicking it at each other for the whole duration of the movie. Nat had already seen the movie and headed to the kitchen to fetch four mugs of hot chocolate to share.

As she stepped into the kitchen which smelled like heaven and smiled at Wanda.

“Wheres Y/n? Surely, she’ll want hot chocolate as well.” Natasha smiled.

“I thought she was with you?” Wanda said looking up from where she had been seasoning chicken.

“No?” Nat said frowning. “She should be back from her walk by now.”

“Oh god.” Wanda paled slightly. “She’s not still out there, is she?”

“If she is we better find her fast before it gets too dark. Cold weather like this can kill.” Natasha said. “You send Yelena and Kate to check the bedrooms before joining us in the woods. I’m going to see if i can find her. Join me when you’re done.” Nat said already slipping on a coat with a sense of urgency to her movements.

Wanda nodded her assent and went to tell Yelena and Kate.

After a little bit all three girls were out searching the woods. Wanda was focusing on finding you with her mind, but you were either asleep or close too it which worried her greatly.

Finally, she sensed you under an old looking tree covered in snow. She called the others over and focused, using her magic to move the tree off you.

When your red jacket came into sight Natasha was the first to get to you. Scooping your cold and limp form into her arms. You were breathing but also freezing cold.

“We need to warm her up. NOW!” Nat said as she began sprinting to the cabin with you in her arms.

Your cheeks had long since turned from a rosy red colour to a dusky blue as the temperature had fallen further.

Once Natasha burst through the front door she headed for the bedroom you, her and Wanda had been sharing the past few nights.

Wanda, Kate and Yelena followed close behind, nobody commenting on the water that was being tracked through the cabin. Their focus elsewhere.

Natasha gently set you down on the bed, Wanda beside her and Kate and Yelena hovering in the doorway.

“Alright.” Nat said. “Wanda i need you to help me get her out of these wet clothes they’re doing more harm than good.” She said already starting to peel off your soaked coat. “Yelena, Kate.” She began and the two stood a little straighter. “Go and run a warm bath, not too warm but just enough to not be cold.” Nat said and the two turned tail and headed for the bathroom.

Wanda was now working on taking off your snow-pants while nat continued stripping off your top half. After a minute you were left laying in just your sports bra and boxers, long past shivering.

“Now what?” Wanda asked seeming panicked.

“Now we warm her up. It works best with skin-to-skin contact. So, we need to cuddle her. Bring that blanket and put it on top. Once Yelena is done with the bath, we will kick them out.” Nat said. Pulling off her shirt and taking off her track pants. She was now stood in bike pants and a sports bra much like what she wore to training in the gym.

Wanda was one step behind as she took off her shirt in a matching outfit to Natasha’s.

You, Wanda and Natasha had been together almost three years now, so it was nothing new. But still, nat had sent Yelena and Kate away just because.

Nat climbed onto the bed beside you and began pulling a sheet over you. Wanda slipped into the bed on your other side and cuddled up close. Sucking in a sharp breath when your frigid skin came into contact with her. You made a small noise of pain and curled into her front. Your face tucked into her chest. Natasha curled up behind you, tucking you between the two of them. Wanda had one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head to her chest. Natasha had her arms over you and on Wanda’s bare hip and back.

After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, and the sound of your short huffy breathes, you began to stir slightly. Your eye’s blinked open before you whined and screwed them shut again.

Wanda carded a hand through your hair and shone softly to you.

“There we go. Come on. Come back to us baby-girl. You’re doing so well for us my love.” She coaxed, her hands tangling in your wet locks.

After a second the sound of the tap shutting off was heard and Yelena’s footsteps came down the hall. She peaked in and smiled at Natasha looking so domestic but bit back a comment.

“Your bath is ready sestra.” Yelena said with her heavy accent hiding her amusement.

“Alright.” Nat said as she shifted Wanda’s arms around you tightened.

“Can i carry her this time?” Wanda asked sounding almost scared to let you go. As if you may disappear.

“Sure baby. But you’ll need to give her to me before you get into the bath with her.” Nat said and she glanced back at the door where Yelena had disappeared from before getting out from under the sheets.

The process of bathing you was simple enough. The flush had come back to your cheeks as Wanda held you in her lap in the bath while Natasha ran and warm cloth over every inch of your skin slowly warming you up. After they had been satisfied you were warm enough, they towelled you off as you start to come around again. They dressed you in Nat’s warm hoodie and Wanda’s red track pants.

Wanda had you in her arms when the three of you re-entered the kitchen slash lounge room.

Yelena grinned. Having set up a nest of sorts on the floor with a ton of blankets and pillows. Kate had five cups of hot chocolate on the bench and a movie queued up.

You buried your face into Wanda’s chest as the five of you got settled into the nest. Blankets were thrown over the five of you and you settled in for the movie.

Wanda’s dinner was still cooking and right now nobody wanted to leave you by yourself let alone out of their sight.

So, you curled up in your girlfriend’s laps and listened to their hearts beat with the soundtrack of parks and recreation playing in the background.

149 notes · View notes

hamsterclaw · 4 months

Text

Bloom

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 2 - read the rest here.

In a post-nuclear war world, all you have is your son Jiwon. You'd do anything to keep him safe, including putting your trust in your new neighbour Kim Namjoon. You hope you haven't made the biggest mistake of your life.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Dystopian future AU, smut, single mother reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, violence

Word count: 7.5k

With thanks to @vyduan for helping me work out the kinks (heh) in this story. Love you, Vy.

Author note: Written in response to an ask I got early in the year - a story I've kept chipping away at and now it's finally finished. Anon, I think about you often and I hope you and your kids are doing well. I hope you've had time to heal and no longer think of yourself as a heartbroken single mom, because you are and have always been more than that.

Your breath comes out in puffs of white as you carry an armful of logs to the furnace powering your greenhouse.

Inside, the air is humid, warm, perfect for the vegetables you’re carefully cultivating. Outside, the cold of a perennial winter’s seeped into your bones.

Nothing grows outside, not since the Great War.

You wonder why they call it ‘great’ when everything is worse now than it was before the war.

You’re emerging from the greenhouse, wiping your hands on a soiled rag, when you hear your new neighbour singing softly.

He’s got a melodious voice with a gorgeous husky tone. You smile to yourself as he sings a tune you know.

Suddenly he stops. ‘Oh shit!’

There’s a clatter of metal against worksurface, the unmistakeable sound of breakage.

You walk up to the wire fence and call out. ‘Need a hand?’

There’s another clatter, then the door to the greenhouse opens and you meet your new neighbour face to face for the first time.

He’s tall, broad shouldered, with a face that makes you wish you’d bothered to comb your hair before you stepped outside this morning.

‘I — uh— heard the noises and just thought I’d check if you were ok,’ you explain.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘Do you have a spare pot? I’ll get you a replacement today, but right now my chilli plant is all over my worktable.’

‘Oh,’ you say, quickly turning. You enter your own greenhouse and emerge with one of your own pots.

‘Here,’ you say, holding it out to him. Your fingertips brush as he takes the pot from you, and you hope you don’t look too flustered.

You say, waving a hand, ‘Don’t worry about a replacement.’

‘My chillies and I thank you,’ he says, so solemnly you laugh.

He smiles warmly at you, and dimples appear in his cheeks.

The juxtaposition of his large frame and his delicately pretty dimples is doing something odd to your fickle heart.

You clear your throat. ‘I’m Y/N,’ you say, suddenly feeling shy.

‘Namjoon,’ he replies.

You turn as your son Jiwon approaches, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

You pull off your coat and wrap it around him.

‘Come on, let’s go inside before you get too cold, ok?’

Jiwon, wrapped in your coat, looks curiously at Namjoon.

‘This is my son, Jiwon. Jiwon, this is our new neighbour Namjoon,’ you say.

You put your arm around Jiwon and lead him back to the house.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ you call over your shoulder.

When you look back, Namjoon’s still standing by the fence, looking at you.

He waves, once, then turns to go back inside.

***

Jiwon regards you over the porridge bowl you’ve made for his breakfast.

His eyes are serious, too serious considering he’s barely eight.

You wish there was a way to protect him from the world.

Instead you make sure he eats, and drinks, and wears his warm coat, because the world may be fucked up but your son isn’t going to go without, not on your watch anyway.

You wonder where Jiwon’s father is now but can’t muster up any emotion about it. The burning desire to watch him suffer faded long ago, leaving nothing in its place.

A blank where your perfect life used to be.

You clear away the plates and pull on your coat.

‘Ready?’

You walk Jiwon to the single room, little more than a shed, where the makeshift school now is, and as you kiss him goodbye and promise him you’ll pick him up later, you wonder whether things will ever change.

It’s been five years since nuclear warfare destroyed the world, four since Jiwon’s father left, and you’re still waiting for life to get better.

Lost in your thoughts, you nearly bump into a uniformed guard.

You bow and apologise profusely.

You can’t see any of the guards’ faces, but you know they make liberal use of their steel batons.

The pain of a physical beating, though, would pale in comparison to being detained by the intention readers.

You could recover from a beating, but not from being thoughtwiped.

You shiver and resolve to be more careful as you walk the rest of the way to the community gardenhouse to start your work.

***

You glance at your watch and pick up the pace. You’re late to pick up Jiwon. There had been a raid at the gardenhouse just before you were due to leave, and you and the other gardeners had been searched for contraband.

You arrive at the schoolhouse just in time to see Jiwon being questioned by a guard.

Your heart stops, and you hurry forward, already apologising to the three guards standing over your son.

He’s slight, small for his age, and he looks even smaller surrounded by guards.

You step in front of Jiwon, putting your arm out to keep him behind you.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, bowing low.

The cold steel of a baton nudges under your chin, hard enough to lift your head.

Terror slices through you as the guard stares down at you, but you try your best to keep still.

The other guard says, ‘Hey, Jaebeom. The General wants us back. Let’s go.’

The baton stills, then the guard withdraws it and holsters it.

He turns away without another look at you.

You grasp Jiwon’s hand, and you don’t let go until you’re safely home.

***

The thin light of dawn’s cutting into the horizon when you emerge from your front door.

Snow’s been falling all night, is still falling now, piled up on your short garden path. You lift the shovel off the hook by your door and get to work clearing the path.

This early, the snow’s still icy and hard to shovel away.

You’re breathing hard by the time you get to the gate, arms aching, face damp with sweat.

Your neighbour Namjoon’s front gate swings open and he walks out, wrapped up warm.

He slows down when he sees you but doesn’t stop.

You give a small smile which he returns before walking off.

You watch him go and wonder what he does to be leaving so early.

You see Jiwon’s light come on and hurry inside to make breakfast.

***

There’s blood in the snow when you arrive back home with Jiwon at the end of the day, drops of red splattered in a trail to your neighbour’s door.

You herd Jiwon safely inside and your conscience gets the better of you.

You walk next door and knock.

It’s a while before Namjoon answers, but as soon as he does you know you’ve done the right thing coming over.

He looks terrible, pale and wincing in pain. There’s a wound in his shoulder, his chest is bare.

You say, ‘let me help,’ and then he’s stepping back, sitting heavily down on a chair.

He’s so tall you barely have to lean down to look at his shoulder.

‘Can you stitch?’ he asks, voice tight, body taut.

‘I’ll patch you up,’ you tell him.

You worked in a field hospital during the War.

Namjoon grits his teeth, pale and tense, whilst you patch his wound.

By the time you’ve dressed it, there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

You don’t like how pale he is.

‘I have to get back to Jiwon,’ you tell him.

He nods.

Something about the way he slumps back in his seat, quiet and exhausted, makes you say, ‘I can stay overnight to watch you, if you have a spare bed for Jiwon to sleep in?’

Namjoon stares at you for so long you make the decision for him.

‘Come on, let me get you to bed,’ you say.

He staggers as he stands, and automatically you slip an arm around his waist.

He leans heavily on you as you take him to his bedroom and help him onto the bed.

He lays down, eyes already closed.

You wait until his breathing eases and then you go to get Jiwon.

By the time you get back, Jiwon in tow, Namjoon’s dead asleep.

You make Jiwon comfortable in the adjoining room, hoping Namjoon won’t mind, and set your alarm to check on him periodically.

He sleeps most of the night, waking up once to stumble to the bathroom.

You get up to check on him. ‘Are you all right, Namjoon?’

Thankfully your presence doesn’t seem to alarm him.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, but you can see the sheen of sweat across his forehead.

You fetch a glass of water and some pain meds from his kitchen. He’s still awake when you knock on his door.

He gulps the water and swallows down the medicine gratefully and lays back.

There’s something about the irregular rhythm of his breathing that makes you offer your hand.

‘The meds will kick in soon,’ you promise him. You squeeze his hand gently.

He murmurs a thank you. When his breathing evens out and the grip of his hand eases, you pull the blanket over his chest and make your way back to the other room where Jiwon is.

It’s sometime just before dawn when you wake. Namjoon’s extra bedroom has a pretty view of his backyard, his greenhouse. The rolling hills in the distance are bare in the winter cold, starkly beautiful.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder where Jiwon’s father is, how he’s doing. If he ever thinks of Jiwon, or you. Beside you, Jiwon stirs.

‘Mama?’

‘Yes, baby?’

‘I’m not a baby,’ Jiwon says indignantly.

‘Ssssh, you’ll wake Namjoon up. Are you hungry?’

Jiwon yawns a little. People have always said he doesn’t look like you or his dad, but in moments like this you can see yourself in him.

‘Come on. Let’s go home and I’ll make breakfast, ok?’

You check on Namjoon as you pass his room, only to find he’s already dressed.

He stands when he sees you, and you’re reminded of the height difference between you.

You step back. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to make sure —‘

As though he’s aware of how his height and size intimidate you, he stops where he is.

‘I want to thank you for looking after me last night,’ he says. ‘Will you have breakfast with me?’

Jiwon marvels so openly at the sugary cereal Namjoon produces from a cupboard you can’t help but smile.

Single parenthood in a post nuclear war world has been challenging, and you’re scared about how many E numbers it’s taken to produce a cereal this unnaturally bright, but Jiwon’s so excited it’s worth it.

Namjoon offers you some, and you accept with a smile. He smiles back at you so warmly that you drop your eyes.

Even injured and tired, your neighbour is the kind of handsome man you don’t think would look twice at you normally.

You cover your skittishness by staring down into your cereal as if fascinated.

By the time you gather the courage to look up, Jiwon’s finished his food.

You’re about to get up to take him home when Namjoon puts out a hand to stop you. ‘Finish your breakfast,’ he says quietly.

He gets up. ‘Come on, Jiwon, I hurt my shoulder yesterday, can you help me in the greenhouse until your mum finishes her food?’

Jiwon falls into step beside Namjoon so naturally you have no qualms about letting them go together. There’s a funny lump in your throat as you watch them walking together through the kitchen window.

You tell yourself sternly to keep it together and not to assign a romantic narrative to your handsome neighbour who’s clearly just repaying your kindness from yesterday.

By the time Namjoon and Jiwon get back, you’ve finished your breakfast and washed up. The kitchen looks like you and Jiwon were never there.

‘Thank you,’ Namjoon says. ‘For looking after me yesterday.’

‘It was no bother at all,’ you tell him, sincerely. ‘Thank you for breakfast.’

You nod to his chest. ‘You should get the wound checked out at the clinic today.’

‘I will,’ Namjoon promises. He waves goodbye to Jiwon and you, standing on his doorstep until you’ve rounded the fence to your side.

***

You’re walking with Jiwon back from school when you realise there’s someone waiting at your door. You can’t see clearly in the evening light, and you tuck Jiwon closer into your side as you approach.

You call a greeting, and a moment later the person steps into the light and you realise it’s Namjoon.

‘Hi,’ you say, unable to hide your relief.

‘Hi,’ he replies, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just by the river and I passed a cart selling these and I thought Jiwon might like them.’

He holds out a paper wrapped bundle of bungeoppang, still warm despite the cold.

Jiwon’s reached out, already thanking him, and you look up at Namjoon.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you, they’re his favourite.’

‘There’s enough for both of you,’ Namjoon says.

He’s stepping away, halfway down your yard when he stops.

‘Your gate lock’s broken,’ he says. ‘I can help you fix it if you want.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ you say hastily. The lock’s been broken for a while, you’d meant to fix it but it’s been a busy month at the communal greenhouse.

‘It’s not safe,’ he says gently. ‘Not with both of you in the house.’

His words, though gently spoken, send a flush of shame through you.

He must think you’re such a mess, incapable of even keeping yourself and your son safe.

He doesn’t give you time to answer. ‘I have tools. I’ll come over tomorrow and fix it, ok?’

‘Thank you,’ you say. There’s a quiver in your voice, you hope he doesn’t know you well enough to hear it.

You open your door and usher Jiwon in from the cold.

***

You’re clearing your garden path the next morning, shovelling snow, when Namjoon comes to fix the gate.

He nods politely at you, then gets to work. He doesn’t seem to want to chat, particularly, but that’s fine with you as you’re out of breath from clearing the path anyway.

Namjoon disappears briefly once the lock’s fixed, comes back with a bag of grit over his shoulder.

‘Let me grit your path,’ he offers, and you let him as he’s already brought the damn stuff over.

You invite him in as you prepare Jiwon’s breakfast.

He sits at your table, looking big in your small kitchen but not out of place.

There’s a picture on the wall of you and Jiwon’s father, from the Christmas that Jiwon turned two.

You can see him looking at it as you pass him a mug.

Namjoon asks, ‘Is that Jiwon’s father?’

You look at the photo. In it, you’re holding Jiwon up, and Hiro, Jiwon’s father, is laid on the floor, tickling his feet. There are the trappings of what Christmas was like before the war scattered all around you.

Luxuries that weren’t until everything else was taken away.

‘Yes,’ you say. You lean against the kitchen sink, hold up your own mug. ‘He left after the war.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He looks like he means it.

‘It’s ok,’ you tell him, honestly. ‘We’re doing ok, and Jiwon doesn’t remember much of him.’

There’s a moment of silence, then you hear Jiwon’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

He greets Namjoon with a total lack of surprise at seeing him at the breakfast table. You’re amused at the nonchalant way Jiwon greets Namjoon, and then you realise it might be because of Namjoon’s calm, gentle manner.

For all his size, you find it difficult to envision Namjoon ever hurting anyone or anything.

***

The guards come for you a few weeks later, late at night when Jiwon’s asleep. You’re putting away the washing up when there’s a knocking at the door.

Impatient, demanding.

You crack the door open only to have to step back quickly as the door is pushed inward, towards you.

The two guards who enter have epaulets on their shoulders signifying them as of a low rank.

Any rank can detain a civilian for thoughtwiping, though.

The chill in your spine is only partially environmental.

‘Are you the wife of Hiro Kwon?’

You keep your tone calm, steady. ‘We’re estranged. I haven’t seen him in years.’

‘We have reason to believe he stole a very important pre-war relic from General Dei.’

You know where this is going.

‘My son is sleeping upstairs, can I take him into the greenhouse whilst you search my house?’

The guard closest to you gives you a hard stare.

‘He has nightmares,’ you say, pleading.

You fetch Jiwon, get him dressed and take him outside whilst the guards search your house. He leans against you, quiet. You hate that events like this are a part of his life.

Next door, Namjoon’s light is on.

When the guards come out to tell you that you can re-enter your own house, you hear Namjoon’s door opening.

He walks up to the fence, and your heart stops.

He’s wearing full guard uniform, with epaulets that show he outranks the guards questioning you.

Sweet, gentle Namjoon from next door is a high-ranking official in the guard.

And you? You’re the biggest fool alive.

He’s looking at you and Jiwon, face impassive, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he takes you in.

Beside you, Jiwon’s shivering, and automatically, you slip your coat off to wrap around him.

You turn back to the guards. You’re still struggling with the weight of recent revelations but you need to get Jiwon back inside.

‘May we go?’

The guard stops you, drawing his baton, and you freeze.

‘He can go. We have more questions for you.’

You can’t look at Namjoon.

‘Of course. Let me take him up to bed and I’ll answer any questions you have.’

The walk back downstairs after you put Jiwon to bed feels like your feet are too heavy for your body.

You cast an eye at the mirror in your hallway. Your expression is a perfect blank, unreadable. You already know the lengths you’ll go to, to keep Jiwon safe.

The questions start innocently enough.

When did you last see your husband?

When did he last try to contact you?

You’re asked differently worded versions of the same questions repeatedly.

Your answers get shorter as the questioning goes on, and then the baton comes out even though you haven’t moved.

It raps on the table next to your hand, and you can’t help it, you startle badly at the sound.

There’s a knock at the door, then.

You look to the guards, and the younger one gets up to answer.

He returns with Namjoon.

Namjoon’s face is impassive. He gives you a once over, then nods to the two guards.

‘Leave us, I’ll handle this.’

The tension in the room ramps up as the guards leave, and by the time the door closes behind them, it’s taking all your strength to stay still.

Namjoon, as though sensing your turmoil, takes a step back, away from you.

His voice is low, quiet, but you have no difficulty hearing him.

‘Did they hurt you?’ he asks.

You look up at him, trying to read his expression. ‘No, they didn’t,’ you answer.

He lets out a breath that sounds relieved.

‘Have you heard from your husband?’ he asks.

‘I told you, we’re estranged,’ you reply.

You can hear Jiwon moving upstairs. You turn back to Namjoon.

‘Can I go to him? I’ll come back down, I just want to make sure he’s ok —-‘

Namjoon’s expression changes. He looks stunned.

‘Of course, I wouldn’t stop you.’

When you come back down Namjoon’s still standing where you left him.

‘It’s late, you should go to bed,’ he says. His eyes search yours.

You look back at him, at the epaulets adorning his broad shoulders.

He must have earned them somehow.

The thought makes you avert your eyes, set your chin.

‘I will,’ you say, neutral, cool.

Namjoon waits like he’s got more to say, but when you look up, he’s headed to your kitchen door, letting himself out.

You lock the door behind him and breathe out, fully, for the first time in hours.

***

You wake the next morning to sounds outside your window.

There’s a man in your garden, and you’d be alarmed if Jiwon didn’t have a similar profile.

It’s Hiro.

You open the back door and gesture him in.

He looks older, thinner, but he still has the spark in his eye that drew you to him. You’re surprised to find you don’t feel anything about his sudden appearance apart from the faintest pleasure of seeing someone who was once dear to you.

You moved on out of necessity, and there’s no going back.

‘The guards are looking for you,’ you say, once you’ve made him a drink.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I need somewhere to stay. Do you have any money?’

‘Not much,’ you tell him. ‘I can spare some.’

Hiro touches your hand, on the table in between you, and you pull back, startled.

You get up, gather the banknotes you’ve saved, and give him what you can.

‘Can I see him?’ Hiro asks.

You don’t have it in your heart to say no. ‘Don’t wake him.’

You take him upstairs to Jiwon’s room, let him peer through the crack in the door.

When Hiro turns back to you, there are tears in his eyes.

You have nothing left to say.

***

The raid on the communal greenhouse today was unexpected, and you weren’t quite quick enough to get out of the way of a wayward baton strike.

Your wrist throbs dully, your fingers are swollen, and the painkillers you dry-swallowed are only just about taking the edge off.

You’ve sent Jiwon to bed and are trying to dislodge the sack of fertiliser from the top shelf of your greenhouse one-handed, panting at the effort, when Namjoon’s porch light comes on.

Startled, you lose your balance and fall off the crate you’re balancing on, just about managing to protect your wrist as you land.

The noise you’ve made draws Namjoon to the fence.

Thankfully, he’s not wearing his guard uniform.

When he sees you on the ground he disappears, appearing a moment later on your side of the fence, breathing hard from rushing over.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, helping you up.

You’re about to answer when his face darkens. ‘What happened to your hand?’

Your hiss of pain when he reaches for you makes him flinch.

‘Here,’ he says.

He cups a hand under your elbow gently, helping you back into your kitchen.

He frowns even more when he sees how swollen your wrist is.

‘We need to get you to a clinic,’ he says.

‘I can’t leave Jiwon, I’ll go in the morning,’ you tell him.

‘You can’t leave this overnight,’ Namjoon insists.

He runs a hand over his face. ‘I’ll call my friend.’

‘I’m fine —‘

‘You aren’t,’ Namjoon says, the shortest he’s ever been with you. ‘I have a friend who’s a nurse, I’ll call him.’

You sit quietly in your kitchen as he makes the call.

‘Jimin will be here soon,’ he tells you when he returns.

You’re too on edge to ask about Jimin.

You want to tell him that you’re fine, but when you open your mouth, you say, ‘Hiro, my ex husband, came here yesterday asking for money.’

Namjoon considers this in silence.

‘If the guards find out —-‘

‘I’m sure as hell not going to tell them,’ Namjoon says, sharp. ‘And neither should you.’

‘You’re a guard,’ you point out.

‘And you told me because you know I’m not like them,’ Namjoon says. His voice is neutral, without inflection.

‘I told you because I don’t want you to get into trouble because of your association with me. Especially after they came looking for Hiro,’ you argue.

You get up. ‘And yes, because you aren’t like them.’

As soon as you say the words you realise they’re true.

On some level you know, from the sides of him he’s shown to you, that Namjoon isn’t like the guards you’ve seen.

Namjoon rubs his eyes. He looks tired.

‘My father was a commander in the first generation of guards,’ he tells you. There’s a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘That didn’t save me from being thoughtwiped.’

You stare at him in shock.

‘I have all the right decorations,’ Namjoon continues, gesturing to his shoulders.

He meets your gaze. ‘I can’t excuse the things I’ve done in the past to earn them. I was young, eager to please my father, eager to keep my mother safe, and there’s nothing safer than being a guard.’

There’s bitterness in his voice now.

‘I had my limit though, as warped as I was, and I protested against an order I was commanded to carry out.’ He pauses. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

‘Your past is a fog once you’ve been thoughtwiped, but it comes back slowly, in flashes. Like a puzzle that’s incomplete.’

You’re so caught up in Namjoon’s story you’ve forgotten about the pain in your wrist.

‘This isn’t about me but I told you this because I want you to trust me,’ Namjoon says. He touches your arm, gentle. ‘There’s no threat to you, from me.’

You believe him.

You’re about to say so when there’s a knock at your door.

Namjoon gets up and returns with a man with kind eyes who introduces himself as Jimin.

He tends to your wrist with a gentleness that almost brings you to tears, binding it and placing it in a brace that eases the pain a little.

‘It’s probably broken,’ Jimin tells you, ‘but this is the best I can do until you can get to the clinic.’

You thank him gratefully.

‘Namjoon says you have a son. If you bring him to my clinic I’ll do a health check for free,’ Jimin offers.

You can’t thank him enough for his kindness.

After he leaves, Namjoon says, ‘Do you have a spare room? Or I can sleep on the couch.’

You stare at him, overwhelmed. ‘I don’t have a spare room —-‘

‘The couch it is,’ Namjoon says.

‘You don’t have to —‘

‘You did it for me when I was injured,’ Namjoon points out. He dimples at you. ‘Don’t let me miss my chance to play nursemaid….’

You can’t imagine anyone who looks less like a nursemaid than your tall, broad, handsome neighbour.

‘You can take my bed,’ you offer.

There’s a beat of silence, and you realise how it must have sounded to him.

Oh no.

You splutter in your haste to explain. ‘Oh my god, I meant you can take my bed, for you, alone. I can take the couch.’

Namjoon looks like he’s holding back a smile.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ he says, very gently. ‘Now you should go to bed, you look very tired.’

You take yourself off to bed before your mouth betrays you again.

***

You wake to familiar scraping outside. You get up, hissing at the dull flare of pain in your injured wrist, and head for your bedroom window.

It’s Namjoon, clearing your garden path. He pauses to wipe a hand over his forehead, breath coming out in white puffs.

You pull on a robe and head down to the kitchen, open the back door.

‘Hey,’ you call.

He turns immediately, face creasing in concern. ‘How’s your wrist?’

‘Still broken,’ you say cheerfully.

A dimple flashes in his cheek.

‘Go sit down, I’ll finish this and make us breakfast.’

Despite Namjoon’s instructions, you start on breakfast anyway, you’re used to looking after you and Jiwon.

‘I’ll walk Jiwon to school so you can go straight to the clinic,’ Namjoon says.

You look at Jiwon.

Jiwon’s bright smile is all the answer you need.

***

You wake in the dead of night, heart thumping, blood rushing in your ears.

You’re up and out of bed before you’re fully awake, hand on Jiwon’s door, when you hear it again.

The same noise that woke you up.

The creak of your front gate.

You hear footsteps to your front door, then the knocking starts.

You wake Jiwon, wrap him in his coat, wishing you’d remembered your own.

‘Open the door, by the order of the guard,’ shouts a male voice, making you stumble in fear, making your adrenaline surge.

You glimpse the grandfather clock on your landing as you hurry through to the kitchen with Jiwon.

It’s 2am.

You doubt this is a routine interrogation.

It feels more like a raid.

You grab Jiwon’s face, make him look at you.

‘If we get separated, run through the gate and into Namjoon’s greenhouse. Don’t wait for me.’

Your voice is calm, your eyes serious, and Jiwon, with the wisdom of a much older child, nods.

You pull his coat closed, and take a breath, gathering your wits about you before you pull open the back door.

There’s no one there. The guards are still at the front of the house.

You hold Jiwon’s hand, tight, and step into the night.

***

You make it into Namjoon’s greenhouse just as your kitchen lights come on.

Your heart pounds like drums in your chest, insistent, so loud you’re worried anyone within a half mile could hear it.

You tuck Jiwon into a corner between sacks of fertiliser, stacked up, and listen intently.

There’s shouting, the sounds of doors slamming.

You hope it’s snowing hard enough to cover the tracks you and Jiwon made.

There’s nothing you can do about it now.

You wait, Jiwon tucked as far back as you could put him, hands gripping the shovel you grabbed from the back of the door.

Beams of light bounce over the glass wall, freezing you into position. You close your eyes.

The door creaks open, and you stop breathing.

Steps, then in your terror it takes you a while to recognise Namjoon’s face.

Your eyes meet.

Namjoon holds up a hand, the barest of movements, then he shouts, loud and clear, ‘They’re not in here.’

Your heart pumps, and you start to breathe again.

***

It’s hours before Namjoon returns to the greenhouse, face drawn and tired.

He says, ‘We need to go.’

‘Where?’ you ask, when you’re really thinking, ‘We?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

Namjoon scoops Jiwon into his arms like he weighs nothing, and you follow.

Your limbs are stiff from the cold and the tension of waiting to be caught, but you make them bend to your will, keeping up with Namjoon’s longer strides.

‘I’ve got a car, a mile from here, can you walk?’ Namjoon asks, terse.

You notice the backpack he has slung onto his shoulders.

‘I can carry something,’ you say, ‘Give me the pack.’

Namjoon’s tense expression softens, just enough to be perceived, as he glances at you.

‘Keep pace with me,’ he says.

It takes you a quarter of an hour to reach the car, parked alongside a warehouse.

Namjoon places Jiwon in the backseat, tucks a blanket over him, unlocks the trunk to place the backpack inside.

You climb into the front passenger seat, watch as he starts the engine. His hand curls around the gear shaft, and you put your hand over his.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ you ask.

There’s no going back from this. It’s one thing to not report you to the Guard, it’s completely another to help you get away.

Namjoon looks at your hand on his for a moment.

‘I haven’t felt this strongly about anything in a while,’ he says.

He looks up at you. ‘This is the only right thing I’ve done in a long time.’

He puts his other hand on top of yours briefly, then pulls away to start the engine.

He drives.

***

Dawn’s breaking by the time you reach your destination, a cabin deep in the mountains that you access via a narrow road buffeted with snow drifts.

Namjoon cuts the engine, sits back, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks tired.

‘Are you ok?’ you ask, tentative.

‘Better now,’ he says, some of the tension leaving his expression. ‘Better now that we’re here.’

Jiwon’s stirring now that you’ve stopped, looking at you and Namjoon with a quiet resignation.

You hate that he’s grown to accept his world constantly being turned upside down as his due.

Namjoon turns back to look at him, a dimple popping in his cheek as he smiles.

‘Hey, are you hungry, Jiwon? I have some cereal in the cabin.’

Your heart teeters at Namjoon’s easy kindness towards your son, about to fall.

You’re about to fall for this man who you owe so much to, fool that you are.

You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm, eyes alight with gratitude. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon glances at you, hesitates.

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he tells you. ‘I — I wanted to help.’

You think about his words as you help Jiwon out of the car and you head for the cabin together.

***

Jiwon’s asleep, you make sure he’s tucked in warm before you go into the main part of the cabin.

Namjoon’s standing by the window, his large frame taking up almost all of it, face tilted up, like he’s looking at the sky.

He turns when he sees you.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ll get the generator working tomorrow.’

There’s a fire in the hearth, not quite enough to light up the whole cabin but it’s warm enough.

‘Don’t apologise,’ you tell him.

You can’t see all of his face in the shadows, so you step forward.

‘Jiwon and I wouldn’t be safe, here, if it weren’t for you.’

‘It was a woman and her son,’ he says, a change of subject so abrupt he’s lost you for a second before he continues.

‘They wanted me to thoughtwipe her because of something her son did. Something stupid, meaningless.’

He turns to look out the window again. ‘I refused.’

‘That’s when they thoughtwiped you,’ you say. It’s not a question.

He laughs, short, harsh. ‘And then they thoughtwiped her anyway. Last I heard she and her son were separated, sent to different sectors.’

You step forward again, wanting to see his face.

‘You’re a good man, Namjoon,’ you tell him. ‘You can’t be responsible for everything.’

‘I should have done more,’ he says, flat.

‘You’ve done a lot for us,’ you point out.

You still can’t see his face, but you can see the sadness in the line of his shoulders, poignant and beautiful.

You take another step forward, cup his cheek. His skin’s warm, and there’s the faintest pressure against your palm as he leans into your touch.

You shiver a little, more from the feel of him than from the cold, but he’s quick to react, slipping the fleece off his broad shoulders and placing it over yours.

For a moment his arms are around you, and you’re within a breath of turning away, would have turned away if you hadn’t felt the shift in his weight.

He’s leaning on you.

You curl your hand around his neck, and he leans down with the faintest pressure from your fingertips.

A thrill races through you as his lips brush yours, blooming into a pulse, heady and throbbing as you tilt your head to kiss him again.

He’s slow, so gentle it takes you a while to realise that his kisses are robbing you of your breath.

The tip of his tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, a question you answer by parting them.

Letting him in.

His hand travels down your side to land on your hip, tentative.

Another question.

This time you slide your arms around his waist, under his top. The warm skin of his back is smooth under your hands.

He grunts softly as you pull him closer, comes willingly.

He kisses you again, firmer this time, and you melt into him.

Gradually, in stages, closer and closer until you’re so close you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He cups the back of your head, pulls away just enough to say, ‘The couch.’

You follow him to the couch, and he tilts his head for another kiss.

You put a hand flat on his chest to steady yourself, and he puts his own hand over yours, covering it completely, anchoring you to him.

‘I haven’t done this in a while,’ you tell him.

‘Me either,’ he says.

His dimple flashes. ‘We can remind each other.’

Namjoon’s a patient man, you knew this about him already.

You hadn’t expected him to be quite this patient though, not pushing you even though you can feel how hard he is under you.

‘Do you want to keep going?’ you ask.

‘So badly,’ he tells you, huffing out a breath, tilting his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, hard.

You lick a stripe along his neck, and he shivers, gripping your shoulder.

‘Do it again,’ he says, voice dropped low. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘Please,’ you say, and to your delight, his hands drop to the front lapels of your (his) shirt.

‘You look good in my clothes,’ he murmurs. He kisses down your chest, slow, open-mouthed, and by the time he gets to your breasts you’re vibrating with need.

He takes the tip of your breast into his mouth, sucking delicately at first, then more strongly when you moan his name.

Every pull of his mouth makes you pulse and tighten, and you don’t realise you’re grinding against him until his big hand grips your hip.

‘Stop, or I’ll come,’ he warns, voice thick, gravelly now.

‘Take your clothes off,’ you say.

He undoes the fly of his jeans, and the damp patch you see where his cock’s tenting his boxer briefs makes your mouth water.

He stops you with your hands on your own sweatpants, says, ‘Let me.’

Before you realise quite what he’s doing, he’s slid onto his knees on the floor, has tugged your sweatpants down to reveal your thighs, the hot stickiness between your legs.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties. Poises himself, open mouthed over your core.

Looks to you once, eyes hooded, and whatever he sees in your face makes him bend down and put his mouth to you.

You cry out, muffled behind your own hand, and he stops instantly.

‘Is this ok?’ he asks.

‘Yes, yes, please,’ you tell him.

He watches you as he slides his tongue over your slit, eyes hooded and hot.

He’s good with his tongue, you realise dimly in the back of your mind as he laps at you. He swallows audibly, and your hips dance under his mouth.

‘Joon,’ you moan, and he hums, deep voice vibrating against your skin.

‘Joon,’ you moan again. His hand splays on the curve of your hip, fingers tightening on your flesh.

This time, he moans in response, and you cry out, throaty and hoarse, as he sucks at your clit with renewed fervour, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

‘Joon!’

He pushes a finger into you, and you come with a gush of wet, walls tightening around him, your entire body tensing for a glorious instant before giving way to waves of pleasure.

Namjoon groans, deep in his chest, and you reach out and grip his hips, guiding him between your legs.

‘Wait,’ he says, touching your face, gentle though you can feel him hard as steel at your entrance, the blunt fullness of his cockhead nudging, seeking. ‘Are you sure you want this?’

‘Yes,’ you say, ‘yes.’

Namjoon groans again, pressing into you, filling you so well your body arches like a bow against his.

‘Feel so good,’ he utters, jaw tight, voice raspy.

He moves strongly within you, taking control with a confidence that thrills you to your toes.

He says your name as he moves, guttural and wanting, the slide of him into you making sparks bloom behind your eyelids.

He grasps your hand, fingers knitting with yours, as you writhe and moan underneath him.

‘Sound so pretty,’ Namjoon groans. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t —‘

You grip his shoulder. ‘I want you to come, Joon,’ you breathe, mouth by his ear.

He groans again then, circles his hips, and then thrusts deep, spilling his warmth inside you.

He’s still for a moment, breathing hard against your ear.

You turn your head to kiss him.

You’re still holding his hand, and it’s a while before either of you let go.

***

You pour out a mug of coffee from the pot Namjoon’s brewed, go out to where you can hear Namjoon chopping wood outside.

He’s concentrating, splitting chunks of wood with a careful precision.

He looks up as you approach, and his smile warms you.

‘Hey,’ he says.

You’d ended up sleeping tangled up with Namjoon. Some time during the night you’d woken to find him pushing your hair back from your face.

You’d pulled him down on top of you, taken him in again, slow, languid, bodies moving together until you’d gasped and come, muffled against his chest.

‘Hey,’ you reply.

‘Jiwon still asleep?’ he asks.

‘He’s exhausted,’ you say.

‘Glad we didn’t wake him,’ Namjoon says.

‘He’s a pretty good sleeper.’

Namjoon glances at you, and you flush.

‘I didn’t mean —’

He laughs at how flustered you are.

‘Good to know he sleeps well,’ Namjoon says. There’s a spark in his eyes now, dimples flashing in his cheeks.

For all his size and height and seriousness, your handsome neighbour looks like a little boy trying to get a rise out of you when he’s like this.

He watches, amusement in his face, as you sip the coffee to try to hide your discomfiture.

When you look back at him, he’s gathering up an armful of wood.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘When Jiwon wakes up I need to talk to both of you.’

***

The sun’s high in the gloomy sky by the time Jiwon wakes, lured by the smells of breakfast and the warmth of the fire in the fireplace.

After breakfast, Namjoon clears the table, and then sits you all down.

‘We can’t stay here for long,’ he says, seriously. ‘The guards don’t know about this place, but it’s not safe, and they’ll still be looking for you.’

‘There’s a place close to the border where there’s a new community, away from the guarded sectors.’

You’re looking at Namjoon, carefully, and he’s looking right back at you.

‘We could go there. It’ll be hard, probably, at the beginning.’

You turn to Jiwon.

Hard?

Harder than the life you have now?

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you need to find a better future, for Jiwon.

Stability.

You ask the question you asked in your head when you left home with Namjoon.

‘We?’

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘I’d like to go with you. If that’s ok.’

You’re looking at Jiwon again.

The hopeful expression on his face makes the decision for you.

***

Ten years later

You’re waiting at the train station for Jiwon.

There’s a chill in the air still, it’s cold for spring but warmer than it has been in recent years.

A lot’s changed in the last ten years.

You, Namjoon and Jiwon had moved to the new community at just the right time.

It had been hard at first, but nothing compared to the constant fear of being detained by the guards.

The world’s been rebuilding itself after the War.

With your experience as a communal gardener, you’d been able to set up your own hydroponic greenhouse, and demand built up for your produce, to the point where you’ve been able to hire your own crew of gardeners and expand.

Jiwon had thrived in the new community, and when universities re-opened, he’d been accepted as part of the first few cohorts of students.

His university was a few hours away, but the redevelopment of public transport meant there was a regular train linking his campus and your home.

The home you built with Namjoon.

In recent years, you’ve seen more and more of the light-hearted, humorous Namjoon and less of the troubled, serious Namjoon you first met.

Your love for him has only grown.

He approaches you now, a little older, but still as heartbreakingly handsome as the day you met him.

You think the best decision you ever made for you and Jiwon was to let him in.

And now Jiwon’s on his way back for Christmas, and your heart is full.

Namjoon hands you the coffee he bought you from the cafe, and when you tilt your face up to his he leans down.

It’s a learned response from years of adjusting his height so you can reach to kiss him.

You press a kiss onto his cheek, over his dimple, and his arm slides around you to hold you tight to him.

The train pulls into the station, and Namjoon grasps your hand as it stops.

The carriage doors open, and your beautiful son steps out.

Physically, he looks like you, but the confidence in his bearing, the kindness in his face, the roguish twinkle in his eyes?

That’s you, and Namjoon.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon fic #namjoon scenario #bangtan christmas 2023

304 notes · View notes

yandereaffections · 1 year

Text

Marvel Masterlist

looking for spiderman/peter parker? He has his own Masterlist ❤

Steve Rogers

Delusional Steve

Pregnant S/o

Single Parent S/o

Headcannons

Tony Stark vs Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes vs Steve Rogers

Touchy with friends S/o

How Steve spoils S/o

Amnesiac S/o

Nuclear Apocalypse

Killer Steve

Werewolf Steve

Avenger S/o

Rebellious S/o

Steve finding S/o after running away with another man

Hearing S/o sing

S/os friend helping them Escape

Trying to break up with him

S/o goes missing

Steve protecting Villain S/o

Famous S/o

Delusional 50s Fantasy

Clinging onto S/o who doesn’t like being touched

Hospitalized S/o

S/o Framed into Execution

Living in the 40s with S/o

S/o who can die from pregnancy

Bucky/Steve sharing S/o

S/o who is already dating

Insecure S/o

Professor Steve dating College student S/o

necromancer S/o

Haunted House w/ Steve and Bucky

Werewolf Vampire Hybrid Steve

Alien S/o hiding parts of themselves

Ghost Steve communicating through Ouija Board

Figuring out S/os a Lizard human hybrid

S/o suffering from constant headaches

Someone attempting to drug S/o

Model S/o

At a BLM Protest

House spouse S/o

Easily scared S/o who loves horror movies

Doing his makeup when hes asleep

Platonic relationship with his daughter

S/o spending more time with bucky and sam

Magical girl hero S/o

S/o being on team Iron man during civil war

Bucky Barnes

Headcannons

Winning you over

Bucky Barnes vs Natasha Romanoff

S/o that loves their Stalker

Bucky Barnes vs Steve Rogers

Winter Solider Falling for a Civilian

Gore + Torture TW

Hunted Down

Trick or Treating w/ Bucky

Perusing Dating after Hydra

S/o who is affectionate towards friends

Bucky as a Parent

Prioritizing your child over him

Bucky being in college while S/os still in HS

Bucky w/ Daughter, platonic

S/o w/ cystic fibrosis

S/o who is scared of Bucky

Shoving Buckys head into your chest when angry

King Bucky

Soulmate AU

Crush with a shit boyfriend

S/o that loves pampering Bucky

Running away cause Someone broke in

Running away to the Police

Steve/Bucky sharing S/o

Recently freed Bucky taking refuge with you

Cuddlebug S/o

Pro baker S/o

kpop fan Dancer S/o

Halloween Date

Yandere Letter

Haunted House w/ Steve and Bucky

Shy S/o

Werewolf S/o

Witch S/o accidentally turning herself into a cat

Oblivious S/o

Darlings scared of bugs

Petite S/o

Artistic s/o

Getting a handmade blanket from S/o

S/o insecure about their high pitched voice

S/o whos always tired

Treating his wounds

Torture

Touch starved S/o that doesnt know how to show affection

S/o drools in their sleep

Air head S/o

Darling who enjoys being taken care of

S/o whos kidnapped by random people

Fluff Headcannons

“it feels like home when im with you”

S/o who was verbally abused as a kid, made to believe youll never be loved

Darling who has shit friends

Hydra S/o who tries to brainwash him again

S/o who jokes around when nervous

S/o that likes to be carried by his metal arm

S/o with a regular prosthetic arm

S/o got injured trying to escape

General protective HC

Stephen Strange

Using his powers to get his S/o

Chasing S/o down

Insecure S/o

Single Parent S/o

Apprentice S/o

Jealous of his Cloak

Using his powers on his Dead S/o

Kidnapping S/o

Yandere Cloak

“Be good for me this time. I don’t want to see you cry again.”

Jealous

Patient S/o

Tony Stark vs Stephen Strange

Taking their S/o away from their abusive family

S/o with a flat chest

Red string of fate AU

S/o with PTSD

Oblivious S/o

Apprentice S/o getting hurt

Poly Naga Stephen + Tony

Cannibal S/o

Accident Prone S/o

Comforting Anxious S/o

Watching S/o sleep

S/o getting hurt during a city attack

Healer S/o distrusting him cause they think hes using them

S/o favoring his cape as a coping mechanism

Asexual S/o

Darling with narcolepsy and chronic pain

S/o is as good and talented as him

Sneaking out only to come back with puppies

S/o who has bad anxiety attacks

Using his cape to find S/o who sleeps in odd places

Chaotic s/o

Quiet s/o playing ACNH

S/os first time seeing snow

S/o whose ok with being kidnapped as long as they can go to amusement parks

Kidnapped S/o keeps passing out due to fear

S/o wanting to dance in the rain

S/o has the power to teleport

Demon S/o

Thor Odison

Headcannons

NS FW headcannons

Loki vs Thor

Loki vs Thor Preference

Stronger than Thor thinks S/o

Teaching Thor about Halloween

Finding Puppies

Loki Odison

Headcannons

Loki vs Thor

Loki vs Thor Preference

S/o in arranged marriage

Using a Love Potion on his S/o

Naga Loki

Affectionate S/o

Teasing his S/o

Valentines Day

S/o who can sing

Insecure S/o who keeps rejecting him

S/os Suicide TW

Brutally taking his Soul mate

Supportive S/o

Harassed S/o

Possessive S/o

Liking his Hair touched by S/o

Halloween Date

Someone cat calling his Darling

Drunk S/o

Asexual s/o

S/o whos best friends with Tony

Depressed S/o

Magica girl S/o

Vampire loki hunting down a s/o whos having fun with it

Platonic yandere HC

T’Challa

Headcannons

T’challa Vs Erik

S/o getting Married to someone else after he gets Snapped

Tony Stark

Headcannons

“I sent you more gifts! do you like them?!

NS FW headcannons

Sugar Daddy

S/o getting attention to the constant attention he attracts

Tony Stark vs Steve Rogers

Cold in Public yet Cuddly in Private

Pushover S/o

Tsundere S/o

Jealous of the amount of attention Steves giving S/o

The Purge

Plus size Lingerie model S/o

“How else would they know you belonged to me?”

“its like you were made for me”

S/o who doesnt mind his Yandere tendencies

Jealous Tony

Finding a kitten

Shy/Book-wormy S/o

Valentines Day

Stephen Strange vs Tony Stark

S/os first relationship

Nerdy S/o

Poor yet incredibly Sweet S/o

S/o not wanting anything to do with Tony

Touchy S/o Hiding behind him

Zombie Apocalypse

Sugar Daddy to a Male College student S/o

Single Parent S/o

Learning S/o has Terminal Heart Cancer

S/o with a Prosthetic Leg

Cute S/o that listens to Death Metal

Drawing Tony in a maid outfit

Blind S/o

Vampire S/o

S/o who shuts down after kidnapping

Yandere S/o protecting their Love interest

Punishing S/o who tried to escape

Artist S/o

S/o who can see ghosts

Suicidal S/o TW

“Hey demons its ya boy”

Making Halloween costumes

Poly Naga Stephen+Tony

Tonys Type

Hunted Down

S/o having a delayed reaction to being Kidnapped

Injured S/o

S/o being hit on by Quentin Beck

Cyber stalking

S/os in the military

Crush thinking his Flirts are only jokes

Losing S/o to the Snap

Comforting S/o after a bad day

Strong Kick ass S/o

Not knowing S/o immortal, watching them get stabbed

S/o loving DIY stuff

Finding out S/o been begging to Jarvis to help them escape

S/o secretly making robo stuff

S/o having inhuman strength

terrorist S/o

S/o calling ptsd “spicy nostalgia”

Tonys s/o phasing through security after being kidnapped

Life Threatening Situation

Male S/o is a single parent

Modest S/o wont let him spoil them

S/o in a depressive episode

What kind of gifts does he buy his darling

How he shows affection

dealing with competing suitors

Proposal HC

Vampire Tony Hunted down

Incubus Tony

Assassin S/o

Natasha Romanoff

Headcannons

Dealing with competition

Wanda vs Natasha

Bucky vs Natasha

S/o whos not into girls

Hunted Down

S/o Disobeying

Avenger S/o

Choosing S/os Clothes

Shy s/o

Wanda Maximoff

Wanda vs Natasha

Headcannons

Bisexual S/o

Vampire Wanda

ADHD & Autistic S/o

Okoye

Headcannons

S/o who runs away

Nick Fury

Headcannons

Shy and Quiet S/o

Bruce Banner

Being able to control his emotions

Headcannons

Hela Odison

Headcannons

Carol Danvers-

headcannons

Powerful S/o

Single parent s/o

Oblivious S/o

Oblivious S/o is getting flirted with

Vision

Hunted down

Doc Oc

Parental/Platonic HC

Steve Rodgers

NS FW HC

Cockwarming

Vocal Steve

Turned on during a mission

College Virgin S/o slightly

Breeding HC

Femdom

Bucky Barnes

Stealing S/os underwear

Another Underwear Stealing

NS FW alphabet

NS FW Headcannons

Sexually frustrated Bucky

Getting Caught

Dominate Bucky

Sitting on his face

Stephen Strange

NS FW headcannons

Thor

Werewolf Thors Heat

Loki

NS FW headcannons

NS FW alphabet

Orgasm denial + Aphrodisiac

Tony Stark

NS FW Alphabet

S/o has a high Sex Drive

S/os First Time

Corruption

NON-CON Bdsm TW

Submissive tony

Natasha

“You’re such a pretty little thing tied up like that”

NS FW headcannons

Wanda

NS FW headcannons

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katsukikitten · 11 months

Text

A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest.

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders.

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot.

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race.

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best.

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight.

Humans.

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first.

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went.

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what?

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first.

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.

You think you choke when you swallow.

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes.

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief.

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it.

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably.

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it.

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time.

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home.

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands.

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.

Should you start digging your own now too?

Since no one else was going to be around to do it.

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders.

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property.

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up.

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well.

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left.

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night.

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough.

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log.

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand.

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all.

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake.

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep?

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling.

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he?

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate.

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death.

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting.

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise.

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs.

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel.

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in.

ASTRID EMROY

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet.

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure.

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them.

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box.

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine.

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm.

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX Six years after the "Rapture"

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this.

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules.

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta.

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house.

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya.

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter.

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows.

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it.

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too.

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory.

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home.

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck.

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere.

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around.

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink.

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard.

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone.

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow.

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust.

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl.

But at least you had your strawberries.

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit.

Well, well worth the price.

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou Katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #kitten writes bakugou 🖤🐈‍⬛ 🖋️

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theghoulgirl · 3 months

Text

Adoration (Keith Kogane/Reader)

A 1,300 word oneshot that takes place after the war in which Keith and the reader both live together. Pretty much a slice-of-life in which they both get ready for bed on a cold winter night. (18+)

I also know I am writing for a pretty lifeless fandom, but alas, I wrote this because I wanted to. Not because I expect much traffic to come across it. If you do happen to stubble upon it, then I hope you enjoy!

As the sun wore down on the horizon, it covered the small town in a frigid chill. Luckily the two lovers were tucked away indoors in a desperate attempt to fend off the cold that crept outdoors. But despite their attempt, the youngest of the love birds could not effectively beat the freezing temperatures that had washed over the country.

“Keith, my dearest?”

“Yes hon?”

“I actually cannot feel my hands anymore.” Keith and (y/n) were snuggled up on the leather loveseat that sat in the living room of their house, with the memories of war behind them in the not-so-distant past. To further prove her point, she decided to stick an ice-cold hand under his shirt and rest it on his stomach.

Keith let out a surprised gasp and gently shoved her away with a bellowing cackle. “Dear god, go take a hot shower or something! What the actual hell, how is that human? Are you human? That’s not human. ”

(Y/n) let out a giggle at his rapid fire comments. “I’m not so sure I am anymore. Or maybe you’re not human, especially considering you are still as fiery as a furnace.”

“Yes. I am not fully human, we know this.” Keith waved his hand in a small circle.

“But that?” He pointed down at her hands “That is not human. I know human, and this ain’t it.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes at his antics and sat crossed legged next to him with her arms stretched above her head.

“Well it’s nearly a blizzard out there! You also won’t let me turn the temperature up, so I’m cold!” Although he is right about taking a shower. It’s nearly time for bed and my face feels incredibly gross. (Y/n) stared at Keith’s face in contemplation.

In a moment of courage, she whispered “Take a shower with me?”Keith shot her a gleeful smirk.

“There wouldn’t be any actual bathing if I joined. So, unfortunately, I am going to have to pass on your tempting offer.”

“But it would be fun and then I’d get to have, not one, but two different heat sources.” A crimson heat spread across her cheeks at the suggestiveness of her first comment. The corner of Keith’s eyes crinkled as his grin widened, and he patted her on as a sign to get up.

“Now. Go get a shower. You’re an ice cube and I do not have a nuclear core to keep you warm.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

After her vision cleared from standing up too quickly, (y/n) wrapped her jacket closer to her and waddled to the shared bathroom. She turned the shower nozzle to the highest setting, which could be equated to the surface temperature of the sun. While waiting for the water to warm, she removed her makeup that has been resting on her skin for far too long. Keith decided at the moment the mascara was being removed, to walk in and lean against the door frame with an adoring expression.

“Your eyes look like a raccoon.”

“Fuck off Kogane.” He let out a playful ‘no’ in response and squeezed her waist with one hand as he passed by to grab his toothbrush and toothpaste. Keith nudged her hip with his to get her to scoot over so he had access to the sink. During the time that Keith began to brush his teeth, (y/n) had removed the rest of her make-up, racoon eyes included. She then began to notice the toothpaste foaming around Keith’s mouth.

“Keith, my love, have you been out in the woods recently?” He cocked his head to the side in confusion at the strange question and spit a wad of toothpaste into the sink.

“Not recently, but I did go this past weekend. Why?”

“Because you look like you caught rabies. Think we may need to get the vaccine for it.” (Y/n) smiled mischievously at her punch line and started to undress. Keith rolled his eyes at the joke and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed the edge of his shirt and wiped off the excess water from his face.

“Ha-ha.” Keith sarcastically replied. “Very funny. Truly, a master comedian. Seriously, we should sign you up for the giggle hut.”

Now in the steaming hot water, (y/n) replied. “Oh yeah? Well I think you and I should do a dou act. We could call ourselves ‘The Racoon and the Rabies Virus’! Our entire act is just Steven King’s Cujo, but with a rabid raccoon instead.” Keith let out a genuine laugh at the comment and began to exit the room.

“Well, while you’re in there, I’ll be sure to send an email about our inquiry.” He shut the bathroom door with a soft ‘click’.

After the shower, (y/n) emerged into the bedroom with two towels wrapped around her hair and body. She began to rifle through her closet looking for pajamas, but also kept an eye on Keith’s side of the closet.

Keith sat on the bed with his legs bent and a tablet resting on his thighs, but his attention was solely on his partner the moment she waltzed in. A bright blush unfurled across his face as (y/n) tossed clothes onto the bed. With the last throw of a shirt, that does indeed belong to him, he snapped his attention back to the tablet and cleared his throat.

“I-um.” Keith bit his lip and began to fidget with his hands. “You know you’re indescribably beautiful, right?”

A wide smile bloomed across (y/n) face at the compliment, which normally is not verbally expressed by Keith since he uses physical touch or action as a medium of love. Though, along with the smile, her face also began to flush and she vocalized “I know my love. But it will always mean a lot coming from you.”

The two lovers gazed into each other as they got lost in the wonderment and adoration of the other.

What have I done to deserve someone as wonderful as her?

How in the world did I find someone like him?

As the sweet moment passed, a slow awkwardness began to settle in the air. (Y/n) started giggling. “It’s going to be very weird now when I take off my towels to put on my clothes.”

Keith laughed along at her comment as a playful look shot across his eyes. “No, it’s only weird if we make it weird. And my dear, this is not the first time you’ve gotten dressed in front of me, let alone have been nude.” He let out a sound of surprise as he dodged the towel that came flying at his head as (y/n) took off her hair towel.

“Put that over your head. I do not want you to look at me while I get dressed.” Keith, while laughing, obliged her request and draped the towel over his head. (Y/n) swiftly got dressed.

Keith looks like a sheet ghost.

“Okay, you’re in the clear.” Keith pulled off the towel and chucked it into the hamper. He picked up his tablet and put it on the side table before he opened up his arms as an invitation. (Y/n) approached the bed with a shy composure and lifted the duvet to crawl in and cuddle into his arms. She turned and rested her cheek against his shoulder and pressed a small kiss to his collarbone. Keith in response pressed a lingering kiss atop the crown of her head. They both took an individual inhale and exhaled as they sunk into the soft comfort of each other. Keith rubbed his hand up and down her shoulder as he said “Want me to turn off the lights?”

(Y/n) nodded in reply. Keith slapped the switch that was above the headboard and settled deeper into the pillows.

Despite the frost that was forming spirals on the window, the cold that was seeping through the floorboards, and the radiator rumbling in the basement, the lovers were both toasty between the heat that had formed between them. As the night wore and the wind grew colder, they dozed off into a dreamless slumber.

#Keith Kogane #Keith Kogane x Reader #Keith Kogane/Reader #Keith x Reader #Keith/Reader #Voltron Fanfic #voltron legendary defender

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seaslugdisco · 7 months

Text

nuzi is not a proship, i understand the confusion of the unclear timeline, but this is my understanding and how it places n and uzi at similar ages:

this theory has two versions, depending on the gap in the timeline of events between the core collapse and the disassembly drones arrival. first, the larger amount of time between these two events. the core of copper-9 collapses, nuclear winter ensues, all humans on the planet die, etc. etc. khan is one of the worker drones who defect from humans and begins to try to start his own life. nori, after being trapped in cavin fever labs and being experimented on and gaining the absolute solver, escapes with yeva. they meet as camp 98.7, fall in love, and move into a deserted human bunker with some other families and start a sort of civilization. they have uzi, but nori begins getting visions of the future- khans line in episode 4 about nori at the beginning, "she was always all: 'build doors against the coming sky demons!' 'the singularity awakens.' 'look at this cool s i can draw!'." nori tells khan to build doors, as in, on the existing bunker, not build the bunker.

uzi grows up to be about 19-20 when the events of the series play out, (the ages of kids her age from other bunkers on missing posters in episode 3 at the very beginning) you know the rest. this probably means that living under the ice in the bunker is just how she grew up, but the disassembly drones are a threat that appeared in her lifetime and killed her mother, presumably before she was a fully functional worker drone and still one of the smaller round baby drones (??? i dunno what to call them) this WOULD explain why she doesnt remember nori much but this always confused me because theyre robots??? they literally cannot forget unless they manually delete something from themselves??? actually thats probably a lore thing. whatever it doesnt matter for this theory. ANYWAYS, a big thing that i see people miss is that if disassembly drones have been alive long enough to kill nori, they have really barely gone through changes like the workers do as they "grow up". its understandable that they were just made to kill and didnt really need it, but this still places them at a much younger age than they look or are in the series. this means that uzi and n can be very close to the same age, even if they dont look it. im not sure if n v and j were just like actually pretty short because in the pilot opening sequence we never see the disassembly and worker drones in a same frame good enough to compare or if there was to change at all.

just really short disassembly drones is kinda a funny thought though lol

option two, which i find less likely but also more interesting, is very similar, but instead of after the core collapse, nori and khan meet BEFORE it. maybe khan defects from the company??? nori and yeva are able to escape??? idk if that could even happen or where i was going with this everything else is basically the same but uhh its a cool thought right

in conclusion: people who think nuzi is a proship what the fuck are you doing

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

#n x uzi #uzi x n #nuzi #murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #“nUzI iS a PrOsHiP” fuck you i just disproved your thing haha #i cant stop thinking about really short v n and j HAHAAH

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ceilidho · 3 months

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tell me something nuclear winter ghoap NOW!! (bo)

BO!!!!! ok you wanna read what i've got so far?? it's not very much but here's what i have for my project that's tentatively titled "permafrost"

At first, it comes as a series of lights in the distance, a gentle rain like a cascade of falling stars. And then, it goes dark.

It happens over the course of several hours. By the time the dust settles—and it never settles, never really settles, always hangs in the air and renders it unbreathable, unlivable—and the sirens quiet and the last few screams die off, there’s hardly anything left. Hardly anything left living.

The initial blast doesn’t reach up the country and, for that, Johnny lasts the months after the first nuclear bombs are dropped. Somedays, he can barely recollect the hours after the initial impact; they come back in foggy chunks, stumbling out of his house, boots crunching over the glass that had been blown clean out of the windows, covering his eyes against the flash of light and staring out into the distance at the mushrooming cloud of smoke just cresting the horizon. The bottom falling out of him at the sight.

More bombs hit other parts of the continent, several in Russia, throughout Asia and down into Africa, and across the pond as well. The world goes up in flames in an hour. In his cabin up in the Scottish Highlands, crutches jammed under his arms in his haste to limp his way outside, he sees the blast and then hears it a minute or so later. A roar rippling through the air.

It shatters the world.

In the present day, the boat sways where it’s roped to the wharf, the waters choppy. Johnny sits on the deck in a foldout chair, fastening a new head onto his ax, fixing the metal wedge over the eye to hold it in place. The blade is cleaner than the one that’d just cracked, sharp from being run over the whetstone. He pulls his scarf back over his nose when it slips down his face.

His cabin in the Highlands hadn’t been a viable choice for longer than a few months, not after the cold had finally begun to set in. Too far up north. He’d made his way down south over the course of weeks, bringing with him only as much as he could carry. A bittersweet goodbye to the summer home of his youth, a hand laid flat against the door before turning on his heel and starting the long trek south.

It’s not any warmer farther down south, particularly around the coast where the wind gets bitterly cold, sinking into the bone. He’d found the boat on a whim, the only structure still relatively intact and, most importantly, isolated.

Making his home on an old boat might not win him any awards for brightest idea, but the downside to traveling further into the country, away from the untenable glacial weather up north, is that it coincides with the areas where the bombs were dropped, leaving limited options for shelter.

Months pass. Years pass.

His ankle healed funny all those years ago from prolonged bouts of starvation before desperation kicked in and from traveling miles on foot. He’d driven a portion of the way down north until the roads had outlived their usefulness—asphalt cracked, chunks of bedrock spiking up out of the ground. The rest he’d managed with his crutches and a single backpack, leaving the car to rot some three hundred or so miles up the country.

It's some strange occurrence, Johnny thinks at age thirty-something (he’s lost count), that his lot be murky, for death to miscount. He witnesses an apocalypse and comes out the other side. Happenstance. Coincidence, that he’s discharged from the military not a month before the first bomb hits London and leaves a crater that never fills, that never heals. A pockmark in the earth.

His lips twist bitterly. The price of a long life is a barbed and slick soul.

Immortality sometimes occurs to him, or godship, but neither option rests well with him and Johnny wonders if this is how gods are born: not of sea foam but of inevitability, of miscalculation, of death's err, of smallness, of acorns he carried as a child through pastures behind his summer house.

He sniffs. Cuts that memory off at the quick.

Johnny gives himself a couple more minutes to fiddle around with the ax before looping it into the gear loops on his backpack and buckling it in.

[MISSING STUFF HERE]

Much of the city has returned to nature, rubble encased in snow and ice; the stores have long been looted or reduced to ash from the blast.

#ceil writing

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vexwerewolf · 8 days

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Hi Vex,

I had a mech idea/concept that I really want to flesh out but I'm not exactly sure how to best build it. The idea came from a conversation I had with my group about the Mecha genre vs the Sailor Moon/Magical Girl genre. And I thought, 'what if they kissed worked together?' So I decided to try and build a Magical Girl themed Mech.

So far, I am considering using Manticore as a base frame because I am really tempted to call it Sailor RA and do the whole "In the name of RA, I will CASTIGATE you!" thing. Other than that I'm thinking about maybe a Controller type build and/or maybe focusing on the really weird/paracausal abilities? Do you have any ideas for this kind of build?

Thank you!!!

Since we're doing Sailor Moon Magical Girl stuff, have you considered that instead of using the Manticore, you could use the Lycan, a Manticore altframe from the upcoming Operation Winter Scar module?

-- HORUS Lycan @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HORUS Manticore 2, IPS-N Nelson 2, IPS-N Blackbeard 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] Overpower Caliber, Gyges Frame [ TALENTS ] Executioner 3, Nuclear Cavalier 3, Walking Armory 3 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:21 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:8 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:10 SENSE:8 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Shock Claws Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Thermal Rifle HEAVY MOUNT: Nanocarbon Sword (Thermal Charge) // Overpower Caliber [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, Beckoner, Smite, Armament Redundancy

I call this one ECLIPSING BINARY SUPERGIANT PRISM POWER MAKEUP.

So the Lycan's basic conceit is that it's a two state system. You start combat with your normal stats as listed above, and a dormant superheavy weapon called the Shock Claws that cannot be used.

It has Slag Carapace just like the Manticore, giving it resistance to Energy and Burn damage. However, it replaces the Manticore's Unstable System, Charged Exoskeleton and CASTIGATE THE ENEMIES OF THE GODHEAD traits with two new ones. Interference Field causes nearby enemies to take Difficulty on attacks that don't target the Lycan, and Power Flux, which causes enemies to potentially become Impaired and Slowed if you take heat.

Your mech plays mostly like a normal Manticore for the first part of the fight. However, at any time, you may activate your core power, GO LOUD, which as a full action causes your mech to violently shed its outer plating. You lose Slag Carapace and Interference Field, your base Armor becomes 0 and your base speed becomes 6. You may then immediately move your speed and attack an enemy with your Shock Claws.

That's not all, however: you can charge up your Shock Claws by watching your allies get hurt.

If your friends take Structure damage before you GO LOUD, it charges up your Shock Claws. They initially deal 3d6+6 AP Energy damage (Overkill) in Threat 1 (although Gyges Frame already bumps that up to Threat 2) and cause another nearby enemy to take 1d6 AP Energy damage. If you see an ally take Structure damage, that goes up to Threat 2 (Threat 3 with Gyges). If you see an ally take Structure damage a second time, the damage increases to 4d6+6 AP Energy (Overkill) and the number of enemies who get struck by secondary damage increases to 2.

If an ally is destroyed in your line of sight before you GO LOUD, your Shock Claws instantly charge to full power, no matter what state they were in before.

This is a little bit more Super Saiyan than Sailor Moon, but you do get to go through a whole transformation/power up sequence and smite your enemies because they were mean to your friends.

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #mech #mecha #lancer builds #manticore #lycan

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year

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Yo! Special delivery! *kicks down door*

So it’s safe to assume that TFP Soundwave has lost Buzzsaw, Ratbat, Frenzy, and Rumble and only had Laserbeak left. One could only imagine how much pain and grief that brings Soundwave but his Carrier codes must be going insane at the sight of humans given that cassettes and humans are ruffle the same height and are chaotic in nature.

I also imagine that his codes go crazy at the sight of children, so~ add Jack, Raf, and Miko to a still grieving Soundwave, who’s protocols are SCREAMING at him that those three cassette sparklings need him.

I LOVE this idea. Thank you for throwing this request at me! Now I have an excuse to write about my fav spy master.

Organic Cassette Sparklings

To Soundwave, his cassettes were his everything. His mind and body belonged to the Decepticons and Megatron, but his spark was only for his little ones. As such the loss of his cassettes one by one in short succession very nearly drove him mad from grief. He was blessed to still have Laserbeak, but she was also suffering from the loss of her brothers.

Soundwave thought time would heal the wounds in his spark, but it didn't. It anything, the pain from the loss of so many of his cassettes grew worse as if time was an infection slowly festering within his shattered self. By the time he arrived on earth, he was so lost that he could hardly think beyond his orders, his sense of being so broken that he couldn't bring himself to care. The only reason he still marched onward was because of Laserbeak, his last remaining cassette. But sometimes even she wasn't enough, sometimes he just wanted everything to end- to return to silence.

On those days he left the nemesis behind and went to the ground to try and shake his thoughts. It didn't work all that often, but it was better than the sickening monotony of his room on the nemesis and the constant problems that always popped up. More often than not he just wandered around the area nearest to the nemesis's coordinates. But after being deployed on a mission on the ground for the first time in centuries, Soundwave found himself stunned as his instincts screamed at him.

Right in front of him were three small organics, human children he knew to be under the care of the Autobots. But as he looked upon their terrified faces and their small shaking forms, all he could see were three cassette sparklings that needed a carrier to protect and nurture them. He would have snatched them up right then and there if it weren't for orders coming straight from Megatron demanding he return. Even then he still hesitated, taking a photo of the children and burning every detail of their forms into his processors for later analysis. And when all was said and done and Soundwave was back on the nemesis, he actually felt alive for once. Laserbeak felt similarly after looking at the images taken of the children. Soundwave wanted to care for cassettes, his carrier instincts demanded it, and Laserbeak wanted siblings. They agreed and soon after threw aside anything not related to finding a way to get the human children in their possession, or at least find a way to gain interaction with them.

It was a difficult thing to figure out, mainly because organics require different care than cassettes, but Soundwave spent weeks dutifully reading parenting books, biology texts, phycology papers, education documents, and medical websites until he felt sure of himself. Then he slowly began accumulating things small organic cassettes would need. Laserbeak did most of the collecting (not that she minded), often bringing soft fabrics, the odd piece of furniture, and enough canned food to last a nuclear winter. Then once they got everything in order, Soundwave made his move, heading to every battle secretly to watch and see if the human children were present or not. And this he did for months until at last the opportunity came, one he did not miss.

Taking care to ensure none saw him, Soundwave snatched up the human children and hurriedly put them into his carrying chamber which he had fixed up beforehand to not be harmful to the children. Then before anyone could react, (Autobot or Decepticon) Soundwave took to the air and returned to the nemesis as if he had never left. Not even Megatron suspected a thing as Soundwave stalked back to his chambers, locked the door, let Laserbeak get settled, and finally pulled the children out.

They were decidedly unhappy if their screams were anything to go by. But Soundwave expected such a response, Rumble and Frenzy behaved similarly when he first took them in as well. Soundwave was accustomed to having to take things slow and let his little cassettes warm up to him. Besides, he had spent plenty of time learning what humans needed. He was feeling fairly confident in his ability to have the children relax around him eventually. And for six whole months, Soundwave had the children in his care, unknown to anyone and kept safely hidden away where only he and laserbeak knew.

Rafael was the first to warm up to Soundwave, caving in around two weeks into being under Soundwave's supervision. Soundwave paid special attention to him due to his need for glasses and his young age. The spy master was very dutiful in collecting food that met all of the nutritional requirements of human adolescents, and he took extra care to ensure Rafael was always able to get to his glasses. He would regularly pat Rafael on the head, ruffling his hair with gentleness reserved for his cassettes. He would teach Rafael bits and pieces of Cybertronian while also ensuring that the boy was taught things the human documents said were normal for his age group. This task was not at all hard considering the relative simplicity of human education, so Soundwave may or may not have thrown a few more advanced subjects into the boy's education as well.

Rafael for his part adapted well to being in Soundwave's care. He learned quickly that no harm would come to him and came to even enjoy being with Soundwave even if he longed to return to the ground and the Autobots. He was fond of Soundwave and took pride in doing things Cybertronian young performed, which always earned him a loving nuzzle from his originally unwanted Cybertronian caretaker. Laserbeak for her part loved to sit with Rafael during his studies and play games with him, mainly some form of ball or a version of chess not too dissimilar from the human version. All in all, Rafael was content, if a little cooped up.

Miko was the second child to crack as she came to find herself enjoying listening to music with Soundwave and being caught before she could escape. While at first it was a desperate bid for freedom, it turned into a game and even a learning experience as Soundwave taught her how to better hide and use her size to her advantage in combat. By the time month three rolled around, she was invested in her studies with Soundwave and regularly sat on his shoulder to listen to music with him, often singing along happily and play fighting with Laserbeak. She hated being cooped up, but she liked being able to watch what happened on the nemesis, even going so far as to suggest funny pranks to Soundwave (who on occasion actually implemented the pranks because it was what his little cassette wanted).

Soundwave always took great care to foster Miko's musical capabilities, teaching her songs from Cybertron and showing her how to play sized down versions of their instruments. And while he did school her in other things, music was her passion and he did not take that from her, instead encouraging it and helping her to channel it into something practical. She was a small organic cassette, she needed a defense, so Soundwave gave her a set of blasters which would hook up to her instrument. Of course he kept it offline or at a low setting, but Miko loved the gift nonetheless. She especially came to love using it in mock battles with Laserbeak who would play dead to give Miko the gratification of victory.

Jack was the last to crack, taking nearly four months before he fully accepted Soundwave's affection. Soundwave took extra care of Jack's emotional state, mainly because it reminded him greatly of Frenzy, his emotionally scarred and battered cassette. He went to great lengths to make Jack comfortable and to help the boy work through his panic attacks and other mental issues. And surprisingly, Soundwave's attempts began to work, even helping Jack gain confidence as he tutored him in all sorts of subjects. Before long Jack was flourishing academically and showing an interest in combat after seeing Miko do so well. Soundwave offered his little organic cassette a set of energon blades in response, ones which he quickly began showing him how to use. And after only a month or so, Jack was proficient in their usage without having anything aside from the school work Soundwave assigned him to do.

Jack came to love simply sitting with Soundwave quietly, watching the security feed with him and sometimes discussing old stories and his problems. Soundwave of course always listened, never speaking up and instead letting Jack vent all his frustrations patiently. In his mind, Jack really was just like Frenzy, a tough exterior with a soft interior personality wise. And just like with Frenzy, Soundwave was patient and offered all the companionship and comfort in the world when Jack felt comfortable enough to speak with him. Laserbeak also came to love having Jack lay against her side as they watched a film or something of the sort, even purring to him when he had nightmares when he fell asleep by accident.

To Soundwave everything was going perfectly. He finally had cassettes to look after and they were opening up to him far faster than anticipated. He was ecstatic. But as will all good things, it came to an end too quickly for his liking when an attack on the nemesis forced Soundwave to put the children in his carrying chamber and hurry out of his quarters. By some means, the Autobots had confirmed that the human children were on the nemesis and they were angry. Soundwave ran for his life as he sprinted down the halls, heading for the upper decks to escape capture and to get his human cassettes to safety. But that was not to be. Before long the Autobots found him, having locked onto the human children's life signal stemming from him.

He tried to fight, but with the children in his carrying chamber, he eventually accepted capture and was dragged back to the Autobot base. When there he was strapped down and interrogated immediately, the Autobots not being nearly as kind as they were known for.

Optimus: Where are the children?

Arcee: What did you do to them!?

Ratchet: If they are dead I can promise you will re-join the Allspark before Primus can hear your prayers.

Soundwave: ...

Soundwave: Cassettes: Secured. Safe.

Sensing his defeat and only wanting his little cassettes to be safe, Soundwave opening his carrying chamber and allowed the children to clamber out in wonder. There were tears, hugs, and tender embraces, but Soundwave watched it all in apathy. He was going to lose his cassettes again... and he wasn't sure he could handle it.

At least that was what he thought until the children explained and fought in Soundwave's defense. The spymaster could only watch in awe of his cassettes as they spoke for him, pointing out that he merely wanted to care for them and that he never so much as touched a hair on their heads with harmful intent. In response to this, Optimus made an offer.

Optimus: Soundwave... you wish to care for the children more than you wish to serve Megatron, yes?

Soundwave: ...

Optimus: If that is true, why not join us? You can care for them without fear here.

Soundwave: ...

Soundwave: Offer: Will be considered.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #soundwave #tfp kids #laserbeak #soundwave just wants to raise some kiddos alright #let the poor mech be a dad #he deserves happiness for primus's sake #team prime

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sixminutestoriesblog · 6 months

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marigolds

It's October! For half the hemisphere, the nights are getting longer, the wind is getting colder and the weather is taking on a distinct grey and overcast mood. What better time than now to steal a few last bursts of brilliant, warm sunshine and keep them close against the coming of winter?

Enter October's flower (one of them) - the marigold.

An interesting thing I found while researching this month's flower was that its native to the Americas - and yet some sites list the ancient Greeks and Romans having traditions surrounding the marigold. One of the sites even mentions the flower being introduced to the 'Americas' several sentences after telling me its native to Mexico. I think some of the confusion may come from the fact that there are marigolds of the Tagetes genus, which are the ones I think of when I think of marigolds, that were first mentioned by the Aztecs and are native to the Americas - and there is a flower, Calendula officinalis, called the 'pot marigold' which comes from the same daisy family but is a different genus and seems to originate in southern Europe. To add to the confusion, the Spanish imported the Tagetes marigold from the Americas and from Spain it spread to, particularly, monastery gardens across Europe where it was cultivated into various strains with names like the African or French marigold. The American marigold didn't even have an official genus name until 1753. So, sorting through marigold myths was a lot like playing 'guess which twin it is' for me especially since the majority of the sites I was wandering through either weren't aware of a difference or didn't differentiate. I found one site that marked the difference between them (shout out to growingvale.com). I can understand why. We're only talking flower folklore here, not nuclear codes. My little nitpicky soul though just wasn't happy until it figured out what was going on. I am now going to spew facts at you and try to tell you which flower is which for each of them.

We'll see how I do.

Let's start at the beginning.

Tagetes marigolds were first recorded as being cultivated by the Aztecs, who considered them both medicinal and sacred. That tradition has carried over into Mexico's el Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, which is celebrated either in late October or Early November depending on the region. How much of that is straight from the Aztecs and how much is later European influence via Catholicism is still up for debate but the marigold plays a special part in both. The brightness and strong scent of the marigold flowers are believed to help guide the spirits of the dead to their family and to the offerings left out for them. You watched Disney's Coco (or Fox's The Book of Life), you get it. The Day of the Dead is celebrated outside of Mexico as well, with traditions varying from place to place but right now, we're talking marigolds.

In a half step to the side of that, the Victorians also considered marigolds a funeral flower but in a solemn and grief-filled way that made their cheery color inappropriate for any other kind of bouquet.

In South Asia, the Tagetes marigold has in large part replaced Calendula officinalis marigold while still serving the same purpose. There marigolds are used to create garlands and decorations for weddings, festivals and sacred holidays. Both Buddhism and Hinduism attach spiritual significance to the flowers. In India, giving a garland of marigolds to someone is considered a sign of friendship.

Walking it back to our Calendula officinalis marigold, the common name of 'marigold' is actually a break down of 'Mary's gold'. The golden colored plant was often left on alters and shrines to the Virgin Mary in Catholic countries in the middle ages by people that couldn't afford to leave actual coins. Its bright sunshine color and availability to everyone soon became associated with her.

This is the marigold that the ancient Romans and Greeks used medicinally and that medieval Europe thought was a cure against the plague. This is also the marigold that was woven into garlands for doors and livestock in Ireland to keep away fairy attention.

Both branches of flowers are popular with love superstitions, representing never having to lose a love and as a good luck charm when it comes to love.

And let's round things off with a gardening fact. Marigold are considered excellent companion plants for most vegetable gardens because they repel pests from the big to the very tiny kind. Just check before you plant. Their roots also give off an antibacterial chemical that will wreck havoc on your legumes.

Happy birthday, October babies!

#marigold #marigolds #folklore #superstition #cottagecore #herbalism #herbology #october #birth flower #day of the dead #dia de los muertos #dia de muertos #right up there with #dandelions #as a sunshine flower #flowers #language of flowers #meaning of flowers

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stayxlix · 1 year

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off the deep end. (01)

~(part 1) the sun and his moon~

pairing: rebel!felix x reader (f)

genre: non-idol au, post-apocalypse/dystopian au. wc: 8.2k

series rating: 18+ **minors do not interact**

chapter warnings: violent mature themes, mentions of murder/execution, death, oppressive government, fighting, gunfire, angst, suggestive content, brief mention of parent death, parental neglect, language, mentions of hunger/starvation, please lmk if i missed any!

a/n: this is my first time posting any of my work, so any thoughts/feedback are very much appreciated and welcome!! i’ve had the idea for this in my head ever since the maxident trailer came out so everyones vibe in this is based on that (with some inspiration for the whole setting/theme from the scars and miroh mvs because i love them both so much). i really want my work to be a kind of escape, and i have big plans for this one :) i hope you enjoy ♡

~series masterlist~

“there's an old story of the sun and the moon. the sun, who loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe. the moon, that sacrificed herself every night so that the sun could rise. maybe we were too much like the sun and the moon. deeply in love but too different to exist side by side.”

It had been a long time since he felt the sun against his skin like this. It was comforting, like an old friend, as the warmth fell against him through a break in the heavy fog above.

"Felix!" Chan came up behind him, breaking the silence. "I've been looking for you man. I think we've got something this time. Something big, but it'll take all of us and it wont be easy."

Felix stayed facing the sun. He closed his eyes and lifted his head toward it, resting his hands on the rough surface of the rooftop beneath him. Tuning out the older boy, just another moment was all he needed. Just a few more breaths, a few more beats of his heart. The wind pushed the hair out of his eyes. His freckles becoming darker with every second. Sometimes, on days underneath the sun like this, he wished he would melt away in it. On darker days he wished for the fog to consume him. He wished and he wondered. Was there anything more to this life? Would there ever be?

Felix breathed in deeply once more, letting it out slowly. His eyes were still closed but he could feel Chan beside him now when he spoke.

"I'll do it."

The world you knew today was very different from the one that you read about in books. You read them over and over again until you memorized the pages. Books filled with stories of nuclear wars and the unforgiving nuclear winter that followed, destroying nearly everyone and everything that had existed before. You read handwritten journals that described buildings so tall they were blanketed by the clouds above. They told tales of clear skies and green forests with creatures like aliens, moving pictures on tiny boxes meant solely for entertainment, and something called the internet that held the answers to any question you could ever imagine. All of that was gone now, kept alive by the images created in your head when you read those books. Sometimes you wondered if any of it had ever existed at all.

After the wars, the remainder of the world was condensed and split into 9 districts. As far as anyone knew, the only thing left outside of the 9 districts was barren land that held nothing but stories, carried by ghosts of the past. The 9 districts had been run by your ancestors for generations, currently under rule of your father. They were shaped in large rings, with District 9 at the center, also known as the "Inner Circle". The Inner Circle was where your father's palace, army, and the most wealthy members of society were located. The other 8 districts surrounded the Inner circle and each other, stretching miles upon miles until District 1. At the edge of District 1 stood a wall rumored to be a thousand feet high. It encompassed all 9 districts and therefore everything that was left of the world. Nobody knew what was beyond the wall and nobody dared to find out.

Ever since you were old enough to understand what it meant, you had hated being the daughter of the most powerful man in the world. The horrible things you had seen your father do kept you awake at night. The people he had executed, suspected of conspiring rebellions against him, lived on in your mind. Some of them barely older than you, some younger. He was all you could remember, your mother having died before you were old enough to know her.

For your entire life your father had told you that he did the things he did because he had to. He was only protecting you and the people he was responsible for, so he said. Another way he "protected" you was by keeping you hidden from the world outside. You grew up without any idea of what lie beyond the walls of the palace in District 9. To everyone outside, your existence was nothing more than just a myth.

As you got older, your father started to teach you things like how to fight, lead, maintain order, and hold a position of power through fear. Most importantly, he taught you that love was weakness, which is probably why he never showed any toward you. In a world like yours there was no time or opportunity for friends and certainly not for love. It wasn't like you were completely inexperienced though..There had been nights spent under the protection of darkness in hidden corners of the palace that involved racing heartbeats and forbidden touches. They were nights shared with guards in training or kitchen hands that you barely knew and none of them ever stayed. You didn't let them, for fear of what your father might do to them if he found out. Love was weakness, so you vowed never to let it get that far.

You did everything that was asked of you because you had no reason not to trust your father. Because you had no reason to question the things he told you about how the world works. Because blood is supposed to be able to trust blood, right? And he was all you had ever known, so you followed him blindly. You let him mold and shape you into a carbon copy of himself, until you couldn't ignore it anymore. A sinking feeling deep within you that what you understood about the way the world works was very wrong.

Lately, something had changed within you. You started to crave the truth. You needed real answers to your questions about the surrounding districts and it became clear that you weren't going to find them inside the palace walls. It was then that you decided you would do whatever it took to get them for yourself.

You knew the walls of the palace like the back of your own hand, including the labyrinth of underground tunnels beneath it. You had played in the tunnels as a child and were later taught to use them in an emergency in case a rebellion against your father were to succeed, not that he would let that happen. He was a busy man and spent the majority of his time locked away in secrecy behind closed doors, in the company of his most trusted military generals or advisors. Although he kept a close eye on you, he couldn't be with you all hours of the day and neither could his guards. With all of the training you had received, you were quite good at hiding from them when you didn't want to be found. When you have to be hidden from the world, you get used to blending in with the shadows. You become good at it.

As a result, over the past few weeks you made it a habit of sneaking out at night through the tunnels, beyond the palace and the Inner Circle. Under the protection of darkness and your hidden identity. In doing so, you were finally able to uncover some answers, although you had a feeling you had just barely begun to scratch the surface of the truth.

From the moment you stepped foot onto the cracked streets of the surrounding districts, it became very clear that the things you had always thought to be normal were a luxury beyond District 9. Despite having been kept hidden for your entire life, you knew that you had been born lucky. You just hadn't realized how lucky.

Wherever you went, light from burning fires flickered through the darkness in between broken walls, keeping people who huddled inside them warm. The guilt reached through you to your bones when you met dirty faces and sunken, tired eyes in the shadows of the night.

You hadn't expected the deep rooted hatred that the people had for your father in the surrounding districts, but you quickly came to understand it. You learned that the majority of the resources produced by the other districts and the little that was farmed from the desolate land was collected and kept for District 9. It was distributed among it's incredibly selfish inhabitants, which also happened to include yourself, although you didn't know it until now. They were considered the most "important" members of society, while those beyond were left to survive off of the bare minimum.

The people blamed your father and the generations of your family before him. They blamed the fortunate society members of District 9, and if they tried to rebel they would be labeled as traitors and publicly executed under the order of your father. They had a right to be angry. You were angry for them. You had no idea that this is how things were and you probably wouldn't have believed it until you saw it for yourself. The colorful picture your father had painted of a loving people who looked to him to protect them, take care of them, and keep them safe turned black in your mind.

The farthest out you could make it on foot in one night was District 7. Much beyond that and you wouldn't be able to get back to the palace in time before daybreak. You were also hesitant to go any further because of the possibility of what, or who, lie waiting in the districts beyond. You heard enough from rumors in passing about dangerous clans and bands of thieves who roamed the more remote districts. They wouldn't hesitate to cut the throat of an innocent for a piece of bread, a pair of shoes, or just because they felt like it.

Of course, Districts 8 and 7 didn't compare to the Inner Circle by any means, but at least some skeleton of a society lingered there. Many of the buildings still stood, although their walls were weathered and broken down. Thick grass wove in between cracks like stitches holding them up. Some buildings housed small "shops" where families would trade or sell anything they could scavenge the material to make, just trying to earn enough coins for scraps of food or a blanket to keep warm. There were "schools" held in large dirt fields where children used sticks to draw in the mud. There was a tavern that you liked to visit in District 7 that was almost always empty, but the beer was…drinkable and the bartender was kind.

There was no running water so it had to be collected on foot. No electricity. No rent to pay because nobody owned homes, they just settled where they could. Trading coins between each other for whatever goods they could get their hands on. The roads were so weathered and broken that it didn’t really matter that there were no cars, aside from the occasional military vehicle that passed through the landscape carrying your fathers guards. Always patrolling, always watching. You had a few close encounters with them on your outings, although you had managed to remain unseen thanks to the shadows cast by the moon.

Many of the people from the outer districts spent their days in fields, growing whatever they could from the desolate land. They were paid sparingly by your fathers guards when they came in military vehicles to collect the produce. Many of them didn't work at all, trying to survive and live off of the land themselves. Some travelled on foot between the districts to scavenge for anything to keep their loved ones alive. But it came with a price, the further out you went the more dangerous and less civilized things became. The less life there was, no matter how many humans you ran into. At the edge of it all lie District 1, mostly made up of prisons that held those lucky enough to be left alive by your father. Although, you had a feeling that if you asked them they wouldn't consider themselves very lucky at all.

Tonight, you made your way out through the tunnels wearing clothes borrowed from your only friend Jisoo, a palace maid that you had grown up with. As soon as you stepped off of the palace grounds, your ears were met with only the sounds of your heavy breathing and your feet as they hit the earth. You were a good runner and welcomed the fresh air as it burned your lungs. You ran miles until you found yourself somewhere in District 7 once again. It was a little further out than you usually went, in an area where you probably shouldn't have been.

You stopped at a quiet candlelit tavern with a hanging sign that displayed scribbled writing promising "fresh" water and beer to those that could spare a few coins. The only other person in the small space aside from the bartender was an older man with a gray beard and tattered clothes, slumped over across from you at the other end of the bar.

You stayed a while before tossing the bartender a handful of extra coins to pay for the man’s drink, and a very generous tip. Before he could inquire further about how a young girl like you had come to possess so many coins, you got up and exited the building through the missing doorway. The moonlight welcomed you and the gentle breeze felt good against your skin, sticky from air that was always humid and thick. It was rare to feel a breeze at all so you dropped your hood, closing your eyes. You put your head up to let it settle against you. The light from the moon shined so bright through the clouds that you could almost feel it on your skin, reaching out to envelop you.

After a moment you continued on, leaving your hood down, it’s not like anyone would recognize you anyway. You turned the corner and found yourself at the entrance of a quiet alley where the gravel crunched beneath your feet. Thoughts ran back and forth through your mind as you desperately tried to come up with any way that you could use your position to help the people outside of the Inner Circle. It seemed impossible. You could try to reason with your father but as soon as you revealed what you knew and how you came to know it, he would probably lock you up forever. After all, there were very few people that knew of your existence and you doubted that anyone except for Jisoo would miss you…

“Shit..” you mumbled to yourself after realizing that you had gotten so lost in thought you hadn't been paying attention to the time as it passed. You were definitely going to have to sprint now to make it back to the palace in time before the sun began to rise and someone noticed your absence. After stretching your already tired legs, you turned to start the long journey back but before you could take another step, a dark figure came running around the corner into the alley at full speed.

When he saw you he stopped in his tracks, sliding on the gravel. Underneath a yellow hanging lantern and the light from the moon you could make out the surprise on his face. He obviously hadn’t expected to cross paths with some girl alone in the middle of the night on the way to wherever he was going so quickly. His entrance was so abrupt and brought so much tension to the air that you froze in place, staring back at him with your mouth open slightly.

The boy was wearing a hood, his face partially hidden in the dim glow of the lantern. Despite that, he seemed to be around your age and even in the shadows his features were undeniably attractive. He had dark hair with long strands that fell loosely into piercing brown eyes. You noticed a black bandana wrapped tightly around one of his arms, however you couldn't bother to take your eyes from his to get a better look at it.

You stood facing each other, both unsure of your next move, when a group of voices echoed from somewhere in the distance. The voices were followed by muffled footsteps drawing near. Shifting uncomfortably, the boy in front of you quickly untied the banana wrapped around his arm and put it into pocket of his black hoodie. The pounding footsteps and harsh voices behind him turned into shouts that grew louder with every second.

With swift movement he turned to look behind him and then back to you. As if something gave him an idea, he began to walk toward you. Your eyes widened further with every step he took, until there was less than an arm's length left between you. You didn't even have time to reach for the knife hidden in your waistband before he took his hood down and grabbed your shoulders. His touch was surprisingly gentle as you let him push you slowly into the wall behind you. Still breathing heavily from the chase and even closer now, his breath fell hot against your lips. Trapping you underneath his gaze, he kept his eyes on yours for a moment as if he was searching for something in them, before lowering his head. Without warning, he crashed his lips onto yours.

Your first instinct was to shove him off of you but the way that his soft lips moved against your own, the way they tasted, had something inside of you craving more.

You had been kissed before but never like this.

The men who had been chasing him finally made their way to the entrance of the alley where they stopped. His back was to them but you could see them well enough through half lidded eyes to spot your family crest on their uniforms. They were your fathers soldiers with large guns held in their arms. You wondered what they could possibly be doing out here in District 7 so late at night, chasing after the boy who currently had his lips pressed tightly to yours. Whatever it was, it didn't look like they were planning to let him live once they caught him.

Before they had time to recognize you, or the boy they had been chasing, you put your fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. He followed your lead and moved his hands to your waist, deepening the kiss and completely blocking their view. Cold rings on his fingers pressed into bare skin where your shirt had lifted up slightly. His tongue ran across your bottom lip and you tightened your fingers in his hair. A deep sound from somewhere within his chest escaped his lips when you pulled on the roots.

The kiss had absolutely consumed you. It was captivating, magnetic. So much so that you had forgotten your surroundings entirely, until you heard movement at the front of the alley. The guards must have decided that you were just two drunk lovers who had stumbled out of the nearby tavern moments before, because after one of them shouted something that you couldn't quite comprehend over the pounding of your heart in your ears, they began to move again. Raising their weapons and storming off, leaving you alone with the boy in the alley.

The kiss lasted a little longer than it needed to before you pulled away, pushing him off of you, taking note of the way his toned muscles tensed underneath your hands. You just hoped it was dark enough that he couldn't see the way your cheeks flushed.

He seemed a bit surprised and you were sure it was because he probably hadn't expected you to kiss him back, especially not the way that you did. After turning to make sure that the soldiers had gone, he looked back to you. Your faces were still only a few inches apart despite you breaking the kiss, and his appeared as though it had been hand carved by some higher power above. It was the first time you had looked at his features well enough to appreciate the freckles that decorated the soft skin underneath his eyes. Eyes that held a sort of intensity that you couldn’t even begin to describe.

There was something in them that pierced all the way through you to your soul. A kind of familiarity almost, that you couldn’t quite discern, but god did the way he was looking at you right now make you certain you would have done anything for him in that moment. No matter the cost. He hesitantly brought his thumb up to run it over your bottom lip, wiping his own saliva and the kiss off with it. You thought briefly that he might lean down to kiss you again and you probably would have let him, although you'd never admit it.

Instead, he spoke.

"Thanks." His voice came out barely above a whisper but it shattered the silence.

It was much deeper than you had expected, sending chills up your spine. You also detected the faintest hint of an accent, leading you to believe that he wasn't from anywhere around here at all. Accents varied the further out you went from the Inner Circle and his was noticeable with just the one word.

He lingered for a moment there with his thumb on your lips before stepping back, pulling his hood up. Without another word or giving you the chance to respond, he turned to go.

His pace picked up into a jog as he made his way around the corner, out of the alley, and back the way he came. You stood there staring into the darkness until the sound of his footsteps faded into the night, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Only his taste on your tongue to remember him by, along with a sinking feeling that your world would never be the same.

It had been exactly 2 weeks since you crossed paths with the boy in the alley and it had been exactly 2 weeks that you hadn't stopped thinking about him. The unfamiliar sense of safety that you felt underneath his piercing gaze. His freckles that you took note of only after your faces were just inches apart. His plush lips and the way they felt against your own. His voice. You traced your fingertips along your lips, moving them down to where he had gently gripped your shoulders before leaning down to kiss you. When you closed your eyes you could feel his touch, permanently burned into your skin.

You hadn't gone outside of the palace grounds since that night for fear that you'd see him again. Or maybe you were afraid to admit that you hoped you would. Why had he been running from your fathers guards? They wouldn't have been there unless it was serious as they only became involved in something when it was directly related to your father and his orders.

Did you do the right thing in helping him to hide from them? Right and wrong were so muddled in your head at this point that you weren’t sure if it even mattered anymore. You weren't even sure if you were capable of doing the right thing considering the blood that ran through your veins.

One thing you were sure about is that in that moment something was pulling at you to keep him safe. Something bigger than right and wrong.

Sighing, you got out of bed, the sky was still dark in the morning hour, the palace ground cold under your feet. Today wasn't just any day, it was one you had been dreading. It was the day that your father had planned to throw a grand ball at the palace where he was going to finally reveal you to his most trusted advisors and the rich society members of the Inner Circle. Up until now, the only people who knew of your existence were within the palace walls. The staff, your father's army, guards, your trainers and tutors, all sworn to secrecy. Up until now, you were a ghost in the palace, regardless of your position as his daughter. But that was about to change.

Your father had decided that it was time for you to have a larger part in ruling the 9 districts beside him, and to do so you would need to be officially introduced to the world.

Was he finally going to tell you the truth? That he wasn't the righteous leader that he claimed to be, but a ruthless monster who stole resources and left innocent people to fend for themselves beyond District 9. Would he tell you the price he continuously paid to destroy anyone and anything that threatened his authority?

No, he wouldn't. As long as he lived, he wouldn't.

Even though he wanted you to stand beside him now, you knew that it was just for show. Even after your face was revealed, your influence in how things were run would remain nonexistent.

You had accepted it. You accepted the fact that all you could do for now was play along until you could come up with some way to use your position to help the people outside, but you didn't even know where to start. Sure, becoming leader of the 9 districts some day after your father was gone would allow you to change things, but you didn't have time to wait that long. They couldn't wait that long.

Letting out a frustrated groan you rubbed your temples, feeling a headache already coming on. You just had to focus on tonight and get through the ball despite the fact that the thought of so many eyes on you, permanently associating you with your father and his regime, made your skin crawl.

You stepped into the corridor outside of your bedroom after freshening up and gave a small wave to Jisoo who looked even more stressed than usual as she buzzed by you. Her arms were full of lavish decor to set up for the festivities. As you moved through the palace, staff hustled around you making their way to the grand hall where they were setting out desserts alongside rarities including fresh cuts of meat, cheeses, and drinks with real fruit in them. It made you sick to think that nearly everything being used to set up for tonight had been taken from the surrounding districts. You wished you could give it all back to them. To the starving families. To the old bartender who had been kind to you in District 7. To the boy with the freckled face that you kissed in the alley outside of it.

You wondered what life was like for him. Was he hungry? Did he have somewhere safe to sleep at night? A family to protect? You shook your head as if the action would help you to physically push him out of your thoughts.

But he was persistent.

The day passed quickly and before you knew it you were being poked and prodded into an extravagant red gown with a tight corset that made it difficult to breathe.

"I dont understand why we need to make such a big deal of this..” You complained to Jisoo as she put the finishing touches on your hair after the others had left.

"You know...I bet your father is going to keep an eye out for potential suitors…" she trailed off, giving you a soft smile.

“What do you mean?" you inquired, eyes wide. And Jisoo laughed.

"For marriage! He's going to want to pick someone for you who will be an asset to your family in the future. To help you keep the districts in order after he's gone. I hear there's plenty of matches lined up and just wait until they see you."

She was right, you did feel pretty in the dress despite how incredibly uncomfortable it was. But how could you even pretend to care about any of this right now, let alone marriage to some stranger who, for all you knew, could be even worse than your father. If that was even possible.

"Before tonight my existence was just a rumor..How can any of them want to marry me!?" you asserted.

"When your father is…." she trailed off again clearly trying to come up with the right words to use. "-when your father is who he is, do you think it really matters to them who you are?"

One thing about Jisoo is that she was never afraid to tell you what she thought. Unlike the rest of the staff in the palace, who walked on eggshells around you because of their fear of your father.

You fell silent after that, contemplating her words. After putting the finishing touches on your hair she gave you a tight hug and left to allow you a moment to yourself before the ball. You wondered what your life would be like if you were married and your goal of finding some way to help the people outside felt even further away.

Somehow the boy from the alley made his way back into your mind. A life with him certainly wouldn't involve tight corsets and suffocating lies. But then again, you didn't even know him. He was just a fleeting moment. A glimpse of something beyond the life you had always known, and while your lingering thoughts of him were a welcome escape from reality, they would fade with time.

He had probably already forgotten about you.

Later that evening you stepped out atop the grand staircase overlooking the great hall. Although the space had always been one of your favorites, it was exceptionally breathtaking tonight. The hall was like a breezeway, connecting two main parts of the castle. It was made entirely of glass, including a glass ceiling that you could see the night sky through. The warm golden lighting and massive chandelier added to the beauty of the space underneath. You noted the higher than usual number of armed guards on duty as they lined the hall, dressed in black with large guns rested in their arms.

At the start of the event your father had joined you at the top of the staircase above the growing crowd below. He was as stoic as ever in a sleek black suit and it was the first time you had seen him in a few days. He was always so busy that it wasn’t rare for a week or two to go by without speaking to him at all. Lately he seemed even more distracted.

Shortly after he joined you he began to speak to the crowd below, thanking them for their presence tonight at this monumental occasion. Voice commanding, expression devoid of all genuine emotion. Although tonight may have looked like a celebration on the outside, it was all business to him, all everything ever was. You looked out over the citizens of District 9 gathered below in their flashy outfits and eccentric hairstyles. Some of them wearing the only jewels and diamonds left in the world. You cringed when they clapped and cheered for you, the future leader of the 9 districts.

It was going to be a long night.

After the speech ended (and the exaggerated applause died down) you reluctantly made your way down the stairs. You maintained composure just as your father had instructed and he tightened his grip on your shoulder if you spoke too much to the eager guests. You were to come off as refined and elegant but authoritative and commanding, like him. It was of the utmost importance that you portrayed that tonight as it was the first time that you were meeting with anyone from the public and you needed to earn their respect, not that you actually cared what they thought of you. You would never be allowed to show the side of yourself to them that you showed to Jisoo. You rolled your eyes to her across the room behind your fathers back throughout the night, sharing silent laughter, as she made sure that the guests glasses stayed full of wine. Jisoo was your only friend and the only one who really knew who you were, but even she didn't know everything.

As the hours dragged on you were paraded around and introduced to all of the most important faces and names in District 9. You thought your wrist might actually fall off if you had to grab onto one more sweaty hand of a boy your age far too eager to touch you and personally introduce himself to your father.

Just as you decided that you physically couldn't take it any more and were going to need to find a moment to slip away before you actually lost your mind, the lights flickered.

They flashed on and off for a moment before going out completely.

The hall fell dark for no more than 10 seconds, illuminated only by the moon and the candles dispersed throughout. Haunting silence flooded the space.

When the lights returned whispers began to spread through the hall like wildfire. Your fathers guards shifted uncomfortably, hands falling to their weapons. You noticed a few of them make it a point to pick you out of the crowd, locking their eyes on you. Your father was across the hall where he had been engrossed in a conversation with a short man sporting a leopard print coat that touched the floor. You watched him scowl and excuse himself from the man, moving with urgency toward a small group of guards nearest to him, not bothering to look for you.

Before you had a chance to process what happened next, a deafening sound spread across the hall like thunder. The vibration was so strong that it shook the floor beneath your feet, shattering a pane of glass from the ceiling above. It was as if time had stopped with all eyes trained on the falling glass and then, like turning on a switch, the pieces shattered against ground and chaos ensued.

The next thing you registered was what sounded like muffled gunfire, followed by the glass walls of the hall shattering to pieces around you. Smoke began to fill the room from cans that were thrown in from the darkness outside, through broken spaces in the glass.

Shortly after the smoke began to collect, six..seven..maybe eight figures dressed in all black with bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces appeared. They rushed in through the broken glass walls, as if they had materialized from the night itself. The intruders moved swiftly, yelling to each other although their voices were barely audible over the screaming civilians.

You fixed your eyes on the bandanas they wore. Why did they look so familiar? Who were they? Where had they come from and how had they even gotten onto the palace grounds, let alone inside it??

Thoughts spiraled inside your head, too stunned by the scene before you to let you move. You caught sight of large guns held by two of the eight boys, one with a stocky muscular build and one that appeared to be leading the group. It was even more surprising when you observed a group of your father's guards run up and make contact with the boys, tossing a couple of them their own guns. You blinked rapidly but it did nothing to erase the scene that played out in front of you. The palace was easily the most heavily guarded place in all 9 Districts, but it had never occurred to you that any of the guards would dare double-cross your father.

Maybe not everyone was as afraid of him as you had thought.

Had they been the ones to help the boys gain access tonight?

The smoke flowed in waves around you, growing heavier as more cans were dropped into the hall from backpacks that a couple of the younger looking boys wore. Civilians screamed and cowered under tables in fear while you stood with your eyes trained on one of the boys in black whose figure looked a little too familiar.

You had to give it to them, the smoke was a smart cover on their part. Visibility in the hall had become so low that your father's men were holding back from shooting at the boys, for fear of striking a civilian.

You kept your eyes trained on the eight as they rushed toward the grand staircase, turning over tables and shooting occasionally at expensive looking objects and the glass around you with their borrowed weapons. They weren't aiming at people and didn't seem to be trying to hurt anyone. It was almost as if they just wanted to spread fear, feeding the chaos. Fights broke out between your fathers guards and it was incredibly confusing because you couldn't be sure which side any of them were on at this point.

Between the smoke, fighting between guards, occasional gunfire, and scrambling civilians, the boys succeeded in making their way to the top of the staircase. When they did, you witnessed two of them break from the group, the apparent leader and his well-built counterpart from earlier. As if it had been carefully scripted, the two quickly left and broke into a run heading deeper into the palace.

The guards below remained focused on each other, your father nowhere to be seen. The six boys left at the top of the staircase turned and pulled out objects from their backpacks. The objects they withdrew looked like tubes that they opened to slide out large banners. Each banner was dropped over the staircase landing, and together they displayed a message. The words painted in red.

TURN EVERYTHING UPSIDE DOWN

THERE IS NO PLACE FOR YOU HERE ANYMORE

THIS IS OUR DISTRICT NOW

Your eyes widened and you turned to look for your father, a guard, anyone, to see some kind of reaction but at this point the air was so thick that you could barely make out the writing on banners that had been dropped. The only reason you could see them through the smoke was because you were so close to the bottom of the stairs. It was obvious that the banners were meant to remain to be seen when the smoke cleared. It was a message to your father and the citizens of District 9, a message to you.

Just as quickly as they had dropped the banners, the remaining boys were joined by the other two, returning from wherever they had gone within the palace. They shared a quick word between themselves and with a command from their apparent leader, they began to urgently make their way back down the staircase.

Civilians continued to scramble and claw their way around you in panic. Emerging from the smoke, a large burly man covered in purple silk robes ran into you while trying to make his own escape. He crashed forcefully into your shoulder without looking back, causing you to stumble on your dress. Unable to regain your balance, you fell into the person running by you on the other side. They caught you before you hit the ground, letting out a deep grunt when you collided. When you looked up to meet their eyes your mouth dropped.

The air was ripped from your lungs when you made eye contact with the boy who had kissed you in the alley two weeks ago. He was dressed in all black like the others, with a bandana covering the lower half of his face and a heavy weapon strapped to his back. Even with half of his face hidden, you would have recognized the look in his eyes anywhere. He quite literally hadn't left your mind since that night, and here you were in his arms now.

He was one of the eight.

Still in disbelief, you moved quickly out of his hold, standing up to get a better look at him. He didn't seem to recognize you at first but when he pulled down the bandana to take a breath you saw his expression change from confusion to realization.

You held his eye contact wearing the same dumbfounded expression on your face and you knew. You knew. There was no doubt in your mind that it was him. His freckles had been revealed when he pulled down the bandana, the same one he had been wearing around his arm that night you first met. The dark brown hair that fell down into his eyes was pulled up at the back. When his gaze fell to your family crest on the necklace you wore, realization that he hadn't just kissed some random girl that night but the daughter of the most powerful man in all 9 districts spread over his face. You swear you saw the faintest hint of a smirk make its way across his lips when he looked up at you.

His eyes held a different sort of intensity compared to when you first met. There was something dangerous within them now and although you had been confident that he wouldn't hurt you that night in the alley, you weren't so sure that was the case anymore.

For a moment he looked as if he was going to say something to you. Hip lips parted slightly but before he could speak, one of your fathers guards came up behind you and grabbed your arm tightly, pulling you with such force that you jerked back. The guard pushed your head down and began to drag you with him. You struggled in his grasp to turn your head, watching as the boy from the alley stepped forward. He seemed to briefly contemplate following you, but again before he had the chance to move any further, another one of the eight emerged from the smoke. They began shaking his shoulder to gain his attention.

"FELIX! Can't you hear me?! What are you doing?! They're everywhere man we need to go NOW"

Felix.

Snapping back to reality, he quickly replaced the bandana over his face and tore his eyes from yours. They turned to make their way back to join the others when the boy, that you now knew to be named Felix, narrowly dodged a bullet as it whipped by his head. You moved to see where it came from and yelled at the guard who had hold of your arm moments before, his gun now raised beside you.

"Are you crazy?! You could hurt a civilian!"

Of course, you didn't actually care much about the civilians scrambling around you. It was just that you swore you felt your heart stop when the bullet barely missed Felix's head.

The guard ignored your words and went to aim at the boys again but before you even had time to think about what you were doing, you moved and stepped in front of him. The cool barrel of the gun pressed against your skin. You turned around where Felix met your gaze again. His eyebrows arched in surprise, obviously taking note of you putting yourself between him and the gun. To anyone on the outside it would have looked like you were protecting him.

Were you protecting him?

You mouthed "go" and if you had blinked you would have missed the nod he gave you in return. Without wasting another second to risk being shot at again, he spun around, following his comrade into the smoke. They moved quickly out of sight with a herd of your fathers men running after them. Many of the guards from earlier that appeared to have been working with the boys lay motionless on the ground now.

The guard beside you dropped his gun and replaced his death grip on your arm, dragging you with him once again. He was furious that you had ruined his shot, however he still had the chance to do something worth being recognized by your father if he was the one to get you to safety.

You looked back at the hall in the hopes of catching one last glimpse of Felix, but he and the others were already long gone. They would have escaped back the way they came, through the shattered glass walls, with your fathers men close on their heels. They were probably being hunted right now in the darkness outside.

Please. Please just let them make it out.

You begged with your thoughts to whatever higher power might be listening in. You couldn't explain it but you needed them to make it out alive. For some reason, the thought of a lifeless Felix joining the other bodies that lay motionless on the ground made your stomach churn.

The thought of him being dragged back alive for your father to deal with made it worse.

The guard turned a corner with your arm still in his grasp and the sounds from the hall faded with every step you took. He made his way down the corridor before throwing you into a room at the end, locking the door behind him. You shook the knob but it was no use. Sliding your back down the door you sat crumpled against it, your red dress spread out around you.

None of it made sense. Why would the boys risk their lives to send a message? Then again maybe it wasn't about the message at all. You remembered when two of them left the group after making it to the top of the stairs, heading briefly into the palace. Had the banners and the chaos they created actually been meant to act as a distraction? If that was the case, why had they really been here tonight? How had they even come into contact with your fathers guards outside of the palace and how had they convinced some of them to betray him?

Why was he with them?

Felix.

His name rolled off of your tongue. He was the enemy. You knew that. You should know that. But something made you step in front of a loaded gun to keep him safe tonight.

Maybe you weren’t on opposing sides. After all, you didn't really have a side anymore anyway…Not that he would know that. As far as he knew, you were just like the rest of them.

After what felt like hours of sitting on the floor with your head in your hands, you were about to doze off when the lock opened with a swift click behind you. You stood immediately, backing away when the door opened and you were met with the same guard from earlier who had locked you in the small room.

“Its over. I’ve been instructed to take you to your quarters until further notice. The palace is on lockdown.” He motioned for you to come out, clearly irritated that he had been the one sent to collect you.

“My father-“

“-is alive” he cut you off. “And no, I didn’t tell him what you did getting in front of my shot like that. Stupid girl. It would have been worth the civilian risk to get at least one of those bastards,” he huffed.

Did his words mean that they made it out alive? You made a point to mask any trace of concern in your voice when you spoke.

“They got away?” you paused before adding “all of them?”

“Yes all of them. All eight. They had a vehicle waiting just outside of the palace gates and they were gone before we could get to any of ours. How the hell they got access to one of our vehicles and convinced some of our own men to double cross your father nobody knows. At least the traitors got what they deserved.”

You shuddered looking away. The men that had betrayed your father must have known their fate was inevitable, and yet they thought whoever those eight boys were and what they stood for was worth sacrificing their lives.

You turned back to the guard as he spoke again, putting on your best attempt at masking the relief that washed over you when you heard the boys had made it out safely. All of them.

“As for the eight rebels we will find them. Under order of your father we will find every single one of them and I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when he gets his hands on ‘em. Now come on, I said let’s go.”

The tone in his voice told you that you weren’t going to get anything else out of him right now, he wasn’t exactly your biggest fan to begin with, so you stepped out through the doorway. Your footsteps were the only sound, echoing throughout the eerily silent corridors while the two of you made your way through the palace. Up stone steps, you walked deeper in the direction of your bedroom.

Only one thing remained on your mind as you replayed the events of tonight over and over in your head.

Him.

Felix.

You couldn’t ignore that from the moment he disappeared tonight, part of you desperately hoped you would see him again. You were afraid the same part of you would be willing to do whatever it took to make sure that you did, and that terrified you more than anything in this world ever had.

Part 2

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