#I have some of the script for the next chapters already | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keferon · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 3 months ago

Text

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of “father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year ago

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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lurinatftbn · 2 months ago

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VN adaption news!

Got a different sort of announcement than the usual chapter one (which I forgot until days later again…) this week! As many of you are already aware, a visual novel adaption of The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere has been tentatively in the works for a while. Since I don't really like keeping secrets for the broad-strokes details of something like this, I thought the time was ripe to do an informal 'announcement'. So here's that!

(Example of our current art and interface direction. Actual sprites and background used for this scene very much not final!)

Though honestly, there's not a lot to say. The project will be more or less a direct translation of the work into a new format, though with some… minor adjustments to the storyline, in the interests of keeping the mystery elements fresh and amending a few of the bugbears I've personally built up regarding the plotting over the years. The game will be built in Ren'py (predictably), and joining me in development will the very talented Zerovirus, who'll be handling the art, while Benedict (Cordyceps, Star Seeker in: the Secret of the Sorcerous Standoff) is helping with some of the programming. Contributing to the OST will also be Xeecee, creator of lesbian murder nun game Misericorde, with the remainder handled by myself. (At least assuming I don't flub it and end up resorting to stock music lmao)

(The character bio menu. Also WIP.)

While we're undecided on the release model, the tentative plan is to release a short free demo at some point this year. After that, we'll put out a series of further updates semi-episodically, playable through a one-time purchase on itch. This will continue until we have enough for what feels like a 'complete' release - probably 1/3rd-ish of the story? - at which point we'll put this on steam or something, then start the process over for the next segment.

…and that's it! Stay tuned for future updates. I'm obviously in the privileged position of already having a fair few fans of the work, so I'd love to get feedback from people on things like the script changes or the character designs, so we'll hopefully be showing tidbits off semi-frequently going forward. Thank you as always for reading!

#the flower that bloomed nowhere #vn development

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jikookuntold · 20 days ago

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The Untold Stories of “Are You Sure!?”

I know it's been quite some time since Jikook's travel show, Are You Sure?, aired on Disney+, and I've been wanting to share my thoughts about it here ever since. After watching the entire series twice, I've finally organized my reflections and found time to put them into words. Without further preamble or disclaimer, let's dive right in.

I’m Not Sure…

I must admit that a duo trip for Jikook and a reality show based on it wasn’t in the most optimistic Jikookers’ bingo card. But we got it in the best way possible, a whole Disney+ series with some of the most beautiful, meaningful, and intimate Jikook moments to gush about for years. Through the eight episodes, we saw them talking sweetly, laughing together, cuddling and touching intimately, being domestic, and taking care of each other. I can talk about those moments for hours, but I know many Jikookers have done it in the past few months, and I’m going to look at this show from a different point of view; What does this show add to our Jikookery encyclopedia?

For new fans, this show can be a guide to know more about Jikook’s real and special bond, but for veteran Jikookers like us, maybe there was not much new information. We cherished seeing them together, enjoyed their sweet moments, and learned more unknown facts about them and their dynamics. You may say we already knew how inseparable and couply they are and have been familiar with their domestic nature. But was that all we perceived from AYS, or we can go deeper and find more? Yes, there is always more to see without hallucination or delusion.

First of all, keep in mind that AYS is a TV show after all, and we know TV shows, including reality shows, can be scripted. These shows are often filmed and edited in ways that emphasize specific narratives or push certain agendas. I’ve discussed the topic of "Scripts in BTS Content" before (link) and concluded that the narratives in BTS reality shows, especially the paid ones, aren’t far from the members’ real dynamics, making them largely authentic. However, in the case of AYS, we have even more solid proof of this authenticity: Jimin and JK themselves confirmed that we see them as they are in the show.

But the thing is, what we saw in the show wasn't everything. No matter how honest and authentic they try to be, approximately 96% of the footage had to be edited out to condense an eight-day trip into less than ten hours of television series. This percentage would be even higher if we accounted for duplicate shots from multiple cameras and repeated scenes - though there's no precise way to calculate this. The truth remains: there was far more that went unseen, and I'm attempting to shed light on these untold stories from "Are You Sure?!"

USA

The first chapter of AYS was also the shortest, consisting of only two episodes, and it began with Jikook in New York, US. The timing of this trip was particularly interesting: JK traveled to the US on July 12th for his "Seven" promotions and GMA performance, and the next day, we saw Jimin at the airport heading to the same destination. Unofficial sources had announced that they were planning to film something together in New York - which turned out to be true, though not the full story. What many Jikookers overlooked was the significance of this moment for JK's career. As he embarked on his solo journey with a bold, sexy song and romantic music video, he clearly wanted Jimin by his side during this pivotal and stressful moment.

Meanwhile, Jimin’s presence beside JK served as crucial emotional support during this important moment in his career. While some might argue that Jimin similarly supported Hobi and Suga during their solo performances by traveling to the US, and JK is just another BTS member he loves and supports. But don’t forget that both times in August 2022 and May 2023 had coincided with Jimin’s own solo schedules in that country. This time, however, his trip had no purpose other than filming a potential travel show and simply being there for JK. This was when Jimin had just finished recording his second album, Muse, and "finally" had free time to spend with JK, plus, unlike Hobi and Yoongi’s solo performances, Jimin’s presence in New York for JK, wasn’t covered in the respective Bangtan Episode.

However, their journey immediately faced setbacks: JK's live performance was canceled due to heavy rain in New York, leaving him feeling gloomy, he even joked about being "cursed by water" on their first day. On the other hand, Jimin got sick and spent most of the day unwell, growing pessimistic about their show's prospects. Despite this streak of bad luck, they managed to uplift each other and enjoy being together. The second day told a different story, with Jimin feeling better and JK supposedly being happy about "Seven" topping the charts, their real dynamic emerged, leading to some of their most intimate moments. I’m sure you know which moments I’m talking about.

Okay, let's address the elephant in the room: “Jikook discussing how they hadn't seen each other”. Their conversation in the first episode about this separation raised questions about their dynamic during the solo era, specifically the period between the YTC Busan concert and the release of "Seven". Despite the inaccuracy in the official English subs for this part of the episode, I have to remind you, the era Jikook were talking about was when Jin and then Hobi enlisted in the military after releasing their farewell gifts for fans, Namjoon and Jimin released solo albums, and Yoongi embarked on a solo tour after his comeback.

At the same time, we stopped seeing Jikook together as frequently as before. This coincidence between the solo era activities and Jikook's so-called separation fueled conspiracy theories among haters, with claims like "Chapter two revealed the members' true relationships”. But we already had the answer to these claims: Jimin was working intensely on not one but two albums simultaneously, leaving him little time to spend with JK or anyone else outside his work. Meanwhile, JK had more free time, which explains why he was frequently seen socializing with various friends and acquaintances.

So, the question is: Did Jikook really not see each other for six, seven months? We witnessed them together at least four times during this period and it appears our definition of "not seeing each other" differs from Jikook’s. They were specifically referring to their inability to spend meaningful quality time together, which simply wasn't possible during that era. However, immediately after finishing recording his second album, Jimin went straight to JK to create new memories with him. Personally, I think parts of this "separation era" weren't solely due to busy schedules. At that time, they still were not sure about their upcoming enlisting situation, and perhaps they were trying to do a trial for their eventual military separation, but they failed miserably, ended up pining over each other. So, this result possibly leading to their joint enlistment decision. Of course, this remains just a theory and I could be entirely wrong, and the simpler explanation might be Jimin's overwhelming workload at the time.

Now let's discuss the untold part of the story. After wrapping up their trip and filming, Jimin returned to South Korea on July 18th while JK remained in the US to depart for London the following day. Considering the time difference between Connecticut and South Korea, Jimin actually stayed for more night and day after filming concluded. This means they spent at least one full night and day together off-camera. Antoya, the New York restaurant, confirmed in an official post that Jimin and JK dined there twice, first time with cameras and staff and the second time without them, while the show included only brief footage from Antoya, mere seconds of them discussing JK's sore throat.

Based on their filming schedule, we can determine the second visit occurred after they returned to New York from Connecticut, following the completion of shooting. This confirms they enjoyed private time together, just the two of them. Jikook's time in the US wasn't just about their couple-like conversations during hikes or their casual touches on the boat or in bed. Their connection went much deeper: JK cared for Jimin when he was sick, prayed for his recovery, and prepared special meals for him. Similarly, Jimin supported JK through his stressful days, and as we realized by analyzing their travel schedules earlier, it was something that extended far beyond simply filming a show.

We never saw footage of Jikook's topless photo on the wharf or never witnessed how Jimin's nose got injured by JK's elbow in their sleep. While we were deprived of many potential moments, what we did receive were some of the most genuine and authentic episodes of the series. The impact of this trip on Jikook was big enough that we saw JK passionately discussing their experience on Suchitwa and begging Jimin to join his live just days after returning, the experience that was pleasant enough to motivated them to continue the show with more travel destinations.

Jeju

The next destination for Jikook’s travel show was Jeju Island in South Korea. These three episodes featured Taehyung accompanying Jikook, though his participation was included to the show only two days before filming began. While this last-minute addition sparked unnecessary controversy among some shippers, it’s important to recognize the benefits of Taehyung’s guest appearance; it proved that aside from the predetermined itinerary and props, nothing else about the show was scripted. Moreover, despite the presence of a third party, Jikook continued to display their unique and romantic connection - both on and off camera. Also, for viewers seeking an unbiased comparison of their dynamics, these episodes are valuable case studies.

Vminkook enjoyed numerous exciting activities in Jeju, from ocean fishing and kart racing to more mundane moments like shared meals, sleep, and playing together. Despite the Jeju episodes having the shortest average runtime (60 minutes compared to 63 and 77 minutes for the US and Sapporo) and including lengthy scenes like their 15-minute Japanese restaurant meal, we were still treated to precious Jikook moments. Highlights included their heartfelt conversation about enlisting together, the adorable pool scene, their casual cuddles in bed, and romantic interactions alongside playful bickering and roleplaying. These moments, authentic and unfiltered, reinforced just how deeply connected and inseparable they are, no matter who accompanies them.

Aside from what was shown on camera, there were some other interesting facts to notice. As we know, the Jeju filming officially began on September 26th and concluded on the 28th, just before Chuseok. I’m not sure if you were aware of the rumors from a credible source, about Jikook being spotted in Jeju during August that year, but I understand if you remain skeptical. Regardless of the rumor’s validity, Jimin himself confirmed their off-camera time together when he mentioned spending the night with JK right before departing for Jeju.

What makes this sleepover particularly special is the fact that JK had only arrived in Seoul the previous day, and we witnessed him rushing through the airport to go home. By his own admission, he hadn’t slept since landing, implying they stayed awake together all night. Even more intriguing, we later learned that Jikook received confirmation of their buddy system approval that same day. It’s highly likely they celebrated this news with a night of dining and drinks together alone—yet all we received was a vague mention in the show.

However, these off-camera moments extended far beyond their private date night. When JK’s mom mentioned Jimin twice during their phone call and inquired about their Chuseok reunion, the warmth of familial bonds was sensible. Throughout their trip, JK remained by Jimin’s side, even when Taehyung stepped away for personal activities, he lingered nearby even as Jimin slept, a quiet but telling detail. The show removed many intimate moments, for example the footage related to the iconic photobook image of JK proudly displaying Jimin’s name written in sunscreen on his belly. But I’m far from disappointed, if anything, I’m grateful for all the beautiful moments we got beyond our expectations.

Japan

As someone who doesn't particularly enjoy cold, snowy weather, I found these Sapporo episodes to be unexpectedly warm and sweet, and they left me emotionally attached. It's no surprise that Jikook themselves seemed to cherish this part of their travels most of all, as it marked their final trip before military enlistment. Japan has held special meaning for them since at least GCF in Tokyo, and winter has always been their favorite season. While their US trip presented some mishaps they weren't prepared for, and Jeju introduced a third party that altered their dynamic, Sapporo offered something different. Here, they seemed at ease - ready and willing to showcase their peak authentic, boyfriend behavior.

The Sapporo episodes featured some of the most memorable moments in the entire series, from their strolls along snowy sidewalks and playful antics on Sapporo's empty streets to listening to romantic songs while sharing AirPods on the train. Their indoor moments were also precious from playing and bickering to half naked Jacuzzi moments. At one point, Jimin remarked that is just how they are at home as laying on the floor singing, as JK effortlessly completing his verses like it is their everyday routine. Though their impending enlistment loomed in their thoughts and made the atmosphere bittersweet, these moments felt so natural and effortless.

There were so many sweet moments in these three episodes that I won’t be able to recount every one of them, I know you remember them as vividly as I do, and I cherish them all. As this post’s purpose suggests, I want to focus on the untold part of their Japan journey: Tokyo. We all saw them depart Seoul on November 23rd and return on the 28th, yet the three episodes of Japan only covered Sapporo. What went unshown were their two nights and two days in Tokyo. Yes, JK had his "Hate You" MV filming and an interview scheduled, but Jimin had no professional reason to accompany him, he could have joined JK later in Sapporo. Jimin was amid preparing Muse and might have used those days to rest or wrap up his work. Yet they chose to travel together, deliberately carving out private time away from cameras.

So, it's safe to say that the Tokyo portion of Jikook's Japan trip served as their private time together - a detail made even more meaningful by their personal history with the city. Throughout show promotions and commentary, they referenced their 2017 trip a few times, suggesting that they wanted to recreate those precious memories before enlistment. And so they did just for the two of them, preserving these new moments for themselves just as they had six years prior, never intended for filming or public viewing, and all we saw was a beautiful four-minute long edit created by JK himself, and of course Jimin’s sweet twitter edit. But this time, two photos of Jimin in Tokyo presumably taken by JK was all that we were allowed to see.

We Are Sure

After years of promoting the OT7 (7-1=0) narrative, Are You Sure?! a travel show, exclusively featuring Jikook, emerged as a completely unexpected phenomenon. To be honest, this Jikook portrayal, unaligned with most of the Jikook narratives we have seen from Hybe in the past few years. Does this signal a future shift? A soft or hard launch? I can't say for certain, and I prefer to remain pessimistic, only time will reveal the truth. What's undeniable is that AYS was a gift and a blessing for anyone who genuinely loves Jimin and JK. The series offered us rare glimpses of their authentic dynamic, something we'll always be grateful to Jikook for sharing. Across eight episodes and 52 minutes of behind-the-scenes footage, their undeniable chemistry shone through. Their endless inside jokes and constant roleplaying revealed just how close they are off-camera, maintaining their special connection in their own private world.

After reflecting on all the beautiful moments in Jikook's exclusive show, I wanted to end this post on a positive note, but one issue demands acknowledgment. Jimin and JK openly expressed their love for this journey and the series itself, and asked us to give it love and support. Yet the harsh reality remains; ARMY collectively chose to ignore the show, even voting against it for iHeartRadio awards. While disappointing, this wasn't surprising, because these haters knew that any success for this show could signal Hybe to produce similar content in the future, an outcome they clearly fear. At the very least, I challenge those dismissing Jikook's bond as "fanservice", true fanservice caters to fans, and when the so-called fandom rejects the content, this label becomes meaningless.

Whether fans like it or not, and regardless of Hybe commercialization, Jikook will continue doing as they please, and their actions clearly demonstrate that being together is their priority. Their joint enlistment and little to no updates from the military proven this beyond doubt. Military service is no luxury vacation in some lavish villa with yachts and fancy meals; they aren’t being paid to film content. They consciously chose harsher conditions solely to remain together, knowing separation would be unbearable for them. What they share is a bond built to last a lifetime. I feel privileged to exist in the same era as Jikook, and I pity those who either cannot or refuse to recognize their beautiful relationship.

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #are you sure?!

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novascharms · 3 months ago

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teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.3 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

fourteen

friday, february 14th

valentine’s day always felt like one of the least captivating “special” days of the year to you.

first off, no one really seemed to know where it came from, beyond vague whispers about saints and martyrs.

second, the idea of dedicating just one day to showering your significant other with love seemed, well, silly. wasn’t every day supposed to feel like valentine’s day when you were in a relationship?

still, you couldn’t deny the history that was known about it was interesting. valentine’s day cards, for example, were centuries old. the tradition dated back to the 1700s, and by the mid-1800s, advances in printing technology made mass-produced cards a staple of the holiday. the earliest known valentine’s message, though, came even earlier—in 1415, charles, duke of orléans, penned a heartfelt poem to his wife while locked away in the tower of london. it was the whole reason why you chose this specific event for valentine's day.

this entire day felt like a nod to history and the wistful romance of charles and his wife. but for you, it didn't make this day less tiring. you’d already been through nearly fifteen classrooms, walking alongside the valentine’s day volunteers as they handed out letters to blushing teenagers. your feet ached from all the pacing, and the constant hum of chatter and giggles was grating. to top it off, you were missing your own classes for this.

the basket in your hands remained stubbornly full, each letter carefully sorted by class. “alright, next class is JL4,” one of the clipboard-wielding volunteers announced. your stomach dipped at the mention of the name—you recognized it immediately as rafe’s class. you let out a soft sigh, steeling yourself, and tried to plaster on the big, cheerful smile you’d been wearing all morning.

the three volunteers, all dressed as cupid, were practically bouncing on their heels as they prepared to enter the next room. they’d tried to convince you to wear the same ridiculous costume—a gaudy red-and-white getup complete with feathered wings—but you’d politely declined, compromising instead with a simple red sweater.

you knock lightly on the door, then ease it open after a beat. “hi, mr. winslow.” your smile is polished, the kind you’ve perfected over the course of this exhausting day. the teacher glances up, already looking amused as his eyes flick past you to the three cupids clustered just behind.

“hello, ms. y/l/n,” he greets, his grin wide and knowing. “how can my class and i assist you today?” it’s clear he already knows exactly why you’re here.

you give a light laugh, slipping into the well-rehearsed script you’ve been reciting all morning. “my cupids and i have some very important mail to deliver.” you step further into the room, maintaining that same bright expression as you gesture to your basket. “and this class happens to be our most popular yet—with a monumental," you pause for a moment to double take your notes, "fifty-six letters.”

the classroom erupts into laughter and chatter, and as you set the basket on the nearest desk, you can already feel the weight of rafe’s gaze. you spot him sitting next to pope, his chair tilted back slightly, that signature grin tugging at his lips.

“dahlia hendrix,” you call out, scanning the organized letters until you find her name. the blonde sitting by the window perks up, her cheeks already flushing. “cupid’s got three letters for you.” you hand the cards to the first cupid, who diligently adds the three accompanying lollipops.

your attention shifts as you fish out the next set. “topper thornton,” you announce, your voice overly sweet as you lock eyes with him. topper—the same guy who’d called you a bitch just last week—smirks, clearly unbothered. “cupid paid you a lovely visit with five letters.” ignoring the boisterous cheering from his group of friends, you pass the stack to another cupid.

your gaze lands on kiara, who’s already shaking her head, visibly unimpressed by the spectacle. “kiara carrera,” you say with a giggle you can’t quite suppress. “four letters for you.” as she begrudgingly takes the cards, you watch her swat away jj’s teasing hands, the corner of your mouth twitching with amusement.

you continue distributing the letters, each name met with varying levels of enthusiasm. “cupid’s got five for jj maybank.” you hand them off. “one for sienna jackson, four for pope heyward, and two for nixon blake .” the room grows louder with every delivery, envelopes being torn open, voices overlapping in excitement.

but there’s one more name to call.

you inhale softly, forcing a smile to hold your composure. “rafe cameron,” you say, your voice steady despite the way your stomach twists. his eyes are already on you, his brow raised in lazy curiosity as he slouches in his chair. “cupid’s got… thirty-eight—"

the room explodes. cheers, whistles, shouts—it’s pandemonium.

“goddamn, cameron!”

“playboyyy!”

“leave some for the rest of us!”

rafe doesn’t join in on the noise. his faint smile doesn’t falter, but he doesn’t look at anyone else either—just you.

you bite down on your tongue, hesitating as you hand off the stack to your waiting cupid. a part of you wants to hold onto them, to stop him from receiving all thirty-eight love letters.

your cupid even needs a separate bag just for the mountain of lollipops meant for him.

“uh, no thanks,” rafe says smoothly, declining the sweets with an effortless shrug. “you can hand those out to the class.” he doesn’t even glance at the towering pile of letters now sitting on his desk, but they feel like they’re mocking you anyway.

grabbing your basket, you turn back to mr. winslow and offer a polite smile, mouthing a quick “thank you.”

“happy valentine’s day, JL4,” you call out, your voice cheery despite the sinking weight in your chest. the class who are now all enjoying rafe's candy, respond in a chaotic chorus, and you’re already stepping out the door, closing it firmly behind you.

thirty-eight cards. thirty-eight. what kind of lunatic receives thirty-eight love letters from girls in the same school? it was absurd, incomprehensible. what was he even doing to these girls? brainwashing them? you could barely fathom the ridiculousness of it all. the thought of ripping every single card to shreds—one by one—flashed vividly in your mind.

“you cannot seriously be mad at me for getting letters from girls i don’t even know.” rafe’s voice carries an amused lilt as he follows you down the empty hallway, the echo of his steps light and unhurried.

“sure, i can,” you snap, pushing open the double doors with more force than necessary. “this is a free country, isn’t it?” your words are sharp, but your pace is sharper, your arm aching from lugging the stupid basket of valentine’s leftovers.

“what was i supposed to do, put out a memo to stop them? you think i orchestrated this?” he asks, his tone threaded with mock innocence as he keeps up with your brisk strides.

you don’t answer, too focused on navigating your way up to the attic. weaving through the maze of dusty boxes and forgotten decorations from past school events, you finally reach the valentine’s day shelf. you place the basket down carefully, feeling the relief in your sore arm but not in your simmering annoyance.

“i think it’s cute,” you say sweetly, the sarcasm practically dripping from your voice. “all those girls just adore you. we should read the letters together, make a night of it. how fun would that be?”

“i know you’re being sarcastic,” he laughs, leaning against a nearby stack of storage bins. “but honestly? it might be hilarious to see what they wrote.”

you roll your eyes, pulling the flower petals out of the basket and carefully pouring them back into their designated bowl. “right. i can already picture it. ‘oh, rafe, i can't stop thinking about your eyes, blue like the sky. let's go skinny dipping on the beach at last light, you can kiss me goodnight.'” your mocking tone grows more dramatic with each word, and you hear his laughter double over behind you.

before you can say more, his arms snake around your waist from behind, and you try to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. “i’ll throw them all out if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it with maddening softness.

you shake your head stubbornly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. “no,” you mutter, crossing your arms even as his hold on you tightens. “you should put them above your bed. make a shrine out of them.”

his lips find a familiar trail along your neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that make your resolve falter. “i think i kinda like when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

you huff, keeping your eyes locked on the shelf in front of you, determined not to react. “who’s jealous?” you whisper, your voice small, defiant.

you feel him smile against your skin, the curve of it unmistakable, and you purse your lips, refusing to admit how easily he gets to you.

he presses you against him and suddenly, his gentle kisses turn into desperate nipping and soft sucking that flood your entire core with pleasure. you moan softly as his hands travel down, lower and lower until they're under your skirt and he's ripping your tights and panties down to your ankles.

"r-rafe.." you attempt to warn him, to stop him, to tell him this cannot happen in school but his name slips out like a breathless whisper and you can't get yourself to say no to this.

his hands are all over you and your body is suddenly pliant under his touch as he takes one of your tits in hand, "you look so beautiful right now." you can barely focus on his words when his fingers are inching closer and closer to your pussy, tentatively trailing along the walls of your thighs before finally rubbing your pearly clit with his thumb, your eyes flutter shut and you instinctively try to push your thighs shut.

"should take a couple of pictures of you and hang those right above my bed," he muses and you whimper, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as he forces your thighs open. "you'd like that, huh? your pretty cunt on my wall?" his thumb tirelessly rubbed your clit, flicking the little nub till your eyes were tearing up and you were gasping for more.

“more?” he’s taunting, almost mocking you as his fingers trail along your sensitive slit before finding your clit again. “mm,” you whimper as you buck your hips into his hands.

his lips nip at your skin but you can barely process it, you try to stay in the present, try to focus on anything that can ground you but fail miserably, “my fingers? does my pretty girl want my fingers inside her?”

"mhm, y-yes.." you whimper, back arching into his chest and you cry out when his fingers slowly push into your soaking cunt. your walls constrict around him and you're in disbelief at how filling his fingers feel. "rafe! oh, god!" you grip his forearm as he drills his digits in and out of you, fingers curling and pushing deeper and deeper.

you’re writhing against him, trying to stay up right as his fingers clamor in you and his thumb rubs your clit until it’s all sore and swollen. “it’s so g-good.. s’ good..” you mumble lazily, tears streaming down your face and rafe is mouthing at your neck, fingers move at a relentless pace. “c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

you feel that familiar earth-shattering sensation, a combination of low pressure and deep coiling. your hips jerk against your will and then you’re moaning, eyes closed as you squirt and gush all over rafe’s fingers. “that’s it..that’s it, pretty girl..” rafe mutters quietly as you pant in his arms. you can’t believe that just happened in a storage room on school grounds.

“try to stand still, okay?” he mutters into your ear before he’s letting you go and reaching into your bag that sat forgotten on the floor for a tissue. he cleaned you up gently before pulling your panties and tights over your tights and up again.

you hold onto to the shelf for a moment to not lose your balance before turning to look at him, lazy smile on your face. “another first?” he asks and you’re nodding slowly and leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his. he grins when you cup his cheeks, “i’ve only ever..done it myself and it has never felt quite like that. thank you.” you whisper and rafe pecks your lips, gently, lips brushing against yours. “anytime, baby.”

you wrap your arms around his neck slowly and he pulls you in, body against his as he kisses you again and again and again. “i want you,” you sigh against him when you feel his bulge poking you and he’s smiling against yours lips. “you just had me..” he murmurs. you shake your head, “no..” you whine softly, hands darting down to his bulge and gently running your fingers along it. “want you..” you repeat quietly.

you don’t know where this insatiable feeling is coming from, you don’t understand why you can’t get enough, can’t stop, don’t even want to stop. not even a little bit.

you’re slowly sinking to your knees but rafe stops you with a pained expression, hands on your arms, “you’re not going to give me a blowjob in a storage closet. that would take the cake as the most assholey shit i’ve ever pulled.”

“i want to make you feel good.” you complain softly and he pecks the pout on your lips. “soon, yeah? i promise.”

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.

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pboogerswbb · 4 months ago

Text

SO IT GOES - chapter 2

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, slight sexual language Wordcount: 5.9K A/C: SURPRISEE we're back!! again, be prepared for a slow burn y'all, don't expect anything big anytime soon (sorry). anyway got lots of love for chapter 1 so ty for that and being so patient with me over christmas! hope you had a good time over the holidays aand again send me your thoughts on the chapter! NOW GO READDD

Before London

“After you ma’am.”

Trey presses his keycard against the reader on the door, pulling it open for me. I can already feel myself regretting leaving my hair down, the spring breeze not as gentle as I’d hoped, causing my black strands to fly all over my face. Hurrying inside, Trey follows after me into the corridor. The moment he shuts the door I miss the wind, the heat inside College Park Center stifling me.

“Is it always this hot?” I ask, already fanning myself, my chunky knitted sweater a horrible choice for the temperature.

“Holy shit, no,” The guy walking in front of me groans, opening another door at the end of the corridor and letting us into another room, lined with doors. I already knew I was bound to get lost here, the identical doors and hallways making it feel like a maze. A security guy walks by us, but Trey stops him, asking about the heat.

“Yeah man, AC is broken,” the guy complains. “Should be fixed tomorrow.”

Great, and for once I thought I could get away with wearing a sweater.

“Nothing works around here huh? Can’t wait to get out of this damn arena,” Trey says as we walk off, me following after him, my heels tapping against the floor echoing up and down the narrow hallway.

“When’s that gonna be? 2026 right?”

“Yeah,” Trey says, abruptly turning right into another almost identical hallway.

“Someone’s gonna have to draw me a map of this place,” I laugh, already feeling the sweat dripping down my back and breathing becoming laboured in the heat.

The man laughs, interrupted by the sound of balls bouncing off the floor faintly somewhere far away. “You’ll learn, your keycard should be coming next week.”

It was the first of what I already knew would be many times at College Park Center. Linda had sent us to come get some footage of the arena, simultaneously encouraging us to get some clips of Paige Bueckers’ first official practice.

I knew it was my first proper test. I had made a few posts here and there already in the past week but this was the first time it was just me, Trey and his camera. No script, no guidance. It was up to us to figure it out, and watching Linda closely in the past week she didn’t seem too impressed by Trey. So it was on my shoulders, like always. Which was fine by me, I was used to it. Being the one to carry the load - work, relationships, friends, you name it.

Finally the man beside me comes to a stop, unlocking the door beside us.

”This is for the media team. The players are around that corner closer to the court.”

I step into the small room, two leather couches in the corner, a couple desks lined up, a fridge and Dallas Wings merch and posters covering the walls. The lack of windows made the room feel tighter than it was, and the slight musty smell didn’t make my first impression more favourable.

”Welcome to our office,” Trey grins, reading my uncomfortable expression.

”It’s… cozy,” I say, not believing a word that spills from my lips. Trey laughs, hand wrapping around my shoulder. I still wasn’t used to how touchy people in Dallas seemed to be, or at least Trey, but it didn’t make me cringe and tense up anymore.

”You can also work anywhere else in the building,” he comforts me and I sigh in relief.

“Oh thank heavens,” I chuckle, pulling the knitted sweater off, leaving me in low waisted, white, flowy pants resting on my hips, and a silky leopard print top, with thin straps holding it up. If I was dressed this way for my previous job in London I surely would’ve been fired, but what I had found out in the past week was no one at the Wings cared to dress corporate, most younger workers dressing in sneakers and hoodies. I notice Trey watching me for a while, his gaze quickly averting when I catch his eye.

“Well,” I say sitting down on the desk, “Shall we throw some ideas around?”

It felt good to be back on the court. After my last season at Uconn I felt ready, focused, like I was on fire. What felt even better was Koclanes had made sure to make it clear for everyone - I’m a point guard, no reason I shouldn’t be running offense instead of the nonsense Geno had me doing last season.

Honestly, it was such a relief I had to fight back tears hearing it. All season I had fought to do what Geno wanted me to, I wanted to be the perfect player, to make him proud. I think in the end I had done so, but God it would’ve been so much easier if I just got to run the ball.

“P!” I hear Arike’s voice from behind me, somewhere on the left. Trying a no-look pass, I let the ball fly. Turning around I realise she's nowhere near where I thought she was. We had a lot of work to do, I knew this. But I missed my girls. I knew them better than anyone, knowing where they were each moment of the game, where I could easily find them. Now I had to start from scratch once again.

“My bad,” I laugh, wiping sweat off my forehead. Of course the AC had broken down the day of my first official practice in this hellhole. Instead of cancelling, we all agreed to take lots of breaks and we had all undressed to our sports bras and shorts. Still, the sweat is dripping down my neck and back, and my chest heaves fiercely.

“Paige, Arike, Tea, take a break before you get a heatstroke,” Chris yells from the sidelines. Gratefully, I jog to the seats and sit down, chugging water, Arike sitting right next to me. We both knew it would take a while for us to build that chemistry the team needed us to have. Thankfully, I really liked her already. Could’ve been worse I guess.

“P,” Arike mumbles breathlessly, elbowing me.

“Get your sweaty ass off me,” I jokingly complain, making the girl snicker to herself.

“Just look behind us,” Arike groans, nodding her head backwards. Turning my gaze, I nearly fall off my seat. About ten rows behind us, Zari is sitting cross-legged, her hair down not in the neat, tidy way as usual but unruly, soft waves falling over her shoulders. The curves of her breasts are visible all the way from here, left strand of the slinky top falling off her shoulder, forehead glistening with sweat. Even so, she makes me feel breathless.

It had been nearly a week since I last saw her, and I had spent that entire time convincing myself I was delusional - there was no way anyone could be as beautiful as I remembered her to be. Now watching her whispering with Trey, I realised it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Clearing my throat I turn back, shrugging, acting like it made no difference to me. I didn’t need the other girls to clock how much I’d been thinking about Zari. Which had been more that I’d like to admit.

“It’s your girlllll,” Arike giggles, finger poking my shoulder.

“Alright, enough,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. Before I can stop her, Rike is waving them over.

“Bro,” I scoff in a whispered voice, quickly rubbing the soft towel against my skin, wiping as much sweat off as I can. Great, here comes this perfect, poised, classy girl and I’m here sweating like a sinner in church, red in the face, half naked, hair falling out of my bun.

“Whatchu guys doing here this early?” Arike asks as Trey and Zari come up to the row of seats behind us. I’m still wiping the towel against my neck, giving an awkward smile to the pair.

“We’re here to play, clearly. Can you not tell by my fit?” Zari asks, her gravelly voice smooth like butter in my ears. My eyes roam her body, watching the way her midriff is exposed from how low waisted her pants are, her stomach slightly soft, light brown skin peeking out. Eyes travelling upwards my eyes take in her chest, and my mouth goes dry.

Arike kicks my ankle, and I realise everyone’s noticed my staring - no, my ogling. Face going bright red I rub my jaw, looking for any save. At least say something Paige.

“You look… nice,” I murmur, making Arike cover her mouth to hide her chuckling.

But instead of calling it out or embarrassing me more, Izara merely smiles and quickly brushes her fingers through the long, black ends of her hair.

“Thank you Paige.”

Paige. Paige. Suddenly, for a fleeting moment my name becomes my favourite word, the way it sounds from her lips making my heart race.

“Haven’t seen you around the building, neighbour,” she grins, her hand reaching to squeeze my shoulder. It’s sweaty. I know when she quickly pulls away.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty as hell,” I chuckle awkwardly.

She scoffs, easily waving it off with her hand. “Isn’t that your job anyway?”

I smile sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck, hoping she might notice the flex of my arm. God what was I doing? She was probably straight anyway. And I had promised to stay celibate. Besides I don’t think she likes me anyway, even as a friend. Are we even friends? Probably not, we’d talked like one time. I’d like to be her friend though, I think. Wait, everyone’s quiet. Fuck, what did she say.

“Uh, yeah?” I mumble, not sure what to say.

“It was a hypothetical question darling,” she giggles. “Does anyone have a towel please? I feel like I’m sweating too.”

Immediately I hand her the one on my shoulder, drenched with my sweat.

“Paige I’m pretty sure she wants a clean one,” Arike says, grabbing a fresh towel from underneath the bench.

“Oh right,” I murmur, laughing at myself. To my delight, the black haired girl laughs too.

“I mean I could get some good money selling that,” she chuckles, wiping the towel against her glistening neck.

“Yeah, her fans are something else,” Trey adds, and suddenly I’m reminded that he’s there too, my focus all on the girl standing behind me.

“Speaking of your fans, can we get you in for a clip later? Only for a moment, I promise,” Zari pleads, batting her eyes at me. There’s no universe in which I could say no.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“I must tell you Izara, Jasper came over today. Brought back some of your things. He’s such a considerate young man, he had packed everything so nicely. Not a single plate was broken. Now I know I know, not that hard but men are a bit dim sometimes. I can’t even tell you how many plates your father would’ve broken if I ever let him pack any-”

“Muuuum,” I groan, her rambling about my ex-fiancee making my heartrate pick up quickly. I turn the phone away to roll my eyes out of sight from my mother on facetime.

“Anyways, he came over and Izara. That man looked so poorly, like he hadn't slept or eaten. I just feel so bad, he’s really upset Izara.”

“Mum,” I try to stop her but as always, she barely hears me.

“I just don’t understand why you ended things. He’s a good man. Good men are so hard to find Izara,” my mom preaches, the same words that I’d heard nearly daily since I informed my parents about our breakup. My brother had been more supportive, he’d never liked Jasper. At least there was someone in my family who saw him for what he really was from the get go.

“Mum, if we keep talking about this I’m going to end the call, please. I already told you that I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally assert myself, hearing my mother let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine. Fine! You do need to tell me one day though, because I don’t understand any of this nonsense of-”

Taking a deep breath I close my eyes, trying to swallow my frustration. I can’t. “Mum, I’m really tired. I’ll call you back tomorrow after work, okay. I gotta edit some posts anyway.”

With that I hang up, throwing my phone on the bed as I sit on the bedroom floor. Running my fingertips through my hair I lie down. Just for a moment. Then I’ll get back to work.

Chewing on my cheek I fight the tears threatening to spill over. I didn’t want to cry. No, I refused to. I just wish I could get my parents to shut up about it. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, of Jasper, of the hell I went through the past year.

As I take deep breaths to calm myself down, suddenly I notice a faint bitter, acrid smell. Abruptly getting up I search my apartment for something burning, checking everything I could think of until I realise it’s coming from the stairway. Putting on a pair of slippers and grabbing my keys I slip outside, walking around to find the source of the smell - until I end up behind Paige’s door.

Without thinking about it further, my hand firmly knocks three times on the door, other hand subconsciously brushing through my hair to flatten it, hoping I looked at least presentable.

I found the blonde interesting. Whenever I observed her, she seemed to have this insane confidence, this incredible skill to put people at ease, to get them to like her. It would’ve been so easy for Paige Bueckers to be just another entitled basketball star. However, she was anything but that. Yet, around me, she seemed to tense up for whatever reason. I had a feeling she didn’t like me at all.

When the door opens, Paige is standing there looking discombobulated, eyes widening further when she sees it’s me on her doorstep. The blonde is holding her nose, still just in a sports bra and grey sweats hanging low on her hips, boxers showing just the tiniest bit reminding me of how a teenage boy might dress. And I might’ve poked fun at it but something about it suited her, made her even more charming.

“Zari! Uh, hey,” she murmurs, holding her nose.

“Is that smell coming from yours?” I ask, the scent getting even stronger now. “I can smell it all the way in my apartment.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she groans, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I didn’t know microwave meals can burn.”

“Evidently,” I chuckle, glancing over Paige’s broad shoulders into the apartment. It was the same as mine, though looked to be bigger. The same white walls, cold and sleek and modern. Suddenly I hear her stomach rumbling, making Paige bring her hand to the bare skin there and letting out an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry,” she murmurs but I shake my head.

“You’ve got to stop apologising so much love,” I could feel all the nurturing bones in my body beginning to take over, as this poor, hungry, younger girl stands in front of me, in an apartment smelling like smoke. “Did you open all the windows?”

“Oh right, I should prolly do that,” Paige murmurs, looking back into the apartment, stomach rumbling again. I couldn’t help it, I felt pity towards the girl.

“I was just about to make dinner actually, do you want to come downstairs while you let your place air out?” I ask, inviting Paige over.

“Uh…” she mumbles and I can feel my stomach twisting in anxiety. Why would I be anxious? So what if she says no? I really didn’t want her to though for some reason, maybe I just needed a friend that bad.

“Ion wanna bother you if you got something to do,” Paige says, swinging back and forth on her feet.

“You’re not! I’m offering,” I insist.

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Aight. Thank you.”

With that Paige grabs a navy Uconn hoodie, her keys and phone before we make our way down, her blue eyes watching me unlock my door. She steps into my apartment, looking around. Not that there was much to look at yet, the walls were blank and the basic furniture was sitting where it had been placed for me.

“I haven’t really decorated yet,” I murmur, following the blonde girl in.

“I can see that,” she chuckles, blue eyes roaming the space. I watch as she takes steps further, and can’t help but grimace at her shoes.

“Sorry, but could you take your shoes off please?” I ask carefully.

“Yes ma’am,” Paige obeys without thinking, kicking her sneakers off and placing them neatly next to the wall. The way she bends to my will quickly, so eager to please, makes my face burn up for some reason.

“So you’re hungry?” I ask, walking into the kitchen with the blonde following close behind.

“I’m starving, but you don’t need to be cookin’ for me, we could just order a lil something? Or go out?” She suggests, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

I wave her off, grabbing my big chalkboard which had every meal planned in advance, a column for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“No no no, I like to cook. Especially for other people, so really, you’re doing me a favour,” I insist, feeling her come up from behind me to peek over my shoulder at the board. My skin tingles as the heat of her body radiates off of her, the pounding of my heart not letting up. Must be the Dallas heat making me all loopy.

“You weren’t joking about being a planner huh?” She chuckles, her finger scanning over the text as she reads.

“I just like to be organised. I don’t see any harm in being prepared.”

For a moment she stands close behind me, reading. I can feel her breath on my bare shoulder, goosebumps spreading down my arm.

“Damn, you can cook all this stuff?” Paige asks, clearly impressed.

“Well, yes. I like to cook,” I chuckle, putting the board down and turning to the girl behind me. “I could teach you, if you’d like?”

“Who says Ion know how to cook,” she scoffs, our eyes locked in each other’s gaze. I realise this must be the longest she’s held eye contact with me yet. Not used to it, I look to the floor and shrug.

“The burnt smell coming from your apartment does,” I tease, opening the fridge next to the girl, everything neatly organised. “Now, what would you like to eat Paige?”

“Like this?”

“Oh, well, almost. Let me show you darling.”

Suddenly her hands are on mine, guiding the knife through the vegetables as she stands next to me.

“See, you don’t need to lift the knife, keep the tip on the board, got it?”

Honestly I barely take any of it in, my heart beating so loudly I was sure Zari could hear it. My skin tingles as her shoulder presses against my arm, my eyes locked on how our hands look together. Her brown skin makes mine look paler, the long nails on her slender fingers making mine look stronger, more masculine. To my dismay, Zari’s hand lifts off mine and she steps back as if suddenly aware of our closeness.

”Now why don’t you try for me?”

For her? I didn’t know her well at all, but everything about her had me wanting to do anything for her.

So I do as she says, doing my best to follow her advice, my brows furrowing in concentration. I watch as the knife cuts the pepper into pieces, uneven in size. I wasn’t very good at this cooking thing, I should probably consider getting a personal chef. Maybe I could hire Zari and have her cooking for me in a maid dress, or in lingerie. Okay no, I gotta focus.

”There you go, good job Paige,” Zari murmurs, watching closely, her hand coming up to rub my shoulder. ”You’re doing so good.”

I swallow, my throat bobbing. It’s almost embarrassing, the heat between my thighs when I hear her say those words, her praise making my mind spin, her touch leaving fire in its wake. God, I need to get a grip.

”Uh, do I add them to the salad?” I ask flustered.

”Yes! Let me check on the chicken,” Zari smiles, taking the food out of the oven. The smell is making my mouth water, why doesn’t chicken ever smell like that.

”Yo that smells so good,” I groan. ”What spices did you use?”

”A lot,” the girl laughs. ”I can write down the recipe for you?”

”O-okay,” I mumble. The time spent together had only turned me more tense, I was just hoping she couldn’t see it.

”Go into the living room love, I’ll make your plate. Would you like some wine?”

Before I can think, a yes slips through my lips, too discombobulated by the nickname. I didn’t even like wine.

Cussing to myself in my head, I walk into the living room, eyes roaming the identical furniture to mine. Except hers was neater, and the only decorations in the room a vase of white lilies on the coffee table and a colourful chart hung on the wall. Looking closer I realise it’s a fully colour-coded schedule, every minute planned in advance. Jesus this girl was wound up tight.

I plant myself on the couch, Izara soon bringing me a plate of quite possibly the most delicious looking chicken salad I’d ever seen and a glass of white wine. The dark haired girl sits in a black leather chair facing me.

“Oh my God,” I groan, my mouth full of food. It was delicious. Zari laughs, lifting her glass.

“Cheers.”

”Cheers,” I smile, grabbing the glass, trying to hide the scrunch in my face as I sip the white wine, the bitter taste filling my mouth.

Zari lets out a soft laugh, noticing my expression. ”You don’t like it?”

I shake my head, my eyes still closed. ”I hate wine,”

”Why didn’t you say something Paige? You don’t have to drink it, poor girl.”

I laugh at myself, placing the glass on the coffee table.

”I dunno man,” I rub the bridge of my nose.

There’s a moment of both of us chuckling filling the room till it goes quiet again. I recognise a sliver of unsureness on the other girl’s face, something I’d never seen before.

”Can I ask you something?” She asks, voice softer than I’m used to. I nod.

”Did it upset you when I didn’t recognise you that first time I saw you?”

Her bluntness shocks me. I put my fork down, shaking my head. ”No, not at all,” I reply.

She thinks for a while, putting the plate down on her lap and watching the floor. ”I’m just getting a sort of feeling that you don’t really like me much.”

I’m shocked, confused. Our eyes meet for a moment but surprisingly, she looks away. The way she says it seems lighthearted, casual, like we’re talking about the weather or something.

”Huh? No, not at all Zari,” I say urgently, chasing for her gaze. She meets my eyes, shrugging. From the outside she didn’t seem bothered at all by the possibility of me hating her, if it wasn’t for the way she was fiddling with her golden necklace.

”I don’t quite know how to explain it. You just seem a little uncomfortable around me.”

Okay. Apparently I hadn’t been as slick as I thought. In the midst of trying to hide the little innocent crush I had, I’d come off so cold and withdrawn now Zari thought I didn’t like her. Great.

I sigh, feeling a heat rise to my face. ”Shit Zari, I’m sorry,” I say, knowing there was no other way of explaining my behaviour.

”I’mma be honest, and don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re pretty intimidating.”

She thinks for a while, taking a bite of her food and swallowing before speaking again.

“How come?” Zari asks, tilting her head.

“You seem like a woman who knows her shit, and you got this mad confidence too,” I admit, picking at my cuticles. “You’re also really pretty. So yeah. Intimidating.”

I swear, for a fleeting moment, her face flushes red - but only for a second. Then she laughs and nods.

“Huh, I must work on that,” Zari says more so to herself. I shake my head.

“Nah I like that, but honestly I just feel stupid as hell around you.”

“Well you are American,” she says seriously, but the twinkle in her eye tells me she’s teasing.

“Alright now, best country in the world,” I grin, making both of us burst into laughter. Zari sips her wine, shaking her head.

“Just to be clear Paige, I do not think you’re stupid,” she hums, meeting my gaze. A look on her face that tells me she’s being genuine.

“Okay, my turn to ask a question then,” I say, leaning back on the couch. Zari crosses her legs in her chair, intrigued.

“Are we playing 21 questions?” She asks, teasing again. “Pretty sure the last time I played this was in uni with this guy who was trying to shag me.”

It’s a tempting idea, but I shake my head swiftly. “Nah, just wanna get to know you.”

“Well go ahead.”

“You’re from London right? What in the hell got you to move to Dallas, Texas out of all the places in the world.”

Zari thinks for a while, looking up at the ceiling and shifting on her chair to get more comfortable.

“I used to work summers at this pub in Leicester Square, All Bar One. It’s horrific, super touristy and the pay wasn’t great,” the girl starts. “And there was this older man who came to London the same week every summer I worked there. He was from Dallas and told me all these stories about it being the greatest city in the world.”

“And you believed him?” I ask amused.

The girl laughs. “No, absolutely not. But then I was uh… well let’s just say going through some stuff and saw a job offer in Dallas and thought of him and took it as a sign I suppose. Not that I believe in signs but.”

I don’t pry, but I do notice the way her right hand squeezes into a fist as she talks, telling me she was really affected by whatever she was talking about.

“My turn,” she says to change the subject. “You miss Uconn?”

Easy question. “Like crazy,” I start. “‘M not used to living alone.”

“The silence right before you go to sleep is the worst,” Zari says, like reading my mind.

“Exactly,” I reply. Our eyes meet for a moment, in a silent exchange. We might be really different, but she gets me. “Miss having friends.”

“Aren’t we friends?” The girl asks, her eyes studying me.

“Are we?”

“I think we are,” she hums. “Or could be, if you’d like. It’s not that I’ve got friends here either.”

I think for a moment, looking at the empty plate on my lap. Friends. That’s all I could want.

“I’d like that Zari,” I murmur. A silence falls over us, now more comfortable than before.

“Sooo, why haven’t you decorated?” I ask. Zari chuckles and shrugs, looking around the living room.

“I only have a visa for a season. Seems like a waste to start turning this place into a home,” the girl explains.

I furrow my brows, studying her face. “What’s the point of coming here then? If you’re not tryna make it home?” I ask, and my words hit me just as hard as they do Zari. The past couple weeks I had spent moping around, feeling sorry for myself, refusing to move forward. Maybe it was time to accept that this is my home, that maybe I should be trying a little harder to make it so.

“I mean I got some shelves but I realised I don’t have a drill so I can’t put them up,” she says, pointing to the wooden boards leaning against the wall in the corner.

“I got a drill.”

She turns to me, surprised. “You do?”

I nod, feeling proud that I might just get to save her once more. “Yeah, my dad got me a tool set when I moved.”

“Smart man, do you know how to use it though?” Zari questions, making me scoff.

“Of course I do,” I say offended, though I hadn’t used it more than once before. Finally I get up from the couch, grabbing the girl’s empty plate from her. She begins to stand up too.

“Nah, you sit Zari, I’mma put the dishes away and go get that drill, aight?” I say. She looks up at me, eyes wide, surprised, studying my face. Like she wasn’t used to this. Eventually she nods, her mouth stretching into a smile. She’s pleased, I could tell. It made me wanna do more. “I’ll get you another glass of wine too.”

It’s her turn to go speechless, as she hands me the empty glass. I can still feel her eyes on me as I walk out of the room.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“I got it, sit down.”

“But, are you sure you can keep it str-”

“Zari, please sit down and drink your wine. I got it.”

Letting out a frustrated huff, I plop myself onto the soft couch, resting against the cushions. My eyes are locked on the blonde, her veiny hand wrapped around the drill, the muscles of her back flexing from the strain of holding the shelf up.

I huff again, sipping on the wine and crossing my legs. I felt useless just watching her like this. I was so used to doing everything for myself, letting someone else work for me felt entirely backwards. Still, a part of me was enjoying being taken care of this way.

Done with the shelves, Paige takes a step back to admire her work. “Uhh, I don’t think it’s straight.”

“What?!” I ask, sitting up to see better.

She turns to me, a big grin on her face. “Kidding.”

I throw a pillow at the blonde, laughing too.

“You’re not very good at that huh?” She asks, dodging.

“At what?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

“At relaxing,” the blonde says, taking a sip of a can of Coke. She’s got a point so I don’t argue. I was wired that way, being tense was part of me, a tightness in my shoulders constantly a reminder of my brain working overtime.

“I’m not the relaxing type,” I answer, standing up to look at the shelves on the wall. I gasp noticing she’s done well, even to my standards. It wasn’t lopsided at all.

“Did I do a good job?” Paige asks as I walk to stand next to her, finishing the last sip of wine.

“Mhm,” I nod, noticing a tingle running up my arm as our hands brush together for a fleeting second. Strange, must be the wine. “You did good, thank you Paige. I owe you.”

The blonde scoffs, leaning close enough for our arms to press against one another. I smell a hint of her shampoo, fruity, apple maybe? Either way, it must have been the closest I had been to a person since me and Jasper called it off.

“You made me dinner, you don’t owe me nothing,” she chuckles. I feel her eyes on me, seeing the way her face is turned to me in my peripheral vision. I could feel my chest heaving, not quite sure why.

Paige points to the colour coded schedule on the wall. I knew it seemed excessive, neurotic even. But it was the only way I got everything done. My life wasn’t easy, far from it. I had always been one to plan, but ever since my break up structure seemed like the only thing keeping my life from falling apart.

“You follow that forreal?” Paige asks, walking closer to the schedule to read through it.

“What’s the point of having it if I don’t,” I point out, watching as her blue eyes roam the different colours. Shaking her head, she turns to me.

“You ever take a break?”

I chuckle, leaning in to point out the yellow text on the paper. “Yes, I got it scheduled in.”

“It says you should be working right now,” Paige says.

I nod. “I know.” I knew it by heart.

Paige’s blue eyes land on my face for a moment, studying me. I could feel the wine making my cheeks heat up, so I look away, back to the shelves the blonde had put up for me. The idea made my heart flutter, someone doing something like that just for me. Without expecting anything in return.

“Well,” the taller girl grabs her toolkit. “I should prolly head out and let you work.”

I feel a slight disappointment deep in my gut, hoping she would stay a little longer. After all, she was the only friend I had. But I knew what the schedule said.

Thursday 7:00PM-9:30PM work

So I nod, following the girl to the front door, watching her put her shoes on.

“Thanks for dinner,” the blonde smirks, lids heavy as she looks down at me. My skin burns, I must have forgotten to turn the AC up after work.

“Thank you for the drilling,” I say which makes Paige let out a loud laugh. Realising what I said, I cover my face with my hand, joining her. “I mean, for the shelf.”

“Right,” Paige grins, wiping her lower lip with her thumb. “You ever need help relaxing, I’m right upstairs.”

Her voice is hoarse, deeper than usual. For a moment I think she’s flirting with me, trying to imply something entirely different than one might think at first. But I quickly shake the idea off. That wine really went to my head.

“I’ll see you Paige,” I murmur, watching her go, closing the door behind her.

I stand there for a moment, still a hint of her shampoo in the air. Turning left I eye the kitchen, everything perfectly in place just how I liked it. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had cleaned for me. Jasper always claimed my standards were too high, that it was impossible for a person to fulfill my requirements. But looking at my kitchen now I had no complaints. Maybe there really were people out there that wouldn’t always disappoint me. Maybe Paige was one of them.

My eyes land on the hoodie draped over the back of a chair, navy blue and too large to be mine. I pick it up, looking at the Husky decorating the front, and I know I’m either mad or much more wine drunk than I realised when I lean in and press my nose against it, inhaling the scent, a mix of skin and deodorant and sandalwood. Returning back to my senses, I quickly pull away and neatly fold it, urgently hiding it in my wardrobe and closing the doors.

“Jesus Izara,” I mumble to myself, making my way to my desk to work, the faint scent of sandalwood still apparent in the air around me.

taglist:@wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@sierrale8ne@lupinqs@lovegalor333@d3arapril@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@bueckersfive@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers

#paige bueckers #so it goes #lilas writing #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x fem #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers smut

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venus-haze · 3 months ago

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Your Name in Lights - Chapter 1 (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for your big break, co-starring in one of Soldier Boy's movies and the undeniable chemistry the two of you have on- and off-set. [AO3 Link | Masterlist]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. I left the time period intentionally ambiguous, but it has some '50s/'60s classic Hollywood vibes. The actress you're replacing and the director are made up for this fic.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny. Implied age gap. Power imbalance. Soldier Boy is his own warning.

Sweat gathered at your brow under the bright studio lights, and you hoped it wouldn't show in the costume test photos being taken. You turned to the side at the photographer's direction, wondering what the hell you were even testing for in the first place. Your manager had called you at nearly five in the morning, telling you to come to the studio right away, because if you didn't, some other starlet would get the part. Practically everyone in the room looked stressed, from the costume designer with her furrowed brow to her assistant, hovering near the clothing rack.

"I'm sorry," you began, taking the dress that was handed to you once your navy blue sweater-skirt combo was adequately documented. Sleek, black, with a slit up the side. Obviously for a nightclub scene. You hadn't done many of those. "What movie is this for, again?"

"The latest Soldier Boy picture," your manager Frank said, following you behind the privacy screen toward the back of the room to help you into the dress. You'd long since foregone any sense of modesty around him, the only person looking out for you in Tinseltown.

"In what role?" You wiggled into the dress and peeked around the screen. "This is gonna have to be taken in around the bust."

"Are you kidding? You're the leading lady," he said, zipping up the dress for you.

Your eyes widened. "What happened to Olivia Yearly? I heard months ago that she was cast in Soldier Boy's latest picture."

"Stormed off set and quit. She's a real diva."

"But she's Olivia Yearly, and I'm—"

"You're gonna be a hundred Olivia Yearlys if you play your cards right with this one."

"I haven't even auditioned or done a screen test. How did they find me?"

"Audiences liked you in your last few pictures. It was the people over at Vought who wanted to take a chance on you," Frank said, letting you steady yourself on his shoulder as you slipped on the heels that accompanied the dress. Of course Vought had the muscle to get just about any studio to lend out their stars to them, who could pass up being in a movie with a superhero? "Besides, this way Soldier Boy won't have to share top billing, and obviously you won't be getting an Olivia Yearly salary, so it's a win-win for them."

"Frank—"

"Don't worry, kid, you're not getting stiffed."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"They only filmed two scenes, small ones, from what I've heard, so it's not a big reshoot. You'll get the script this afternoon, the writers are changing a few things, a little less femme fatale, you know? I told them that's not your image."

You sighed. That wasn't your worry either, but Frank already had his mind made up. You'd only recently gotten fourth or fifth billing in your movies. Soldier Boy had been America's favorite leading man and a guaranteed box office draw for as long as he'd been on screen. It'd be a big break for you, the kind you always dreamed of. "Okay, let's give it a shot."

"Attagirl."

The script you received wasn't the most imaginative or groundbreaking, but it was good, a solid film noir that softened its femme fatale lead, the sultry Laura becoming the ingenue Laurie to accommodate introducing you to a wider audience next to Soldier Boy of all people. A sweet girl who'd become his partner and confidant as the plot progressed, eventually his lover by the end of the film. After all, Soldier Boy always got the girl.

From the moment he stepped into your powder pink dressing room, any notions you may have had about your co-star's clean-cut persona went out the window. The smell of marijuana took you aback. You recognized it, knew to stay the hell away from it unless you wanted a scandal that ended your career before it even began.

Still, you tried to be gracious and courteous, thanked him for taking a chance on you, let yourself giggle at the compliment he threw your way about how the makeup artist wasn't going to have a thing to do as long as you were in the picture. Except he steered the conversation clear off course. You supposed he expected you to be more naive than you let on, but you'd been around the industry to know better, tried to stay as professional as possible even though he kept pushing it.

"You know, if you ever wanna run lines, just you and me, I got a suite up at the Chateau Marmont," he said. "All the privacy you could want, get to know each other better."

"That won't be necessary," you said as politely as you could. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it's either that, or you're frigid as hell. I can relieve whatever your issue is, sweetheart. You just say the word."

Your face heated up, and you turned away from him. "I'd like you to go now, please."

"Suit yourself," he said. "See you on set."

As soon as you heard the door shut, you reached for the glass of ice water on your vanity with a shaky hand and brought it to your forehead, staring at your bewildered expression in the brightly lit mirror in front of you.

No wonder Olivia Yearly quit, though you didn't dare imagine what he could've possibly said to her. But you had to try, if not for your own career, then for Frank's sake. He believed in you, even when you were just starting out in an industry that you'd seen cannibalize so many others. He must have pulled some impossible strings just to get you this role. You weren't going to let an unpleasant co-star ruin the opportunity of a lifetime.

Except he almost did, as you faltered ad fumbled your way through your scenes with him that first day. Frustration radiated off of the crew, and every time award-winning director Julian Garrett yelled 'cut', he sounded tired, as if he wondered if the movie were ever going to be made. They were all doing you a favor, especially the people at Vought, giving you a chance, and you had yet to prove you earned it. You knew if you didn't get it together, you wouldn't have another chance to.

Standing next to Soldier Boy by the facade of a made-up bar, you pushed your hair out of your face as a giant fan just out of frame kicked on to fabricate a windy night. The chill, the uncertainty, the tension, all set up perfectly for the scene.

"Haven't you ever had that feeling? Where you know something's not right, but you can't explain why?"

He nodded. "Sure I have, it's what's gotten me this far."

"Then you have to trust me, Soldier Boy," you implored. "Something about Everhart's plan doesn't seem right—seem on the level—"

"Cut!" Julian yelled.

Soldier Boy turned to the representative from Vought, hovering on set, probably a lawyer to cover any liabilities after the Olivia Yearly situation. "This is what you get for hiring some fresh piece of ass who doesn't know what she's doing."

Your hands balled into fists at your side. He said what everyone was surely thinking after having to start the scene over for the dozenth time, but it still hurt to hear. "I'll have you know my ass and I know exactly what we're doing!" you snapped. "Let's start from the top, Mr. Garrett. I'll get it this time."

The director sighed. "Alright, one more time."

When you turned back to face Soldier Boy, you caught a glimpse of his smile before it fell from his face in preparation for the scene.

The tension between you and everyone else on set fizzled out as you spoke, finally finding the sweet spot where you could match Soldier Boy's energy, your determination to succeed and prove him wrong far exceeding how intimidating you found your co-star until then.

"I really hope it won't take so long to get a performance like that out of you tomorrow," Julian said, looking relaxed for the first time all day.

"It won't. I promise."

"Better not," Soldier Boy muttered.

You kept your word, ran through your lines every night until you could hardly keep your eyes open, showed up on set early, even when Soldier Boy was an hour or two late, started getting on people's good sides, or maybe they were finally recognizing your potential now that you were only having to do two or three takes of each scene.

Despite your rocky start and the trepidation you felt about him, there was no denying Soldier Boy's charisma, how easy it was for you to play off of it. Then, between takes, he was more amicable, though you doubted his intentions were as mundane as wanting to get along with his coworker. But you found yourself flirting back when he did, telling yourself it was to keep up the chemistry between your characters rolling, even when the cameras weren't. Frank even told you over dinner one evening that industry chatter had already begun talking you up as the find of the year, whispers of your chemistry with Soldier Boy already drowning out the drama with his previous co-star.

During the second week of filming, the lawyer from Vought had pulled you aside to let you know someone from one of the big Hollywood gossip columns was going to be on set that week. You figured someone from Hedda Hopper's outfit, as she sung Soldier Boy's praises in her articles, though you read both her and Louella Parsons' columns religiously, especially after you were cast in the current picture, and public interest in you piqued. He didn't tell you about it to keep you informed, but rather to warn you to keep your mouth shut if you wanted your career to stay on the upward trajectory it was going.

You tried not to look at the unfamiliar woman too much, cigarette dangling from her lips, notepad and pen in hand, writing a sentence or two every so often. Her face was unreadable, but you tried not to let it get to you, not when the next scene was so important.

Outside of the same bar facade where you finally found your place in the film, you stood as Laurie in the black and white houndstooth coat you'd come to love, preparing to distract the two-faced Everhart so Soldier Boy could gather intel, the first big step in foiling his enemy's plan. Laurie was being thrown to the wolves.

"Soldier Boy," you simpered, "I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Laurie—"

Your eyes glistened with tears, voice breaking ever so softly as you placed a manicured hand on his chest. "No, I don't want to do this without you."

He took you in his arms and kissed you, deeply enough that you had to steady yourself on his biceps, that certainly wasn't in the script, but no one seemed to mind. "Be brave for me, honey," he husked against your lips.

"I'll try."

Again, his lips on yours, and you nearly lost yourself in his embrace until a loud "Cut!" tore through the scene.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from Soldier Boy. Your heart was racing. You could hardly gather the courage to look at him. It almost felt…real.

"Goddamn, I think that was it," Julian said.

"Should we do another take?" the assistant director asked.

"I don't know if we'll get anything better than that. Yeah, let's go through it one more time."

Out of the corner of your eye, the columnist scribbled frantically in her notepad.

The rest of the day, it seemed like you and Soldier Boy were on fire, requiring fewer takes as scenes grew tenser, more intimate—close-ups on yearning faces, the subtle brushing of hands, worried glances across the room. More than once, you felt your heart actually skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

The movie magic dissolved by night, and a well-deserved day-off of filming awaited you in the morning—as did headlines that screamed of the latest Hollywood romance, spurred on by a photo the columnist had taken the day before, Soldier Boy and Starlet Sizzle on Set!

Starlet. You frowned. They couldn't have even bothered to use your name?

Small potatoes, Frank assured you over the phone when you called him about the papers, soon enough, your name would be in lights.

Vought was certainly pleased with the way you stole the focus from Soldier Boy's beef with his former co-star, all eyes on the two of you with just murmurs of undeniable chemistry.

"So, how does dinner sound? Anywhere you want," Frank said.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure, you're the talk of the town. Long as Soldier Boy's with you."

"Tell him it's his choice," you said. You'd make the most of the good press as you could, play his game within reason if it meant finally getting somewhere in your career.

"Alright, well, he'll probably pick you up around eight."

"Here?" You glanced around your modest apartment. Decently furnished for when you had a few friends over for drinks, though the striped wallpaper was peeling, and you were more than used to the smell of mothballs that permeated the air. "No, Frank, that won't do. Have him pick me up at your office downtown."

"You got it," your manager said before hanging up the phone.

By the time Soldier Boy picked you up, you'd already helped yourself to some of the bourbon you knew Frank kept in his office to settle your nerves. The drive wasn't too bad, he wasn't as handsy as you were anticipating, a bit disappointing, if you were being honest with yourself.

Somehow, word of your and Soldier Boy's date was leaked ahead of time, a crowd of fans and reporters waiting outside of the nightclub for your arrival. Its simple, sleek white facade would've been classy if not for the giant neon palm tree sign next to the actual palm trees.

You offered your best smile for the cameras, played up your relationship with Soldier Boy, giving him a kiss on the cheek and practically clinging to his side.

"It's been such a dream working with him," you told one reporter. "I couldn't ask for a better leading man."

As for whether or not the rumors of romance were true, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell," Soldier Boy said, his arm around your waist as he finally ushered you inside. The gaudy, tropical-inspired decor throughout the club was almost tacky, but you supposed it had a certain charm to it.

Sitting down in the booth reserved for the two of you, you felt like you just finished running a marathon as you settled into the plush red upholstery.

Soldier Boy looked at you, amused, "Just wait 'til the movie actually comes out, sweetheart."

A waiter arrived, asking if you'd like to start with drinks or hear the specials first.

"What're you drinking?" Soldier Boy asked.

"Bourbon, neat," you said.

"Make that two." He turned to you, his green eyes giving you a once-over, as if regarding you differently than he had before. "I wouldn't peg you as a bourbon girl."

"It's what was in my manager's office earlier," you said, quickly adding, "I don't make it a habit."

He nodded. "Good girl."

You didn't know whether or not to be grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks, giving you an excuse to look away from him for a moment, flustered by the simple praise.

Soldier Boy waved him off after the glasses were set down, claiming you needed more time to look at the menu.

"Look, I know we didn't start on the best foot," he began, almost reluctantly, "but you're not half bad. And you kiss like you mean it. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to kiss a broad for a scene and might as well have been kissing cardboard."

"So I'm not frigid?"

He chuckled. "Hell no."

The two of you so engrossed in conversation, you'd forgotten to even look at the menu when the waiter returned, and Soldier Boy ended up ordering for you—as soon as the two of you were alone again, he muttered something about the drinks being the only thing worth going to the place for. The dry baked potato and rubbery steak presented to you on an otherwise gorgeous plate proved him right, and you tried your best to pick at your food without too much of a puss on your face.

Drinks kept flowing, and you switched from bourbon to your usual order, though Soldier Boy was outpacing you by a mile.

"How are you not plastered?" you asked.

"Takes about three times as much alcohol to get me drunk than a normal person."

"What's it like, being a superhero? I mean, I've met plenty of other actors, but no one like you," you said.

"It's a lot of responsibility," he began, his canned answer disappointing you a bit, "from the day I was born I had these powers, I don't know why it was me over anyone else, but I have to use them to help people, to do good."

"But what does it feel like? Some kind of adrenaline rush coursing through your veins? Is it something that just happens?"

"You asking if being a supe gets me hard?"

Your face heated up, "No, not like that, I mean—"

"I don't get whisky dick, I can promise you that, sweetheart."

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

He shook his head. "That's the limit of my powers. I can do everything but fly and be subtle."

Despite yourself, you laughed. Maybe it was the drinks, or finally having a chance to talk to Soldier Boy outside of a professional setting let you scratch just beneath the surface of the world's first superhero. Since his debut, when the country was in desperate need of a superhero like him, there had been other supes, each with unique powers, but none inspired the awe that he did.

Over the course of the conversation, he moved in closer to you, your space becoming his until you finished your drink, and he managed to talk you into just one more, his hand squeezing your thigh.

"The table service takes too long, I don't mind going up to the bar," you said.

He shrugged, and you took that as permission to go ahead as you slid out of the booth. Not quite steady on your feet, you made it to the bar in one piece, feeling light as you told the bartender your orders.

The bar's polished surface allowed you to see your reflection—and Olivia Yearly's, right next to you. Striking black hair with hardly a strand out of place, green eyes practically made for technicolor, and her signature pouty red lips, you tried not to swoon at the sight of her. She didn't pay any attention to you, of course she wouldn't, she had no real reason to, until you forced yourself to speak up and say something to one of your idols.

"Miss Yearly? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm such a big fan," you said.

"Thank you. It's always nice to—" She raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. "Hold on, you're that new girl, the one in the Soldier Boy picture, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"He hasn't scared you off yet? You can't be that desperate for a job."

"Soldier Boy's been a wonderful co-star," you said.

She scoffed, her upper lip curling in a sneer. "How much is Vought paying you to say that? He's the most shameless, unprofessional man I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a sound stage with, and I've been on a lot."

"I know, I've seen almost all of your movies," you confessed quietly.

"Then take my advice, stay the hell away from him, and that company, too."

"What did he even do—"

"Olivia," Soldier Boy said coldly, appearing at your side unexpectedly. "Surprised the place made an exception to its 'no hag' policy for you."

You nearly gasped. Olivia Yearly was a star. A goddess. An institution. Definitely not a—

"Hag? Who the hell do you think you're talking to you fucking—"

"Just shove it, Liv."

"You're digging your damn grave if you stick around the sorry likes of him," she shot at you before storming off.

He scowled, moving so he blocked her retreating figure from your line of sight. "Whatever that bitch told you about me—she's gonna be old news as soon as they see you on that screen. That’s why she's trying to scare you."

"Do you really think so?" you asked, trying to ignore the doubt that crept up on you.

"She sure as hell couldn't kiss like you can."

As if to prove it, he leaned in, his plush lips pressed against yours, the same sparks you felt on set flying between you. His hands on your hips, soft and strong as he pulled you closer, something like that couldn't be faked, not so naturally as the two of you seemed to do. Almost couldn't help but lose yourself in his embrace—until a camera flashed in your peripheral vision, tearing you from the intimacy of the kiss and reminding you that you were only there with him for publicity. You wondered if it could ever be anything more.

Taglist: @waynes-multiverse @youdontknowe @sl33pylilbunny @ladykitana90 @urmomissuperhotsworld @riah1606

#the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy fanfiction #your name in lights fic #jensen ackles #the boys amazon #the boys tv #soldier boy fic #soldier boy imagine #jensen ackles characters #the boys fanfic

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jyoongim · 1 year ago

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~BLOOD & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life! fluff, smut, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy, blood, murder, secrets

Chapter two chapter four

Chapter 3

Note: sooooo as y’all know Alastor and wife!reader have already been married for a few years (by the time they have their last child their marriage will be 16-20 years.)

Since you had mentioned wanting children, Alastor has taken it upon himself to fuck you on very surface in the house. You had never seen your husband so riled up. When he returned from work, he would always somehow coax you upstairs to make a mess of you. You were often filled with his cum that you were sure you had to be pregnant by now, but you didn’t think about it too much, just letting nature do its thing.

You were prepping for lunch, as Alastor said he wanted to come home and eat. You decided to keep it simple, opting to make salmon cakes and cabbages. The cabbages were boiling as you moved on to make the cakes. When you opened the can of fish, the smell made you queasy, making your stomach lurch and you quickly made yourself to the bathroom.

You had broken out in a cold sweat as you dry heaved into the toilet. You whimpered as your stomach twisted. You have never had such a reaction to fish before, so why did you feel so sick all of a sudden?

You splashed some cold water on your face and looked at your reflection.

Eyes scanning yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t see what ailment had fallen over you. You looked a little pale but that could be from anything. Your eyes lingered on your midsection.

could you be…

You turned and pressed your hands against your stomach, smoothing out your dress to be flat. Heart beating out your chest, you caressed your stomach. Your stomach had a slight bump, something that you had chalked up from your indulgence in sweets. But it was rounder than how it usually looked.

Your eyes widened and quickly went downstairs to phone the doctor.

—————————————————————————————-

“Well ma’am congratulations! It would appear you are around 12 weeks.”

The doctor smiled at you, waiting for your response.

You were stunned.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

You cleared your throat nervously “w-what am i suppose to do?”

The question held uncertainty but you had no idea what or how to process this news.

A small part of you was happy, you finally were gonna have a baby with Alastor. The other part was nervous and scared, you didn’t have the slightest thought on how to raise a child.

The doctor chuckled “Its normal to be scared or nervous. This is your first time after all but don’t worry. I recommend attending mothering classes, to get the knowledge and familiar with baby terms, symptoms, and how to prepare. You’re a bit vitamin-deficient but more fruits and greens can help with that. You’ll experience morning sickness here and there so don’t push yourself. The important thing is that you get as must rest as possible. Stress isn’t good for you or the baby.”

You jotted down some notes as the doctor filled you with some information and thanked him for his time. He gave you your next appointment and answered any other health questions you had. You made a mental note to visit these mommy classes.

You sighed as you closed the door to your home. Your mind was reeling and you were filled with so many emotions.

You hadn’t thought you would get pregnant so soon but Alastor was very if not persistent when it came to keeping you filled.

You soon had a smile on your face as you thought of the little one growing within you. You knew Alastor didn’t mind having a baby, but you couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to the news.

Would he be excited to be a Daddy? Would he want a boy or a girl?

You were sure he wouldn’t mind either way.

You couldn’t wait to tell him the good news.

————————————————————————————————-

Alastor let some jazz tunes play as he looked over some scripts and news for his next segment. He stole a glance at the clock and got up from his chair, grabbing his jacket.

It was lunch time.

He was headed home to spend his break with his wife.

A pleasant shiver ran through him at the thought of taking his sweet wife over the meal she prepared for him.

He had been fucking his wife nonstop since she mentioned children and the thought of her swollen with his child always sent his cock swelling.

He placed his hat and jacket on the couch as he made his way to the kitchen. He was greeted with the sight of you dressed fairly comfortable, not in your usual polished attire. Your hair was pinned up and wrapped, you were dressed in your silk robe, which was dropping off your shoulders, exposing them. You were humming as you washed the dishes.

You looked ravishing.

He crept up behind you, making you jolt when his long arms wrapped around your midsection. He pressed his lips to the junction of your neck, littering your shoulder and neck in kisses. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes darlin” he drawled, nuzzling his nose into the underside of your jaw. You giggled as Alastor nipped at your skin, wiping your soapy hands on a towel you spun around to wrap your arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss his lips “Hello to you too dear. I hope you’re hungry. I made fish cakes. Dont want you too tired heavy with a full meal when you have to dazzle the masses”

A wide smile stretched across his face, eyes lidded “What if I just want dessert?” He jested as you swatted at his broad chest with a blush sprouting on your face.

“Oh shush! Sit down and eat” you huffed, shoving a plate into his chest.

Alastor chuckled and took the plate and moved to leaned over the kitchen island.

”Are you feeling ok my dear? Not that I mind, no, but you seem tired” he took a took a sip of tea, eyeing you.

You fidget with your fingers “I am feeling better, had a bit of a upset stomach this morning and paid the doctor a visit” you tried to hide your smile as his brows furrowed and dropped the cake to look you over like a worried hen.

His hands took yours as he frowned “you’re not coming down with anything are you? Why ain’t you page me at the studio i would have gladly took you.”

You leaned into his chest, smiling at him “weeelll i did come down with something and I fear i wont be rid of it anytime soon” oh you were torturing the poor man.

He had panic in his eyes as he was unaware of what it was. Wanting to remain strong and supportive for your sake.

”well whatever it is I will make sure to be there with you through it all” he declared.

Oh this was sweet.

”did the doctor tell you what it was at least?” He asked.

You smiled, catching him off guard, as you placed his hands on your stomach. Alastor was confused when you did so, his hands spanned along your stomach. You were a bit rounder but you did like sweets.

You watched as the realization dawned on his face. His jaw dropped and his brown eyes looked at your in shock. “A-are you…” you frantically nodded, unable to conceal your giggling as he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you.

”Oh darling really? Youre..you’re really? Youre pregnant?” His voice grew excited.

”hehehe yes yes were having a baby! Alastor we are having a baby” your face was attacked in kisses. “Doc said im 12 weeks, looks like your resilience paid off” you giggled as your husband smoothed his hands over your stomach, crouching down as he laid his forehead against the bump.

”A-are you happy?” You couldn’t help but ask. He looked up at you, eyes shining and smile big “Oh baby you just don’t know.” He kissed your stomach, cooing, before kissing your lips. “You’ve made me the happiest. Almost like we got married all over again” he whispered against your lips.

He rested a hand on your stomach, caressing the bump. “Ooh I can’t wait to see how motherhood shapes you cher” he kissed your forehead, making you sigh lovingly.

Alastor had decided to page the studio to tell them something came up at home and the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled on the couch; Alastor had you tucked into his side as he stroked your stomach, already in love. The two of you had discussed what the next steps would be and how to move forward.

All the sweetness and lovey-dovey led to the two of you giving into more sensual desires, really just enjoying each other and reestablishing the love between the two of you.

You slipped your robe back on as you broke the heated kiss your husband had pulled you into. He groaned when you pulled away and went to get off his lap, hands kneading your hips. “Where you going sweetness” he purred as you giggled standing

”To freshen up. Since you’re home maybe we can really hunker down on what we gonna do for this baby mister” you said heading upstairs. Alastor pouted, listening to your footsteps move around. He got up and went to put up the lunch you made, he’ll take it with him when he’s out working late.

Speaking of which….he needed to spruce up a few loose ends he had been watching and would let to get those done before you needed all his attention.

He was confident in his ability to keep his sins away from your lives at home, after all he had crafted a beautiful reality here with you and he didn’t want that to be ruined by anything or anyone.

He whistled an old tune as he thought of you and a smile appeared on his face.

He was over the moon to find out you were pregnant.

He couldn’t wait to see how motherhood treated you.

To watch your body transform to provide for his child. How did he get so lucky to have a woman like you?

He wondered if you’ll have a boy or girl, he preferred a baby girl but he didn’t really care as long as you were happy.

After he cleaned up the kitchen he headed upstairs and Alastor swore his heart skipped a beat at the sight before him.

You were asleep on your side, one hand under your cheek and the other resting against the small baby bump, slowly stroking it. He threw a blanket over you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Satisfied that you were comfortable, he got his clothes from the other day from the closet and headed downstairs outback to wash his clothes.

It was gonna be a pain to get the stains out.

————��———————————————————————

Sooooo what do you guys think?? I hate im going so slow but i need to build up some plot lol. I promise Alastor gone slip up!!

Remember to comment on pin for tag and like and comment!

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morganski-19 · 1 year ago

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part 1, part 2

Dustin visits the next day, sitting next to Wayne with the same book he’s had for the past few days. Turning to the page that was dog-eared, reading. Voices and all. Just like Eddie does when he’s practicing for one of those campaigns. Claiming that it’s better to get it down with someone else’s words so he can improvise. So he doesn’t have to memorize some script and can be in the moment. Let his mind do the workings along with the players.

It’s one of the many parts of Eddie that Wayne sees in this kid. The dramatics, the drive. The snobbiness about certain things that don’t really matter to the rest of the world. But it matters to them, so it matters to the people who care about them too.

If Eddie were awake, he might yell at the kid for turning the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. Even though all the books he gets are second-hand and already torn and bent in all sorts of ways. But it’s about keeping the art pristine. The author put their heart and soul into this work, it’s not meant to be sullied. Wayne saw Eddie bend the corner of a page a million times over though, he just likes making a big stink about nothing. Just to get a rise out of people, make them laugh. Wayne can imagine that Eddie liked to make Dustin laugh a lot.

“Have the doctors said anything new?” Dustin asks after finishing the chapter.

Wayne shakes his head. “Same old, same old. Don’t worry about it too much though, he wouldn’t want you to.”

“He wouldn’t want a lot of the things that happened over the past week. So he’ll have to deal with it.” After a pause, he asks, “How are you doing?”

That makes Wayne laugh. “You don’t have to go worryin’ about me either. You’re just a kid.”

“And you’re just a man waiting for your kid to wake up. The same way I’m waiting for my friend to wake up. At the end of the day, we’re all still people. That sometimes need a break. So, how are you doing?”

It’s scary how much Wayne sees Eddie in this kid. “It’s hard comin’ here to hear the same thing every day.” That’s all Wayne’s willing to say to a kid.

Hard is definitely a word most people would use to describe his situation. Difficult, disheartening. Maybe even hopeless. But there’s still some hope in this old heart that keeps Wayne coming back day in and day out. Keeps him moving while only getting a few hours of sleep a day. Cause as soon as the night comes around, it’s right back to the plant. Making the money to pay for the care his boy needs to keep living. To pay for the roof over his own head enough so he’ll live to see it happen.

Truth is, Wayne’s dying here. From the fatigue. From the endless waiting. From the slowly draining pool of hope. Nothing seems to change. Nothing gets better. Six days in a medically induced coma with no hopes of ever waking up. Wayne’s not dumb enough to think that the chances increase the more days pass without him showing any signs of improvement.

Part of him says that this is the state Eddie will be in for the rest of his life. Wonders if it’s worth all of this just to keep him alive. If he’s really suffering in there and would be better off resting forever. But then the heart monitor keeps beeping and his brain is still active. Wayne’s boy is still in there, he’ll come back soon.

“Yeah, I bet that’s hard. I still have hope though, I was there when he came in. He looks a lot better now.”

There’s a knock on the door that keeps Wayne from responding. It’s the Harrington boy, in normal clothes this time. Discharged.

“Sorry to interrupt but your mom said it’s time to go home.”

Dustin dramatically rolls his eyes. “Which one, my actual mother or you?”

“Your actual mother, but I happen to agree with her. Come on, you got school in the morning.” Harrington crosses his arms, looking like he’s ready to start a standoff.

But instead of fighting Dustin stands. “Have a good night Mr. Munson. I’ll still try to visit as much as I can even though school’s starting back up again.”

“Thanks, kid, I’ll try.”

Harrington ruffles Dustin’s hair as he walks out the doorway. Standing there for a beat before turning back to Wayne. “We’ve never officially met, I’m Steve.”

Steve holds out his hand, waiting for Wayne to shake it. Wayne debates whether that’s a good idea or not. Apparently, it takes too long as Steve returns his hand to his side.

“I wanted to apologize for the scene I made the other day, you didn’t deserve that. I was just so shocked that they actually cuffed him to the bed. Still have him cuffed to the bed.” Steve looks at Eddie with a guilt that Wayne doesn’t understand. Like he’s the reason Eddie’s strapped to the bed.

Wayne continues to say nothing, not quite sure what would be appropriate. Tell him that it’s ok, that it didn’t bother him. Or thank him for believing that Wayne knew was true. That his boy was innocent.

There was more to this story than he knew. Something to do with the kid being there and the rich boy standing in the doorway looking like this is all his fault. When Wayne knows the same scars mark Steve just as much as they do Eddie. Steve made sure that everyone knew that. Using it as proof that Steve was there, and that Eddie was innocent.

Steve was ready to offer himself up as a witness for a man that the town hates. Wayne should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t seem right. They were part of different worlds. Different status, interests. It didn’t make sense for them to be in the same place at all. Yet here they are supposedly having gone through the same vicious attack.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Steve continues when Wayne stays silent. “I’m more than happy to help out. Eddie was kind of a new friend and I hate seeing him like this as much as you do.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Wayne snaps. He hates charity, especially from this kid. For some reason he doesn’t really understand why.

Steve is taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but you did. I know my boy and I know how my boy thinks about people like you. So don’t go ‘round gaining sympathy points from the real people who are suffering.”

“I, I wasn’t,” Steve stammers. “I would never.”

“Steve,” Dustin yells. “Get your ass moving, we’re your ride too.”

Steve sighs. “Coming, Jesus. I’m sorry for offending you. I won’t bother you again.”

Wayne shakes his head when Steve leaves, letting out a deep sigh. Maybe he was too harsh, maybe he wasn’t harsh enough. He’s not sure.

He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

part 4

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs,

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #post season 4 #wayne munson #dustin henderson #steve harrington #pre steddie #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #fanfic #wayne pov #chills right to the marrow fic

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flowerandblood · 10 months ago

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Play with my heart (2/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, kissing, sexual tension, eavesdropping, discomfort associated with the loss of an eye, remorse, doubts, anxiety, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After filming the scene, they rose from the bed as if nothing had happened. The director complimented her acting, saying that she was able to wonderfully portray both the innocence and temptation her character evoked. She smiled at him as he unscrewed the water bottle and took a sip from it, walking towards him.

"They say the beginnings are the hardest." She said softly, looking around, waiting for the director to review again what they had managed to record and decide if anything needed to be repeated.

"Mmm." He hummed, taking another sip of water, feeling uncomfortable now that he was standing in front of her without a script, not knowing what to say.

They stood side by side in awkward silence for a while, looking at their director – he finally said that he liked everything and they would now shoot the scene where the Prince wakes her up in the middle of the night, dragging her out of her chamber after returning from Storm's End.

When he returned to his hotel room he collapsed on his bed, tired but also content. He felt ashamed that he had forgotten the line and at the same time he was grateful that his partner on set had helped him and been supportive, warm and understanding.

He didn't know how he felt about getting aroused during the scene of them kissing – he wondered where the limit of method acting was and whether he had gotten that much into his character or whether it was something else.

He decided he wouldn't think about it, and as long as they played their parts well, nothing else mattered.

The next day there was a big breakfast together in the hotel restaurant. At the table sat the director and his deputies, the writers, producers, actors, stylists and the many other people who contributed to this gigantic production.

She smiled at him from afar and waved at him, sitting at the table in her hair tied up in a braid, on her body only a T-shirt with the Pokemon logo and yellow tracksuit shorts.

He swallowed quietly, putting his hands in his trouser pockets, and sat down next to her, greeting her and everyone else along the way, unsure of how to act. Aegon sitting on the other side of the table extended his hand to him and he shook it.

"– how are you two doing? – you already have some passionate scenes behind you, right? – he's hot, isn't he? –" He asked her partner with amusement, who laughed out loud, trying to turn his question into a joke.

"– everyone here is beautiful and talented – I'm in heaven –" She said softly, deftly avoiding answering. Aegon laughed at her words and stretched in his chair, yawning loudly, losing interest in the subject.

He reached for the cheese toast, watching out of the corner of his eye as her hands placed the pancakes on her plate, which she covered next with pouring chocolate. She lifted her gaze to him and smiled at him warmly as their gazes met – he turned his face away, feeling like a mute, his heart stuck in his throat.

Why was he acting like an idiot in front of her?

It seemed to him that she took his silence as a signal that he simply wanted to eat his breakfast in peace, so she spoke animatedly to the woman to her right, Alys Rivers, who was to play the Witch of Harrenhal.

Aegon was talking to him across the table, mentioning something about their shared scene with him and Helaena. He nodded, sipping his toast with a gulp of coffee, absorbed in his thoughts, for some reason returning to their kiss.

He'd kissed many women in his career before, but this time it was something different.

He thought she was an excellent young actress.

In the following scenes they played he saw her in a gown for the first time. He thought she looked like some immortal elf in it, beautiful and light, a warm, gentle smile directed towards him on her face.

Her gown consisted of two colours – her long, floor-length sleeves were red, and the material hugging her breasts, hips and waist was light blue. Her shoulders were bare; other than that, she wore no other jewellery, her long hair falling softly down her back, accentuating her long neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling a twinge in his gut for some reason, and turned his face away, sitting down with her at the table where, together with Aegon and Helaena, they played out the scene in which the King informed them that they would be marrying for a second time, this time before the Septon.

They spent the rest of the day in the courtyard, filming shots of them meeting years later, and their conversation after they married, when the Princess came out to speak to him.

He felt a pleasant tingling in his lower abdomen at the thought of kissing her again: to his surprise, cupping her chin and placing a tender, soft kiss on her mouth came to him with ease. Her moist, fleshy lips didn't close against his caress, on the contrary, they parted invitingly, her hand tightening on his wrist.

Encouraged, though it wasn't in the script, he took a step forward and deepened the kiss, lazily brushing her soft mouth with his, her eyes closed, a quiet, sweet sigh left her mouth.

When he pulled away, he met her gaze, warm and misty, her cheeks flushed. He stroked her jaw with his thumb and she surprised him by rising on her toes, kissing the tip of his nose.

He felt his heart pound hard at the thought that this was not in the script.

However, he checked it quickly afterwards as he prepared for the next scene and saw that the director had added it as a suggestion.

He was furious with himself for feeling disappointed.

What was he thinking?

He didn't think it would be a problem for him, but he actually felt discomfort when it was time for them to play the scene where the Prince pulls off his eye patch in front of his beloved.

A new prosthetic eye was created especially for him which looked like a sapphire to represent his character well.

He was to wear it that day instead of his usual artificial left eye.

The sapphire eye was cleaned and prepared for him by the doctor who supervised, staying with him in private in the dressing room, that all was well. The very moment he closed his eyelid and opened it he felt that it was not.

Although its surface was smooth, something was wrong about its shape, rubbing his eye socket, once in a while pressing on a nerve under his skin from which shivers ran through him.

"It will take at least a few days to polish and change it."

He thought with a pursed lips that they didn't have that much time.

The shooting schedule was set to the hour.

He figured he would just get into his character's suffering more than he should.

As he walked onto the set he was met by her warm, comforting smile. He closed his eyes, clamping his fingers on the base of his nose, trying to listen in peace to what their director had to say to them.

"It's a scene of their tenderness, their closeness, at last devoid of subconscious brutality. In that one moment they reclaim each other." He said, and they nodded their heads.

In the original, this was accompanied by a sex scene, but the screenwriters decided that affectionate, passionate kissing would suffice here.

The thought that he would be able to do this to her made his heart pound like crazy, but he couldn't enjoy it: he clenched his eyes again and again, feeling discomfort.

Feeling pain.

For some reason, he thought he deserved it for his inability to be professional, for what they were doing was out of his control.

Rhaenys sat down on the desk and he stepped in front of her, between her thighs, her dark blue dress with exposed shoulders and sleeves reaching the ground perfectly accentuated her graceful figure.

She smiled, placing her hands on his shoulders, his fingers involuntarily running over her waist.

"Action!"

He took a step towards her, cupping her face in his hands, trying to focus only on her gentle gaze, only on her warm breath, only on how soft her skin was, instead of the fact that pain was filling his skull.

"Rhaenys." He whispered tenderly, pleadingly – the discomfort he felt made his words resound as if he was in pain – in pain because of the fact that they were separate.

She blinked, surprised and somehow touched, clearly appreciating his acting, which was only a matter of coincidence. She lifted her hand to his eye patch and he grabbed her wrist violently, her breath stuck in her throat.

"No." He said coldly and closed his eyes, feeling the pain as if a bolt of electricity surged through the left side of his face.

"You're my husband. That's enough." She whispered, wanting to soften her words by taking his face in her hands, making him involuntarily moan in pain. She let go of him, terrified.

"Are you okay?" She asked leaning over him and he nodded his head.

"What's going on?" The director asked them. "We're going to have to repeat the whole scene."

Fuck.

"Are you in pain? Please tell me." She whispered pleadingly and he shook his head.

"No. No, I….FUCK!" He hissed, leaning over, clasping his hand over the left side of his face, feeling such excruciating ache that he felt like ripping off his skin and tearing out all the nerves that were there.

"Call a doctor, he is in pain!" She called out, startling him by pulling the eye patch off his face. He heard her sigh in horror and cover her mouth with her hand, his stomach clenched in discomfort at the thought.

That she saw it.

That she felt disgusted.

"My God, his eye is all swollen up, what have you done to him? Can you take it out? Come." She said, taking his hand, and he walked out of the room with her like a small child, bumping into the doctor on the way.

"I warned him" He said.

"I can stay and help. If you don't mind." She said sitting down next to him on the couch in his dressing room.

He wanted to reply for her to leave, but he only groaned, unable to stand it, and as soon as the doctor had disinfected his hand he removed the sapphire prosthesis from his eye socket.

He did not know why he burst out crying.

He hid his face in his hands, feeling humiliated, thinking that the reason he had been taken for the role was because they hoped they wouldn't have to spend money on expensive CGI, but in fact he had wasted their entire day of filming.

He swallowed hard when he felt her arms embrace his head and let her lean over as she hugged him to her breasts, her pleasant scent, her warm hands stroking his jaw and back.

"Leave us alone for a moment." He heard her voice. The man nodded and said he would fetch an ointment that should soothe the abrasions.

"It would be best if you didn't wear your artificial eye today and let your eye socket rest." The man said.

"Get the FUCK out!" He growled, closing his eyes, thinking it was wonderful news, going around the set with an empty eye.

He thought it was the worst day of his life.

He swallowed hard as her forehead pressed against the top of his head, her gentle hands stroking his face, shoulders and back giving him a feeling of comfort and security.

It was so hard for him, and she was by his side.

"I admire you for holding out for so long. They should have checked that the prosthesis fit earlier, not on the day of filming. It's the production's fault and the director knows that. I'm sure he appreciates your commitment and will reorganise the work." She whispered calmly, as if she wanted to comfort him, and indeed, her words made him feel relieved.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled.

"Don't apologise."

"Can I lay my head on your lap?" He asked in a trembling voice, wondering if his request was disrespectful.

He just wanted to close his eyes for a moment and relax.

"Yes. Yes, of course, come here." She said, turning so that he could lie down.

He turned his head so that she couldn't see his left eye socket and rested his cheek on her thighs, placing his hand on her knee. He closed his eyes and sighed quietly when he felt one of her hands on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin.

There was complete silence between them.

"I got really attached to you, you know? I hope we still keep in touch after the shooting." She whispered making him swallow hard, cold sweat trickling down his neck as he felt his manhood react to her words with an aggressive throbbing.

"Yes." He muttered. "Yes, me too."

He spent the evening in the hotel bar, meant for guests only, feeling reasonably safe there, wanting to ease his mind a little, wearing a thin bandage over his left eye that allowed air to pass through.

He resented himself for being unprofessional, for having his real feelings mixed up with what he was supposed to be playing as a Prince character.

For the first time, he doubted whether he should really be an actor.

His grandfather surprised him by walking up to him from behind, patting him on the back.

"Don't worry about the issue with the artificial eye: it was their fault and the director came to me to apologise for the prosthesis not being tested earlier. You both do a wonderful job on set. The chemistry between you two is palpable and it shows on camera." He said, sitting down next to him at the bar table.

He pressed his lips together at his words, wondering if he should confide in him.

"I don't know myself. I'm confused." He confessed, embarrassed. His grandfather looked at him in surprise as soon as he ordered a double whisky for himself.

"Confused? Because of that girl? It's normal. She's kind and pretty. If you're feeling desire, that's good. Turn it into your acting." He said lightly, however, making him feel not relief but discomfort in his stomach. He stared dully into his glass for a moment, feeling the aggressive pounding of his heart.

"… I'm not sure if what's going on inside my head is good." He said in a trembling voice. His grandfather hummed under his breath, taking a sip from the glass the man had placed in front of him.

"As usual, you think too much. Even if… well, something happens between you two, one or two nights, it's nothing terrible. On set it happens all the time. The tension is high and you have to find an outlet for it somewhere." He said.

He got up from his seat and just left, feeling that he had made him sick.

He didn't agree with him, and he didn't think that using her to get off sexually was a normal thing to do.

She was young, younger than him, still filled with enthusiasm and naivety.

He didn't want to be one of those men who would take advantage of that, seduce her and then leave her humiliated as soon as the shooting was over, saying it was just a fun.

He had casual sex with actresses, but never with those he worked with directly. Nothing came of it because their paths quickly diverged and he didn't have the desire or strength for a long-distance relationship.

He didn't care.

He took a shower, brushed his teeth, changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants and went to bed, trying not to think about the fact that tomorrow they were to play a scene in which he exposes her breasts.

Not all love scenes were left in the script, however, this one was one of them, because it was significant moment – their first real intimacy and reunion after years.

They knew there was enormous pressure on them. He could see it in her face the next day – also dressed in a night gown she was looking down at her fingers, stressed, not a trace of her smile and confidence from the auditions.

He approached her, for some reason feeling that he should comfort her, lift her spirits, let her know that they didn't have to rush.

"– do you want to talk about how we're going to do this? –" He asked quietly and she nodded, unable to even look him in the eye.

"– yes –" She mumbled.

"– so –" He began, feeling for some reason that his heart started pounding like crazy, his hands clenched into fists. "– I'd start with kisses first – on the lips, on the neck, on the shoulders – they're rubbing against each other in this scene because they're feeling arousal, so it would be a good idea to try and mimic similar…movements – then I'll slide your nightgown off your shoulders – we can agree that you will guide my hand yourself when you think you're ready for me to touch you there –" He said quickly, forcing himself to be calm and composed, feeling a cold sweat run down his back.

Why was he so terrified?

He saw that she swallowed hard and nodded, looking up at him and lowering her gaze quickly, red with embarrassment.

"– yes – yes, that's a good idea –" She said and looked at him, her gaze warm, comforting.

Kind.

"– how's your eye? –"

He lowered his gaze, looking down at his boots, embarrassed.

"It's better now. Thank you. For everything. I don't want you to be scared today. Tell me if you feel something is wrong. Okay?" He hummed, and she nodded quickly, giving him a grateful smile.

"– thank you – I will –"

He swallowed heavily when the director told them to take their places. He sat down in a chair and she walked over to him, looking at him questioningly. He nodded, extending his hand to her to help her up, and she sat awkwardly on his thighs. He gently placed his hand on her hip, forcing her to slide closer to his chest, just as scripted.

They both swallowed hard as his manhood pulsed between her thighs under the material of his breeches, touching the material of her flesh-coloured panties, but neither of them said anything.

"– we will take it slow – okay? –" He encouraged her, gently cupping her cheek in his hand, bringing her face close to his. She nodded and smiled warmly at him, as if he had said exactly what she needed to hear.

"– okay –" She said.

Their director nodded at them.

"Let's try to get a feel for it first. This scene is about building tension slowly. If you feel discomfort, speak up, we'll try to do something about it. Ready?" He asked, and they nodded their heads like little children.

"Action!"

Apart from the sizzle of the fire in the fireplace to their right, surrounding their faces with warm light, there was complete silence around them.

He waited a moment before he pulled her face closer to him and his lips tentatively brushed hers in a slow, shy, moist kiss. He felt her body involuntarily move closer to him, her arms closing his neck in an tender embrace.

He felt her soft breasts through the material of his tunic, his hands traveled down her waist to her hip which he began to stroke in a soft, lazy, affectionate motion. She sighed softly into his mouth making his half-hard erection hit the space between her thighs again.

They froze in mid-motion and he was already about to apologise to her, telling her to stop, when this time it was she who leaned in. His voice went dead in his throat as her lips pressed against his, her body rubbing uncertainly against what was beneath her.

Fuck.

He thought as his hips tentatively came out to meet her, pressing what was in his breeches between her thighs, making it swell and pulsate, that this was not a good idea.

He knew she could feel it and that turned him on even more.

Her breath had become heavy and accelerated, their kisses messier, stickier, warmer, his fingers involuntarily dug into the skin of her hips hidden beneath the thin material.

"– uncle –" She mewled into his mouth in a way from which his erection became completely hard, his hand clamped down on her neck, forcing her to stay still as he slid his tongue deep into her throat.

She moaned, startled, gripping his shoulders, rolling her hips back and forth as if in a trance, teasing him deliberately, squeezing his length between his lower abdomen and her body again and again, the tip of her slick tongue licking his.

"– it tickles – here –" She mumbled helplessly, pressing her forehead against his, looking down, between her thighs, watching his bulge twitching in his breeches, which, however, only they could see.

He should have said his line, but instead, completely stunned by her behaviour and smell, he grabbed the material of her nightgown and slid it off her shoulders, snuggling his face between her sweet breasts.

She opened her mouth wide, shocked and moaned, hugging his head to her heart, making his cock throb hard. She took his hand in hers and guided it up, to her breast – he gasped, shocked how good it felt, squeezing tentatively her plump softness with his fingers, placing sticky, wet kisses on her sternum, her hands buried in his hair pressed him tighter against her bare, hot skin.

It seemed to him that she was as shocked by this sensation as he was, for she began to moan quietly – her nipple became hard under his thumb as he began to rub and tease it, his free hand clamped down on her buttock, again and again rubbing his painfully swollen erection against her.

He was turned on.

"Cut! What chemistry, I'm at a loss for words!" The director called out, and he let her go immediately.

She jumped back and got off his lap, inhaling heavily as if she was out of breath, putting the material of her nightgown quickly over her shoulders and breasts, the stylist said something to her and she just nodded, looking at him with big eyes.

He crossed his legs quickly and grunted, covering his mouth with his hand, looking towards the fire, pretending to listen to one of the assistants saying that now that they were all in emotion they would try to film their conversation years later.

Although they tried, neither of them could concentrate and they forgot their lines over and over again.

"What's going on with you two? Do you need a break?" The director asked them, and they replied at the same time that they did.

It frightened him to see her leave immediately, the thought that she might nevertheless have felt uncomfortable, that he had done something that crossed the line for her, but she was afraid to tell him.

He got up and followed her, heading for the rooms where they were changing and getting their make-up done, standing in front of the door with her name on it.

He froze when he heard a strange sound that seemed to him to be a moan of pain. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask if she was all right, if he could come inside, but then she made a different sound, a more familiar one that made his erection throb hard in his breeches.

He heard her quiet panting mixed with sweet, innocent mewls of pleasure, from which he himself began to breathe through his mouth, shocked.

He leaned his forehead against the door, wanting to hear it better, with the corner of his eye looking to see if anyone was around, but they were all on the set. He thought he was just a pervert when his hand travelled deep under the material of his trousers, clamping down on his long, swollen cock, twitching painfully with desire in his hand.

He imagined what she looked like now, digging her delicate fingers into her fleshy walls, leaking with moisture, pulsing because of him, because of what he had done to her, because of his kisses and touch.

He drew in a loud breath and pressed his lips together, giving himself a firmer squeeze at the base, imagining that he had grasped her thighs in his hands and spread them in front of his face, sinking his mouth into her wonderful, delicate folds, licking and caressing her little cunt.

He sped up, hearing the quiet sounds in her room become more vulnerable and helpless, and after a moment she moaned a little louder with some kind of relief.

He opened his mouth wide when he felt his warm semen spurt out onto his fingers at the thought that she had just come because of him.

He cursed under his breath as he looked at his hand and headed quickly to the bathroom, afraid that anyone would see him.

As he washed his hands in the sink he looked at his reflection, at his white wig and eye patch, and decided that he was beginning to lose control, that he no longer knew which feelings were his and which were his character's.

He was terrified and had no one to tell about it.

He only saw her at dinner that evening, and although she sat next to him, she didn't look at him. He pressed his lips together at the thought that she was as ashamed as he was, only she had no idea that he knew what she had done and that he had done exactly the same thing himself.

He was crushed by a sense of guilt that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to finally speak to her, feeling his heart in his throat, playing with his fingers.

"Did I overdo it? Today during our scene." He asked in a trembling voice, trying to sound indifferent and cool. She looked at him surprised, putting her glass of juice down on the table.

"– I – no, I'm sorry I left so suddenly – it's just that all of this – all of this has overwhelmed me –" She muttered, looking down at her hands lying on her lap.

He looked at her in silence, feeling a squeeze in his throat at the thought that he understood her, that perhaps they felt the same way.

"– if you don't mind – I'd like to rehearse scenes with you before we play them – I'd like to talk to you about them – I have too much chaos in my head and no one to share it with –" She said, looking up at him finally, her brow furrowed in fear that he would not take her suggestion well.

He, however, felt some wonderful kind of relief.

"– yes – yes, that's a great idea –"

They spent the next few days acting out scenes, talking to each other for hours in the evenings in the hotel restaurant or her room about how they wanted to portray particular dialogues.

"– then when they're arguing I think to approach it more along the lines that: he just wants forgiveness and she's tired of him always expecting her to forgive him, even though he himself has held a grudge against her for so many years – something like: what should I do now? – divorce you? –" She asked sternly, getting into character for a moment, wanting to show him what she meant.

He hummed at her words and nodded, intrigued.

"– yes – yes, I think it's a good track – he's broken, exposed, afraid of the visions of that witch – he tries to push it away, but because of the way he represses it, everything he's afraid of comes back to him in nightmares –" He said, half lying half sitting on her bed with a copy of the script in his hand, the other gesturing as if he were a lecturer.

She nodded quickly at his words, sitting down next to him on the sheets, excited.

"– yes, exactly – he locks too much inside himself, and everything he fears then manifests itself in his dreams – his thoughts overwhelming him more and more and filled his mind like water that finally bursts his skull –"

"– a drop drills a rock –" He murmured and she snapped her fingers.

"– exactly –" She said, swinging her legs.

Unintentionally, his gaze traveled over her figure – her light-coloured sweatshirt with Jigglypuff from Pokemons seemed very fluffy to him, white tracksuit shorts and pretty white floral socks on her legs.

"– are you still watching this? –" He grinned with amusement. She cocked her head, smiling broadly.

"– what? –"

"– Pokemons –"

She giggled, embarrassed; the sound, innocent and sweet, made him feel a tightening in his throat and a pleasant tingling in his lower abdomen.

"– yes, but only the first few seasons – you know – the classics –" She said, closing her eyes proudly, as if she were speaking some work of Shakespeare.

"– mmm – I watched this when I was a kid –" He confessed, and she shifted towards him, delighted, surprising him completely.

"– I have a laptop – do you want to watch the first episodes together and order a pizza? –"

Though the suggestion seemed absurd to him, he agreed, and it wasn't long before he was watching, lying next to her on her bed, with a big carton of pizza lying on their bellies, as Ash tried to tame Pikachu.

"– God, how long it's been since I've watched this –" He muttered, feeling some kind of melancholy. He heard her melodious, joyful laughter.

"– I know this episode by heart –" She said between one greedy bite of pizza and another, clearly pleased and happy.

For some reason, despite his rather solitary nature, he felt comfortable around her. Her behavior made him feel like he wasn't being judged or watched – he knew he could say at any time that he was going back to his room to rest, and she wouldn't hold it against him.

He caught himself thinking that he really liked her.

What made him involuntarily distance himself from closer acquaintanceships with actresses was that it often seemed to him that they played offstage as well �� they stepped into the role of innocent, sweet, dreamy romantics or passionate unapproachable women, but in fact he had no idea if he knew them at all.

With her, however, it was different – her sudden, unexpected reactions, the glint in her eye, her smile and unthinking remarks were real.

For some reason, her character, her presence had a soothing effect on him.

He was ashamed to admit that he liked her a little too much.

He kept repeating to himself that just one more episode and he would go, but another and another flew by. Her warm, soft body was wonderfully close, their arms were pressed against each other, their heads lying side by side on the pillow, as they looked at the laptop lying between their legs.

For some reason he felt like a little child again who was about to spend the night with his mate.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and noticed that her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, her head tilted to one side in deep sleep.

Something captured him in this sight – the thought that she felt comfortable and good enough with him that she had fallen asleep.

He rose slowly, taking the large pizza box from their thighs, setting it down on the floor and rose, trying to be quiet. She twisted around and hummed something as he covered her with the duvet and turned off the lamp, feeling somehow proud of himself for treating her the way she deserved it.

It was as if he had a friend.

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pressplay-if · 29 days ago

Note

hi there.

i just finished the demo and i really liked it. especially the style/format of the IF. the whole thing with the timejumps and interview, really interesting.

i have a few questions:

1.) during the interlude-chapter ("triggerwarning-chapter") there is an option for MC to say, that "they started drinking again once they became of age and quit smoking completely". does this mean MC wont do drugs like smoking weed or simply no cigarettes? im asking, because if i remember correctly, relatively in the beginning there is a choice, where its implied that MC takes drugs to relaxe.

==> same with alcohol: if i chose an option, where Mc drinks alcohol in earlier chapters, will this bereflected in the interlude-chapter?

2.) during the story, will MC be in a relationship with an RO? and will it be explored? also, if i understood it right, the band broke up at some point. would this mean, the (potential) relationship between MC & RO would break too?

3.) will romance/flirt options be marked? this question leads to the next point:

4.) during the whole demo, the relationship stats for the RO´s never changed. is this a bug? do you have to code it in? or does the choices so far have no influence on them?

==> same with the MC´s mind stats; besides the job choice in the beginning, i didnt noticed any changes with these stats as well.

i assume, that at the time you answer this, you already finished your exams. anyways, good luck with them.

and thank you for your answers.

hey there! First off, thanks for the compliment and well-wishes; for now I am indeed off the hook, but I've still got some tests coming up in April... That does not spark joy. Buuut for now, I do have a little break.

1.) the smoking in this case only refers to cigarettes, not weed etc. As for the second part, I'm actually not quite sure, but those paths were really tricky to script and I might have gotten confused along the way... I'll review them when I find the time and leisure.

2.) MC will have the opportunity to enter several relationships, some as soon as the start of Chapter 4. As for how they'll work out and what exactly will happen, you'll simply have to wait and see. There are certain things in the MC's future that are unavoidable, and will impact the ROs' trust in them immensely.

3.) I've received that question multiple times now, but I have to say, I really don't wanna do that. I just really don't like it for some reason. But don't worry, you won't be thrown into any relationship without explicitly stating your interest in an RO.

4.) the RO stats change very slowly actually! I figured it'd be weird if they did, and hear me out: Lin is at the point where they idolize MC, no matter what. As for the band, MC has been friends with Angel and Stevie for longer than we as readers have accompanied them, so it'd be weird if they suddenly skyrocketed at just one or two nice/mean interactions. Zima's resentment sits very deep, and since we haven't interacted much with them in the presence so far (but you will actually be able to reconcile with them in the upcoming chapter, which will significantly impact the stat.) In general, in the third chapter, changes like that are more frequent, but still pretty small, except for certain ones. That'll change over time.

Same goes for the mental stats, though they're more there to reflect the MC's development. All in all, stats mostly function representatively for most of this game. It's more of a book imo than stat-focused.

#pressplay if #interactive fiction #if wip #romance options #ro asks

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soapoet · 2 years ago

Text

what's next in love...? [ singles ]

detailed af.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

it seems like you've been living life half awake, daydreaming of many scenarios you'd wish come true. even in established relationships you may find yourself wishing for more of something. you may have been told your ideals are naive, to lay off the romcoms and fics and be a little more realistic. you may have found yourself excited at every prospect of new love, giddy and involved, endlessly curious and a true lover of the rose coloured glasses. and perhaps you've found plenty of reasons to rejoice, but somehow things eventually trickle down and get into the mundane and the routines. and it frustrates you. so much. is there really no one out there whose loving gestures and kind words don't become clockwork, expected chores and scripted events?

there is. and this one feels a little 'too good to be true'. you yourself may sooner rather than later find yourself pinching your arm to check if you're actually awake. i suggest you try to hold back on the told-you-so's to the naysayers, as some of them have your best interest at heart. and not only that, but will provide a lot of guidance and support in terms of navigating this next chapter in love. it'll be a bit of a whirlwind and a maze, but with much promise at the end as a reward.

if you've been sitting on some sort of project, waiting to launch yourself into a new endeavour, you should get back on track. especially if you've been procrastinating. somewhere down that path, there's a person you ought to meet. they relate to your goals somehow, perhaps having done the same themselves before. they have a lot to teach you and will become a priceless source of support, but don't expect things to be handed to you. your work is your own and your rewards will be bigger and better if you can in the future look back and say, damn, look at what i did, i achieved all that! that's of course not to say you can't find help from those around you. definitely ask for assistance and support when you need it. but to come out on the other side and say you made it, ideally you paved your own way for plenty of it because you deserve the final applause and praise so much. believe in yourself and don't let the little voice in the back of your head make you doubt yourself and your ideas.

this person seems like a bit of a flirt. not in a way that should raise any concerns, as they are a very loyal person. they actually make it known loud and clear if they're already spoken for, and enjoy flaunting their partner in many ways. this is a person who will bring up your achievements and strengths at a social gathering, not to flex having you at their arm, but to genuinely shine a spotlight on you. especially if it'll get you flustered. they have a very playful energy to them that's endearing and youthful regardless of their actual age. a little bit of a peter pan vibe where they'll retain their young spirit well into their retirement. they're very easy-going and likeable, and have a lot of friends, and may connect you to a ton of new people. expect your social life to explode as a result of this connection, but at the same time be sure to make time for the friends and supporters that you have right now.

this person is used to being the centre of attention, not just socially, but professionally too. they may have a very visible job or hobbies that connect them to an audience of some kind within their chosen field. their energy is very contagious and fun, though that doesn't mean they're entirely air-headed and incapable of taking things seriously. i'm strongly getting that either they or someone close to them has struggled with a physical or mental illness for a good part of their life, so they have developed almost like an antenna to pick up on things going on that aren't being said out loud. especially if you're someone who frequently avoids bringing up your problems as to not burden others, or have a difficult time reaching out for support and being honest about how things affect you, you can rest assured that this person will quickly try to learn how to read you, or even outright ask how they can best assist you when you're struggling or even request some sort of secret code that you can use to communicate your unease so that they can quickly come to your aid.

they have a little bit of a problem taking their own concerns seriously. they seem to cope through distractions mostly. a positive in this is that they don't let things that are out of their control bother them and they do the best they can with what they got at any given time. a true optimist, but a negative aspect is that they may avoid facing their demons and try to outrun their problems. this can manifest itself with workaholic tendencies and a packed schedule in general. there might be some sort of saviour complex involved, too, in which they feel compelled to help everyone else and neglect their own needs. towards you in particular i'm getting a lot of pda and quality time. you slow them down a bit and help them stop to smell the roses. they'll be surprised by how much they've longed for peace and simplicity, and they find that solace and ease with you and it really heals them on a deep level, which in turn amps up the energy and effort they show you. goodbye routine lovers, honestly. this one walks the talk and really keeps up the pace long after the honeymoon phase.

some additional details: i'm not getting a lot in terms of appearance, which may suggest that you already know them, or at least know of them, even if they don't know of you yet. it's possible that you share mutual friends or interests or work within the same field. there is a big emphasis on their voice, and things may start off as long-distance with hours upon hours on the phone. astrological things that appear significant: leo, pisces, the sun, mercury, 11th house, 2nd house.

02.

you've been flying solo for a while now. perhaps you grew tired of, or dare i say even gave up on love? it may have seemed like there just aren't as many fish in the sea as promised. at least none that you could take seriously. and serious is what you want. and serious is what you're getting.

first and foremost i must say your standards aren't too high. do not feel ashamed of what you want, and don't let anyone tell you that you need to set realistic expectations. they're exactly where they need to be and you're attracting the quality you seek. you've ventured further out to sea to find yourself a bigger catch. the journey hasn't been easy, but it has helped you grow tremendously. i'm strongly getting that your past experiences have really helped you fine tune your build-a-bae, so to speak, and there's no more reconfiguring to do. you know what you want and what you don't want, how much of this and how much of that. the next lessons for you to learn in love are ones you will not tackle on your own, but alongside a long-term partner who is at your level. long gone are the days of disappointments and putting up with feeling like you're outgrowing your partner, because this next person is mature and ready to grow with you.

this person is what fairytales would call your true love. in as many ways as you are one and the same, you differ, sometimes wildly so. if you're an introvert, they're an extrovert. if you seek comfort, they seek adventure. it's your goals and dreams and values that hold hands in agreement, and that builds up a strong foundation for your connection. if you have a lot of feminine energy, they have a lot of masculine energy. you two may even look like opposites in some ways, or come from different cultures. and do not fret, because your differences will be a blessing, not a curse. this isn't a re-run of a love where you felt like you weren't seen or heard and were made to bend. there is a distinct element of give and take here. a beautiful balance wherein they enjoy your world and your ways, and don't force you to change any of it, and you feel compelled out of genuine desire to take their hand and let them show and share their world with you. and you're able to coexist perfectly fine in a way that makes you both feel fulfilled and at ease.

things may stall a little at first, because this person will have a bit of whiplash when the two of you meet. they may feel as if you stepped right out of their dreams in a way. like a ghost from their childhood when they were around their parents or grandparents and thought of the person they'd grow old with some day. and suddenly you're there, a distant memory made flesh, a memory forgotten long ago making a big splash as it resurfaces. but once they gather themselves i see that they'll be very direct in their pursuit of you. and it's quite the old school courting, too. they make their intentions clear and have the follow-through to walk their talk. this is a very open and honest person, although they appear a bit emotionally disconnected at times. it's not due to a lack of emotional sensitivity, but processing things before acting or speaking is a part of their character. they're very serious in love, and don't seem to fit into the modern age of tinder and hookups.

they may have a strong connection to the sea, live by the ocean, look mediterranean, or enjoy activities related to water. their features in general leans darker. be it their eyes, hair, skin, or the way they dress. there is something specifically drawing me to their hands. perhaps they work with their hands, are a very crafty person, or have a physically demanding job. or simply have very attractive hands that you would take note of. physical touch is important to them, and they are very protective of their loved ones.

speaking of loved ones, they have strong familial ties and may come from a big family. i'm also strongly getting that they come from money, though without the nepotism often associated with it. their father in particular may have made it a point to raise them with a lot of discipline and drive to make something of themselves and not just rely on a trustfund. this person is ambitious and a hard worker, and prefers to be involved and hands-on with what they do. i'm also seeing siblings playing a big role in your connection. one in particular could connect with you in a meaningful way. this family is one that will welcome you with open arms and you will feel as though you have gained another family to call your own. if you have any childhood wounds related to family, this one takes found family quite literally.

some additional details: travelling and holidays figure strongly. things get taken to the next level rather quickly because there is a lack of doubt involved. they're very generous with their time and money. this has massive signs of marriage. astrological things that appear significant: aries, taurus, saturn, the moon, the 4th house, the 9th house.

03.

it seems like you're stuck on something, or someone. and that situation didn't treat you fairly. this feels less like betrayal and more like you spent some time hauling dead weight around. in vain, i might add. either you already have or will soon drop it and move on. it might be difficult, though, and i apologise if i'm overstepping here, but in part it's due to an inability to truly let go on your part. if you want to get even, or show someone what they lost, do it by moving on with grace and making decisions for yourself and your own growth and success. beware of people around you who would gladly take advantage of your vulnerability right now. even if it feels like a rebound would benefit you, it'll only hurt you if you find yourself looking over the shoulder of another person to see if the one who hurt you sees and is affected by it. what will truly help you heal is to dust yourself off and focus on feeling whole within yourself. and don't worry, you didn't stumble into yet another love reading that will tell you, well, tough luck, no love for you, work on yourself! whilst i certainly will call you to take care of yourself and pursue things that serve you and your growth, i will also go over what's coming next.

and that's something a little eerie. you may have someone in your past, who you consciously or subconsciously measure everyone else up to. perhaps this was the one that got away, or someone you met at the wrong time. in one way or another, there is a situation you wish had happened differently. in your pursuit of finding yourself again and some solid ground to stand on after enduring stormy seas, you may run into someone who is eerily similar to someone you once knew. but at the right time, now. for some of you this may very well be the exact person you already have history with, or could've had history with, though with major improvements from the previous season. but for many this is just an oddly familiar stranger who gives you a bit of deja vu. they share many similarities with someone you've been attracted to, just less red flags and complications.

this person seems rather cerebral. their job, studies, or hobbies may revolve around psychology, literature, or science. they're very good with their words, both written and spoken. they can also be quite blunt, but not with malicious intent. they aren't afraid of speaking their mind, and may be quite passionate about their opinions. they're a great teacher, and a good student, too. they enjoy delving deeply into things and soak up new information like a sponge. they'll greatly value your opinion and perspective, and the two of you may engage in debates or discussions about a variety of topics. intellectually speaking you're on the same wavelength and seem to understand each other intuitively.

it's very possible that this starts off platonic. whilst you may be ready to jump into a relationship with them from the start, they prefer to take things slowly and really get to know you first. you may worry that the spark between you will fade over time, but this one is a lesson of patience and building a strong connection as a foundation first. especially if in the past you've been quick to hurt or get hurt, you're about to learn how differently a lover will treat you when you're first and foremost a dear friend. this connection has the potential of some serious power couple themes in the long run. the two of you feel almost dangerous as duo, but i think that just goes to show that the initial spark won't fade and actually benefit from a bit of a slow burn before the fire starts raging at full force.

there is a lot of chemistry between the two of you. a very push-and-pull, engaging, and intoxicating energy. you'll keep each other on your toes in a way that keeps things feeling fresh and exciting. you're partners in crime and the world appears to be your playground. any past heartbreaks and feelings of lack, even lackluster, is gone and replaced with adventure and passion. you're very attracted to them, and they to you, in a way that could be classified as an addiction if it weren't for the fact that the side effects are predominantly positive. the two of you may collaborate on some kind of project, and your joint efforts are sure to be a success. though you do many things together, you also support each other in your separate endeavours. there may be a bit of mutual artist and muse dynamic here, wherein you inspire them and they inspire you. you both value your individuality, and hype each other up.

this person feels devilish in some way. a maverick of sorts. they're taller, perhaps lanky, and there is an unconventional attractiveness to them. they have a unique look that really pulls you in and makes them stand out anywhere they go. they might dress in a way that makes them different from the crowd. they really march to the beat of their own drum. i'm not getting much in terms of family, so they may be very independent and live a life separate from family, or they may have some wounds in regards to their home life that they keep their walls up over. they take their friendships very seriously, many of them are ones they'd take a bullet for. this is a very ride or die type of person. they're very resilient and if they've known terrible hardships in their past, you'll be in awe of their personal strength and ability to get back up when they're knocked down.

some additional details: music is very relevant to the point where you should expect to receive a personalised playlist as a way for them to communicate their feelings for you. they might be musically inclined and play an instrument. astrological things that appear significant: scorpio, aquarius, aries, pluto, uranus, 3rd house, 10th house, 12th house.

#energy reading #spiritual guidance #pac reading #spirituality #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #love reading #soapy.post #loa

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