#I AM AFRAID!!!!!! AND I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!!!

[xsilversugar]

God this made me fucking cry. I know it's not the same fucking thing at all, but God damn, as a non-binary trans person this gave me some hope I desperately needed today after processing some bullshit relating to my lack of medical support lately. I need to switch doctors, I know I do. Not the point. I've just been housebound for so long and so deeply isolated because of how deeply uncomfortable in my own skin that I although I know better intellectually...it's hard to feel that I am not unique in that experience. I know there are others like me and those who are standing up for folks like us out there. I needed to read this. The world is not so heartless. I have to hold onto this feeling and remember not all are as afraid to stand up as I.

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[wandixx]

Danny the Young Justice member

“Hey, like, hypothetically, do you think Justice League could pay me if I became hero full time?”

It shaped out to be pretty long and boring stake-out, with rest of Team scattered around but connected with Mindlink, so it seemed like best moment to ask. It wasn’t something Danny wanted to do, but it shaped out to be his only chance to get any future. He cried over it enough times already, so there was even a chance he won’t breakdown trying to discuss it out in the semi-public. He wanted to keep it as calm and rational as he could and hey, if something started to get too emotional, he could say he saw some suspicious movement and fly off to fight someone. Really, it was perfect situation.

“How hypothetical is this question?” Robin asked after a beat of silence. It was quiet and careful, like he was afraid to set him off if he said something wrong or he did it wrong way. It made skin on his back crawl. Danny knew he was a bit more volatile lately, but he really hoped special treatment would stop soon.

“Hypothetical”

“Okay, let’s say we don’t know it’s a lie”

“Unnecessary” Artemis coughed.

“C’mon it kinda was–”

“Can someone just answer my fucking question?”

“I don’t think so. Batman is the one doing most of the funding, and he is really stubborn about school and future. He wants us all to have chance at normal life outside of this hero villain business with regular job and stuff”

That didn’t bode well, but Danny hadn’t got this far by losing hope whenever first obstacle occurred.

“But I could be ready whenever disaster strikes or some villain attacks or really whenever it’s necessary and I wouldn’t need to escape any civilian stuff,” he may have gotten a bit desperate along this little rant, but he just pushed through “It always takes precious minutes and–”

“It doesn’t really seem to be hypothetical anymore,” Wally interrupted and he was lucky to be on different roof, because Danny, he sworn to ancients, would strangle him if redhead was any closer.

He was very adamant about not thinking about how his last ideas of surviving to adulthood started crumbling. He promised himself to not have breakdown in the open.

He wasn’t going to.

It was fine.

He would figure something out. He always did.

“Danny?”

“It’s fine Meg, don’t worry”

“Can we ask what brought this hypothetical on your mind? You’ve always were the most assured that you’ll stop being hero at some point and move on”

Bless Kaldur to always know when to ask best-worst question. Danny wasn’t going to cry, so he wasn’t going to answer.

“We can’t help you if we don’t what’s wrong,” M’gann said softly, like she was just trying to remind him.

Something small hit his lap. A tear. When did it get here?

“It’s fine. It’s just a stupid thought”

“Okay. Tell us when you’re ready”

“Something suspicious is going on, I think it’s what we’re looking for,” Everyone needed Conner on their squad to get conversation back on not emotional track.

As it turned out it was indeed what they were looking for, and soon Danny got to express all of his pent up aggression in only a bit misplaced way.

“That was harsh”

“Shut up, this one doesn’t have pain receptors”

“Phantom has a bad day, huh?”

“You’re about to have worse,” he growled and punched guy until he stopped grinning.

It was quick work after that.

“Danny?”

Only bad side of Mindlink was that he couldn’t act like he was losing connection. It would be useful right now.

“Danny?”

“Not now”

“In the Bioship then. Not a minute later, am I clear?”

“Crystal”

He started calculating a way to get out before. He used to do it all the time, at the beginning. It was easier when Team didn’t know about his human side and they were holding each other at the arms length, but still. He could–

Conner landed right behind him and put hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t restrain, it wasn’t assuring. It was just there.

Here came his plans of escape.

“So–” Artemis started as soon as the door of Ship had closed “– what the fuck is wrong with you lately?”

“We all know it’s not nothing”

“I’m being overdramatic”

“About what?”

Danny just slumped forward and his face in hands.

“Danny”

“I have to retake year. I’m not even half way through highschool and I’m already failing and I- I just can’t do better. It’s not like I don’t have time to study, and I do try sometimes, but just as often I’m just being dumb and messing around, and I knew I failed some other tests, but last one? Last one I was sure I’ve got it, I was trying, I was trying so hard and I still fucked it up and if I can’t make it even when- even when I’m trying my best, then what is the point?”

He took a moment to breathe, to rub tearing eyes. He still wasn’t going to cry.

“I’m already kinda good at this hero thing, so I could just keep it up. I don’t think I’ll make it to the end of high school, so no good job for me, but maybe I could. I could have something, you know. Something useful. Something good. Maybe I can have some life after all”

Someone rubbed his back but he didn’t raise his head to see who.

“I didn’t want to let accident destroy any more of my life than it did, but I don’t think I can”

“Well, impossible sounds right about the task for us. We’ve got you”

Well fuck. That’s about that in not crying department.

[novacorpsrecruit]

It’s lonely at the top

Part 1 | part 2 | here / final part

Read on Ao3

wc 1,698 | Steddie | angst with a happy ending!

“You need to give him some space,” Robin said over the phone. Eddie frowned. It’s been three days. He missed Steve. He nearly leaped over the couch to answer the phone, assuming it was him. Robin was the next best, he guessed. “You really hurt him.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “And I’m sorry. I really am. Will you tell him I’m done with the parties? Done with Trick? He means more to me than being liked.”

“Yeah,” Robin huffed. “You sure showed him that.”

“I mean it,” Eddie said honestly. “I do. I’m done with it all.”

“I think you need to tell him that yourself,” Robin said.

“How can I?” Eddie asked. “You won’t let me talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Robin corrected. “You need to let him be ready to accept you.”

Eddie sighed, pressing his forehead against the cabinet where the phone hung. He wished there was a way to tell Steve how sorry he was. As much as Eddie wanted to take the Green line to Robin’s dorm and talk to Steve, he can’t cross that boundary. But he needed a way to pour out his emotions, to let Steve know that he’s loved. That Eddie’s sorry. “Can I — Can I send him a letter? That way when he’s ready, he knows I’m there for him?”

There was silence on the other line as Robin thought it over. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Just address it to me. He’s not …”

“Supposed to be there,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I figured. Thank you, for being there for him.”

“Yeah. Look,” Robin huffed. “If he does let you back in again, and you fuck up again. It’s your balls, Munson.”

“Understood,” Eddie said. “I promise. Never again.”

Robin hung up with a click. Eddie sighed, running his hands over his face. He fucked up. Bad.

He guessed there was no time to start writing like the present.

💌💌💌💌

“Steve, someone at table 13 requested you personally,” Jenny, the hostess said. “He’s — uh — a little scary. So if you have issues, get Rod.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Steve said, pulling his order book from his apron. He wasn’t sure who would request him at 3 pm. Most of his early birds on Saturdays stop by the diner for brunch and he barely saw a soul until 5.

When they first moved out to Chicago, Steve had no clue what he was going to do for work. He was attending Harold Washington College to get his associates in early education, and then potentially apply to UIC. Then one day, he got off a stop too early and saw the help wanted sign. It was easy for him to pick up, he made decent tips, and it worked with his schedule well. Plus, he was able to take home food at the end of his shift.

Robin’s been enjoying the pancakes lately.

Plus, Steve loved when it was slow and Eddie would —

He closed his eyes, letting the thought disappear. He missed Eddie. His heart ached any time he thought about him. But he was afraid that Eddie didn’t miss him in the same way.

He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile as he greeted his table.

“Hi, welcome in. I’m Steve. I’ll be taking care —“ Steve stopped as he looked at the patron. He felt his lips turn into a frown. “Trick?”

“Patrick’s fine,” Trick winked. “I mean, we’re in your court, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve nodded. He pressed his lips together, feeling like he couldn’t stop staring at the black and blue circles under his eyes. “What happened to your — uh —“ he gestured to his own face. He winced. Trick didn’t like him in the first place. He wouldn’t give Steve the time of day. Why would he bother to tell him about an injury like that. “Sorry — shouldn’t have asked that. What can I get started for you?”

“Your boyfriend, actually,” Trick smirked. It was like ice water was dumped over Steve as the words washed over him. Trick’s smirk dropped. He leaned over the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey — hey, sorry. I didn’t mean — It’s cool. It’s — Eddie and you — are cool, I mean.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he felt any better or worse. All he could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, uh —“ Trick ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and exhaled. “Half of our friends are gay or lesbian or queer. It’s — that’s fine. Promise.”

“Oh,” Steve repeated. He sat on the other side of the booth, across from Trick. “Okay.”

“I just —“ Trick looked up to the ceiling before turning his attention back to Steve. “We shouldn’t have judged you. We saw you and immediate thought you were gonna be some straight jackass like we’ve dealt with our whole lives. We built this community of accepting outcasts, and outcasted you while doing so.”

Oh.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

When Eddie and him started to date, the Corroded Coffin boys treated him similarly. But Eddie called them out on that before it got bad.

Before it got like this.

“I guess what I wanted to say was sorry,” Trick said. “For pushing you out. And name calling.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I don’t recall any name calling?”

“Yeah, you weren’t around for that,” Trick winced, gesturing to his nose. “Eddie made sure I knew that was wrong.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. “My Eddie?”

“Yep,” Trick said. “I hope he gave you a big apology for everything. So, tell me. What do you got that’s good to eat here?”

Steve took Trick’s order — one strawberry milkshake and an order of fruit loaded French toast — sent it to the kitchen, then went into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and pulled out Eddie’s letter from his apron pocket. The first letter arrived last Monday. And he received a letter every day that he’s stayed with Robin.

With a shaky breath, Steve opened the letter.

💌💌💌💌

Dear Steve, there’s nothing in the world that I can do to make this up to you. But I will try every day to make sure that you don’t ever forgotten again. You are the stars that light my way home, the sun that brings warmth into my light, and the moon that shines love over me. To experience your love is something truly unreal. And to think I put you on the back burner for a taste of popularity? It was like the Ring of Power overtook my mind. I got lost in the feeling of being admired by many, I forgot what it’s like to be loved by one. I’d travel to Mordor and back for you. Through the Gap of Rohan and through the Mines of Mora.

In a world where everyone could know my name, I’d only want to know yours.

My apologies will never be enough. Love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I hope you are well. I hope your classes are going good and that you’re excelling. I know you are. You’re so fucking smart, you blow me away with every new piece of knowledge you brought home. I hope that basketball at the YMCA is going good. I’m sorry I missed your last couple of games. There is no excuse. I hope one day you’d allow me to be by your side again, cheering you on.

You deserve the world, baby. Nothing will stop me from showing you that. Everything from the water in the rivers to the trees in the forest. From the canyons in Arizona to the mountains in Colorado. It’s yours. It’s all yours. You deserve everything. You deserve the best. And I promise that I will prove that.

Forever in love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I’d move heaven and hell

Just to see you smile again

Or remember how it felt

To have you in my arms

When I begged God for mercy

In the depth of hells

It was nothing compared

To begging for the mercy of you

To hear you laugh, to see you smile

To counting the stars across your skin

To pick up where we left off

To start all over again

I’d move heaven and hell for you

💌💌💌💌

Steve folded the letters, slipping them back into the envelope and set them on his nightstand.

He laid back down, turning to his side. Eddie’s side of the bed was empty. Like it has been for four days.

After Steve read the first letter, he found his way back to their apartment. Eddie was hope and nearly wrapped his arms around Steve, stopping as if there was an invisible barrier in between them. Eddie stopped, respecting that boundary at the threshold.

It was Steve to crack.

Steve who took that step over the threshold and fell into Eddie’s arms, burying his face into Eddie’s neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was all Eddie could say.

They agreed they needed to slowly integrate back into each others’ lives. Communicate when they’re feeling alone and listen when one’s feeling distressed. Nightmares seemed easier to deal with, but they were going to work it through.

Eddie said he would sleep on the couch until Steve was ready for him. “No matter how long it takes, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pressing a kiss against Steve’s knuckles. “When you’re ready for me, I’m here.”

And Eddie truly meant that. They could go back to just friends and Eddie would accept it. He would be heartbroken, but to have Steve in his life again?

That’s worth everything to Eddie.

Eddie was jostled awake, feeling the couch cushion shift underneath him. The blanket on his body lifted up and a familiar weight settle on his chest. He felt at home again. Eddie tugged the blanket back over the both of them, one hand around Steve’s waist and the other tangled in his hair as Steve laid his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, taking a silent vow to never lose him again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[tangerineastronaut]

hello can I get ateez members as doms? how they act with there subs in these relationship.

Dom!ATEEZ and Sub!Reader individual dynamics | ot8

Pairing: ot8 and their Dom!style Genre: ot8 reactions Requested: Yes w.c. 2.5k Warnings: BDSM dynamics, mentions of smut/sex/etc, discussion of punishments, dacryphilia A/N: what even is this I am so sorry this is so bad omg Please remember this is just my take. If you disagree, you're more than welcome to make your own! Don't take it personally 🫶🏽 Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Hongjoong

Be afraid

^ When you’re bad (most of the time, u little shit)

Hard!Dom, strictest of the members

Brat tamer 100000% but doesn't want to be

Genuinely gets angry when you’re a brat, would prefer if you’d just listen to him

Punishments are meant to break you emotionally

Worst of all the members in that regard tbh

Will deny you things rather than physical discipline ~ praise, orgasms, affection

Wants you desperate and needy, it gives him control over you

Can forget to give you praise at times, does not get angry if you ask/remind him

“Ah, sorry. I’ve been busy, baby. Yes, I’m proud of you for going out today, I know you’ve been struggling recently. Did you eat at that cafe you liked? Did you remember to use my card? Why not? That's what it's for, love."

Blows money on you

Cannot stop buying you pretty things, especially clothes

Makes you try on the things he's purchased for you - usually ends with you getting fucked in whatever you had on last

Wants you to wear nice things when you go out to fancy dinners

Not very physically affectionate but will be if you need him to be

Will not punish you for being insecure, just wants to reassure you and make you feel beautiful

Sex is either quick and dirty or long and passionate

Fav positions are standing or missionary with your legs over his shoulders

Shower sex >>>

He's so damn busy there's not much other choice

Looks so fucking hot when he's got you pinned to the tile wall

Biting/marking - he loves to use his teeth on you

Don't you dare bite him back

Likes foreplay but prefers sex, is good at eating you out but would rather use his cock than his tongue

Is good at aftercare, though it's more of a standard, doesn't like pillow talk unless you need it

Will still make sure you're safe/comfy/loved and will do anything for you

Is rough, but can turn it off when he knows you need a softer side.

Seonghwa

Soft!dom

Gentle until he isn't

Strict, but not the strictest

Does not enjoy punishments as much as the others, but still wants to make sure you know your place

Does not understand the concept of being a brat, you're so good for him

"What do you mean no? Like no...what? I just asked you to come here, silly."

Rarely has to punish you anyway, he doesn’t have many rules

You break the rules on purpose sometimes

He’ll punish you harder if he thinks that’s the case vs you accidentally breaking a rule

Very snuggly

Will want you to just sit with him while he works with his legos

Loves to be held by you

Asks you for compliments

“Do you like this color on me?”

Will not scold you in public

Expect gentle touches and verbal correction

Hates seeing you cry, even if it's from an intense orgasm

Obsessed with aftercare

Will shower you with praise and tell you how well you did

"I'm sorry baby, I was rough today. Took me so well though, so pretty. Love it when you get on your back for me. Want me to wash your hair?"

Likes taking care of you in general, will mother you like his members (but worse)

"Why didn't you eat today?! C'mon, let's go to that noodle shop you like."

Sex is not super kinky but is almost always emotional

Pretty straightforward, wants you both to feel good and snuggle after

Likes getting head and giving head, but prefers sex over foreplay

Fav positions are spooning and intimate spaces like in a comfy chair with you in his lap

Soft kisses + him stroking your hair + thanking you for always being his good girl

Yunho

Cocky and playful

Neither soft nor hard, just likes to keep you guessing

Is silly unless he's in a bad mood

Likes to make you sit in his lap while he games

You like it too, he knows it

Will get pouty if you don't praise his efforts

Don't tease him while he plays

Fr don't

If you value your cervix, you will not tease this man when he's not in the mood for sex

"What's wrong, baby? You were whining for my attention, now you're whining that it doesn't fit? That's a fucking lie."

Size kink

Likes feeling bigger/taller/stronger than you

Expect to be teased over this, even if you're not that short

Loves taking selfies with you

A big puppy

Can be a big scary puppy

Doesn't scold you in public

Likes it when you know you're in trouble

Sweetheart but will do a 180

When he's stressed or in a bad mood he can be too rough

Sometimes it's hard to tell when it's okay to be silly and not

He will let you know

Breeding kink at its finest

Size kink + breeding kink = RIP ur ability to walk

"I know it's deep baby, shh...almost there..."

Likes making you beg

Loves to degrade you and then praise you in the same breath

Talks you through it

Very sweet, silly aftercare

Sex is not complete until you're a giggling, sleepy mess in his arms

Fav position is anything where he can manhandle you beneath him

Yeosang

Quiet dom

But not soft

Very strict but is not loud about it

Perfect brat tamer, but isn't one (you can't rile him up—most intuitive of the members and rarely rises to the occasion)

Most of his dominant side is only seen when you're alone

Does not scold you in public

Expects you to follow the rules and does not remind you

Goes straight to punishment

You cannot catch him off guard

Knows your moods before you do

Terrifyingly calm

"Is that how we're acting today? Okay."

Likes to edge you

Loves when you orgasm as soon as his cock goes in due to overstimulation

^ will continue fucking you anyway

Thinks you're prettiest when you're crying

"That good, huh? You're blushing baby...such pretty tears."

Fucks you sitting up, likes it when you cling to him and wants to feel your tears on his shoulders

Eye contact >>>

So fucking calm it's scary, truly

Like imagine you've fucked up in public and you know it, this mf just gives you the gentlest of smiles

He likes you anxious

Sex is deceptively rough

You would not expect it but he likes it to hurt

He wants you to fight back

That grip strength is not to be taken lightly

Fav position is missionary or in a car with you in his lap

Aftercare is pretty strict, he has a routine

Bathroom, water, bed, letting him hold you

Prioritizes you afterwards since he knows he can be rough

Wants you to tell him about your day as though he didn't just rail you into next tuesday

San

Very traditional dom vibes

Does not hold back on punishments like hwa

Expect an equal amount of praise and correction, heavily values both

Big on body worship, either you on him or vice versa

Will want you to kiss his chest and shoulders and remind him how safe he makes you feel

Protective, but not possessive

Best dom for daddy issues

Will tell you he's proud of you but fuck you into the mattress a few minutes later

^ while still telling you he's proud of you

Most fair punishments, typically physical but not cruel

Spankings, being made to take it on the floor, being tied down, etc etc

Loooooves tying you up

Huge on boundaries and safewords

All the members are but San prefers constant check ins

"How are we, baby? Can you still take it? Use your words, pretty girl."

Sex lasts a loooooong time from foreplay to aftercare

Like, expect to spend an entire evening in the bedroom

Only because he loves to warm you up beforehand with a few orgasms

Loves it when you orgasm

Edging is not necessary, he wants you to have as many as possible until you're overstimulated

Follows your lead during aftercare, whatever you need

"Did so good for me. What do you need from me, baby? A massage? I can do that. Love you so much. Did so well tonight."

Will let you sit in his lap while he works

Likes it when you tease him, but won't punish you right away

Makes you wait for it

"Hi baby. Remember what you did earlier? Let's figure out how to make you say sorry without words."

Fav positions are you in his lap or lying on the counter/table

Mingi

BRAT TAMER

and loves it

Will encourage you to act out just so he can punish you

Literally begging for a reason

"Please baby. Tell me no one more fucking time. The kitchen table is right there and I'm hard as fuck."

Mean and you love it

Is going to bend you over any surface when you give him the slightest inclination that you're about to act up

Effortlessly attractive, actually unfair

Genuinely does not know how wet you are simply because he's pinning you down

Lives for his own pleasure and you're along for the ride

DO NOT think he doesn't care about you getting off tho—

—and do not let that man's mouth near your pussy if you know what's good for your health

Addicted to eating you out

Mingi demands few things of you as his sub, but allowing him to ravish your pussy is a requirement

You WILL sit on his face and you WILL cry and he WILL hold your hips so you can't squirm away while he sucks your clit and makes you cum for the third time

Uses it as both a reward and punishment

That overstimulation will have you in tears

He does not care

Sex lasts a little longer than average simply because you have to pry him off of you

Impatient when it comes to you and your attitude

Punishment is always physical

Loves to spank you for misbehaving

Not the kinkiest but probably the most hypersexual of the members

LOUD sex

Aftercare is not really organized but still very involved. Expect kisses, a very clingy man, and cuddling

Loves you with your clothes on too

Can forget to give you praise, but shows you he's proud in his own ways

"You made this? Holy shit, it's amazing. My baby can cook??"

Kissing the top of your head, just because he can >>>>

Does not scold you in public—probably has not realized you've done something that warrants scolding

Is possessive and VERY jealous

Like Hongjoong, he knows when to turn it off if you need him to be gentle with you

Wooyoung

A fucking? brat dom?

Will ignore you for attention

You can't outbrat the brat

Big on silent treatment as long as he thinks you can emotionally handle it

Very touchy feely, likes grabbing you and holding you against him

Has a range of looks to give you to tell you when you've fucked up

Hates when other men stare at you, will absolutely stare back

Loves PDA the most out of the members

Does not care if you're in public, will scold you when needed

Will also tease you just to see you squirm

Is not above things like vibrating panties when you've been acting up

Loves to use his hands during punishment or praise

Expect handprints on your ass

May as well get them tattooed on there tbh

Whiny when he wants your attention

Can sometimes be too much

"Are you okay? Was that too hard?"

Likes to make you cry

Enjoys pissing you off since you can't do anything about it

Imagine getting fucked daily by your biggest opp

"Aww, are you mad? Huh? I can tell. Cry me a river while you take this cock, baby."

a menace, tbh

Sex is kinky af

DIRTY TALK mf won't shut up as it is and rambles when he's inside you

"Take it, baby. That's it, just like that. So fucking pretty. You just open those legs when I come near, huh? An obedient little slut when she expects cock."

Not super long sex but can happen multiple times a day

Possessive and jealous

Takes lots of pictures of you

^ Doing anything

"Hold still, I'm taking a pic. Can you tilt your head? Your toothbrush is in the way."

Aftercare is forehead kisses and praise, whining when you have to get up.

Big heart, loves giving you compliments and seeing you shine

Is infinitely proud of you and will not stop telling you so

Likes to do domestic things with you like cooking

Takes you on cute little dates rather than big fancy dinners

Do NOT let him hear you talking bad about yourself

Jongho

Loves being a dom the most

Similar to San, very straightforward, traditional dom

Unlike San, has a cruel streak

Basically a combination of Hongjoong and San

He feels the best when he spoils you

Wants you to buy anything you want

Obsessed with you fr

Wants to make love to you any time he can

Will pin you down but...romantically??

Master of seduction, likes you warm and ready for him

Takes you to fancy dinners and then fucks you in the car on the way home

Loves having his cock worshipped by you

Can eat pussy but prefers seeing your lips wrapped around him

Calls you good girl more than anything

"Did you take your medicine this morning? Good girl."

Isn't jealous at all

Doesn't have to be, he knows you're his

When he catches other men staring at you he feels proud like "yeah, she's mine."

Extremely physically affectionate but only in private

Gentlemanly in public, his hand is usually at the small of your back

In private he just wants to hold you

Loves picking you up

Will pet your hair and pull you in for kisses while he asks about your day

Loves your hair btw

Like, wrapped around his insane grip while he fucks you from behind

Dirty talk

"That's it, baby. Look so pretty like this. You've been wet all day, huh? Just waiting for me to get home and make it better? How many times did you touch that pussy thinking of me?"

Not super kinky, but sex is still intense

Does like to blindfold you occasionally

Likes it when he comes home from work to find you naked in bed, where you're supposed to be

"Is this for me?" he'll ask, sliding his hand over your bare ass.

Doesn't even get fully undressed before he's inside you, he's only impatient when it comes to you

Breeding kink but AUTHENTIC. Like, wants you pregnant (only when you're ready) will probably find you absolutely irresistible when pregnant

Aftercare is whatever you need but will always include water and cuddles

Very protective of you, scolds you for being clueless at times

"Why the hell did you take an uber? You should've just called me. Who knows what kind of people are out there!"

Will get angry with you but you're literally the gem of his life, he treasures you more than anything

[danikamariewrites]

In Enemy Hands

Mob!Azriel x reader

Warnings: kidnapping, guns, violence, a lil murder but nothing graphic, not proof read

Azriel knew. The heavy feeling in his gut twisting and turning as he paced the driveway.

The mini convoy pulling up had him stopping, his eyes widening at the sight of the damaged Range Rover Cassian was driving. His heart clenched at the destruction.

It was rare Azriel let his men see him in this worried state. He was doing a good job of keeping his mask in place, but Azriel felt like he needed to scream. Like he was going to drop to his knees and let this feral thing inside him out.

Rhys silently stepped up next to his brother, clasping his hand on Azriel’s shoulder. As soon as the cars stopped Azriel pulled away from Rhys to inspect your car. Cassian had already given Az a full report of the damage and how you were taken. He just needed to see it with his own eyes.

Azriel frantically searched the car for any clue that you could’ve left. “Az there’s nothing in here,” Cassian says gently.

“No,” Azriel roars, whipping around to give Cassian a deadly glare. “There — she has to,” Az fumbles over his words.

For the first time since he was a child a tear slid down his cheek. For the first time since he was a child Azriel felt fear.

Anger quickly mixed itself in. Azriel quickly sees red. His breaths were bordering on pants as he cast a pained look at your car.

“I am going to kill every single one of them.”

You push your chest against the ropes keeping you to the rolling chair. All that does is slowly spin you in a circle. You pull at the duct tape binding your wrists to the arms of the chair.

Even though your whole body ached from the collision you fought. And you’d keep fighting.

The door squeaks open as Beron stands over you. He's supposed to be a myth these days. Living out his exile in a quiet town, cut off from his family.

When Eris overthrew his father to become head of the family he showed Beron mercy. Something he never showed any of his sons. The fact that Beron was in the city, and with a small army backing him, meant trouble.

“Eris might actually kill you this time,” I break his brooding silence. “Do you not want to live, or are you just itching for round two with the head of the Vanserra fam—” your words melted into a piercing scream as Beron gave your knee a hard kick.

Pain blinds you. Thanks to the crash you’re pretty sure your knee is somewhere between dislocated and broken. Focusing on breathing through it you regain your composure.

“The bastard that took my spot is weak. Your boyfriend even weaker. I know they owe each other. And the pretender has no one, you were next on the list.”

You groan, absorbing the information. Nesta was good at laying low then. And you’re not a rat.

“Finacé.”

Beron gives me a disgusted scowl. “Fiancé now. Do you not get the newsletter out in the suburbs?” You shoot him a shit eating grin. Beron’s growing rage tells you to quit it with the quips.

“The title doesn’t change anything. My plan is already in motion.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Aahh the facade does crack.” He grins. Your glare turns murderous. “If you hurt Azriel you won’t have to be afraid of the family’s. Just me.” Beron lets out a cackle as he leaves you to your pain.

It’s already been a full 24 hours and Azriel hasn’t slept. He angrily paced the house as Eris ran point, commanding men to watch Beron’s old hideouts. To comb the city and leave no stone unturned.

Rhys and Cassian have been taking turns to try and ease their brother’s anxiety. Mostly it was to make sure Azriel didn’t run off to take Beron on alone.

Right when Azriel was about to implode Eris ran into the office to report that you’ve been found.

“I have a man on the inside with Beron. We need to move now to catch them off guard, I’ll explain on the way.” Azriel didn’t wait for Eris to finish before he was out the front door.

When the warehouse comes into sight Azriel has to restrain himself from jumping out of the car. “Remember,” Eris’s stern voice sounds down the comms. “Wait for the signal.” Azriel rolls his eyes, knowing that command was targeted at him.

They stay out for almost an hour before Eris’s informant gives the signal.

Entering the building Azriel almost threw up his heart at the sight.

Once Atlas finally gained your trust you let him cut you loose and help stabilize your knee. Thanks to the pain you had to put your weight on him.

Shuffling out of the room you were hidden away in being out in the open made your heart race. Some guards patrolled the upstairs, a few weaved between the stacked pallets.

Atlas dragged you behind a stack of boxes to send a text to Eris. “Stay here.” Atlas whispers. You make yourself as small as possible. Pressing you back against the boxes as you watch Atlas cut through the room to silently cut down those foolish enough to side with Beron.

A second person took down the men upstairs. Silently laying them down as their bodies went limp in his arms.

When Atlas returns you immediately push yourself up, leaning your weight on him again.

Halfway through the warehouse angry footsteps sound from behind. Followed by the click of a gun. Atlas whipped around, shoving you behind him.

“Beron, you don’t want to do this.” He said, raising his gun. The laugh that escaped Beron sent painful chills through your body.

“Enough games. Where’s the boy? Or is he not brave enough to face me?”

“Eris will be here soon enough.”

The two stare each other down. Neither wanted to shoot first. Atlas pushes you, silently asking you to hide and leave him.

Turning as quickly as your knee would let you hobble down the center of the room, aiming to dive behind another stack of boxes.

Two shots sound behind you. One followed by the thud of Atlas’s body. The other right next to your foot. You let yourself fall, putting your weight on your uninjured side.

Beron grabbed you by the back of your neck, hauling you to your feet.

“Any second.” He panted into your ear. Beron’s arm wrapped around your neck, his gun pressing into your temple.

The door slammed open to reveal Azriel, Eris, and the rest of their men. You let out a small sigh of relief at all the familiar faces.

Your eyes meet Azriel’s rage filled ones. “Beron,” he roars. “Let her go!”

“When I have you both where I want you?” You claw at Beron’s arm attempting to loosen his grip.

Azriel was struggling with what to do. He wants to shoot Beron but he was petrified of hitting you by accident. If he moved, Beron would likely kill you.

Eris opens his mouth to threaten his father when a gun goes off. Beron howls and Eris rushes forward to pin him. Everything plays out in slow motion for Azriel. Once he realizes you fall he runs to you.

Azriel scoops you to his chest, rocking you and running his fingers through your tangled hair. “Y/n, oh my sweet y/n. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Azriel keeps repeating the apology. You cling to him, breathing in his comforting scent.

He pulls away from you to look you over. Tears prick at Azriel’s eyes when he sees the small gash on your forehead and hurt knee. “Oh my angel.”

“I’m ok, Az.” He shakes his head pulling you back to his chest. Picking you up bridal style Azriel briefly talks to Eris. The next time you look up Azriel is buckling you in the car, never taking his arm from around you.

Az doesn’t let you walk in the house, carrying you tight to his chest again. Bringing you to the spare room you see the family doctor is already set up. An hour later she determines your knee has a bone bruise and the cut on your forehead just requires neosporin and a bandaid.

Before the doc leaves Azriel brings you to the bedroom, helping you change and tucking you in with a heating pad.

You stare at him holding his hand. “Sit, love.” He does as you say, the tears he’s been holding back finally falling from eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “I’m so sorry I failed to keep you safe.” You shake your head at him.

“You brought me home. I’m with you.” Az nods. “I brought you home.” He says more to himself than you.

He stays by your side for days. You can’t even get out of bed without Azriel supporting you or carrying you where you want to go. You let him for his sanity.

Weeks later, you get up without Azriel beside you for the first time. Your knee still hurts a little but you keep moving through the pain.

As if he could sense what you’re doing, Azriel pokes his head in. You smirk at him. “Hi Azzy.” He blushes slightly at the nickname.

“What are you doing up so early?” You roll your eyes playfully. “Can’t I get up and have breakfast with my fiancé?”

“Of course,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. Azriel has been trying not to hover since you’ve fully healed. You can see the hesitation in his eyes as his other hand twitches to wrap around you.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you lean into Az. “Will you carry me downstairs?” You press soft kisses to his soft skin to butter him up. Azriel relaxes, scooping you to his chest.

Maybe letting Azriel hover for a little while longer won’t be such a bad thing.

[nicki0kaye]

Absolutely great analogy I'm definitely gonna use.

I want to add how trying to fight executive dysfunction feels like, for me, personally, in hopes it may put words to what others are feeling, and also because I can anticipate the next question after giving the above explanation; why not just stop waiting? Why not just do it?

For me? Because it hurts.

To continue the analogy above, when the loading bar completely fills, it opens a door between me and the thing I need to do. Until that fills up, I have no way of reaching that thing. There is a physical object in the way. I cannot phase through walls, and grinding my face against concrete will not make the atoms part for me.

And no, it will not always be painful, but because this is not a physical wall but a chemical issue, I have no way of knowing when it will be unpleasant and when it will be agonizing. I am afraid of it being agonizing. I have formed a panic response to my executive dysfunction and am having to unlearn learned helplessness because I was expected to grind my face against concrete no one fucking saw, and the only way I knew how to protect myself was to just Not Try. I was and am ashamed. I did not understand what I was experiencing and I did not have any real support.

if this at all mirrors your experience, I am so sorry and you are not alone

If somebody asks me what executive dysfunction is, I’m gonna point them to a web article or suchlike that explains it better than I can. 

If somebody asks me what executive dysfunctions feels like, though, I’d say that it’s like waiting for a video stream to buffer or for a web page to load. You could do so many other things, except you’ve only got a few minutes at most to wait, so most of them aren’t worth starting. So instead you read a few lines of an article or check out your tumblr dash or go get a glass of water. You fill time, because most people don’t like to stare at a loading bar for several minutes if they have other options. Sure, you’re doing things, but if anyone asked what you were up to you’d probably just say “waiting,” because you’re really just doing whatever you can to make the time go faster. 

Now just imagine that instead of doing this for a couple minutes, you’re stuck in this state for hours on end. You’re waiting for the thing to finish, but every time you check it’s still not done so you just keep waiting, breaking your day down into chunks too small to do anything with. You think about playing a game, but you don’t actually start it up. You get a drink, but you don’t make lunch. You open your word processor, but you don’t actually start writing. You’re stuck in a holding pattern, killing time minute by minute, and by the time you realize you don’t actually know what you’re waiting for, the day is already gone. 

It isn’t a matter of being lazy or undisciplined, or a case of making bad decisions. Executive dysfunction is a problem with the organ responsible for making decisions in the first place. When it stops working properly, stops being able to decide between doing this or doing that or doing nothing at all, you end up just going with what comes naturally. You fidget. You kill time. You wait, in expectation of a decision to wait no longer. It may be a long time coming.   

[etherealrin]

Hey! Love your works, it's really nice to read them and I just love your style💖, may I request an isagi x reader but the reader is kaiser's little sibling? It sounds fun ☺️

⋆｡˚꩜ a comprehensive tutorial on how to piss off michael kaiser in his penthouse; by yoichi isagi.

yoichi isagi just wants to hang out with you...but your brother is making it quite uncomfortable

warnings: slight violent descriptions (as a joke), michael kaiser gives you no privacy, one mention of google translated german // wc: 957

note: i was giggling the entire time writing this LMAOO imo such a funny dynamic, the rivalry goes crazy.

your bubbly laughs that echo through the penthouse allow isagi to relax, just a little bit. the environment is new to him, and he’s afraid that the smallest slip-up will result in his head being chopped off by one of the rather large, menacing butcher knives lined against the marble kitchen walls.

but what’s even more threatening is the way kaiser is glaring at him, blue gaze more piercing than any dagger.

“micha, you’re making yoi uncomfortable,” you begin, shooting the blonde haired man your own look of annoyance. you turn your attention away from the mixing bowl in front of you to interlace your fingers with yoichi’s, trying to offer him some comfort. isagi wonders if theres nervous sweat on them.

“he’s in my penthouse, with my sibling? am i meant to leave him unattended, to let this donkey roam around with free will?” kaiser huffs, arms crossing.

yikes, was he in a mood today.

“you’re calling my boyfriend a donkey?” yeah, you were ready to throw hands right there.

isagi had practically jumped for joy when you’d invited him over to bake cookies. he somehow managed to forget that you were rival’s little sibling, and that your house was technically also michael’s—of course he would own a penthouse with a city view. michael was an oddly protective elder brother, or maybe his rivalry with yoichi just ran that deeply; was it not enough for isagi to steal the soccer ball on court? did he have to steal michael’s bloodline too?

“go, um, read a psychology book or something,” you say, wanting to get your brother off the scene. “hang out with ness! i’m sure he’d love to!”

yoichi nods his head hurriedly in agreement.

“you think you two are getting rid of me that easily? that’s-“ your brother is cut off mid-scoff, his phone ringing loudly and persistently. you snicker, knowing that you were about to win.

“was zum teufel,” michael spits, picking up the line.

“no, ness, i’m busy…what? you seriously can’t drive yourself? can’t i…uh….i guess you’re right,” he seems to be arguing with ness, going back and forth.

“you two lucky idiots are getting your wish,” michael snaps as he hangs up, hurrying out the door. before it closes, a warning: “isagi, if you try anything, i’ll screw you over before you can blink twice.”

“yeah yeah, shitty rose.” yoichi’s ego gets the best of him. great, now he’d been rude to your brother in front of you!

but you don’t seem to mind, maybe you didn’t care, humming softly as you add chocolate chips to the mix.

"you need to move out," yoichi doesn't think he can visit you if this is how your brother was going to be.

“hmmm, could be worse. what if we made s’mores cookies?” you reply excitedly.

“the ones with marshmallows?”

“yep! i think i have them somewhere,” you pull him into your startling large pantry. the size is almost that of a grocery aisle, and it’s stocked with an insane amount of protein powder—likely your brother’s doing—but you find the small package of the fluffy white sweets tucked away in a corner.

except, you can’t quite get to it, the nook being far above your head.

“let me,” yoichi says, reaching up. he has to be on the tips of his toes, curse michael kaiser for being so damn tall!

as yoichi fumbles above you for a bit, he doesn’t notice the odd position he’s forced you into, your back flush against the shelves. you’re not that much shorter than him, but he’s gripping onto your shoulder for support, and the proximity makes you flustered. he smells good, crisp and clean, a hint of citrus in the mix.

with a small flop, the bag finally comes crashing down, along with yoichi’s balance. he lets out a startled yelp, hurriedly latching onto your other shoulder.

oh.

you blink, fazed by his deep aquamarine eyes, and the way that your noses are practically touching. his breath is ticklish, irregular from the earlier struggle, and a cherry red blush painted across his entire face.

you’re both too scared to move, stuck in the haze, should you move? closer? maybe further?

it’s like that for an agonizingly long second—still—until yoichi chooses for the both of you, his fingertips make contact with your jaw and they’re warm, hot like the kiss he suddenly pulls you into.

you’re far too eager to reciprocate, hands finding their way into his soft dark locks. the cookie batter stays neglected on the sleek white countertop, both of you distracted and lost in another world.

when your lungs threaten to implode from lack of air, that’s when you pull away, gasping softly.

your boyfriend’s face is ten times redder now.

“sorry, i- i should’ve asked first,” yoichi stammers, flustered and unable to meet your eyes.

“it’s fine, i like you when you’re confident, yoi,” you smile, twisting a strand of his hair.

you fail to notice how the front door had opened, and you’re greeted with michael kaiser standing in the hallway, gawking at the two of you.

“why’s he in my pantry?” michael’s pissed now. “of all damn places, could you two not make out in the middle of my protein powder? seriously, that is gross. i won’t be able to drink that shit now!”

“oops,” you giggle. “you’re just upset that you don’t have someone.” your brother lets out an indignant huff, ready to start hell as he marches closer. you’re still snickering.

unfortunately, yoichi cannot find any of this nearly as funny as you do—no, he’s already thinking about the hell your brother’s going to give him during the game tomorrow, convinced that both of the kaisers would be the death of him.

a/n: michael says "what the hell" in german, i just wanted to make it diverse idk. like genuinely isagi is lucky if he makes it through the week dating a kaiser sibling...kaiser is not giving his blessing for the wedding LMFAO

masterlist!

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter thirty-two: A Line in the Sand

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 32 | next

Series Masterlist

The tension in the room lingered long after In-ho had left, settling into the very air you breathed. You stood there, staring at the empty space where he had just been, frustration burning beneath your skin.

We’ll see.

Those two words gnawed at you, an infuriating mix of dismissal and challenge. You weren’t sure what he expected—to scare you away? To make you question everything that had happened between you? If that was his goal, he was failing spectacularly.

Because the more he pulled away, the more determined you became.

With a sharp breath, you turned on your heel and left the lounge, your mind already racing. You needed answers—needed to understand what was happening beneath the surface of In-ho’s carefully constructed exterior.

And there was only one place you might find them.

The control center was quieter than usual, but the guards stationed near the entrance barely acknowledged your presence as you walked through the doors. By now, they had grown accustomed to seeing you move freely through the compound—something that, at first, had been met with stiff resistance but now had become an unspoken allowance.

You spotted the surveillance screens first, a wall of flickering monitors displaying every inch of the facility. Your gaze skimmed over them until you found what you were looking for—In-ho, standing at the main observation deck, arms crossed as he overlooked the arena below.

Typical.

He buried himself in his work when things got too complicated, retreating into the one thing he could control.

“Looking for something?”

The voice startled you. You turned sharply, finding a familiar figure leaning casually against the console. The Square Guard. The same one who had led the charge against the Panther Mask.

His uniform was the same as the others, but there was something different about him—an air of authority that set him apart.

You hesitated before answering. “Just looking.”

His head tilted slightly, studying you. “You won’t find what you’re looking for on those screens.”

Your brows furrowed. “And what exactly am I looking for?”

The Square Guard didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pushed off the console, stepping closer, lowering his voice just enough to make you uneasy. “You want to understand him. But you won’t—not by watching.”

Your stomach tightened. “And you think you understand him?”

A low chuckle. “I understand the way he works. He keeps people at a distance for a reason.”

You crossed your arms. “And what reason is that?”

The guard studied you for a long moment before finally answering. “Because getting close to him is dangerous. For both of you.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“No,” the guard agreed. “But you should be afraid of what being close to him will cost you.”

A beat of silence passed between you before he nodded toward the screens. “If you really want to know him, stop looking for him here.” Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the hallway.

You stood there for a long moment, his words weighing heavy in your mind.

Stop looking for him here.

You exhaled sharply, your decision made.

If In-ho thought shutting you out would keep you away, he was wrong.

And if there was a cost to getting close to him…

Then you were willing to pay it.

———————

32!!!! Lemme know what you guys think!!! Thank you!

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[lananiscorner]

Can't speak for anybody else, but depending on where you went to school and who your teachers were, I'm afraid paying attention and giving a damn is only half the battle.

Personally (went to school in the 90s and 00s before AI was a thing), I had so. very. many. teachers. who just utterly FAILED at making us understand WHY and HOW the things they were teaching us were going to be important later. It was really more of a "this is on the curriculum, and it's my subject which is always awesome, how can you not see this is awesome and enjoy it just for its own sake?" vibes. And yeah, unless the student you are teaching is into the thing you are teaching, you are not going to get them to pay attention like that.

My most abysmal subject in school was history, primarily because most of my history teachers thought learning about history was inherently FUN and "why can't you guys see this is FUN? How are you not seeing the FUN in this? What's wrong with y'all? How do you not ENJOY learning all those dates and watching timeline grow long?" Meanwhile, me and most of the class were sitting there like "I will never be able to memorize all these dates and everyone involved has been dead for hundreds of years, society has marched on, why should I care?" All I can say is BLESS the two or three GOOD history teachers I had who actually made the jump to go "okay, so forget the dates for a moment, focus on the how and why and let's see how this is still relevant TODAY". If it hadn't been for those two/three teachers, I would have remembered fuck all and I would be entirely unprepared for the historical fuckery that is happening RIGHT NOW.

The same applied to German and English class (I am German, had English as a second language since grade 3). Our English classes were almost entirely about learning the rules of the language and basic geography/history of major English-speaking countries. Our German classes were almost entirely learning the rules of our own language and our Cultural Heritage™ and also, here are the most famous writers (almost all of whom were white, middle-aged upper class men who died hundreds of years ago and whose lived experience was so far removed from that of a teenager in the 90s/00s, it might as well have happened in a different dimension) and we gotta analyze why THEY were brilliant why THEIR WRITING was brilliant.

Like, I WISH we had actually taken apart some newspaper articles/podcasts and analyzed them for how to identify the proper information and spot misinformation/propaganda. I WISH our teachers had succeeded in demonstrating to us why we should care about media analysis, other than wanking about guys who wrote something decent 300 years ago, but most of them really didn't.

Then there is the cascading failure of teachers in later years assuming that you already learned to do something years ago, so clearly they don't need to teach you. They don't even need to ask if you know. Of course not.

I still remember vividly the one history teacher we had who gave us an assignment to make presentations on some very specific local Jewish businesses and institutions that were sacked during the 1930s. Most of us had utterly abysmal grades on that one, not because we didn't care about the subject, but because it was highly local history, so good luck finding anything about it in the local library or on the internet, both of which tended to take a "top to bottom" approach of there being lots of information on global or national events, but very little on local events.

Our teacher gave all of us mediocre grades (deserved, because our presentations were mediocre at best) and then went on to complain how disappointed she was that none of us seemed to have done any research in the city archives, to which almost every single one of us responded with: "wait, there are publicly accessible city archives that we can access for this kind of information? Even as underaged students?"

She had the GALL to be surprised by our reaction, and to complain about how we should know about this already... and then she didn't even bother to teach us how we would go about accessing this kind of information! She saw a leak, and instead of teaching us how to plug it, she just complained about the leak and moved on.

You know, this would have been a nice chance for a field trip? Take the class down to city hall? Let the archiving clerks explain to us how information is stored and sorted and what we can access and what not? I don't know what this woman was expecting from us, honestly, because if "archive research" had been on any of our history curricula before, our teachers clearly hadn't bothered with it, and we were students living in former soviet territories--our parents grew up in a communist dictatorship where asking the wrong questions landed you in prison getting interrogated and tortured. Just how nosy/curious exactly did this HISTORY teacher who clearly should have known about the HISTORICAL background of our area think we were going to be, and how did she not even THINK to ask us "so this next task is about highly local stuff--do all of y'all know what the city archives are and how to access them?"

Like, I'm not saying that none of this failure to do research and accurately interpret and formulate texts is down to student laziness, especially in the face of AI. All I'm saying is, the cards are already pretty stacked against a lot of kids to begin with.

I cannot stress the importance of paying attention in language classes in high school. Maybe the reason why your English teacher taught you about unreliable narrators is because a lot of the media around you is written by unreliable narrators posing as reliable. Maybe they gave you assignments on interpreting texts so you could draw your own conclusions about news articles. Some of you clearly thought English classes were useless in high school and now are unable to engage critically with media.

[maroonshirt81]

omggg what about a carcar cruise au?? Like they meet on the boat 😭🫶

thank you for the great request <3

---

carcar, 2k words, rated m for language

---

When Carlos arrived at his McLarenCruise luxury suite, his luggage was already waiting for him on the bed, next to a young man in a bright orange uniform, who was standing there with his hands folded behind his back. As soon as the door fell shut behind Carlos, the man started to speak like a robot who’d been waiting for its activation command.

“Welcome to your private luxury suite aboard McLarenCruise, where your comfort is our priority,” he drawled in what Carlos guessed to be an Australian accent. “I am Oscar, your personal steward, and I’m here to assist with anything you may need during your voyage.”

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said, flashing him a cheeky grin. “What if I need a little more enthusiasm?”

“I’m afraid that is not a service provided by the McLarenCruise stewards' crew,” Oscar prattled on, if possible even more monotone than before. “If you are unsure of how to make use of the steward appointed to you, I can print out a list of appropriate requests. It includes things like unpacking and storing your luggage, stocking your suite with toiletries and other amenities, and delivering room service.”

“Relax, Oscar.” Carlos laughed, plopping down on the bed. “I was only joking. Don’t act like I asked you to take off your pants.”

“I can also print out a list of actions that aren’t appropriate,” Oscar said. “It includes sitting on the bed while joking about your steward taking off his pants.”

Carlos’s mouth dropped open to tell him that he would never, in a million years, ask someone like Oscar to take off his pants, because… well—have you seen Carlos? But he realized in time that the inappropriateness of such a reply was probably even worse than the joke had been to begin with, so he said nothing.

Oscar seemed to take this as his dismissal. He nodded, as if he had provided exceptional service, and then left the suite before Carlos could ask him to unpack his luggage.

****

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos tried again once evening came around. He had ordered a Risotto al Tartufo Bianco over the comm and then spent 20 minutes checking his hair in the mirror to make sure his charm was turned up to eleven.

He wasn’t the type to treat service staff poorly. In fact, he prided himself on being well-liked by all his subordinates—whether at his own firm, in restaurants, or within his household. He could crack a slightly grumpy Australian, no problem.

“Good evening, sir,” Oscar replied as he wheeled the cart into the suite. “Will you be eating at the table by the window?”

“Yes, please,” Carlos said, following behind to watch Oscar set the dishes on the smaller table in the suite. He looked a little out of place, with his bright orange cap, bright orange polo shirt, black shorts, and white tennis socks, serving a $100 dish to a high-end luxury suite.

“The cruise company forces you to wear this outfit, or is it a personal choice?” Carlos asked as he sat down in the chair Oscar had pulled out for him. He made sure Oscar saw his bright grin and knew that he was joking this time.

But Oscar didn’t laugh. Instead, he heaved a slightly disappointed sigh.

“Please, sir. I know this is a famously hard lesson to learn for old white men. But it is never appropriate to comment on the outfits of people in your service. Please reconsider letting me print out that list for you.”

Carlos was reeling.

Had this guy seriously just called him an old white man? He was thirty!

He must have been reeling for a moment too long because, once again, Oscar nodded at him as if he had just been dismissed after doing an amazing job and left without looking back. He hadn’t even poured Carlos a glass of wine.

And Carlos desperately needed it now.

****

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said the next morning, upon opening the door to what he first mistook for a wandering corpse. He had not bothered with trying to be charming today, but the even pastier-than-usual color of Oscar’s round, unremarkable face made him soften a little. “Are you seasick?”

“No, just sick of this job,” Oscar mumbled, barely audible. “What could you possibly want at six in the morning?”

Carlos arched his eyebrows high, surprised by the sudden lack of robot-like professional speech.

“You were asleep?”

“What gave it away?” Oscar asked. There were pillow lines etched into his cheeks, highlighting the truly terrible, blotchy stubble vegetating between the acne scars. Carlos didn’t point that out, though, since the question had clearly been rhetorical anyway.

Despite looking like he had just rolled out of bed, Oscar was wearing his trusty orange hat and orange polo.

“Do you just sleep in these clothes?” Carlos blurted, remembering Oscar’s lecture about outfit comments too late.

Predictably, Oscar started, “I get that at your age, memory might begin to fail, but—”

Carlos threw the door in his face.

Fuck it. He could find the early morning spin class by himself.

****

Oscar continued to be the most infuriating, judgmental, and frankly useless service personnel Carlos had ever dealt with. The charm offensive was not working, just like Oscar’s eyes, apparently, because he kept insinuating Carlos was some geriatric creep with a power kink. All week, he made Carlos feel like the biggest asshole who ever lived, hinting again and again at printing out a list of appropriate and inappropriate behavior toward his luxury cruise stewards.

Carlos even started to have nightmares about a monster with an orange for a head and unblinking, dead eyes, accusing him of wanting to fuck it.

And yet. 

And yet, when he was lounging on a sun chair on the deck by the pool one afternoon, sending a request for a hopefully spit-less cocktail to be delivered to him, he felt an odd pang of disappointment when a different, much more chipper-looking orange-capped young man appeared to deliver it to him.

“Where’s Oscar?” he asked.

“Oh, he has the afternoon off,” the guy informed him, somehow managing to directly answer his question without implying Carlos was a sick freak who should be arrested for indecent behavior.

“I see,” Carlos said.

“I’ll be at your beck and call until he’s back, sir,” the chipper guy said cheerfully. After a week of Oscar’s flat stare, this guy’s energy felt borderline manic.

“That’s fine, I won’t be needing you again,” Carlos sighed, waving him away.

Damn. He had come on this trip to wind down from his stressful job, maybe have a little summer fling with a hot twink—not to be haunted by a prickly, orange steward.

Letting his eyes wander over the various people surrounding the pool dressed only in the tiniest swimwear possible, he found himself utterly uninterested in any kind of fling. Until…

Until a soft, high giggle caught his ear from a few deckchairs away, where a group of young men were gathered, towels wrapped around their hips or draped over their shoulders.

Carlos immediately perked up. Now that was the kind of laugh he would like to elicit from someone. Honest and unguarded, as if they weren’t used to it but just couldn’t help their good mood in his presence.

Glancing past the various people obstructing his view, Carlos finally found the source of that special giggle, and felt like the air got punched out of his chest for a second.

Because standing there was a guy who could only be an actual, honest-to-God prince. Light brown hair with almost reddish highlights from the sun, falling over his forehead in the most perfect, gravity-defying curl. Crinkly eyes, pale skin with rosy cheeks and a fine peppering of moles spread across his whole body. He was obviously fit, but not in the kind of anabolically enhanced bodybuilder way. His arms had a nice shape to them, as he stood in a cute little pose, hand on his hips, accentuating a tiny waist. And outlined by a wet pair of black shorts was the most perfectly round, biteable ass Carlos had ever seen.

Now that was a guy Carlos would ask to take his pants off!

He kept observing the guy, waiting for the right moment to make his move, and the instant the prince sank into one of the free deckchairs while his friends wandered off toward the pool or the bar, he seized his chance.

Leaving his untouched cocktail behind, Carlos grabbed his bottle of sunscreen instead, master plan already forming in his head.

The guy was lying on his stomach when Carlos reached him, wet drops of water glittering compellingly on his back, face hidden in the nook of his elbow.

Carlos cleared his throat twice before the pretty guy turned his head, blinking one eye open.

“Sorry,” Carlos said, all casual-like. “I noticed your back is starting to be a little red.” Showing off his bottle of sunscreen, he added, “Do you want some of this?”

The guy just stared at him, until Carlos started to sweat a little.

“I could… ah… I could put it on, if you want?”

Finally, the beautiful man pushed himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing in mild irritation.

And then.

And then he started to speak.

In a very familiar, incredibly judgmental Australian drawl.

“Top subject on the list of inappropriate interactions with your stewards,” he said. “Has to be approaching them on their afternoon off and offering to rub sunscreen all over their body!”

Carlos dropped his bottle of sunscreen without even noticing.

“Oscar?” he croaked, eyes snapping open so wide, he felt they were in danger of rolling right out of their sockets.

“Yes?” Oscar said, as if it was incredibly obvious that this… this God of a man was the same sickly pale steward who kept pestering Carlos’s every waking and sleeping moment with his thinly-veiled insults and scathing remarks. The same orange little traffic light figure. The same bad-mannered human Cheeto who complained about being woken up too early up to eleven o’clock, despite being tasked with bringing Carlos his breakfast.

Carlos turned around, not bothering to pick up his sunscreen, and launched himself right into the pool.

Because that was the closest he came to throwing himself overboard the ship.

****

He was surprised to actually find Oscar by the door come dinner time, wearing the same orange cap and polo and unimpressed expression as always. Carlos had almost expected to be permanently switched to the borderline-manic guy.

“Hello, Oscar,” Carlos said contritely, and stepped away to let him wheel in his little cart.

“Spaghetti Carbonara—the classic Italian version, per your request,” Oscar narrated, as he put down the dishes on the little table by the window. Carlos noticed the additional plate with a cloche over it, hiding its content, before Oscar even pointed it out.

“There’s a special little something for dessert under there. On the house. Bon appétit!”

And with that, he left, once again without pouring Carlos any wine.

Carlos waited until the door had fallen shut behind him, then lunged for the cloche, lifting it up.

As he had expected, there wasn’t actually any dessert under there.

Instead, it was a piece of paper.

Carlos took it and read through it, groaning louder the further he read.

Once he was done, he balled the piece of paper up and threw it across the room. Then he went over to the comm and dialed the steward’s office.

“Mr. Sainz! How can we help you?” a female voice asked from the other side.

“I have a message to leave for Oscar, please. Do you have something for writing?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “Go on.”

“Please write down: Carlos Sainz, 055-8155…”

****

[ilysungho]

taesanie with a flirty / shameless reader :3

so me…? /hj LMAO but yes i loveeee writing for flirty reader cause i myself am very flirty hehe i hope this scenario is written well! if you want more or smth specific then lmk for sure nonnie :]

honestly, he wouldn’t be afraid to keep it going with you. if you say something, he would try to one up you while also trying his hardest to be nonchalant. he thinks that you’d give up but only has to try harder as you also don’t lose your edge against him. it only goes deeper and deeper until taesan is the one to put a pause on it, telling you straight up that he can’t go further unless he knows that you like him and aren’t just messing with him. he’s a romantic at heart so everything he does would have some intention behind it. he was only willing to go so far with you because he likes you! he just needs the reassurance to keep going because he doesn’t want to get his heart broken :(

in a relationship though, he’d always want to take the extra mile! you use a pick up line on him? he tells you how in love he’s with you in exchange (he knows it always works when he says his songs are for his muse, which is you). you smack his ass while passing by? he has you pinned against the wall immediately. you sit in a teasing position to get him turned on? he’s calling you out on it while whispering sweet nothings into your ear immediately. he loves how shameless and flirty you can be, because he is able to take advantage of the situation.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 26

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately life gets in the way of these things!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24 • Part 25

• ··········· • ············ •

Thanks to whatever gods were now in charge of watching your endeavors, you made your way quickly and easily through the aqueduct. A mix of Viktor’s knowledge of the place and your ability to unlock doors and create distractions meant you didn’t need to go through the rocky riverbed.

Once on the other side of the river, you both made your way silently toward the main city, and when you arrived back at the park, the sun was already low on the horizon.

Viktor paused next to the small bench you had met by that morning, scratching the back of his neck and biting on his cheek, and you frowned.

“Spit it.” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow when he looked up at you, but then his gaze drifted away.

“I have a…suggestion to give you, but I’m afraid of what you might think of me after.”

Your frown got deeper as his cheeks got redder.

“Go on.” 

“My apartment is closer to the aqueduct than the penthouse, so…” He cleared his throat. “I think it would be beneficial…and far less exhausting… if…youspendthenightatmyhouse.”

The last part of the sentence came out as fast as the hex claw laser. You got 'spend' and 'house'…ah…

…

“You don’t have to; it is completely up to you, and even if you say yes and then change your mind, you can go! And the walls are really paper-thin, so if you are worried that I do anything to you… I mean you do have magic and I'm not exactly the strongest man in Piltover…once…Jayce gently pushed me away from an experiment, and I toppled over… Embarrassing, really… Why am I telling you this?”

You blinked a couple of times. At first I'm shocked that he had actually asked you to spend time at his place, especially after the day you both had. And then at his comically dramatic rant, a smile appeared on your face as he kept going.

“Alright, sounds like a good plan.”

“Besides, your mother isn’t here yet, and you’d be alone and…wait, what?” He finally stopped to look at you.

“It’s a good idea. We’ll be able to squeeze a few more hours of sleep in and do some planning.”

Viktor started to nod slowly at first and then enthusiastically. His face opened up with a nervous but bright smile.

“You want to go get takeout at Voltaire’s? I’m sure I can convince him to get you some tart…” He announced as he passed you by, waiting for you to follow him.

“No need.” He adjusted his cane, and you could have sworn he had a little more pep in his step. “Jayce came over the other day; his mother usually makes him bring me food. I fear she thinks I can’t feed myself.”

“Eh…pastries and dessert don’t count as a balanced meal plan, Vik.” You joked, and he gave an ‘I don’t care’ type shrug. “I’m just happy you're eating.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You shifted your backpack’s straps, realizing what you had blurted out.

“Well, work…”

“I can eat and work! That is why I have two hands…” He made a gesture of screwing a bolt and grabbing something to eat.

“Wow…efficient.” He made an agreeing sound with his throat, and you laughed.

“Keep doing it! As much as people would kill for those cheekbones, gaunt wouldn’t look good on you.” You winked at him and laughed when he touched the reddening apple of his cheeks. 

Viktor joined your amusement as you both walked towards the Artist Quarters on your way to Engineering Street. 

The small apartment Viktor had inhabited was, in fact, closer to the aqueduct, between the riverbed and the Academy. Most of the people working in the Academy had housing there. Mostly because the rents were low for them and proximity. It was a step up from dorms, but not really an upgrade in luxury.

And while Engineering Street was quiet throughout the day and night, you’d even say a bit boring, the Artist Quarters were a lively and colorful place, becoming more energetic at night.

The buildings were smaller, with a maximum of 3 floors, but bright with small shops on the floor levels. Bakeries, art shops, music stores. The cobblestone streets were filled with chalk drawings on the ground, and the streetlights had string lights hanging in between them. 

The colors seemed to become brighter in these streets with the number of flowers and small trees and the strewn artists painting on the streets or people drinking and eating on the restaurant’s patio.

You passed by an art supply shop, and someone inside shouted Viktor’s name and waved at him. Viktor did the same, warmly greeting the elderly man storing a display of watercolors on a shelf, and you became curious.

“Mr. Felton sells me the pencils and chalks the council hates so much.” Viktor explained when he saw your expression.

“Have you ever tried drawing?”

“Oh no! Jayce is the artist of the two of us. He’s in charge of doing the initial designs and sketches…I’m good with a ruler, though!”

You were chuckling at his pride and confidence when he suddenly veered right and started to fish something out of his satchel. He took out a key and shoved it into the intricate front door to a beautiful blue-tiled building.

When he noticed you weren’t following him, he turned back and mentioned for you to come.

Viktor, head scientist and co-creator of Hextech, did not live on Engineering Street… Viktor, the color-coding aficionado, lived in the Artists Quarters. And you knew, in your heart of hearts…in the depths of your soul…there was nothing that made more sense than this.

His never-stopping mind didn’t need the monotony of the academy-assigned living quarters. It needs the bustle and the bustle and the colors of this place. You wondered if anything would have been different if the other Viktor had had this thought.

…

The building was beautiful outside and in.

On the outside, the light blue tiled walls were decorated with white columns and stone windows. There were three floors, with the two higher ones having a small veranda on them, just big enough to have two chairs on them. The ivy that crept up on the walls broke the symmetric façade of the building, clinging to the columns and tiles like veiny tendrils of bright green. What really got your attention at first was the front door, a white wood double door with intricate carvings and colorful glass panes, finished with a beautifully curved glass canopy.

The inside of the building was just as wonderful, with pastel brown painted walls and various little plants scattered on corners; the well-used wooden floors gave the inside a cozy feeling. In the middle back of the foyer was an old, small elevator that Viktor quickly made his way to, only stopping at the metal mailboxes to see if anything had been left to him. Nothing.

When you got to the elevator, you noticed Viktor’s hand tapping on the handle of his crutch. He was biting his cheek and slightly frowning, breathing in and out deeply at points.

“Are you alright?” You asked, leaning against the cage of the elevator.

“Mmm?” You nodded to his fingers on the handle, and he stopped, clutching the handle tighter. “Sorry…I--”

“Remember when you said I could change my mind and go? The same applies to you. I can just go.” You made sure your tone wasn’t disappointed or angry or any unintentional emotion that would make him feel bad when there was absolutely nothing to feel bad about. You’d respect his decision the same way you know he’d respect yours.

“No…” he quickly interjected. “I…this is not because I don’t want you here. It is because I do. I’m afraid I may do something that will scare you off…”

“I don’t scare easily.” You want to add, ‘I once spit in the face of a god,’ but then he would start asking questions. So you just touched his hand and smiled. 

The elevator stopped with a mechanical groan, and Viktor nodded, more to himself than to you, and walked out to the second-floor foyer. He opened the door and walked inside with you close behind. However, you couldn’t make it past the door frame without gasping wide-eyed while your mind blanked.

Something about butterflies and wings came to mind, though.

The inside of his apartment was the exact same floor plan as the other dimension. A small kitchenette to the left with a window on top of the sink, and the rest was open space. The glass and wood door to the balcony was on a diagonal corner in front of the main door; next to it was a small arrangement of windows with curved lines going through them, giving them a delicate design. There was a room to the side, which you guessed was the bedroom, and another room at the end of the open space, the bathroom. It wasn’t cramped, but it was small.

You knew this floor plan like the back of your hand; you could close your eyes and go from here to the bathroom without bumping into the wall.

What changed, though, made the entire home feel different. The decorations and the colors. The lived-in details of the furniture.

The walls had been painted a deep forest green, instead of the neutral gray of the other dimension. There were decorations on the walls, diplomas, and schematics displayed proudly. The wooden floors were shiny and covered with rugs here and there.

The small table that served as a divider between the kitchen and the living space had a napkin holder and a wooden straw table mat. There were pans on top of the fridge and plates on the dish rack. There were two mugs on the sink, one of them with ‘man of progress printed on it. 

It contrasted with the table that only served to hold books, boxes, and schematics. On the other timeline, glasses and plates were stored so as not to catch dust from not being used.

The living room had three bookcases filled with trinkets, books, vinyl records, and their player. 

The books weren’t just academic, like the other apartment’s shelves, but also biographies and fantasy, architecture, and philosophy.

You could see the collector's edition of your mother’s saga neatly tucked into a shelf with small ceramic figures of the main characters in front of them. 

There were photos of him, Jayce, Sky, and even your mom and Willah. Noticeably he didn’t look particularly comfortable in any of them, but it was a stark difference from the single photo of Jayce and Viktor at the inauguration of the hexgate and the framed newspaper clipping of the hex crystal discovery. 

The couch was a light dusty pink color with decorative pillows and two folded blankets on the back of it. It was a sharp difference from the leather-bound couch with blankets thrown about and his bed pillow shoved into a corner.

Behind a clothed divider, a desk and some scientific material were completely thrown around, but the mess was enclosed there. Near a big window, you saw the single-seat, twin version of the couch your mother sent to the lab. Tucked in a nook surrounded by plants and books. 

There were shoes on the shoe rack and coats on the coat hanger. There was an open book with a cover-up on the end table near the couch. There were tea stains on the dinner table. There was a life being lived here.

As you walked around the home, with Viktor trailing in front of you explaining and adding commentary to the million new things you were finding in the familiar house, you found yourself wondering why the Viktor you knew from before couldn’t have been gifted this…why was this Viktor standing in front of you smiling and being a generally happy human while his cosmic twin coughed himself to death? It made you sad and happy and angry and relieved.

“Are you alright?” Viktor tapped your shoulder, something he had now started to use to catch your attention instead of grabbing you.

You took a deep breath and mentioned the couch, silently asking permission to sit. Quickly he nodded and grabbed some pillows to make space for you. 

When you fell onto the leathery furniture, he took the place next to you, looking concerned.

“V…I…need to--”

“Meow”

Your speech was interrupted by a long, muffled meow by the front door, accompanied by small scratches on the wood.

“Oh…No, no… I’m sorry…Give me a moment…” Viktor gave an apologetic smile and got up, while you looked on intrigued by this.

He walked towards the bathroom door and opened it and then went back to the front door and did the same. The blackest of black cats intertwined itself on Viktor's legs, giving out small greeting squeaks and purrs.

“Go. Go on. Yes, I know.” Viktor said, smiling softly at the cat, talking back to them as if he could understand. 

The scientist softly nudged the cat with his foot, making the furry critter understand the big human wanted to move.

The cat finally acknowledged you and walked slowly towards where you sat, sitting gracefully in front of you and staring. Their blue eyes looked at you, and you swore that if all of the lights in Piltover were to turn off, the cat's eyes would be the only thing beaming.

“You have a cat.” You stated more than asked.

“Eehhh…Technically, the building has a cat. She just heard me first.” He limped back towards the couch and sat down.

“What's her name?” 

“Noir…Nono for short.” 

The cat leaped to the couch and smelled the hand you gave her. After a while, she deemed you worthy of her time and pushed her head into her hand, while Viktor stroked her body.

“Nono.” You called, and she looked at you. You presented her with your name, and she meowed.

When she was sick of the attention, she jumped down and walked to the bathroom, where you heard the telltale signs of her munching on her food.

“What were you saying?”

Viktor’s face was the definition of relaxed, the concern from before being replaced with a soft gaze and smile. 

Was the need to come clean to him about his cosmic twin attempting to end the world worth him losing his peace? Would the information you were about to vomit change what he has so carefully built?

“I…think I just need to eat.” You gave him a bright smile, and he laughed quietly.

“Very well.” He got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen counter, and you followed him. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

You already were, the familiar floor plan making you feel at home. You sat at the dinner table watching him open his fridge and take out some glass containers with food and place them in the oven to heat up. 

Viktor sat on a chair next to you and slowly took off his leg brace, sighing in release.

“If you want to, you can shower. I can go ask Madame Theroux, my neighbor, if she can let me borrow one of her kid's old clothes… I think she might have something that fits you.” 

“Oh no…That’s too much of a bother.”

“Nonsense.” He got up and grabbed a discarded cane that was hooked on the divider and walked towards his bedroom. 

After a while, he came out holding two fluffy towels and handed them to you. “She probably already heard I have company; might as well come clean sooner than later; otherwise she’ll be knocking on my door to snoop.”

“Sounds like a charm.” You grabbed the towels.

“She is actually. She’s very protective of us…the people in the building.” He smiled and mentioned the bathroom door. “If you could just leave the door ajar so Nono can come in and out…otherwise she will throw a tantrum.”

The black cat, now curled up on the couch, meowed at hearing her name. You nodded and walked to the bathroom while Viktor made his way to his neighbor's door.

“Oh…you can use whatever you need from there.” He opened the door and paused again. “There’s a robe on the back of the door if you need it.”

The door clicked shut, and you looked at Nono, who looked up at you and blinked slowly.

The bathroom was big, and while in the other dimension, it was just a well, normal bathroom; this one had been enhanced to help Viktor with his disability.

There were grab rails next to the slightly raised toilet and in the shower nook. All of the towel racks were sturdy enough to assist if he needed.

The floor had several thin anti-slip rugs, and the shower also had one that looked like wood. 

There was also a stool inside the shower that you assumed he would use when needed.

You and Viktor in your timeline had once talked about this, making his house accessible for when he needed it, but his answer had been dismissive. A shrug and an ‘I spend more time in the lab anyway.’ Maybe you should have insisted; maybe you should have been more enthused about making it easier for him. Maybe if you had, he would have seen you in a better light after he had gotten the news.

It frustrated you that ‘maybes’ were all you had now. Even if you went back to your dimension, those things would still be in a maybe and if pile.

You heard the door close and started your shower quickly. You heard a knock on the door.

“There is a chair outside the door, in arm's reach for you to take. Madame Theroux said she threw in some undergarments…I didn’t check.” 

“Thank you.” 

You finished the shower and grabbed the clothes. Some red cotton checkered bottoms, a matching shirt, a white undershirt, and undergarments. It looked cozy, and it did fit you perfectly. This brought up the question of how Viktor had described you to the neighbor for her to get accurate measurements.

Walking out of the bathroom intent on joking about it with him, you stopped when you saw him haul a blanket and what you assume was a pillow to the couch.

“Oh. You are done.” He smiled, grabbed some clothes from the back of the couch, and walked towards you. “I think the food will be done soon. I am going to take a shower too, and then we eat, yes?”

You were still looking at the pillow and the sheet that was already tucked into the sofa. 

“This for me?” You blurted it out before he passed you, and he shook his head.

“No. You’re my guest. You sleep on the bed.” He sounded proud of himself. “May I?”

Viktor pointed to the door of the bathroom, and you noticed you had been blocking his path. You took a step forward, and he smiled, walked inside, and pushed the door almost closed.

The ruffling of clothes snapped you out of your stupor, and you walked towards the kitchen, throwing daggers at the couch.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @kitewa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd @jazzypop-op @jojo-at-heart @deceivethedreamer

[girl4music]

“She’s not burning just one paper, she has an entire fire going.”

What an analogy!

A+ meta on Vi OP.

Girl hasn’t even had chance the catch up with herself.

Let alone anyone else.

And yet she constantly puts others before herself. You’d think someone that closed off would be a little selfish.

Nope. She’s the last person to “me” the narrative.

And we love her for it but at the same time…

We just want her to get a break.

And she does in the end.

“Anti-climatic” or not… this was appropriate for her.

And if people can’t deal with that, then they don’t care about the character and her wants and needs at all.

And do you know what’s upsetting but also admirable?

Vi would be fine with that. I think it’s nice seeing the badass warrior woman be the selfless one for once.

It subverts the trope that tormented warriors aren’t capable of feeling empathy or having compassion.

Because at the end of the day the reason why they fight so hard and so much is because they’re deeply experienced in and sensitive to loss and grief and pain.

That’s what makes them true warriors and heroes.

JINX: “Vi was strong because she was afraid. Her fear of losing us is what made her fight so hard.”

I find it fascinating all the different interpretations (some of them way off when it comes to characterization BUT nevertheless entertaining) on Arcane. Sometimes it seems like people aren’t actually SEEING what they’re watching. HEARING what they’re listening to. FEELING what they’re touched by.

It’s almost like they’re the actual closed off ones.

They’ve got the entire experience right in front of them and yet… it’s not reaching them. Not getting through.

It’s mad. Sometimes I have to ask myself: “Am I just unusually perceptive and receptive?”

I don’t think so. 🫤

I mean there’s no reason why I would be.

I think the problem is on their end because the creators did all they could to illustrate the complexity of Arcane.

If people aren’t picking that up, there’s a problem there.

And I think it’s the difference between driving the vehicle and riding shotgun. Entirely different intake.

When you’re not in it, you don’t easily understand it.

But if you’ve been there, you sort of filter it that way.

And the result is what is cultivating the divisiveness.

But hey, that’s the key to exceptional storytelling and representation if you can get so many different intakes.

I find it fascinating. I am as equally entertained and fulfilled in watching the reactions over Arcane as I am watching Arcane itself. I think it’s one hell of a show.

I don’t say much. I just sit in the backseat observing.

And what I’ve experienced from doing that has been enlightening to say the least. But that’s just how I roll.

Vi’s ending is so important to me actually

Her life isn’t better without Jinx. That misconception drives me insane. Losing her sister is just adding more grief to the mountain she already has. But it is better that shes been allowed to just sit for once. She was an object in motion for basically the entire show, she was losing people constantly, she grew up in jail for fucks sake- shes never been allowed to just rest.

Her ending up in a safe home with someone who loves her and the time to finally process all the grief she’s been holding onto? She hasn’t had the chance to deal with the loss of anyone since Felicia and Connel. Her parents were the last people she had the chance to grieve in a safe environment.

She’s not burning just one paper, she has an entire fire going. That’s significant. Her getting to just sit for once, with no urgency, and watch the fire is so significant. It would be better if she had her sister there, and since it’s been confirmed that Jinx is alive I hope they reconnect bc they both deserve it, but just. Fuck. Healing is so bittersweet and I’m glad they allowed her that.

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 1 | - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The training rooms smelled of sweat, determination, and dreams that didn’t come easy. Chris always lingered a little longer than the others, his eyes fixed on the mirrors, wondering if his reflection would ever transform into someone worthy of debut. For years, it was the same – watching friends reach their dreams while he stayed behind, burdened by doubt.

There was also you. You weren’t just another trainee to Chris. Sure, you were a hard worker, someone who matched his relentless pace, but you were also his anchor. Late-night conversations about dreams, shared snacks in the practice room, and bursts of laughter after a particularly tough day made the grueling years bearable. He never told you about the way his heart would race when you smiled at him or how your encouragement after his failures felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He kept that silly little teenage crush away, afraid to ruin what you two had.

But around the time Han joined the company, you decided to leave. The dream of becoming a K-pop idol didn’t burn as brightly for you anymore, and while Chris understood, he hated losing yet another close ally. One day, you were practicing next to him and the next day, you were just… gone.

The years passed. Stray Kids debuted, and Chris threw himself into his work, becoming the leader his members needed him to be. Life moved on, but every now and then, in quiet moments, he’d wonder what you were doing. 

It wasn’t until one day, years later, when he was catching up with Sana that your name came up.

“You remember Y/N?” Sana asked casually over coffee, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Of course, I remember her,” Chris said with a small smile. “It’s been years, though. I haven’t talked to her since…” His voice trailed off, the memory bittersweet. “I wonder how she’s doing.”

Sana grinned. “Funny you should say that. I got her number recently. Want it?”

Chris blinked, startled. “Her number?”

“Yep,” Sana said, sliding her phone toward him. “Go on. Text her. She’d probably love to hear from you.”

That night, Chris sat on his bed, your number staring back at him from his phone screen. He hesitated, typing and deleting messages, his nerves getting the better of him. Days passed before he finally worked up the courage to text you.

“Hey, this is Chris. Sana gave me your number. It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Chan hit send and immediately regretted it. What if you didn’t reply? What if you didn’t want to talk to him at all? He set his phone down, trying to distract himself, but every buzz made his stomach flip.

A few hours later, his phone lit up.

“Chris as in Christopher Bang Chan?”

He smiled, relief washing over him as he quickly typed back. “Yeah, it’s me. This is Y/N, right?”

Your reply came almost instantly: “Yeah. It’s been ages! I can’t believe you’re texting me!”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before replying, “I’ve missed you. I hope you’re doing well.”

There was a brief pause before your next message arrived: “I am, thanks. You too. I’m proud of you. I’ve watched your MVs – You’ve come so far.”

The thought of you keeping up with his career sent a rush of warmth through him. He stared at your message for a moment, rereading it before typing back. “I wouldn’t be here without you. You know that, right?”

Your reply came with a teasing tone that made him laugh out loud. “Once you’re famous and living the idol life, you forget to text old friends, huh? 😜”

“Hey, I’m here now!” he shot back.

And just like that, the ice was broken. Over the next few days, your texts became constant – snippets of your lives, fond memories of the trainee days, and playful banter. It felt like no time had passed, and yet, in some ways, everything had changed.

One day, Han caught Chris grinning at his phone in the corner of the dorm. It was rare to see their leader so visibly relaxed, much less smiling to himself. Intrigued, Han leaned in, nearly giving Chris a heart attack.

“Hyung, who’s got you giggling like that? Is it someone I know?”

Chris scrambled to lock his phone. “It’s nothing, it’s just...an old friend. Do you remember Y/N from when we were trainees?”

Hearing him say your name, Han’s curiosity only grew. “Not really, but you were pretty close right? Hyung, why are you just texting? You should meet her. It’s been years, right? I bet she’d love to catch up.”

Chris hesitated. Meeting you in person? That thought felt heavier than he expected. He wasn’t sure why.

“Hyung.” Han’s tone softened, sensing his hesitation. “You’ve told me stories about her. She meant a lot to you back then, right? What’s stopping you?”

It was a question Chris couldn’t easily answer, but it nudged him to act. A few days later, after much internal debate, he texted you.

“How about coffee this weekend? There’s this café I like. We could catch up properly.”

Your response was quick and enthusiastic: “I’d love that! Let me know the place and time.”

-----

The café was warm and inviting, its earthy tones and gentle lighting creating a cozy ambiance. Chris arrived first, nervously fiddling with his phone as he waited. He hadn’t seen you in years, and the thought of reconnecting stirred a mix of excitement and anxiety. Would he recognize you? Would it feel the same as it did back then?

When the bell above the door chimed, Chan looked up, and there you were. You hadn’t changed much, and yet, you looked so different. The teenage girl he remembered had matured into someone who carried themselves with quiet confidence. Your smile was the same, though, lighting up your face as you spotted him.

“Chris,” you greeted, and the sound of his name in your voice felt like a time machine.

He stood, unsure whether to hug you or shake your hand, but you made the decision for him, pulling him into a warm embrace. “It’s been forever,” you said, pulling back to look at him. “You haven’t changed.”

Chris chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You have – in a good way. You look… happy.”

The two of you ordered drinks and found a quiet corner. The conversation started easy – catching up on the basics, sharing stories from your lives since those trainee days. But as the initial excitement settled, the mood grew more reflective.

“Do you regret it?” Chris asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, but his gaze was intense, searching your expression for any flicker of doubt. “Leaving the company, I mean. Giving up on… that dream.”

You took a sip of your coffee, considering his question. “No,” you said finally, your voice steady. “I don’t regret it, Chris. After I quit I realized that I was chasing something that wasn’t really mine to chase. I think I was trying to prove something to myself, or maybe to others.”

You paused, hesitating before continuing. “I realized after I left that the dream I really wanted… it was never an option for me. Producing music, having creative control—it was never going to happen as a girl in a girl group, not in that company, not at that time. They had a mold, and I didn’t fit into it. Once I understood that, it was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I stopped trying to be someone I wasn’t.”

Chris’ eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing through them. “That… must’ve been tough to come to terms with.”

“It was,” you admitted. “I was angry for a while, at myself, at the system. But after I left, I started to see that it wasn’t the end. There’s more than one way to make a dream come true, and the path I’m on now—it feels right for me. I’m happy where I am.”

Chris nodded, processing your words. “You always seemed so sure of yourself back then. I guess I just… I admired that.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I wasn’t as sure as you think. But thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

There was a moment of quiet, the café’s gentle hum filling the space between you. Then Chris tilted his head slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Do you still do music? Like creating or singing?”

You smiled, the question sparking something warm in you. “Yeah, I do. It’s just a hobby now, though. I write and sing at home when I feel like it. It’s… different from before, but it brings me a lot of joy.”

“That’s great,” Chris said sincerely. “I’m glad you haven’t let it go completely. Music was always such a big part of who you are.”

You nodded, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “It still is. But right now, I haven’t really been doing much with it. I just moved back to Seoul recently, so I’m still settling in. Once things are a bit more stable, I’d love to dive back into it.”

“You moved back?” Chris asked, his eyes lighting up. “How long ago?”

“Just a couple of months,” you said. “I wanted a change, and Seoul felt like the right place to be.” Then, after a brief pause, you added, “You know, once everything’s in order, you should come by sometime. I’ve been meaning to show someone my music setup—well, when I finally unpack it all.”

Chris’ eyes widened slightly in surprise, then softened with a warm smile. “Yeah? I’d like that. It’d be nice to hear what you’ve been working on since.”

“It’s nothing fancy – no chart-topping masterpieces” you said quickly, brushing off the compliment with a wave of your hand. “But it’s always fun to share it with someone who gets it.”

“I’d love to,” he said, his sincerity unmistakable. “Just let me know when you’re ready. No rush.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the café windows, the two of you lingered, caught in a space that felt timeless. There was something comforting about reconnecting, about seeing the ways you had both changed and grown, yet still finding the same thread of understanding that had tied you together all those years ago.

pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Smooth Operator

Pairing: Warriors x Reader

Warning(s): References to age-appropriate drinking and a few dirty jokes, but this is surprisingly tame compared to my other Warriors works

Notes: Ugh I love Wars so bad, writing him is such a treat.

Masterlist

The tavern was as crowded as it could be; a heavy throng of people milling about the small space, some in time to the cheery music and others to the swirling rhythm of their heart, swaying on their feet as bodies and inhibitions melded together. The atmosphere was darkly carefree, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. It wasn't an ideal meeting spot, but you needed information more than your dignity.

The candlelight flickered as you brought your glass up, wetting your lips with the gentlest sips of red wine, tongue flicking to carefully swipe over the painted curve of your bottom lip, not wanting to disturb Wild's handiwork. You had no idea where the champion had learned to apply lip stain like he had, but you weren't complaining when your eyes caught the rough silhouette of your target, a well-connected merchant rumored to possess knowledge on the whereabouts of a certain black lizalfos.

The music swelled and dipped, filling you with a sort of confidence as you pulled away from the side of the bar, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles of your dress–a gift from Warriors–and stalking forward with the grace of a panther, the deep neckline accentuating the curve of your chest and the tasteful slit in the thigh revealing hints of flesh beneath, though not enough to label you as something... more than you were.

The crowd seemed to part as you made your way forward, the merchant's back to you until the very last second, when your shoulder brushed his and you squeaked in a tone borrowed from Wind himself. "My apologies, my lord–"

The man turned, his disgruntled expression quickly turning into something far more appreciative. "Why, my lady, no apologies necessary," his gaze swept down your body in a way that made you feel horribly exposed, but you covered it up by placing a hand over your mouth, batting your lashes softly. "I can't help as though I've seen you before."

You tensed when his unoccupied hand–the one not holding a massive mug of beer–swept down to rest on the curve of your waist, lightly covered by patterned mesh. His breath, hot and rank, washed over you, and you regretted not taking the fan Sky offered you. "Oh, my lord..." you cooed, putting as much simpering charm as you could manage into those three words.

"But how could I forget a face as delicate as yours," the merchant mused, brown eyes glinting like dried blood on cloth. "Especially not with a body so... enticing."

You were positive you could have thrown up in that moment, bile rising in your throat, bitter and burning. You needed to take control. Now. "You flatter me when I am but a humble traveler."

"A traveler? And where, pray tell, is your destination?"

"East, my lord."

"East," he hummed, and your skin crawled, hands gripping your glass hard enough to shatter it. "Pity, I am returning West myself."

"How coincidental, should we have both headed West," you said, keeping the conversation in motion until you were ready, putting on the best vexed face you could. "After the attacks, I fear..."

The merchant raised a brow. You smiled internally, knowing you had him hook, line, and sinker. "Attacks?"

"Yes," you glanced around the bar, and his gaze followed. "I have heard rumors... of a creature. A lizalfos, as dark as the night itself."

"Ah, and why would a delicate creature such as yourself be concerned with those matters?" The man pressed, eyes lighting up with hunger and lust as he considered his next words. "Unless, of course, you travel alone?"

"I'm afraid so," you confirmed, biting your tongue when his hand tightened around your waist. "If I knew the whereabouts, perhaps I would be more inclined to," you paused for effect, making sure your lips were as pouty as you could make them. "accept companions on my travels."

The merchant's eyes shone in a way that made you want to stab him with the dagger cleverly hidden in the folds of your dress. "Companions, my lady?"

You opened your mouth to respond, and that's when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes, a rogue flash of royal blue among the milling crowd. The hero. Your hero.

Warriors.

Warriors, who currently stalked forward like an apex predator. Warriors, dressed to the nines in his captain's uniform, scarf billowing behind him like the sail of a deadly ship. Warriors, whose gaze held nothing but broiling rage at the sight of you in the arms of someone other than him.

And you, the decoy, not quite able to remove him from the corners of your vision as you used the ticking seconds to simper about the whereabouts of the lizalfos, praying to whatever deity existed that you got your information before the hero got his penitence. Your wishes were granted when you caught sight of a tan scroll in the pocket of the merchant's coat, practically begging to be noticed by nimble minds and stolen by even nimbler fingers.

"Won't you tell me, my lord?" you simpered in one last ditch effort, trying to look as pathetic as possible to tempt him into submission. You didn't notice the way his gaze roved over every inch of your body, so focused on getting that map.

You didn't notice him look over, face falling slightly as he met the hero's glare.

You didn't notice the tension crackle between the two men.

But you did notice the shattering of glass and screams that filled the tavern as the merchant's grip tightened around your waist, turning into something painful and bruising as he drew himself up, attempting to intimidate Warriors with his height.

It didn't work.

You gasped when the Captain's fist collided with the merchant's cheek, sending the taller man staggering back into the wall, before seizing your wrist and pulling you against his side in a protective embrace. "Come on," he all but growled, though it wasn't directed at you, and you hardly had any time to react before he was tugging you in the direction of the exit, the sound of curses and breaking glass following you all the way out.

Warriors practically shoved the door open, gently pushing you into the alleyway before grabbing a stick from the ground and shoving it into the hinges, preventing anyone from coming through. You turned to face him, arms wrapped around yourself as the chill of the night began to take hold, hissing: "What the hell was that?!"

"You looked uncomfortable," the captain said, mirroring your stance with a stern, dangerous look, his tone devoid of its usually flirty cadence.

"I– that's the point!" You pinched your temples. "Or have you forgotten how these things work?"

Warriors' gaze darkened, and you knew you were pushing him. Too bad, because you were pissed, too. "He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat, (Y/n)– and don't get me started on how he was feeling you up. I'll be damned if I sit back and watch you get–"

You interrupted him with a scoff. "Thanks, but I don't need your help, Warriors. I can handle myself just fine."

"It's not about that," he pressed, looking more and more frustrated. "It's about the fact that he touched something that doesn't belong to him."

"And what's that?" You shot back, knowing full well what he was referring to. This wasn't the first time you and Warriors had been at odds like this before, but it was certainly the most spontaneous.

"You."

You made a face at the insinuation. "I never said I belonged to you–"

"Neither did I, but you sure as hell don't belong to him," the hero interrupted with a snarl, cerulean eyes flashing with something vaguely protective. He was pissed, but not at you.

"I don't belong to anyone," you said, willing yourself not to think of the kiss you shared with him under the moonlight a few weeks ago. It happened during one of the rare breaks, with the chain stopping at an inn for a few days to recuperate after a particularly tough series of events, and, being the consenting adult you were, you had taken advantage of the downtime and gone to buy a flask of wine, which led to you and the captain sharing it in the back of the inn like a pair of misbehaving teenagers. You could still remember the chill of the tree as he pressed you against it, kissing you until all you saw were stars.

Nothing had happened since then.

Until now, though you weren't quite sure if the look in his eyes meant he was going to kiss or kill you.

"You don't," Warriors agreed, though there was something in his tone that hinted to something more. "I could have killed him, (Y/n)."

"And ruin that stellar reputation of yours?" You snarked, glad that the mood was lightening slightly. "Besides, I've gotten what I wanted."

His eyebrows shot up. "You–"

"Of course," you reached into the front of your dress and pulled out the scroll. "What, did you think I was flirting with him for fun?"

Warriors gave a noncommittal grunt, arms crossed over his chest.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh. "Pfft– seriously? Besides, it was either me or Wild, take your pick."

"Wild could have–"

"Wild would have set him on fire within the first minute," you interrupted with a grimace.

"Good."

For a split second, you were silent, mostly because you agreed with him and partly because the satisfied grin on his face was a bit much for your poor, exhausted brain at this time, but you managed a disapproving tut. "Nope, gotta preserve your reputation, pretty boy."

"Pretty boy," he echoed, trying and failing to look offended. You shrugged, offering him the scroll, which he took with an expression of shock. "You really..."

"What can I say?" you grinned. "I'm a great actor."

"Among other things," said the hero, and you laughed softly, irritation melting away like snow on a summer's day. You had gotten the plans with minimal casualties, so why waste the evening on some smudged feelings? Cerulean eyes scanned the scroll with careful attention, and you had to force yourself not to preen when his gaze turned slightly awestruck. "This is... everything. I don't think you could have done better."

"You think?" You parroted, still wearing a wide grin. It wasn't that he never tossed compliments your way, but this went so much further than your daily encounters. The night hardly felt cold when he was so close, though you wouldn't mind wrapping yourself up in that scarf of his. "Is the night over or am I required to flirt with more merchants to earn my keep?"

Warriors regarded you with a flat expression, looking seconds away from rolling those beautiful eyes of his. "Tch. If you think I'm going to let anyone else disrespect you like that again, you've got another thing coming."

Your smile was good-natured, even as you leaned over to sling an arm across his upper back, nudging him to walk with you, which he did without complaint. "My hero. Let's head back, yeah? I'm starving."

"Starving?" for a moment, you swore there was a glimmer in his gaze. A arm settled around your own back, so light that you hardly felt it. "In that case, allow me to escort you back, fair maiden."

You smacked his shoulder with a snort. "Pfft, save it for the girls back home, flirt."

"What girls?" he joked, but there was something far less teasing in those eyes of his. You tried not to think of that night.

You tried.

And failed.

The feeling of his soft, wine-stained lips was still fresh in your mind, as were the gentle hands holding your cheeks and the warmth of his body pressing you to the tree. There was nothing remotely platonic about that night, and yet, you dared wonder if it was all a fluke, a drunken mishap that he hoped to erase from your minds. You didn't even remember being that buzzed, just hopefully tipsy in a way that made your toes tingle and your heart beat a bit harder in your chest.

There were lines, you knew, but the scariest part was that you had no idea how many either of you were willing to cross.

You were torn from your thoughts when the Captain called your name, soft enough for only your ears to register. His arm drew a bit closer, letting you feel the respectful press against the semi-exposed skin of your upper back. It was such a stark difference from your reaction to the merchant's touch that you would have fallen back into wondering had he not been staring directly at you with... what was that emotion. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you said on reflex, only to freeze when he unlooped his scarf from his neck, setting the warm, soft fabric atop your own shoulders, deftly adjusting it so that it sat perfectly on your frame, not unlike a great billowing cloak. You were hit with the overwhelming urge to smell it, but held back at the last second, fingers fiddling with the embroidered end. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Warriors responded with a soft smile that you couldn't decide fit his face or not. His cheeks were flushed the softest pink, and you had a hard time believing it was from the cold. You turned a corner, joining a slightly busier street. "You look stunning, by the way... I don't think I ever told you."

He had, but you weren't about to tell him. "You don't look too bad yourself," you nodded to his outfit and grinned. "Do you wear it on all your espionage missions or am I just lucky?"

"Actually–"

"Hey! You!"

Your head whipped around as a shout tore through the street, stiffening when you recognized the merchant from earlier. "Shit," you hissed, a rush of adrenaline shooting through you. The man looked unfathomably angry, four lackeys at his heels, and you really didn't want to fight in a dress and heels. "Run?!"

Warriors' eyes met yours and he nodded. You yelped when the hand hovering over your shoulder clamped down, forcing you to pivot slightly as he scooped you into his arms and took off down the street like a keese out of hell. "Wars–!"

"Stay still," he huffed, turning a corner in a move that nearly gave you whiplash, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for some semblance of stability. There were several gasps from the townspeople as the Captain barreled down a couple of alleys, holding you close as his scarf flapped in the wind like the tail of a bird. After what felt like an eternity, he slowed to a jog, head swiveling to gauge your surroundings. "Do you see them?"

"No," you whispered back, canvassing the street with keen eyes. "I think we lost them."

"Thank Hylia," he breathed. You did the same, too high on adrenaline to register the suggestiveness of the situation. "I think that's enough excitement for today."

"You think?" You asked, somewhat sarcastically before your tone grew serious. "No, seriously, if I don't get out of these heels soon, I might actually ruin both our reputations... and status as law-abiding citizens."

"You? Law-abiding?" he chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. You wanted to kiss and kill whoever taught him to apply eyeliner like that. "Never heard that one before."

"Because it's implied, you wet rag," you smacked his shoulder, huffing as the breeze hit the bared skin of your arm. "Hylia, it's freezing. Maybe Wild would have been better for this."

The Captain arched a perfectly-manicured brow. "Didn't you say he would have set that merchant on fire?"

"Didn't you say he should have?" you countered without missing a beat.

Warriors grumbled, averting his eyes. He began to walk, and you could say with absolute certainty that you had no idea where you were going. "Are you going to put me down or...?"

"Or?"

"I can walk," you huffed.

"And I can carry you."

Your scowl deepened, eyes narrowing. You were upset, and neither was he, but it was more fun this way. "I will break your arms."

"Kinky."

A long-suffering sigh slipped past your lips as you briefly, seriously considered throttling him. However, he had technically saved you–twice, but you would rather die than let the little bastard know–and you would hate to get blood all over that scarf of his. "At least buy me a drink first, weirdo."

Warriors made a curious noise, not rising to the bait like you expected him to. His gaze flicked to the left, head tilting as a grin split his features. "There's a tavern," he told you; seriously, thoughtfully. "And I promise you won't have to flirt with any old rich merchants to have a good time."

"Oh, so now you're saying I can't have fun?" You joked, and he snorted good-naturedly.

"My deepest apologies, I assumed you were a person of high-standing–"

You smacked his shoulder. "Oh, I'll show you high-standing–!"

Warriors didn't flinch. In fact, he almost seemed to enjoy the banter, if his widening smile was of any indication. Weirdo. "I'll take that seriously when you find a way to be taller than me."

"That is not a problem, I promise you'll be just fine without your kneecaps–"

You cut yourself off when he began to laugh. It wasn't mocking; rather, the opposite, a sound of pure delight that had you blinking in surprise. His hold on you shook withe the force of his chortles, head tilted back, neck bared, adam's apple bobbing. You tried not to look. You really did, chewing your bottom lip in an attempt to remain unbothered.

"Yeah, laugh it up, you weirdo...."

It was a losing battle.

After a few minutes, the Captain seemed to regain control of himself, though it did nothing to quell the dumb grin spreading across his face. "Now, about that drink..."

You rolled your eyes. He was cute, but not that cute. "Don't push your luck, Captain."

"...I can't believe I let you drag me here."

"Hm?" Warriors' gaze, which had previously been focused on the grimy ceiling of the tavern. Cobalt eyes sparked with mirth, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth. "That's funny, because I could have sworn I carried you."

"Tomato tom-mat-o, Cap," you waved a hand and took a perfunctory sip of your drink as an excuse to not look at him. Until he did the same, and you got another eyeful of mug he had been nursing for a solid fifteen minutes. "You look like you're preparing to have your heart broken."

"I'll be fine so long as you're gentle with me," he winked, and while you knew it was suppose to be a joke, there was little you could do to stop the clenching sensation in your chest.

You gulped down the rest of your drink, placing the now empty mug onto the counter with a slightly violent thunk. "You're an idiot," you told him; matter-of-fact, testing. "Or is it the other way around?"

Warriors' gaze sharpened. Suddenly, the tavern didn't feel quite as bad. Suddenly, you were wishing there was a bit more noise to distract you. Suddenly, you wondered what this drink would taste like on his lips. "What do you mean by that?"

This was dangerous, you knew, yet you would be a fool to stop, when it felt as though the stars themselves had aligned to grant you this chance. "I mean," you paused, wishing you had a bit left in your mug to fill the silence. "Is it me or the alcohol, Link?"

His lips parted, then closed. The Captain's eyes narrowed as he leaned an inch forward, expression far too serious for what likely looked like the beginnings of a tavern hook-up to anyone who was watching. "You're not drunk," he said; too pointed to be a question, and too soft to be a statement.

"Not yet," you shrugged. Should you call for another round? Did you need another round?

"Then why," there was a pause; a long pause, one that had your hands fidgeting in your lap, head held high in a manner that felt more exposing than anything. "Did you think it was the alcohol?"

It was as if the scarf around your neck weighed a thousand pounds.

Your sigh was soft as you combed a bit of your hair back. Back-and-forth was exhausting. "I'm not in the mood for games, Link."

"Neither am I," he responded quickly, to-the-point. You readjusted your butt more firmly against the seat.

A beat passed. It was a long beat, one that made the silence only more profound. You were no longer sure if this was a good idea; you had never known time spent with him to be so loaded, so... uncomfortable. Why were you uncomfortable?

From across the counter, your eyes caught with the blonde barmaid. She was watching you, hands frozen on a spotless glass, eyes flicking to Warriors. An eyebrow arched. She waited.

All you had to do was scream–

With a sigh, you let your gaze fall back to Warriors. If he noticed your poignant eyeing with the barmaid, he said nothing. He didn't need to, because you knew he wasn't like the others. Captain Link of Her Majesty's army was a good man.

Cocky, but good.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, no less redder than when Wild sat you down to apply it. "Are you going to finish that?" you jerked your thumb to his mug.

"Depends."

He didn't elaborate.

You let yourself lean an inch forward, hands on the middle of your thighs. It was no one's goddamn business if the action caused your chest to plump under the fabric of your beautiful, terrible dress. "On what?"

There was a light stiffness in his tone. "Whether you'll stay here and enjoy it with me or not."

Ah.

"What?" you could believe yourself, though it remained to be seen whether it was for rising to the bait or how pathetically biting your response came out as. "Trees are too good for you now?"

Your attention was rapt when he took a long-awaited sip. The mug was placed on the counter with a heavy thud. Warriors folded his hands in his lap, somehow managing to look both regretful and pleased. "Everything's too good for me."

You couldn't resist. "Even me?"

Cobalt eyes pinned you where you sat. Was it hot in here or was it just you? "Especially you," said the Captain, and you remembered hands, tangled in the mesh of your hair, and lips, sealed over yours like they belonged. Maybe they did.

That was it. You were done. Warriors blinked, caught off guard, when you reached across the counter, grabbing his mug. You took a long, slow sip, letting the alcohol burn all the way to your heart, as if that would give you the bravado needed to conquer a man like him. "Uh–"

"Link."

He was a bit closer now. You could have kissed him if you tried.

"Yes?"

You swallowed. You licked the plump of your bottom lip. Now or never. "If you don't kiss me right now, I'll find someone who will."

It happened in an instant; a hand shot forward to cup the back of your neck through the scarf, coaxing you forward, as a pair of lips bridged the gap. You grabbed his shoulders, fingernails clinking on the polished metal of his left pauldron, and it was the most perfect sound in the world. Warriors was warm, and a bit wet, but he tasted sweet, a soft undertone of strawberries beneath the lull of mediocre alcohol. When he pulled back, your heart thumped at the rose imprint your lipstick skewed across the planes of his own lips.

He was beautiful.

But he wasn't yours.

"I think," you paused; for breath, for moral support. He was watching you, so carefully that not even a fall could break your heart. "We should get out of here."

Warriors reached into his pouch. Warriors plopped a fat red rupee onto the counter.

You caught the blonde barmaid's approving thumbs-up as you left.

A bit ambiguous, but I'm still proud of this!