#[ most familiar of swine || crack ]

[mapping-constellations]

“Uhm.. can anyone tell me what a gender is? And how to get one? I think I’m really missing out.”

He wants to master all the gender, thank you very much.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (8)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all the parts to this story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 7

- Next part: 9

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The night is amassed with shadows, the kind that seem to creep from every corner, swallowing the light, until only a faint glimmer of moonlight filters through the cracks in the curtains. The air in your chamber is heavy, stifling, clinging to your skin like a second layer, and you toss restlessly in your bed, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The events of the day have left a mark deeper than any wound, a scar on your very soul, and even in sleep, you find no escape from them.

The dream begins innocuously enough—an echo of familiar places and faces. The Red Keep looms before you, its towers stretching into a sky darkened with storm clouds. You walk through its halls, but something is wrong. The walls seem to shift, to warp around you as if the castle itself were alive, breathing, watching. You pass a mirror, and in it, you see yourself, but your reflection's eyes are not your own—they are molten gold, like the eyes of the dragon that hatched from your blood.

Then the voices begin, disembodied whispers that slither into your mind like vipers.

"Make the tallow from the fat of a hangman."

You spin around, searching for the source, but the corridor is empty, save for the flickering shadows that dance along the walls. Your heart pounds, a drumbeat of fear, as the whispers grow louder, more insistent.

"Sealed with the kiss of swine."

The words curl around you, filling your ears, your head, until they are all you can hear. They are followed by images—horrifying, grotesque images that sear themselves into your mind. You see a man, faceless and featureless, his body twisting and contorting as if consumed by fire, and beside him, a grotesque beast with the head of a pig and the wings of a dragon.

"Whishes and words sprout from the same seed."

The final whisper is the most haunting, carrying with it a truth you cannot yet comprehend. You feel a pull, a deep, visceral pull, towards something—or someone—just beyond your reach. The air around you crackles with heat, with the scent of burning flesh, and you realize with a start that you are no longer in the Red Keep but in the throne room. The Iron Throne looms before you, and at its base lies the dragon, your dragon, with its golden eyes fixed on you. There is a chain around its neck, heavy and cruel, and as you step closer, you see that it is not just a chain—it is a part of you, binding you to the beast, to the throne, to your father’s madness.

You try to scream, to pull away, but the chain tightens, digging into your flesh, and the dragon roars, a sound that shakes the very foundations of the dream. 

With a gasp, you wake, bolting upright in your bed. Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as if it might burst free at any moment. Your skin is slick with sweat, your hands trembling as they clutch the sheets. It takes a moment for the familiar surroundings of your chamber to come into focus, for reality to assert itself over the lingering terror of the dream.

But the fear does not dissipate; it clings to you, wrapping around your bones like a cold, suffocating shroud. You cannot shake the feeling that the dream was not just a product of your mind, but something more—a premonition, a warning. You fear that you are now bound to your father’s madness in ways you cannot yet understand.

The door to your chamber creaks open, and you instinctively reach for the dagger hidden beneath your pillow. But it is only Arthur, his face drawn with concern as he steps into the room, the soft glow of a candle casting shadows across his features. 

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. He crosses the room in a few long strides and kneels by your bedside, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from your face. "You cried out in your sleep. What happened?"

You stare at him, struggling to find the words. How can you explain the horrors you witnessed in your dream? How can you tell him of the chain that binds you, of the dragon’s eyes that haunt you?

"It was just a dream," you say finally, though the words feel hollow, a poor attempt to convince yourself more than him. "But it felt… so real."

Arthur’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. There is something in his eyes, a sadness, a fear that mirrors your own. He knows the weight you carry, the burden of your bloodline, and it tears at him as much as it does you.

"You are stronger than any dream, Y/N," he says, his voice firm yet gentle. "Whatever darkness your father has unleashed, it will not claim you. I won’t let it."

His words should comfort you, but the fear lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, drawing strength from the warmth of his hand, the steady beat of his heart. But even as he holds you, a part of you cannot shake the feeling that something has changed, that the dragon now bound in chains is not the only one tethered to the Iron Throne.

"And the dragon?" you whisper, your voice barely audible. "What of him?"

Arthur hesitates, and in that moment, you see the truth in his eyes. He knows as well as you do that the dragon is not just a creature born of fire and blood, but something more—something that ties you inexorably to your father’s will.

"He is strong," Arthur replies after a moment, his voice laced with the same uncertainty that plagues your own thoughts. "But he is yours, Y/N, not your father’s. Remember that."

You nod, though doubt still lingers in your heart. You can feel the pull of the dragon, the bond forged in blood, and you wonder if it is a bond you will ever truly break.

Arthur pulls you close then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from the darkness that stands on the horizon. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and for a moment, you allow yourself to believe that he might be right, that you might be able to defy the fate that seems to be tightening its grip around you.

But deep down, you know that the dragon has awakened something within you, something that cannot be so easily silenced. And as you drift back to sleep in Arthur’s arms, you can’t help but wonder if that something is the same madness that has consumed your father—or if it is something far, far worse.

The echo of Rhaegar’s footsteps resonates through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, each step a reminder of the burden weighing heavily on his shoulders. The scent of wildfire still lingers faintly in the air, mingling with the stale, musty odor that always seemed to cling to the throne room and its cursed Iron Throne. Rhaegar pauses before the door, taking a moment to steady his breath, knowing full well the volatility that could await him on the other side.

The door creaks open, revealing King Aerys II sitting at a large wooden table, papers strewn about, and a goblet of wine in his hand. His hair, once silver like the moon, now hangs in greasy strands, framing a face etched with madness but, at this moment, unusually calm. His eyes, however, still gleam with the dangerous fire that had consumed him over the years, a fire that now burned brighter with the hatching of the dragon.

"Father," Rhaegar begins, his voice soft, measured. He steps into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Aerys does not immediately acknowledge him, his gaze fixed on the flames crackling in the hearth. Rhaegar can feel the tension in the air, the precarious balance of his father’s mind. He must tread carefully.

"Rhaegar, my son," Aerys finally speaks, his voice surprisingly even. "Have you come to see our child? My dragon... our creation?" The king's voice carries an unsettling blend of pride and possessiveness, his eyes shifting to meet Rhaegar's with an intensity that makes his son’s heart tighten.

Rhaegar inclines his head slightly. "I have, Father. The dragon is a magnificent creature, a symbol of House Targaryen’s strength, of our blood." He chooses his words carefully, keeping his tone respectful. "But it is not just the dragon that concerns me."

Aerys narrows his eyes, suspicion flickering across his features. "What concerns you, my son? The dragon is ours by right. It will be the weapon that ensures our enemies bow before us."

Rhaegar takes a breath, steadying himself. "It is Y/N that concerns me, Father," he says, his voice steady but laced with concern. "She is still weak from the ritual, and Pycelle says her wounds will take time to heal. She needs rest, care. We cannot risk her health, not when she is so important to us… to you."

Aerys’s gaze sharpens at the mention of you. "She is important, yes. More important than any of them realize," he murmurs, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "She brought forth the dragon. She is its mother, its rightful queen. No harm must come to her, do you hear me?"

Rhaegar nods, carefully concealing his relief that, for now, Aerys seems focused on your well-being. "Of course, Father. No harm will come to her, I swear it. But she needs time away from the chaos of the court, away from prying eyes and those who might seek to use her or the dragon for their own ends."

Aerys frowns, suspicion clouding his features once more. "What are you suggesting, Rhaegar? That she be hidden away? That she be kept from me?"

"No, Father," Rhaegar says quickly. "I would never suggest such a thing. Only that she be allowed to recover in peace. Perhaps at Dragonstone, where she can be close to her dragon but away from the eyes of those who might seek to control her... or it."

The mention of Dragonstone seems to catch Aerys’s interest, and Rhaegar seizes the opportunity. "Dragonstone is a place of power, a place where our ancestors ruled and raised their dragons. It would be fitting for Y/N to be there, with the dragon, away from the prying eyes of the court. There, she can grow stronger, and the dragon can be raised in the safety and secrecy it deserves."

Aerys considers this for a long moment, his eyes flickering with the flames of the hearth. "Dragonstone," he muses, the word rolling off his tongue as if tasting its possibilities. "Yes… yes, it is a place of power. She will be safe there. But I must see the dragon, must know that it is truly ours."

Rhaegar bows his head. "Of course, Father. The dragon will be brought to you, but it must be done carefully, slowly. It is still young, still growing. It needs time, as does Y/N."

Aerys nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. "Yes, yes, you are right, my son. But remember this, Rhaegar," he says, his voice suddenly cold, his eyes locking onto his son's with a ferocity that makes Rhaegar’s blood run cold. "She is mine. The dragon is mine. They are my legacy. Do not forget that."

Rhaegar swallows, his throat dry. "I will not forget, Father."

Aerys's gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the fire, dismissing Rhaegar with a wave of his hand. "Go now. Ensure that my dragon is well cared for. And see to it that Y/N is taken to Dragonstone, where she will be safe... and where she will remember her place."

Rhaegar bows low, retreating from the room with a sense of urgency. Once outside, he allows himself a breath of relief, though the weight of his father's obsession with you and the dragon still presses heavily on his chest. He must speak with Arthur, ensure that you are protected, hidden away from the madness that now grips Aerys.

As he walks back through the dimly lit corridors, his mind is consumed with thoughts of you—of your safety, of the secret you share with Ser Arthur Dayne. Rhaegar knows he must act swiftly, for the shadow of his father’s madness is long and ever-reaching, and it is only a matter of time before it threatens to engulf you both.

The salty breeze tugs at your hair as you stand on the edge of the harbor, the morning sun glinting off the choppy waters of Blackwater Bay. The sight of the ship bobbing gently at anchor fills you with a sense of unease, the iron cage being carefully loaded onto its deck a pogient reminder of the strange and terrible events that have led you here. Inside the cage, your dragon, the one born of death, lets out a low, restless growl. His golden eyes, now a little larger, still burning with the same fierce intelligence that haunts your dreams. You feel a strange pull in your chest, as though something within you is tethered to the creature, a bond that tightens with every beat of your heart.

Your hand instinctively rises to your chest, pressing against the spot where you can feel the faintest echo of warmth, as if your own blood still burns with the wildfire that hatched the dragon. The world around you seems distant, your focus narrowing to the creature in the cage, to the strange connection you share. A soft, persistent whisper at the back of your mind urges you to draw closer, to reach out and touch the iron bars that keep him confined, but the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you back to reality.

"Y/N," Rhaegar’s voice is gentle but firm, grounding you. He appears beside you, his presence solid and reassuring amidst the swirling chaos of your thoughts. His arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his touch dispels the strange pull you felt toward the dragon, anchoring you firmly in the present.

"You will be safe at Dragonstone," Rhaegar murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "I wish I could go with you, but I will see you again soon. I promise." He pulls back slightly, his violet eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. "And I will make sure our father remains... distracted for as long as possible."

You nod, though words seem to fail you in the face of all that has happened. The sight of the dragon, your dragon, being locked away, the very creature that should have been a symbol of your family's strength, instead treated as a dangerous secret to be hidden away—it all weighs heavily on your mind.

Before you can voice your concerns, another presence joins you. Queen Rhaella, your mother, approaches, her face pale but composed, as if she has steeled herself for what is to come. Her gaze is tender as she looks at you, though it is clouded with the same sorrow that has shadowed her for years. "Y/N, Rhaegar," she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of a mother’s love and the pain of long-endured suffering.

"Mother," Rhaegar greets her with a bow of his head, stepping back to allow her to stand beside you.

Rhaella’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. "Aerys has allowed me to accompany you to Dragonstone," she says, her voice tinged with both relief and resignation. "He... he sees no use for me here any longer."

The words hang in the air, a bitter reminder of how far your father has fallen, how little regard he holds for those who were once dearest to him. Rhaella’s gaze flickers to the dragon in its cage, a flash of fear and sadness passing over her features before she turns back to Rhaegar. "Take care of yourself, my son," she says, her voice wavering slightly. "You carry the hopes of our house."

Rhaegar nods, his expression softening. "And you carry its future," he replies, his gaze lingering on you. "This is likely temporary, as you well know. Father will not be content to let you remain away from him for long. And when the time comes... the small council's debate may soon become more than mere words. Our marriage may no longer be just a possibility, Y/N."

Your heart tightens at his words. The idea of marrying Rhaegar has always been one tangled with duty, obligation, and the preservation of your house. Yet, there is another side to this—a secret part of you that yearns for someone else, for Ser Arthur Dayne, whose presence you can feel even now, standing at a respectful distance near the Queen’s retinue.

Your gaze drifts to where Ser Arthur waits, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helm, though his eyes—those familiar, intense eyes—never leave you. Beside him, Ser Lewyn Martell stands ready, prepared to accompany you and your mother to Dragonstone. The two of them, Arthur especially, have been your protectors in more ways than one, and you feel a sense of calm knowing they will be by your side during this exile.

But before you can take a step toward them, a sudden shift in the atmosphere halts you. The harbor grows quiet, the bustling activity of sailors and dockworkers falling away as Aerys, your father, arrives with the Kingsguard and his entourage. The sight of him makes your blood run cold, the sharp contrast between the man he once was and the mad king he has become all too clear in the daylight.

Aerys’s presence is unsettling, a mix of unpredictability and danger that makes everyone around him tense, as though they are all walking on the edge of a knife. You straighten your posture, reminding yourself not to show any sign of weakness, any sign that might provoke him into changing his mind about letting you go.

Your mother, however, is less successful in hiding her fear. As Aerys approaches, she takes a small step back, her eyes lowering to the ground, her entire demeanor shrinking as though trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. You sense her anxiety, feel it in the way her hand trembles in yours before she quickly releases her grip, folding her hands in front of her as she stares at the ground.

"Y/N, you are my daughter, my blood. The mother of my dragon.” Aerys croons, his voice unexpectedly warm, though there is a manic edge to it that makes your skin crawl. He steps closer, his eyes—once sharp and clear—now filled with the flames of his own madness. Without warning, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, the touch of his lips cold and unsettling.

As soon as his lips make contact, a voice—a dark, twisted whisper—echoes in your mind, repeating the words from the nightmare that has plagued you ever since the ritual: "Sealed with the kiss of swine."

The words send a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the harbor, the ship, the dragon, all fading into the background as the voice reverberates through your thoughts. But you force yourself to remain still, to show no sign of the terror that grips you.

Aerys pulls back, his smile unsettling as he examines your face as though searching for something only he can see. "Remember, my child, the dragon is ours—yours and mine. We are bound by fire and blood."

You manage a stiff nod, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes, Father," you reply, keeping your tone as even as possible.

Before Aerys can say anything further, Tywin Lannister steps forward, his eyes gleaming with that cold calculation that always unnerved you. "Safe travels, my lady," he says, offering you a bow that seems more like a formality than a genuine gesture of respect.

As he straightens, the voice in your mind returns, louder this time, dripping with malice: "It has two mouths to lick from."

The words almost make you recoil, but you manage to keep your composure, nodding at Tywin in acknowledgment. The tension in the air is suffocating, the weight of all that is unspoken hanging between you and everyone present. But you know this is not the time or place to question the meaning of these strange, disturbing messages. Not when so many eyes are upon you, waiting for any sign of weakness, any reason to doubt your loyalty to the crown.

Finally, with a nod from Aerys, the entourage begins to withdraw, allowing you, Rhaella, and your escorts to make your way toward the waiting ship. Rhaegar lingers for a moment longer, his gaze meeting yours, filled with a mixture of worry and determination.

"This will not be forever," he says quietly, his voice meant only for your ears. "I will do everything in my power to protect you, to bring you back safely."

You nod, though the certainty in his words does little to quell the unease that churns within you. As you turn to follow your mother and the Kingsguard toward the ship, your gaze once again finds Arthur. His presence, as always, brings a small measure of comfort, even as the weight of the future presses heavily on your shoulders.

But as you step onto the gangplank, the whisper in your mind returns once more, a final chilling reminder of the darkness that shadows your path: "Two mouths, one kiss."

You force the voice back, focusing on the solidity of the wooden planks beneath your feet, the sound of the waves against the hull of the ship. Soon, you tell yourself, you will be at Dragonstone, far from the madness of King.

The wind fills the sails of the ship as it cuts through the waves, the rhythmic rise and fall of the sea a steady backdrop to the tension that hangs in the air. The sun is dipping lower in the sky, casting the waters in a warm, golden hue, but the beauty of the scene does little to calm the storm within you. You stand on the deck, your gaze fixed on the iron cage where your dragon, your bond, waits restlessly.

The creature paces within the confines of its prison, its golden eyes flicking toward you with an almost knowing look, as if it can sense your inner turmoil, the conflict between duty and the strange, irresistible pull that has been growing ever stronger since you first laid eyes on it.

Beside you, Ser Arthur Dayne stands silently, his presence a comforting weight, a reminder that you are not alone in this. His silver armor gleams in the fading light, the sword at his side a symbol of the protection he has always offered you, even in the most dire of circumstances. Behind you, your mother, Queen Rhaella, stands with Ser Lewyn Martell and a handful of retainers, all of whom have chosen to accompany you and the queen on this journey to Dragonstone. Their expressions are a mix of concern and uncertainty, none of them quite sure what will happen next.

Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, soft but firm. "Are you sure about this, Y/N?"

You turn to him, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes is evident, but there is also a trust there, a belief in you that gives you strength. You nod, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "Yes, Arthur. This is something I must do."

He studies you for a moment longer, as if searching for any sign of hesitation, but when he finds none, he nods, stepping back slightly to give you space. You take a deep breath, feeling the salt air fill your lungs, the cool breeze against your skin. The moment has come, and you know there is no turning back.

With slow, deliberate steps, you approach the iron cage. The dragon inside, still young but already formidable, stops its pacing and watches you, its golden eyes locking onto yours. The connection between you flares to life, that strange bond you share surging with intensity. You feel it in your blood, in your very soul, a pull that goes beyond words or reason.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against the cold iron bars. The dragon shifts, lowering its head slightly, as if in acknowledgment. Your heart pounds in your chest, but there is a sense of rightness in this moment, a clarity that cuts through the fear and uncertainty.

Slowly, you unlatch the cage, the metal clanging softly as you pull the door open. The dragon hesitates for just a moment, as if testing the air, before it steps out, its movements fluid and graceful. The others on the deck watch in stunned silence, the anticipation is visible as they wait to see what will happen next.

As the dragon emerges fully from the cage, it spreads its wings, shaking them out as if testing their strength. It lets out a low, rumbling growl, more a sound of satisfaction than threat, and then it turns to you, its eyes glowing with that same golden light.

You feel the bond tighten, that pull in your chest growing stronger until it is almost overwhelming. And then, suddenly, you hear it again—that voice in your mind, the one that has haunted you ever since the ritual, the one that whispered dark and terrible things. But this time, the voice is different. It is clearer, more certain, and it speaks a single word: Terrax.

The name echoes in your mind, filling you with a strange sense of completion, as if something that was always meant to be has finally fallen into place. You whisper the name aloud, your voice trembling slightly. "Terrax."

The dragon’s eyes flash, and you feel a surge of recognition, a deep, primal understanding that passes between you. This is his name, the name that binds him to you, the name that seals the bond.

Arthur steps forward cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though his posture is more protective than threatening. "What did you say?"

"Terrax," you repeat, your voice stronger now. "That is his name."

Arthur’s gaze shifts to the dragon, his expression a mix of awe and concern. "You named him?"

You shake your head slightly, still trying to process the enormity of what just happened. "No... he named himself. I just... I just heard it."

Arthur’s brow furrows, but he does not question you further. He knows better than anyone how deeply intertwined your fate is with this creature, how the ritual that brought Terrax into the world also bound you to him in ways that neither of you fully understand.

Rhaella, who has been silent until now, steps closer, her eyes wide with both fear and wonder. "Y/N... what have you done?" she whispers, though there is no accusation in her tone, only a mother’s concern for her child.

"I’ve released him, Mother," you say, turning to face her. "I couldn’t keep him caged. He... he’s a part of me."

Rhaella’s expression softens, and she reaches out to touch your cheek, her hand trembling slightly. "You are so much like your father, in ways that both terrify and amaze me," she murmurs. "But you must be careful, Y/N. There are forces at work here that we do not fully understand."

"I know," you reply, your voice quiet but firm. "But I can’t ignore this. Terrax is mine, and I am his."

Ser Lewyn, who has been watching with wary eyes, steps forward, his voice calm but laced with concern. "Your Grace, if the dragon is to remain free, we must ensure he is properly guarded. Dragonstone is a place of power, but it is not without its dangers."

"Terrax will not be caged again," you say, your tone leaving no room for argument. "But he will not harm anyone unless provoked. I feel it... he knows who his enemies are."

Arthur exchanges a glance with Ser Lewyn, and then he nods. "We will keep him safe, Y/N. And we will keep you safe, too."

The tension eases slightly at his words, and you offer him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Arthur."

As the ship sails on toward Dragonstone, the sun sinking lower on the horizon, you stand beside Terrax who is perched on taffrail, your hand resting on his small, scaled flank. The bond between you is stronger than ever, a living connection that pulses with the rhythm of the sea and the beat of your heart.

You are no longer just a princess of House Targaryen. You are the mother of a dragon, and your fate is now entwined with his, bound together by the ancient forces of old Valyria.

The streets of King’s Landing are alive with the hum of daily life, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread mingling with the less pleasant odors of the bustling city. The setting sun casts long shadows across the cobblestones, painting the world in shades of gold and orange. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen walks among his people, his presence alone enough to draw hushed whispers and admiring glances from the smallfolk. His silver hair catches the light, making him appear almost otherworldly, a living embodiment of the storied Valyrian bloodline.

Though he often brings his harp on such walks, today it remains in the Red Keep, for Rhaegar’s mind is heavy with thoughts too dark and tangled to be soothed by music. At his side, Ser Barristan Selmy, the most loyal of his Kingsguard, walks with a steady, measured pace, his watchful eyes scanning the crowd. Even in the heart of the city, danger is never far, and Barristan’s duty is to ensure that no harm befalls the prince.

As they move through the narrow streets, Rhaegar can hear the murmur of conversation, snatches of talk that filter through the air like the wind. The people adore him, even now, when the shadow of his father’s madness looms large over the realm. They speak of his kindness, his wisdom, and, more recently, his possible marriage to you, his sister. The idea of such a union has stirred a mix of hope and curiosity among the smallfolk, who see it as holding true to the old ways, a reaffirmation of House Targaryen’s ancient customs.

Rhaegar’s thoughts turn to you, the sister he has sworn to protect. He pictures your face, the strength you’ve shown despite everything, and the bond you now share with the dragon. One that ties you both to the darkest aspects of your family’s legacy. He remembers Varys’s words, spoken in the shadows of the Red Keep: “If the nature of her relationship with Ser Arthur becomes known, it will not just be Aerys’s wrath you need fear, but the whispers of treason, the seeds of rebellion. Even the gods cannot save her from the court’s judgment if this becomes public knowledge.”

A chill runs through him at the thought. He knows Varys speaks the truth; the court is a nest of vipers, and the truth of your relationship with Ser Arthur would be more than enough to destroy you—and by extension, him. He cannot let that happen. He will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means denying his own desires.

As they turn onto a broader avenue, the crowd parts slightly, and Rhaegar catches sight of a familiar figure moving toward them. Cersei Lannister, her golden hair shining like a beacon, approaches with a small entourage of Lannister guards and retainers. She is dressed in rich red and gold, the colors of her house, and she wears a smile that is both charming and calculating.

“Prince Rhaegar,” she greets him warmly, inclining her head with just the right amount of deference. “It is a pleasure to see you out among the people. They adore you, as well they should.”

Rhaegar offers a polite nod, though his expression remains distant. “Lady Cersei. It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Cersei steps closer, her green eyes gleaming with a mixture of ambition and something else—something deeper, more personal. “I heard the most delightful rumor today,” she says, her voice smooth and honeyed. “They say that you may soon be betrothed. To your sister, Y/N. How... traditional.”

Rhaegar inclines his head slightly. “Rumors often carry more weight than truth within the walls of the Red Keep,” he replies, his tone noncommittal.

Cersei’s smile widens, though there is a hint of steel beneath the sweetness. “Perhaps. But some rumors hold the promise of great alliances. The smallfolk are not the only ones interested in your future, my prince. There are many who believe a strong union could secure the stability of the realm—especially in these troubled times.”

She moves even closer, her voice lowering so that only Rhaegar can hear her next words. “House Lannister, for instance, has always stood ready to support the crown. We are the wealthiest house in Westeros, and our influence could be invaluable to your father... and to you, when the time comes.”

Rhaegar meets her gaze, recognizing the offer for what it is: a calculated move to entwine her family’s power with his own. Cersei’s ambition is as bright as her beauty, and while he understands the allure of such a match, his heart remains steadfast in its devotion. Not to her, but to you, and to the dangerous game he must now play to protect you.

“I appreciate the loyalty of House Lannister,” he replies, keeping his tone neutral. “The realm benefits greatly from your family’s wealth and influence.”

Cersei’s smile falters for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of frustration crossing her features before she recovers. “And it could benefit even more from a closer alliance,” she presses. “Together, our houses could usher in a new era of prosperity and peace. A union between us would be celebrated across the Seven Kingdoms.”

But Rhaegar’s mind is elsewhere, replaying Varys’s warnings, the weight of his responsibility to you, the unspoken truth that lies between you and Ser Arthur Dayne. He cannot allow himself to be swayed by Cersei’s words, no matter how tempting the prospect of a secure and powerful future might be.

“My duty is to the realm, Lady Cersei,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “And I must consider what is best for it. The future is uncertain, but I will always act in the interest of peace and stability.”

Cersei’s expression tightens, the charm slipping away to reveal a flash of cold determination. “Of course, my prince,” she replies, though the sweetness in her voice has turned brittle. “But remember, peace and stability often require strong alliances. And some alliances are stronger than others.”

Rhaegar nods, signaling the end of their conversation. “I thank you for your counsel, Lady Cersei. I will give it the consideration it deserves.”

She offers him one last smile, though it no longer reaches her eyes. “I hope you do, my prince. For all our sakes.”

With that, she turns and sweeps away, her Lannister entourage following in her wake like a pack of gilded lions. Rhaegar watches her go, a sense of unease settling over him. He knows Cersei will not give up easily, but his heart is resolute. His duty to the realm, to his sister, and to the truth is clear.

Ser Barristan, who has remained silent throughout the exchange, steps closer. “She is not one to be underestimated, my prince.”

“I know,” Rhaegar replies, his gaze distant. “But my path is already set. Whatever the cost, I must protect my sister, and ensure that our house survives the storm to come.”

Barristan nods, his respect for the prince evident in his eyes. “Then we shall be ready, whatever may come.”

Rhaegar resumes his walk through the city, though his thoughts remain troubled. The weight of the crown feels heavier with each passing day, and the future looms uncertain and dark. But he knows that, for now, his course is clear. He must guard the secrets that could destroy his family, even if it means walking a perilous line between duty and desire.

And above all, he must ensure that when the time comes, he is ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead—with or without the support of the lions of Lannister.

The wind whips through your hair as you stand on the balcony of your chambers, the salt air of the Narrow Sea filling your lungs. Below, the waves crash against the rocky shores of Dragonstone, their rhythm a constant reminder of the power and isolation of this ancient seat of your ancestors. The sky is overcast, but the clouds part just enough to allow slivers of sunlight to dance on the waters, turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of silver and gray.

Far in the distance, soaring above the waves, is Terrax. His black scales glisten in the weak sunlight, and his wings beat with a powerful grace that makes your heart swell with a mixture of pride and fear. No longer the size of a hound, Terrax has grown in the past months, now large enough to be mistaken for a small horse. He has claimed the fiery caverns of Dragonmont as his lair, where the heat of the volcano suits his nature. The dragon is fed a steady supply of cattle, and though he still has much growing to do, his presence has already brought a renewed sense of awe and reverence to this ancient fortress.

Yet despite the majesty of the dragon, a shadow hangs over your thoughts. The voices in your nightmares have returned, whispering dark and twisted things that leave you shaken and fearful. You clutch the stone balustrade of the balcony, trying to draw strength from the solidness of the ancient castle, but the whispers are persistent, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

A soft sound from behind you draws your attention, and you turn to see Ser Arthur Dayne stepping out onto the balcony. His presence is a balm to your troubled mind, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders eases. Here on Dragonstone, away from the prying eyes of the court, you can afford a small measure of relaxation in each other’s presence. But even here, you must remain vigilant; the risk of discovery is always lurking in the back of your mind.

Arthur’s expression softens as he approaches, his lilac-gray eyes searching your face. "You’ve been out here for a while," he says quietly, his voice filled with concern. "Is everything all right?"

You offer him a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "I find the sea calming," you reply, turning your gaze back to the horizon where Terrax is now a distant silhouette against the sky. "But even here, it’s hard to escape... the nightmares."

Arthur steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back. The touch is gentle, comforting, and you lean into it, grateful for the warmth of his presence. "The nightmares are back?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You nod, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. "Yes. The same voices, whispering in my ear. I... I fear I’m going mad, Arthur. Just like him." You don’t need to say your father’s name; the fear of Aerys’s madness running through your veins is a constant shadow that you’ve never been able to shake.

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he gently turns you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders. "You are not going mad, Y/N," he says firmly, his voice grounding you in the moment. "You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure, but you are strong. You’ve always been strong."

You shake your head, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. "But these dreams, these voices... they feel so real. They say things that make my skin crawl, that make me doubt everything I know. Sometimes I think I can hear them even when I’m awake."

Arthur’s hands tighten slightly on your shoulders, a silent offer of support. "You are not your father, Y/N," he insists, his gaze never leaving yours. "Whatever these voices are, they do not define you. They do not control you."

"But what if they do?" you whisper, your voice trembling. "What if I’m losing myself, just like he did? What if Terrax is more than just a dragon to me? What if... what if he’s part of this madness?"

Arthur’s expression hardens, and he cups your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me," he says, his voice low and intense. "Terrax is not a curse. He is a part of you, yes, but he does not dictate who you are. You have a bond with him, a bond that is forged in something deeper than the madness of your father. It is your strength, not your weakness."

You search his eyes, finding only sincerity and the unshakable belief he has in you. The warmth of his hands against your skin anchors you, and slowly, the cold knot of fear in your chest begins to loosen.

"You’re not alone in this," Arthur continues, his voice softer now. "I’m here, and I will do whatever it takes to help you through this. We will find a way to silence these voices, to banish these nightmares."

A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and you lean into his touch, drawing comfort from the man who has been your steadfast protector, your secret love, in the midst of all the chaos. "Thank you, Arthur," you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath.

He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture that is both tender and filled with unspoken promises. "Always," he replies.

For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and simply breathe, the sound of the sea and the distant cry of Terrax filling your senses. Here, with Arthur by your side, the voices seem further away, their power over you diminished. You can still feel them at the edges of your mind, but they are no longer overwhelming. 

When you finally open your eyes, the fear is still there, but it is tempered by the knowledge that you are not facing this alone. You have Arthur, you have Terrax, and you have your own strength—strength that you will need to draw on in the days and months to come.

"We should go back inside," Arthur says softly, though there is a reluctance in his voice. "It wouldn’t do for someone to see us out here alone for too long."

You nod, though you linger for a moment longer, casting one last glance at Terrax, who is now circling back toward the island, his powerful wings cutting through the air with ease. There is something majestic, something undeniable about the dragon, and despite your fears, you can’t help but feel a deep connection to him, one that transcends the nightmares and the whispers.

With a final sigh, you allow Arthur to lead you back inside, where the warmth of the castle wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The darkness of your fears may still lurk, but here, within these ancient walls, you have found something to hold onto—hope. 

[titanicsimp]

Hello there! What would be some of the AOT boys' reactions to stumbling upon their crush (reader) playing the piano? Maybe something like Claire De Lune? It can be in the canonverse 🤗 thank you so much!

Also I just want to say that your writing is incredible, and you write all the characters SO spot on! Keep up the great work! 💕

Thank you so much for your kind words, I’m really glad I can do the characters justice!

I’m an absolute uncultured swine when it comes to music but I did some research so I hope this is what you wanted 🥰🥰

AOT men walking in on their crush playing the piano (includes; Eren, Armin, Jean, Connie, Levi, Erwin, Zeke, Reiner, Porco, Colt)

cw: none

a/n: This got kinda long so I put it under a cut!

Armin Arlert

Arabesque, No. 1 in E major by Claude Debussy

The soft notes of the piano fit well with the polished corridors of Mitras palace, and Armin couldn’t help but be drawn in by the sound. The music was gentle yet upbeat, a stark contrast with what had just been discussed in the dreadful meetings he had to attend.

A smile graces his face when he cracks the door of the music room further open, finding you at the seat of the piano. You look beautiful, your lips curved up slightly as your fingers dance over the keys. You look content, lost in your own happy tune, and Armin can’t help but be relieved that you have found a moment for yourself. He doesn’t want to interrupt, he just wants to stand and listen to you play, leaning against the doorway. He lets his head fall back against the frame and closes his eyes, letting you carry him away to a world of wonder through the music.

Eren Yeager

Metamorphosis: Three by Philip Glass

Eren had been surprised to be woken up by music. He shuffled over to the room where the sound seemed to originate from, only to find you. It almost seemed like you expected him, your gaze pointedly meeting his before you returned your attention to the piano. Eren did not have a lot of sense for music, but he could tell that your talent deserved much more than that run down thing.

“Bit somber, isn’t it?” He comments but you shake your head.

“Not necessarily, listen.”

He moves closer as you continue playing the song, and soon he finds out why you wanted him to listen. The somber tones get shifted to louder, more excited ones, giving the tune a more hopeful feel to it. He looks at you as you guide the music through its ups and lows, and a shiver runs over his spine every time he catches your eye. It’s like you see through him, he’s always felt that way, that’s why he took a liking to you to begin with. Though you aren’t telling him it explicitly, he understands what the song means for both of you.

Jean Kirstein

Liebestraume S541/R211: No. 3 Nocturne in E flat major by Franz Liszt & Jenö Jandó

Jean had just been wandering around, lost in thought, when he heard someone playing the piano. None of the scouts played piano as far as he knew, making him wonder if it was perhaps a Marleyan making use of the music room. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that you were the one playing. Your eyes closed, focusing intently on the tune of every key your fingers hit. Though he could watch you like this forever, he needs to come closer. “Wow.”

“How come you never told me you play piano?”

He smiles when you look up at him bashfully. “It had been so long, I wasn’t sure if I could anymore...”

“It sounds amazing, you have talent.” Jean tells you and comes to stand next to the piano.

You continue playing under his watchful eye, a smile playing at your lips. He enjoys the song, and jokingly starts ball dancing by himself, commenting that beautiful music should be danced to. You chuckle at him clumsily dancing with the air, your chest warming at the sight.

Connie Springer

Forever, forever by Keiko Matsui

Connie can’t help but feel slightly offended that you never told him, but as he watches you play from the open window, he can’t stay mad. He pulls himself up on the frame, startling you when he drops into the room. Throwing his hands up, he grins. “Sorry.”

You shake your head but smile, returning your attention to the piano. Slowly, you pick up the song again, and Connie makes sure to listen closely. The tune feels loving, and a blush graces his cheeks as he hopes that perhaps it’s him you are thinking of while playing.

“Can I sit with you?” He questions softly and you nod your head.

Seeing your face from so close as he sits on the bench with you makes his heart skip beats. It’s nice to see you so content, it’s the only way he wants you to be.

Levi Ackerman

Claire de Lune by Claude Debussy

Levi was determined to find out where you sneaked off to while you should be cleaning with them, glaring at the thought of how he should scold you for it. When he found you, the infall of sunlight playing so beautifully across your skin, sweet notes resonating throughout the room, he stopped in his tracks. Levi has a great appreciation for fine, sophisticated things, and you playing the piano with the sun setting behind you must be the epitome of it.

Your eyes widen when you realize he’s there, your hands stopping their movements. Levi scowls at you. “Keep playing.” He tells you commandingly.

Worried that you’ll be punished more severely if you don’t, you start again. You had thought he would be furious to find you slacking during cleaning duties, but as soon as you continued playing his face turned soft. He enjoyed it, taking a seat in a vacant chair and even leaning back slightly. As he listened to your song, he could imagine himself doing this more often, hearing you play and seeing you so delicately working the instrument, perhaps with some tea next time. It was alright that you snuck off this time, he supposed, hiding his smile behind his hand as he was glad he didn’t have to scold you.

Erwin Smith

Nocturnes: No. 1, Molto Moderato, in E flat major by Frédéric Chopin & John Field

It was rare to find a house with luxuries at this area, never mind one that has been abandoned and probably raided countless times. As you run your hand over the dusty piano lid, you wonder if it could possibly still work.

Erwin had just entered the room when you have propped the lid up and sit down on the piano bench. His eyes widen when you start playing a tune, one that for some reason sound familiar. You smile, playing more excitedly. “Seems like it has survived fairly well.” Some of the notes aren’t what they used to be, but it’s a miracle nonetheless.

The more the song carries on, he realizes where he’s heard it before. A friend of his father played the piano and he had played this song before. His admiration for you had already been great for the longest time, but this just increased it even more. Erwin had been no good at instruments himself, yet you played like it was your second nature. He makes a plan for himself to find a piano when the two of you return, wanting to hear more of your hidden talent.

Zeke Yeager

Gnossiennes |-||-||| (1890) by Erik Satie

People rarely came to this part of the wing, and since Zeke’s usual spot was closed off, he decided to go have a smoke on the balcony of the old music room. When he heard someone entering, he observed curiously, watching you sneak in. You pulled off the cover of off the grand piano, letting the sheet fall to the floor. He took drags from his cigarette, narrowed eyes watching your every move from a distance. It was always nice to see you, but what were you doing here?

You play some notes, testing yourself before you take a deep breath. Zeke’s cigarette drops from his lips as soon as you start playing. You carry the tune flawlessly and even he can tell its brimming with emotion. Where the hell had you been hiding this talent?

He listens patiently till you finish your song. He isn’t the best at judging emotions, but from the glances he catches of the side of your face, it seems that you are pouring your frustrations into it.

When you finish, he walks in, closing in on you from behind and putting his hands on your shoulders. You recognize who it is instantly as he leans forward, the scent of smoke carrying from his lips.

“It’s not fair to keep a talent like this hidden.” His hands rub at your shoulders and you feel pride swell in your chest. “Dedicate a song to me?” He asks playfully.

Reiner Braun

Nuvole Bianche by Ludovico Einaudi

Reiner feels ashamed that he didn’t know when he walks in on you playing the piano. He looks away in embarrassment when your eyes catch his. “Excuse me.” He says, already turning back to the door.

“Reiner!”

You stop playing. “This... it’s a new song I’ve learned. Can you stay and tell me if it sounds right?”

He turns back to you, your face showing that you are being earnest. Nodding his head, he strides over to you.

You tap the spot on the bench next to you with your hand and he sits down with a tiny smile.

You go back to the beginning, turning your sheet music accordingly. His gaze goes from your face to your hands as you play. Your fingers move over the keys so lightly, and something about it just makes him want to hold your hand. He holds himself back, not wanting to mess up the beautiful song you are creating.

When you are done, you ask him what he thought. “It was beautiful.” He tells you, beautiful like everything else you do.

Porco Galliard

Prelude in G minor Op. 23/5 by Sergei Rachmaninoff

Porco expected to find some stuffy man playing the piano, which is the case at most of these ‘prestige’ events, but instead he found you. “What the fuck?”

You shoot him a glare, trying your hardest to stay focused on your play. “Don’t throw me off, asshole.”

He doesn’t want to throw you off, he’s just baffled. It’s astounding that the same person who throws him in the dirt during every training is the same as the polished one he sees in front of him right now. From the way you play, there’s no doubt that you must have been doing this for a long time. He vaguely remembers you telling him that you used to take piano lessons, but he had no idea that you now did it professionally. As he watches you play, your eyes cast down to the keys and fingers moving across the length of the board at a rapid pace, he has to admit there’s something charming about it. He grins to himself, the night will be far more entertaining and pleasant on the eye than he had expected.

Colt Grice

Rêverie by Claude Debussy

Colt at first thinks he must be dreaming. The music, your radiant face, it fits right in. He’s not though, instead he has just stumbled onto yet another trait that makes him love you more. You take tiny glances at him as you play and he can tell you are happy he’s here. His palms feel sweaty and his cheeks heat up as he realizes how perfect of a moment it would be if he confessed his feelings now. If he could, he would blurt it out, but he can’t. Instead he continues watching you, building the courage inside him bit by bit.

Noticing that you are cracking your neck quite often, Colt comes over to stand behind you. He’s gentle as he touches your shoulders, seeing if you don’t move away from him before he massages your sore muscles. Little sighs pass by your lips as you continue playing your song, letting your head fall back when it’s finished.

“Thank you, I’m not used to playing for longer times anymore.” You sigh, putting one hand over his.

He flushes at your touch. “You play beautifully, so thank you for letting me hear it..”

[championofsanghelios]

Linked Universe Story - “Rescue”

“...this is getting out of hand!” Legend’s voice snaps across the camp, startling most who had fallen asleep awake. “Twi and the Old Man left three days ago! Three freakin’ days! And we’re still sitting here, waiting for them like they’re going to come back!” “Will you relax?” Four sighs by the camp-fire, drinking from his water-flask. “Shouting isn’t going to help anything, it’s just going to make everyone grumpy in the morning.” “I just worry, Okay!?” Legend breathes out through his nostrils, dropping down next to him. “They aren’t usually away this long.” “Wars said he’d go out and have a look for them.” Four tries his best to assure him, though he doubts it will work. “Maybe he’ll come back with something...” “I hope so.” Legend, though not comforted by that general suggestion, can’t lie. “They better be okay.” . . . ELSHWERE - SEVERAL MILES AWAY . . . “...” Time groans, his head spinning, both literally as well as figuratively. He opens his eyes slowly, the light and heat of a fire being the first thing he’s aware of. He could make out the faint sound of snoring, and a quick turn of his head reveals the source....all 20 of them. “...” Bokoblins, all of them laying around a large fire, fast-asleep, having filled their bellies with goddess only knows what. Time himself was hanging upside down from a tree-branch, the ropes from Twilight’s satchel had been used to string him up. He looks about as best he can for any sign of the other Hero, but finds nothing until his eyes catch sight of something in one of the Bokoblin’s hands. A familiar black pelt, that of a small wolf, which Twilight always wore over his shoulders as a cloak. There were also several other items of his strewn around the place, all of which didn’t help to ease the rapidly building panic in his gut. Had they killed him? Were they all, equally, in the processes of digesting him? The thought terrified him, as well as made his blood boil. How dare they. How fucking dare they! Suddenly his priorities were changing. Originally he had planned to find Twilight and get out of there, but now that his fate was uncertain, he’d added “massacre these little bastards” to the list. Now then...how was he going to get out of here? . . . IN THE FOREST . . . How long had he been running for? It couldn’t have been long, the sky was still clear and dark, the moon hadn’t risen that far since he last looked up at it. Right now he was conflicted more than anything. Part of him felt awful for leaving Time behind like he did...but there was no chance in hell that he’d be able to fight through all those monsters in his condition. He’d already tried to transform into his canid form, it would have certainly made thing easier, as he could have followed the scent trail the two of them left back to Camp, however...he was wounded. When they had been ambushed on the road, he’d taken an arrow to the left shoulder, something that would normally be of no consequence, but right now his satchel was back there...and he wasn’t going to risk looking for it amongst the sleeping devil pigs. ...no he had to get back to the camp. Sky and Warriors would know what to do... ...if only he could find his way back. He had to, because there was going to be a point soon where one of those little blighters would awaken and using it’s collective brain-cells notice that one of their captures was gone. That and Time was still back there...if they discover he’s gone, they might just decide to kill him for their food instead. He comes to a stop as he enters a clearing, leaning against a tree to catch his breath. He was pouring with sweat, and his wounded shoulder which had been painful before, was now verging on excruciating. The pain had spread down through his arm, and left hand, and it hurt to look at, let alone touch or move. “...shit...” he says as he breathes, something else which was getting much harder as time passed. “...ow.” His tunic was torn at the shoulder, blood soaking the area around the wound dark red. Oddly enough one of the few thoughts that doesn’t concern his current predicaments is how he’s going to remove those stains later on? Suddenly a sound occurrs among the trees, the snapping of a few twigs, followed by the sounds of boots on grass. Twilight turns on the spot quickly, his eyes squinting as the flame of a torch appears between the vines and branches. “...wh-...who’s there?” he makes a pathetic attempt to confront whoever it is. “...co-come out.” Warriors steps out into the lunar light, his face melting into one of horror as he sees him. “...Twi...” “...Wars?” Twilight’s eyes narrow, he wasn’t sure if he was halucinating or not. “...is that you?” He takes a step forwards, which turns into a stumble. Warriors drops the torch the ground, it’s flame extinguishing when he catches him in his arms. “Twi! What happened to you!? Where’s the Old Man?” “...back-...” Twilight moves his good arm, gesturing weakly over his shoulder. “...back there...b-Bokoblins ambushed us...” “...here.” Warriors says, reaching down to his belt and removing a bottle of healing elixir, he uncorks it and holds it up to Twilight’s mouth. He drinks it slowly at first, but as it’s effects inevitably take hold, some of his strength returns. “...just drink that. It should help you.” He inspects the wound on his shoulder, letting out a hissing sigh. “You idiot. Why did you snap the arrow-shaft. It’s going to make getting it out a nightmare!” “...sorry.” Twilight finishes the last of the elixir, looking at him. “I should have thought about that as 10 miniature devil pigs tackled me to the ground.” “Well it would seem the first thing to recover is your temper.” Warriors huffs, shaking his head. He then goes to move. “Come on, we better get up off the ground.” “Nah...” Twilight shakes his head slowly. “You’re quite soft...I could go for a nap here.” “Are you serious!?” Warriors snips, before getting up anway. “Time is in trouble! I need to help him!” “There are at least 20 of the little bastards back there.” Twilight hisses, as much as the elixir had helped to get rid of some of the swelling and stopped most of the bleeding, the arrow-head was still stuck in his shoulder...which would make wielding a Sword nigh-on impossible until it was removed. A trip to Four he was not looking forward too. “...you can’t go in there alone, they’ll just overpower you as well.” “Just you watch me.” Warriors says, reaching over his shoulder and taking out the Master Sword. Twilight’s eyes widen at the sight of it. “Where did you get-” “-took it from Wild’s lean-to.” Warriors says, eyeing the blade with an element of trepedation and nostalgia. “...figured he wouldn’t mind me borrowing it whilst he’s partying with the Zora.” “...that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be outnumbered.” Twilight shakes his head again. “You’d be better going back to camp and getting the others-” “-since when did you ever give up so easily?” Warriors eyes him incredulously. “Usually you’re game for anything, especially when one of our own is in danger.” “Don’t question my priorities!” Twilight suddenly snips. “If I wasn’t wounded I would have turned wolf and tore those little fuckers to peices. But right now, I am no fit condition to do that let alone lift a sword...and I’m sure as hell not going to let you go in there alone and potentially take my place.” “...” Warriors stares at him for a second, the look in his eyes said it all. “Wars...” Twilight calls to him as he suddenly takes off on his own. “Wars! Get back here, you’re not going to-” He hisses again as he paces forwards after him. Clutching at his shoulder, he curses under his breath. “...damn it!” . . . ELSEHWERE . . . “...come on...” Time mutters to himself, having tried, for the thrid time, to get the ropes bound around his legs to come free. Bokoblin’s weren’t the smartest of the creatures, so they hadn’t bound his arms together. “...how tight did they-” -growl- He freezes as he hears that sound, slowly he looks ahead of him to see one of the little buggers had awoken, and was now staring at him. Something stupid takes him over at that point, and he finds himself speaking before he can process the words that come out of his mouth. “What are you snarling at you little shit?” he says, flinching when he realises what he’s said. Normally he abhored swearing, and had given a few admonishings to the others because of their language, but right now he couldn’t help it. He was angry...no he was livid. As far as he was aware that little swine and it’s friends had eaten the closest thing he had to a son. He wasn’t about to let it go without at least a few harsh words...followed by a gutting. “...go back to bed.” “ajdhfgrdk!” the Bokoblin let’s out a loud squeal, and the Hero watches on in horror as one by one, all of the others jolt awake and leap up onto their feet. The one holding Twilight’s pelt, throws the object onto the fire as it awakens. “sjehsheufvu!” “...oh shit.” Time mutters to himself as he sees one of the charging at him with a club flailing. It barrels through the others, sending some of the flying in either direction, one even lands on the fire, screeching as its backside singes. “...” He closes his eyes as it reaches him, bracing himself for the strike, though it doesn’t come. -Swipe- -Thud- Time cracks one eye open in the silence that follows. He finds Warriors standing between them, the Master Sword in hand. The head of the Bokoblin that was about to attack him was now rolling away under him. He looks back up, his eyes narrowing. “Where the hell did you get that from?” “Glad you’re okay, Sprite!” Warriors replies, bringing the blade around and cutting the rope holding him up through the middle. “...you’re welcome!” Time hits the ground with a thud, and against his best efforts, the groan he lets out as he sits up, sounds as old as he feels. He kicks the ropes off of his ankles and gets up, only to stumble as the blood rushes from his head down to his feet. All around him there were Bokoblin’s being cut in half, or beheaded. One even stumbles past him, it’s innards hanging out of it’s front, before collapsing face first into the fire, erupting in a ball of flame. He reaches up to his forehead, applying pressure to his temples in order to calm himself and stop the world from spinning. When he finally does come back to his senses, the turns on the spot, only to find that Warriors had slain every last one of the monsters, all of them laying, in various states of mutilation, around the clearing. “...that was easy.” Warriors says, standing in the center of the space, leaning on the Master Sword like a crutch. He takes in a deep breath, only to fall onto his backside against an overturned boulder. “...peice of cake.” “Are you hurt?” Time slowly paces forwards, stepping over one of the dead swines. He drops down onto one knee as he reaches him, placing his hand on his right shoulder, looking him over. “...no injuries?” “I should be asking you that.” Warriors says, a small smile on his face. “...but you seem to be unharmed.” “Only thing that’s wounded is my pride.” Time sighs, looking about the camp. “...Twilight was with me when we were ambushed...I don’t know if-” “-he’s okay.” Warriors sits up a little, sensing his worry. “I ran into him a little ways into the forest. Seems he made a run for it.” Time visibly sags in relief, before dropping down just to his right. “...Thank Hylia for that...” “When you didn’t come back after the second night...Sky and I started to get worried.” Warriors says, his head coming to rest against Time’s left shoulder. “He went up North towards Kakariko, whilst I came down this way...I’ll need to ping him on Wild’s slate when we get back.” “It was stupid...” Time shakes his head, thinking back on the whole ordeal. “I thought we could cut our journey time in half by taking the road we did...if only I had known-” “-Oh don’t start with that.” Warriors says, cutting him off. “What matters is you are both okay- well. Twi has a little arrow head stuck in his shoulder, but other than that he’s himself...I gave him some healing elixir before I came to find you.” “...then we’d better get back to him.” Time says, turning his head to look at him. When he doesn’t get a response, he nudges him with his shoulder. “Come on, you can’t fall asleep here.” “I have been out all day looking for you two...” Warriors says sleepily against him. “I’m taking a 5 minute nap...” “Wow.” a voice suddenly speaks to the right. Time glances over to see Twilight emerge from the tree-line, his hand over his left shoulder. “...he actually did manage to kill them all.” “...i told you...fuzzball.” Warriors mumbles, his eyes closing. “Are you alright?” Time asks, only to happy to put and arm around the other Hero when he drops down next to him. “I was worried there for a while. I thought maybe these creatures had made a meal of you.” “I don’t think I’d taste that good anyway.” Twilight snorts, letting out a groan when the Old Man kisses him on the forehead. “...Hey...stop that.” “Never do that again.” Time says firmly. “Do what?” Twilight eyes him suddenly. “I didn’t do a damn thing.” “Not you.” Time shakes his head. “I was talking to myself. That is officially the last time we take that shortcut.” Twilight, despite himself, manages to laugh out loud at that. . . .

[magma-cjay]

Lingering Fragments (cw: death, angst, implied suicide)

(foreword: ok MagmaCjay, you asked for it, don't say you weren't warned)

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They were all dead. Every single one of them.

With great effort Risotto staggered toward the headquarters, limping painfully, his right leg dragging, and barely attached to his body by Metallica's power alone. Torn nearly off and barely hanging on by a few strands of muscle and tendon, and the ability of his Stand.

He had barely escaped his encounter with the unassuming young boy. A boy whom he knew had ties to the Boss. Who had mistreated him and his team for far too long. Who he was a fool to have underestimated. But he was lucky to escape with his life. Especially when Bucciarati's team intervened.

If one can consider me lucky, by any definition, Risotto thought.

His whole team was gone. He was the last man standing. The rest of his men, his family, slaughtered like swine by Bucciarati's team, and for what? Hadn't they sought to betray the boss as well? Hadn't they sought the same goal? Weren't they two teams on enemy sides, yet united with a common enemy?

It was all so damn unfair.

It wasn't long until Risotto neared the Hitman Squad hideout, a small, shabby and unassuming apartment that lay secluded in the Italian suburbs. A place where he and his crew dealt their shady deals to survive and hid from the wrath of the Boss. A place that was what many would call the dark, ominous underground of Italy's streets, but was a shelter for his men and himself.

A place that was the closest thing he could call a home.

Barging into the door, blood pouring from his numerous wounds, Risotto stumbled painfully into the living room with a cry of anguish. A cry that echoed through the empty halls of the hideout and gradually warbled away into silence. A painful, deafening silence that hurt Risotto far more than Aerosmith's bullets ever could.

He collapsed heavily onto the kitchen table, breathing heavily and wincing in pain. His dark inky eyes darted down onto the table, which was empty, save for a newspaper, and a plate of long-stale crackers, which were beginning to attract ants from their time left unattended.

Risotto's heart sank like lead as the gravity of what those meant struck him harder than any blow from the Boss's stand. The newspaper was spread out at a crossword puzzle, the date: April 1st, 2001. Risotto wished this was all a fool's day trick, but the silence was all too real. All too agonizing to endure.

The crossword puzzle was half-finished, with angry scribbles and incorrect answers that Risotto recalled too well. Of the angry hollers of Ghiaccio, as he struggled to comprehend words, while Formaggio mocked him playfully for his incompetence while snacking on the table.

Now the remnants of Formaggio's last meal lay untouched, as if silently awaiting their consumer. But there was none. Once wise-cracking, prank-pulling, now just a charred, cold corpse on a street somewhere. Would he at least be laid to rest by whoever found his body? thought Risotto. Or would he be left to rot, be picked away by rats and roaches like garbage? Like the garbage he had always been treated as, by the world, by society, by the very gang they had found themselves trapped in?

The unfinished crossword puzzle also brought Risotto little comfort. He had always loathed Ghiaccio's rambling, his angry ranting at the most trivial of things. But now Risotto ached for that irate voice. He would have given anything to hear that voice one last time. Not that Ghiaccio's throat, pierced right through the spine and out his windpipe, drowned slowly in his own blood by Giovanna and his gunman, would ever make another sound again.

Risotto glared at the crossword puzzle, and the one word that Ghiaccio had managed to fill. "An eight letter word synonymous with forever." 

Eternity.

Eternity. How painfully appropriate. Gone for eternity, never to be seen or heard from again. Forever. Just like the only family he ever had, with this one word, inked out in a sanguine red on the faded parchment, as if an ominous tiding of death.

The sight of these leftovers were too much for Risotto to bear, and despite the agony he heaved himself off the kitchen chair, stumbling to the living room and throwing himself onto the couch. His blood stained the faded, torn cushions, as he pressed his face into a pillow and muffled a scream. He breathed in through his nose, and caught a waft of a familiar scent. Prosciutto's cologne. His favorite pefume that he wore before...that mission. Risotto felt a lump in his throat.

Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, the house was filled with little remains of everyday things, which like nails further hammered in the loss in his already wounded heart and soul. Scents. Sights. Sounds, or the lack thereof.

His knee accidentally pressed something hard on the sofa and with a static whirr the television came on. It was a dramatic soap opera currently on air. Melone and Illuso's favorite television show, featuring soppy tales of love and romance which they dutifully watched day after day, despite mocking jabs from Formaggio and Ghiaccio about their tastes in genre.

And now they will never know how the show ends. The last he had heard of Melone was a report from Ghiaccio claiming to have heard him scream on the phone and lose contact. And Illuso...was gone. Not just dead, but gone: vanished without a trace, melted into thin air, with not even a hair or piece of clothing to remind the world that he ever was.

Would anyone remember them? Would anybody even care?

They were just criminals to the world, weren't they? The scum of the earth, filthy, cold-blooded killers. They were the monsters of society, and to anyone else? They'd say they deserved to die.

But to Risotto, they were family. His family. His brothers in a way, who were all dragged in this horrid life by the cruel twists of fate. He'd wished to have escaped from the trappings of this mafia, but they were mired too deep into the quicksands of crime. He regretted deep inside having turned them into this life of a gangster. Especially Pesci. He was too young, too naive. He never deserved a life like this. He never deserved to see his big brother crushed under the wheels of a locomotive, and be torn apart alive shortly after by that damn Bucciarati's stand to spend his final moments in pain and terror at the cold, freezing abyss of a lake.

He despised himself at not having been able to save them. Of having failed to free them from the binds of this miserable existence. But it was too late. Since the day Sorbet and Gelato befell their dreadful end, he swore that he would lose no more further. But he did. One by one. And every single day, Risotto returned to find his home a little bit emptier.

Until there was none.

He was all alone in this cold, cruel, void, everyone he had ever cared about but a distant memory or a pallid lifeless corpse. There was nothing left for him. No one to turn to. Not even Formaggio's uplifting cracking jokes or Prosciutto's affectionate reassurance. He hated Giovanna and his allies for everything they did. If he could, he wanted to take their lives with his own bare hands, make them pay for the pain they wrought. But what would it bring him? Satisfaction? Justice?

There is no justice in this wretched world, Risotto thought bitterly. That's why I am here in the first place.

He could murder Giovanna and Bucciarati and the Boss for all he cared, but the damage was already done. Nothing he could do would bring back his family. They were dead, gone forever, and all of his efforts would have been in vain.

There was nothing left for him, but a future of emptiness.

Why did he have to suffer? What did he do to deserve all this? They were bad people who did bad things, but it wasn't their fault they were forced to become what they were. Risotto whimpered like a frightened child as he curled up on the bloodstained sofa, embracing himself tightly in a futile effort to make the pain go away, the pain of his body's wounds, and the agony that seared his soul like hellfire.

He wanted the pain to end.

A gleam caught his eye, down next to the sofa. Something black and shiny lay tucked against one side of the cushions It was Prosciutto's spare revolver, which he kept in good condition, and kept hidden away in case his original was lost or damaged if a mission went wrong.

It couldn't have gone more wrong.

Everything had gone wrong.

Their entire life had gone wrong.

With trembling hands and heaving breath Risotto reached out for the revolver and felt its cold, hard steel touch menacingly, and yet enticingly, to his stiff, shivering fingers.

Maybe this would make the pain go away.

For eternity.

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(afterword: yeah, told you this would get really depressing. i didn't know if Risotto would kill himself or choose to continue living, in which case he would just suffer all the more so yeah i never made a chapter two. oh well. sorry all you squadra fans for making you cry today)

[leenukeath]

The essential cannot be seen (Darkest Dungeon fic)

So @sir-crypts​ recently published an illustration (here: https://sir-crypts.tumblr.com/post/636062084110680064/thing-i-drew-for-leenukeaths-fic-of-abomleper) of an Abomination/Leper fic I wrote for a discord server, I figured I’d share the story, set in the Darkest Dungeon game. Thanks again Sir Crypts for the lovely art.

The Essential cannot be seen Abom/Leper friendship (more?) fic by Leenu

He hated this.

Trudging his way through the murky brine of the cove, Baldwin did his best to keep his gaze forward lest it slipped to the loathsome companion in his back. He was supposed to be accompanied originally by Reynauld, but he (and the highwayman) had disappeared a few days ago and were nowhere to be found when the Heir had called them to formation. Which left him with the following company: a plague doctor, Paracelsus, eyeing with what seemed like curiosity whatever moved or crawled around them, an Occultist, Alhazred who kept his hand closer to his dagger than usual and … the thing that called itself Bigby.

Baldwin wanted nothing more than to leave this Abomination in the Hamlet and go alone, but since the fall of the crystal from the sky, the Heir had forced him and his companions to take the wretched creature with them on the crawls through the dungeon. And thus, the Leper was saddled with the rattling of chains behind his back. His eyes may have been focused on the way ahead, but his ears were listening and making sure no growl was coming from Bigby.

They had been tasked with clearing a sector of the cove, so far the battles had been manageable: the plague doctor’s grenades had done miracles against the pelagic creatures, and despite a few open wounds, the Occultist had kept everyone in one piece. The Abomination had decided to keep its tamed form, throwing his chains around and spewing bile over the enemies that the Leper happened to miss.

Then in the last room, the tune changed: a Squiffy Ghast started plucking on its rotting viola, sending bars upon bars of Maddening Shanties and Off Kilter Jigs.

Baldwin tried his best to hit the slippery skeleton, but whenever he hit, the things always seemed to jump back out of his reach. If only this creature had been the only enemy faced, the team would have cut it down with little combined effort, but it was accompanied by a Pelagic Guardian and an Uca Major. The latter one swinging its pincers with deadly precision, opening great wounds that drenched the seafloor with dark stains. The doctor was too busy stitching the team back together to throw any grenades, and the Occultist himself was struggling to replenish their blood levels, it was thus left to Baldwin and Bigby to carve their way through.

While the leper kept hitting the thick carapace of the Uca, the Abomination once more spewed his toxic bile over it and the Guardian, slowly dissolving their armor, too slowly however.

Another hit connected and the Occultist fell, his hand desperately clutched the skull in his hand to keep the flame from getting blown away as he begged: “This was not the deal we struck!”. Baldwin set himself up in a defensive stance to try and stop any more attacks from hitting Alhazred while Paracelsus fumbled with her vials when he felt something rush past him in a roar as it struck the beast.

The red creature pulled its horns out of the fleshy mass under the crustacean’s carapace it had dug itself in before starting to gnaw off its pincer, ripping it out after a few seconds of inhuman screeches. The Uca expired as it’s claw bled lymph all over the coral walls, and in response, the Guardian set down its shield over the Ghast. It hadn’t stopped playing for a second. Notes, bars, tunes, symphonies, … it had been playing the sounds of madness, and the team could feel their minds slipping into the abyss as the air brought forth ancient memories they wished were forgotten.

Bigby was the first one to snap.

The Ghast’s rotten fingers slid its bow over the algae covered cords, producing more of that unbearable sound, more of that noise that dragged painful memories with it...

The Abomination had started to lunge to take a bite out the skeleton, but his legs gave under him as he gripped his shaking head. Baldwin braced himself to defend the rest of the team from the new foe, ready to cut it down as soon as it bared its fangs in his direction. But to his surprise, Bigby started to shrink down until only his scrawny form was left on the briny floor: “It feeds off my essence, and now … I falter” he muttered as his trembles rattled his chains in a sick accompaniment to the squeaks of the damned viola.

The Leper himself was feeling his resolve falter, he could grab his human companions and run, leave these beasts to themselves and save the ones who were not yet damned in the Light. The Guardian started making its move and raised its bladed fist over the hunched Bigby, one strike would be enough, and all that Baldwin needed to do to rid the world of this creature was to hold back…

The viola’s notes rang, and his mind caved in.

The slimy head of the Pelagic Guardian split under the weight of the massive sword in the bandaged hands of the Leper as he pushed the Abomination back to his teammates:

“Mountains defy the consuming sea!”.

After pulling out the heavy blade from its fishy sheathe, Baldwin proceeded to wildly swing around wherever he could see the Ghast, he wasn’t counting his swings anymore, all he wanted was to crush those cords and find again the respite of silence.

Until he realized that he could not hear the viola anymore over his screams. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded in wood and bone splinters, the rush of blood roaring in his ears calmed down until he could hear Paracelsus and Alhazred stabilizing the shivering Bigby.

Over, finally, some silence.

The Leper was too glad to finally be granted this peace of mind, but it was short lived. The team made its way back through the murky paths, carrying themselves as well as possible, but it was clear the Occultist would not be able to guide the Abomination for much longer with his wounds. Thus it was Baldwin’s duty to hold Bigby on their way out of the damp tunnels.

He was not enjoying this, keeping this creature in such close proximity, but at least he could maintain an eye on it. Bigby was clearly not focused on the walk and tripped over nearly every single piece of coral on the way out, after a few near falls, he started holding onto the Leper’s bandaged arm, like a drowning man holding onto a piece of wreckage in a storm.

At first Baldwin considered pulling back and letting the damn thing find its way out by itself, but something stilled his hand. A warmth had seeped into his arm, a familiar feeling he had not experienced for years before … before his illness turned him into the feared creature he was now, forced to hide under the heavy bronze mask. As he felt the finger, human fingers, curling over his bandaged skin, he had a vague memory of fonder times, when the sun shone and he could feel the caress of the rays over his face, when he still had a family with his name…

He didn’t shake off the Abomination on their way back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Hamlet, the team dropped off their loot in the vault and went their ways. Paracelsus was eager to analyze the samples she had gathered from the cove, Bigby ran out of view and Alhazred had to get stitches at the sanatorium, accompanied by Baldwin who needed his weekly injection. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was enough to keep his disease stalled, though not enough to cure him.

After dropping off the Occultist, the Leper was left to his own device. He noticed that his hand was still slightly trembling, and it was not because of the needle that had been implanted earlier. The ghost of the tune still sang in the back of his mind, and he needed to get it out.

He took the steps to the Abbey and cracked open the door, he expected the Vestal tending to the sacred fire, or the Flagellant in his rapturous devotion. Not the huddled and chained being bowing to the altar, furiously praying: “The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us.”

Baldwin knew this feeling too well, it was something that needed peace of mind before the Light would grant him relief. The Leper went to sit himself in a corner of the church, lighting some incense, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath: In … Out … In … Out …

His heart was a war drum no more, just a slow tap reminding him that he was still alive.

In … Out … In … Out …

The tip of the fingers on his right hand had started to go numb a few days ago, and his eyesight was turning blurrier, this was probably why he couldn’t hit the Ghast at first back then. He had come to terms with his illness, he had no choice but to do so and accept that mortality would probably not come in a glorious strike, but in a slow loss of his senses as he decayed away.

In … Out … In … Out …

What had hurt most was the banishment, it was his choice, but he knew that if he didn’t do it himself, that choice would have ended up being taken for him. All who suffered like he were treated as outcasts, for the good of the people. But he had seen the colonies filled with the ones less fortunate than he, they were treated no better than monsters, he felt a twinge of regret toward his brothers and sisters in adversity.

In … In .. Out … Out.. In … In .. Out … Out..

Baldwin opened his eyes and saw Bigby, no longer shaking in front of the Altar, instead looking up to the Light, calmly breathing out his prayers of hope. Their gazes crossed for a few seconds of mutual acknowledgment before they went back to their respective communions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the two of them were sent together once more, this time in the Warrens to slay the Swine King. The Leper noticed that he was feeling less nervous with Bigby in his back, the rattle of his chains were a soothing sound over the squeals of the swine men roaming about these caves, and those very chains served well in combat to stun and slow down the enemy to let Baldwin push his sword into the enemy. The Vestal Junia was clearly still feeling nervous; but he figured that his presence alongside Milicent, the Arbalest, was aiding her in keeping her nerves calm enough to keep the torchlight up and their wounds closed.

Of course things were never easy for very long, especially when a Swinetaur decides to show itself. The squad set itself in position to face the massive enemy, but what they failed to notice were the two Swine Slashers lurking in the beast’s shadow. Only when the Arbalest fired her Rallying Flare did they find out too late. Baldwin did his best to try and let the first hook hit his plated armor, but was too late to dodge the swipe of the second one. The slash went upwards, leaving a mark upon his chin and hooking off his mask that went flying off into the piles of refuse, leaving his deformed face in view to the rest of the group. He didn’t need to look to feel his companion’s fearful gazes in his back.

More sword swings, more bolts, more prayers and a pair of horns put an end to the repulsive creatures. But at the cost of multiple open cuts that risked infection in the squalid conditions of the Warrens. Milicent suggested camping so she could dress up the worst of the wounds, a welcome respite, especially with all the food in their packs.

As the Vestal set down her sanctuary for the night, Baldwin noticed that Bigby had walked away, maybe to avoid distracting the nun during her important duty, he did not consider this situation much longer as Milicent had started unpacking her bandages and stitching needles. She was keeping her head down as she worked on him, averting her gaze from his face.

He could not blame her for it, but he had to admit that the waft of air on his face had an intoxicating feel after hours upon hours of treading through hot and humid tunnels. Though he was almost grateful for his lack of nose when he looked at the piles of filth surrounding them.

Speaking of those, as soon as the Leper was done getting patched up, Bigby walked out from one of them and approached him with something in his hand: “I don’t think you need to wear it, but if it makes you feel better, you can keep it.”. His bronze mask, still slightly stained with what looked like pig blood, but it seemed like the Abomination had tried to clean it the best he could with the rags on his back.

“... you went to look for it?” asked Baldwin as he took the piece of metal with slightly trembling hands, Bigby nodded: “I understand if you want to hide yourself. I just want you to know that … well, I don’t mind you taking it off.”.

Pulling back the few chains that had slipped off his shoulder, the scrawny man was about to walk away before the Leper spoke up as he grabbed a loaf of bread: “Won’t you stay by my side for supper?” he asked as he broke it in halves, offering one to his companion.

His answer was a small but grateful smile as Bigby sat himself next to Baldwin: “Thank you for this”.

The night in the Warrens felt less cold to the both of them with a shoulder to lean on.

Whatever happened with the Swine King, they were grateful for this moment.

[prodigal-imagines]

White Wedding - Malcolm Whitly/Bright - Part 2

flightlessbirdie suggested a part two so here we go! She also suggested using the song, Jackie and Wilson by Hozier during the actual wedding. This part is told from y/n’s view. 

Warnings: None, fluff, kissing the bride, cuteness

Who would have thought this would happen, you think to yourself, the grand double doors in front of you practically looming over you. That I would ever get married, much less to someone as great as Malcolm. You and Malcolm had a bit of time to warm up to each other, him being a profiler consultant for the police department at the time you joined the team had him put seniority over you. You and JT had clicked almost immediately, and that intimidated Malcolm, who spent months struggling to get JT to warm up to him, and you came along, this gorgeous goddess, and had JT laughing and bringing your favorite coffees to work every day.

He never told you, but he got jealous. He was weary of the newcomer being of any use to the team, but admired your friendliness and how easy victims and suspects warmed up to you to talk to you in interrogations. You were astounded at his ability to form a profile and find the person that you were looking for with such ease, almost like he was a serial killer himself.

You knew about his past, his father, and everything. You watched the documentary his sister had done on their father, watched with suspicion as the patient that screamed off camera about wanting to be filmed stab the man that held the camera, and watched with realization as Martin Whitly, stereotypical narcissist, swoops in and saved the day, saving the cameraman. You didn’t buy any of it. It was clear the man planned to get the cameraman injured to save his life, look like a hero on a documentary spent villianizing him. 

When you finally met Malcolm, the Prodigal Son (Dani had mentioned he referred to himself that way before), you couldn’t see it. You saw the signs of course, of a broken man with horrors embedded deep in his mind, the horrible PTSD he still struggles with so many years later, but you didn’t see his father. You never saw his father in him, the man he fought so hard to rid himself of. You saw this unique man that was smarter than anyone combined, one you wanted to get to know. 

So the first time Edrisa came in the room and flirted with Malcolm, blatantly flirted with, you were surprised by the glare radiating from your eyes, toward the sweet girl, and was seething when Malcolm blushed, looking away from her, towards you. A glare he didn’t miss, which made his eyebrows furrow, and caused him to make a mental note and investigate further. 

Which he did, he would read on flirting, because this kid couldn’t remember the last time he needed to flirt, and would come into work, having memorized your coffee order off of JT, present you with the warm beverage, and kneel down to your eye level, and whisper, “You look gorgeous today” before winking, straightening himself back up, and disappearing, leaving you flushed, flustered, and smiling.

So you, one not known for stepping down from a challenge, decided to up the ante. You picked him up in the morning to go to work every day, the same time every morning, without fail. He insisted you didn't have to, knowing the route was out of the way for you, but you did it anyway. He'd leave his home, see you sitting on the hood of your car, smiling softly, holding out a caffeinated drink enough to keep any normal person awake for six years, but perfect for him.

You would pull him into a hug, linger a couple seconds too long, and he would be hyper aware of your breath on his ear, before you would pull away and climb into the car. He fell in love with you quickly after that.

You, however, took longer. He was obviously in love with you for months before you even realized his flirting wasn't jokes anymore. It took a night out with Dani for you to realize. She had to practically create a PowerPoint presentation for you to see it, and even then you didn't believe it. You were nowhere near as intellectual as Edrisa, who was constantly with him at the precinct, or as pretty as Dani, who he bonded with over time. You just couldn't see it, you couldn't see him as possibly available, so you avoided feelings as much as possible.

So it came as a surprise when you had to save Malcolm from having a gun against his temple, because of course only Malcolm, and your chest hurt from the fear of losing him. The fear of seeing defeat in his eyes. His never left your own, saying all the words he couldn't. "Y/n..." His voice whispered out, almost a good bye, and you pulled the trigger, barely avoiding Malcolm's own temple, embedding into the man behind him.

Malcolm didn't even jump when the suspect collapsed, the gun going with it. He didn't even look away or blink. So you dropped your own gun, and kissed him. Kissed him like his life depended on it, in a way, it sort of did.

The sound of the doors creaking open pulled you from your reverie, and there is Malcolm, standing there at the end of the aisle, looking as gorgeous and perfect as always. JT holds your arm as you walk down the aisle, your best friend as your father is no longer here to do so. He would never admit it but you can see his eyes glowing with tears.

You two make it to Malcolm, and JT sends you off with a, "you hurt her, your dead, Bright" to which Malcolm cracks a smile to, before nodding. "I'd rather jump off a bridge myself, JT." He responds.

The ceremony is quiet, only the voice of the wedding officiator, Ainsley Whitly, who went through the process to be able to do this, only for Malcolm and your wedding. "We will now hear their vows" she says, turning to her brother. "Malcolm?"

He takes a deep breath, and locks eyes with you, just like when he had a gun to his head, except this time he looks excited. "I spent months trying to think of what to say and write down," he begins, "but this isn't something you can prepare to say. Y/n, I love you. You have changed my world, and have treated me like my own person, not like I was my father's son. So.... Thank you." The crowd behind you two chuckle, and you smile warmly.

"y/n?" Ainsley asks.

"unlike this man," I shoot a look to the man in front of me, "I prepared my vows, because I suck at speaking. Malcolm Whitly, I can't believe it took us this long to get here. I've never felt this way about anyone before, but I'm glad I found you, and you found me. We saved each other, in more ways than anything and I can't thank you enough. I love you so much." He leans down to kiss you but Ainsley swats him on the arm, causing the crowd to laugh. "Not yet!"

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

So deep in the swirl with the most familiar swine

For reasons wretched and divine

Malcolm and you were an awe to be seen on the dance floor, your first dance together, and Malcolm had picked a song he feels went beautifully for your relationship, the woman that saved him.

She blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild

Laughing away through my feeble disguise

No other version of me I would rather to be tonight

Lord she found me just in time

He holds you close, singing the lyrics softly in your ear, drowning out the noise around you. He sounds like an angel, with so much confidence you'd think he wrote the lyrics himself.

'Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done

I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause God I never felt young

She's gonna save me call me baby run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride round pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, 'raise em on rhythm and blues

Lord it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime

Me and my isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

Sit back and watch the world go by

Happy to lie back, watch it burn and rust

We tried to work, good God it wasn't for us

They don't hear anyone else anymore in the reception, can't see anyone else. All that is left is you and Malcolm, the Whitly's, the two that never let anything get in their way. It's now you two against the world.

She's gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy soothe me daily but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride round pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise 'em on rhythm and Blues

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset

Looking up from the cigarette, she's already left

I start thinking of the art for what's left of me and our little vignette

For whatever pour soul is coming next

She's gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy soothe me daily but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride around pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise 'em on rhythm and Blues

The song comes to a close and Malcolm ends the dance with you dipped, looking up at the man you chose to spend your life with. Your smiling at him and he's smiling at you. "We aren't naming our children Jackie and Wilson" You say as he pulls you up, kissing you.

He laughs and the sound is beautiful. "Of course not" he agrees, leaving his arms around you. "Mrs. Whitly"

- Send me more requests! -

[kshitij1997]

frozen-the epic

Chapter 1- The many valleys of death

Winter solstice, 1812, Northern Arendelle.

King Runeard proceeded with caution, for the northern mountains of Arendelle had claimed many souls through the centuries. The absolute monarch despised these mountains, for these peaks brought an unpredictability, a danger which rendered him weakened in the face of adversity.

He could face the entire world head on, but a revolution? An uprising? Any upstart challenging his divine right? King Runeard considered himsrlf merciful that he led such wayward people to their doom in the most painless way possible; rolling their heads from the red theatre, as the french preferred to call it. As much as he swore to never forgive the french for the revolting  ideas of civic liberties that they threw onto an enlighted but unsuspecting continent, he was not averse to learning new methods the terror had brought with it.

His mind drifted towards the decision of building the great dam, which was the unwitting cause of his northern expedition.

Those vile ungrateful bastards, he thought,  after all that I have done for them, they turn to magic to oppose me? I'll set the fuckers straight once and for all.

He felt so close to his goal, just one last chance to draw those cowards out in the open and wipe them out. That thought brought back memories of it all came to this.

His brutal path of subjugation had worked to his benefit. For the Northurldra, once the most powerful minority in the empire, through a system of erasure, propaganda and eradication imposed by the sovereign, had been reduced to guerilla warfare, a far cry from the great cavalry charge of the ancestral Northuldra plains.

It was on that great battle in the autumn of 1799, when he set the standards for Arendelle's approach to it's marginalised people and ushered a new era of barbarity. A strategy that he had learnt from that dwarf of corsica who had gone to cast his entire shadow over all of Europe.

 A ploy that would make all battles decided before they were fought.

Like Napoleon, King Runeard fought dirty.

The Northuldra cavalry, over fifteen thousand strong, charged with all the might that they could muster, with a combination of cutlazzes, spears, and clubs, and with their trusted reindeer mounts, for an all-out charge against the biggest pain of their existence.

Though massive in strength, the northuldra made the mistake of leading themselves into a ravine, and with no way out, they were doomed. Runeard ordered an artillery barrage so horrific that it spread word of his capabilities and depths of hatred all across Europe.

The Northuldra had knives, swords, spears and a few muskets at best. It was no contest.

Just a bloody massacre.

An event so devastating, that a rumour spread that the stench and smell of gunpowder and corpses persisted in the valley of death to the present day.

Runeard merely snickered, for he still remembered it as the most beautiful battlefield he had ever seen.

He was disturbed from his reverie by his guards, who brought the scouts sent out for reconnaisance. The scout began, "Your Majesty, the main northurldra contingent has been sighted five miles from here, further north into the mountains."

"How many?"

"About two thousand, your majesty."

"How many fighters? Any non-combatants and cavalry?"

"I reckon about a couple hundred soldiers, the contingent is mainly of non-combatants, around a hundred in terms of cavalry."

 King Runeard was pleased."Very well, we'll be done with them in no time."

"I'm not finished your majesty. They seem to be following the fifth spirit into a passage from the north sea in order to escape into international waters."

The king turned purple with rage, "WHAT?! THAT CURSED SHAPE SHIFTING ANIMAL DARES TO TRY AND ESCAPE ME!? I'LL ERASE THAT SWINE'S PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE!" 

The king's commander, Carolus, brought him back to his senses. "Your majesty, if the fifth spirit is leading them, they'll have the winds, the weather and possibly even the terrain on their side, we must not take them lightly. We need to be tactful."

The king gave a solemn nod, and continued "Yes. We need to pull them back from the coast somehow and trap them in the mountains where we should be able to smoke them out to the last man, woman or child."

With that said, the king signalled his army to take positions and commander carolus proceeded to burn massive cartloads of smokeberries, a plant whose leaves were notorious for a nasty stench upon burning, and for releasing a poisonous smoke that could blind people for a long time. 

To make matters worse, the arendellians resorted to use damp wood, to make the smoke even more aggravating.

As was to be expected, the smoke rose high, the odour made the reindeer cavalry mad, and blinded the people who got close, unknowingly dragged by their loyal steeds towards destruction.

All according to plan, the king thought, let this revolting scent betray them and bring them to their deaths, this time i'll make sure—

His thoughts were disturbed by a rumble in the the mountains, which started as a mere tremble, loosening the thick blanketed snow, but as sure as it could be, the snow caught momentum and deadly speed as it rolled down the mountains, headed straight for the arendellian contingent.

"AVALANCHE!" screamed the ever observant scout, enough to alert everyone but not enough to save everyone. The snow came straight and true for the infantry, which was decimated in the barrage of sheer snow, to no more use to anyone any longer. 

It could have taken even the king down, had it not been for the king's personal bodyguard, Mathias, who had pulled the king away from the infantry at the last moment. The plants were no longer burning, but the northuldra were now out in the open, a shell of their former fearsome selves. The arendellian gunners were itching for action, and let loose.

The gunners' barrage was brutal but short lived, however enough to turn the mountain pass into a morbid, gory and perverse cousin of the valley of death. The cannons were not picky about what or who they mowed down, neither were the gunners.

What cut the barrage short was the fifth spirit itself, twisting and turning out of the avalanche and taking out the gunners in cold blood, closely followed by the northuldra crack troops taking advantage of the stranded army and tearing it at the seams.

The king proceeded to dive into the melee when a familar voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"FATHER!" 

The king turned back violently to find the crown prince Agnarr. The mere sight of him distracted Runeard so much that for a few long agonizing minutes he forgot where he was.

"You stupid boy, what are you doing here? I told you this is no place for you."

"And i told you it's not worth the bloodshed, leave them alone. I guess an inability to follow orders or advice runs in the family."

"You want to discuss that now?! With these killers inching closer?"

('That' refers to a bitter fight between father and son, but Agnarr knew better than to prod in that direction.)

"No, I just need you to get out of this alive."

"Don't worry, I'll make it."

Their dialogue was interrupted by Mathias, when he got to the king's vantage point.

"Your Majesty, what is the crown prince doing here?!" 

"I should ask you that, Mathias, but don't worry, you have an opportunity to correct yourself."

The reconcillation was cut short by a fearsome beast leaping in front of them.

There it was, the fearsome fifth spirit, not animalistic enough to be reduced to dumb chattel, and too vicious to be considered human, and too powerful to be ignored.

As much as Runeard hated to admit it, there was a certain beauty to those characteristics and a certain sense of respect to that power, something he had always yearned for. Nevertheless, this wasn't the time for such thoughts.

"Mathias, get the boy out of here, and don't look back."

"Your Majesty!—" Mathias began, but his majesty wasn't listening any more. He was already in a one on one with the fifth spirit.

"Father!" prince Agnarr screamed, but the wind was knocked out of him when Mathias grabbed him and ran from the scene for both their lives. 

It was a tough path for the king's personal guard, as he was responsible for both himself and the prince. Desperately trying to avoid the carnage, Mathias almost made it despite the smoke and the destruction, but was hit by a blunt blow onto the back of his head, enough to disorient him, but not to knock him out.

As for the prince, he was fortunate enough to not be hit, but the battle had exhausted him, and he almost passed out when he felt a familiar pair of hands hold him.

"Iduna?" the prince started weakly.

"Ssh, it's alright, I'm okay" Iduna answered the question. "We need to get out of here"

"I'm sorry your town became a battlefield, I could have done more, I—"

"Calm down, and get on the wagon, quick"

The said wagon was part of a supply chain following the king's army, trying their best to turn around now that army was in spate,  to save what they could. 

The prince and the village girl were on the wagon when Mathias came to his senses and reached them. "Your highness, who is this?" 

"She's a friend, she saved me when you lost consciousness."

"My eternal gratitude to you young girl. However your highness must leave at once, I can't guarantee your safety here any longer."

"Come with us, Mathias. Please"

"A thousand pardons your highness, but I can't abandon his majesty. Now go!"

With that, the trusty guard ran back into the thick of it. Just as the wagon train started for home, a gunshot pierced through the air, followed by a shriek that was almost feminine. 

Both Agnarr and Iduna could only look back in horror as out of nowhere, in an instant, a major explosion occured, resulting in a fire across the mountains. The fires were greedy for oxygen, and the winds rushed to feed the inferno. The situation further deteriorated when a massive earthquake jolted the mountainside, resulting in a landslide that nearly destroyed the Arendellian supply train. 

As wagons went down left and right, a sudden jolt nearly knocked Agnarr down in the ravine below. He would have been gone forever, if it weren't for Iduna holding him on for dear life. She pulled him up with all the strength she had, and got him back on the surviving wagon.

The shock of near death made the prince faint in her arms. As she made him more comfortable, she could only look back heatbroken, as the once thriving countryside was reduced to a graveyard of blood, fire, smoke and snow, which was soon covered by a thick fog, through which nothing could pass in or out.

Iduna uttered a solemn prayer to the lost, and let out a kulning, which echoed the haunted the mountains, even as the dilaphidated wagons made their way back to Arendelle.

[joj-parisol]

The Monroes (John Lennon x Reader)

Summary: The Monroes are the only female band on the set list. Y/N likes Rory Storm and the Hurricanes and definitely does not like The Quarrymen. Especially not John Lennon. (shit summary I know)

Warnings: Panic attacks and vomiting (sorry) shitty writing bc I didn’t check this oof

A/N: hi sorry if it’s terrible but I’ve been coming back to this fic for about a week save me. Anyway. The panic attack is written through personal experience and I’m very sorry if it offends anyone so please don’t read of you might get triggered. I hope everyone who reads this enjoys! Imma go ahead and tag one of the best writers on this cursed site, the lovely @casafrass also that anon lol. -🥦

Get ready for some Teddy Boy John, bitches.

—————

The music courses through her veins every night. It became ritual that she would blast her solos. She had put her blood, sweat and tears into the songs they performed and Eliza put her heart and soul into singing them.

The rhythm of their own songs guided Y/N’s hips, accidentally thrusting her guitar towards the audience, earning a roar of delight. The audience was packed in every direction she looked. People were curved into archways and crowded every doorway or other persons lap. Some stood, resembling sardines in the way they were packed in with each other. They were unable to dance but they tapped their feet or swayed to the beat. It was the same every night.

Nobody could resist The Monroes. They, like their namesake, were each irresistibly beautiful. This made them exceptionally popular with their male audience. Their music was like a spell, enchanting anyone who heard it to hum, dance or sing. People were captivated by the girls, with their camp and flamboyant stage presence paired with their raunchy costumes. They were the only all-Female band and it made them popular among the younger generation of early feminists and the men who liked their ‘appeal’.

They had a friendly competition put in place with Rory Storm and his Hurricanes. They rivalled in their shock-value and Y/N once made a deal with Ringo to see who could get the most dates. Y/N has since refused to answer who won. Rory and Eliza took the competition a little too seriously. Everyday, a costume would be more dramatic or ‘dazzling’ or a new song would feature a longer high note. They had to one-up each other.

This rivalry grew tension and one night after a few complimentary drinks, Rory and Eliza stumbled out of the bar, eagerto rip the costumes off of the other. They both denied the accusations but The Monroes were staying in an old strip club and thin walls reveal all.

Though they tried, none of the Hurricanes could woo any other Monroes. Y/N loved Ringo and it was returned, in nothing more than a platonic way. The other two Monroes weren’t inclined to any Hurricane, platonically or romantically. Lucy, the drummer, only cared for the music, strippers and free booze and the bassist, Shirley, had her eyes on one of the Quarrymen.

Out of everyone in the world, she liked one of the awful, cocky assholes who played before The Monroes did. Every time they clunked off of stage, clad in leather, Y/N always felt the urge to throw something. But it was specifically John Lennon. He would stomp over in his flame patterned cowboy boots with a smug grin painted on his face.

“Try and beat that, sugar.” He would smirk at Y/N. Always her, never one of the others. He would often try to brush the hair from her face but with a sharp turn, Y/N would strut past him. He would whistle as she walked, grovelling on about how perfect her ass was. He would then slither his way over to her later that night when she’d be drinking her wages.

Y/N would chew up his lewd comments and spit them straight back in his face. Her quick wit and sharp tongue only enticed him further, much to her dismay.

Like every other day, The Quarrymen finished droning out a song about ‘Spiting all the danger’ or something, Y/N wasn’t really listening, and John sauntered off stage. His band mates poured backstage after him.

Y/N knew Paul, he was quite charming and had his eyes set on every girl that looked into his. Then there was Stu, a rather handsome man who seemed quite shy as she hadn’t ever seen him talk to anyone outside of The Quarrymen. George was the loveliest out of all five of them, he smiled at each of the girls and complimented Y/N on her solos. He shyly offered to but them drinks but he would then get bombarded with beers for being so cute. He was young and polite, with one hell of a talent for guitar. Y/N didn’t really know Pete. She just knew that once he had made fun of Lucy’s drumming talent and had received a black eye because of it.

They were headed for the bar after coming off os the stage, but when John trailed towards The Monroes, they all followed like obedient dogs. Eliza was mid way through her nightly pep-talk.

“And no matter what, I know we’ll all smash it-“

“I hear the shows aren’t the only thing you’re smashing, eh Liza? How is Rory by the way?” John interrupted, earning sniggers from his leather-clad cronies. Eliza flushed and spluttered, looking for the words that weren’t forming on her tongue. Her embarrassmentade the boys laugh harder.

“Just because Eliza is getting to shag Rory and you aren’t doesn’t mean you have to get jealous, Lennon.” Y/N spat, stepping infront of Eliza protectively and squaring up to the much taller man. The boys were stunned into abrupt silence. Y/n caught the small snort that left George. John raised his eyebrows at her.

“You’ve got me real scared, sugar, but if you keep lookin at me like that you’ll get me all worked up.”

Y/N scowled up at him and scoffed. “In your dreams, Lennon.” His dumb cowboy boots definitely added to his height. Her furrowed brows and folded arms made his grin stretch further across his face.

“Trust me, you’re in my dreams all right.” His hazel eyes gleamed with excitement. Y/N opened her mouth to snap back at him but Eliza caught her arm.

“C’mon, there’s no point talking to swine when we could be on stage instead.” Eliza glared at John and pulled Y/N away from him. She held her head up as Eliza led her away from the insufferable man.

Y/N found her guitar and checked to see if it was in tune. He didn’t have the right to say that to her. He deserved a smack in the face for even having the nerve to say that to her. He might be all high and mighty with his friends but he was actually just a big asshole who-

“Hey, Y/N, you might wanna stop before you break a string.” A familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts. George stood in front of her smiling.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” The side glances she was receiving made Y/N realised she had been taking her anger out on her poor guitar.

George hesitated for a second, awkwardly crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry about John, love, he’s always that much of an asshole.” He apologised for John and despite his attempts it made Y/N’s blood boil even more. But George’s hopeful smile melted her heart. She cracked a smile and nudged his shoulder.

“Who you calling love?” Y/N teased, raising her eyebrows accusingly. A light blush rose in George’s cheeks as he fumbled to apologise. A laugh fell from her mouth.

“I’m only playing, love.” Y/N winked at the blushing boy. “Unfortunately I had to be on stage four minutes ago, so I better go.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, the crowds pretty rough today so good luck, Y/N!” George called as she walked up the stairs to the stage.

“Thanks, love.” She shouted back to him, smiling as she heard his cowboy boots click as he ran off.

Y/N joined the rest of the band on stage.

“I’m glad you could join us, your highness.” Lucy called from behind the drums, getting flipped off in return. Y/N plugged in her amp and nodded at Eliza to begin singing.

Just like yesterday and everyday before that, their music worked like a charm over their audience. This usually seemed like a blessing but today it was more of a curse. George was right. The pubs were always crowded and rowdy but this was on a whole other level. This was more than claustrophobic. The amount of people was alarming.

People who didn’t have room to dance, danced. Person after person swept through the door. A sweltering heat encased everyone it could. It was strangling everyone it could.

The lights, the body count, the lack of space and windows. Not even Y/N’s short skirt and low-cut top could save her.

Much to The Monroes’ pleasure, they had a shorter setlist that night. But as the songs got faster and faster, everything rocketed down hill. The loud, rough song with a great deal of shouting and a great rhythm took control of the blundering audience. It was as if the melody had possessed them.

Bodies moved against each other and limbs were thrown around raucously. The chaos was amplified as a fight broke out. In the smoggy room, Y/N couldn’t see the cause of the commotion but the rickety stage shook at the amount of sudden movement. The excited shouts and shrieks drowned out their music.

Y/N couldn’t even hear Eliza, though she was a few steps away. The sudden smashing of glass seemed like an alarm that sent her heart racing. The shock triggered something in her before she could control it. The sudden noise made her jump, causing her guitar to fall from her hand. She tried desperately to control her breathing and play again but her sweat-slicked hands shook enough for the neck to slip from her grip. The cigarette smoke hanging in the air seemed to choke her. Her rapid breathing made her lungs burn as she inhaled more and more in an attempt to calm down.

She was unsure if she was pulled or if she had fallen of the stage but the sea of moving bodies soon swallowed her. Her arms felt useless as she clamoured away from the crowd that she was drowning in. Her guitar was pulled away from her but her fighting was useless as she screams were swallowed by the deafening noise. Waves of nausea hit her as pungent breath and beer stink were thrust upon her. Her mind felt detached from her body as she weaves her way through the people. Elbows jolted into her ribs and people stood on her feet. Falling out of the backstage door, her trembling knees gave out and she threw up.

The cold air pierced her face, like tiny razor sharp needles pressing through her skin. Sweat poured down her face like a river. The numbing cold pavement pressed into her hands and knees, the pins and needles battling for dominance over the cold. Her body lurched until all she could do was spit and cough, dry heaving occasionally as vomit burned her throat and her nose streamed. Shuddering, she crawled on her shaky limbs to as far away from her vomit as she could get.

Holding her knees, she wiped the few tears that had fallen from her cheeks. The taste stayed on her tongue and made her wince whenever she swallowed on her dry sobs. She was too tired to actually cry, but her body seemed to be happy hiccuping and choking. Her breath would catch in her throat, the taste bubbling up her throat again and she then had to resist the burning urge to break down and cry. She may have broken down and vomited in public but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep at least a shred of dignity. She most definitely would not cry, no matter what her mind begged her to do. The only sound was the little spluttering chokes and sobs she released.

Until there was a sudden scuffle against the pavement and a harsh whisper of “Oh Fuck.”. Y/N’s head snapped up from her knees.

There was John Lennon, looking like a very disturbed deer caught in the headlights. One of his hands was on the door, which he had fallen into thus revealing his presence, and the other cradled a half drunken beer. There was a cigarette butted out against the floor opposite Y/N.

A wide-eyed grimace painted his face as he stood in silence. His eyes were connected with hers. She had makeup, sweat and snot smeared on her face. She looked so small and cold, sweaty and shivering despite her burning skin. The sheer look of absolute repulse on his face was what made her brain snap.

The loud, strained sobs interrupted with her shallow gasps for breath made John wince. He was frozen by the door, as if he was rooted to the very spot. He dropped the door handle. The soft thunk was barely audible over her sobs.

She willed more than anything for him to leave. He had no doubt seen her throw up all over the road and had heard her sporadic attempt at breathing. He would never let her live this down so she mentally begged him to just open the door without another glance and go tell Paul and Pete everything that had just happened. She didn’t need any mocking sympathy from him. Why couldn’t he just laugh and leave? Why of all people did he have to be outside having a smoke?

Her mental begging didn’t work. John hovered by the door for a few moments. He didn’t know what to do. He’d seen girls cry before, but never such a strong one like Y/N. She was usually so sharp and cold and independent. It pained something deep inside of him to see her so vulnerable.

Her sobs hit him especially. On once in his life, John Lennon didn’t know what to do or say. He decided that the only thing he knew would be better than anything. He shuffled over, hesitating before sitting in front of her. The sheer pain on her face he caught as her head lifted ever so slightly made his heat clench. He wasn’t used to this and was quite confused as to why he cared so much. Normally, he would have just opened the door and left, but seeing her so broken wasn’t something he could ignore.

“Fuck off John.” She choked out, straining her voice. John couldn’t help but smile. Of course you would still defend yourself, even in this state.

“I’m afraid I won’t.” He doesn’t want to leave. Even if you leave, he’d refuse to let you be alone until he knew you were ok.

Words form on his tongue but none of them seem right. A few minutes of silence had passed and John knew he had to speak. His eyes burning holes into the side of her head probably wasn’t helping. He quickly spat out the first sentence he thought of.

“What happened to you?” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. She looked at him, dark eyes narrowed.

“Why do you care?” She spat at him, curling into herself even more.

“I care because whilst you may hate me, nobody deserves to be alone when they’re distressed. Especially not you.” He paused for a moment. He was shocked by the sentiment that had fallen from his lips. Her eyes widened in shock for a moment but she rolled them obviously.

“You are not getting in my pants, Lennon. No matter how many cheesy sympathy lines you drop.” Y/N sniffed and snatched the beer from in front of him. She swished out her mouth and spat it out through her teeth. She shoved the beer back in his hand and raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the door. “Just go on and get some other bird to shag. I bet you’ll have no problem finding one.”

Despite her stubbornness, John refused to give in. There was something seriously the matter. Despite his other attitudes, he couldn’t let this slide. So he awkwardly just stared her dead in the eye and shook his head as she continued to gesture to the door.

“You’re right. I would have no problem getting a shag tonight. But leaving you here isn’t right, no matter how long it takes. I’m going to sit here until you tell me what’s wrong and how to help. Even if I die trying.”

She snorted at his attempt to lighten the mood and let a small smile creep onto her face. He grinned at her smile. It made Y/N realise that maybe he wasn’t as much of a pig as she’d thought.

“Can’t have you dying, Lennon. Your replacement would no doubt be much worse.” Her voice was hoarse and weak but her light joke was like music to his ears. “And I really can’t tell you what happened to me.” John frowned. “I can’t tell you because I don’t even know what happened. I just get these things sometimes. It feels like I’ve lost control of everything and sometimes it feels like I’m about to die. Like just before.” Her voice broke and her face dropped, her own words upsetting her. Tears pooled in her eyes. The sudden change of mood forced John to make an irrational decision. He shot forward before she could encase herself in her own arms again. His arms held her tight. He knew that despite how awkward everything would be later, this was the right thing to do.

He rocked her against him. Tears streamed down her cheeks uncontrollably and John brushed them away softly. He rubbed circles into her back, hoping it would soothe her sobs. He relaxed and knew he was helping when he felt her sink and cuddle closer into his chest. Her arms went under his jacket and she breathed in the oddly comforting scent of John.

“It’s alright, love, just relax.” John muttered, holding her closer. She sniveled and rested her head just above his heart. The soft thumps timed with the rise and fall of his chest lulled her tears into drying. He continued to rub circles into her back and he began to hum one of his songs. She recognised the tune. It was ‘In Spite of All the Danger’. Y/N closed her eyes. She decided she’d listen this time.

[mapping-constellations]

“Hey. I was going through my database and I found this.. Earth video.” Snicker. “Wanna watch it?” It’s 2 Girls 1 Cup. Considering he’s known for having like.. the most comprehensive collection of snuff films this side of Cybertron, it’s in your best interests to say fuck no.

[disgraced-doctor-junkenstein]

Response to Like/reblog for a nightmare with our muses @primedspecimen Title: Mighty Fine Hole

At first there is nothing but darkness and warmth. It’s as if he’s laying under the open sky in the Outback with his eyes closed, just listening to the sound of nature in the distance. He half expects to hear a howl of a dingo but instead the noise that cuts through the darkness is of steel sinking into dry earth.  Titch, titch, titch... It’s almost rhythmic in pattern. Primed finds himself sitting up but there is no color to be seen. Everything feels saturated but scaled in silvery grey as if it’s drenched in moonlight. He looks up to see that the moon itself is missing but everything is somehow lit.  Titch, titch, titch... Humming now intermixes with the strange noise. It’s tempo not matching whatsoever but it’s almost a relief to hear someone else. “Wish I could synthesize a picture perfect guy-” A soft grunt and pause in the beat. “Oh I, oh I- Eh heh heh~” Laughter breaks the cheery tune. The voice sounds strangely like his own. Primed pushed himself up with mismatched hands only to find himself suddenly in the bottom of a hole. The height double his own and impossible to jump though he still plans to scale it. It’s just as he reaches up to grab at the protruding roots that someone pokes their head into view from above. The action so sudden that it startles Primed and he steps backward, backside meeting dampened dirt. With an adjustment of his goggles, the stranger tsks at Primed. “Mighty fine hole you dug for yourself. Mighty fine indeed.” The stranger looks almost like himself with some key differences but before he can get a word out, Primed is cutoff. ”My name is Doctor Jamison Junkenstein but I don’t know why it matters to you. You’ll never remember it anyway.” There is a wickedness that lingers in Junkenstein’s tone as if he finds the situation insulting to him somehow.  Titch. Junkenstein begins to shovel dirt into the hole. The loose soil landing all over Primed and he begins to shout at the other to knock it off. Can’t that idiot see he needs help getting out of this hole? ”You made this hole for yourself, dear boy. So why should I help you out after what you’ve done?” Clearly the doctor is mad. He doesn’t know how but he knows from a short glimpse of his bust that this Junkenstein creep is either a doctor or a scientist, possibly both, and the most unhelpful git in the world. More dirt rains from above along with the awful scraping of the shovel head gathering even more to toss in.  ”I didn’t butcher the love of my life like a pig. No, not even I could do that! That would stain even the bloodiest of hands with something truly vile.” Junkenstein tsked.  Cold dirt struck Primed in the face, forcing him to close and rub it from his eyes. By the time they opened he had a shovel in his hands and was looking down into a nearly completed plot. The odd doctor peering up at him with just his face poking out along with one arm. A dark liquid running down the corner of his mouth though he still held that awful smile. ”Why did you do it? I understand the need to keep me quiet but why did you kill him?”

Primed moved without any control over himself, shoveling dirt into the other’s face that was gnashed between teeth with muffled giggling.  “You can hide me but you’ll never bury the truth~” Junkenstein singsonged. Exposed fingers drumming along the loose soil under them. “You killed him.” Lightning cracked behind the junker turning everything a brilliant white. As it faded Primed found himself holding an all too familiar swine mask. A dark liquid dripping off it. The cold sensation of dread weaving itself into his chest as numb hands turned it over. The dark liquid taking on color of rich crimson that now poured from the mask’s eye holes. Defying physics and running up and over his hands, staining his grimy skin with blood. Roadhog’s blood. The mask fell from his grasp but as it struck the ground it morphed into a severed head. Long silver hair strung out in all directions as eyes devoid of life met his own.  “Your actions caused this. If it weren’t for you he would still be alive.” Hands grabbed Primed’s shoulders, forcibly spinning him around to face Junkenstein who was clean as ever. “Why did you kill him? He only loved you. Is that so wrong?” He was falling now. The sky itself swirling with the ground like water down a drain. Everything fluid and spinning rapidly until Primed landed on something hard. The world still shaded in silver except for his crimson hands. The floor beneath him started to crack and splinter. His own reflection staring back up at him, wide eyed and trembling.  “Are you okay?” Roadhog’s rusty voice asked. The ground was glass and on the other side was Roadhog. A large meaty paw of a hand reaching for him but the glass was now splitting. Thin lines spider-webbing across the smooth surface and despite his lean frame, Primed fell through. His own voice echoing, screaming for Roadhog until he began to choke. Blood bubbling up from his own throat that he somehow knew wasn’t his.  “Why did you do it? He only loved you.” Junkenstein’s voice whispered from everywhere all at once though he was not to be seen. Primed’s head felt like it was filling up with pressure. A balloon about to pop. “Why? Why? Why?” The simple question building up as the junker screamed without a sound, the taste of iron overwhelming. Both hands clawing at his head until it all came to a screeching halt. Lowering his arms slowly did he then notice his attire had changed to that of the stranger, Dr. Junkenstein’s.  “A mighty fine hole you’ve dug yourself. Mighty fine indeed.” The words falling from his mouth as he picked up a shovel and started to dig.  Titch, titch, titch...

[copper-wasp]

Ignis Scientia x Reader: Kisses (Part 5/?)

From an ongoing series of short one-shots regarding kissing our favorite pretty boy quartet.

Also posted to AO3

Rated: T

Words: 1919

You were late. Very late.

Late for the bus home and your stepmom was going to kill you if she had to come pick you up again this week.

The door to the bus loading area was in sight, and you pushed open the door to find... that your bus had left already.

“Son of a...” you swore, dropping your bag at your feet. “Shit! If only I had my own car, I wouldn’t have to deal with this crap!” You groaned, bending down to pick up your bag. You walked back inside the school, heading to the main entrance to call your stepmom, mentally preparing yourself to be chewed out.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you scrolled to her phone number, thumb hovering over her contact to call her as you walked past the music room. You tapped on her number, hearing the phone ring on the other end as you stepped past the door. You quickly backed up though, stopping at the slightly ajar door and turning your head as you heard the piano being played. You quickly canceled the call and slid your phone back into your pocket. Slowly, you moved your head to the small rectangular window in the door, just letting one eye peek into the room.

It was a boy from your English class, Ignis, seated behind the piano, fingers tracing over the keys. You didn’t know much about him, but he’d help you get oriented if you started daydreaming during class, always telling you which page number you were on in whatever dry, old book the class was reading. You sat with him at lunch sometimes too, whenever you couldn’t hide in the art room. He always had some immaculately prepared meal, and you were severely jealous, as food was one of the great loves of your life.

I didn’t know he played the piano, you thought to yourself, moving your head to the crack in the door to hear what he was playing unobstructed. The song was vaguely familiar to you, also very beautiful, and you pushed open the door just a bit more, sticking your head fully into the room. Luckily the piano was situated so that you were watching him from the side, and he’d only be able to see you if he looked over to his left. You smiled to yourself as you watched him play, completely engrossed. He made it look effortless, his slender fingers dancing over the keys. You quietly moved yourself completely into the room, sitting down silently on a stool by the door.

You were completely enthralled, and you rested your chin on your hand, not taking your eyes off of him, until your phone rang, loudly, in your pocket, OutKast’s “Ms. Jackson” quickly overpowering Ignis’s skillful playing.

“I’M SORRY MISS JACKSON - OOH - I AM FOR REEEEEEEAL.... NEVER MEANT TO MAKE YOUR DAUGHTER CRY, I APOLOGIZE A TRILLION TIMES....” sang André 3000 as you scrambled to extract your phone from your pocket, finally silencing it. You looked up guiltily at Ignis, who was very amused.

“I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I was just walking by and I heard you playing and I thought I’d just sneak out when you were done and I guess that was my stepmom calling me back because I missed my bus and I need a ride home and-“

“It’s all right,” he interrupted your ranting, giving you a smile. Your phone vibrated again, and you looked at the screen to see it was your stepmom calling you back. Giving Ignis a withering look, you stepped out into the hallway, and answered the call, the chewing out immediately beginning.

When you crept back into the music room, Ignis was just letting his hands flit over the keys, a natural melody forming. He glanced over at you when he heard the door open again, and you grabbed your bag, ready to walk home, as your stepmom was not willing to come get your for the second day in a row.

“Everything okay?” he asked, pulling out another booklet of sheet music from his backpack on the floor.

“Fine, yeah. I just have to walk home because my stepmom won’t come get me. Because I’m apparently very irresponsible,” you said, rolling your eyes, very salty about the whole thing.

“I can drive you home,” he offered, flexing his fingers before setting them back on the keys.

“Wait...really?” you asked, pulling the second strap of your backpack on.

“Sure. I’d like to practice for a bit longer though, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“No, no, of course I don’t mind. That would be great, thank you so much,” you said, shrugging out of your backpack. You sat at one of the free chairs near the piano, dragging your heavy backpack behind you. “That’s really nice of you to offer, Ignis. I was really not looking forward to walking home in these shoes,” you commented, wagging your feet, clad in a pair of wedge sandals.

His eyes flicked to your shoes before he chuckled, focusing his attention back on the piano.

“Can I ask what you were playing before OutKast ruined it?”

He smiled again, meeting your eyes over the rim of his glasses. “It was Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2.”

“It...uh, sounded really good,” you replied lamely, crossing your legs.

“Thank you. I hit a lot of sour notes though, some of the trills are difficult to nail.”

“I didn’t notice,” you said with a giggle, “but I am just uncultured swine.”

“I saw you reading Siddhartha the other day in English class after the test, believe me, uncultured people don’t read Hermann Hesse,” he said, and you flushed just a little.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from practicing. My phone is on silent,” you deflected.

He nodded, and immediately began playing again. This one you knew very well, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He stopped and started up again a few times, making sure he got each part just right. You leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes flutter shut as he played the first movement a few times.

You didn't know how much time had passed when you heard the thunk of the fall as it covered the keys. You opened your eyes to look at Ignis, who was packing away his music. "Ready to go?" he asked, zipping up his backpack.

"Sure. Thank you again for offering to drive me home. And for letting me listen to you play. It was...wonderful," you replied, standing up and gathering your things.

"You are very welcome," he said, gesturing towards the door.

You started "missing" the bus conveniently on Mondays and Wednesdays when Ignis would stay after school to practice. He picked up pretty quickly that you were doing it on purpose, but said that he was glad for the company, and he would gladly drive you home. You, on the other hand, picked up pretty quickly that you liked him; more than just a casual acquaintance or someone you sat next to in class.

You were in your usual seat in the music room as he played Für Elise, and your eyes were glued to him. Not to his hands, but to his face, watching his expressions change as he lovingly stroked the keys, seeing his tongue dart out to moisten his bottom lip as he would go through one of the more difficult sections. You couldn't keep the smile off of your face as you looked at him, saw his passion and dedication with each note he played.

Taking a break after playing for a while, he glanced over at you. "I never asked, do you play at all? Since you seem to enjoy listening to the piano so much."

You looked at him for a moment, before a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Well, of course I do, Iggy." You stood quickly, smoothing your dress down and marching over to the bench. Motioning for him to scoot over, you sat next to him, clearing your throat and dramatically stretching your arms over your head.

You proceeded to pound out the jankiest version of chopsticks that you could, hearing Ignis burst out laughing on the bench next to you. You soon joined him, leaning against his shoulder. "I told you I could play," you said after getting your giggles under control.

"That was the most perfect rendition of chopsticks I have ever heard," he said, stifling another laugh. You moved to stand, but felt his hand on your wrist. You looked over at him, with an eyebrow raised. "You can sit here... er... if you want," he said quietly, and you were sure it was the first time you'd ever heard him sound nervous, ever.

"Okay, but won't I be in your way?"

He shook his head, moving to hover his hands over the keys once again. He started at the beginning of Für Elise, and you were even more enraptured watching his fingers delicately work, now that you were infinitely closer than before. Whenever he would have to reach towards the right hand side, his forearm would gently brush against you, but it didn't seem to throw off his rhythm. Your eyes traced up and down each finger, moving up to his wrist, then his forearm and bicep, and on to his neck. You licked your lips, eyes pinned on his, parted a little as he played.

You turned towards him on the bench, raising your hand up to place it on his cheek, turning his face to yours. His hands slipped a little on the piano as he met your eyes, a little confusion reflecting in his very green ones. You surged forward, pressing your lips against his, and you heard a discordant thonk as his hands pressed down on the keys. He didn't kiss you back at first, but after just a moment, you felt him place his hands gingerly on your neck, his lips applying more pressure to yours. It was a nervous first kiss, your heart racing and breaths coming hard and fast, but you were glad that you had the courage to initiate.

You broke apart for a breath, but were surprised when Iggy's mouth chased after yours, kissing you more fervently than before. His lips were soft and warm, and so were his hands, still on your neck. You draped your hands over his shoulders, rubbing your fingers on the soft fabric of his shirt. When you broke apart again, you could see his cheeks were bright red, and you were sure yours were too. He smiled at you, leaning in once more to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

"I'm not even remotely complaining, but can I ask why...you just...?" he asked, searching your face.

You bit your lip. "Because... I like you. It felt like the right moment... I guess?" you replied, nervously wringing your hands and looking down at your lap.

He tilted your chin up with a finger, leaning in again to capture your lips in another gentle kiss. "I like you too," he said, grabbing your hand and running his thumb over your knuckles.

You tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking in his eyes again. "Okay, Mozart, will you play for me some more?" you asked, trying to break the awkward tension a little.

"Only if I can kiss you again when I'm done?"

You smiled at him. "Of course you can."

Thank you for reading!!

The songs played are: Nocturne Op 9 No. 2 composed by Frédéric Chopin Moonlight Sonata (1st Movement) composed by Ludwig van Beethoven Für Elise composed by Ludwig van Beethoven

Ms. Jackson composed by André Benjamin, Antwan Patton, David Sheats, Richard Wagner, Stan Watts & Shuggie Otis

Find me on:

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Totally Awesome

by Viorica

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Viorica finds a Potter-related bit of media that actually deserves the hype

Oooh! This is in the Axis of Awesome!~

Parodies are a tricky thing. If you've got too much of a hate-on for the source material, you end up being too bitter; if you love the source material too much, you can't effectively make fun of its flaws; and if you just don't care either way, you get something like this. It's a difficult tightrope to walk, but when you're lucky/talented enough to get it right, you end up with A Very Potter Musical. Written by college-aged fans of the Potter series, it combines the best of the original series with the talent of the actors and writers involved, and ends up eclipsing the source material entirely.

The story takes place in Harry's second year, and encompasses the events of all seven books. Harry and his friends (with Ron's sister Ginny in tow) arrive at Hogwarts to discover that the new teacher Professor Quirrel has R

resurrected the House Cup (which is basically a one-school Triwizard Tournament) as part of Voldemort's plan to capture Harry Potter under a bumbling Dumbledore's very nose. It's hard to describe the rest of the plot without going into spoilery detail (which I'll be doing in the next paragraph anyway . . .) but suffice to say, problems arise, relationships are formed, and Team Potter must go up against Voldemort and his Death Eaters- though ironically, Voldemort's ultimate fate owes more to the "love conquers all" theme which the books neglected and the musical effectively puts into use.

When I said in the first paragraph that the musical is an improvement on the books, I meant it. The plotting is much more streamlined (for one thing, the Trio doesn't spend months sitting in a tent, and actually condemns the seventh book's plot as "stupid") the characters more likeable, and the biggest problems with the book-

tokenism

,

Dumbledore's lecturing

,and the

delusions of grandeur

are removed in favour of canonical gay characters (the main couple is, in fact, gay, and Voldemort's redemption comes about from his affection for Quirrell- quite a divergence from Rowling's choiceless choices) a Dumbledore whose stupidity and blindness is repeatedly mocked, and a pervading knowledge that this is, in fact, a very silly story. For instance, Malfoy's conviction that there is a wizarding school called Pigfarts located on Mars and presided over by a talking lion turns out to be true; after all, how is it more ridiculous than the main concept of the franchise? The musical also addresses such all-important questions like:

How did Quirrell sleep with Voldemort on the back of his head?

Why did Dumbledore trust Snape, anyway?

What happens when two people who share one stomach get drunk?

In addition to lampshading the flaws and inconsistencies of the original series ("I just put anyone who looks like a good guy into Gryffindor, anyone who looks like a bad guy into Slytherin, and the rest can go wherever they want." "Can anyone tell me what a Portkey is? . . . Well, can anyone tell me what

foreshadowing

is?") the musical can stand on its own as a creative product. The songs are entertaining and catchy - the fan favourite seems to be "Granger Danger", but my own is "Gotta Get Back To Hogwarts:"

We're sick of summer and this waiting around It's like we're sitting in the lost and found Don't take no sorcery For anyone to see how... We gotta get back to hogwarts We gotta get back to school We gotta get back to hogwarts Where everything is magic-cooooool Back to wizards and witches, and magical beasts To goblins and ghosts and to magical feasts It's all that I love, and it's all that I need at HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS I think I'm goin' back!

But of course none of the material would be entertaining without good actors to support it, and the cast rises admirably to the task. The three leads - Darren Criss as Harry, Joey Ritcher as Ron, and Bonnie Gruesen as Hermione - all bring the right balance of likeability and flaws to their roles, but it's the secondary characters who steal the show. I suspect that Joe Moses (Snape) is familiar with the Harry Potter fandom, because his Snape is a perfect parody of the fanon version, right down to his exaggerated purr of a voice. Joe Walker makes a truly hilarious Voldemort, especially given that he has to deliver lines like "Get me some Nasonex, you swine!" with a stright face (though I am surprised that his voice held out through five performances, given the amount of growling that was involved.) with Brian Rosenthal serving as his quieter, gentler (but no less funny) counterpart. Lauren Lopez as Malfoy steals every scene she's in, with her exaggerated accent and habit of rolling around the stage. Even Goyle, who barely has any lines, cracks the audience up every time he opens his mouth. While Britney Coleman, who plays Bellatrix, has caught some flak from YouTube commenters for being "irritating" she didn't really get on my nerves. The worst you can say of her is that she didn't leave any impression at all- and with a cast this good, less-than-perfect performances can easily be buried in their better counterparts.

All in all, the musical is recommended to anyone who has a passing familiarity with the HP canon. Honestly, it's a shame that this show can't make any money, being an unauthorized parody. It's really the only thing connected to Harry Potter that I wholeheartedly enjoy, one that actually earns it's tagline of "Totally awesome"Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Theatre

~

bookmark this with - facebook - delicious - digg - stumbleupon - reddit

~Comments (

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)

Wardog

at 11:03 on 2009-10-14Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, this is, in fact, *totally awesome*.

The hot female Malfoy is making me go wibbly.

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Andy G

at 13:01 on 2009-10-14This is brilliant! I love every scene with Voldemort and Quirrell in particular.

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Wardog

at 13:50 on 2009-10-14"Your plan to infilitrate Hogwarts on the back of my head is going swimmingly, my liege..." BEST LINE EVER!

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Melissa G.

at 23:23 on 2009-10-14Loved it! Thanks for bringing this to my attention.

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Viorica

at 01:54 on 2009-10-15Have you gotten to Voldemort's big tapdance number yet?

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Jamie Johnston

at 21:28 on 2009-10-16Fab. Those kids deserve to go far.

But can someone explain to me the thing with Malfoy falling down and rolling around all the time? Bear in mind all I know about

Potter

comes from three of the films (1, 2, and 4, I think) and anything I've picked up from conversations and

Ferretbrain

articles.

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Viorica

at 22:41 on 2009-10-16Honestly, I'm not really sure. I think it's just the actor being goofy.

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Andy G

at 10:15 on 2009-10-17I saw it as being a bit of a spoof of femme fatales or female villains writhing round the stage in dance shows/musicals, rather than anything based around the books.

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Melissa G.

at 16:54 on 2009-10-17I don't know. I kind of saw that as an exaggeration of how over the top Malfoy can be. It seemed somehow fitting to a caricature of his character.

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http://mmmarcusz.livejournal.com/

at 23:57 on 2009-10-17I think it's meant as a reference to how Malfoy is always described as striking a pose ("lounging", "preening", etc.) and this is just an over-the-top extension of that. Also, was I the only one who found the Draco actress incredibly cute?

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http://tabaquis.livejournal.com/

at 06:49 on 2009-10-19I adore a VHPM, which is great because I too have become completely tired of That Woman and Those Books being touted as any kind of coherent literature.

I do think the guy playing Snape was totally channeling Kevin MacDonald's "Simon" from Kids in the Hall though! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TC4PjXNt2gw

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Wardog

at 11:14 on 2009-10-20

I think it's meant as a reference to how Malfoy is always described as striking a pose ("lounging", "preening", etc.) and this is just an over-the-top extension of that. Also, was I the only one who found the Draco actress incredibly cute?

Yeah, that's what I thought as well.

And, yes, she is amazingly, wibble-inducingly hot. Me likey.

Also I notice the musical has a delightfully arch relationship with the fandom - so I think purring, rolling, lounging Malfoy was a nod to both the books and his typically depicated fandom persona.

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Montavilla

at 01:58 on 2009-10-21So glad to see appreciation for this musical. I just loved it.

It's hard to say what makes Lauren Lopez so perfect as Malfoy, except everything. The ponchy accent, the constant posing, the way she's always trying (and failing) to get Harry's attention. Somehow Draco just *is* a 12-year-old girl.

And I liked Bellatrix. She's somewhat annoying with the screaming, but that is Bellatrix, and I love that they aren't being coy about her and Voldemort having a sexual relationship. It's only one of the ways in which the musical trumps the books.

I crack up everytime I think about her face when Voldemort sits on the desk. You can see that she's still trying to make it work--but she's kind of catching on to what he's really up to.

But *everyone* is so excellent. I showed this to some of mine and we all kept remarking on how perfectly perfect Cedric Diggory is. I love the entrance of Cho Chang and just that look that the Asian actress gives. It's almost her only moment in the whole show and she makes the most of it.

You can tell that the entire cast is having a great time playing their parts--and the audience is loving it as well. And that's what makes a great live performance.

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http://for-diddled.livejournal.com/

at 21:08 on 2010-08-08Just thought you chaps might be interested to know that they've made a sequel, which can be found here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OepW-AG-Ris&feature=PlayList&p=86C718AEE71C9DE9&playnext=1&index=7

[little-chimchim]

Champion- Part 4

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4318

Genre: gladiator au! smut, angst, fluff (Holy trinity)

Pairing: Shownu x Reader

A/N: So, this part is a lot longer than usual and I really hope you guys enjoy. Let me know how you like this part! I love you all- Kay

Part 3  Part 5

It had been nearly a month without word of Shownu. You scavenged around the entire kingdom attempting to find any information on the wounded warrior. After a week of nothing, you had assumed the worse; he had died inside that room. Even whilst in the gladiators quarters, no one uttered his name. It was as if he had fallen off the face of the Earth.

You had pressed Minhyuk for information, but even the young gladiator had no news for you.

After the week of holding on to a slight semblance of hope, you had come to the point of believing that he was dead. It hit you hard. One moment he was alive and well, conquering the arena as if it were his own. Then the next, he was on the ground, bleeding out as Jeongmin stood over him, a sick smile plastered to his face.

In weeks following his death, you hadn’t been able to breath without it hurting. You couldn’t stand without crashing to the ground, your legs too weak to hold the weight over your body. You moved through the palace like a ghost, numb and emotionless to the elements around you.

Your father blamed the sudden bout of strange emotions on the wedding. He believed that you were nervous to get married to Hyunwoo, as most brides to be are before the big day. Yet, that was the farthest thing from the truth. You had lost the love of your life, and you cursed yourself for not being able to say goodbye to him before his body disappeared.

You pushed your food around your plate, absentmindedly staring at the delicacies before you. You and your father sat in silence as you did so. Though, your father watched you with a keen eye. He observed your little actions as he tried to make sense of your quiet behavior.

“Hyunwoo is coming to visit us for a few days, Y/N. Would you enjoy that? Would that make you feel better, my child?” Your father finally broke the silence surrounding the two of you.

You looked up from your plate and stared at him with a saddened frown. “I suppose,” You muttered as you looked back down to the glass plate. It wasn’t a lie, you truly did want to see Hyunwoo, it had been weeks since he went back to his own home. And in his absence, you realized that you need him more than anything, as a friend to guide you through your grief.

Your father smiled to himself as he joyously took a large bite of food. You pushed your still full platter of food away from you, having no appetite to eat. You got up from the polished wooden chair and forced a smile towards your father. “I’m going to bed, papa, I will see you tomorrow.” You said quietly as you walked away from the table.

--------

You pulled off your mask and threw your sword to the ground angrily. Minhyuk turned around to face you, his brow raised in concern. He slowly walked to you and gently rubbed your back. It was just the two of you tonight in the training yard, everyone else had gone to bed many hours prior. Minhyuk took a deep breath before his little movements on your back turned into a tight embrace.

“I know you miss him, Y/N. We all do. Even those of us who fought him in the arena miss him, even if they won’t admit it.” MInhyuk whispered as he comforted you.

You tried containing your tears. You hurt. You hurt so much that breathing pained you. Not having Shownu with you was the most torturous hell that you could endure. All you wanted was to be in his arms, to be able to talk to him one last time.

“Why haven’t they told us anything? Why won’t they tell us if he’s dead?” You sobbed into your friend’s shoulder.

Minhyuk loosened the embrace and shook his head, “Because saying it makes it all to real,” He muttered. His voice shook while he spoke, as if he too was trying to conceal the fact that he would cry at any given moment.

You pulled away from Minhyuk and wiped away your tears. He had seen you for who your truly were and he never stepped away, much to your relief. Minhyuk stood over you and rustled your hair playfully. He sniffled and shook his blond head. “But you can’t stop being you. Hyunwoo wouldn’t want that.” He whispered, a faint smile played at his lips.

You nodded your head and ran a dirt covered had through your messy hair. Minhyuk was right. You refused to give up fighting, not when Shownu gave his life for it. You fisted the cloth mask in your hands and brought it back up to your face.

You closed your eyes and wrapped it around your face. You were more motivated to fight than ever before. You bent down low and grabbed the sword from the ground. You raised it up and thrusted it towards Minhyuk, who deflected it with his shield.

He laughed and brought his own sword forward. “That’s the Ilissa I know,” He cheered before continuing on with your sparring match.

--------

Hyunwoo arrived the following night. He came in as if he had never left. He spoke to the servants with a familiar kindness that seemed to only brighten their spirits. He walked around like he had lived there his entire life and he conversed with your father like the son he had never been able to produce. He was loved by all that inhabited the castle, and it only brought more enthusiasm towards your wedding.

The three of you were sitting around the dining table the night Hyunwoo arrived. He and your father made small talk as Hyunwoo caught the two of you up on what happened over the past month that he had been gone.

It was nothing exciting. He worked with his father and visited the kingdom’s library, and that was the end of the interesting things that he had done. You had pushed around your food just as you had done the night prior, your stomach churned at the thought of consuming the food in front of you.

You hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation until a certain name was brought up.

“Did you hear the news about Shownu? Your father brought it up so casually, so simply, like the name meant nothing to him. Hyunwoo stiffened his posture. He pulled his fork away from his mouth and slowly set it back down on his plate.

“I-I don’t believe I have,” He stuttered. His voice went quiet, a complete contrast from how he had been speaking just moments before. You glanced over to your father. You felt your heart begin to pick up speed just by the mention of Shownu’s name.

Your father sighed audibly and crossed his arms over his wide body. “Poor kid was killed in battle a while back. It’s a shame, he was the best of them. Though, that Jeongmin fellow has a promising future ahead of him. If he dropped the gladiator act right now, I would offer him a noble position in the military. Hell,” Your father started to laugh breathlessly, “If I had another daughter I would offer her to him. It wouldn’t be a bad match politically. It would increase favo-”

“But you don’t have another daughter, Father. And even if you did, I wouldn’t allow her to marry that swine’s ass of a man. She’d be better off marrying a frail and weak horse than to be caught anywhere near Jeongmin.” You snapped, saying your first words of the night.

Your father and Hyunwoo both looked at you, wide eyed and full of shock. Your father furrowed his brow and grimaced, “Those are no such words for a princess to use. Especially in the presence of her betrothed. Now why don’t you apo-”

“I will do no such thing, papa. Not when you are sitting here praising a vindictive little imp such as Jeongmin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will be going to my room. Thank you and good night.” You said bitterly as you pulled away from the table and padded your feet towards the door of the dining hall.

You opened the door and promptly slammed it behind you, leaving your father and Hyunwoo alone in the room.

---------

“Don’t come in,” You muttered in response to the knocks at your door. Even as you said that, the knocks continued to persist. It was a soft rapping sound upon the wood, and even by the noise, you could tell that it wasn’t your father.

You got up from your bed and frantically wiped the tears away from your cheeks. You knew your eyes were red and swollen, but there was nothing that you could do about it now. You blinked away the stinging pain in your eyes and slowly cracked open your bedroom door. Hyunwoo pushed open the door further and walked inside, despite your protests telling him not to come in. He pivoted on his heel and closed the door.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” Hyunwoo asked gently. He turned to face you while he spoke. You merely shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. You leaned against your wall and wrapped your arms around your chest.

“Nothing,” You lied.

Hyunwoo rolled his eyes and looked over the entirety of your body. “Your eyes are red, your father told me you haven’t been eating, and judging by your little outburst towards Jeongmin, I can tell that you are bottling up some pretty deep emotions.” He said it as if he had made the next big scientific discovery.

You brought your eyes up to face him. He looked back to you, and you could see in his eyes that he was truly concerned for your health. Hyunwoo calmly brought the palm of his hand up to cup one of your cheeks.

You leaned into his hand and shut your eyes. You pushed the pent up tears out of their sockets and let yourself cry in front of Hyunwoo. “I’m heartbroken, Hyunwoo. I just, I don’t know what to do. I feel sick and I just, I miss him so much.” You cried.

Hyunwoo took his hand away and quickly replaced it with a hug, much like Minhyuk had done the previous night. He brought his lips down to the top of your head and kissed your hair as he ran his hand over the fabric of your dress.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’ll stay here too if you want.” He murmured down to you.

You slightly pulled away to look into his eyes. You stood there in a heavy silence before you decided to speak once again. “Kiss me,” You didn’t know exactly what came over you, or why you were even asking him to do so in the first place. You blamed the intense need to do something to get your mind away from Shownu. You blamed the feeling of loneliness. And perhaps a combination of the pair.

Hyunwoo blinked a few times and scrunched up his nose in confusion. “You want me to kiss you?” He asked, just to make sure that he had heard exactly what you had muttered to him. You nodded you head slowly, “Yes. Hyunwoo please. I need to get my mind off of it, even if it’s for a short few minutes.” You pleaded.

Hyunwoo sighed while nodding his head, “Fine...just close your eyes.” He said shyly. You followed his request and quickly clamped your eyes just. You sucked in a heavy breath and waited for Hyunwoo to lean in.

His lips were on yours in no time. Hyunwoo didn’t bother with the slow anticipation leading up to the kiss. His mouth was delicate on yours, nearly a faint brush of lips before he deepened the kiss.

Your arms hooked around Hyunwoo’s neck, pulling him closer to your body. His hands trailed their way down your torso until they rested above your hips tightly. Hyunwoo backed you against the wall. The heat radiating off his body was intense, and the closer he got to you, the hotter it became.

His mouth broke away from yours, but he continued to press wet pecks along your jawline, as he slowly made his way down to the base of your neck. You ran your fingers through his hair and held him close while he sucked at your skin.

A faint sigh escaped your lips, and Hyunwoo took this as a sign to continue what he was doing. Hyunwoo looked up to you and grabbed your wrists. He pulled you away from the wall and tugged you towards your bed.

“Hyunwoo, we don’t have to do-”

Hyunwoo pressed your shoulder, signifying for you to lean back onto the cushioned mattress. You looked up to your ceiling and then to Hyunwoo, who was still standing in front of you, a soft grin on his face.

“I told you that I’m going to get your mind off of your heartbreak. So let me do that.” He whispered. The young man lowered himself onto his knees in front of the bed. He played with the fabric of your dress, rolling it in his fingers and letting it flow over his hands.

Slowly, he started to push the cloth up your legs. At this point, you knew he was teasing you and it drove you insane. To move things along, you pulled your dress the rest of the way up, revealing the lacy cloth that covered your heat.

Hyunwoo smirked once he saw how eager you were to do this. He held onto your thighs and pulled you closer to him. He trailed his hand up your thigh and hooked a finger around the fabric.

He pulled it to the side and leaned in, carefully placing gentle kisses along your wet heat. Once his lips made contact, you arched your back, not having expected the sudden feeling. Soon enough, his tongue slipped between your folds, running it up and down your heat slowly.

You gasped and ran your fingers through his black hair, pushing him closer to you. He continued to move his tongue around your heat, going quicker with each passing second. Within no time he had you moaning his name as he brought you closer to your high.

It didn’t take long before you were groaning loudly, overcome by a sudden orgasm. You took a deep breath and looked down at Shownu, who had just pulled away from you. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and leaned in to hover over you.

His lips were back on your own as he hungrily moved his hands down to your hips. Your fingers trailed down his chest as you went lower to take a hold of the hem of his top. You dragged your hand down his side but Hyunwoo winced once you did so

. His eyes closed and scrunched together in pain while you touched the area of his side. You dragged your hand away from the sensitive area and looked at him, puzzled by his strange reaction to your touch.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned as you watched him go back to normal. Hyunwoo shook his head and went back to hovering over you. “Nothing, let’s continue.” He breathed out as he leaned back in.

You moved your body away from his and rolled over to face him. “Hyunwoo, what’s wrong?” You asked once again. You weren’t going to stop pestering him until he told you what happened.

Hyunwoo shook his head and scootched off of your bed. “It’s nothing, Y/N. We can stop here-” He was trying to walk away from you, but you grabbed onto his hand before he could leave.

You pulled him back to you and gripped tightly onto the cotton of his top. Before he could move away, you caught a glimpse of the white bandages that were wrapped tightly around his lower abdomen.

Hyunwoo tore away from you and pulled his shirt back over his stomach. “I think it’s time for me to go to m-”

You looked at him in shock, unsure how to feel about the fact that he was so desperately trying to cover up the wound on his stomach. You stood up from your bed and rushed over to your door, sprawling yourself in front of it to prevent him from leaving your room. “Hyunwoo, tell me what happened,” You commanded him, but the nobleman refused to budge.

He stayed still and waited for you to move out of the way, but much like he, you were also as stubborn as a mule. “Why won’t you tell me what happened? Was it a hunting accident? Were you attacked? Was it an animal? What are you hid-”

Hyunwoo shook his head in your direction. Instead he clasped onto your shoulders and tried to move you out of the way, but he froze when a few certain words left your mouth. “Was it Jeongmin?” You asked him. It was almost a whisper, and fully a shot in the dark, but a part of you felt as if it was a question that needed to be asked.

Hyunwoo remained silent. Instead, he tried pushing you out of the way again, but you refused to let him leave through the wooden door.

Your heart sank to your stomach, and the tears started to pool at your eyes again. Though, this time, it was for an entirely different reason than before. “Shownu?” You wondered. This was him, he was standing before you in the flesh, and you could barely comprehend it.

Hyunwoo paused and took a glance at your joyous expression. He didn’t understand why you would be happy to see a dead gladiator, not when the royals had little to do with them. But seeing how your eyes lit up, and seeing the tears stream down your cheeks, Hyunwoo realized something that should have taken him only seconds to do so in the first place.

“Ilissa?” His tone was gruff, as if he wasn’t fully believing the words that came from his mouth. You were on him in a second. Your arms wrapped around his neck and held him so tightly that you didn’t want to let go.

Hyunwoo’s mouth hung open, he couldn’t believe what was happening. You were here, in front of him the entire time. The love of his life had truly been the woman he had been forced to get engaged to.

You pulled away from the hug and turned back to glare and Hyunwoo, who’s bright smile couldn’t falter even if he tried. “Why didn’t you tell Minhyuk and I that you were alive? I’ve spent the past month thinking that Jeongmin had killed you. Hyunwoo, you saw me at dinner, I’ve been a wreck without you.” You whispered to him. His expression changed from overjoyed to guilt faster than light.

He pulled you to his chest and sighed. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have told you, I do regret not telling. They patched me up and I left the infirmary without telling anyone. I had to get back to my father before he found out.  But that doesn’t matter right now, Y/N. Look at us, look at where we are. We have each other now. You know me and I know you and we’re getting married. I can’t ask for anything better than that.” He grinned towards you. He bent his head and kissed your hair, like he had just done an hour ago.

Though this time, there was something more than just friendship between the two of you. It was quite an ironic situation. You had fallen in love with a masked man, yet you were being forced to marry another. It was quite funny to think that they were the same man all alone.

You smiled the brightest smile you could muster and pulled Hyunwoo close to you. “Do you remember what you said to me before you battled Jeongmin?” You asked coyly, smirking to him as he thought about his past words.

“I love you,” He said as the memories came back to him. Those were the only words you wished to hear. You smiled and leaned over to press a meek kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, Hyunwoo.” You responded.

Hyunwoo grabbed your hips and pulled you to the bed, bringing you down with him. “I love you, and I will say the same thing every single day for the rest of our lives.” Hyunwoo whispered before pressing his lips to yours, this time, the two of you didn’t stop.

--------

You woke up to a cold bed. You turned over and reached over to feel for Hyunwoo, who wasn’t anywhere to be seen. You pulled yourself away from the comfort of the covers and wrapped the silk robes around your body. You rubbed your eyes groggily and searched around, with no sight of Hyunwoo to be seen.

You looked around the entirety of your wing of the palace, with no such luck of finding Hyunwoo. The halls seemed almost lonely, not a soul could be found in the vacant marble passageways.

Curious, you continued to look around for everyone. You figured that Hyunwoo had gone to eat breakfast, most likely with your father and his men. You scurried through the halls, your bare feet stung from the chilliness of the floor, the sooner you could find Hyunwoo, the better.

There were a slew of guards outside the dining room, all standing watch and waiting for someone to pass by them. When you came near, they all bowed their heads in greetings. “Good morning, Princess.” One of the said loudly as you walked towards the door.

“What’s going on?” You asked them while they cleared away from the door. The guards remained silent, leaving your question unanswered. You hesitantly reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open to the dining room.

There were three men sitting at the long table. Your father, who sat at the head of the table, looked angrily between the two other men. Hyunwoo sat with his fingers laced together, his hands in his lap.

The other man, who you had not expected to see so soon, looked down at Hyunwoo, a playful smirk on his lips. Jeongmin looked up to you and laughed when he finally noticed your presence in the room.

“Good morning sleepyhead, have a good night's rest?” He cooed sickeningly. You turned to your father and then to Hyunwoo, who only shook his head. “What’s this?” You questioned as you stepped further into the room.

Your father stood up from his place at the table and pointed accusingly at Hyunwoo. “This man is a liar. He’s been going behind our backs to fight as a gladiator, going under the guise of Shownu. Can you believe it? We let a double timing liar live amongst us.” Your father lowered his gaze to glare at Hyunwoo.

He then returned his attention back to you and snarled. “I’m canceling the wedding. The engagement. Our ties with the governor. All of it, gone. Just because this man decided to lie to us and play out his little fantasy of being a hero.”

You gasped and took a step back. “Papa, you can’t do that. Please, don’t do t-”

Your father now pointed to Jeongmin, who grinned cheekily at both you and Hyunwoo. “Nonsense. This kind man decided to tell me the truth of Hyunwoo’s identity. You’re sooner going to marry Jeongmin than Hyunwoo now. Especially after this.” Your father boomed.

He was in a blind rage and you couldn’t figure out anything soon enough to calm him down. “Papa, please think about this. Jeongmin is a gladiator and yet you worship the ground he walks on. Why are you dismissing Hyunwoo so quickly?” You asked calmly.

“Because Jeongmin is not a liar, Hyunwoo is. I will allow no such person to marry my daughter.” Your father turned to Hyunwoo and pointed to the door. “I want you to leave my home as quickly as possible and I don’t want you to ever. Ever. Come by here again.” He yelled at Hyunwoo.

Hyunwoo nodded his head and got up from the table. He walked over to where you were standing and cupped your head in his hands. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. I promise. I love you.” He whispered under his breath before he pressed a quick peck to your lips.

He pulled away far too quickly and walked away from you, leaving you alone amongst Jeongmin and your father, who watched with furious eyes.

“You are going to be engaged to Jeongm-”

“Papa, no”

Your father turned beet red from anger, “I am the emperor, you have no right to tell me no. What I say goes and you will be engaged to Jeongmin.” He bellowed before getting up and storming out, his feet pounding on the marble floor.

Jeongmin got up from the table and lazily followed after your father. He strode over to you and sent you a wink. “I’ll make you forget about him within no time,” He slurred before he stepped away, following after your father like a lost little puppy dog.

You stood in the center of the empty dining hall, unable to wrap your mind around what had just happened. All you knew was that you had just lost Hyunwoo once again, just after you had found him and held him in your arms.

[peppusae]

[kth] lavender honey (ch. 2)

lavender honey; kim taehyung x reader

genre; slice of life, fluff, crack, smut(?), college au.

word count; 2.4k

note; i have so much love for this because i live for bantering-- //slapped

💫

‘Opposites attract’ is probably the most ridiculous thing that has ever been said, but you hate to admit, it’s also ridiculously true.

lavender honey ; kth

chapter 2; in which taehyung learns the many definitions of ‘bloom’.

"This is ridiculous," you hiss, scoffing as you take a seat next to Namjoon at the bench, "I am not telling people that we are siblings. That would just mean I have to call you Oppa from now on, and I am not doing that."

"You are ridiculous. Everyone sees us going to and from school every day, and I don't want people to think anything weird. Especially Seokjin. And I think you should tell that kid you flirt around with each chance you get, that I'm your brother, because he sees me and gets all red in the face."

"I do not flirt with Jungkook!" You protest. Namjoon waves a hand, and you turn to see that Taehyung is coming over towards you two.

"Hey, Taehyung-ah," Namjoon calls, watching the male give you a peace sign and take a seat beside yours, "[Name] totally flirts with that freshman kid all the time, doesn't she?"

"What-"

"Oh, Jungkook? You bet my ass she does," Taehyung laughs, "And she's bad at it too."

"I am not!"

"You just literally admitted that you do flirt with him."

Shit.

"You know what?" You scoff, getting up and taking two steps away from the two. "I don't care whether you're my brother, Joon, I'm not gonna call you Oppa."

"Wait, she's your- what?!" You hear Taehyung's shocked voice bombarding Namjoon with ten billion questions, and it's a sense of satisfaction you get, letting him do all the explanations. Serves him right for eating all the berries on top of the pancake stack you'd made for breakfast today.

The library is quiet during the mid-evening, and you are greeted by a female staff member who has dark circles under her eyes.

"Can I help you?" She asks in a weak voice, and you feel pity for her poor soul. Even you couldn't sit in one spot from morning onwards, even though you're a certified lazyass (you're really not, actually).

"I'm from the language department. Kim [Name]." You explain, handing the sheet Professor Sung had handed you earlier today. "I came for library duty."

"Oh!" The woman's eyes light up, jolting up as she nods. You watch as she lifts up the small lever of the counter, giving you just enough space to enter the block behind the counter. "You're here early. I heard there's one more person too, right?"

This is probably unnecessary to say, but, speak of the devil, and he's here; Taehyung enters the library, making his way towards the counter and looking at the female staff.

"Hi. I'm here for the extra credit... thing."

Way to make a great impression.

"Yes, please get in." She instructs, and you hold the lever up as Taehyung gets in, al giggly and happy for some godforsaken reason you didn't want to know. Maybe he was thinking about those rabbits that he swears lives on the moon.

That's stupid. The second those poor rabbits hop, they'll start floating and you don't think Taehyung has considered how much of a hard time the poor animals would have while they try to hop their way through space.

"My name is Lee Juyun, and my shift is," she turns to the clock, dramatically waiting until the second-hand reaches number 12 before she turns to look at you two again, "Over. Everything you need to know about library management is in the guide here." You take the booklet she hands, and Taehyung looks very frustrated as he moves to the side and lets the woman take her leave with a small 'bye!'.

"That was mean. She should have stayed here to explain stuff to us."

"Well, that would have been a waste because you lack the brain cells to comprehend stuff."

Taehyung doesn't respond to the insult, instead, taking a seat and pulling out his laptop from his backpack.

"Think I can do homework here?" He asks. "I have an assignment I need to hand in by seven."

You smile, taking a seat beside him and giving him a nod. "Yeah, go ahead. I'll read the booklet."

According to the booklet - which shouldn't really be called a booklet in the first place because it only had four pages, really - all you two had to do was to scan the code of the books a student came to borrow, check their identity card for verification, and stamp in a due date. And when it was time to leave, you two had to put away the books left on the tables back in their places.

It's a fairly easy task to earn a scholarship, actually.

It's quiet in the library (why would it not be, though), and Taehyung has his headphones on while he works on his assignment. After half an hour, you get bored from reading your Korean Literature textbook, so you poke Taehyung's waist.

You didn't expect him to respond with a girl shriek as if he just saw Medusa in the flesh right in front of him. Actually, you didn't think that seeing Medusa should warrant for a disgusting noise like that, and all eyes are on Taehyung as he stands up and bows in apology. He then turns to you, hissing between gritted teeth.

"What was that for, oh my god. That was embarrassing." He whines, plugging in one of his earbuds back on and turning to the screen. "What is it?"

"What are you working on, Taehyung?"

The male has a hesitant look on his face before he hands you one of the earbuds. He says nothing, looking at you with that blank face of his, and it's actually kind of scary. It's like he's nervous about whatever thing he is working on and wants a positive remark, but at the same time, his eyes don't waver, lips pressed into a thin line, as if he wants to hear honest opinions, even if it's negative.

Talk about confusing.

See, this is the thing about men. They can make cute cooing noises and giggle shyly like an angel one second, and then start hip-thrusting like they're performing in the middle of a frat party (see also: Park Jimin).

To this date, it shocks you. Aren't hip thrusts supposed to be fast and kinky? But there's this one hip thrust Jimin does and he freaking does it in slow motion.

That was a little too erotic, and that night, you'd patted Yoongi's arm while he glares at you as you had looked at him with pitiful eyes. Poor, poor Yoongi. You couldn't even fathom just how frustrated the poor guy would be.

Your train of thoughts are interrupted when Taehyung presses play, and a soft beat starts. You raise an eyebrow as you turn your attention to the music, and you can hear the soft sounds of the waves crashing.

"This sounds amazing. Is this your assignment, Taehyung?" You ask. The male nods, a pudgy smile forming on his face when he turns back to the screen.

"We were asked to test out compositions and I think this came out okay. Think I should submit it?"

"I have zero ideas about what a composition is but I think that was really amazing, so, do it." You encourage. You watch as Taehyung sighs in response.

You had called it, when, after he finishes submitting the file, he opens google and types in 'what is composition'.

"Seriously, I don't want to know, Taehyung-ah..."

"Fine, remain as the uncultured pig that you are."

"The actual phrase is uncultured swine, but okay..." You stop when Taehyung sighs, ignoring your statement and opening up youtube.

A few students come up after that, and you stamp in the due dates and scan the barcodes, watching as the line grows a little.

"What's with the commotion, all of a sudden?" You ask, not looking up at the student as you take the book and stamp in the date.

"It's a couple minutes to the borrowing time, Noona."

The familiar voice paired with that term makes you look up from the Animation and Video Graphics textbook in your hand, and you see that it's Jeon Jungkook, smiling at you.

"Oh, Kookie. Hi." You greet, feeling slightly flustered as you remember what Taehyung and namjoon had been talking about earlier.

"Hi [Name]-noona. Tae-hyung, why didn't you log in to the server last night, you promised!" Jungkook says, pressing an arm on the counter and damn. This kid has beef.

How is it earthly possible for this innocent child to smile bright enough for you to photosynthesize, but have biceps that bulge out like he was in some kind of lingerie advert?

"I had an assignment! Tonight, I swear!" Taehyung states, and you hurry to write the due date and check Jungkook's ID. God, he looks like a small child in the picture. It makes you giggle like a retarded school girl.

You're not a retarded school girl though. You're a retarded college girl. But it's close.

But then you recall that this child was right beside Jimin while they did that stupid kinky-ass dance, and you decide never to think that Jeon Jungkook was a babyboy.

"See you later, Noona." Jungkook waves, and as he walks away, you can actually feel Taehyung's eyes on you.

This is ridiculous, you aren't starting this talk again.

"I do not have a crush on Jungkook. Shut up." You say, turning to look at Taehyung. The male actually has a small smile as he nods, turning back to his laptop.

"I never said you did. What are you getting all defensive for?"

God freaking dammit.

Taehyung hands you an earbud again, and you realise that it's 6 pm, and the students who wanted to take the books would have done so by now.

This job is quite uneventful, actually. Maybe having Taehyung as your work partner is a good idea.

“You know, I actually know this song, it's Bloom, right?” You ask, bopping your head to the beat. “Troye Sivan is an actual king.”

“I know, right? These instrumentals are so simple on its own but when it blends with each other, the music is so great.” Taehyung agrees with wide eyes, each of his shoulders moving with every beat. “My favourite part is the bridge. You’re usually taking a new, better part of the lyrics to the bridge and leaving a good impression, but Troye uses the same words previously sung in the song and the way he delivers it is why it’s so freaking great. True musical art, right there.”

“He uses simple diction but it’s so great, because this entire song is one damn good extended metaphor.”

“What the heck is diction? And metaphors can get extended, too?” Taehyung looks genuinely shocked. And it shames you, as a language major, to hear something so dumb. Like, if it was anyone else, it's fine, maybe they haven't heard it yet. But with Taehyung, it's clear that he doesn't try to learn something, just so that he can have more arguments with you like this.

He probably has secret ties with the Mental Health Association, maybe they paid him a lot of money to drive you insane.

It's quite effective, so far.

“Oh my god. You don’t know what diction is?”

“Hey, leave me alone. I could tell from that sour look on your face that you have no clue what the bridge of a song is, either. Just because I didn’t mention it… Jeez. You’re listening to the bridge right now.”

“Ah,” you say, unnecessarily widening your eyes, “So this is the bridge part. I think I understand. And diction is the set of words Troye used. For the whole song. I love the deep message in this song, it’s a beautiful way of expressing his inner meaning for this song.”

Taehyung has a small frown on his face when you say this, tilting his head to the side as he looks at you and raises an eyebrow.

You know, usually, when people frown, they look ugly, but when Taehyung does, he makes it look effortless and pretty, and even cute, and this is one of the ten billion reasons why you go insane every day.

“There’s a deeper meaning than opening up to his lover?”

Really?

“Duh. This song is obviously a pretty painting about being the bottom of a very gay, sexual relationship, Taehyung.” You roll your eyes. From the way his eyes go wide and he moves a little away from you in shock, you realise that he didn’t get it until you clearly stated it out for him.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t…”

“‘I bloom’. Oh fuck, how did I not? ‘Sweet desire’, what the heck I thought it was something fluffy like kissing or some shit…” Taehyung’s eyes go wider, then, “‘Slow it down’? Goodbye.”

“This is why analyzing language is important, Taehyung-ah.” You laugh at his shock-filled expression. Right now, Taehyung's face is all red and puffy, just like the pile of tomatoes he had picked out from his pizza and put on your plate to bother you.

Ha. In his face.

“This is why I should stay away from your little analyzing ass. You sexualify what I labelled as a totally cute song.”

“Sexualify isn’t a word… I think you’re looking for sexify?”

Taehyung responds with slamming his head on the counter, and you laugh, highly amused by the lack of language-related-creativity inside his little head. His mind always travels a mile a minute but he couldn’t understand the meaning behind this very obvious song? That was such a Taehyung-ish thing for him to do, even if you say so yourself.

“‘I’ve been saving this for you’, he says. Goddamit, [Name], I feel dumb now.”

“It’s okay,” you say, patting his hair a little, “You are dumb, so no one is really surprised.”

“Yah.” He hisses, probably still feeling too taken aback to show you his fist and complain any further.

He should have shown his fist though. He has really nice hands. You could actually write an essay about his hands, because his hand are very sexy. Like, he has these veins when he balls his hands into a fist, and his fingers are very long and slender and just.

You really hope no one finds access to your iCloud, because you don't want anyone finding your outline for that essay.

"There there. It's okay. Art can be like that." You try.

“What’s the point in talking about this to you? You can’t even spell art anyways.”

“Art doesn’t need to be spelt or seen, art can also be something you feel,” You protest, “But people like you go around with your empty heads and that’s just too narrow-minded of you. Is your brain made out of toothpaste, or something?”

"Ew," Taehyung finally lifts his head up and looks at you with a horrified expression on his face, "Of all the things, [Name]-ah, toothpaste? And I thought you were good with words."

"Shut up and let's go put the books away."

Taehyung is actually laughing as he stands up, so all the banterings aside, it looks like this extra-credit job would turn out fun.

ch1 | ch2 | ch3

[hoyoungy]

On-Air | Vernon/Hansol (V)

genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, college au | vernon x radio personality!reader summary: under the pseudonym Honey, you are the host of the most popular radio show in the city called Honey Time Radio where you give advice about relationships, school, and life in general. when it comes to your own love-life, however, you don’t have the best luck, and you don’t even follow your own advice! so what happens when you get a call from a listener who’s asking you advice on how to get to your heart? word count: 3468 a/n: thank you all for the support thus far! it’s 4:30 am good night i need sleep lol. several warnings: swearing, alcohol, lots of platonic wonwoo x reader, and american fraternity life. as seen on my ao3

part iv, vi

“A party tonight, huh?” Wonwoo said, swinging around in his chair. “What kind of party?”

“What do you mean what kind of party, it’s a college party,” you said as-a-matter-of-factly.

“The type of college party that Hansol invited you to is just as important as the invite itself!”

“How?”

“If it’s a birthday party, he’s trying to claim you. Well, claim is such a terrible word, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Assuming the birthday party is most likely hosted by someone he’s close to, he wants to show you off to his friends and show you how serious he is. A fraternity party, on the other hand, is way different.”

“So what if he’s taking me to a frat party?”

“Fraternity, you uncultured swine, not frat,” Wonwoo scolded. “And I’ll kill him.”

“What, why!?”

“The sole purpose of a fraternity hosting a party that isn’t the afterset to one of their cancer-saving bullshit philanthropy events is to get the entire house laid. Lots of drunk, sexy people in one room gets things going, you know? Trust me on this one, I know from hands-on experience and it works every time, so if he’s trying to take you to a damn Sigma Tau party, I’ll kill him. Their parties always suck, anyways.”

“I always forget that you’re in a fraternity,” you snorted.

“Why? I’m hot enough to be in one.”

“It’s because you’re such a fuckin’ nerd.”

“Nerds can wear letters, too, you independent,” he pouted. “So what kind of party is it?”

“It’s Soonyoung’s birthday party.”

“Oh, cool! I’ll see you there then.”

“You’re going!? Thanks for the invite!” you scolded.

“I swear I was going to invite you literally right after this discussion. But hey, Hansol beat me to it, so good for him.”

“I’m not cool enough to be invited to parties, ok, that’s why I rely on you to tell me once you get the invite!”

“It slipped my mind, I’m sorry! I’ll remember next time!”

“Can I go with you tonight?”

“Why? Hansol’s not picking you up?”

“He’s helping set up, so he’ll be there already.”

“I mean, I guess we could go together,” he said sarcastically. “Just don’t, you know, do what you always do and look awkward.”

“I might as well not go at all.”

“I’m kidding! But you have to take a shot with me once we walk in, no chaser.”

“Of what…”

“Silver tequila ~”

“You’re the devil incarnate,” you groaned, feeling yourself gagging already. “Fine.”

“Hurray! HonWoo ‘bouta turn up!”

“Never say that again. Hurry and press the button,” you sighed, slumping in your seat. Tonight was going to be a long night and you had no idea what to expect. But now wasn’t the time to worry.

“On-air in three… two… one…”

“What’s up, everyone!?” you greeted. “You’re on-air with Honey Time Radio, with Honey at the mic and Dj Wonwoo on the beat. It is a warm, thirsty Thursday evening, which means $10 bottles of soju at Ahjooma’s Corner! Make sure you stop on by and grab a bottle of soju while you’re eating with your friends, your significant other, or even your employer whom you’re trying to get drunk so you can get that raise! Mine and Wonwoo’s favorite flavor is the green apple soju. This is definitely sponsored content, but I was not paid to say that Ahjooma’s Corner has the best soondubu-jjigae ever, besides my mother’s. Love you, mom!

“For our first segment of the show tonight, we have a submission sent in by an anonymous listener. ‘Hey, Honey & Wonwoo! I’m a returning listener who has called for advice before, but I’m too nervous to call again because my identity might be found out! So here’s the thing; there’s this guy that I have been trying to get his attention, but every time I try, I either chicken out or he leaves right away to talk to someone else! I tried your advice last time, like small conversation starters, but I don’t think he’s that kind of person. There’s a party tonight and he’s going to be there. If he’s not into small talk, what do you think I should do?’”

You squinted at the submission on your laptop screen. Why did this scenario sound so familiar?

“Sounds like you’re in quite the pickle, anonymous,” you commented, a bit discouraged that your advice didn’t work, but glad they came back to ask. “You must really like him, huh? Well, if my advice didn’t work last time, I’d hate to ruin it a second time. Maybe Wonwoo can help?”

“Really!? Ah, it’s my time to shine!” he said while cracking his knuckles. “My advice is coming from my perspective - a guy’s perspective. I’m a lot like your guy in the sense that I hate small talk, too. I feel like the party scene is a lot easier to work with because you have a lot more leeway to break the ice. Does your guy like to drink? Ask him if he wants you to get a drink and start talking that way. Does he like drinking games? Ask him to be your partner. Does he like to dance? This one’s a bit more daring, but if you know how to bump n’ grind on the dance floor, that’ll really get his attention, if you know what I mean ~” Wonwoo chuckled at your gross expression. “It seems like he doesn’t like his time being wasted, so get straight to the point right away. Hope that helps.”

“You know, usually I would rather eat the cafeteria food than listen to Wonwoo’s advice, but that was actually pretty good…” you mused. “We should switch roles for a night.”

“I would never let you touch my soundboard. Only my fingers can make such magical sounds.”

“Why do you say things like that, it’s so weird… Anyways, we wish you all the best, Anonymous! Let us know how it went. Let’s take our first caller!”

“And that’s all for tonight, everyone. Tomorrow rings in a new day, so make sure you take the bull by the horns and seize it. Or something along those lines. You understand, what I mean, right? I’d like to give a special shoutout to a special listener by the name of Soonyoung. Happy birthday, Soonyoung! Stay safe at your party tonight. And as always, everyone else stay safe tonight, too. Use our Lyft code aka our official ship name, #HonWoo, for 20% off your ride. Thanks for listening, everyone. This is Honey signing off.”

“How did you manage to get us an Ahjooma’s Corner ad and a Lyft code?” Wonwoo asked after pressing the offline button. “The step team has been trying to get sponsors from both of them since forever!”

“Jeonghan’s like, the head chef or whatever at Ahjooma’s Corner and Seungkwan’s the brand ambassador for Lyft.”

“Seungkwan, that pink bastard,” Wonwoo cursed. “Are you going back to your apartment to change?”

“Yeah, I can’t go there looking like this.”

“Good, ‘cuz you look like trash.”

“You’re a great friend.”

When you got back to your apartment, it was already 10:30 which was thirty minutes after the party started but thirty minutes before the party started. In those remaining thirty minutes, you spent twenty-five of those throwing out every outfit you tried on, unsatisfied with the results.

“Yah, what’s taking you so long!?” Wonwoo yelled from your couch. “All the jungle juice is gonna be gone!”

“I don’t know what to wear!”

“It’s a fucking party, not the Yule Ball!”

“Can you shut up!? I’m done, for Christ’s sake!”

“If you take any longer, I’m gonna get you so drunk that Hansol’s gonna be the one carrying your ass back here -”

Wonwoo’s blabbering mouth fell silent when you left your room all ready to go. He didn’t know how you did it, but you managed to fix your hair, face, and get dressed in such a short amount of time and still look decent. Tonight, you didn’t look like _____. Tonight, you looked like Honey.

“Damn,” he said. “You look… put together for once. Tryna shake up Hansol?”

“Ugh, you complimenting me makes me feel uglier somehow.”

“I try to be nice one time…”

The walk to Soonyoung’s didn’t more than ten minutes. When you were a block away from the house, you could already hear the bumping music, loud cheers, and see the bright, colorful strobe lights. This party looked like it was straight out of an American college party movie, making Mingyu’s party look like the seventh grade sock hop.

“Jisoo Christ,” Wonwoo whistled. “Soonyoung really meant it when he said he was going to outdo his twenty-first…”

“Someone’s gotta clean all of that up eventually…”

“That’s what pledges are for,” he smirked. “C’mon, you promised me a tequila shot.”

The inside of the house was moist - it wreaked of booze, sweat, and lots of sugar. You and Wonwoo squeezed your way through the crowd to the kitchen, exchanging hellos to familiar faces and quick kisses on the cheek from drunk friends (who knew Minghao was so affectionate when drunk?)

A tall, double shot of clear poison glared at you, accompanied by its groupies lime and salt. The more you smelled the ethanol-like stench of tequila, the more you felt yourself gag.

“Cheers to a good night, _____,” Wonwoo said as you both raised your glasses. “May the alcohol be ever in our favor.”

With the cling of the glass, you licked the mound of salt, downed the juice, and sucked on a lime wedge. No amount of limes and salt could ease the burn of liquor travelling down your throat. One double shot in and you already felt like dying.

“Ha,” Wonwoo giggled. “Look at your face.”

“Taking a shot without the birthday boy!?” A familiar voice yelled, swinging his bare arm around your shoulder. A sweaty Soonyoung hugged you tightly as he grabbed a shot glass of his own. “Pour me one, Wonwoo.”

“Ugh, can’t we take something else?” you groaned, still not over the taste.

“Does Hennessey suit your needs, Princess _____?”

“Can I get a chaser?”

“Nuh uh, shorty,” Soonyoung grinned. “House rules - any shot with the birthday boy is straight.”

“God, you’re such a bro.” The gold liquid didn’t sting as much as tequila, but didn’t really taste any better. You felt the intoxication take over your body, hazing your vision, but you didn’t mind at all, although you probably should have ate before coming… Soonyoung squeezed your shoulder as a thank you for taking a shot with him.

“Have you seen Hansol?” you yelled over the music.

“You’re like the third girl that’s asked me tonight. Is it his birthday, too, or something!?” he pouted.

“Well, he’s the one that invited me -”

“He probably invited every fucking girl here,” he snorted. “He’s probably on the dance floor.”

“I’ll be heading there, then.”

“Wait, me too!”

Soonyoung had his hands over your shoulders, guiding you through the house to the living room, where the real party was happening. A sober Mingyu was the Dj for tonight, who apparently claimed that after his birthday, he was never going to drink again, or at least until after midterms. The entire room was packed with people, bodies swaying and grinding to the music, that you couldn’t even distinguish faces.

“Do you see him?” you asked Soonyoung, who clung to you closer in his drunk state.

“Yeah, but he seems a bit preoccupied…”

Your eyes followed to where Soonyoung pointed. Right in the middle of the dance floor was a flushed Hansol, grinding behind some poor soul who got caught in the same trap you were in. Even in your tipsy state, you recognized her - she was the same girl who Hansol said was bland at Mingyu’s party, the same girl who called that night to ask for advice on how to get his attention, and the same girl who anonymously sent you a submission a few hours ago on how to actually get his attention.

God, how could you be so stupid and not put the pieces together?

“Hyejin actually did it,” Soonyoung cheered behind you. “She’s been trying to talk to Hansol since their freshman year. About fuckin’ time. Who knew Wonwoo gave great advice.”

Oh, that’s right. Wonwoo was the one who advised her.

Do all guys think the fucking same?

Hyejin turned around, now facing Hansol as he kept his arms tightly wrapped around her tiny waist. Their faces were so close, any closer they would be making out and it made you want to throw up. In a room full of sweaty, sexually-driven drunk adults, the spotlight was on them, at least to you it was. The alcohol was really starting to kick in as your mind flashed through every smile, every laugh, and every form of affection that Hansol ever gave you.

In those moments, in such a short amount of time, you felt like you could fly.

But now, you felt like just another check off his list. And he was another one off of yours.

Six. That made six total guys who fucked you over.

Should you even be surprised at this point? But maybe you were overreacting… It’s not like you were even officially together. But why did it still hurt?

“Are you ok?” Soonyoung asked, shaking your shoulders. “You’re not going to throw up, are you? ‘Cuz that would suck.”

You snatched a cup of mystery drink from someone’s hand and chugged it down, ignoring the taste of cheap cinnamon liquer.

“Wanna dance?” you asked bitterly.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that?” he slurred. “Years, _____, years. Fucking finally, let’s go.”

You were shocked when Soonyoung gently took your hand and led you towards the middle of the dance floor. You were even more shocked that you were having a lot of fun using him as a distraction to get your mind off of Hansol for the night.

But you were most shocked when you locked eyes with a Hansol after the fifth song with Soonyoung.

You weren’t even dancing that risque with him. Dancing with Soonyoung was filled with laughs and smiles from the goofiness that you shared together. Hansol watched you hunch over from laughing so hard too many times for him to count. You may not have had your ass grinding up against Soonyoung crotch, but not once did you let go of his hand. He twirled you, dipped you, swung you around like a boyfriend would.

Somehow imagining you grinding up against Soonyoung seemed less painful than the scene before him.

When you saw Hansol looking at you, you might have felt guilty from seeing how pale his face was if he wasn’t still glued to Hyejin. But since that was the case, you broke the chilling eye contact quickly and put all your attention to Soonyoung. It was satisfying knowing that you could finally get payback for all the shit you fell for.

“_____ ~!” Soonyoung groaned, tired from all the dancing. “I need to rehydrate!”

“Jungle juice?” you challenged.

“Jungle juice!”

“Wonwoo ~!” you screeched, stumbling into the kitchen. After the whole dance floor incident, you spent the rest of the night drinking whatever was in front of you to numb your entire body, Now it was almost three in the morning and you were drunk off your ass and achieved the optimal amount of numbness. Most of the guests left the house with the exception of Wonwoo and Soonyoung’s friends and a couple of girls that wanted to stay. This included Hansol and Hyejin, who stood next to each other with at least one inch of space between them for once.

You let out an obnoxious groan at the sight.

“What, you alcoholic?” he teased.

“Take me home.”

“Why don’t you ask Han -”

“HONEY TIME RADIO,” you interrupted loudly, causing Wonwoo’s eyes to widen. You didn’t even want to hear his name. “Is… A great show…!”

“Oh, I love Honey Time!” Soonyoung chimed, wrapping his arm around you again.

“Ew, since when were you two this close?” Wonwoo asked.

“Since… Today! Happy birthday!” you cheered. “Please, can you take me home…?”

“You can stay the night if you want,” Soonyoung offered.

“Nope, nuh-uh, I won’t allow it. Hansol, walk her home -”

“Ugh, shut up for once, Wonwoo!” you scolded. The whole room was silent at your outburst, but you didn’t care. You certainly didn’t care for Hansol’s hurt expression, either. “Forget it, I’ll go by myself.”

“Yah, _____ -!”

You stormed off into the dark streets. The beginning of the night was a lot warmer, but now you could feel every goosebump on your exposed skin. It felt numbing, but you didn’t care anymore. You were drunk, exhausted, and over it.

You knew someone was following behind you. You hoped it was either Wonwoo, Soonyoung, and even Mingyu, but you prayed to God it wasn’t Hansol - he was the last person you wanted to see. But normally, Wonwoo would be nagging you for being such a brat just now, Soonyoung would have walked really close to you, and Mingyu would have pulled you into a headlock. But the person behind you did neither of those things.

Hansol watched the way you walked in front of him. At first, your stride was angry - you stomped the concrete like you hate it. To be honest, it was really cute. But then you progressively got slower, dragging your feet and hanging your head low. You looked tired - no, exhausted - mentally, physically, emotionally, and it was all his fault.

You felt a heavy jacket get thrown over you shoulders before you fell face-first on the grass in front of you.

“Oh, shit,” Hansol said, kneeling beside you. “My bad. Are you ok?”

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered into the ground. “I’ll just lay here.”

“Then I’ll lay with you.”

“No, I don’t want you to.”

“Unless you can get up, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

“I can just feel your smug smirk piercing through me. I want to smack that smirk off of your dumb, beautiful face,” you threatened.

Hansol gently helped you up from the ground and held you at arms length. One hand plucked pieces of grass from your hair while the other kept you from swaying side-to-side. He couldn’t hold in his growing grin when you pouted at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

“I said don’t touch me…”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not Hyejin.”

“And I’m not Soonyoung.”

“Obviously not by the way you danced with Hyejin tonight. Soonyoung can dance way better than you ever could! And it was the best time of my life!”

Hansol knows the intention behind your words was meant to hurt him, and to be honest, it did, but the way that you were acting was so cute that he ignored the slight sting in his chest.

“Do you want me to call him to walk you home instead?” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes.”

“Ah, you were supposed to say no.”

You ignored his comment as you stumbled passed him, making your way home once more. Hansol continued to follow behind you, catching you at least three more times when you tripped on the uneven sidewalk, earning himself another three snarky remarks about how you weren’t Hyejin and to keep his hands off of you.

When you stood in front of you apartment, you chucked the jacket harshly in his face.

“I deserve that,” he said.

“Go home.”

“Are you jealous of Hyejin?”

“Are you jealous of Soonyoung?”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation, catching you off guard. “And Wonwoo. And Mingyu. And any guy who comes even close to you.”

“Why?” you scoffed.

“Are you jealous of Hyejin?” he repeated. The small smirk on his face told you he already knew the answer.

“… Yes.”

“Ok,” his smirk widened. “Good night, _____.”

“Wait, what? You can’t just leave! Now I have questions!” you cried.

“I’ll answer them when I see you tomorrow.”

“That’s funny, because I definitely don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“It’s my way of saying I want to see you tomorrow.” And before you realized it, Hansol started to back away, making him the winner of this sad argument. He winked, smiling at the charming way you blushed so easily. “Sweet dreams, _____.”

You slept two whole hours that night.