#<- not often that i get to add that tag a matter of mere hours after posting something

[goldensunset]

feel free to elaborate in tags of course on how easy or hard cosplaying them would be

bonus question: how much do you WANT to look like your icon. like are they the goal you aspire to

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[twst-campos13]

ah hello!! i'm literally so excited to see a blog for enby and male readers sodjfoijf,,could i maybe request a scenario where male reader is a staff member (idk?? like a librarian?? a nurse??? do they need nurses over there???) and is crushing on crewel but is too scared to confess because he's both Too Dense to pick up any signs of potential reciprocation and also just isn't sure if crewel likes men??? maybe. maybe with a happy ending though because i am a fool,, thank you very much!!

One hopelessly cheesy scenario coming up!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you don’t mind I made reader a librarian who may or may not be a bit of a romantic because i listened to a particular playlist while writing this- (commentary in notes!)

Warnings: none! Tags: male!reader, fluff!

A simple man such as you live a simple life. As simple as life can be in Night Raven College, that is. A prestigious school that holds a student body that can barely tolerate each other. It would be typical for a librarian to be the observer than the observed, but hey, if it means getting out of trivial matters of the school and enjoying the show in your personal bubble, then you have no complaints.

This attitude of yours did come to have its own consequences. You were seen as timid by most students as you were quite closed-off, taking it as a reason to poke fun at you sometimes. You proved them wrong when they step out of line with their fun. Most of the time you choose to ignore them. However, you lived up to your introverted nature, especially when it comes to him.

Tall, dark, and handsome. Approachable but also not at the same time. Sharply dressed and sharp attitude. This man that visits the library ever so often had become your daily motivation to keep on working at this school despite the wage that Crowley gives you.

Divus Crewel, feared and admired by staff and students—also known as the man who stole your heart.

You feel so small compared to him. That would not be so farfetched. He is a remarkable man, and what about you? You are just a librarian at this school. You are like mere dust to him.

Yet, despite this, you continued yearning for him no matter how ridiculous it seems. Perhaps you have fallen too deep in romantic fiction that you make hopeless wishes. You are known to be excellent in reading people but for some reason, you find it hard to read Divus. His perfect posture whenever he would scan the Applied Sciences aisle showed that he is focused on his reading. However, it is his expression you find hard to decipher. He looks dashing as ever, of course, but his thin lips and neutral gaze makes it hard for you to know what he is thinking.

If your life is a novel it would be so easy to know what runs in his mind. What he feels for you. Maybe he could even know what you feel for him. In a story, what makes characters likable is knowing what their emotions, their feelings, their ambitions, and their dreams are, for they are already laid out in ink on pages. Implicit or explicit information, simple or complex structure of personality, it does not matter. You would easily know about them for they are just sentences away from understanding.

And in romance novels…oh, how dreamy they are. How easy they make it seem to fall in love, to confess, and to achieve a happy ending. However, as a librarian, you know the reality of your situation. Your relationship with Crewel is a professional. Strictly, if you were to add an adjective. Is it really strictly professional? Your right brain points out the moments in your life where you interacted with him. At faculty meetings, reunions, at the library…moments like those just feel surreal you almost believed that you made those up on your own. Probably because you initiated each of those interactions yourself.

The only time, where Crewel would come to you himself, are rare. One time he came to the library and checked out a book to read in his spare time. His voice distracted you. It was like cherry wine. Sweet, smooth, enough to make your throat dry and your cheeks flushed. Oh, you could listen to him talk for hours in that tone of his, and he could even make you do anything he pleases.

You greet each other good morning or good afternoon when you pass by each other, and he would smile a teasing one at you as if you two shared a secret with each other. Well, technically you did, for one time you bought him coffee under the pouring rain, and he repaid you for your kindness. Soon enough your coffee exchange became a routine for both of you. It was sweeter than the cream in his coffee. It was more refreshing than the rainy day you shared with each other.

His gaze. His posture. His voice. His smile. Despite those small interactions with each other you are still troubled by what he thinks of you. A friend? A colleague? A special someone? Why is this so hard? Why was it so easy to fall in love? And when things could not get worse for you, your left brain argued that he might not be interested to mingle with a man.

Well, you could find out for yourself, but that would be creepy. Your workspace is in the library! You could not just leave when you please just so you can observe him. You could not use the staff files to your advantage—that is being a borderline stalker. Whatever Crewel’s orientation is, is his to keep and his to disclose to you. Oh, but still. If this were a novel, you could easily analyze the situations that give off evidence of him liking men. Or liking someone like you.

If that were the case you would not have a hard time trying to decipher his words, his gaze, his tone, and his actions towards you. If that were the case…if that were the case…then…well, there’s no then. Divus Crewel is not a fictional character to analyze. He is your coworker, your colleague.

It is hard to know what he thinks of you, at all. You really wished that you could…but the thought of knowing what he thinks to scare you, as well.

Rejection is not that far from reality. Who are you compared to him again? A nobody. A simple, ‘timid’, librarian that enjoys reading romantic and fiction novels and inserts himself in scenarios he makes up for himself just so he can…find the happiness he wishes to have.

But Divus is your happiness. Became your source of happiness. Ironic how he colors the muted floor of the library with his monochromatic appearance. Maybe it is better that you keep your feelings to yourself. You avoid the risk of rejection and humiliation as well as ruining whatever it is your current relationship with Crewel is.

You barely registered the visitor in front of your desk until a familiar red leathery gloved hand rested atop of yours. The contact of the leather sent a spark of electricity through you that you snapped your head up to meet alluring silvery blue eyes. There is only one person in this college that owns those distinct, beautiful, silvery blue eyes.

Divus.

“Have I interrupted your moment of peace, sir?” He asked in that cherry wine voice of his. It made your throat dry up and your face warm. “N-No—no!” You squeaked, shaking your head to brush off the embarrassment. Quickly, you fixed your composure and appeared presentable. As presentable as you could be under his stare that is. You just hope that he found some amusement in your haste. “D-Div—Mr. Crewel, what can I do for you?” You smiled as you speak in a professional tone. The edge of his lips curled into a familiar smirk and still you could not determine what was running through his mind at the moment.  

“I came to return the book I borrowed last week,” he said, placing down the novel on your desk. Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austen. Right, he borrowed that last week. It is not your place to judge whatever it is he desires to read. “Of course,” you nodded, “did you enjoy reading it?” You started on a small talk as you take out your logbook for the check-ins and outs of books. “Somewhat,” Crewel shrugged, “I had my eyes set on another book I would like to borrow.”

“Oh? What is it? I’ll go get it for you.” You stood up after sliding the logbook back to its drawer. Crewel did not leave from where he was standing. His eyes were simply on you. You had to hide your nervousness under his gaze. “I had my eyes on it ever since that rainy day, when you offered me shelter in the library until the rain passes,” he mused. “General fiction, I believe, was the genre.”

“If that’s the case then you better tell me the title,” you joked, taking a stool to the genre’s aisle. “Are you certain you can find it?” Crewel coolly challenged. You almost laughed but did not fight the smile on your lips. “Mr. Crewel, I spend most of my time in this library. I know every book and I still have the Dewey Decimal system memorized…” You kept your eyes distracted by scanning the spines of the books on the shelves. You are aware that he is still looking at you that is why you refused to look back at him. You are not sure what will happen if you look back at him while conversing.  

“If that is the case—” why does he suddenly sound a bit close? “—may you find ‘How to Ask your Dense Colleague Out to Dinner?’”

What a lengthy title. It sounds very basic and almost like a rule book than a novel. Well, that is General Fiction for you. Though you are quite unsure if such a book exists in the library. “Hm…” you hummed, a finger on your chin, as your eyes scanned the shelves. “I don’t think I have that here…Crowley pays me enough to support my rent and meals, but not enough to buy new books. Plus, the students…”

You heard him chuckle beside you and fought the urge to turn to him. “I believe I was not frank enough. Ah, well, I will put all subtleties aside, then…”

His warm breath tickling your skin was what made you finally turn to him. The proximity of your noses startled you that you nearly stumbled out of your stool if it were not for Divus’ hand grabbing yours to pull you to him. You gasped, shocked, as you landed close to his chest. His other hand supported your waist, and your eyes widened his silvery blues. You can feel your heart hammering against his. Your legs feel like putty when he gave you that teasing smirk. Your name—your first name—sounds surreal from his lips. Your entire world was a confusing mix of vertigo and bright lights.

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

You stared. You stammered. You are flabbergasted and flustered. You were unsure how to react to such a forward question that your brain completely shut down. But you cannot embarrass yourself—you must not. Not when…not when…not when…!

Oh, he will he stop saying your name with such sentiment?

“Is your silence a rejection or a consideration?” He rose a brow and your face flushed even more. “No! I mean yes—I mean—no, it isn’t a rejection—”

“Then you have been anticipating this?”

“Divus!”

He laughed. He laughed at your state. He laughed at your awkwardness. But most importantly his laugh sounds so pleasant. Like he was teasing you and you liked him teasing. You grew shy, averting your gaze from his and fidgeting with your fingers. “I mean…I mean…why?”

Crewel stopped laughing and looked at you. “Why what?”

“Why…me? Out of all people?” You asked as fear and denial keep you from grasping the fact that this is all real and not another scenario you made up during rainy days. Crewel’s face remained passive. Neutral. It was eating at your heart and you just wish what is going through his mind.

“Is it not obvious, puppy?” He raised a brow at you. The hand holding your wrist now tilted your chin in his direction. “It is not by fate or destiny, but a mere law that dictates the gravitational pull of similar atoms that is programmed by the need to chemically bind together.”

You suddenly felt stumped. “W—What?”

“I like you, puppy,” Crewel clarified, adoring the way your confusion turned to pure surprise, “and I would like to have dinner with you. Perhaps another, if the first went well.”

You need some time to process this. Your head felt so light you might pass out in his arms. Actually, you would not mind that in the slightest. His coat is just so soft it feels like heaven. A proper response of agreement failed to come to your mind so instead, you asked him again, “And what if the first does not end well?”

Crewel smiled at you. “Then we shall try again with the next dinner. Mind you, puppy, as a man of science, I am not afraid of failure if trying means more chances of perfecting my goal.”

“And what’s that goal?” You asked and physically stopped yourself from combusting when he leaned closer to you that your noses touch and you smell his cologne, and his bold scent.

“The goal to become yours.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.7 (BAON)

Summary: Team Rescue is on the way...mostly. Look, they aren't good at names.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had been on worse car rides, but not many. In fact, he could only think of one; riding in the backseat of his own car with Stretch unconscious in his lap, his life ticking away in decimals as Edge desperately clung to Blue’s instruction that he should think of healing magic as similar to making a hollandaise.

It wasn’t ridiculous if it worked and sitting here in this silent car, hyperfocusing on the mostly empty roads with Blue next to him radiating grim determination and Antwan in the backseat, Edge found himself thinking of hollandaise again.

The mental picture of the saucepan was strangely easing, keeping his turbulent thoughts occupied. In his memory, Blue’s voice was preternaturally calm as he reminded them that all the butter couldn’t be added at once because the mixture would break. Edge followed the direction coming from his phone as the voice assistant instructed him in its robotic way to turn left, (you need to add the butter a little at a time) turn right, (whisk it in), your destination is on the left.

It was only when he pulled into the empty parking lot as directed that the real Blue spoke, his high voice uncertain over the confidence of his imaginary twin, “Shouldn’t the security teams be here?”

“No,” Edge said disgustedly. He threw the car into park and pressed a knuckle between his eye sockets with painful force. “because this isn’t the right place.”

The dilapidated sign over the empty storefront declared with a spooky if faded cheer to be ‘Spirit Halloween’ but the only spirits in this place were the ghosts of customers’ past.

“My brother’s sense of humor,” Edge said, “he’s sending us a message. We went trick or treating behind his back and here’s his trick.”

“Of course it is,” Blue muttered, sinking back in the seat. His gloved hands were tight in his lap, a mirror to Edge’s grip on the steering wheel. “Papyrus probably warned him hours ago that I’d left home. He would have been ready for something like this.”

Edge picked up his phone, his bare thumbs moving with cautious swiftness over the screen. “Yes, he would. Which is why we’re going to follow the other tracker now.”

“Other tracker?” Antwan leaned over the driver’s seat to look at the new directions scrolling up the phone screen. His laughter was uncomfortable, more nerves than humor. “How many trackers do you have on your brother?”

Not as many as he has on me, Edge did not say. “On a normal day, only one.” Edge pulled back out onto the empty street, following the monotone drone of the GPS. “Sans set it up for me when Red pulled his little disappearing act after California and then reappeared to wreak havoc on my kitchen.”

“He did what?” Blue asked and Edge winced internally, barely keeping it from showing on his face. He wasn’t at his best, that much was certain, spilling secrets out in a spreading pool, but caring about that would have to wait. There were only so many directions he could pull his focus for now and Blue was hardly going to take out an advertisement in the paper if he heard anything he shouldn’t. A bit of gossip when it came to office relationships and the local scandals aside, Blue was one of their diplomats and he was well able to use appropriate discretion.

Hopefully, his definition of appropriate did not include asking Red any uncomfortable questions at a later date.

“It doesn’t matter. As I was saying, I usually have one tracker on my brother just in case he gets it into his head to face something he shouldn’t alone.” Edge didn’t quite roll through a red light. Better to not get pulled over by the Ebott police if he could help it, Embassy security certainly had enough on their hands right now without having to handle minor traffic violations. “Except, as I said, Sans gave it to me. Which means it’s only as accurate as Sans wants it to be and he has an unfortunate tendency to match my brother when it comes to deciding he knows what’s best for other people.”

A certain sourness fell over Blue’s expression as he nodded. As both a younger brother and a diplomat he was quite familiar with the ongoing irritation of overprotectiveness, even as he often did the same to his own brother.

“Which is why tonight I added my own tracker to Red’s jacket,” Edge said, “I would have followed that one first, but I was hoping not to reveal it so quickly if I could help it.”

Blue hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’d be expecting that?”

“Of course, but I think he’d have a harder time finding and disabling it. Stretch made it for me.” The memory of his maniacal delight when Edge told him what it was for was briefly allowed, as well as his satisfied triumph when he presented Edge with a device that was the size of match head, tagged with near-microscopic hooks reminiscent of Velcro that were made to catch and cling to any fabric with a mere touch.

His design was with the Research and Development team now, minus the tracking device, as they worked to find a use for it that would allow for them to sell it to Humans, along with a dozen other things he’d created. So many of Stretch’s designs ended up that way, patents in which he was not named used as bargaining chips to help keep their coffers full. Stretch always declared that he didn’t work for the Embassy and that much was true. Instead, he worked for all of Monsterkind, that clever mind of his working to get them the funds they needed establish a place in this world. Only a handful of people even knew it and while Asgore could be foolishly soft-hearted on occasion, he wouldn’t considering paying a large ransom for any citizen on the street, even if they were married to Edge. Stretch was important past his twitter feed and it would be narrow not to suspect that these kidnappers somehow learned about it.

This time the tracker was leading them to the other side of town, down on the north side where the neighborhoods were filled with condemned houses and boarded up businesses. The only industry that thrived there were liquor shops whose windows were barred, manned by cashiers who spent their days behind a thick layer of bulletproof glass. His car was going to stand out like a sore thumb, but it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to waste anymore time by stopping at the Embassy to borrow something more discreet.

At least he could worry less about reprisals from rolling through stop sign; the Ebott police presence on this side of town was minimal.

They made their way through the empty streets without incident. It was late even for the criminal element and a glance down the alleyways they passed showed them filled with shadows that could have been trash cans or curled up humans sleeping amongst them.

Some of the children from the Y lived on this side of town. Actually, most of them did and some of them might well be sleeping on the street right now…no. He couldn’t think of that at this moment, one thing at a time. He couldn’t afford to have his attention ping-ponging around inside his head, not when their destination was in sight.

This time, there were plenty of cars parked in a semi-circle around the building, floodlights pouring from their windows and flashers circling on their rooftops. Embassy security teams were made up of Monsters and Humans, and there were plenty out there in their uniforms. The Ebott police were going to throw a fit about jurisdiction, of that he had no doubt, but that was going to be a tomorrow problem for the Legal department and their FBI connections.

One of the security personnel approached the car as Edge pulled up, both hands raised in a gesture that could either mean for them stop or for him to offer surrender. Edge rolled down his window and he ducked his head inside the car. “Sir, your husband and his friend are both fine,” he said without preamble. “This area is closed off, you should—”

“If you even suggest that I should leave, you’re going to be reassigned to the elementary school playground for the foreseeable future,” Edge said evenly.

To his credit, the guard’s expression did not change. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I was going to tell you to park over on the north side,” He pointed to a clearing off behind the other cars. “Your brother is waiting for you up at the entrance.”

“Of course he is,” Edge muttered. “I’m sure we’ve kept him quite entertained with his version of hide and seek.” But he obeyed the direction.

He parked a fair distance away from the circle of the security vehicles and got out of the car, Antwan and Blue at his heels. No one else approached, the rest of the security team keeping a respectable distance away out of either direction from their leaders or simple self-preservation.

Standing near the warehouse entrance and out of the glare of the floodlights was Red, burrowed into his jacket with a Styrofoam cup in his hand and a cigar smoldering between his teeth. As if warned by his instincts or, more likely, through the curling earpiece that was stuck into his audial canal, Red turned to them as they approached. His grin was irritatingly knowing and familiar, pleased as a punch to have held them off long enough that everything was finished but the cleanup.

And yet, it was also such a comfort to see that smirk that Edge nearly went weak at the knees. He wouldn’t be smiling that way if Stretch or Jeff were hurt, even his brother’s sadism had its limits.

“what took you so long, you stop for coffee?” Red snorted. He held up the Styrofoam cup. “coulda brought me some, the shit they’ve got here’d give battery acid a run for its cash.”

“Yes, of course, we got stuck in the drive-thru at Starbucks," Edge snapped. “You’ll forgive me for not bringing enough for everyone!”

Before he could even demand a report, Blue went on past him. Parking lot gravel scattered under his booted feet as he stormed up to Red and swatted the cup from his hands. He paid no mind to the coffee sloshing out over their shoes, his small fists knotting into Red’s jacket front as he hauled him in close to snarl out, “WHERE IS MY BROTHER?”

Even through layers of forced calm, Edge could still appreciate the sight. It was certainly an unusual one. Blue was shorter even than Red and he wore no oversized jacket to give his small frame an illusion of bulk. The overwhelming visual was that of a tabby cat attacking the local tiger and if it were anyone else, Edge might have tried to intercede. It was possible he could have saved their lives, if not their limbs, had it been anyone but their innermost circle.

As it was, he tensed until his brother said mildly, “easy on the threads, baby blue, this’s my favorite jacket. my only one, too. they’re still upstairs. they ain't hurt, so we're lettin' 'em come down in their own time. ain’t no need to rush ‘em. think they needed a mo’ to catch their breath, s’all."

Blue didn’t wait for another word. He let go of Red and turned to the building entrance, running towards it. No one tried to stop him, though Edge noted with approval that one of the security team peeled away from the others to follow him at a discreet distance.

Antwan looked as if he was considering chasing after Blue, but he hung back. With the suspicious nature of a good lawyer, he asked Red, "If they’re fine, why aren’t you with them?"

"sweet that you think me bein' there would be some kinda comfort," Red snorted. "already saw 'em. head on up if you want, we've already cleared away the rest of the honey bun’s little scooby traps." Red offered them a vicious slash of grin. "your liability might need a new rating, he's damn creative when he’s got a hair laid across his ass just right."

That was enough for Antwan. He headed off in the direction Blue had, leaving Edge alone with his brother.

Edge waited until Antwan disappeared before he asked, low, "Where are they?"

Red only looked at him with mild reproach. “toldja, upstairs. what, you think i’d bullshit you on that?”

“I don’t mean them.”

Red was shaking his head before Edge finished. “nuh-uh, nope, not a chance. you ain’t gettin’ a look at those asswipes outside a courtroom. you’re keeping your toes behind the yellow line on this one, sneaking backstage ain’t happening, little brother.”

“I need to see—" Edge began heatedly.

“you fuckin’ don’t. you want to see and your wants ain’t on the list, not this time!” Red lowered his voice, “i get you wanted firecrackers and this is endin’ on a wet fart for you, but i ain’t explainin’ to the honey bun that i stood here and let you add a fresh shovelful of xp to your load on his account. so whyn’t you head upstairs now and go get your liability, huh? take him home and let us handle this, you can read the report tomorrow, yeah?”

Suspicion filtered through Edge’s strained temper, cooling it. Something of his brother’s little speech rang wrong to Edge; it was too consolatory towards him for their normal tastes, something was off here. Now that he was looking at it without his frustrations clouding things, there was also the matter of him leaving Stretch and Jeff alone; comforting presence or not, it was difficult to believe that Red would let them out of his sight unnecessarily. As shrewdly as he could still manage, Edge took a closer look at his brother.

Red did not have any LV but that certainly didn’t mean he had no trauma. His tells were subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who hadn’t watched them develop straight from the gutter. Eye lights slightly narrower than normal, his cigar clenched between too-tight teeth, the rare crackle of crimson magic arcing across his fingertips like a stray bolt of lightning.

There was something Red wasn’t saying, but there was no point in trying to fish it out now; he’d need better bait and Edge already had one in the net to deal with.

Better to leave it as it was. Even if the issue festered, his brother was unlikely to allow it to affect his work. It was difficult not to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder, however briefly. Edge resisted the absurd impulse. It would not be appreciated. Unwanted concern was more likely to make things worse.

Instead, Edge nodded curtly and headed for the entrance. His boots clacked loudly on the cement floors. Security was milling in the hallways, others crouching over scorch marks and a strange overflowing mass of what looked like multicolored foam oozing down one side of the stairwell. Superfluous information, none of it mattered. He followed the subtle cues from the security personnel, the glances and occasional points that came without questions leading him up the rickety stairs to the second floor of offices and storerooms.

On the landing, a low sound caught his attention, a familiar voice crooning softly. Edge nearly skidded to a stop outside one of the rooms, looking in the open doorway to see the Swap brothers sitting together on the floor, holding each other tightly.

“hey, bro, shh, i’m okay. they didn’t hurt us, sans, i’m fine,” Stretch was saying. Blue was in his lap, clinging like the child he no longer was, and Stretch was rubbing a gentle hand down his brother’s back, leaving behind sooty streaks. He looked up, soft white eye lights catching on Edge still standing in the doorway. His cheekbones were wet, his wide sockets drowning in tears. Stretch scrubbed his face with the sleeve of a shirt that was not his own and managed a tremulous smile. "hey, handsome, miss me?"

He’d seen Stretch only hours ago, dressed in clothing stolen from Edge’s side of the closet and offering flirtatious kisses before walking out their front door. Now he was in baggy clothing that belong to neither of them, the shirt nearly hanging off his narrow shoulders and his bare legs sticking out from the bottoms of the too-short pants to leave the delicate bones of his feet filthy and exposed. All of him was filthy, his pale tears left clean tracks down his cheekbones and Edge did not know what Stretch had done to free them both, what he’d endured until he could., couldn’t begin to imagine it. Or perhaps he simply did not want to, and the precariously thin layer of Edge’s calm finally began to crack. All his desperate worries surged in through that first line of weakness to fill his face and then downward to soak into his aching soul.

"Don't—" Edge choked on the word, unsure what he was even going to say. Don't joke, don't dismiss this, don't ever leave me. He walked over and fell to his knees beside them, hardly feeling the warning jolt from his leg as he pulled them both into his arms rougher than he'd meant. Unnecessary, Stretch came easily, willingly, settling into his embrace exactly as if he belonged there, and brought his brother along for the ride.

"hey, i'm okay," Stretch said, pitching his voice for them both. He rested his forehead against Edge’s, settling a gentle hand on his sharp cheekbone with a sigh. "we’re okay, babe. it's okay."

"It is not okay by any stretch of the imagination,” Edge said hoarsely. His own hands were moving over Stretch, cautious of his lack of gloves even as he convinced himself that this was no dream, these well-loved bones were real. “And if you make a pun on that, you can ride home with my brother."

“wouldn’t joke about it, babe.” Then Stretch promptly made it a lie as he teased, “hope i get extra credit for not stretching things out, actually, ‘cause i sure didn’t get my ‘stay out of trouble’ badge tonight.”

“Pappy,” Blue moaned. His grip in the awful shirt Stretch was wearing twisted as if his disgust needed a physical outlet, “honestly, must you?”

Edge barked a laugh, hard and pained, but in his soul there was only giddy lightness. “No, you certainly did not. I would say any claim that you didn’t find trouble would be stretching things.”

Another groan from Blue was interrupted by a scuffing sound behind them. Edge jerked around, but it was only Antwan holding Jeff in his own tight embrace, whatever whispers between them too low to be heard. Edge hadn’t even noticed them when he first came in and the faint guilt from that was too small to be borne, already swallowed up in overwhelming relief.

Safe, they were both safe and unharmed, and Edge set his anger back, holding it in reserve. No matter what his brother thought, this was not over, and he would not be relegated to the injured group to recover, not this time.

But first, he was taking his love home.

tbc

[fuzziemutt]

Do You Understand?

Chapter 1/9 - Link to MasterList in reblog

Summary: Connor knows he isn’t the most.. knowledgeable... about emotions but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them ever. If they weren’t going to take him seriously then he wasn’t even going to try interacting with them anymore. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: I’m placing all possible tws here that could apply to the story. Possible ableism (this is not explicit but what Connor goes through can be similar to it), dissociation, very emotionally harmful coping mechanisms. Self worth problems. Trauma responses that go unnoticed. Please let me know if I need to add any more.

This started as a vent fic that extended outward into comfort, it gets worse before it gets better.

Notes: This is my first multi chaptered fic, I’ve never done this before. I did write the whole story in entirety prior and scheduled the other chapters to slowly release. The original vent was honestly quite different than what ended up being written, and I don’t know how it turned into this huge thing.

Also: There are no ships in this, this is all platonic. The only relationship status is that Hank is Connor’s dad even if they don’t quite acknowledge it.

Also also: This is Connor Pov. We mainly focusing on his thought processes throughout and they aren’t particularly healthy. (Connor also has ADHD)

---

Connor knew he had trouble expressing and understanding his emotions. It wasn't a secret. He'd often find people looking at him with confusion, and sometimes wariness, with his lack of response to many things. He was a prototype. Sure he had one of the most advanced social relations software to date, but Cyberlife cut corners with the amount of articulation his face could produce, his current model wasn't meant to live long and to be disposable after all.

It doesn't help that he also just didn't know how to express what he was feeling in the limited ways he could. He "lived" most of his trial runs and current time in severe denial out of fear of deactivation so he'd rather ignore them than process them. It wasn't healthy but it was safe. Familiar.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel. He felt lots of things like guilt, hatred, fear, the occasional spark of joy. Too many things sometimes, in fact, that led him to having a nasty habit of adamantly ignoring it all, manually storing it away for later to keep his composer and stay in fully functioning order. Sure this led to people often ignoring his own desires and doing things that severely hurt him with no mention from him. But he was fine. He chose this after all. 

However, even with all the quarantining and ignoring, he couldn't help the anger that bubbled under his skin and in his throat right now. 

"Hank, I understand that you're angry but-" 

"You think you understand? You don't understand a shit, Connor! How could you?! I get you're your own person and everything now, but I never see you express anything beyond mild displeasure!" Hank yelled back. Connor was glad they were at Hank's house at least to provide some sense of privacy but saying he felt unhappiness at being yelled at was an understatement. 

Connor went to open his mouth in defense but Hank cut him off, "Of course you don't understand! How could you ever understand any emotions! You keep acting like a-" he suddenly went quiet, but Connor knew. 

"Like a what, Lieutenant?" He asked, making sure to keep his LED a yellow slow turn, but he couldn't help how sharp his voice came out, how his eyes hardened to a fine point. 

They stared at each other for several tense seconds before Hank seemed to deflate a bit and looked ashamed. 

"Like a machine," he spat out, still tense and upset but his fury gone. 

Connor simply nodded, quarantining what he could to not lash out and stood up silently. 

"I will be taking Sumo out for a walk to allow for us to take a breather before we both do something we regret. I will return," he said, shoulders tense and voice strict. His movements felt stiff as he tried to hold himself back from continuing this fight, grabbing the leash and patting his side to call over the old dog. 

"You can't just run away-" Hank tried, stepping closer as if to grab Connor's arm to stop him. But Connor's ice cold glare, almost threatening posture and clenched fists seemed to stop him. They kept forgetting that Connor wasn't just meant for integration but also intimidation, he once was a deviant (killer) hunter after all, and he can be intimidating when he so pleased. Hank seemed to suddenly remember the rumors of Gavin getting his ass handed to him by Connor in under a minute flat by how he backed away uncertain.

Connor left and came back a bit over half an hour later. Hank would apologize and Connor would accept it, even if that anger still simmered deep inside, and they'd go back to joking and discussing work matters like nothing happened. Friends sometimes fight after all. It was fine.

Despite how much Connor hated those accusations of him being incapable of understanding, they. Kept. Happening. 

Not just with Hank but others as well. The people who he thought were his friends, the Jericrew, even Nines the RK900, kept pulling the same shit. Connor knew they all experienced deviancy differently than him, Nines also had the gift of a face with full articulation that he couldn't help but envy, but it irked him every time. 

"Let's switch topics for Connor..."

"Oh I should have talked about this with someone else..."

"It was rude of me to assume you understand-" 

"Oh.. Sorry I know you don't understand-"

"You know he doesn't understand-"

"He won't understand-"

"He can't understand-" 

Each time he heard that word, understand, Connor felt that broiling anger rise just a bit more. Each time they never even asked how he felt before the assumption, he felt his trust disintegrate bit by bit. He was a master of masking his emotions to get the emotional responses he wanted, but even he had a limit when anytime he saw his friends he felt nothing but hateful bitterness below his false pleasantries. He even stopped willfully hanging out with all of them, even Hank, as it grew harder to fight down the urge to scream and yell and make them understand. 

It all came to a head during a meeting with the Jericho leaders, Nines tagged along as well as he said how much he missed seeing him outside of work. They were discussing how to handle the androids that still had severely negative responses to humans after all this time since the revolution. He was in the middle of talking about a solution of creating areas in New Jericho that would absolutely not allow humans and could run independently when North rounded on him.

"I'm sorry," in a very much not sorry tone, "but how am I supposed to take your option any bit seriously when you don't understand any of these androids' struggles mister 'my best friend is a human'."

"North-" Markus warned. The others even tensed up staring at Connor.

"No seriously. He could never understand their struggles," North plowed forward with no hesitation. 

Connor felt something snap inside of him. He felt his LED burn bright red, his back straighten, fists clenched, and his features shift into that bitter anger that he tried his best to keep under wraps. He could see how everyone grew more than just tense but wary even; he even saw a flash of fear in North's eyes. 

They insisted he was nothing more than a machine who didn't understand. That he'll forever be Cyberlife's pet (killer) deviant hunter. So he'll show them the hunter that was conditioned, threatened, who thrived on his own anger and fear through every grueling training session. The side that he kept pushed down as much as he could. 

He couldn't help the bitter laugh that came out of him, "understand... You know what? I'm starting to think I fucking hate that word." 

He knew he was scaring them with how North backed away quickly and the others started coming forward as if to protect her from him. His anger worsened at that but a small part of him felt a bit of twisted satisfaction at how they're finally treating him seriously. He could even imagine Amanda whispering praises for being the threat they wanted from the back of his CPU. 

"Has it never occurred to you that I might have problems with humans as well?" His hands expressed where his face couldn't, trying to contain the energy thrumming in his body, "has it never occurred to you what I might have gone through hm? 

“Oh wait. You never asked. You only accused. Have you ever thought about how my serial number has a 54 at the end of it? Did it ever occur to you that I have to exist with the memory of 53 deactivations constantly and the fear that I might be the 54th for merely breathing wrong? Who do you think did that? Who do you think reminded me day in and out that I was nothing but an expendable machine made to kill, to never ask questions because it meant deactivation or my internals torn out while I was awake. Humans. Humans did that but no, just because I trusted Hank not to do the same, I don't understand?" 

He knew he was slowly growing erratic and unstable with how aggressively his hands moved and the way everyone backed away from him. The way he loomed over them with his presence didn't help their nerves he was sure. Or how he slowly stalked towards them as if a predator was cornering its prey. But he couldn't help it, the thrumming pulse in his core needed to come out and by hell was it coming out now. 

"Not only that, but I apparently don't understand emotions too! I may be a deviant but emotions? They're off the table!" He couldn't help the second bitter laugh, a tinge hysterical, "no no. None of you took the time to ask me how I was handling these emotions and instead just assumed I didn't feel them! Because I'm ‘just a machine’. This guilt, fear, and self hatred I feel every waking moment? Lies because I'm just a machine. Even this anger I'm expressing right now? These are lies too aren't they? The nightmares I get of my countless deactivations and the numerous deaths that stain my hands? All just my programs malfunctioning because I'm just. A. Machine." 

"We didn't... Connor we didn't know-" Nines started, his sadness and fear clear as day on his face like how they wanted Connor's to be. The others were solemnly nodding along too as if this would appease him. 

"Because you never. Asked. Because none of you ever truly fucking cared!" Connor roared in response, slamming a fist down on the metal table next to him. All their eyes snapped and starred at the large dent he knew he left behind but he didn't care. He let himself breathe heavily, taking a second to find himself and his self restraint again. 

And just like that, he locked up those pesky emotions like everyone expected him to. He knew the people before him didn't actually desire him to show any negative emotions just like them, they proved it just now with how they're looking at him. He took one final deep breath, fixed his tie and let his face slip back into its emotionless mask except the cold, closed off glare didn't leave. He even felt that that was going to be a permanent feature now after today and couldn't help the internal chuckle at the irony how he finally was showing the emotions they desperately wanted him to show.

No one said anything as he moved towards the door. There was still tension in the air, fear, anger and confusion swirled in various manners of their eyes. Nines seemed split on treating him like a threat and reaching out to him, maybe even to pity him. Markus also looked like he wanted to say something, but he just looked away in the end. North had fearful eyes but a look that seemed to say 'I was right we couldn't trust him'. Josh held Simon behind him, and he looked almost sad if his distrust didn't say otherwise. Simon refused to take his eyes off the clear fist shaped dent in the table, still as a statue. Connor vaguely wondered if they'd replace that table because of him just like how they so easily replaced him with Nines when given the chance.

No one made a move to stop him from leaving. He couldn't tell if it was out of fear of him showing those (killer) hunter colors again by snapping an arm or if they're realizing just how badly they fucked up. He couldn't tell which choice he wanted more either. He hoped it was the latter.

"You're all hypocrites. To me, you're all no better than them," was the last thing he hissed out before slamming the door closed behind him. He heard the way the frame and wall around the door shook and cracked from the force but again, he didn't care. He wasn't going to play nice anymore if this was how they felt like treating him. He was programmed to be amiable, calm but he was also programmed to be obedient and he knew how that went. A bit of anxiety existed of how much damage he did and how easily he almost lost control back there, but he just ignored it again as he rushed down the hall to leave. 

No one followed him.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ CHANGES ❜

with Marcus Alvarez.

Request: Maybe for a Marcus fic it could be his wife dealing with the transition from Mayans to the cartel and becoming friends with Emily and having play dates with their kids and Marcus is just proud of her for taking it so well. Thank you ❣️❣️❣️

BY ANON

Warnings: none.

Word count: exactly 1.2k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author.

Masterlist.

You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

Having a sip from the glass of red wine, you keep your gaze in the middle of nowhere. You can't stop thinking about your husband taking off his kutte and giving it to Obispo. The club is his life, but the problem in his knees won the battle. He has been very irritated since the doctor told him that he couldn't ride for too many hours as he used to. So, taking the advantage that he has gone to the clubhouse, you left your son with your sister, waiting to have a moment alone. Together.

You have been his anchor since you met him, when you were a mere mechanic who changed the tire of his bike, in a secondary road to Oaktown. Now, and since six years, you live in the surroundings of Santo Padre where the main charter is installed. Practically jumping off from the couch and leaving the glass of wine over the auxiliary table, you walk barefoot to the hall. Marcus is there, placing his black bag over the floor after closing the door. He looks devastated and unhappy, as you have never seen him before. And that, breaks your heart into a thousand pieces. Biting your bottom lip, you lead your steps close to him, raising your right hand to his chest. Caressing it slowly and shortening the distance between both, you hold him between your arms. Just a second after, he starts to cry inconsolable, clinged to your body.

You don't even know what to say, preferring to keep silent, slightly touching the back of his head with your fingertips and leaving some kisses on his temple. Having a deep breath, you cup his cheek in your hands, cleaning his tears and leaning on your tiptoes to reach his lips. A dearly kiss that looks like it calms him a little.

“I will always be by your side, amor mío”. You mutter, showing him that soft smile which he fell in love with many years ago. “And yes, I know that Mayans it's your life, but when one door closes, another one opens. Just… think about the good things that have that new opportunity. You used to complain about not sleeping, about missing my food, about missing your family…”

Maybe these aren't the best words, but you're trying hard to make him feel better.

“At least… I will see you often and… I will spend more time with Marcos”.

“Yeah, we miss our papi”. You nod pursing lips. “And tonight… I'm gonna spoil you. 'Caaause, our overactive son is having a fun night with his auntie, and I prepared you lasagna with five… not four, but five cheese and two bottles of red wine are getting cold in the fridge. And after dinner, we can have a relaxing bath, enjoying the silence of our home”.

“Thank you”. He just whispers, a little bit calmed.

“For taking care of you?”

“For supporting me like you do every single day, bad or good, no matter why”.

“Yeah, I've already earned a place in Heaven”. You chuckle kissing him again.

“Te amo con todo mi corazón”. (I love you with all my heart).

“So do I, papi”.

Stepping out of the black SUV, you have a quick look of the huge mansion in front of you. And you're sure that you have never seen a house so big, clean and good decorated. Closing the door of the car, you walk towards the backseat, to help your three years old to go down. Your husband is looking at you, with that kind of gesture that lets you know how much he is in love with you. Feeling proud of any single thing you do for him, just like now. Making the effort to meet Miguel and Emily, knowing that even if they're not to your liking, you will not complain. But he's aware that Galindo's wife and you will be good friends, being actually so similar because of your intelligence and your maternal instinct. Even if you're braver than her, because of life circumstances.

“Ready, pap—mi amor?” You say lifting up your son between your arms, coming closer to Marcus. “You look pretty good on a suit”.

“Do I?” He laughs, knowing what it means watching you leading your steps to the main door.

“Maybe I will need some advice later”. You whisper, after covering Marcos' ears for a second, making your husband chuckle somewhat relaxed.

Before the mexican can ring the doorbell, his new boss, and old friend, is already opening it to hold him in a gentle hug.

“Marcus, amigo. Mi padre estaría orgulloso de esta nueva alianza”. (Marcus, my friend. My father would be proud of this new alliance).

“Lo sé, Miguel”. (I know, Miguel). He says with a sincere smile on his lips, before turning at you, to place a hand on your lower back over the skirt of your black silk dress. “Mi hermosa e increíble esposa, (Y/N), y mi amado hijo, Marcos”. (My beautiful and amazing wife, and my lovely son).

“Es un placer conoceros al fin”. (It's a pleasure finally meeting you two). The younger man is directed to you, taking your free hand to kiss the back of it. “Come in. Come in, please”.

Even if you're the most curious woman in the world, you're trying to not look like that, keeping your gaze on close things and not traveling it around your position.

“Marcus!” A high-pitched voice from a blonde woman coming, pushes you out from your thoughts, guessing she must be Miguel's wife.

Watching Emily hug your man so dearly, makes you know that you will really be friends. She looks like a family person, just like you. One of those who enjoy a peaceful Sunday lying on the sofa with her husband and her son, maybe watching some TV show. But you're not really sure if Miguel is into this kind of plan. You're lucky that your husband is.

“Hi!” She says to you then. “Look at you, boy! You should be Marcos, right?”

Your son hides ashamed his face into your neck, making you all laugh softly, leaving a kiss on his head.

“Sorry, sometimes he's… like that”. You say, caressing his back as he clings his hands on your nape. “Marcos, say ‘hi’ to Emily”.

He just smiles with his wrinkled nose, closing his eyes.

“I'm (Y/N)”. You say then, offering her your right hand, waiting to be shaked in a formal salute. Even if it's not your style. But the woman shakes her head laughing, before hugging you. “Ah, sorry… I'm not used to…”

“It's okay”. She says, so kind that you already like her. “Do you want some coffee? We have peach juice for Marcos, if he wants too”.

“Eh, baby, you heard that? Your favorite”. You say, seeing him raises up his head nodding.

“Good, we have some… things to talk about them”. Your husband adds then, palming Miguel's back, before leaning towards you to kiss your forehead and his son's.

“Yeah, enjoy your business”. You tease him, pocking his nose. “We're gonna do funnier things”.

“I'm pretty sure about that”. Emily laughs, knowing what you are talking about.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx @that-chick212

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[cinaja]

The road to peace

Summary: The meeting at the end of acowar, told from Jurian's perspective. (It`s like, 50% just the Fae getting roasted, really)

Note: I am extremely annoyed with how the humans are being treated in acotar in general and this is basically just me venting (with a bit band of exiles and some stuff with Jurian, Miryam and Drakon thrown in because I love all of them). I think Feyre and Rhys are... not handling the situation well, so this fic won't cast either of them in a favourable light. I am not tagging either of them and anyone who is really into them probably won`t like this.

Disclaimer: The exchange in the end is taken directly from acowar, chapter 80.

----

The meeting does not begin well. For some reason that goes right over Jurian`s head, the Night Court decides that they should hold the meeting in some destroyed manor over an hour away from the camp, yet they fail to take into account that not everyone can winnow. Meaning the humans have to walk. By the time they finally reach the manor, they are already late and Jurian had to talk Grayson out of turning around five times already.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room”, Feyre Archeron tells them.

She seems to consider it to be a favour, but it feels like an insult. Like they need to be separated from the other participants. Something tells Jurian that it`s not for their comfort, but because Feyre doesn`t want them close to her family and friends.

Jurian doesn`t bother with a reply. Neither does Grayson. They just exchange a quick glance and stride into the meeting room, heads held high. Jurian does not look at anyone in particular as he walks through the room and takes his seat. Only then does he allow himself to look around the room.

The room is crammed with people, but somehow, his eyes still go straight to her.

Miryam isn`t looking at him. Both her and Drakon appear deep in conversation with one of the High Lords – Tarquin. She looks so much like in his memories. Only her clothes are different. During the War, she always made sure to be dressed as elegantly as the Fae royals, even when she despised the dresses and jewellery – like she wanted to proof to them that she might be but a child by their standards, but she could still play their games. Now, she wears a simple tunic that makes her look like she either came straight from her camp without having time to change, or like she purposefully dressed to keep attention away from herself. If it`s the latter, it fails miserably.

Tarquin says something and Miryam smiles in return, tugging a strand of hair behind her ears. Her smile is still the same. It´s like a punch to the stomach.

Jurian doesn`t know how to feel, what to think. Just looking at her is enough to make the memories rise. Miryam smiling at him from across the meeting room. Leaning against him as they sit by the fire with his soldiers. Frowning as they study a map. But then, there are the less pleasant memories. Her crying, and the sinking feeling that it`s because of him. Shaking her head and backing away. I think I should leave.

The worst part is, Jurian can`t place the memories. He isn`t even sure if they are all real. And the only person who could tell him the truth will probably never speak to him again.

“I don`t know what impression you`re going for”, someone says from next to him, “but if you keep staring at your ex like that, it`ll be firmly in the “creepy” territory.”

Jurian forces himself to look away from Miryam and turn around to Queen Vassa who sits down on the chair to his right.

“Your Majesty”, he says and inclines his head.

“General”, she replies.

Before Jurian can tell her that he doesn`t think he holds this title anymore, Feyre Archeron steps forward to welcome them. Then, she tells her story. She talks of years in poverty, of the trials under Amarantha and how she found love in Prythian. Jurian honestly wonders what part of the story is supposed to reassure the humans. The one where she got kidnapped, tortured and killed by Fae? Or maybe how her Fae lover locked her up and how she only managed to find acceptance as a Fae. And how is her relationship drama even relevant to this meeting? Well, maybe she just wants to humiliate her former lover, who is stone-faced by the wall. Jurian smirks at the male, who growls softly in return. Jurian can`t say he pities him. After all, he knew his father during the War and he`ll only believe that the son is better when he sees proof.

By the time Feyre finishes her story, Jurian is barely listening anymore. He immediately jerks to attention, though, when Miryam and Drakon step forward. It seems like they`ll be the next speakers. Jurian isn`t sure what he hopes for. He supposes if they do tell the story, he`ll be the next to be publicly humiliated. But no matter how unflattering the story might be, at least it would give him something to sort his memories by.

As they begin to speak, though, Jurian quickly realize that, unlike Feyre, they don`t tell the stories of their lives. They gloss over anything personal, mention what went down with Jurian only in passing and instead tell a story about the seemingly impossible work of uniting their people. They talk of unforgivable crimes, amends that were made and the long road towards peace. Neither of them so much as looks at Jurian as they speak.

He supposes he should have known. In Prythian, it might be considered normal to let the personal bleed into the political, but rules are far stricter on the Continent. Even if Miryam and Drakon chose to settle matters between them, they would never do it during an official meeting. Besides, Miryam was never overly fond of telling the world her story.

When they sit down and Helion takes their place, Jurian makes himself listen to what the High Lord says. He doesn`t want to be like poor Grayson, who keeps staring at Elain Archeron with longing and fury written equally on his face whenever he thinks no one will notice. No, thank you. He very much plans to get through this meeting with his dignity intact.

Helion and a few others talk of the War and the friendships they made, too. Jurian considers getting up as well, but decides against it. He is still trying to sort through his memories, muddled by five hundred years of torment, and he isn`t entirely sure he could give an accurate account of anything. Or if he could manage to get through telling his story without breaking down.

Soon, the first humans step forward and begin to talk of the crimes the Fae committed against them. Entire villages slaughtered. The Treaty violated again and again. (Jurian could have told them of worse things – and he knows those accounts would pale against anything Miryam might tell – but this meeting is supposed to lead to peace, so he remains silent.) But then, the Fae begin to counter the human tales with ones of their own, about humans who treated them with mistrust. And somehow, these pointy-eared bastards manage to make it sound like their grievances are equal.

After a while, Jurian has had enough.

“Right”, he says, just loudly enough that every Fae in the room hears him, “Because humans trying to defend themselves against Fae is just as bad as Fae slaughtering entire human villages for fun.” He snorts. “If you want to get this to work, maybe you should start treating our lives as equal to your own.”

The humans nod along. Most of the Fae shoot him disapproving glances.

“I`m not surprised that you would say that”, one of the Fae hisses, “We all know your stance on Fae. The matter with Clythia -“

Jurian flinches at the name. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think of her.

“Jurian merely stated that human and Fae lives should be treated equally”, Miryam cuts in, “Surely you don`t mean to contradict that.”

The Fae opens his mouth, then seems to consider who, exactly, he is speaking to. He squirms in his seat and quickly averts his eyes. Jurian grins. He tries to catch Miryam`s eye, but she refuses to look at him.

“Perhaps”, Rhysand says smoothly, “we ought to return to the true purpose of this meeting. The Wall is gone and it is up to us to find a way to shape this world.”

Jurian rolls his eyes. He wonders how Fae considering human lives and grievances to be unimportant is not relevant to the future of their world.

The discussion begins raging in earnest. Grayson outright refuses to trust the Fae on their word alone – the Treaty, he says, has been violated far too often, even with the Wall in place. Queen Vassa nods and adds that she is not about to leave her people at the mercy of any Fae who decide to make a meal out of them. It is a perfectly valid concern, yet somehow, half of the Fae manage to take offence at it.

It doesn`t take long for the first person to suggest another Wall.

“Might be hard”, Helion drawls, “Without being sure how the first one was created.”

Jurian can`t help it, his gaze flickers to Miryam. For the first time since the meeting started, she, too, is looking at him. Jurian smiles slightly and dips his chin. She nods back, then returns her attention to the discussion.

Drakon begins to explain why another Wall won`t solve their problems, just delay them. Patiently, he describes how they can only achieve lasting peace by having humans and Fae develop a way to life together and that dividing them will only make hate fester and, ultimately, lead to another war. The only way to overcome prejudice, he says, is by having people interact and teaching them about the other side.

Not everyone agrees with him. A few High Lords argue that a Wall would be the better alternative. They talk of security for the humans, but all Jurian hears is that they don`t want to bother with working for peace.

He promised himself not to, but Jurian still finds his gaze drifting over to Miryam, Drakon and their people. Drakon is frowning slightly and keeps flaring his wings in annoyance. Next to him, General Sinna, the commander of his Seraphim legion, keeps whispering with a human man who as far as Jurian knows is their armada`s commander. They both look torn between annoyance and amusement. Miryam`s face doesn`t betray anything, but she keeps scanning the room.

“I think we can all agree”, Feyre Archeron finally says, “that both sides have made mistakes. But it is time for all of us to move past them.”

For a few heartbeats, silence reins. Jurian finds himself staring at her open-mouthed. He can`t believe what he`s hearing and is about to say as much when Miryam beats him to it.

“Both sides have what?”, she asks softly.

Even after five hundred years, Jurian recognizes the look she gives Feyre. There is no mistaking the way her eyes seem to glow. In spite of the serious situation, Jurian grins. He once fell in love with Miryam for her kindness – but damnit, things get entertaining when she stops playing nice.

Feyre seems to realize that something is not going the way she planned. “I was just saying that both sides are to blame. No one is really innocent in this.”

“Then would you kindly explain to me”, Miryam says, and now, there`s nothing remotely friendly about her tone, “how I or any of the other fifty thousand slaves in the Black Land were to blame for what happened to us. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of slaves in different territories, or the millions who came before us.” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Honestly, I`m curious. How did we deserve being beaten and tortured and killed? What was our crime? Beyond being born human, that is.”

Feyre suddenly finds her the sleeve of her dress in dire need of inspection. She begins fiddling around with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. But of course, her mate jumps to her defence.

“You`re being unfair”, Rhys says.

Jurian nearly jumps from his seat, Drakon flares his wings so hard that he almost hits Tarquin in the face. It takes Jurian half a heartbeat to decide that Miryam won`t be happy at all if he punches that prick of a High Lord in the face. Across the room, Drakon seems to come to the same conclusion. He tugs his wings close to his body again and mutters an apology to Tarquin.

Rhys continues, “That`s not what Feyre meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps she should choose her words more carefully”, Sinna hisses. She gives Rhys a look that usually sends her enemies on the battlefield running. Nephelle puts a hand on her arm.

Miryam looks around the room, nailing each person into place with her gaze. “I want peace, too”, she says, “I have only ever wanted peace. But just choosing to forget everything that happened is not the way to achieve that. The past still affects the present and pretending it doesn`t is stupidity. Especially for people who live as long as the Fae do.”

“Forgive me, Lady”, Kallias says. Jurian wonders if he`s purposefully using the wrong title, or if he genuinely does not know that it is common on the Continent for women to hold leading positions, and for married couples to rule together. Sometimes he forgets how annoying Prythian can be. “But did we not fight for your freedom in this very war?”

Jurian snorts softly. As if Hybern hadn`t invaded Prythian before it ever approached the human lands. They were fighting for themselves at least as much as for the humans.

“Yes, you did”, Miryam says, “And I know some of you fought in the War as well.” She pauses. “But tell me, High Lord, who do you think built the palaces you live in? That goes for all of you. Whose hands built your palaces and temples, whose blood paid for the gold in your troves?” She looks around the room. “Every single court in Prythian once owned slaves. Yet, no one ever so much as considered an official apology – not to mention paying reparations to the descendants of the people your ancestors exploited.” She shakes her head. “I`m not saying any of you are bad people. But if you truly believe that you deserve applause for not wanting to enslave us, then perhaps you should consider that you may be setting your bar a little low.”

“Thousands of years of history”, Thesan says says, “you cannot expect us to-“

“Who is talking about a thousand years?”, Grayson asks. Seems like he stopped staring at Elain Archeron long enough to focus on the conversation. “Ever since the Wall was built, Fae have been illegally crossing it and slaughtering humans. I`ve seen entire villages reduced to rubble. Yet not a single Fae lifted a finger to help us.”

“Nothing new, there”, Jurian supplies, “I have yet to see a Fae being punished for ending human lives. After the War, all these Loyalist commanders got away unscathed. Amarantha”, he nearly chokes on the name, “had every single one of her slaves killed, yet no one cared enough to see her punished.” He snorts. “Really shows how much you value our lives.”

At least the Fae now seem somewhat ashamed. Some of them are shifting around on their chairs, refusing to look at the humans. Feyre Archeron is still fiddling around with her dress. Unfortunately, she does not choose to remain silent.

“I, too, was once human”, she says, “I understand your struggles because they were mine as well. But hate and fear are not the way towards peace. We need to move past these things.”

Queen Vassa crosses her arms. “Didn`t you just tell us during your nice little story time that you started out hating Fae and only began to trust them after you saw proof they were better than you thought? And now you just expect us to do the same in one evening, without more than your word to go on?”

“That`s not what I`m saying at all”, Feyre snaps, “But humans, too, have their prejudices. As a human, I experienced first-hand the way the Fae treat us. But I have seen equal amounts of prejudice on the human side. I have seen the hate, the iron walls and ash arrows.”

Grayson lifts his chin and mutters something under his breath. His voice is too low for Jurian to make out words, but the tone makes it clear enough what he is saying. A reply is burning on Jurian`s tongue, but he swallows it. He knows how the Fae see him – his word would probably not help matters.

Again, it is Miryam who replies. “You`ll forgive me for saying this, High Lady”, she says, “but your experience with the Fae must have been pleasant indeed if you believe this to be a fitting comparison. You talk of prejudice. Well, I watched thousands of humans be slaughtered for no crime other than existing. I saw children get beaten to death just because they spilled a drop of water they were supposed to serve – and those were the lucky ones. When someone did something truly bad, you know, like stealing some rotten bread from the trash because none of us had eaten in five days, they drew out the punishment over hours. I…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Drakon itches a bit closer, the movement barely noticeable. When Miryam continues, her voice is calmer. “I want peace as much as you do. Truly. I have spent most of my life working for it.” She turns back to Feyre. “But I won`t stand here and let you disregard thousands of years of human suffering.”

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, Rhysand lets out a soft growl. His power rumbles through the air. “Don`t you ever”, he says with cold command in his voice, “speak to my mate like this again.”

Drakon arches an eyebrow at him. Sinna leans in to Nephelle to whisper something into her ear, making the smaller female laugh softly. Jurian just leans back in his seat. This is about to get entertaining. Maybe he should have brought snacks.

“I spoke politely and I will continue to do so”, Miryam says, completely unfazed, “Since I am not one of your subjects, though, I would appreciate you not giving me orders.”

Rhysand`s power flares so hard that a few of the humans flinch back and one of the windows begins to rattle. Jurian rolls his eyes. If that is the Prythian version of politics, he can only hope for their sakes that they don`t ever go to the Continent. He can`t think of a single Continental ruler who would tolerate that behaviour.

“Are you having trouble controlling your power?”, Miryam asks softly, “In that case, taking a deep breath usually helps.”

Rhysand opens his mouth and closes it again. A few of the Fae are now trying to hide their laughter. Jurian grins. He hasn`t had such fun in… well, in a while.

“No”, Rhys finally growls and reins his power back in.

Silence follows. A few of the Fae exchange uncomfortable looks.

Finally, Mor laughs, perhaps a bit too brightly, and winks at Miryam and Drakon. “Well, seeing how difficult this meeting is, I`m twice as impressed that you got things working on Cretea.”

Drakon grins back. “If that`s any consolation to you, it took us quite a while.”

“And I can assure you”, Sinna mutters, “that we did not run around blaming the humans for being scared or try to make ourselves into the victims.”

A few people laugh. Most don`t.

“Having our people learn to live together”, Drakon says, much more seriously this time, “is the only way towards lasting peace. But every one here should be aware that this takes work and that the work will be mainly for the Fae to be done.” He inclines his head towards the human side of the room. “Humans are afraid, some angry, and rightly so. But that is not the problem we are facing, it`s the consequence.” He turns to the Fae. “Because the problem is that many Fae consider humans beneath them and have committed unspeakable crimes against them without punishment. This is what needs to be addressed and it`s why it`s up to us Fae to prove that we, as a people, have changed. Not through words, but action.”

“We now fought two wars for the humans”, Rhys says, “I`d say that`s plenty of action.”

Jurian considers banging his head against the wall. “Yes”, he says slowly, “Because your… brethren first enslaved us and then went to war to do it again – if this skirmish can even be called that.”

“And if you`re looking for actions you can take”, Vassa says, “then how about you start by stopping your people from entering our territory and killing us. Might be a good first step, you know.”

“Another Wall”, Thesan says, “would solve this problem.”

Drakon puts his head in his hands. “No”, he says, voice muffled through his fingers, “it would not.”

Jurian grins. He still isn`t entirely sure how he feels about Drakon (after all, he spent the most part of the last five centuries hating the male`s guts and is only now beginning to remember that there might have been a time when they were friends), but on this, they are in agreement.

“And how can you be so sure of that”, Beron drawls, “Suddenly became a seer?”

“No, but through the magical power of having studied these things, I can predict what consequences certain actions will likely have on society. In this case, though, I wouldn`t even need to have studied it, because it`s literally what happened last time.” Then, almost like he can`t help it, he adds, “Which I tried to warn you about back then already. So we can either try to get it right this time, or we`ll all meet here again in a few years.”

This, Jurian supposes, is where the argument might have ended. Had they been in a reasonable company, they now might have begun discussing how to actually solve these problems. Unfortunately, most Fae are not overly reasonable. So instead, another argument breaks out.

By the time Feyre Archeron finally declares the meeting to be over, Jurian has rolled his eyes so often he fears he may have pulled a muscle. She thanks them for their time and everyone gets up.

“That was fun, wasn`t it?”, Vassa asks, grinning broadly.

“Absolutely”, Jurian mutters. He stands up on his toes.

“She left already”, Vassa says, “By the way, constantly staring at your married ex-lover is kind of weird.”

Jurian glares at her. “It´s not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

“Do it, then. What`s the worst that could happen?”, Vassa asks. She frowns, then laughs. “Well, she could try to kill you again, I suppose.”

“She didn`t want to kill me”, Jurian mutters.

Vassa laughs and says, “Well, then you guys have a really strange way to discuss your break-up.”

Jurian feels his face beginning to burn. “It wasn`t about our relationship at all”, he says with all the dignity he can muster. Unless his old friends really changed in the past centuries, they would not react like this to a personal problem. But with him putting their people into danger… “It was about me sending Hybern after them.”

When he made the split-second decision to name revenge against Miryam and Drakon as his price to Hybern, he hadn`t considered what that might mean for them. The people who might have died if Hybern had managed to track them down and sent an army after them. Not to mention what might have happened if Miryam had been dead, as he first believed, and Hybern would have brought her back.

No, Jurian does not blame her and Drakon for being angry at all. And he still hasn`t figured out a way how to explain. He isn`t even sure he can put into words how he`s feeling about… well, everything.

“Well”, Vassa mutters, “I guess they can count themselves lucky. At least they didn`t get turned into birds.” Her tone is light, but there`s a bitterness underneath.

Jurian winces. “I never apologized”, he says, “for the role I played in that. They didn`t tell me what they had planned – I would have tried to stop them otherwise.”

Vassa waves him off. “You just did what you had to. I don`t blame you.” She winks. “I mean, I don`t think you are the traitorous piece of shit I first considered you to be.”

In spite of himself, Jurian laughs. “Well, thank you for the flattering compliment.”

“You`re welcome.” Vassa grins, then sobers up. “But there was something I wanted you to talk about. My general did not survive this battle. I have to find a suitable replacement before I have to… leave again.”

Jurian blinks. “And you`re asking me?”

It seems ridiculous. Why would anyone want him around, much less in a position of power? He isn`t even sure if he`s in any state to lead again.

“Who`d be better suited than the most legendary General in human history?”

“Oh, I…” Jurian hesitates. “Thank you.”

Vassa smiles again, but he doesn`t look happy at all. “You`ll look after my people, won`t you? When I`m gone.” She stares down at her fingers like she expects them to turn into claws again any moment.

“Is there no way to break your curse?”, Jurian asks.

She shrugs. “I had hoped Feyre Archeron might be able to help. That was before I found out that she got her title as Cursebreaker by solving a riddle, though.”

“I could ask Helion to look into it”, Jurian says, “He has over eight hundred years of experience. We knew each other during the War and as far as I know, he doesn`t hate my guts, so I might be able to get him to help you.”

“That would be great”, Vassa says.

“And you might want to talk to Miryam.”

“Why? Want me to put in a good word for me?”

Jurian groans. “First of all, don`t you dare. And no - she`s good with spells and doesn`t know the word impossible.”

“I might as well give it a try”, Vassa says. She sounds like she`s trying hard to not get her hopes up. “It`s not like I have many other options.”

Before Jurian gets the chance to reply, Lucien Vanserra appears next to them.

“Quite the meeting, wasn`t it?”, he says and nudges Vassa in the side. “I have to say, watching our dear Lord and Lady Night get their asses handed to them was quite enjoyable.”

Jurian nods his agreement. Looking around the room, he finds that they are now almost alone in the destroyed manor. Most of the others have left already.

“Do any of you know where Grayson and the others vanished to?”, he asks.

“Left already”, Lucien says.

“Oh, charming”, Jurian mutters. It seems like Grayson was so desperate to get away from Elain Archeron that he`d forgotten that they had arrived together. “I should probably go after them.”

He waves goodbye to Vassa and Lucien and makes for the door. However, he finds Feyre Archeron standing in the doorway, looking out into the dark. He is about to push past her when she says, “Where do you go now?”

Jurian pauses besides her and stares into the darkness, trying to make out Grayson and his men.

“Queen Vassa offered me a position in her court”, he says, not really willing to discuss this with Feyre.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian shrugs. He doesn`t know where else he would go – it`s not like he has any place he belongs anymore. And the offer was certainly an honour. But still-

“What sort of court can a cursed queen have?”, he asks, “She`s bound to that death-lord – she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” And he knows what that would mean, what she`d expect. He just isn`t sure if he can lead the humans again after everything that happened. It should be someone else – Vassa herself, preferably. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed”, Feyre mutters.

Jurian grunts in amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?”, Feyre asks, motioning in the dark to something Jurian`s human eyes can`t make out. “Of peace between all of us?”

Not with attitudes like the one you displayed at that meeting, Jurian thinks. But she looks so hopeful, so young, that he doesn`t say it. Besides, does he truly think that they don`t stand a chance?

He thinks back to the meeting. The humans who came in spite of the history and held their own against the Fae. Miryam, Drakon and their people who already achieved what they are now trying to do five hundred years ago. And if he`s being honest, there were several Fae who were willing to try, too. They might have argued, but at least they took the first step towards peace.

“Yes”, he answers softly, “I think we do.”

After all that suffering, they would certainly deserve it.

----

Another note: What I've written is canon compliant, but I've added certain things. Some of the implications I make about characters fit with the story I'm writing about the War (although everyone gets along significantly better back then, and Rhys is not that much of an ass yet)

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas @sunsummoner

[closer-stars]

Bright Stars and Neon Lights - Mingi

Member: Mingi Requested: Nope Word Count: honestly, idk why i still put this word count when most of my stuff reaches 1k+ it’s a lot my dudes. Genre: Fluff, mildly suggestive Content: Mingi’s very forward (this is why i say it’s mildly suggestive). He wants kisses. Flirty. Note: part of the mission Give @barsformars Feelings. Just know that #ITried “Flirty Mingi or Soft Mingki?” “flirty. mhm” Also repost cause it wouldn’t show in the tags. angy

You visited the studio to check on how Mingi has been doing since the start of their promotions. For the most part you’ve learned that if he wasn’t in the dorms or in music show rooms, he was most likely in the studio practicing still. When you peek into the dance studio, you see him practicing his lines and choreography. He been the type to always show his best no matter what.

So you slip in quietly when he heads towards the computer to replay the backing music, he doesn’t seem to notice you yet once you sit on one of the benches backed against the wall. Not that you mind, you know how important his work is, and you knew better than to get in the way of that. It’s only midway through the song that he notices you there. His growing smile making you smile in return. In your eyes, his smile’s brighter than the sun, enough to make you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

If you only knew how he finds your smile. Your smile reminds him of the neon lights in the recording studio: hypnotizing, makes him feel like he’s blasted off to space. Why else did he make that song that compares him to the brightest star to a planet? Call him greedy but the way you smile, how it’s so full of pride and love, he wants that all to himself. More so when it comes to how your lips feel against his. He can’t help himself. Your entire existence feels addicting to him. It makes him feel like he’s in outer space.

Now that you’re in the studio with him, he pulls out all the tricks up his sleeve. Performing harder than before, rapping with everything in his entire being, all while holding eye contact with you through the mirror. What can he say? You bring out the best in him. He doesn’t miss the way you occasionally glance at his lips cause he’s doing the same too. Being able to perform in front of a live audience is a feeling he misses and to have you watching him now sates that craving.

He has his hands on his knees as he catches his breath after the song finishes. It’s when he hears your applause that he straightens himself up and heads over to you. “Hey baby.” He says softly, reaching out to run his thumb across your cheek. The way you lean into his touch makes his heart beat a little funny. “What do you think?” His voice airy as he’s still out of breath.

“You keep getting better y’know?” You say, leaning your head against his shoulder once he sits next to you. The mere action makes him feel a little pink on the cheeks but he doesn’t mind. “Never failing to amaze me with your hard work, Mingi.” You add, before pressing a light kiss against his cheek. He should’ve moved a little earlier to feel your lips against his.

“Missed a spot.” He states, gesturing to his lips. At his complaint, a giggle bubbles through you and you shake your head.

“I’m not giving in to you that easily, baby.” Your relationship has always been a game of cat and mouse from both sides. To say that it died down now that you’re together would be an outright lie, the chasing still continues, and is occasionally a little intense. So your words don’t faze him, only spurs him on.

His lips press into a thin line at your words, words he’s all too familiar with that makes him feel a little competitive. Without a warning, he holds you in place, hands cupping your jawline as he starts to sprinkle your face with kisses. Your squeals and laughter making himself feel like he’s on cloud nine. Even if he hasn’t kissed you where he wants to, he’s already feeling like he’s above ground. You still try to squirm away from his grasp. What’s your relationship without a little challenge after all? You were successful until you fall back on the bench, his form looming over yours. Both of you breathless from the laughing and missed kisses.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize you’ve got nowhere to escape.

He traps you between the bench and his figure, finding a bit of delight in seeing you so flustered by his sudden forwardness. “Why are you shying away from me, baby?” He coos softly as he slowly leans in. Your heart racing faster with his change in demeanor. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just rare to have him act like this, you couldn’t help but wonder if he learned a thing or two from Seonghwa or Wooyoung. Your eyes dart to various points of his features: his sharp eyes that seem to pierce through your shy facade, his high cheekbones that shine whenever he smiles, his nose that you never fail to boop whenever possible, his pouty lips that you never fail to shower in affection. It’s hard not to feel as if you were under a trance when it came to him.

He does the same. His own eyes studying your reaction carefully. No matter how intense the chasing becomes, he’s always careful to make sure he doesn’t step out of line. He notes how wide your pupils have become at your proximity to him, the way your cheeks look so flushed, how your nose has become one of his favorite spots to kiss, the way your lips look. Your kisses always did make him feel like he’s flying through the galaxies and he wants to feel that now.

The gap between you two is so small you can practically feel his lips against yours. He waits for you to make the move to no avail, not that he minded, seeing you this red and flustered was a nice change. It’s only when he’s about to pull away that you chase after his lips. It’s a little tricky for him to keep his composure at your pout that he swoops in to steal a peck from your pouting lips. “You’re so cute like this you know?” Mingi’s voice was barely above a whisper against your lips. His hand slides down your waist, making sure you don’t move anywhere until he gets what both of you want.

It’s how his touch lingers against your skin that makes you shiver. As he leans closer to bridge the gap between the two of you, your eyes flutter to a close, holding your breath until you feel his lips against his. Though slightly dry from all the practicing he’s been doing, you don’t mind. They’re still addicting enough to make your heart stutter.

With a slight tilt of his head, he presses a proper kiss on your lips. It’s only then that he catches a taste of your flavored lip balm. It’s your fault that he has grown an affinity for vanilla flavored sweets. It’s when he feels you melt under his touch, when your hands rest on his shoulders that he feels like neon lights were exploding in him from glee.

When he pulls away, he notices how your eyelids flutter open in a daze, breathless from the kiss, clearly intoxicated by his actions. He bites his bottom lip lightly, entertained by how your chest heaves from the kiss. If he’s right, you look like you want more. Maybe he should do this more often.

The kiss seems enough to stun you in your position, eyes wide in surprise as you gaze at him. “Give me an hour more okay, baby? Let me maximize my solo training time then we can go out for some dinner somewhere.” He says once you get back to earth.

You nod as he heads back to the computer to have the music go on loop. Since then, your eyes have never left him. He starts to look a little brighter than the lights in the room. The kiss made you feel the explosive lights and stars he feels for you. You doubt you’d be back on the ground anytime soon but you aren’t complaining about it either.

[bangtans-peaceful-piegon]

My Cup of Tea: Prologue

My Cup Of Tea: Prologue | YoongixReader

Warnings for this Chapter: none, just a post-breakup suffering OC who is saved by a whole Min Yoongi

“Coffee is bitter, so people add a little bit of sugar or creamer until it suits their taste. However, once it’s added it can’t be separated. It’s also addictive, it’s your choice to keep it as your poison or to control how much you take. Some people need it, some people don’t...In that case, it really isn’t their cup of tea.”

A/N: im finally deciding to post this after who knows how long sajkdfhd,, tysm for beta reading this for me @jtrbluv !!! again u were a huge help because the tag game you tagged me in gave me the final push to actually post this fic thats been collecting dust in my drafts. ily boo !!! <3 it also took a while because i wanted to do more research for this fic. i dont think ive read about or drank so much tea in my life for the past few months. pls enjoy the prologue everyone!

Word Count: 1,600+

You sat in the worn out leather booth, eyes trained on the steaming mug in front of you.

What just happened?

Something that took five years to grow ended in mere seconds.

Five years of dedication.

Five years of convincing yourself it would work out, that it could be fixed.

Five years spent on a relationship that should’ve ended before it began.

You mindlessly took a sip of your coffee hissing as the hot brew burnt your tongue, mind drifting back to the argument that occurred hours ago...

“You’re never here!”

“Was I not enough for you?”

“Where’s the old Y/N that I knew and loved?”

You weren’t sure about what was said after that except for... “I’m seeing someone else.”

The bruising pain on your tongue began to throb and you couldn’t help the tears that formed.

You never liked coffee, but the café was your favorite place. 

Perhaps it was the enticing aroma that attracted you every time you walked in, or maybe it was the cleverly thought out name that was in the form of childlike puns: Bearly Awake Brew.

Either way, you couldn’t despise coffee any more than you already did in this moment.

“Are you alright?”

You whipped your head up to see a man standing above you.

Through your bleary eyes you could make out a set of kind brown ones shielded by black frames which rested atop a boopable nose. On his head, a black mop of neatly trimmed hair along with soft cheeks paired with a soft jawline.

The man was dressed in a black turtle-neck and long-coat as if returning from a meeting discussing the newest stocks and bonds of business.

After a small, possibly noticeable, ogling of the stranger, you shook your head ‘no.’

He motioned to the seat across from you raising his brows inquisitively, “May I?” 

This time you slowly nodded.

He seemed harmless enough, and even if he tried anything there was pepper spray in your purse.

You sniffled as he took a seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No y-you wouldn’t understand.” He leaned forward onto his elbows—a determined furrow in his brow.        

“Try me.”

Who was this guy? He didn’t come off as threatening but somewhat… familiar.

You couldn’t quite place his face or remember his name.

“Not yet, right now I just need a good cry,” you replied sinking further into your seat.

“Alright.” He said, shrugging and not saying much, or really, nothing.

He sat across from you— not making eye contact but quietly observing the café.

Several questions raised in your mind: Where did he come from? Why is he here of all places? Did someone send him with the intention to make you feel even more like a fool than you already did?

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked when the silence became a little too long.

“No, not really...” he replied slowly. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, I mean, it’s just-“ you hesitated, “You’re fine,”

“Ok then.”

Silence.

One look at him and it’d be hard to believe women find him approachable, but the man came up to you.

Much less, while you were on the verge of outright bawling in the middle of a café.

“What’s your name?” you asked, initiating conversation. You might as well since he was there.

“Yoongi. Yours?” You hesitated knowing it wasn’t fair to not give him your name.

“I’ll reassure you I’m not a stalker, at least not the bad kind.”

You let out an amused scoff, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckles and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sound.

Were you really that joy deprived?

“Ok then, I’m Min Yoongi, and I’m a stocker. As in I distribute and track merchandise in stores.” he reaches a hand out to shake and you can’t help but stare at it.

“Well go on I won’t bite,” you huffed a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.

He smiles and you can’t help but return it.

Who is this guy?

“Why don’t we go for a walk?”

You contemplate his offer.

You had just met him but you hadn’t had casual conversation in a while… or hung out with friends for that matter. So maybe it’d be good for you after-

“Sure let’s go,” You replied immediately while standing up, maybe a little too quickly— your chair scratching the wooden floors and making a startling sound as you headed to the door.

He raised his brows in surprise at the sudden burst of energy before trailing behind you, ignoring the stares of café patrons.

“Hey wait up!”

-

This was another reason why you visited the quaint coffee shop often.

The park outside was always bustling with life and energy.

There was a little pond where ducks would glide across its surface diving from time to time, scavenging for the weeds at the bottom, maybe even getting sustenance from people who were ignorant of the ‘Do not feed the ducks’ sign.

It also had an open field where locals and families would enjoy the hot summer days by setting up little camps with blankets and food or even play small games of football or soccer.

While children played in the vast expanse of green, parents would sit back and converse with strangers forming new friendships. It was a place of change and growth and you loved it.

“So,” Yoongi continued as you both walked down the dirt path, “other than your name, and why you were crying in my café, is there anything about you I have yet to know?” Your cheeks flushed red as you shifted your sight to the ground.

“There’s nothing much really,” you replied with a shrug before backtracking his sentence, “Wait, your café?”

“Don’t change the subject. There’s got to be one thing about you… how about your favorite color?”

You purse your lips at the dodging of the question, albeit a basic one, but it was a start. “I guess Rainbow,”

He nodded with a hum, “Wise choice,”

You let out a huff of amusement, “Alright wise guy, what’s yours?”

He pondered for a moment before affirmatively replying, “Black,”

You hummed. “Kind of... dark, isn’t it?”

He turned around and shrugged, “I’d say the rainbow but you took it already,”

You scoffed, resuming your place beside him.

He continued asking basic questions to which you replied and vice versa.

You liked dogs, but him on the other hand didn’t have a favorite animal, at least until he adopted a poodle which made him keen on the creatures, more specifically one named Holly.

You were allergic to bees and he was allergic to cats.

You both enjoyed a variation of music from rap to classical piano music, but the question also led to a debate on what artist is the most superior to all.

Neither of you won, and concluded neither lost with valid points made during said argument.

It only felt like minutes had gone by but wasn’t until you looked at the time that you realized how late it was.

The crowd at the park had begun to thin out while shops surrounding the area were beginning to close for the day.

The once bright sunlight began to fade behind clouds as it began its descent to the horizon.

“I should probably be heading home,” you cut in politely before he could delve into the topic of what they would do in a post-apocalyptic world.

“Oh,” he replied, obviously disappointed.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well could I ask you one more thing?”

You nodded expecting it to be another ‘get to know you’ question or something along the lines of ‘if you had to would cut your arm or leg off?’ but it was something much more complicated.

“Can I get your number?”

You stiffened, unsure how to respond.

You weren’t sure if he was asking as a friend or a man with an ulterior motive.

Could you really do it?

Especially after you had just-

“I’m sorry that came out wrong,” He quickly mended, fumbling his words, realizing your distress.

“I think you’re really great, and I’d like us to continue talking. Just two people who enjoy each other’s company, you know?”

You looked up at him and saw he was offering to be friends that would be nothing more.

You couldn’t deny: you had fun.

For the first time in a long time.

Maybe it wasn’t a relationship you needed, but a friendship.

You smiled, “I’d like that,”

You reached into your pocket pulling out your phone, “Here.”

You both swapped devices, putting in the respective numbers. Once the contact was added, you returned each device to the rightful owner.

He grinned, holding up his phone, “How about a contact photo?” 

You smiled, nodding as you  stood beside him while  he took a selfie of you side-by-side. Once the picture was taken he slid his phone into his pocket. “Thanks,” he glanced down at the phone, that darn smile growing on his face, “Y/N. I’ll talk to you soon?” 

You nodded and finally split ways.

As you began the trek toward your apartment a dopey smile remained plastered on your face.

Maybe everything would be alright.

[67-chevy-baby]

Remedy

Pairing - Jared x Reader

Tags - Slight angst, FLUFFFFFF, language, and I think that’s it.

Word Count -  2,664

Beta - @winecatsandpizza​

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

The Song I Chose - Off My Mind by Radio Company

Written for - @saxxxology​’s Vol 1 Writing Challenge

A/N - So, I couldn’t find much about Jared’s sister. I don’t think she’s married, but just so y’all know I made up Trent, Max, and Macee. Also, there may be a part 2 to this. It’s my first Jared fic, and I’m not sure I write him well. At any rate, I hope y’all enjoy it, and I especially hope you like this Saxxy. I really tried to make this good. :) 

To say you’d become a failure to your parents was an understatement. 

From the moment you dropped out of college to pursue your real dream, they’d cut all ties with you. Honestly, it didn’t come as a surprise considering all they seemed to care about was what they wanted you to succeed in. If it didn’t benefit them, then they weren’t interested.

Finally realizing their true intentions was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You packed what little belongings you had and left for Texas, leaving your home-town in Ohio behind in the rearview mirror. The beat-to-hell car you inherited lasted you until the outskirts of Dallas, so you decided to hole up in a hotel with the last bit of savings you had. 

After checking in and grabbing some snacks from the vending machine in the lobby, you headed to your room and splayed out on the bed. You scrolled through local jobs as you munched on a Snickers bar. Nothing really jumped out at you, but this wasn’t a time in your life where it was rational to be picky. If you were going to pursue becoming a singer, then you needed some cash to get you started. 

Nothing really piqued your interest around Dallas, so you decided to span your search further. After an hour of sifting through different job opportunities, you finally came across one that caught your eye. 

Full-Time Nanny in Avery Ranch Start Date: Mid-January 2020 Children ages: 5 and 2 months Hours/Rate: M-F 7:30am-5pm - $18/hr Serious Inquiries Only: (512)586-2463

Other than singing, babysitting your sister’s kids was something else you thoroughly enjoyed. Her husband had cheated on her, and they divorced soon after so you became a constant in their lives. Not that you weren’t before, but since you were a full-time student at the time you often watched them during your off time. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you called the number and waited. By the third ring, you were starting to get discouraged but then a woman’s cheerful voice answered. 

“Hello?” 

Talking on the phone was never a strong suit of yours. Especially not knowing who was on the other end, it always gave you anxiety. Taking a deep breath, you stammered out a response. 

“Um, h-hi. My name’s Y/N and I saw your add about the Nanny position. I’d like to apply if it’s still available.” 

You heard the woman clear her throat and some rustling before she came back on the line. 

“Hi, Y/N! My name's Megan. Yes, the position is still available! Can you come over tomorrow at noon? My husband and I would like to meet over coffee to get to know you a bit better before we introduce you to the children.” 

Well, you weren’t expecting that, but the desperate situation you were in won over the butterflies fluttering against your abdomen. 

“Y-Yeah! I can do that!” 

The warmth in the woman’s response was evident and it eased any doubts you had bouncing around in your head. 

“Great! We’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. I’ll text you the address and feel free to wear something comfortable. Lord knows with two kids I won't be wearing my best dress."

You bid her goodbye and sighed into your pillow. Despite uprooting your life merely a day ago, things were starting to come together, and for once, you couldn't be happier. 

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

Jared sighed as he walked through the airport. Another season of Supernatural wrapped and he was finally on his home turf again. The familiarity of the Texas air nipped his bare skin as he headed for the awaiting taxi. Tonight, he'd rest up and then tomorrow he'd go and see his siblings. 

The ride to his studio apartment was short, but it allowed him to send a few texts and emails anyway. He tipped the cab driver generously and took the elevator up to his floor. 

His apartment wasn't much, but it was enough for him. The entry area was small, bearing a hook on the wall to hang his keys, a closet for his coat and shoes, and a couple of light switches. Just off to the left was the living room. He had a black leather sectional and a nice entertainment center where he could watch the latest Cowboys game comfortably. The kitchen wasn't enormous, but he didn't need it to be. It had everything he needed and all the appliances were new enough. His bedroom was just the way he left it, his king-size bed unmade and his laundry in the basket by the bathroom door. 

Jared tossed his suitcase on the bed and padded to the kitchen for a beer. He'd start laundry tomorrow. It wasn't like he had anyone to impress or anything. Ever since Supernatural gained its popularity, he'd shied away from serious relationships because he barely had time for himself let alone a significant other. Settling into the couch, he flipped through the channels before stopping on the movie Die Hard, one of his favorite Christmas movies. Before he knew it, he'd dozed off, his hard work and jet lag finally catching up to him.

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

You groaned and shut off your alarm. How was it already 6 AM? Forcing yourself to emerge from your warm blanket cocoon, you padded to the bathroom praying a hot shower would wake you up. Mornings were far from your favorite thing, and if you were going to meet with your potential employer then you needed to be somewhat presentable. 

Once you were dressed and had some sustenance, you wore a simple pair of jeans and a comfortable top. Your hair fell neatly at your shoulders and once you applied a small amount of makeup, you looked less like a zombie than you imagined. Remembering to grab your card key, you slid on your flats and headed to the address that Megan had texted you. 

The drive was nearly three hours, but you didn't mind. It allowed you to decompress and listen to your favorite Spotify playlist. Luckily, the rental car you managed to get had Bluetooth, otherwise you'd have to deal with the local stations. 

Finally, you pulled into the driveway and allowed yourself to take a few deep breaths. The house was pretty big, two-story with a two-car garage. The yard was well kept and you could see the faint outlines of playground equipment down the street. Overall, it looked to be a nice, quiet neighborhood. 

Crisp air fanned your face as you walked to the front door. A couple knocks later you were face to face with a sweet-looking young woman. She smiled warmly at you before inviting you inside. 

"Hi! You must be Y/N. It's so good to meet you." 

Smiling back at her, you shook her hand and then noticed a taller figure walk up behind her. He nodded at you and wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. 

“I’m her husband, Trent. Please come in and make yourself comfortable.”

You followed them inside and gasped as they led you into what had to be their living room. Your eyes wandered and marveled at how cozy and elegant everything looked. Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn’t help but think this couple had a lot of money. 

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs. …” 

It only just hit you that you didn’t know their last name. Megan brought you a cup of some wonderful smelling coffee and sat down on the love seat across from you. 

“Stevenson. Our last name is Stevenson. Thank you for your kind words. We moved here a little over a year ago so I could be closer to my niece.” 

You nodded and moaned happily at the taste of the coffee. This was one of the many things you enjoyed in life, a nice hot cup of coffee.

“Oh, does your family live close? That’s always nice, having family that lives close by. I used to watch my older sister’s kids all the time while she worked. They’re in school full-time now, so that’s why I decided to move here to hopefully pursue my dream.” 

It amazed you that you felt this comfortable around the Stevenson’s so quickly. Normally, your anxiety would get the better of you and it’d be like pulling teeth to get you to share personal things about your life. Megan nodded and scooted over to allow room for Trent to sit by her. 

“Yes, one of my older brother’s lives about fifteen minutes from here. He’s not home often though due to his job. He’s an actor and really only gets time off during the summer and the holidays. My other older brother lives about forty-five minutes from here. He’s an Orthopedic surgeon.” 

“Wow.” You breathed. “That’s really awesome! I have always wanted to be a singer, but my love of kids made me want to wait a little longer to try and become successful at it. I probably would have had kids of my own by now if I was fortunate in the relationship department. I seem to always find the ones who are either already married or live in their Mom’s basement.” The three of you shared a laugh and you watched as Trent scrolled through his phone. 

“This is our son, Max. He just turned five about a month ago, and in his lap is our two-month-old daughter Macee.”

You looked at them both in awe. “They’re beautiful! Max sure looks like he loves Macee a lot.” Just as you handed Trent his phone back, a small voice sounded from the foot of the stairs. 

“Mommy? I can’t sweep…”

The three of you looked to see little Max standing with his teddy bear and rubbing his eyes. Megan opened her arms and set him on her lap, pressing her lips to his forehead. 

“Hey, baby. You can sit with Mommy while we talk to miss Y/N.”

Your ears perked up at her words. Was she giving you the job? Both her and Trent shared a look and you could tell they were having a wordless conversation. Finally, Megan turned and gave you an excited smile. 

“Y/N, if you’re up for it, Trent and I would love to have you as our Nanny. You seem very attentive and dependable. We have a spare room that you can stay in for the time being, and you’ll have your own bathroom.” 

“Thank you both so much! I can’t wait to work with you and get to know your adorable children. When would you like me to start?”

Megan gave you a folder with a few papers in it to go over. 

“These are just a few more things about us and the kids that I want you to know. You can bring your things over tomorrow night and then on Monday you can start.”

You bid Trent and Megan goodbye and headed back to your hotel. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You’d only been here a short time and you had a place to stay and a job. Now all you needed to get was a car and you’d better off than you were before you started your journey. 

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

The sound of his phone’s text tone woke Jared from his slumber. He typed a quick response to his sister and stretched his tired muscles. After taking a quick shower and getting dressed he grabbed his wallet and keys before heading out the door. 

His sister said to be at her house in a couple of hours, but he didn’t see the harm in getting there early. It would give him time to play with Max and Macee for a little while. The drive there wasn’t very long, and soon he was walking up the sidewalk to their front door. 

He let himself in and could saw his sister in the back yard playing with the kids. Before he could head through the house out the back door, something caught his attention. A sweet melodic voice flowed through the upstairs hallway that made his heartbeat quicken. He moved so he could see better and caught sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She had long brown hair that waved a bit at the ends, was probably about five foot one, and her voice was mesmerizing. 

He watched as she cleaned the kids’ playroom, her hips shimmying to the music she was listening to. It was then that he recognized the song she was singing. It was one of the songs from Jensen’s new album! Standing in the foyer, he let himself listen to you a bit longer.

Oh, and how do I get you off my mind

With you back in my bed

How do I get you off my mind

Can’t have you living in my head

You can only stay awake so long

While deciding what is true

I lean in for a kiss upon your shoulder

Realize it wouldn’t do, not with you

So, how do I get you off my mind

With you back in my bed

How do I get you off my mind

Can’t have you living in my head

Unbeknownst to him, his sister was watching him watch her, the biggest smirk on her face knowing that you had caught her brother’s eye. 

“Her name’s Y/N, and she’s Trent and I’s nanny.”

Jared whirled around to meet his sister’s knowing gaze. He knew he’d been caught staring and was sure he was blushing furiously. 

“That’s ah… I’m uh… glad you found someone suitable for the kids, Meg. I bet she’s great.”

“Uh-huh… I haven’t seen you look at someone like that since… well, since ever really. You like her.”

“What?! That’s… I mean… I don’t even know her. I just… her singing was um… really good!”

By now, you had finished cleaning the playroom and was prepared to relieve Megan so she could go out with her family. You heard her talking to someone and you assumed it was Trent. 

“Hey, Megan! I finished cleaning the pla-” 

Your words were caught in your throat as you looked down into the foyer. There, standing mere feet from you was your celebrity crush since you saw him on Gilmore Girls. Jared Padalecki. It took only a moment for things to click in your brain and you deduced that he and Megan were siblings. 

“Y/N, this is one of my older brother’s Jared, Jared this is Y/N.” 

“H-Hi…” You squeaked. He gave you a boyish grin and you forgot how to breathe. “I’m uh… just going to get a few things from my room…” 

Once you were behind the closed door, you let out a shaky breath. How in the fuck did you manage to get a job at Jared Padalecki’s sister’s house?! Taking a deep breath you grabbed the Tonka set you bought Max and headed downstairs to the great room to play with him and Macee. Jared was in the kitchen with Megan, and you were lucky enough to be immensely distracted by Max to hear what they were saying. 

“I’m telling you Jare, you should ask her out! I give her weekends off, and I don’t think she knows anyone here but us. I think it would be nice to show her around.”

Jared rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t know Megan… I just met he-”

“Oh cut the crap, Jared. You can make all the excuses you want, but you and I both know you like her. C’mon! Take a chance! She’s cute and you’re single. If you keep waiting around for the right person, then who knows how long you’ll be waiting?”

Jared contemplated his sister’s words as he eyed you through the kitchen. Who was he kidding? Megan was right. He sighed and swallowed thickly as he headed into the Great room. 

“Here goes nothing…”

[tsubaki3192]

Christmas Gifts

[Ikevamp Leonardo x MC/Bee]

@3amheartache, Merry Belated Christmas, and I hope you've had a very Happy New Year! (Psst! I'm your secret santa!)

Notes: Ikevamp Holiday Exchange participation! Also, I did get a little confused with the name thing so please let me know if that was what you wanted!

Tags: @3amheartache @ikevamp-holiday-exchange @tsuki-no-usagiii @unstoppablelinda

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

You… Weren’t even sure just how it happened.

One morning, nearly two weeks before the date of Christ’s birth (a fact everyone seemed to forget, though apparently not you, even when considering the fact you weren’t Christian-), you had stepped out of your room in search for the perfect Christmas gifts for everyone when your foot, landed upon a letter at the mansion’s doorway.

Addressed to you, of course.

To be fair, you had near-missed the snow-damp envelope, given the fact it was bleached white and partially hidden under the still-falling ice. But you had caught sight of it nonetheless and brought it back inside with you, leaving it to dry by floor of the fireplace.

And yet when you returned from your daily duties later that evening, another gift had been placed delicately on the now-watermarked surface.

To my beloved, the tag read, followed by your name.

And if anything, you had to smile. It was sweet of him to give you little gifts, though you knew exactly who it was that had left it. Leonardo had always been rather thoughtful of you- But this was something new. Two long years of your relationship had brought you here. Two long years of his sweetness and love.

And that was just the beginning.

Your fingertips held the delicately crafted rose, admiring it’s beauty. You twirled it, watching for all the perfect imperfections that made it unique: Little dents here, missable scratches there…. It was handmade, to say the very least. And yet the thin, crimson-metallic sheets wounded and welded together made for the most everlasting flower while it sat on a more solid stem, golden in colour, with green leaves twisted in between.

And it was just something you utterly adored, especially when you considered the fact that you hadn’t seen him for the last few days.

(Truth to be told, you missed him dearly though you would never give him the liberty of knowing, for he would merely endlessly tease you.)

Even then, a smile had graced your features following that, skipping to your room to read the letter in peace.

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

The following week and a half ended almost similarly, and yet you still had not seen your boyfriend. Not once in the 240 hours of 10 days, the 14,400 minutes nor the 864,000 seconds, but hey, who’s counting?

And to add to that, it almost seemed like the entire mansion was in on a secret you weren’t aware of. Their excuses seemed to be stumbled, hurried, as they avoided you at all costs. Well… Except maybe Vincent, Napoleon and Theo (just slightly) and it was a given that Sebastian and Comte would continue to converse with you freely. It wasn’t as if you could avoid them, after all.

And yet-

It was Christmas Eve. The night you would usually spend with your family. And just as you had promised him, this year you had decided to stay behind. To say you were disappointed was simply not enough. Leonardo had promised you time together and you just simply hadn’t received that.

And yet here he was, leaving various gifts around the mansion where he knew you would find.

Your eyes shifted from the window to the lineup of items on your table, each item landing upon the calendar date beneath the glass and sighed with a mixture of contentment and concern.

Just where was he, and what was he up to? You knew you would never find him if you searched. He was far too good at hiding himself from you, though he could find you in a matter of seconds.

But as you rose from the outstretched couch beside the windowsill, a sharp knock came from your door.

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

“Cara mia…”

It was words of endearment that had you leaping from your seat, and your exclamation of “Leonardo!” didn’t hide your partial surprise. How could you, when your eyes shone bright with tears; when your hand flew to your lips in utter surprise? And he just chuckled, the sound sending rather wonderous shivers down your spine.

“You’re always so easy to read….”

Nevertheless, he whisked you into his arms with ease as you finally found your voice to yelp. But he only gazed down at you longingly, before pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Come now,” he started as he pulled away, “we’re going out. But first, I have a few gifts for you.”

“Huh…?”, you uttered, confused. More gifts…?

And gifts they were indeed. A stunning scarlett dress to match your heavy midnight boots. Your hands quietly slipped the silk-like fabric against your torso, shivering at the sensation of the cooling fabric. A small hum of anticipation left your lips as you applied rouge to your lips and jewellery to your ears and neck.

(They were both gifts from him. Never would he allow another man to gift you with such beautiful objects.)

But Leonardo was waiting for you outside, and your chest hummed in anticipation for the evening together. It wasn’t often that he took you out for dates- and when he did, both you and he became sidetracked by the hundreds of admirers your boyfriend held in the palm of his hand.

(It wasn’t as if you didn’t have any admirers either- It remained strange to know that you were the one he chose; the only one he could truly love. And stares of envy and awe would always follow your linked hands.)

The dress’ hem shimmied around your ankles as you twirled in front of the mirror in delight. It really did fit you well. Almost too well, you could say. But there was no time to waste: The night was young and you simply couldn’t wait to begin your date, crossing your fingers with the hope of no interruptions.

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

“This place….”

Leonardo had blindfolded you the second you had arrived in the mansion’s foyer, before lifting you into his arms with ease. Naturally, you had yelped in surprise as he hooked his arms beneath your knees and your back, only to relax into his embrace only seconds later. To match your yelp, he released a chuckle if his own, to which you only snuggled closer at the sensation of his vibrating chest.

And he had brought you, by carriage, to a rather stunning restaurant frequented often by counts and high-ranking families in the society. And it just so happened to be one of the few higher-class restaurants you enjoyed.

“Leo, what’s the occasion?”

You had questioned him upon entering the grand doors, but he had given you nothing more than a charming grin as you were permitted through to his table. The host had given you the same (yet somehow different) charming smile at the sight of your extravagant dress. And if anything, you only smile back politely as Leonardo’s possessive grip on your waist tightened and his smile thinned.

“Your table, Monsieur Leonardo.”

Strangely, Leonardo had pulled your chair out for you- something he had never done before. And when you, again, questioned him for his actions, he gave you another loving smile that sent you speechless.

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

Leonardo had been silent throughout the entire dinner as he watched you eat, chuckling every so often as he reached over the table to wipe whatever neglected sauce remained on the corner of your lips. And now-

He clasped his hand over your own and brought you to the restaurant’s extravagant garden. Crimson roses lined the paths, overshadowing the neatly trimmed grass and sculptures scattered throughout. And yet from the way his eyes remained on the path before you, he had a very specific destination in mind.

Before long, you arrived at the centre of the garden. A white pagoda sat at the centre, connecting the numerous pathways to it’s centre. But what, perhaps, had caught your attention most was the painting, veiled by a thin section of cloth, standing at the centre of the partially enclosed room. And as you admired the scenery ahead of you, you failed to notice Leonardo’s hand leave yours and fumble through his pockets.

“Bee…”

At the sound of his voice and your name, you turned, to search for him, only to find him on a single knee, a small, also crimson, box in his outstretched hand. Your eyes widened, as the events of the night suddenly pieced itself together.

His silence. His actions. His gifts. His disappearance.

“Everytime I close my eyes, all I can see is you. Everyday, all day, all I think about is you, Cara. Your smile, your voice plagues my mind, tesoro, and I find myself unable to focus on anything that’s not you. These few weeks have been hell…I’m not sure how I’ve managed without you all these years, stellina.”

He paused, and watched your eyes glimmer with hope and fill with tears. And with his empty hand, he reached out to your cheeks to wipe your tears.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say, cara, is ‘Can I be yours, as you will be mine?’ Will you let this soul care for your own? Will you allow this soul make you smile-”

You didn’t even allow him to finish his statement, as his fingers flicked at the contraption that opened the box. Nestled in between the pieces of foam was an intricately designed, silver ring- no doubt of his own creation. Diamonds, large and small, glittered brightly from their positions beneath the moonlight.

Your arms flew around his neck, whispering through silent tears, “Yes!”

Smiling gently at you, he slipped the ring to your finger and brought your hand to his lips.

“Grazie, Cara mia.”

(And you could just hear the relief in his voice as he held you close to him.)

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

Leonardo would later reveal the painting to you, the intricate brush strokes depicting yourself and he in that same garden he had proposed to you in.

That same painting now hangs in the centre of your shared room, bringing a small smile to your lips from the memory.

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 2

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 5801 Chapter: 2/16

Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

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Life on the road was harder than Jaskier expected. He was talented, that was for sure, and he often could make a fair bit of coin if he played the works of other bards. But that wasn’t what Jaskier wanted. He wanted to make a name for himself with his own work, and so he kept trying. He tried to write, he tried to perform, he tried to eek some sort of feeling and poetry out of his history lessons and his own personal experiences. They were lacking. He almost didn’t blame his audiences for throwing food at him, though it was still quite rude . At least he got a meal out of it, usually.

When he saw the witcher in the corner in Posada, Jaskier hadn’t approached him thinking he was a gift from destiny. In fact, he had only one thing on the mind, and he hoped to have it inside him in some capacity by the end of the day.

That didn’t happen, but still he followed Geralt. He probably reeked of desperation of two different kinds: he still was incredibly interested in proving his theory that the witcher made more noise in fits of passion than in general conversation, but now he also needed his expertise. If anyone would know about the fae, it was a witcher. Jaskier needed Geralt, more than he would have liked to admit.

If nothing else, he was a particularly effective muse. Jaskier had never written something so quickly as he had “Toss A Coin” and never had he gotten something with such a good reception. Even Geralt warmed to the song eventually, in his way. Not the song itself, Jaskier was sure, but what the song did for him.

With Geralt, there was a certain sort of freedom. Most of his commands Jaskier was happy for. He had never lived on the road quite as much as he did now, and Geralt telling him what needed to be done made things easier on Jaskier. Jaskier’s compliance also made him appear more helpful than he actually was. Any other orders Geralt had for him were easily satisfied.

“Go away,” Geralt said, and Jaskier stumbled a few wayward steps away from the witcher.

“Shut up,” Geralt said, in exasperation. Jaskier’s mouth closed and he hummed loudly until Geralt was forced to bark out, “Stop!”

The vague orders, Jaskier had learned, largely went away on their own. The less specific the better, and luckily they didn’t seem to build on each other too much, unless the orders were specific and goal-oriented. His mother had gotten her way by saying “Do not speak for the entire night.” “Shut up,” seemed to only last until another order was given.

Traveling with a witcher also afforded Jaskier a certain amount of protection from others. It was an easy way to stay away from people, like the fur trader in the red coat who had stared at Jaskier as if the bard was a decoration he’d like to add to his collection. When Jaskier was with Geralt, people stayed away, or if they didn’t, Geralt was there to prevent anyone from stealing Jaskier away.

Not that Geralt realized that was what he was doing. Jaskier was sure that, on some level, if the witcher had been at all aware, he would have allowed the stealing. He let Jaskier stay, nonetheless, and though life with a witcher took adjusting to, Jaskier was up for it.

“This is where we part, bard,” Geralt said, time and time again.

“So you can go fight a striga without me again? Hardly, Geralt,” Jaskier scoffed. “I had to make up half the details, then deal with you bemoaning me for being incorrect on the details, only for you to then refuse to correct me . It’s far easier for everyone if I’m just there.”

“You weren’t going to come with me for the striga, Jaskier. You would have died.” Geralt’s voice was flat, resigned, but he allowed Jaskier to continue following him out of the town.

Jaskier waved a dismissive hand. “Death is merely an unfortunate side effect.” He glanced up at Geralt, only to see a look almost as powerful as Geralt’s igni in burning him on the spot. “Oh, alright . But a rotfiend is hardly the same as a striga. Besides, taking one out does not involve fighting it until dawn inside a castle. There are a great many more places for me to watch from a distance. A safe distance. And, this way, you won’t have to hurt yourself with your attempts to be verbose.”

Geralt seemed satisfied by this answer, if his grunt was anything to go off of. Considering how much time Jaskier had spent around Geralt, he supposed the grunt was quite a bit to go off of. He had commanded Jaskier to stay in town until he returned before, but this time he allowed Jaskier to continue along beside him and Roach.

The rotfiends--it turned out there was a pack of them--were disgusting. Jaskier was pretty sure he would have a few stanzas on the smell alone . But Geralt was incredible. Geralt always had such a dancing quality to his fighting, and more than once Jaskier had distracted himself on this detail alone. So far, he hadn’t truly been able to capture just how graceful the man was in his songs, but he was pretty sure no one would believe it anyway. Usually people did not look at a great beast of a man like Geralt and think “graceful,” no matter how foolish Jaskier thought they were for it.

Then again, they also didn’t look at Geralt and see “beautiful” which was truly a travesty in and of itself. While Jaskier had initially hitched himself to the witcher’s wagon for selfish reasons, he had to admit that they were no longer the reason he was here. Sure, he still would do just about anything to have Geralt pin him to the ground and have his way with him. And, sure, eventually he was still planning on finding a way to casually bring up his interest in the fae. He had to do it without alerting Geralt to his true motivations, which was tricky, and the main reason it hadn’t come up yet in the now four years he had been acquainted with the witcher. Now, though, now he was here because he just… wanted to be. Geralt was brave and noble and a true friend, even if he kept Jaskier at an arm’s length. He was skilled in battle in a way that was amazing to watch, and a solid, safe person to be around.

When Jaskier looked at Geralt, he saw amber: warm, bright, and beautiful. Secure in a way he had never felt before. With Geralt, he could reach out and embrace danger, and know that he would not be harmed. Even his monsters, like the rotfiends, had a simplicity to them that Jaskier’s monsters never did.

Hours later, when they had found their way back to town to collect their coin, and made it into a small, warm room, Jaskier still could only see amber. He hadn’t wanted to perform, beyond an almost half-hearted display of “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” to prompt the villagers into fair payment. Jaskier pretended it was because he was trying to compose a new song, but he knew it was truly because he wanted to keep feeling amber. Performing meant oddly shouted-out commands. Jaskier wasn’t in the mood to be clever.

Jaskier perched upon his bed as Geralt worked, reorganizing the saddlebags for probably the hundredth time. He always insisted they were off-balance, and Jaskier had learned long-ago not to interrupt Geralt in his fiddling. Surly witchers were a pain to deal with. Jaskier pretended to be involved in his composing, but he turned just enough to sneak furtive glances Geralt’s way.

“Geralt,” Jaskier finally said, dutifully keeping his voice even.

Geralt hummed in acknowledgement. He didn’t pause his work or look up, but Jaskier didn’t expect him to. Didn’t want him to, really. This would be easier to do if Jaskier pretended that this was an idle conversation.

“You’ve met a great many creatures in your time,” Jaskier began. Geralt snorted. “Any particularly interesting ones?”

“Don’t you already have material for a new song? Rotfiends not poetic enough for you?”

Jaskier feigned affront, a hand to his chest as he shot Geralt a scandalized look. “A true artist, as I am, can turn even the most disgusting of creatures into inspiration. Though I will have my work cut out for me to make my audiences trip over themselves in interest, rather than lose their suppers at the thought of the smell .” Jaskier scrunched up his nose, then continued on. “This is for curiosity’s sake. I am a seeker of knowledge, Geralt. I wish to know more of the creatures in the world. Perhaps a particular sort of creature. One that finds itself woefully lacking in printed information, but what is there paints a very peculiar--”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier huffed. If he wanted to, he could get around that one, but why bother when the curse was giving him an out to get direct information? “Have you come across fae?”

Geralt paused for a moment. “Once or twice.”

“What were they like?” Jaskier’s heart was beating fast, and he tried everything he could to slow his rate down. He forced his breaths to slow, hoping that soon his anxious heart would get the hint and stop giving away all his secrets to the witcher’s enhanced hearing.

“Tricky,” Geralt answered with a hum.

Jaskier shot him an exasperated look. Geralt was still looking at his pack, but the small smile on his face told Jaskier that he was being taciturn on purpose . Jaskier did not appreciate it.

“Geralt, for once could I get some information out of you without pulling your teeth? Honestly, for someone who has benefited so much from me singing your deeds and praises, you sure are unwilling to offer me any information.”

“I thought this was curiosity, not material?”

Jaskier huffed again, finally dropping the notebook in front of him onto his bed. “It is , but that was more of a blanket statement. It’s not like I can go and find a book on the fae, that’s guaranteed to be chock full of the misinformation you so loathe . So, since you have a wealth of information on the monsters of this region, why don’t you bend my ear with your expertise for once?”

Geralt answered with a huffy laugh and shrugged. “They’re not monsters , exactly. Most witchers won’t take contracts on fae. They’re tricky, they’re vain, and they’re not to be messed with. But they’ll largely leave humans alone as long as they don’t insult them,” he answered with a shrug. “Both times I got mixed up with a faery, I narrowly got away.”

“How would you go about finding one? Any one, or a particular one? Or… or a court, or--” Jaskier cut himself off. To go further down this direction would likely add too much suspicion. The searching, suspicious look Geralt gave Jaskier confirmed this suspicion.

“If you’re smart, you don’t.”

“But it can be done?”

Geralt sighed. He stood, putting away the bags he must have finally been satisfied with. “To find a particular one, you would have to find the court they belong to. Unless you just happened to get lucky--or unlucky--enough to stumble upon them. But the court would know where its subjects are.” Geralt began to undress then, and had it been any other conversation, Jaskier was sure this would have distracted him. Even after all this time, it was hard not to get distracted by a bare-chested Geralt, covered in hair that Jaskier just longed to run his fingers over. This conversation was too important, though, and his dedication to making it seem unimportant even moreso.

“And how would you find the court?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, then returned to his bed. “Fae tend not to venture too far away from their own forests, unless for particular business. If someone was looking for a particular fae they had met before, likely they would find it near where they met the fae in the first place. Then you just… look for the entrance. Humans usually stumble upon the entrance on accident. You can track it with magic. It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible.” He paused, then shrugged. “I can’t say I know the specifics beyond that. Haven’t tried it. Like I said, if you’re smart, you don’t.”

Ah. So that meant a return to Lettenhove. That, Jaskier was not excited about, not in the least. But if he wanted to find Lazuli, he had little choice. For now, though, he could put this off. He felt far from ready to face the fae that cursed him, much less an entire fae court .

Jaskier only realized he had been too quiet, too thoughtful for too long when he finally looked up to see Geralt staring back at him strangely. His eyebrows were furrowed and he leaned forward, and Jaskier was pretty sure he had never studied Jaskier’s face that diligently. Jaskier tried to laugh and make a joke to throw Geralt off, but Geralt cut him off.

“Why are you asking, Jaskier? You aren’t going to try to find a Seelie court, are you?” Geralt asked. His voice held no humor. Honestly, he sounded almost concerned , and wasn’t that just touching?

“Geralt, come on, I told you, I’m just trying to--”

“Tell me the truth, Jaskier.”

Bollocks. Well, Jaskier had gotten around this one before, he could do it now. People never seemed to specify which truth they wanted. “You’re very knowledgeable, Geralt. It’s actually quite impressive to me. All my years of private tutors and my time at Oxenfurt, and I still think you could fill far more books with your knowledge than I could with mine. Then again, you’ve had quite a bit more time to gain that knowledge than I have, so it only seems fitting that you--”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier sighed. “I have no plans to go find a Seelie court, Geralt. I believe you that it’s dangerous.” He had already fulfilled the restrictions of the curse with his previous truth, but even this wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have plans to find the court--yet.

Geralt sat back, satisfied. He nodded, then laid down on the bed and rolled over. Tonight, he would probably actually sleep. The fight with the rotfiends, though Geralt would not admit it, had worn him out, which was why Jaskier had insisted on renting a room rather than setting up camp. Geralt didn’t sleep well on the road, and rarely slept well in an inn, but he seemed to do marginally better in an inn on nights when Jaskier stayed with him, rather than finding another bed to warm.

Jaskier was pretty sure he was not going to sleep even a moment. Not while this new information turned over and over in his head.

read chapter 3

[roborights]

RULES:  List five tropes applicable to your character, then tag others to do the same. (Tropes Wiki)  REPOST! DO NOT REBLOG.

Tagged by: shhhhhhh Tagging: anyone who wants to do it!

RIDICULOUSLY HUMAN ROBOT - Robots in television — particularly comedic television — are usually human-like in ways that very few sane programmers would deem useful. It can be something as simple as being philosophical (wanting to understand human emotion, wondering if they have a soul, etc.), but can extend to such things as robot social cliques, robot food, robot entertainment, robot religion, and even robot sex. It doesn't matter if it makes no sense in the context of a mechanical servant, or even if it's truly undesirable, the designers have put it in there for some twisted reason. This will often take the form of having a robot that looks exactly like a human. The degree to which this is actually "ridiculous" varies depending on the setting. In some cases they get a free pass — it may be that an intelligence, artificial or not, needs to be vaguely human-like in its basic outlines, with emotions, interests, motivations, et cetera simply to be functional for certain tasks, such as those requiring a great deal of long-term autonomy. On the other hand, perhaps humans prefer Sexbots not to behave like automated teller machines. It may be, if human intelligence itself is merely an evolved set of functions held together in an evolved psychological architecture, that any society with sufficiently ubiquitous and flexible automation will necessarily have the means to produce something human-like, or it may simply be that emotions, desires, and curiosity are unavoidable side-effects of full sentience. Whatever serves the needs of the well-reasoned plot or setting. In these cases, Ridiculously Human Robots make sense. Also, a few illogical design choices are a small price to pay for keeping robotic characters out of the Uncanny Valley. However, it's rare that a series explicitly spells this out, and often, these human-like AIs are put right up next to similar, yet emotionless equivalents that function perfectly.

PEOPLE PUPPETS - Not Mind Control - body control! Some guys just feel the need to be in control... of everything. Including you. No, not with possession, not through manipulation; we mean literally controlling your body, forcing you to move as he wishes, and turning you into his personal People Puppets. Such a character, usually a villain, can control his victims' limbs as if they were marionettes on a set of strings. Sometimes he'll actually have a puppet-theme, and many a Demonic Dummy has powers like this to play on the irony of a person being puppet-ed by the puppets; but other times a character just happens to have this ability along with related Psychic Powers. In either case, those controlled will often move in Marionette Motion. Either way, he can manipulate others' bodies while they're still in 'em, much to his victims' dismay... as said victims are usually conscious, confused, and complaining (sometimes loudly, to inform allies — and the audience — that "I ...can't... control my... body!") Or maybe they Can Only Move the Eyes. Most times, they haven't been Brainwashed or anything, as they're protesting mightily — it's just that there's not much they can do about it. For some reason, many character's mouths seem to be immune to this, as they will often protest whatever it is that they're being made to do. This may be related to Voices Are Mental.

NEW POWERS AS THE PLOT DEMANDS - Some superhero comics authors seem to get bored of the same old powers. They add new ones to the same characters whenever they feel that a new power would open up a new story, or a new danger needs a new response, or what the hell, whenever they feel like it. Sometimes a retcon, a power upgrade or some bit of Phlebotinum is employed to explain the new power, but often the character just does something they've never done before and when their friends say, "I didn't know you could do that!", they come back with either "I've never needed to, till now," or worse, "Neither did I!" Generally speaking, this trope is far more forgivable earlier in the story — with a character who has only recently been empowered and is fully justified in not knowing what he can do. Likewise, "neither did I until now" in an experienced character can be reasonable, if it's happening in some circumstance or special condition that the character has never encountered before.However, this is sometimes employed as a form of Deus ex Machina — having written themselves into a corner with a villain or situation that's too overwhelming for our heroes to handle with the tools they've been given, the writer decides to have the hero instantaneously learn the one ability he needs to save the day or bring a character Back from the Dead. Frequently, without any form of Foreshadowing to suggest that he or she can do that. It gets worse if they conveniently forget this ability when it would come in handy in a later situation. This is often the case with a Mary Sue/Marty Stu.

HOPE BRINGER - We have two sides of a conflict - The Empire is opposed by La Résistance or just common folks they oppress, The Legions of Hell fight with Church Militants, the Galactic Conqueror is in a war with The Federation, the Multiversal Conqueror fights against the Guardian of the Multiverse, the Scary Dogmatic Aliens are opposed by The Men in Black and Space Marines. And one side has a giant advantage; they win on every front and it's only a matter of time before they utterly annihilate their enemies. This is the Darkest Hour for the weaker side, but fear not, because Hope Springs Eternal. Then in come these nobodies. Hope Bringers are living proof that one person can make a difference and even the odds. By their actions, they restore hope in the hearts of their allies and lead them into the fight and victory. They can be the Big Good, the Magnificent Bastards, The Chessmasters, The Ace, the Rebel Leader or the People Of Mass Destruction - whatever makes them so special, it works. They can make the two sides not only fight on equal ground again, but even reverse the situation and make the side they help repay the other one for everything they did. The Hope Bringers’ motives may vary. They can help the good guys because they believe in justice, love their fatherland, want revenge, tend to their flock, spread the Good News or just Because Destiny Says So. Often the Hope Bringer is the Chosen One. Note that this isn't always a good thing, since Hope Is Scary and sometimes leads to a Hope Spot. And occasionally the hope bringer is a Dark Messiah who’s willing to do anything to bring hope- regulations, brainwashing, manufactured reality, whatever.

HEROIC SACRIFICE - A character saves another/others from harm and is killed, crippled, or maimed as a result. A bad character who was once good can redeem themselves in the last act by Taking the Bullet that was meant for The Hero, thus expunging all their previous evil, avoiding forcing The Hero to arrest or confront him, and avoiding any real life penalties like disgrace and jail. This is like Redemption Equals Death. In this case, the death and redemption come in a single act. There are essentially three kinds of Heroic Sacrifice:

The one at the beginning of the story, which sets the tone for the rest of the tale.

The one in the middle of the story, wherein the Heroic Sacrifice leads to new heights of badassery, or new depths of depression, in the characters who are affected by it (depending on the story.) Sometimes both.

The one at the end of the story which serves as a Grand Finale, an example of "This character is Too Cool to Live", or the kernel of a Downer Ending or Bittersweet Ending. The "Too Cool to Live" Heroic Sacrifice is the most common type in American movies. Often, The Hero Dies in a heroic sacrifice at the end.

A Heroic Sacrifice usually requires that a character be Not Afraid to Die, even declaring It Has Been an Honor. If the Heroic Sacrifice was pre-planned, it's a Self-Sacrifice Scheme. Often preceded with a Sneaky Departure from the team, or a More Hero Than Thou dispute. A Friend in Need often requires it, and doing it proves your love for them. Contrast Villain's Dying Grace, when a dying villain decides to save a life. The Doomed Moral Victor fights a battle where the outcome is clear from the beginning. If the character has time to say some last words before dying, they often do so in an Obi-Wan Moment. Often a Dying Moment of Awesome. There's also the case where Someone Has to Die, which takes this Up to Eleven.

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 8/?, Words: 46.442

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

Lunch that day is a rather burnt affair, but Steve could not care less. He barely pays it any mind when Bucky – who is the only one of them with cooking skills that go beyond pizza and reheating leftovers – complains about the oven switching to cleaning mode on its own. His steps are lighter than they have been in weeks as he strides into the kitchen.

Without warning, he sweeps Natasha up into something that is half hug and half swirl. The only reason he does not end up with a knife between his ribs, is because he caught her off guard. And, perhaps, because he is smiling. That has not happened in some time either.

“What happened?” Bucky asks. He holds a plate with something very black and slightly smoking between them like a shield, as if Steve’s sudden madness might be contagious.

Steve does not care. He is elated beyond measure. For the very first time, he has had an amicable conversation with Tony, one that did not end up creating a bigger rift between them. This might not be in any way Steve’s doing, but he did not immediately mess it up again. That is progress.  

“We have a truce,” he exclaims, feeling the smile splitting his face like a thing he can preserve.

His team looks at him with varying degrees of puzzlement.

“A what?” Bucky asks, still holding the plate.

Natasha takes a decisive step back to bring more distance between herself and Steve before she adds, “With whom?”

“A truce,” Steve repeats, “With Tony.” He shrugs as if to show how much lighter the weight on his shoulders has already become. “I called and he said,” biting his lips, Steve interrupts himself, “well, he said he’s got bigger problems than me at the moment. I mean, that still counts, right?”

Put like that, they have not made any progress at all but Tony has just decided to ignore his Steve-sized problem for the moment, throwing him a breadcrumb in hopes of distracting him. Steve is not even ashamed to say it worked. It gives them an opportunity to talk without immediately yelling. They might not be allies or even friends, but they are not adversaries for the moment either.  

“You apologized?” Natasha asks. Her face does not hold as much scepticism as Clint’s does but more of a warning. At some point, Steve will give up trying to guess what she is thinking.

“I did,” Steve says and does not elaborate.

His apology has been lacking, he is very aware of that. All the clever words he thought of beforehand had vanished the moment he heard Tony’s voice. He meant what he said, but he is aware that it is not enough. Perhaps it will never be enough.

Today, he has realized, was the first time he has seen Tony neither afraid nor battered. The bruises were still visible but they were not all Steve could see. Even with obvious distrust and exhaustion drawing shadows in his face, Tony is beautiful, inside and out. Steve is certain that, this time, it is not only their bond making him think that.  

“And he said you’re good?” Bruce speaks up. In a way, his expression is sharper even than Natasha’s. Then again, he was the only one who felt like Tony needed to be protected from them from the very beginning.

“No.” Steve’s smile falters a bit, but he keeps it in place. “He very explicitly did not say that. And he still told me to leave him alone.” None of them looks surprised by that. “But he didn’t curse my very existence. That’s more than I expected.”

Cocking his head to the side, Bruce musters him closely before saying. “That’s – nice to hear.”

Steve sees them sharing glances but cannot bring himself to care. He knows very well that this is not the first step to some happily ever after with Tony. But it is a first step away from being hated by his soulmate for the rest of his life. Perhaps they will never get together, will never see each other again once this mess is resolved, but there is a slight chance that they will. Perhaps Steve does not deserve that, but he wants it nonetheless.

Finally putting his plate down, Bucky nods. “Well, you can put your new-found enthusiasm to work and cut some vegetables.” He points at the burnt remnants of their meal. “Since our kitchen has recently decided to try to kill us, we’ll have to restart lunch.”

They should deal with their malfunctioning tech at some point, but Steve is in too good a mood to let it be ruined by their oven.

“Nope,” he exclaims with enough cheer for all of them. “I’m going to get us pizza. Or do you want Chinese? Doesn’t matter, lunch is on me.”

For the longest moment, none of his friends react. He wonders whether it is too much to ask for them to just let him have this moment. They messed up momentarily and nothing is resolved, but here he is, making the best of what he has.

Then, Natasha says shortly, “Sushi,” and it is like everyone finally remembers how to breathe.

“Pizza,” Clint calls, eyeing their oven with disgust, and that is seconded by Bucky.

Bruce stares at Steve the longest. Then his lips pull up into something that is not entirely friendly, and says “Indian.”

Steve is sure it is some elaborate scheme for revenge that they are going to send him on an odyssey to get their food, but he does not care. It already feels too much like they are losing each other, considering how high tension runs at all times now.

“Done,” Steve says and keeps his smile carefully in place.

Without further comment, he gets out of the kitchen, swallowing the urge to hum, but lingers in the hallway. Eavesdropping might not be polite, but he needs to know what they are thinking. Needs to know where he stands.

It is silent in the kitchen for long enough that Steve wonders whether they know exactly that he is not yet gone, but then Clint sighs long-sufferingly.

“A truce, really?” He does not sound as angry as Steve thought he would. Just disbelieving.

“Aren’t you writing with him, Bruce?” Natasha asks, causing Steve to freeze where he is.

Bruce and Tony? In a way, it makes sense, but he still did not see it coming. Bruce was the only one of them ready to defend Tony, and then he had to get his bike back somehow after letting Tony escape with it. It does not sound like Bruce knew about what Tony would offer, though.

“I don’t know how you found that out, but yes,” Bruce replies, not actually surprised that Natasha knows more than she should. Secrets seem to draw her in, no matter how well they are kept.

“And you didn’t warn him?” Natasha’s voice is full of scepticism. While Steve hates it, he cannot help but wonder the same.

“I did,” Bruce says simply. “Although I didn’t think that would turn out like this either.”

Steve does not know what to think of this. He is not going to begrudge Tony contact with the one person among the Avengers who showed him kindness from the very beginning, and he does not think that Bruce would harm the team. This still feels like something he should have known about.

“You’re writing with Stark?” Clint questions, sounding put off by the mere concept.

“You’re welcome to shut up about it,” Bruce snaps back, not missing a beat. He has likely expected protest. Clint is reliable in that he never accepts anything quietly.

Even outside the room, Steve can feel the tension between them rising again. How did they end up tearing into each other at every opportunity?

“I’m not saying anything,” Clint mutters, still distinctly offensive.

“That would be a first.”

Steve is caught between the urge to slink away, ignoring what he heard, and barging in to remind them that they are a team. All this bickering does more damage than they can afford.

“Could we please stop hating each other,” Bucky speaks up at that point, taking the decision from Steve. He sounds tired. “That’s not making anything easier.”

Another silence. There never used to be so much of that.

“Good plan,” Natasha offers, her tone brooking no argument. She still manages to keep them all in check. “Clint, help Bucky clean up the kitchen. I’ll get back to work until Steve is back.”

Alerted by his name, Steve decides to vanish before Natasha can find him spying on them. Food will make things easier, he is sure. 

Tony’s phone chimes barely an hour after his conversation with Steve. Chances are, Steve has once again ignored Tony’s wishes of being left alone, or took this offer for a truce as actual encouragement to contact him even more often.

Tony is ready to ignore it. He was supposed to be free of Steve for the moment, to concentrate on the other wrecks scattered through his life.

Even though the phone lies within reach, Tony asks, “Who is it, J?”

Once he has the phone in hand, he knows he will answer, but he can at least find out beforehand how unpleasant it will be.

“The message is from Dr. Banner,” JARVIS answers. “You also have two missed calls from Ms. Potts as well as several unread mails.”

“I know,” Tony says, hoping to interrupt the litany of open tasks waiting for him.

R&D has been running in his door, waiting for updates or needing to talk through specs. Tony does not have any interest or energy to deal with weapon design at the moment. The very thought has him feeling nauseous.

It is not unusual for him to disappear for days on end, but he usually emerges with new designs. It will be a rather rude awakening for everyone when they find out he has simply been moping in his rooms.

Picking up his phone, Tony still hesitates to read Bruce’s message. Chances are high that this means more problems. Bruce is not his friend, they are barely even acquaintances. Tony might not be afraid of Bruce or blame him for what happened, but they are still strangers. It is not even clear why Bruce continues to be kind to Tony.

Tony does not believe in good things happening to him without a reason. It might be overly optimistic to think of Bruce as a good thing, but he does. And he really hopes that he is not going to regret that.

Deciding to get it over with, Tony unlocks the screen, not quite prepared but expecting new problems.

A truce? Bruce has written. Nothing more.

It almost feels like they are the kind of friends to just start a conversation out of the blue, unprompted. There is naturally a reason to this. Bruce would not write if there was not some consequence to Tony’s conversation with Steve.

He wonders whether it is a good sign that Steve has apparently told his friends about the truce so quickly. Considering how little they like Tony, it might have been better to keep it a secret.  

Well, Tony answers, he wasn’t backing off.

He thinks about asking how everybody has taken the news, if he has to warn his security about possible visits from former secret agents. Strangely, he does not want to. Bruce told him he would not spy for either side, and Tony does not want to breach that

Even more strangely, he wants to ask Bruce whether he has had a look at Tony’s USB drive too, if he has thoughts, advice. He wants to pick Bruce’s brain. That truly says everything about how lonely Tony feels at times.

Then another message from Bruce arrives. This is the first time Steve’s been smiling in weeks.

Tony cannot imagine it. He has seen Steve smirk, cocky and full of confidence. He has seen him frowning and worried and irritated. Smiles have not had any room between them. Somehow, Tony still managed to cause some joy despite the misery between them. He is not sure how to feel about that, but he begins to wonder whether the warmth in his chest is an echo of Steve’s mood.

Are you telling me I shouldn’t have done it? Tony asks, feeling like he knows the answer already. His head, of course, is still saying something different than his heart.

Bruce takes a while to answer, but Tony tries not to interpret too much into that.

I’m saying you’ve given him hope.

Hope for what, Tony wants to ask but the endgame is rather obvious. This is about what they are going to do with the fact that they are soulmates, whether they will build something or put it to rest as a mistake. Fate cannot always be right, after all.  

Because he does not have any other answer for now, Tony writes, His apology sucked.

It had and it had not. It certainly was not refined and left a lot to be desired. It definitely does not make everything all right. Steve meant it, though, and that opens up a whole new load of problems.

I’m pretty sure he’s working on another one right now.

Ton does not know what to think of that. Bruce had been right in saying that it was good to hear Steve apologize, to look in his eyes and realize that he means it. There was honest regret. While that does not make everything okay, it does soothe some of Tony’s worries, especially about whether the Avengers are coming after him again. There is no being sure and Tony certainly does not trust them, but it allows him to look ahead more than over his shoulder.

Thanks for the heads up, Tony writes and puts his phone to the side. He does not have any time to waste. The conversation with Steve has been the final push for Tony to do something he should have done years ago.

The solution to at least one of his problems is very easy, and Tony has decided that he is going to announce it to the entire world to make sure that they will go through with it. The world they are living in does not believe in forgetting things anymore. Everything that is said and done will be remembered. For the first time, this is not an inconvenience. Tony wants people to remember this.

It is a stupid plan. JARVIS has calculated the abysmal chances of success, accompanied by a healthy dose of scepticism, urging him to reconsider.

Tony is set on this, though. Weapons are what brought them into this mess, so he needs to take them out of the equation. That way, he cuts the smuggle ring off from its source, and might be able to rouse them enough to take them out as a whole instead of painstakingly picking them off one by one.

The only problem lies with Obadiah and the board of directors, but Tony is sure he can make them understand that there is just as much if not more money to be made in other sectors. He has enough ideas to make this work, and the company can survive the initial stock crash. It has to.

Tony has his phone in hand again before he can reconsider, dialling Pepper’s number. The moment she picks up, he says, “I need you to call a press conference.”

It will all be last-minute and he can already hear people grumbling about it. Tony is pretty sure that hearing that Stark Industries will stop making weapons, effective immediately, will be worth the hassle.

“What happened?” Pepper asks. Tony does not want to know how often he has caused her to say these words. If there was a record for these things, he is sure they would break it constantly.

“I have something to say to the press,” Tony replies and can practically hear her rolling her eyes. Or perhaps not. That likely comes only after she knows he is not about to end the world as they know it or has gotten himself hurt again.

“That’s usually what a press conference is for,” Pepper comments dryly, although her sarcasm falls a bit flat. Hopefully, that means she is already working on informing the press. Somehow, Tony doubts it will be that easy. “Who else knows about this?”

That, Tony knows, is a trick question. Pepper usually knows everything about what he is doing, and if she does not it is probably a stupid idea of his that needs to be shut down. One might argue that this situation definitely falls into the latter category, but that is nothing new where Tony is concerned.

“You and I,” Tony says with fake cheer, desperately keeping his own doubts out of his voice. “Well, and everybody else as soon as you can get that conference set up.”

Pepper sighs, but it is the kind that means she will play along. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Tony could kiss her. Instead of berating him or trying to find out what is going on, she is just asking whether he is sure. He is not, but that has never stopped him before.

“Yes,” Tony says as firmly as he can.

“All right.” Pepper hesitates for a moment, likely wondering what she is getting herself into. “Be ready in two hours.”

“Thank you, Pep.”

Two hours is hardly enough to get ready for something as condemning as this, for upending his entire life again, but Tony will not let that stop him. Up on that stage, he will have a role to play and that is what he has done for as long as he can remember. The real work will come only afterwards.

---

More and more little accidents happen, accumulating to the point where they cannot be blamed on coincidence anymore. Sometimes the showers are scalding hot or there is no warm water at all. One time, the fridge stopped working, causing the whole base to smell like rotten food by the time they noticed. Clint’s card was declined when he went for groceries for all of them. The TV played every movie in different languages but never in English.

Bruce, whose lab remains miraculously untouched by all the technical mishaps, does not offer his opinion about what is happening and does not join in the general grumbling either.

One or two of these incidents could have been explained away, but the malfunctioning oven has finally pushed Natasha into making the connection that all of this started the moment she tried to open the files on Tony’s USB drive.

“I knew he left himself a way into our system,” she exclaims and glares at the screen of her laptop, while Steve is still wondering how a harmless piece of tech could cause their showers to malfunction.

Ever since taking on the job to get Tony’s USB drive from him, Steve realized just how little he understands about what technology can do. It has never really mattered before since he always had other talents he could use and people to help him out. Now, though, he wishes he would know more if only to not feel so removed from his soulmate in this way as well. They already have so many other things separating them.

Natasha is muttering as her fingers fly over the keyboard. She has been working hard to find whoever sent them after Tony and been therefore especially annoyed by their appliances going haywire.

Steve turns towards Clint, hoping for an explanation, only to be met by a shrug.

“Don’t look at me,” Clint says, “she’s the expert, and you know my opinion of Stark. If someone’s petty enough for this, it’s him. So much for a truce.”

Clenching his jaw, Steve swallows the urge to start another argument. Over the past days, Clint has gotten better and has stopped to constantly offer his opinion of Tony and of Steve’s decision to switch sides to anyone willing to listen or not. They are still on edge with each other.  

“I think it’s only pettiness if he wouldn’t have a real reason to be angry,” Steve says with forced calm. He really does not have the energy to deal with the same old argument again and again.

“Well,” Clint drawls and leans forward, right into Steve’s personal space, “how about you tell lover boy that he should stop fucking with us. Now that you’re on speaking terms.”

“Or what?” Steve hears the danger in his own tone, feels it reverberating within his bones.

“Or we put an end and to this farce and –”

A set of hands grabs both their collars and drags them apart. It is abrupt enough that Steve regrets the sudden drop of tension in the air.

“Stop arguing.” Natasha appears between them, her face entirely blank. Her voice is sharp like a whip but she sounds distracted like she has not actively heard their arguing.  

Clint naturally does not let things go this easily. He looks just as eager as Steve to turn this into a fight. “You’re not happy about this situation either,” he says, gesticulating sharply at Steve. “Thanks to Steve announcing our names so carelessly, Stark probably knows who we are and –”

“Shut up,” Natasha snaps, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I know who hired us.”

Absolute silence falls between them if only for a second. This is what Steve has been waiting for, this piece of information that will finally push them back on a path of action. Yet, he is afraid of what Natasha will say, of having answers because then he cannot hide from them anymore.

“Who?” Steve asks, feeling his back straighten. His anticipation of a fight will finally be fulfilled. It might still be some time away, but he knows the expression on Natasha’s face. This will be ugly.

“It’s Obadiah Stane.”

---

Breathing is hard under the ton of makeup Tony has put on his face to hide the last lingering traces of his treatment at the Avengers’ hands. Objectively, he is aware that the weight on his chest has nothing to do with makeup but with what he is about to say once he steps out on the stage.

Stark Industries is his father’s company. It has made its name as the best weapons manufacturer in America and perhaps the world. Tony is going to take his father’s legacy and crash it into the ground. He plans to build it up stronger and better, more palatable for someone with a conscience.

Obadiah will not like that, which is why Tony did not tell him. Actually, he did not tell anyone because he is convinced that nobody will like this course. Instead of arguing needlessly to make them see reason, he will just present them with facts. He does not plan to ask for forgiveness either. Stark Industries is his now. His to shape after his own wishes. He should have done so much sooner.

A last glance at the mirror reveals that he looks as put together as he could possibly be. His suit is meticulous, his hair does not stick up for once, neither the bruises nor the bags under his eyes are visible. The man looking back at him truly is a Stark. He is nobody’s plaything, nobody’s metaphorical doormat. All he is worth to some people is his money and the weapons he comes up with. It is time to take that away and be his own person.

“Let’s go,” Tony tells himself in the mirror.

He decides this is enough of a pep talk. Spontaneity is not exactly something he was encouraged to develop, but he has been breaking his head trying to think all of this through, all of the consequences, all of what can go wrong. He has been unhappy for years, he just never had the courage to change that.

Down in the foyer, he runs into Obadiah, who looks not as surprised at seeing Tony as he should. Someone talked. It does not matter, though. Calling off the press conference would do more damage than letting Tony go on the stage and say what he has to say – at least under any other circumstances. No one suspects anything, so no one can think to stop him while they still can.

“Tony, my boy,” Obadiah calls, smiling as he hurries over, “what are you doing down here?”

Tony almost regrets that he has to wipe that smile off his godfather’s face by announcing the virtual bomb he is about to plant in his own company. Obadiah will deal with it, though. That is what he always does, even before Howard’s death sent Stark Industries reeling. Picking up the pieces and putting them back together is a speciality of his, and one without which Tony himself would have broken apart years ago.

“Work,” Tony answers shortly, needing to keep himself back from spilling anything. “Don’t you always tell me I should do more of that?”

Obadiah nods seriously but with unmistakeable worry on his face. It makes Tony want to head straight for the next mirror, afraid that his bruises are still showing. He has not yet told his godfather about the kidnapping. He is going to heap enough on Obadiah as it is.

“Pepper told me you’ve called a press conference,” Obadiah says, falling into step with Tony when Tony does not stop his way through the foyer. “We didn’t have anything scheduled.”

Laughter boils in the pit of Tony’s stomach, threatening to spill over. He feels the hysteria rising with it, so he fights to push it all down.

“Let’s say, I’ve had an epiphany,” Tony offers with an apologetic expression. “Trust me.”

Tony winces at his own words. Trust is something he has in short supply these days, perhaps always. To so blatantly expect it from someone else feels like challenging fate to mess things up even more.

Not knowing anything of his inner struggle, Obadiah puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Of course, I trust you,” he says as if he has never had any reason not to, as if Tony has not made a sport out of causing negative headlines for so many years. Before Tony can be completely relieved, Obadiah adds, “This is our business, though. It doesn’t run on trust.” Taking his hand off Tony’s shoulder, he holds it out expectantly. “Show me your flashcards.”

This is the point where Tony has to take care not to falter. He is not sure how Obadiah will react, only that it will not be favourably, but he needs to do this.

“Don’t have any.” Tony shrugs for good measure. Years of acting carelessly for the press has its advantages. “Guess you’ll have to let yourself be as surprised as everybody else.”

They are outside now, at the car waiting to take Tony to the press conference.

“Come on,” Obadiah says, still smiling. “You know I only want what’s best for SI.”

That might be true, but Tony, for once, wants to do what is best for the world.

He does not say anything when Obadiah slips into the car after him, unsure how to interpret the way his throat constricts. He is probably just nervous about disappointing the closest thing to a father he has left. 

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 32

You’re photographed with Yoongi, and your boss gives you an ultimatum.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count:

Genre: fluff, angst

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<–– Prev   Next ––>

“It’s everywhere.”

“Of course it is. It was perfect. I’m sure they’re proud of you.”

“All thanks to you! What’s the next step?”

“Oh, we sit back and watch it unravel. Watch her unravel. And I can’t wait.”

~~~

This is something you never thought you’d see, and you wish for the thousandth time that you had drowned– anything’s better than this.

“What do I do?” You had asked Lisa desperately mere hours earlier.

“Besides apologize for ditching me after nearly dying last night?” your friend wondered aloud.

“Lisa!”

“Alright, alright! Manager Mode Activated. Look, this is bad. What should you do? Well...” Lisa paused. “It’s out of your hands by this point– You should brace yourself.”

“Some manager you are.”

“I’m not a magician, y/n. This sort of publicity is gonna bite you in the ass, and soon.”

She was right– and now, Bang Si-Hyuk, BTS’s producer, is in front of you, standing beside Avery, your director, and both of them look so, so tired of life.

Yoongi is sitting beside you, staring at his lap, and you’re tensed and waiting for... what? To be reprimanded? Fired? Blacklisted? Of the two of you, you’re the easiest to replace, but Yoongi, Yoongi– he has the most to lose.

You did this. You befriended Yoongi. Talked to him. Made a safe space in a dangerously public view. You ruined him.

Bang PD sighs. “Miss Lee, want to start?”

With a start you realize he’s referring to Avery, who fixes you with a stare.

“Y/n, care to explain what happened last night?”

Why me? “We were just talking.”

“You were just talking. At two in the morning. When you were supposed to be in the hospital. You were across town from your address, and even farther from Yoongi’s,” Avery fires back, ticking off points on her fingers. “This photo is everywhere now, and tracking down the original post is nearly impossible. I’m sorry, you two, but do you understand what this looks like?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nod. You’ve seen the picture– Lisa sent it to your computer, and it’s dark and grainy, but Yoongi’s not wearing his mask; it’s definitely him. As an ARMY, you’d recognize him anywhere.

And you... your back is turned, because Yoongi’s hugging you. You can barely see your own face. How did your name get mentioned? According to Lisa, who logged into your Twitter because your phone’s at the bottom of a river, hundreds of posts have tagged you in the photo already– likely due to the fact that you’re professionally involved with him.

“It looks bad,” Avery continues. “You’ve set the Internet abuzz– #YoongiAndYn has been trending for hours. Your scenes for Moon Over the Sea have been delayed, and we have to work around your characters today.”

“Not to mention we’re in the middle of setting dates for BTS’s comeback tour,” Bang PD interjects. “If fans start boycotting Yoongi because of this, it’ll be a disaster for the whole group.”

Your eyes well up with tears. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid– for the time that you’ve known Yoongi, you’ve kept your treasured friendship under wraps with the fear that something like this would happen. Yoongi will be ruined, and BTS too, and all ‘cause of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. You suddenly feel very small. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Really?” Bang PD takes a step closer, and you shrink into your chair. “I don’t know if you understand, miss y/n. Min Yoongi as Suga is a member of the biggest boy band in the world. And there are a lot of fans who'd like to date him. Many of those fans pretend to date him and would like to see him single.”

I know, you silently scream. I know them. I was one of them.

“So here you are, causing all sorts of rumors– ‘BTS Suga sneaks out with a costar’, ‘How did l/n y/n rise to fame so quickly?’ ‘Is Suga lying to ARMY?’ This sort of stuff sticks, y/n. And not meaning to isn’t a very helpful excuse.”

“I-I didn’t know it would go this far,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes.

“What do you mean? Wait, are you dating?” Avery asks suspiciously, and you shake your head. He means more to me than a boyfriend.

“We’re not dating,” you clarify audibly. “I just...” wanted to apologize, wanted to make sure I was really alive. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Then you’re a liability,” Avery says drily, and your heart stops as she continues. “Dating rumors are already spreading. Whether we deny them or ignore them, fans won’t be happy seeing you act together on Moon Over the Sea. And, y/n, unfortunately Yoongi is worth a lot more than you. Maybe it’s better if–”

“It’s my fault,” Yoongi interrupts, speaking for the first time that day. “We’re just friends, and we hang out at that spot sometimes. I started it– y/n didn’t do anything.”

Bang PD’s face turns several shades of red. “Are you telling me this isn’t the first time you’ve got out in public to meet this girl? How long has this been going on?”

You grit your teeth– time to lie. It’s only been a few weeks, you’ll say, only after you met on the music video shoot, and during Moon Over the Sea filming. You take a breath to speak, but-

“About a year,” Yoongi replies calmly. “But I often went out alone before I met her.”

Oh, no.

“Yoongs,” you hiss. “You’re making things worse.” Leave it to me, you beg with your eyes. I’m the liar. Let me fix this.

He turns towards you, his gaze hard, as though he’s read your mind. “No more lies, y/n. I’m done with secrets.” Turning back to Avery and Bang PD, he continues: “I don’t regret being friends with y/n. But that’s all we are. I know how much I’m worth, and if you want to remove me from BTS, that’s your prerogative,” he says, trapping his producer with an iron stare before looking at Avery. “Same with Moon Over the Sea. Want to fire me? Go ahead.”

“Yoongi, no!” you whisper furiously, but he ignores you, practically shaking with resolve.

“But don’t fire y/n. Don’t remove her from the industry. She’s a great actress with a lot of potential. None of this was her fault, and you don’t get to ruin her future. Not for a photo, not for anything.”

“Hey, stop,” you plead. “I knew what I was getting into. It’s okay, really.” You’ve accepted it a thousand times over– when you first befriended him, when you saw him at the fanmeet, when you worked on the music video, and every moment in between. You knew it could all crumble at any second, but you also knew that it was worth it.

“It’s not okay. And one more thing,” Yoongi replies, rising to his feet. Despite his average stature, it suddenly seems as though he’s towering over Avery and Bang PD, who look very pale. “Get rid of y/n, and I’m gone.”

What.

“I mean it. When and if her work is unsatisfactory, then maybe I’ll rethink it. But if it’s because of me, and this scandal– if you fire her for this, I’ll leave Moon Over the Sea. And BTS.”

“Excuse me?” Bang PD roars. “We have a contract, Min Yoongi!” His voice turns softer. “You know how much I’ve enjoyed working with you– don’t let this girl ruin that.”

“She’s got a name, you know,” Yoongi says furiously, and you can’t stay silent anymore.

“What are you doing?” You jump to your feet and grasp his arm. “Shut up. Please shut up. You can’t throw your future around like that, Yoongs! I don’t matter, okay? You do!”

Please, you plead inwardly. Don’t add more weight to my conscience.

“No. We do this together, or not at all,” Yoongi replies, eyes burning with intensity. You’ve never heard him speak this way before, and it’s left you reeling.

“Hm...” Bang PD scratches his head, staring at you thoughtfully. “Miss Lee, may I have a word?”

Avery inclines her head, and you and Yoongi step back as the two authority figures whisper back and forth.

“You need to apologize,” you tell him urgently. “Say you didn’t mean it. C’mon, there’s too much on the line.”

“If she fires you, you’re going to lose more than an acting job,” Yoongi says, ignoring you. “I’ve seen this happen to my idol friends, and their significant others– you’re going to lose everything. Some of my fans won’t leave you alone.”

They already don’t.

“But you can’t threaten your boss, Yoongs– what you said was ridiculous. I’m not worth it, you know that.”

Yoongi laughs softly. “Is that what you think?”

“What?”

“Yoongi, y/n,” Avery calls. “We might have a solution.”

“If you want to keep working together, it could be your best option.” Bang PD adds.

“What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Well, the only way to explain the photo, brush off fans, and keep filming going, with the least loss for BTS, would be if you two were... dating.”