#a smirk upon which i can build an entire characterization

[krakenshipwreck]

(x)

[notnctu]

backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst  wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi​​​ ; @darkneogotmyback​​​ ; @im-lame-irl​​​ ; @p-mini​​​ ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck​​​ ; @saniahmichael​​ ; @jaehy9ngs​​​ ; @danyxthirstae01​​​ ; @jaehyunoos​​​ ; @pikijaemin​​​ ; @suhweo​​​ ; @yunoyeol​​​ ; @lanadreamie​​​ ; @ta3ilmoon​​​ ; 

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):

While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.

Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.

Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.

But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.

“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.

“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.

You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.

“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.

Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”

His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.

The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.

But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.

When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.

“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.

However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”

Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.

“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”

“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.

He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”

Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.

“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”

“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.

“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.

Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.

Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.

Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?

Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.

“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?

Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.

Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”

Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.

“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”

The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.

But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.

“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”

The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.

Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.

“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.

“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.

Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.

Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.

You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.

Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.

You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.

“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating. 

“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.

His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.

You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.

“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.

“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”

You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”

Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.

One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”

Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.

The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.

He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.

While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.

“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.

“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.

“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.

“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.

“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.

“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.

The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.

But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.

No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.

This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”

“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.

“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.

“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.

“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”

“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.

“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”

It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart. 

Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.

In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.

“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.

“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.

“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.

“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.

“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.

“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.

“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”

“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”

“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.

You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.

Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well. 

However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.

“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.

“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.

And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.

“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.

“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.

His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.

Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”

“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.

“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.

The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.

He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.

The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.

“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.

Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”

“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.

“No, you called me honey.”

Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”

Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.

This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.

“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”

The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.

“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.

“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”

Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.

Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”

Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.

“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.

“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.

“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.

“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.

“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”

“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.

He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.

“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.

“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.

“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.

It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”

“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.

“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.

Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.

Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.

But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.

“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.

“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.

“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.

“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.

“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.

Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.

Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”

“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.

“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.

“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.

Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.

“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”

During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.

“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.

Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”

Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”

You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.

It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.

“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.

“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.

But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.

Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.

Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.

The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.

Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”

He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.

But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.

You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.

Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.

His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”

“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.

Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”

You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.

“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”

He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.

“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”

“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.

His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.

“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.

“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”

Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.

Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”

All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”

“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.

“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.

“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.

“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.

“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.

“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.

He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.

He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.

You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.

He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.

“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.

“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.  

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.

“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.

Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.

It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you. 

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing #80 Review

woot woot i’ve kept it up for three issues lets gooo. i liked this issue more than the last one. there’s a lot of fanon dick characterization peppered in, but not so much that it puts me off entirely. also, i’m getting increasingly concerned about bitewing. but i did like tim in this one, very nice

look at all the blue and purple and pink. honestly at this point, i’m a broken record but come on come on come onnnnnnn. the blue and pink is very pretty though. this cover’s a bit offputting at first, and a bit spiraly, which i’m sure was the intended effect.

this is a genuine concern of mine. dick’s a vigilante, and he doesn’t have the same sprawling network and resources that bruce does. (even if he is a billionaire now, he hasn’t amassed the same collection of crime-fighting equipment that bruce has.) 

i’m not sure if he’ll be able to take care of bitewing. damian’s got plenty of pets, but alfred used to take care of them, and now bruce plus the rest of the batfam is taking care of them. as far as we know, babs only drops by occasionally, and the same goes for dick’s family and friends. will dick be able to give bitewing the love and time and affection that a traumatized puppy like her needs? i really hope so.

she does look adorable in this panel tho.

dick. richard. richie. baby. why are you shirtless.

you have scars upon scars. probably chemical burns. bullet wounds. weird fucking squiggly lines from knives that only psychos with blade fetishes use. no normal person has the body that you do. and you don’t think that showing up shirtless in front of the police is going to raise suspicion? you don’t think that the people accusing you of murder are going to look at someone who looks like they’re a fucking mob enforcer and go hmm that’s a bit suspicious?

put on a SHIRT jesus CHRIST it’s like you’re not even trying to hide your identity.

look at this pompous little princess demanding only the highest quality head pets i’d burn down latvia for her. (no offense latvians it was the first country that popped into my head.)

pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy-

no seriously kudos to the artist here. his expression is so human i wanna cry. dick, right now, is sheepishly asking a question. he knows he’s not going to get into any real trouble, he knows that he’ll be able to talk his way out of or somehow maneuver his way off this mess. but he’ll play nice for the police, so he’s asking a friend for a favour, part self-condescendingly and part oh-well-what-can-you-do.

and his expression reflects that. rather than a stoic expressionless face most male comic characters have when asking someone for something (or all the time really), rather than the weird desperate supposedly “seductive” face that most female comic characters plus dick grayson have when asking someone for something (or all the time really), he’s making a face that i pulled like yesterday. or the day before that. it’s kind of silly, kind of casual, very much human. i like it.

thank god. proper (in character) acknowledgement for officer grayson. yea, fuck cops in general, but i like that they included this line.

obviously, he’s not talking about the actual criminals, he’s talking about the police force itself. the bpd was too corrupt, and dick realized that he wasn’t helping. not only does one clean cop not make a dent in an overall dirty force, but dick was putting his allies in danger too. not only that, but it wasn’t good for dick’s mental health either. he was spreading himself too thin, and surrounding himself with some of the worst of crime 24/7 did a number on him. dick’s got a history of self-sacrificing tendencies, and i’m just glad he’s not a cop anymore.

dick has a gotham rogues mug. they make gotham rogue mugs, and dick has one.

what kinda city looks at it’s frankly horrible crime history and long list of certifiably insane serial killers who are all still alive and actively committing war crimes and goes “oooooh yea imma put that on a coffee mug!” gotham, that’s who.

this isn’t important i just like how all of bitewing’s barks are blue

back straight, hand on his hip, cheerful smile on his face as he says he’s being accused for murder. love that for him.

they couldn’t have said “yea it’s complicated” in a better way even if they put the words “yea it’s complicated” right there on the page in bold red letters. literally all the love to the artists.

dick please. you’re KILLING ME what the actual fuck IS THAT???? WHY DO YOU HAVE A MUG OF THAT???

anyway nightwing collects novelty mugs confirmed.

this paneling is so beautiful. 

tim’s the focus, but he’s not the first thing you see. he’s placed in a way that forces the reader to drag their eyes all the way up the page in order to reach him. it us know just how high up tim is carelessly crouching, especially close to the ledge of the building too. i cannot think of a single better way to introduce a character, and this character in particular: you instantly know this is a version of tim with plenty of experience and training, is comfortable in his body and knows his limits, but still hangs onto that civilian awe of being in a high place and overlooking a brightly lit city.

absolute classic robin. i love it. 

this isn’t even that important but it made me happy. this is how you train surf.

you don’t crouch or bend over when you get to a tunnel, which is oddly enough what most people think (at least from my experience). you bend backward. that not only 100% ensures that you’ll make sure you’re low enough to make it through the tunnel (because you can see the top of the tunnel, unlike when you crouch or bend), but it also makes it easier to get up: all you have to do is push up with your arms into a bent stance, and you’ll be in a ready, moving position. from a bend or a crouch, getting up is more awkward and more slow.

on a meta level, i like that this creative team knows what they’re doing when it comes to the small, almost unimportant stuff like that, because it makes the action more real. (as real as you can get with a guy running around stealing hearts.)

on a in-universe level, it once again drives home both dick and tim’s experience and professional level skill.

regardless of who you side with in the “should tim drake be robin again?” debate, you gotta admit that tim’s rebirth robin suit is r a d as fuck. if i’m not mistaken, this is the same one he was wearing in 2019 young justice for a little bit? it’s cute and hella cool i like it.

remember what i said about human expressions? doesn’t happen as often to tim bc he’s a Child, but it’s still nice to note when someone humanizes him, too. (that’s why i love the duckboy panel so much lol.)

me, at first: that’s not a “good call” dick that’s just common sense

me, now: sprinkled throughout the entire comic we can see dick bending to tim’s instructions if only briefly, joking with him to keep the mood light while still maintaining a serious mood and retaining control over this particular outing. this implies that dick’s doing it intentionally, purposefully leaving places in his sentences blank and offering affirmations, in order to encourage tim and train him in things bruce might not necessarily touch on, such as social chameleoning and misdirection techniques and love/affirmation from a family member. dick is not only a loving and supportive big brother, but he never stops training his younger brother in better vigilante tecnhiques because he wants tim to be better than him. in this essay i will-

d o g g o

also bitewing is getting so many head pats today i’m living for it

look at him, standing on a telephone wire with ease. nice flex, dick.

also look at how he’s silhouetted. the moon’s full bright, bright enough that the sky around dick is light, too. (at least. i’m like 99% sure that’s the moon.) not like most batman comics, where it’s sometimes hard to distinguish bruce from the background, which is entirely on purpose.

gotham is a dark gritty city, and so is bruce. the two of them are one. bludhaven may be a bit of a mess, but it’s being portrayed in all these different shades of blue and purple and pink, that are all light enough that dick stands out from the background. he hasn’t been swallowed up by the city, and chances are that he won’t ever be. also, the colouring helps establish bludhaven as a city too. there’s still hope for it. the light colouring means that it’s not going to sink into a pit as deep as the one bruce wove gotham into. the whole point of this nightwing arc in particular is to turn bludhaven into a better place, and it’s (most likely) letting us know early on that dick is going to accomplish that. he’ll struggle, but he’ll do it.

so dick??? dick designed his escrima sticks with a situation like this in mind? he created his signature and most iconic weapon (other than his chatty mouth), with a built in feature that turns his escrima sticks into tim’s signature and most iconic weapon???? just so that if he and tim ever got into a situation where tim didn’t have his staff, dick could make sure tim had the thing that would give him an edge over anyone he was fighting??? he’s such a big brother oh my goddd.

also tim’s smirk in this is just *chef kiss.* a staff is something he can work with, a staff is something he wields like an extension of his arm, a staff is means that someone’s about to get their ass kicked because tim’s about to beat the shit outta them.

this is my new phone background.

they really made sure we remembered that hey, those first few months when bruce was grieving too much to be any sort of a mentor to tim and was still unwilling to properly train him to be robin out of fear that he would end up like jason, dick was the one who stepped up (once he got over himself and his own fears and hangups with bruce) and trained tim to be robin, trained him how to fight and flip and fuckin fly out there, all while changing his own style a bit to be the more experienced one in the partnership while still trusting said partner to hold their own, so dick and tim have a very unique and cohesive fighting style that makes it hell for anyone who fights them together, didn’t they?

[gohyuck]

Love and War Act I - LDH

theater kid! hyuck with some enemies to lovers realness

word count: 3.2k

warnings: a lot of swearing and a lot of hatred, possible nsfw in future chapters

notes: in part based on this post

part of a series: yes, this is part 1

in which you really, really, really can’t stand lee donghyuck

Act I, Scene I: An Introduction of the Situation

You’ve never hated a musical more. 

In an effort to ‘generate student interest in the arts’, Neo Culture Tech’s very own Mr. Taeil Moon, head of the fine arts department at what can only be described as a STEM college preparatory school, had put word out that this year’s fall theater show would be an entirely student-produced musical. Whether it was to elevate NCT’s arts up to the level at which they’d have to get the same funding as the robotics team or whether it was to truly cultivate creativity, nobody was sure. Still, the play persisted. From the actual dialogue, to the songs and their composition, to the dances choreography, everything was to be a bona fide effort from students across the school, not just in the theater department. Before anyone could say anything, the band and orchestra students were forced to create and compose scores and songs while the choir kids had to write lyrics for their semester project. The dance team had to choreograph everything and the art students were told they’d be making the posters for the show.

All of this, of course, was to come after the actual play had been written by the students in the Theater IV: Theater Productions class. 

If only you’d stayed in Theater III. 

Regardless, every good story starts from the beginning. And at the start of this one, there was a group of 13 potential starring roles in the tragedy? Comedy? Romance? Of Mr. Moon’s Theater IV musical production.

The official Theater IV roster was - and is - as follows:

(Name) - (Nickname)

Julia Choi - (Lia)

Renjun Huang

Lucy Hwang - (Yeji)

Somi Jeon

Chaeryeong Lee

Donghyuck Lee - (Haechan)

Jeno Lee

Jaemin Na - (Nana)

Jisung Park

Joanne Shin - (Ryujin)

Hussey Shin - (Yuna)

Chenle Zhong

13 is a decent amount of people able to give input on a play - from characterization, to plot, to underlying themes, there’s a place for everyone. If all of you worked on it, it could’ve been done at the speed of light, with ample time for revision and practice. Playwrighting wouldn’t have been harrowing. In fact, the project seemed fun at the beginning, and it was something you were genuinely looking forward to. After all, you genuinely liked everyone in your class… or, at least, almost everyone. Still, with 11 other people besides you and him, you would have ample buffer for the brain damage you were sure he would inflict upon you simply due to proximity. 

You forgot entirely about Murphy’s Law.

Jeno, Renjun, Somi, and Chaeryeong were the first to opt out of writing the play, gently reminding Mr. Moon that they were tech theater students, and would much rather design and build the set. It didn’t take long after that for Jaemin, Ryujin, Jisung, and Yeji to choose choreographing with their dance teammates over being playwrights. Yuna was quick to state that she’d rather make the posters in her art classes, and both Lia and Chenle decided that writing lyrics in choir would take up enough of their time as it was. 

At the start there were 13. 

You were happy, looking forward to talking about settings with Somi and comedic effect necessities with Jaemin. You weren’t only in theater to act - you were in the program in order to satisfy your need to create. Creating an entire play from nothing made you more eager than anything.

That is, until 13 dwindled down to 2 with alarming speed. 

Act I, Scene II: The Devil Incarnate

“Her royal highness is finally here!” Donghyuck faux cheers as you walk into your English Literature class right before the bell rings. The smirk in his tone is not lost on you, though you do mentally revel in the fact that nobody laughs at his stupid declaration. His seat is to the right of yours, but that doesn’t keep him from angling away from the board just to prop his feet up onto your desk. You don’t grace him with a response, only rolling your eyes before shoving his sneaker-laden feet off your desk none too ceremoniously and dropping your backpack onto the floor beside you as you slide into your seat. 

“What,” He starts, evidently hellbent on annoying you at 8 in the morning. You don’t turn to look at him, though you can distinctly see his shit-eating grin out of the corner of your right eye. Donghyuck leans towards you, his face coming far too close to you for your own comfort. You hope he’ll get the hint from your silence and leave you alone, but he continues speaking, much to your chagrin. “No snarky response from our resident ice queen today? Is your tongue frozen solid, princess?”

“Call me princess one more time, and you won’t even have a tongue left,” You threaten, still facing forward in your adamant refusal to look Donghyuck Lee in the eyes. He lets out a short laugh and leans back, finally properly settling into his own seat, pleased at his success at pissing you off. Before either of you can try to insult the other again, Mr. Suh rushes into the room, his Staff ID askew around his neck and his glasses sliding down his nose. The door flies shut behind him, and you straighten your back. 

Class has officially started. 

“You were only three minutes late today, Johnny,” Beomgyu calls from the back as your teacher is getting himself settled, and you turn to see your classmate holding up his watch, mirth in his eyes. “It’s a new personal record.” 

As if cued, the rest of the class bursts into a round of applause, with Donghyuck whistling with his fingers beside you. Mr. Suh - better known simply as Johnny to his students, due to him being fresh out of his undergrad - can’t help but chuckle at your class’ antics, doing nothing but shaking his head and pushing his glasses up onto his face. 

“Alright, before I get called down to the front office again, let me fill out attendance,” Johnny says eventually, finally sitting down at his computer. While he starts calling out everyone’s names you rifle around in your backpack, searching for your copy of The Taming of the Shrew, the book you’re all currently reading in class. Though it has some… questionable moments and themes, you can’t help but love it - you daresay it’s your favorite required reading book yet. Just as you find it, Johnny says your name. 

“(Name),” He says, and you straighten yourself out, your copy of the Shakespearean play gripped firmly in your hand. “I’m h-” 

“She’s here. Didn’t you feel the frost when you came in?” Donghyuck beats you to it, and you finally whirl around to glare at him, raising the hand holding the book up high as if you’re about to beat him with it. 

“Donghyuck Lee, I fucking swear -”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Your teacher raises his voice, coming to stand between the two of your desks. “I’m going to ignore the swear word this time because Haechan’s being annoying -”

You lean back to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, sending him a smirk that directly contrasts his wince. 

“- But you know better than to let your emotions get the best of you on things like this.” Johnny finishes, his words now aimed at you. You sigh, lowering your book to rest on your desk and slouching back into your chair. 

“Now behave, you two, got it? Act like actual people for once.”

The snickers of your classmates behind you cause your face to go red, and your anger at Donghyuck flares up again alongside your urge to crawl into a hole and hibernate. Still, through a furrowed brow and clenched teeth, you nod your agreement.

“Yes, Johnny.” You say at the same time Donghyuck mutters a “Sorry, John.” Both of you slide down even further into your seats. 

Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of class, though you make sure to send scathing glances his way whenever your eyes seem to meet. To his merit, he manages to flip you off effortlessly every time Johnny turns towards the board. By the time class ends and you’re packing up, the two of you are seething silently, anger emanating off of your persons. Donghyuck jostles you on purpose on your way out of the room, but before you can give him a piece of your mind out of Johnny’s earshot, he’s halfway down the hallway on the way to his next class. Still, you train all your angry thoughts in his general direction, praying he’ll trip and fall flat on his face, or something.

Jeno, who’s just walked out of the classroom next to yours, makes his way to fall into step beside you as he always does. He follows your red hot gaze towards Donghyuck, who’s currently leaning against a locker and talking to Renjun. 

“You shouldn’t let him bother you so much,” Jeno finally says, and you roll your eyes before looking up at your friend. “It gives you too much grief.”

“He shouldn’t be bothering me so much.” You counter, and a small smile crosses Jeno’s face as he shakes his head in both amusement and disbelief. 

“I guess you aren’t wrong.” He acquiesces as he pulls open the door to the chemistry classroom, letting you walk in before him. The two of you share a lab table and you pull his stool out along with your own as you orient yourself.  

“I still can’t believe you and him are friends,” You tell Jeno as he sits down beside you. “You’re so you and he’s so… him.”

“We have, like, 90% of our interests in common, (Name),” Jeno laughs, knocking your shoulder with him. “If the two of you stopped going at each others’ throats for even a moment, you might even learn to like each other.”

You can’t help the fake gagging noise you make at the suggestion, and your friend rolls his eyes at you, though not before laughing. As the rest of your classmates start filtering into the room, the two of you switch smoothly to another topic of conversation - “Can you believe Moon’s making us do all of the play stuff this year?” “I don’t know, Jeno, it seems kind of cool to me.” “I mean me too, but damn… imagine the hours I’ll be putting into set design this year.”-  all thoughts of the devil himself banished from your mind. 

Act I, Scene III: Murphy’s Law 

You’re almost at the door, deep in conversation with Hyunjin about a protest she’s planning when Mr. Jung calls your name, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Yes?” You ask after motioning for Hyunjin to go on to lunch without you. You haven’t done anything wrong that you can think of - not recently, you note, remembering the time you really had almost set Jeno on fire - so you can’t help but be confused about why he needs to talk to you. Before you can ask, your teacher holds out a slip of paper for you to take.

“The note Jaemin delivered earlier is for you. He said it isn’t urgent, so I figured I’d send you during lunch instead of during class.” 

You relax your shoulders almost instantly before taking the bright orange piece of cardstock from Mr. Jung’s grip. You head out of his room - though not before thanking him - and unfold the note immediately after walking into the hallway. 

Please come see me at your convenience! - Moon :)

♕ ♕ ♕

You get to the black box room before Mr. Moon does, causing you to lament not buying your lunch before coming to meet him. As you wait, you pull out your book, determined to at least do something with your time at the moment. Katherine and Petruchio are in the midst of hurling insults at each other when the sound of footsteps startles you out of your book, and you lay it down beside you just in time for Donghyuck to walk in and drop his backpack onto the floor by the door, his eyes trained on the phone in his hand. 

Wait.

Donghyuck?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your tone is biting at best. He looks up from his screen in surprise, though his expression quickly morphs into one of clear disdain once he sees that it’s you who’s speaking. 

“Got a message from Moonie. What the fuck are you doing here?”

You hold up your orange slip, only just noticing the identical one hanging between two of his fingers. His eyes dart down to his own again before back up at you, seemingly still waiting for a response. 

“Same here.” You respond, and he sneers at you. Donghyuck looks like he’s about to say something - likely hurl an insult that’s completely unrelated to the situation - but, with spectacular timing, Mr. Moon walks in through the door, a large soda in one hand and a fast food bag in the other. Donghyuck finally sits down, his backpack still by the door. 

Your theatre director places his food on the desk in the corner of the room before leaning against it, placing his hands against the edge of the table for balance. He surveys the two of you, both of you on different sides of the room, for a moment.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,” Moon finally says, his words directed at you both. You nod while Donghyuck says a quiet “Yep.”, neither of you looking at one another. Moon nods himself before pushing himself off of his desk, reaching over to grab ahold of his rolling chair. 

“Come,” He looks at both of you, nodding towards the center of the room. “Bring your chairs in.”

You stare at your director for a moment before sighing, careful not to let Mr. Moon see you rolling your eyes. Reluctantly, you stand up, grabbing your chair and moving to sit in front of him. Donghyuck follows suit, managing to put as much distance as humanly possible between you while staying close enough that Mr. Moon won’t reprimand him. 

“You both know how your Theatre IV class is meant to be the ones writing the musical itself, right?” 

The two of you nod, and you can’t help but wonder what direction Moon might be going in. There’s thirteen people in your class - why is it just you two he’s called in?

“Out of everyone in the class, you two are the only ones that aren’t either tech theatre students or double dipping when it comes to fine arts.” Your director continues, his words coming out slower than usual. It almost feels as if he’s trying to force the two of you towards the conclusion rather than telling you what he means to himself. Still, you know your expression is one of confusion. Mr. Moon winces almost imperceptibly before sighing and leaning back, rolling back-and-forth ever so slightly with his chair. 

“When it comes to this year’s musical, students can only work with one of the departments, because having anyone work on two parts of it would be way too much work,” He finally says, leaning towards you and Donghyuck again. Silence falls over you as you furrow your brow, trying to figure out what Mr. Moon might mean. 

It hits both you and Donghyuck at the same time. 

“There’s no way I’m working with just him -”

“Moonie, c’mon, do you really hate me this much -”

“Stop.” Moon says, his voice rising easily in volume. He puts both of his hands up in emphasis, and you realize you’ve leaned further forward than you’d realize. You settle back into your seat, though not without returning the scowl Donghyuck is sending you. 

“If I didn’t think the two of you could do it together, I would’ve just written the damn thing myself,” Your director says, glancing sharply at both of you before continuing. “You’re my two best students - you both know this. I’ve seen you put your differences aside to act together on stage. This shouldn’t be any different than that.”

You stare at Mr. Moon for a long moment, weighing your options. You can say no, you know you can - though he’ll advise strongly against it, Moon will ultimately let you back out of the musical’s production if you ask - but your ego refuses to let you. That, and you’d been genuinely excited to work on it before, and you’d rather die than let Donghyuck, of all people, take something you care about from you. That, and you don’t trust him to write a good play worth performing. You’ll be damned if the fine arts department has to count on him in the end. Hell, you’ll write it by yourself if you have to.

“Fine,” You say, raising a hand up to rub your temples out. “But I’ll only play nice if he does, too.”

“You act like I’m the one who finds it difficult to interact normally with other people.” Donghyuck scoffs, and you shoot him a sharp glare. He returns it evenly for a beat too long before finally tearing his eyes away and hanging his head. You watch as he runs a hand through his hair and throws his head back, groaning loudly as he does so, almost as if it pains him to say his next words. When he finally looks forward at Moon again, he sighs before speaking.

“I’m in,” He declares, throwing you an unreadable look. “Let’s get this over with.”

Moon’s face lights up immediately, and, for a moment, you don’t regret what you’ve just agreed to.

“Brilliant!” He claps, standing up from his chair. “We can discuss it together as a group during our next class, but I’m glad we have this sorted out. Now,” He says, moving his chair back over to his desk before settling back down in it. “I have to eat lunch, and I’m guessing you both do too. Scram.”

You get up, placing your chair back from where you got it before gathering your things. Donghyuck avoids looking at you, and you return the courtesy. He gets to the door right before you do, stooping down to pick up his back. Both of you wave goodbye to your director before stepping out into the hallway. 

“When should we meet to talk about the planning and shit?” You ask, keeping your tone as steady as possible, though you know your eyes tell your feelings. Donghyuck rolls his eyes outright. 

“How about we figure that out in class? I’ve talked to you enough for the time being.”

You make a sound of disbelief, flipping him off as he turns to walk away from you. 

“You’re a grade A dickwad!” You call, staring at his back. 

“Whatever, you frigid bitch!” He yells back, not bothering to turn around and look at you. 

You sigh once he’s out of sight, dropping your head into one of your hands.

This is going to be a lot harder than Mr. Moon thinks it’ll be.

[jasperwhitcock]

01. AN IMPOSSIBILITY

i stumbled upon a post you can read here from @bellasredchevy​ from like a year ago where she expanded on an au where bella & edward switch places where bella is a vampire in the cullen family and edward is a human. we’re all social distancing (or we all SHOULD be unless u have work so if ur out partying take ur ass home boo) so i had time to kill & i thought i’d write a chapter hehe.

It was an impossibility for me to have missed the presence of my adopted brother entering the room. What with my astute senses, my supernatural sensitivity to everything – the microscopic details of the book page’s porous beige paper, the length of his shadow stretching onto the floor beneath the novel in my hands, cast from the golden light of the hallway, the smooth, feathery finish of the paper under my frozen fingers, the whooshing sound of air caressing his mountainous stature as he appeared, the soft yet heavy thud of his feet against the floor – a sound nearly imperceptible, the impossible to place scent of something like bergamot, white cedar, rose, and sandalwood perfuming the room at his appearance. An impossibility, and yet, my focus was so invested in the words inked on the page, enamored with a story I’d read a hundred, a thousand, a million times, that I found myself shocked when the novel surprisingly ripped down the spine into two perfect halves before my eyes, another one of my novels that he had plucked off the shelf barreling towards my face. He had thrown the other book with such force that in the process of his attempt to grasp my attention, he knifehand-striked a book I had taken from my mother Renee’s sad little toilet-reading, bathroom basket collection of a library.

I was on my feet hunched towards him infinitesimally, the book that had been less than a centimeter from crashing into my face tenderly clutched in my right hand, my lips pulled back over my teeth to let out a snarl. The right half of the original novel I had held fell onto the floor with a thump a moment later. He stood crouched as well, a wicked smile spread on his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He loved provocation – eliciting this kind of response in me fueled him. A fight with some authentic irritation, a fight with an edge.

“Time for school, baby sister,” He raised an eyebrow, inviting the challenge.

“Emmett,” I hissed through my teeth, tensed to launch myself at him. Part of my mind sifted through a dozen plans of attack, strategizing what would be my most successful method of taking him down since he was pretty much insurmountable. He had all the strength and all the size. Stealth would be my greatest chance. Another part of my mind pulsed with irritation, an irrational, furious mood swing sweeping over me. The kind of emotional response only our kind could experience...or handle. I nearly saw red as the rest of the words flew through my lips. “Couldn’t you have told me that without destroying a priceless artifact of my human life, big brother?”

I made the name sound like a curse word.

“Artifact?” Emmett snorted. “Please. How many times have you read that same damn story in the past few years? I did you a favor,” he smirked as he feigned right and left so fast that it was as if he hadn’t moved at all.

I tensed to hurl myself forward at the opportune moment before a tsunami tide of calmness washed over the room along with an earthy aroma of citrus, patchouli, musk, and leather. “We really should be leaving now,” my other adopted brother Jasper murmured in his lightly southern accent as he appeared.

“Restricting as it may be, vehicles only allow up to a certain speed, and Esme wouldn’t like for us to be late,” my tiny sister materialized by his side in a blur of porcelain skin and inky black hair. “Although, maybe she’d get a kick out of a call home for tardiness,” Alice laughed, a sound like windchimes. “I can tell you who would have won or you could have your fight later.”

“Ugh,” Emmett groaned in disappointment, dropping his stance. “It’s so hard to get her that riled up. Fuck!” He complained, grumpily disappearing from the room in a flash.

“Later,” He promised under his breath from the garage.

“You would have won,” Alice mouthed, her beautiful lips stretching into a secretive smile as she winked. She picked up the other half of the novel I had purposefully dropped to catch the meteor Emmet had propelled, tossing it in the air towards me in one fluid motion.

I grinned to myself, gently tucked the other book back into its rightful place on the shelf across the room, and caught the ruined piece before it hit the ground. My face immediately dropped into a frown as I analyzed both halves. Fortunately, Pride and Prejudice was not beyond repair. I could mend the division by sewing it back together down the spine later. I set the injured book down and flew downstairs not a moment later. As I passed my adopted mother on the way to the door, I pecked her on the cheek before exiting the house and sliding into the dark leather backseat of the pearly white car next to Alice. Without checking the mirrors, Rosalie sped out of the garage as soon as the door lifted enough for us to clear.

The trees outside the windows were a green haze as we flew by, our speed only decreasing when we arrived in the main part of town among other drivers. We could have ran to school much, much faster – and thus not had any concern about tardiness – but without our cars for appearance, our show might prove unconvincing. It wasn’t abnormal to walk to school in the unrelenting pouring of rain in our small town of Forks, Washington. However, though few people in town knew the location of our home, perhaps the front office ladies might find it concerning that a group of teenagers trekked a half marathon to their classes. It was unlikely they’d care to look up the address from our files, but we were never too cautious. 

I liked running. I had been characterized as very clumsy in my human life, so it was a welcome change to feel graceful and coordinated. It was a welcome change to feel powerful. It was, however, unwelcome to participate in the daily charade of masquerading as exactly the opposite of that. As much as I had enjoyed my afterlife, I loathed the same thing many teenagers did, a hatred that may be my greatest commonality with the humans that surrounded me.

High school. I didn’t mind school prior to my immortal life. I had been decent and even above-average in most subjects. I had been a responsible, diligent, and quiet seventeen year old: I paid attention, I completed assignments in time, I spent most of my time in solitude which allowed me ample time to study. There were subjects I enjoyed far more than others that kept things interesting enough for me. Unfortunately, after a number of graduations, high school lost any potential interest and became something of a purgatory. Even classes like English lost their charm over time. Once you had spent years studying literature from the greatest professors, scholars, and writers both living and dead, it was immensely rare for a small town high school English teacher to offer a new take that would make my attendance worthwhile.

Attending high school provided us with the opportunity to remain in one place longer, so complain as much as I want, I suppose it’s something to fill the endless amounts of time. Still, that didn’t make the obligation any more tolerable.

Rosalie hummed along to a song playing quietly through the speakers while Emmett sulked in the passenger seat over having missed out on a fight. I smiled, a bit smug. On the other side of Alice occupying the middle seat, I sensed Jasper’s head jerk slightly in my direction to see the expression that reflected my slight change in mood. I shook my head, still smiling, and he smirked a bit himself before returning his attention back to his window. His scarred hand traced affectionate circles onto Alice’s hand in her lap, and she stared forward, her unfocused eyes seeing not what was in front of her, but the potential realities of the future.

They were a gifted couple. We become immensely enhanced when we’re transformed from being human, and as a result, some immortals are equipped with a special gift on top of their already unparalleled supernatural senses. Our creator and father figure Carlisle theorized that our strongest traits from our human life develop in even stronger ways once we’ve been changed. Jasper’s influential nature flourished into a skill of sensing and manipulating the emotional climate of those around him. Alice’s gift was even more unique. She could see into the future. We didn’t know what in her human life this had developed from. Her past is a secret to not only us, but Alice as well.

I too was gifted. For some time, we had no idea until I had met our cousins. In Denali, Alaska, there was another coven similar to us not just in kind but in diet and ideology who we considered extended family. Another commonality we share is that they also have gifted immortals among their coven. One of the only males, Eleazar’s, gift was sensing the abilities of other vampires, and he had detected my ability. He revealed, to all of our surprise, that I was something called a mental shield. It’s a talent of blocking out any powers that could invade my mind, and it is absolutely, entirely useless to me. I didn’t have a need for this kind of protection. My gift was a complete waste.

The drizzling rain was picking up into a steadier shower as we pulled into the small parking lot of Forks High School. Scenting the earthy, fresh stormy air was the tempting fragrance of the students’ pulsing blood as they ran for the dry cover of the maroon brick buildings. I was entirely satiated from my most recent hunt. Still, my throat burned with the slight dryness that would never completely go away. Jasper sighed.

There were only a few late stragglers hurrying from their vehicles towards their classes that could potentially see us, but as Rosalie parked, we moved at the frustratingly slow pace of the humans around us as a precaution. No risks. After exiting the car, Alice tossed me my backpack of useless school material from the trunk. I slid one strap over my shoulder and departed from my siblings for my first class.

The rest of the morning dragged along like a slow, drawn out sigh. I spent most of the time in my classes thinking of ways I could reorganize the book shelves in my room again. By genre, by author name, by theme, by year published, by year the story takes place, by favorite author, by alphabetical order of the location the story was set, by date of author’s death, by favorite to least favorite protagonist, by which accumulated the most pieces of literary criticism, by section that each family member might enjoy the most, by order in which I first read each, by order of which I read most to least, by order of which my family had read most to least, by alphabetical order of the antagonist’s name, and by which was least to most realistic were all ways I had structured my personal library in the past few years. I was toying with the idea of organizing by order of the birthday of the first character introduced, but a lot of the birthdays had not been established throughout the plot. I would have to decide where they would fit throughout the year based on which zodiac sign I might consider them to have depending on their character traits. Not that I held much stock in astrology – horoscopes did me no good when I had a future-telling sister.

The only difference in this day than any other day was that the trivial gossip I unintentionally overheard throughout the hallways concerned a new addition to the student body. This stirred up a lot of interest seeing as the majority of the children here knew each other for the entirety of their lives. What I had gathered in passing was that it was a junior boy named Edward Masen from Chicago who had recently moved from living abroad with his family. The girls were very excited – they considered him a very attractive potential new love interest. Attractive, though those who had been brave enough to speak to him found him to be impenetrable despite his charm. I wondered what the boy would make of me and my family.

I joined my siblings at our lunch table, the farthest table from everybody else in the room. In front of each of us was the prop of a lunch tray piled with unappetizing food. Alice sat, staring forward with empty eyes again, living in her own ever-changing reality. Jasper and Emmett made a hacky sack out of an apple and subtly kicked it back and forth in the air beneath the table, the apple moving too fast for human eyes to detect. Rose twirled a piece of her golden hair around in her hands, disinterested. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. As were all of ours. Occasionally she participated in their game by intercepting the apple with her foot.

“The new student’s going to ask about us in approximately fifteen seconds,” Alice chirped, her face returning to the present.

Emmett chuckled quietly.

“What will be said, and how will the boy respond?” Rosalie asked, her foot sending the apple reeling toward the ceiling.

Alice caught the apple in her slender, white hand before tossing it back to Emmett to end the game. “No different than anything else that’s been said, and no different than anybody else.”

I scanned the cafeteria to find the new student, so I could place a face to the upcoming conversation I’d be listening in on.

My eyes locked with a pair of soft green eyes set in a pale, angular face beneath an untidy mess of strange bronze hair. I looked away immediately but caught the beginning jolt of shock lighting up those surprisingly wise eyes.

“Who are they?” The boy gasped. So it had been my gaze that brought Alice’s vision to life. No doubt he’d immediately recognize the subtle differences that distinguish our kind from his. Emmett and I exchanged a glance, laughing under our breath as another junior student I recognized as Naomi Parker provided the common knowledge of the strange Cullen children. The story was complicated. In Forks, the explanation for our family was that Carlisle had adopted his twin niece and nephew, Rosalie and Jasper Hale, after the unexpected passing of his much older half-brother. Similarly, after a tragic car accident took the lives of Esme’s parents in addition to her aunt and uncle, she took in her younger siblings, Emmett and I, along with her niece Alice to look after us. Bonding over the shared experience of so much responsibility so young, Carlisle and Esme eloped, and we formed one giant, misshapen family.

Instinctively, I caught the apple in my hand just as it nearly turned into applesauce by means of collision with my stone face. I snarled at Emmett’s hysteric expression, hiding my hand from view so that anyone watching would have missed the entire catch. “Would you quit doing that today!?”

Rosalie shot Emmett a disapproving look. He shouldn’t be so irresponsible when we were clearly on display for the new Masen kid. I shot a minute glance towards his table to make sure they were no longer watching us. The boy seemed to be focused on the information he was receiving.

“This,” I snarled, sneakily disintegrating the apple into a pulp in my hand below the table where the humans couldn’t see, “will be what happens to you at home.” I made a show of letting the mush slide off my hand onto my tray.

My brother guffawed, and my other siblings joined in the laughter.

“In your dreams!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as well. I also couldn’t help but feel the intensity of watching eyes.

“Who’s the girl with the really long dark hair?” The soft, low voice of the boy asked quietly from across the room.

Reflexively, my eyes met his stare once again. He looked away quickly.

“That’s Bella. She’s insanely beautiful obviously, but if you’re thinking about trying to talk to her, forget it,” Naomi shrugged.

Once lunchtime was over, we disbanded to head off to the last half of yet another monotonous day. On my way out of the cafeteria, I purposely bumped into the trash can for Emmett’s benefit as he and Rose followed close behind. The action was a little more violent than I intended, and the plastic container bent slightly at the force.

“Oops,” I bit my lip to keep from smiling as he erupted into laughter. Upon our move to Forks, it had become something of a joke between Emmett and I for me to feign clumsiness. I didn’t participate in this joke daily, but every once in a while I’d sprinkle in an elaborate fall for his sake.

When I reached my junior level Biology class, I settled into my seat at the lab table I shared with no one. I laid the books devoid of any information relevant to me out on the table, and propped an elbow on the surface to hold my head up in my hand, awaiting the oncoming tedium. 

The room filled as students returned from lunch. I paid them no attention, my eyes fixated on counting the snow-like particles of chalk dust floating in the air likely from Mr. Molina writing on the board prior to the end of lunch.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Masen! We’re so glad to have you join us. You can take the seat next to Miss Cullen,” I looked up to find the biology teacher pointing in my direction. Next to him was the new boy. Standing up, he appeared very lanky – several inches taller than our teacher – though his physique was still slightly muscular.

I pulled the books closer to my side of the table to make room for him, feeling bad that he had the misfortune of being assigned the seat next to me. He would probably feel more comfortable anywhere else. Not only because I didn’t go out of my way to interact much with my classmates, but because their long-buried survival instincts told them what their brains didn’t totally understand: we were dangerous.

I had never been more dangerous than I was in that moment. Because after the Masen kid politely thanked the teacher, he turned down the aisle, directly in front of the heated airflow that blew towards me.

His scent washed over me like the most vicious, violent wave, a wall of unrelenting water in a heavy thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean, drowning me, taking me down, down, down, further and further away from the traces of humanity I had once clung to.

In every direction of this blackest of depths, there was no escape that could lead me back to the light; I resurfaced as the monster I pretended not to be.

The sweet enticing smell of Edward Masen’s blood compelled my throat to rupture into a burning, aching fire. I had never been ablaze with such need. My mouth was pooling with venom as my prey approached. Since he spoke, he had only taken another step forward. He would not take another.

As my muscles begged for the release that would send me springing forward, stealing the first life of my existence, those sage eyes glanced at me, widening in bewilderment at the vicious expression contorting my features.

With great difficulty, I emerged from my horrible, repulsive compulsion. The look on his face was enough to spare him another moment.

His scent perfumed the air around me; I was encompassed in this irresistable cloud of bloodlust, eager to leap up and put an end to this unexpected torture.

In all my years of immortality, I had never experienced a desire this overwhelming. I had never been so vulnerable to committing this kind of atrocity. My record was clean. With guidance, I had been able to restrain myself from the temptation of human blood. Of course, instinct is not easily fought. Sometimes the abstinence was painful. But never like this.

A dozen scenarios on how to kill this poor human boy crossed my mind, and I combatted every single one with the last miserable shred of self control I had left. I had never exerted so much effort. The toil was something hazily reminiscent of human exhaustion, weighing heavily onto me.

I had no choice but to end his life. There was no other way.

He awkwardly settled into the seat next to me, aware of some unknown hostility, but unaware of the ferocity raging within, unaware of the way his blood sang to me, inviting me in, inviting me to betray all my years of discipline, effort, and tolerance. Inviting me to betray my family.

Despite the absolute consumption, by some miracle, I resisted.

I desperately clung to the thought of my family. Rosalie. Esme. Carlisle. Alice. Emmett. Jasper.

They loved me. They would forgive me for this detestable, inexorable act. They would understand. They wouldn’t harbor any judgment.

But how could I let them down in this way? Everything about who we are, everything about what unites us and bonds us is intricately traced back to the compassion that rules over our lives. It’s what makes us different from others of our kind. It’s what allows us to retain some remnants of the humanity we’ve lost. So just as I’ve done before, I would withstand human blood now. No matter the agony that accompanies the resistance.

I took one last deep breath. The scent washed down my throat, burning me alive from the inside out.

I wouldn’t dare to breath for the next torturous hour. It was uncomfortable to forgo the sensation, but the consequences that would follow if I did breathe had far worse implications.

Could I last that long? What was I trying to prove? Was the possibility of a lapse in the best of my judgment worth not succumbing to the honest truth – that I had more weakness in the face of human blood than I thought?

Perhaps Emmett might make fun of me. Perhaps Jasper might secretly appreciate someone else struggling more than he did. But Carlisle and Esme wouldn’t see any weakness in leaving. They’d be proud of me for making this decision. They’d understand.

The last of the students were arriving from lunchtime. Now was the greatest opportunity to escape without drawing too much attention. In my peripheral, I saw the boy open his mouth to begin to speak to me.

If I didn’t leave now, I never would. My resolve was slipping away with every thud of the boy’s heart.

I got up and walked to the front of the classroom a little too fast.

“Mr. Molina?” I asked, my voice tight. The biology teacher looked up from a lesson plan he was reviewing, his eyes startled as he registered my face. I heard his heartbeat pick up from the surprise.

“I’m feeling a little... unwell. May I be excused?” I utilized the last of my breath, hoping the subtle begging in my voice didn’t prompt more questions.

Mr. Molina recollected himself, his eyebrows pulling together in slight concern along with confusion. The Cullens were never sick.

“Of course, Miss Cullen. Do you need a nurse’s pass-” He began before I cut him off, resentfully taking another tormenting breath. The scent sent my mind reeling. I fought for coherency in my thoughts.

I didn’t need to work to put on a show; I probably looked pale and sick enough.

“No thank you,” I spoke quickly, desperate for the relief of fresh, untainted air.

“Alright, then. I hope you feel better-” I was out of the room before he could finish the rest of the statement. The bell for class rang. The hallways were empty, so I risked the charade and began to move at an inhuman speed around the corner. Only when I had exited the building did I allow myself to breathe again. I gasped, nearly choking on the mouthfuls of clean air when I reached the car. My head was still spinning as I climbed into the drivers’ seat. I gave little thought to worrying if my quick movements in the classroom would reveal too much. I hoped that the students were too focused on finishing up their leftover conversations from lunch to notice. 

With a jolt, I realized I was not alone in the car. In the passenger seat sat my tiny sister.

“Bella?” She asked, her pitch-black eyes unable to convey the concern that was etched on the rest of her pixie-like features.

“Alice,” I breathed. I had been so distracted with my own thoughts I hadn’t even paid any attention to the proximity of the familiar vanilla and jasmine fragrance of her skin. What was wrong with me today?

“Are you alright? I saw…”

I winced, knowing what she must have seen.

“I’m fine. I just… I-... I don’t know what happened…” The words flew rapidly out of my mouth.

“Do you need help? Should I grab the boys? Or would you like to leave-”

“No! No. It’s really not...a big deal. I’m just going to… I promise I’m fine. I won’t go back there-” I gulped, the venom filling my mouth as I even considered returning to the class where he sat. Alice’s eyes widened, so I stopped the thought in its tracks. “Rosalie has a free period right now. I think I’ll go find her. I’ll see you when school is over.”

I reached for the door, turning away from her, shame filling me, making me unwilling to face her any longer. Her slender hand grabbed my other wrist, pulling me to a stop. “I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t. I’m fine, Alice!” I pulled my hand away too defensively. Regret replaced the shame for a moment. “Sorry.”

I left her alone in the car, feeling guilty.

I knew it was risky to utilize my sense of smell, but following the sweet, warm aroma of orange blossom, marshmallow, and roses – and avoiding anywhere remotely near the science wing – I found my other sister alone in an empty classroom. Now that it had been distinguished from the rest, I could still smell the boy, but with more distance between us, I fought the temptation off.

“You’re not in class?” She asked as she typed into a computer, her back turned to me. It looked as though she was searching for some car parts. Even though I helped her in the garage sometimes, after all these years I was still no better at identifying anything related to automobiles.

“Rose...” I began, before stopping short, unsure of what to say.

She turned around in an indiscernible millisecond, her breathtaking face worried at the tone of my voice. “What’s wrong?”

She reached for me consolingly. Though I didn’t need the rest – I could stand still for hours on end and never feel tired – I sat on the floor beside her chair, hugging my knees to my chest, my eyes fixated on the dust deep in the roots of the rough, outdated carpet.

Her silky hands smoothly brushed through my hair, patiently waiting for me to build up the courage to speak. It felt nice.

After a few seconds, she spoke up. “Bella, you’re worrying me.”

I sighed.

“I’ve never...struggled this way before,” I admitted, exasperated with myself.

I could see that she was nodding out of the corner of my eye, immediately understanding. “That’s nothing to be ashamed about, Bella.”

I didn’t need to see her face to know her perfect lips were set into a deep frown. She wasn’t lying to me, but I knew to her, this existence was everything to be ashamed about.

“I won’t pretend that I don’t find myself...repulsed with...well, what we are. That’s no secret to anyone.” Her musical laughter had a dark edge to it. “But I’ve spent enough time for all of us hating myself for the impulses we have and the tragedy of our existence. You needn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s alright to...” She trailed off, selecting different words. “We’ve chosen an abnormal path in this non-life of ours. The terrible consequences of what we are are normal” – her hands froze in my hair briefly saying the word – “so try to let go of the shame I know you’re feeling, though I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”

She paused for a moment before adding, “you know we won’t allow you to harm anyone.”

I bit down on my lower lip. I was glad I came to Rosalie. She didn’t think I was being overdramatic the way Emmett might have.

Though I deeply loved my mother from my human life, there hadn’t been much maternal guidance. We had a strong bond, but I was far more of the caretaker than she was. I had been very lucky in this immortal life. Esme treated me as her own daughter, and I became truly taken care of. Just as Esme became the most loving mother figure in all the ways that counted, Rosalie became the very best protective older sister. My life had no shortage of supportive femininity and womanhood.

I heard a springy, featherlight approach of fast footsteps.

“I told you not to follow me,” I grumbled.

Alice poked her tongue out at me as she entered the room and fluttered to my other side, joining my other sister in stroking my head. “You’ll forgive me. I didn’t want to be left out of a sister moment.” 

Her words brought half a smile to my face.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be comforted by Rosalie’s words and the soft feeling of my sisters’ hands in my hair.

Yes, it was undeniable what I was. I could never change the fact. But I could change the fate of this boy, and I could deny myself the instincts that identified me this way. I could deny myself Edward Masen.

[beca-mitchell]

even when my body blows away, my soul will stay (1/1)

Summary: Four days in NYC away from her very pregnant girlfriend feels like a lifetime. But at least Beca has the cutest travel buddy ever—her two-year-old baby.

Word count: 4,539

Notes: Title from Ingrid Michaelson’s “Home”. I don’t really know what this is...just go with it. For @asimplefavors. This is a bit into the future (obviously) of this universe and subsequently reveals a lot more about Beca and Chloe's relationship and where it is. 

Hope you enjoy and sorry this isn't smutty.

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * * 

Age: 31/32 New York, New York February

 * * * * *

Emma trots in front of Beca, just a step or two ahead, happily wielding her miniature purse like she knows exactly how to pose for cameras already. Beca tilts her head with a smile, wondering just when Emma grew up so quickly right before her eyes.

As always when she thinks about Emma, she thinks about Chloe, back home in their Los Angeles villa...and, of course, their newest family member who is well on her way.

She thinks of Chloe’s decidedly grumpy face as Beca and Emma left just yesterday morning, but Chloe is simply too pregnant to travel and Beca’s press obligations for her voice-acting role in an upcoming animated film seemed like a good opportunity to get Emma out of the house. Also, some much-needed one-on-one time and a break for Chloe and her seemingly endless patience for Emma’s incessant demands as to when her (Emma had somehow taken a liking to referring to their incoming family member as her own baby, which despite Beca and Chloe’s endless efforts ) baby would be ready to play. Or whether Chloe would let her balance her blocks on her stomach again.

Still, Beca misses Chloe terribly and more than ever, wishes she were back on the west coast cuddling with the love of her life in their comfortable home. She winces as the sound of cars rushing all around them and quickly reaches out to hold Emma’s hand.

“Stay close to me,” Beca instructs when she sees the paparazzi ahead of them, already snapping photos. They seem docile for the moment, only occasionally shouting out questions. Beca somewhat recognizes their faces as regulars whenever she comes to New York. She only hopes that they keep their voices low and their words appropriate as to not startle or scare Emma.

Not that it seems like Emma is paying them any mind. Beca’s grin grows again when she notes how big of a fucking ham her kid is, playing it up for the camera. She just knows Emma got that from Chloe, somehow. All that confidence and taking everything in stride. It had taken Beca years before getting used to the entire atmosphere of being famous and most days she’s still not used to it. She’s not quite sure how she feels about Emma adapting so easily to all of this, but for now she’s just happy that Emma is content.

She makes a mental note to tell Chloe about it and maybe perhaps even break their code about looking at paparazzi photos because she’s pretty damn sure that the fact that Emma’s jacket matches her own jacket is something that might be so ridiculously cute that Chloe will demand they print a few copies. Beca makes an additional mental note to thank her stylist for pulling strings and getting almost an exact miniature replica of the designer suit jacket Beca has on. It looks adorable on Emma and Beca isn’t afraid to say it.

“We say hello?” Emma asks, slowing to a stroll as they near the wall of people waiting for Beca just at the entrance to the building.

“Not today, Em. Maybe one or two, but mama has to go inside really quickly, okay?”

Emma smiles at her. “Okay, mama.”

Beca smiles back before bending down to pick Emma up quickly. “Don’t look at the lights, baby.”

Emma tucks her head against Beca’s shoulder in a brief show of shyness before she nods. “Okay, mama,” she repeats like the absolute angel she is.

It turns out that her daughter is a bit of a trickster too because the moment they get close enough for somebody to fire off a question, Emma’s head immediately pops up and she responds animatedly as if Beca’s words had no meaning whatsoever.

“Beca! Beca—what’s next on the agenda for you?”

“Is Chloe with you? Is she supposed to be travelling?”

“Beca, how’s the wife?”

Beca chuckles at that particular question without responding. She knows it is something that is purposefully brought up time and time again simply because the world refuses to let go of the fascination surrounding her and Chloe’s decision to not get married before having Emma. She supposes now with a second child on the way, the rumour mill is exceptionally full and just desperate in its desire to unleash something particularly spiteful.

“No comment,” Beca says at large, smiling apologetically at the one fan who managed to sneak her way into the throng of paparazzi. She would stop but with her arms full of precious cargo, she doesn’t feel like risking a potential injury, especially for Emma with all the heavy equipment around.

Emma grins at the closest reporter before she begins to wave, cheerily saying, “Hello!” and “Bye-bye!” like she is absolutely a pro at delivering soundbites. Then, to Beca’s horror, Emma says, “butter on mommy!” with absolutely no context because she’s, well, two, but Beca’s face heats up immediately, already envisioning future headlines. Beca Mitchell—butter kink? It is possibly still the cutest thing ever however because Emma says it with such determination, but because of her tiny high-pitched voice, it comes out sounding 100 times less incriminating than if Beca had said something like that herself.

To be fair, Emma is referring to how she has recently been allowed to help Chloe apply body butter to her growing stomach. Unfortunately that is not easily contextualized. Still, Beca hastens to correct that before it gets back to Chloe who probably won’t be too happy with that characterization. “She means, like, lotion,” she explains hastily before pulling open the door and darting inside, still unsure if that was a better explanation at all. She chuckles at Emma’s bewildered expression upon not being able to talk with her ‘friends’. “Told you we had to be quick.”

The security guard gestures towards the elevators. “Right this way, Ms. Mitchell.”

Beca pauses in her blatant adoration of her child and slips on her professional mask. “Right, thank you.”

“Mama work?” Emma asks as they enter an elevator. Then, sadly, “Mama bye-bye?”

“Yeah, just for a bit,” Beca says, reaching up to brush at Emma’s hair. “But you can play with Julia,” she says excitedly, referring to her publicist who somehow manages to hold lengthy conversations with her toddler. It is a skill that few adults seem to be able to achieve with Emma, outside of Beca and Chloe.

“Juwia,” Emma repeats.

“Julia,” Beca attempts to correct even though she thinks Emma’s speech is the cutest ever. She wouldn’t be opposed to hearing those little blips and the sound of tiny voice for a little while longer.

“Juwia.”

“Okay,” Beca laughs.

Emma laughs back like she’s sharing a secret joke with Beca, reaching up to touch Beca’s cheek tenderly before she sighs and rests her head against Beca’s shoulder. Before Beca can do something totally embarrassing like take a million selfies just to send to Chloe, the elevator dings open and Beca mourns the loss of their little bubble being burst as light floods into the small space. Before she knows it, she is already being ushered off into the little green room where she’s meant to get ready with her team.

Emma giggles delightedly upon seeing Hannah who immediately squeals in return and drops her make-up bag on the closest chair and reaches out to pull Emma in for a kiss and a hug. Beca should be concerned at how easily her kid willingly just goes to other people, but she warms at the sight of a group of people she trusts interact so freely and wonderfully with her baby.

And another one on the way soon, Beca’s mind reminds her as if she had somehow forgotten.

“Missing the wife?” Hannah asks knowingly once Emma scurries off to find Jill who is likely hanging up a few of Beca’s clothing choices. She smirks at the way Beca bristles.

“The wife,” Beca says with emphasis and an eye-roll. “Is, unfortunately, a bit too pregnant to fly without me popping an aneurysm on the flight. So she’s at home. And yes, yes, I am missing Chloe, but Emma and I have some time, which is nice.” Beca shrugs, trying to play off exactly how much she misses her girlfriend and tries to get back into the professional mindset.

“Jill has a couple fun outfits for you,” Hannah announces, deftly changing the subject. She hums and reaches out to examine Beca’s hair. “Both of you in case your mini-me wants to match again.”

Beca is secretly excited at the prospect of matching with Emma, mostly because she knows Chloe is going to love it (and likely cry over it, but Beca knows how to soothe her at this point). Outwardly, she simply tries not to smile too much as Hannah begins to fiddle with her make-up and guide Beca over to the miniature sink so she can first wash her face. Beca sighs, knowing that she has to get this over with. She lets the sound of Emma’s delighted screams in the distance soothe her.

  * * * * *

 “Hey,” Beca murmurs, settling on the couch quietly when she has a moment to spare. Chloe’s voicemail had been a disappointment, but she can’t blame Chloe for taking the opportunity to sleep in without a rambunctious two-and-a-half-year-old in the house. “I guess you’re still sleeping, but I just wanted to call to say I love you and I miss you...and Emma can’t shut up about you. We’re basically falling apart without you, hope you’re happy.”

“Mommy?” Emma chimes in from Beca’s immediate left. She reaches for the phone and peers at the screen confusedly as if expecting Chloe’s face to be there. “Mommy,” she repeats, looking up at Beca.

“Mommy’s sleeping so I’m leaving a message for her before I go to work,” Beca explains. Emma is accustomed to FaceTime and seeing Beca or Chloe’s faces on the small screen. “Want to tell mommy you love her?”

“Kisses!” Emma exclaims before planting a huge kiss right on Beca’s phone screen. Beca winces at the amount of spit that ends up on the screen and makes a note to teach Emma how to kiss with her mouth closed. “Kisses for mommy,” Emma declares before handing the phone back to Beca with no small measure of pride.

Emma darts off again, endlessly entertained. Beca wipes the screen hastily before pressing the phone back to her ear.

“Okay, Emma says she loves you and she basically just licked my phone screen to do so...hope you’re happy, Chlo.” Beca chuckles, her heart clenching unexpectedly when there is no Chloe to respond in kind. She misses Chloe so much already and they’ve only been away for a day. “I miss you,” she says again. “Hope you and baby are doing okay. I’ll call you later. And if you’re bored without us, don’t clean the whole fucking house,” Beca instructs, making sure to lower her voice in case Emma is nearby again. “Just chill out, okay? Okay,” she repeats, mostly to herself because it’s weird not hearing Chloe’s voice agreeing with her or bantering back and forth with her. “Bye, gotta go.”

Tapping off the call, Beca sighs. She rests her phone on her lap and closes her eyes for a moment.

A throat is cleared. “Are you ready?”

She opens her eyes and clicks her phone open so she can just take in the photo she has as her lockscreen: Chloe and Emma and herself all at Santa Monica Pier. If Beca takes a moment, she can remember exactly how the sun had felt against her skin; how tightly Emma had gripped her hand as Chloe and her had swung their baby around, walking up and down the pier; she can feel the gentle press of Chloe’s lips against her cheek just after this photo was taken, cold like the ice cream she had just finished.

She can see it all—the endless miles of past memories and future memories—and she feels so incredibly lucky to share it with the love of her life.

She just has to make it through these next few days and she can return home and their family can be together again. The separation anxiety is likely only raring its head in such a horrible way this time around because Chloe is so close to her due date and Beca is feeling exceptionally protective and anxious. That much she knows. But she really, truly hates being apart from her family at all. She didn’t expect the day to drag on so long...and it is still technically morning.

She gazes at the photo again, hearing the echo of Chloe’s laugh in her ear.

“Yeah,” Beca finally says. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

 The next two hours of press junket interviews drag on, but Beca wills herself to keep a smile plastered on her face throughout the entirety of the time period, lest her publicist chide her for being too overtly wry or grim for a children’s movie. Beca pretty much is only doing this for her own kids (kids! plural!) because she wants cool mom points and it seems like doing voice work for major animated movies is the way to go.

Also, singing.

She is mulling over an interview opportunity that had just been suggested to her when she finally hears the sound of Emma’s giggling from behind the door.

“Ugh, finally,” Beca drawls out loudly as to announce her presence to her giggling child. She pulls her hair free from the loose up-do she had, shaking it out as she enters the green room only for Emma to dart out to greet her instead. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Apple,” Emma says, holding the banana up for Beca to look at.

“Banana,” Beca corrects.

“Apple,” Emma insists before giggling at Beca’s inability to recognize the fruit in her hand. Beca reaches for her and she screams, darting off. Beca makes a mental note to ask if Julia had slipped some alcohol or sugar to her kid because what the hell? Beca shakes her head, pulling out her phone to dial Chloe’s number while she has down time before her next round of interviews.

Chloe picks up just as Beca is totally prepared to leave another message. “Finally,” Chloe complains jokingly. “Thought you’d never call me back.”

“Chlo, hi,” Beca says breathlessly as she chases after Emma who is rushing at a surprisingly fast pace down the hall. She offers an apologetic smile at one of her costars who looks entirely too amused at Beca power-walking down the hall in heels. “Your kid is literally running away from me right now.”

Chloe’s laugh is like music. “My kid now? Pretty sure she came out of you.”

“Shut up, she’s yours when she’s crazy fast.”

Chloe sighs like she is reclining comfortably on their bed. Beca is immediately envious. “Hmm, pretty sure you were the one on the track team, babe.”

“Hey, one of the outlets had a fun idea for an interview,” Beca says, finally catching up with her baby. “What would you say to letting me and Emma do a little interview? It’d be like a behind the scenes bonus video for YouTube. Julia thinks it’s a good idea but I dunno…”

Chloe laughs. “That sounds crazy enough to go viral.”

“But the exposure,” Beca worries.

“I know,” Chloe agrees softly. “I don’t want it to be too much for her but…”

“We can request that they turn off comments for the video,” Beca suggests. “But if you think I shouldn’t, then that’s totally fine. I want to know what you think.”

“God, she really is such a ham for the camera,” Chloe murmurs. Beca laughs, wondering if Chloe is looking at the earlier photos.

“Definitely didn’t get that from me,” Beca mumbles.

“Alright, miss Vogue covergirl.”

“Chloe,” Beca whines. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop flirting with me and answer me!” Beca jokes, feeling a light pang in her chest as Chloe laughs along with her.

“Bec, it’s fine. I trust your judgement and honestly it doesn’t sound horrible. And maybe I just want to see how cute my girlfriend and daughter are on screen together.”

For some reason the word “girlfriend” stands out to Beca in full force today. Whether it’s because she just happens to be missing Chloe more or because she feels an itch to settle down more than ever before, she can’t be sure. One thing is for certain, Beca knows she needs to have a conversation with Chloe sooner or later.

“Okay,” Beca finally says. She sighs. “I just...wish you were here. I wish you could be here.” She holds on to a squirming Emma. “Want to talk to this little punk?”

Chloe laughs. “Sure, put her on FaceTime.”

Beca does so and immediately wishes she had thought to FaceTime Chloe right at the beginning. She breaks into a smile at Chloe’s face appearing on her screen. “Emma! Baby, look! It’s mommy!”

Emma gasps dramatically and immediately grabs at the phone, dropping the “banana” she had been holding on the floor. She holds the phone away from her face at arms-length, smiling so widely that Beca wonders if her face hurts at all. “Mommy! Mommy, hi!”

“Emma! You look so cute! I love your hair, sweetie! Are you having fun?”

“Mama working!”

Chloe gasps. “I know! And you’re being a good girl right?”

Emma smiles, this time shyly in a complete show of how she has both Chloe and Beca wrapped around her tiny finger because Beca can see how Chloe visibly softens even through the screen. “Good girl,” Emma repeats before pointing at herself. “Miss you, mommy,” she says, pressing closer to the screen as if she can get closer. She looks like she might kiss the screen again but she just falls silent for a short moment, content with just watching Chloe smile back at her.

Beca totally relates.

  * * * * *

 Emma has an intuition. At first, Beca had rolled her eyes at Chloe when Chloe had pointed it out, but now she kind of sees what Chloe means.

It’s a kind of...jealousy instinct? Beca isn’t sure how to characterize it without being totally weird considering Emma is two (and a half...Jesus, already?), but it’s that Emma kind of knows when people are flirting with Beca or hitting on her (usually totally unprofessionally, but that’s another issue)...and it’s usually before Beca herself realizes what’s going on.

She isn’t expecting it to flare up during this press tour considering Beca’s just there for work and she isn’t even dressed to the nines, but Beca notices that Emma suddenly takes to cuddling close to her while she is in the middle of interacting with an over-enthusiastic interviewer off-camera, off-record.

“Hi you,” Beca greets, reaching down to lift Emma into her arms. She smiles apologetically at Angela (or was it Amy?). “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Oh, she’s adorable. Yours, right? She looks exactly like you.”

Before Beca can respond with an awkward thank you (she still doesn’t know how to take compliments even though she wholeheartedly agrees that Emma is the cutest baby on the planet), Emma is grabbing her cheeks with both hands and saying, with startling firmness, “mommy kiss.”

Beca isn’t quite sure what to make of that and gently shakes her face out of Emma’s grasp, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you mommy?” the interviewer asks with a laugh, none the wiser.

“Mommy kiss!” Emma repeats before turning to stare at the interviewer with a look that Beca has definitely seen before...on Chloe’s face.

Oh.

Beca’s face heats up. “Um, yeah. I’m...yeah,” she lies before laughing awkwardly. She takes a quick step back feeling guilty for no real discernible reason, but now that she’s actually looking, the body language is—yeah. Awkward. “I think she’s a little cranky, I’m just going to let her lie down for a bit, but it was nice talking to you.” Beca can’t quite make it away fast enough, barely resisting from bursting into laughter as she exits into a quiet room, away from prying eyes. “You’re horrible, you know that?” she tells Emma affectionately. “No,” she sighs. “You’re not. You’re like...ridiculously perfect.”

“Sleep now?” Emma asks eagerly. “Sleep, mama,” she insists, sounding so much like Chloe that Beca has to do a double take.

“Soon,” Beca promises.

  * * * * *

 By the third night, Beca is so exhausted from all the running around that she can barely keep her eyes open. However, Emma is rolling around in the large bed, excitedly playing with the stuffed Pluto that Beca had bought her from the Disney Store in Times Square. Emma makes little shrieking sounds that Beca thinks sound like barks, but she can’t be sure. Emma could just be screaming for the sake of screaming and Beca wouldn’t be any wiser.

“Read, mama!” Emma says once Beca finishes towelling off her hair.

Beca flops onto the bed next to Emma, pulling Pluto from her. “This is a dog,” she says clearly. “What sound do dogs make?”

Emma makes a barking sound.

“Oh, so you do know what they sound like,” Beca mutters. She grins and leans into press kisses against Emma’s rosy cheeks, eliciting giggles and flailing arms as Emma tries to push her away.

“Mama, stop!”

“Okay, okay,” she relents. She can’t help but kiss Emma’s cheek again, revelling in the soft scent of soap and baby powder that fills her nose. “Do you want a story before bed?”

Emma nods. “Story,” she says slowly. “Please.” Beca melts because Emma hasn’t quite mastered all her “l” sounds, so it comes out more like pwease and Beca never thought she’d be that mother but she absolutely wants to record every last thing she does.

“What books did we bring with us?” Beca asks aloud. She reaches over to the backpack leaning against the bed, pulling out a series of picture books. “Which one tonight?”

Emma points immediately at her favorite, a story about farm animals which means that Beca will have to make all the animal noises as best as she can.

She’s horrifically bad at that. Even after years in the music industry and literally doing voice work, she still feels woefully inadequate compared to Chloe.

“Are you sure?” Beca tries. “What about this one? There’s singing!”

“Dis one,” Emma says immediately and firmly. Unfortunately her daughter prefers animals over singing. Chloe’s child through and through, Beca thinks with mock-betrayal in her mind.

“Okay, fine,” Beca says. “But you owe me.”

Emma nods like she understands.

Together, they settle back in bed. Beca loves these moments the most, especially in the liminal spaces of the hotel rooms she often finds herself in. Most of the time she’s alone and she longs for the comfort of home. Now, she at least has Emma’s warm body snuggled against her side. She and Chloe have been slowly weaning Emma off from falling asleep in their bed with them, so it’s something that Beca has begun to miss a bit more with each passing day. Emma cuddles into her side, resting her head against Beca’s arm, reaching up to clutch at the fabric of Beca’s shirt. Beca points at each word as she reads, wondering if any of the sentences are really sinking in. Emma giggles—each giggle decreasing in volume—with each animal sound that Beca makes until finally she is silent, her head drooping against Beca’s forearm.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of successfully helping her child fall asleep comfortably. It is better than any validation Beca could receive.

Beca flips the book closed and places it gingerly on the side table. She gently maneuvers them both so they both end up under the sheets and kisses Emma’s forehead one last time before she feels exhaustion catch up with her.

Her last thought before sleep claims her is how incredibly large and empty the bed feels.

  * * * * *

 Before Beca knows it, it is finally their last day in New York. Emma has unfortunately chosen this day to be grouchy and refuses to wake up early so that they can catch their flight back to Los Angeles.

“Don’t you want to see mommy?” Beca pleads, trying to pull Emma’s leggings on. Baby clothes are somehow the hardest pieces of clothing Beca has ever had to wrestle with. “Don’t you want to see mommy and baby?”

“Mommy,” Emma whines.

Beca senses an impending tantrum. “Hey, hey, we’re going home, okay? Don’t you want to tell mommy all about your trip? And how much of a big girl you are now?”

“Go home now?” Emma asks, sniffling.

“Yes! Aren’t you excited? I’m excited. We get to see mommy again!”

Emma allows her to put a sweater over her head, though she still stares at Beca with mild disdain in her blue eyes like she isn’t quite sure what she agreed to. Beca is obsessed with her.

“Come on, little weirdo.” She picks Emma up off the bed, ignoring her squirming. “Let’s go home.”

  * * * * *

 Emma, who had been on the verge of sleep the entire drive from the airport, is suddenly wide awake as the car pulls around the corner of their street. Beca laughs when Chloe flings the door open and has to literally hold onto the back of Emma’s shirt as to stop her from launching right out the window.

“Okay, now you can go,” Beca says, opening the door for her.

Emma shrieks happily and toddles up the path to their house right into Chloe’s arms. Chloe, who immediately bends down as best as she can to sweep her into a tight hug. As Beca approaches with their bags, making sure to shut the gate behind her, she hears Emma babbling nonsensically to Chloe about their trip, ostensibly. Beca catches the tail end of a few words like “Dog” and “Julia” and “Mama”. It almost sounds like an entire paragraph of coherent sentences. Almost.

“Hey you,” Chloe says once Emma releases her and wanders into the house, likely in search of her toys. “Oh my God, are you Beca Mitchell?”

Beca rolls her eyes, pushing her sunglasses up above her forehead. “Shut up, nerd. How have you been,” she asks, tone softening.

Chloe’s palm touches her stomach, a soft smile stretching across her face. “Still pregnant.”

“I can see that,” Beca says before she can help herself.

Chloe swats her immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” Beca exclaims, laughing. She bends down to press a soft kiss to Chloe’s stomach, only slightly disappointed when there isn’t a kick in return.

“She’s missed you.”

“She has?” Beca asks, straightening so she can cup the back of Chloe’s neck. She smiles, leaning in for a kiss, sighing longingly against Chloe’s lips. “What about...other people? Have there been others who have missed me?”

“I’ve missed you,” Chloe murmurs, giving in far quicker than Beca expected. She pulls Beca in for a slow, wanting kiss, ending the kiss with a soft nip to Beca’s lower lip.

Beca shivers, even as the hot California sun beats down on the back of her neck.

She is so happy to be home.

fin.

*see more of this universe—now i see daylight.*

[fictionalrambles]

Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Two

Submitted by @cardiamachina

Five Favourite Stories

Dirty Water by @superficialpeasant

WHY I LOVE THIS FIC: World building is succint but efficient, the environment is built through every sentence, through smaller descriptions but ultimately gives the readers a more natural entry. Sexual tension is immense, weaved into the fight scenes and packing a punch but also incredibly intimate. Just such a good fic all in all! Though it’s not the Magnus and Alec we know (and this is exactly the point of the fic itself), it’s so wonderfully written you would suspend belief.

FAVORITE QUOTE: "What's the matter, Lighthouse?" He grunts, keeping the pressure with his thumb. Lightwood's face goes a delightfully veiny pink at the effort to downplay his pain, "Gonna try to suck my dick out of this one, too?" Lightwood huffs a hoarse laugh, lips spraying spittle as they stretch into a smug smirk, "Why? So you can lie back and moan like you did last time?” (This is just so reflective of what the entire fic is all about lmao!)

*

Rumor Has It by @lecrit

WHY I LOVE THIS FIC: Dialogue is impeccable, and Lu always has a knack for story telling that just feels so much like it’s lifted from real life. Something as light and funny as this shouldn’t have such a surprising amount of depth (Magnus' reluctance to pursue Alec) but it does, and it works seamlessly through the fic, not a jarring surprise. So much delicious emotional tension that caught my breath in my throat!

FAVORITE QUOTE: “The answer seems obvious when Alec’s thumb maps a faint, gentle but deliberate circle against Magnus’ shoulder, sending his whole world off its axis with a simple touch.” (Even rereading this quote I can’t breathe my goodness)

*

If You’ve Got the Money, I’ve Got the Time by @j_writes

WHY I LOVE THIS FIC: Jackie is another writer whose dialogue is just so natural and real. The way she wrote Magnus and Alec throughout this story is just so perfectly realized and characterized. The plot is simple but so well built, and it hit all the quintessential highschool AU tropes that one would ever want. You could really feel the push and pull between Magnus and Alec and it’s all because of how Jackie built it little by little  painstakingly throughout the thirteen chapters, which makes the epilogue have such good payoff.

FAVORITE QUOTE: “Everything fades around them and Magnus is floating with only the soft gusts of Alec against his face; the wet sound of their kiss; and Alec’s quiet contented hum when he pulls back and opens his eyes to gaze on Magnus. He’s smiling, and the honey brown is a thin ring around his pupils.” (Eep. I squeal just rereading this)

*

Never Stand Between Two Mirrors by @oncethrown

WHY I LOVE THIS FIC: This piece of writing is as captivating as it gets. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an author really go through SH lore the way this author did. I would choose this fic over anything CC has written as canon. Magnus has a spiel in this story that just astoundingly fleshes through the shadowhunter prejudice and it’s so well written you wouldn’t think it was taken from the book because it’s SO MUCH BETTER. This fic such a smart story delving into a lot of important themes, with such a good timing and a tempo that is just right. There’s promise not only for Real Alec but also for Alt Alec, and it’s like you’re getting two happy endings at the same time. And there never has been a better exposition of Lydia and Alec’s relationship even if it is in the alternate universe’s version of their friendship. I still love it a lot.

FAVORITE QUOTE: “You asked me, at the end of the day, what did I risk?” He asked quietly. “It’s everything, Alec.” (If you read what transpired before this quote, you would understand why it’s bears so much weight in my heart)

*

The Lonely Hearts Hotline by @unrestrainedlyexcessive

WHY I LOVE THIS FIC: Oh, this wonderful, emotionally intelligent story. I thought I was just getting a funny prompt filled in. I didn’t expect this to alter my life in such a way. The plot of this story and how it progressed is so interesting - just when I feel like a resolution is coming and we've hit peak conflict, it yanks me the opposite way. The usual story would have a rising conflict that hits a climax. I feel like this fic has multiple little conflicts that rises and falls but still builds upon the ultimate climax of the story. It stays true to the main point of the fic: "It is so tempting to want the perfect ending, the storybook kiss. But that's not how life works". This story wasn't wrapped up with a tidy bow on top, but still holds so much promise.

Author Story

FAVORITE QUOTE: "You taste like lightning."

*And because I also write I’m gonna do the author part of this too :D

I have been writing for the past thirteen years. I thought when I was younger, I would study to be a better writer. I became a nurse instead. My last piece of writing before I met Magnus and Alec was dated November 19, 2014, right in the middle of nursing school which I was struggling with. I let writing go in favor of being a better health care provider, and I was lost in it for five years. I didn’t write a single thing, fearing I’ve lost what it takes to do so, and that I didn’t love any character enough to ever try again. When I am asked why I love Magnus and Alec so much, I say a lot of the usual things; they’re perfect representation, their love is healthy, and they are portrayed by people who care just as much as we do. But also, I love them because they’ve given me back something of myself I thought I’ve parted with a long time ago. For the first time in a long time, I feel whole. 

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

Poisoned Princess (1/2)

Fandom: Night At The Museum

Specified gender: Female

Pairing: Ahkmenrah x reader

TW: Mention of death, mentions of murder, mentions of poison

Genre: IDK to be honest- angst with a kinda fluffy end I guess??????

Word Count: 2.1K

Request:  Hey hey hey, could you possibly do an Ahkmenrah x reader for me pls where the reader is an Egyptian princess and she’s gets moved into the museum :3 love you know who 💋

Requests: OPEN

A/n: I’m planning a part two! I’ve never written for Ahkmenrah before so I don’t know how accurate characterizations will be. I tried my best and I hope you like it! Also, to my best friend who requested this, HERE YOU GO, MY LOVE,

"Woah, woah, woah, woah! Ahk, bud, you can't go down there." Larry exclaimed, immediately jogging to catch up with the Egyptian pharaoh.

"What? Why? I'm trying to get to my exhibit." Ahkmenrah responded, confusion printed on his features, head turning to meet the night guard.

"You'll have to go around via the main reception. There's a new exhibit being built just next to yours. Don't worry, you'll be able to roam again in a week, tops." Larry answered, quickly getting distracted as Dexter began climbing his leg, attempting to grab his keys. "No, go bother someone else, Dexter."

"What's going in this new exhibit?" Ahkmenrah pushed curiously. It'd been a while since there'd been any exhibits, as far as he had heard.

"I've no idea. They don't tell me that much- I just make sure you guys don't go wandering over there. Now c'mon we need to sort your bandages out before sunrise." Larry ordered, leading the king towards his exhibit. Ahkmenrah couldn't help but wonder who or what was coming, and how they'd react to everyone. It was the last thought in his mind as he felt himself drift to sleep as the sun began streaming through the windows of the museum.

"Princess? Your cousin would like to see you. He insists that he see you before you're crowned Queen." Your maid stated, her head poked through the door as another maid put the finishing touches on your makeup.

"Tell him he can come in." You remarked softly, quietly standing up as the maid doing your makeup took a step back, allowing you to see your finished look. Barely a second had passed before your eldest cousin burst in, a small, almost scary, smile on his lips.

"(Y/N), you look beautiful. I can't believe my little cousin is going to be Queen. This calls for a celebration." Mohmoad stated, holding a glass of wine behind his back, making his way over to the table, two glasses placed upon it. You gently waved your maids away, giving them a smile of gratitude.

"We shouldn't. There'll be a celebration after the coronation." You murmured, carefully fiddling with the ends of your hair.

"Oh come. What can a glass of wine hurt? Just one, I promise." He responded, his back turned to you as he began pouring two glasses of wine.

"Oh, I suppose you're right. Only one, though, Mohmoad." You sighed, sitting down on the edge of your bed, careful not to crease your dress. You suddenly heard a small crack and saw your cousin fumbling with something. "What was that?"

"Nothing. I nearly dropped the wine, that's all. Don't worry." Mohmoad lied, quickly slipping the smaller bottle back in the lining of his outfit. You raised an eyebrow and tried to peak at what he was doing, before settling back silently.

"If you say so." You sighed, gracefully crossing your legs, hands placed in your lap. Mohmoad turned around, two glasses in hand. He strutted over, handing a glass to you before taking his place beside you. With a gentle touch, your cousin clinked your glasses together and raised it slightly.

"To you. My beautiful cousin. May you have success in your reign and long may you live." Your cousin had a smirk tugging the corner of his lips as he brought the glass to his lips. After shooting him a wary glance, you copied him, letting the red liquid slip down your throat. As you went to speak again, you felt your throat constrict, a burning sensation tearing through your insides. Coughs escaped your mouth as you choked on your own saliva, fingers releasing the wine to latch onto your neck. You attempted to reach for Mohmoad but grabbed air, swiftly falling to the ground. You were scared. Terrified. You were going to de.

"What did you do?" You managed to choke out, pain searing through you with every word spoken, as Mohmoad towered over your rapidly crippling body.

"Sleep tight, Princess." He remarked before stepping out of the room. The last thing you saw was a maid burst in, mouth open in a distant scream.

When you woke, you had no idea where you were. It was dark, eerily silent, and your body felt constricted, causing your body to become riddled with anxiety. Your breathing starting to quicken as you reached up only to hit something hard. You'd never been one for tight spaces, Without a seconds hesitation, you smashed your fists against the surface, crying to be let out, muffled by whatever was wrapped around your face. Your wrists were starting to hurt, but you didn't want to stop. You couldn't spend another second in this dark abyss.

"Gigantor is that new exhibit done yet? I'd love to meet the new edition. Besides, it's been over two weeks." Jed yelled from his place on the desk, Octavious jabbing his sword into his foot to grab his attention.

"Look I don't know alright. Go check yourselves." Larry huffed, moving his feet off the desk.

"What if they're dangerous? We're just small, but you're gigantor." Octavius shot back.

"Thought you guys were supposed to be brave? Look, if you're that scared take Teddy or Sacagawea. I need to watch Rexy." Larry brushed the two men off as the floor shook, the loud echoing footsteps of a certain dinosaur approaching.

"Welp, guess we better get Teddy." Jed sighed, climbing down the desk, extending a hand for Octavius.

"Why would they want to build a new exhibit by the Pharoah? We're much more interesting." Octavius declared, taking Jed's hand as he climbed down himself.

"We are, but if you haven't realized, we're short of space by our exhibit," Jed answered, jumping into the toy car with Octavius, speeding to Sacagawea's exhibit. If Teddy would be anywhere, it's there. He was barely separated from her now.

"Ah, Jedediah, Octavius. What can I do for you?" Teddy greeted warmly, pulling his gaze away from Sacagawea, a small smile on his face.

"Was wonderin' if you'd like to see if that new exhibit?"

"Is that a translation of 'We're too scared to go ourselves'? And why don't you ask Ahkmenrah, he's the closest to the exhibit? Teddy raised an eyebrow.

"Still sleeping. C'mon, we want to go!"Octavius insisted, ignoring the first question. Teddy and Sacagawea rolled their eyes but followed the car, zooming towards the new exhibit.

It would be a lie to say Sacagawea and Teddy weren't curious too, though they clearly hid it better than the two miniature soldiers. The group glanced at Ahkmenrah's tomb as they passed it, eyeing the Anubis soldiers nervously. As they walked further down the corridor, they looked around in amazement; the small Egyptian section transformed into a corridor, holding artifacts and information on different forms of burying rituals. A turning revealing a large, open room, similar to that of the King only a few metres away. It was calm. That was until large banging and yelling broke the serenity,  the lid to the sarcophagus shaking at the force.

"They don't seem too friendly." Jed gulped, slowly backing the car up a little.

"Maybe we should leave them be." Octavius continued, as Jed continued to move the car towards the entrance of the exhibit.

"Nonsense! We all thought that of Ahkmenrah and look how...nice he is."Teddy persuaded, but even he looked hesitance.

"I think I would have to agree with Jedediah and Octavius. This doesn't seem safe." Sacagawea reasoned, putting a hand on Teddy's arm.

"We can't leave them trapped in there; that's torture," Teddy argued, taking a step closer to the screaming sarcophagus.

"Don't risk it, Teddy," Jed warned, pausing the car's motion.

"I'm wax, how much damage can they do?" Teddy quickly shot back, giving the trio behind him a reassuring smile before approaching the Egyptian coffin. After a minutes hesitation, which made the others crawl with nervousness, Teddy pushed the lid off, nearly being knocked off his feet as a wrapped shot up. The smell of old, musty paper hit their noses as the figure rose. They began fumbling with their bandages, scrambling to tear them from their face, letting out a heavy cough of sand and dust upon ripping them off.

Eyes widened as the cloud dispersed, revealing a woman, who looked no older than nineteen, (H/C) hair pulled up into an elegant updo, (E/C) eyes darted around, fear and confusion soon swimming in them, upon realizing she was in a new environment, surrounded by strangers. Teddy, after a minute of shock, extended a hand, which was quickly swatted away, backing up as far as possible.

"Who are you? What am I doing here? Where am I?" You exclaimed, panic edging your voice as your back hit the back of the sarcophagus. The group exchanged glances, not quite sure what to say or how to explain.

"Teddy, maybe you should go get Ahk.."Sacagawea advised, stepping aside as Jed zipped forward to get a closer look, resulting in you jumping back harshly.

"Maybe that would be a good idea." Teddy agreed before jogging out of the large hall-like room. Three pairs of eyes watched you intently, your fingers gripping the side of the cold sarcophagus so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

"We don't want to hurt you, you're safe here." Sacagawea tried, and you shot her a small, unbelieving glare.

"How could I possibly believe that?" You snapped shakily, attempting to move back further, though you knew there was no space behind you.

"You can't, you just have to trust us," Octavius replied, looking slightly freaked out.

"Why should I trust you?" You pushed, alarm taking over entirely. Before anyone could respond, two sets of footsteps began approaching, your body automatically curling into yourself in response. But, while you were expecting 'Teddy' to come back with someone like them, dressed in clothing you found peculiar, you were greeted with Teddy and someone who made your eyebrows raise into your hair. A man, the same age, possibly even a little younger as you, stepped in, crown placed upon his head, a beaded item laying across his collarbones, keeping a cape swinging from his shoulders. You recognized him. He looked like... no, he couldn't be. Thankfully, he looked to be as taken back as you were, taking a second to look you up and down, his eyes were blown wide in shock. Teddy whispered something in his ear before leading the others out. Cautiously, he made his way over to you, offering a hand, similar to how Teddy had minutes ago. You gave him a reluctant look before placing your hand in his, allowing him to help you out of the sarcophagus and onto the stone floor. He placed a kiss on the back of your hand, shooting you a charming smile.

"My name is Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And it is a pleasure to meet you." Ahkmenrah introduced, letting go of your hand, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

"Princess (Y/N), daughter of Chione. Rightful Queen to my kingdom." You stated, returning his smile, though yours was a lot more apprehensive. Ahkmenrah's eyebrows furrowed in confusion

"I...recognise that name." He remarked, tilting his head slightly.

"And I recognize you... I could've sworn I've seen you before." You murmured, trying to rack your memories. Or what you had left of them anyways. Everything was a little fuzzy still.

"Tell me, what's the last thing you remember?" He questioned, eyes scanning your features. You paused, taking a second to think.

"I... I remember it was the morning of my coronation. My cousin, Mohmoad, came to see me- brought me some wine. He toated me and I drank and then..."You trailed off, feeling yourself deflate.

"Then?" Ahkmenrah pushed gently.

"Pain. White hot pain. Like my throat was being torn apart. I couldn't breathe. I was terrified." Your head was pounding and your hands were shaking, though you weren't quite sure why.

"That- That will be how I know you. They called you the poisoned princess." He mumbled under his breath. There was a pregnant pause as you contemplated your next words.

"What happened after I passed?" The air seemed to grow slightly thick between you and Ahk cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Everyone thought you'd committed suicide. Your cousin, Mohmoad was crowned King a few months after your death, seeing as you didn't have any siblings or a husband. You were buried and the man you were arranged to marry was put with someone else. After a few years, people found out that you'd been murdered by Mohmoad and he was executed, on your mother's orders." Ahkmenrah was shifting as he explained, looking ...sad, almost.

"And how is it you know so much about me?"You attempted to lighten the situation, ignoring the odd sense of dread you felt.

"The, uh, nightguards son asked me for help on an ancient Egyptian assignment. He told me a bit about you."

"Nightguard? What exactly is that? Where are we?" You asked, glancing around the room, noticing the obviously fake walls and incorrect hieroglyphics every so often.

"Oh, right. Come with me, I'll explain everything."

Tags: (Tag list is open) @fromheretohelltoyou

[rainbowravioli]

hi again, yes about the interview in particular and if you have new thoughts on S2 (because i know you already wrote some predictions and problems that could occur) that would be great!!

Alright then.

So this trainwreck of an interview. This was a wild ride. Just when you think there is no possible way to be more disappointed with the YOI staff, we get this. After this interview, Yuri on Ice can’t claim praise over representation. It can’t.

I’m going to cover the points that I found more…distressing, let’s say. If there’s anything I don’t touch upon that people want me to comment on specifically, feel free to send me an ask. All the bolding in the quotes will be my doing for emphasis of certain points.

Let’s start with this really, really worrisome thing:

Regarding Yuuri and Victor’s scene after the FS, I was fine with it being interpreted in any way. However this is the part that had more response from overseas, I was even directly asked “which one it was”. And then I heard from Japanese people too that some had an argument with their friends over whether they kissed or not, or they just hugged. I was surprised that people would want to know the truth. Up until then I had always thought that people wanted to be able to interpret fiction how they preferred. But seeing the reactions that this episode received, I realized that even if it’s fiction, inside people’s mind this series exists as a world of its own and so they believe that there must be a correct truth, an exact answer somewhere.

First of all let me say that I am very glad there’s finally been mention of the Japanese fandom asking about the kiss or hug thing because I was getting very tired of the whole “lol silly westerners~” thing. That said…how is she surprised that people want to know? If she’s writing this story about two male characters being in a romantic relationship, especially amidst the sea of fanservice bait and toxic yaoi bs, people are going to want confirmation that these two characters did kiss! Mind you, I am team “it was a kiss” and have been since the episode aired, but it’s highly irresponsible of Kubo to just adopt this nonchalant attitude of “I’m fine with any interpretation.” She shouldn’t be fine! This to me says that she was never actually concerned at all with giving anyone representation. 

Victor is asked whether he would like to fight Yuuri as an athlete, but he really doesn’t think that. Actually many people were expecting to see Victor and Yuuri confront each other in a match eventually, however Yuuri is also “trying to win to prove Victor’s skating”. The director and I shared this same opinion when we wrote the series.

Yeah this one is just here for me to go, thanks for the further evidence that Victor was originally meant to retire! Miss me with that “Yuuri skates for Victor” thing though, Yuuri deserves better than that. 

Yurio’s FS is still incomplete, but I wanted to show how he was able to obtain a new strength and elegance thanks to the presence of Lilia, Yakov, his grandpa and JJ as a rival. I also depicted his aggressive side when he changes the composition of the program to win, and the fact that he still isn’t able to win against JJ, which is another trial that he needs to overcome.

This is here as an example of what I mean when I say that an author’s intentions are all well and good but the work needs to speak for itself. In this case, JJ was never a trial for Yurio to overcome. He was set up as such, but Yurio never actually had to win against him because JJ ended up self-destructing in the end.

In a meeting with the director I asked her a very basic question: “Why does Yuuri want to win?”, and she replied “Well, he has never won a gold medal so far, of course he wants to win!”. I thought that made sense. Yuuri, who has never won an international competition, wants to win a gold medal before retiring. The “origin” of his desire to win is in fact pretty simple. He has been able to work hard so far because he wants to win a gold medal and is confident that he is good enough to succeed. I inserted that monologue because, even though Yuuri might look weak, he actually has been fighting the whole time.

First of all WHAT? You’re the main writer of the series! You should know your main character’s motivations! How do you not know? How could you have been writing him without knowing it? That’s basic character building! Second of all, she apparently doesn’t know her own characters at all. Because Yuuri Katsuki is not confident! This is a character trait AND a plot point, that’s repeatedly mentioned by other characters and by Yuuri himself! W H A T?!

I was told that the words “please take care of me until I retire” are actually something that real skaters say when they ask someone to be their coach. When I heard that, I thought that this was the perfect timing for Yuuri to tell Victor. At this time, Victor doesn’t take these words in the sense Yuuri really means, which is “until the end of this season”. He left Yuuri fighting alone in a tournament, so I think he was very torn about whether he should apologize and about what he should tell him when they met again. But then Yuuri told him “until I retire”, and I think Victor was probably really happy because it meant that Yuuri still needed him even when he was far away. Victor didn’t think that Yuuri would retire after the end of the GP Final, and he didn’t clearly decide until when he would continue being Yuuri’s coach, therefore I believe that he was happy to hear Yuuri’s feelings, to know that Yuuri too wanted him to be his coach until the end.

Absolutely no mention of Yuuri and Victor’s relationship being anything beyond that of coach and athlete, absolutely no mention of “that sounds like a marriage proposal”. 

What Yuuri bought is pair rings. When I looked it up I found out that buying a pair was cheaper (LOL), and I also thought that if they were going to wear something matching this would be good. There are actually many real skaters who wear accessories as “omamori”, protective charms. More importantly, Yuuri has been giving Victor fresh surprises until now, and I wanted him to get a new item, a weapon to fight in the final match. When I suggested the rings to the director she was like “Yes, that!!” (LOL). We were like, “yeah, a cornered athlete would do something like that!” More than implicating something like a wedding, it’s similar to members of the same circle deciding to have a matching item.

I AM LAUGHING AND CRYING GUYS! LAUGHING AND CRYING!

Platonic! Wedding rings!

But wait wait! It gets worse! Because we have this to top it off!

Victor is surprised by Yuuri’s action but understands him, so he makes a wish upon the ring telling him “show me the skating that you like the most”. In the China tournament he said things as if he was testing Yuuri, he “broke” his heart, so here he finally vows to the ring that “he will completely trust what Yuuri decides” and is determined to do what he can as a coach.

That entire scene was a platonic scene between coach and athlete, it’s what this is saying. It was never meant to be a proposal on Yuuri’s part! So there actually was no canon Victuuri proposal. Victor announcing they are engaged is not a proposal, it’s an announcement. One that Yuuri doesn’t even confirm. And then it’s never brought up again. ARE THEY EVEN ENGAGED?!

Platonic wedding rings! How do you pick wedding rings as a platonic symbol for your characters to share?! Remember how people joked about the rings being platonic because people still didn’t see Victuuri as canon? Those ‘just a bro buying wedding rings to another bro’ things? Well Kubo says they are platonic! Canonically platonic wedding rings! This is even better than #trancendental 

There’s also a moment where Yurio thought Victor was smirking looking at the ring. Like Yurio says in this scene, people tend to believe that athletes “die as competitors” when they stop and “become stable”. But I think that Victor, more than anyone else, is sensitive to this topic and is worried that people will say that about him, or that he will actually become like that. In this scene Victor wasn’t smirking, he was starting to think about his future.

Pray for Victor’s lost characterization. He’s truly dead.

Yuuri makes an attempt at adding a quadruple flip in his SP, but actually in the beginning I wasn’t planning to have him jump so many quads. The increasing level of real life competitions prompted me to add a realistic feeling by showing how you can’t win if you don’t have multiple quads in your programs. The reason Victor jumps a quad flip together with Yuuri during his performance is, more than something he does as a coach, something that comes from his feelings as an athlete.

The flip means absolutely nothing for how Victor feels about Yuuri. Nothing.

The reason Yurio could pull off his best performance is that many elements like his experience and the environment surrounding him all blended together perfectly right at this time. From an external point of view young and strong athletes somehow tend to look like they are “destined to win”, like they are performing a program prepared to win. However, every single second of their performance is the result of their efforts. I wanted to show this with Yurio’s SP.

Gonna quote @soobaki on this one “maybe bc theyre literally always the protag in every other series and yoi was supposed to subvert that but then didn”. If you wanted Yurio to be the protagonist so badly, you should have just made him the protagonist from the get-go. 

When Victor is watching Yurio’s performance we cannot see his expression because I myself haven’t decided what the truth is, like whether he is frustrated because Yurio beat his record, or he wants to surpass him again, or what else.

Lady. LADY! L A D Y!!! You! Are! The! Writer! If you don’t know, who knows???

In the end I’m really portraying every character thinking that I want them to win, and especially in JJ’s case, he has a power that makes you want him to win.

JJ won bronze because author favoritism. There. It’s explained now. Honestly, read the way she talks about JJ in the entire interview. At this point I’m sure she likes him more than Yuuri. Hell, at this point I don’t think she likes Yuuri that much.

I could touch upon every single point of episode 12 believe me, but here’s my top offenders.

What Victor told Yuuri right before he starts is performance, more than something that he really thinks deep down, is what he came up with when thinking about what could encourage Yuuri Katsuki the most, so basically it’s “Victor playing the role of Victor as Yuuri expects him”.

……………….

I have no words.

No, wait, I have many words. Starting with, what the hell? So…I really dislike that scene. I think I made my feelings for that scene obvious. This just makes that scene worst. So Yuuri tells Victor to be true to himself and Victor…acts. He’s not being sincere. Victor goes back to playing a role, the role he thinks Yuuri wants him to play. This is utterly heartbreaking. And really unhealthy as far as their relationship goes! There is not positive way of reading this. 

Regarding the scene where Victor hugs Yurio before the competition, he didn’t do it because he was begging for his help to stop Yuuri from retiring, or because he was asking him something. He just wanted Yurio to skate at his best, it was his genuine feelings of support for him, as if he was saying “go and do your best!”. After all, until this scene we never really saw Victor support Yurio. It’s an action that cannot be explained with logic. 

Ok well, you didn’t convey that, did you? Some basic scene set-up and character acting was sorely missing from that scene. Still, RIP manipulative!Victor theory. Small blessings.

That said, here’s Kubo forgetting her own canon again. We never saw Victor support Yurio until this scene? You sure?

Are you really sure about that?

She also keeps saying that certain character’s actions or thoughts or feelings “can’t be explained through logic” and all I have to say about that is this: cheap excuse. You’re the writer, you should know how to explain your characters.

The selfish decision ultimately taken by the selfish Yuuri Katsuki was to continue competitive skating. I think there were many reasons that led to this conclusion. Not only what Victor gave him, but Yurio’s performance in the FS also managed to pull Yuuri back to the ice, and maybe he was influenced by the other athletes’ performances too. 

Yuuri Katsuki? Selfish?! Yuuri who spent most of the series thinking about people other than himself? Yuuri who had a mental breakdown over the idea that he was keeping Victor from happiness? Yuuri who had “accepting and admitting to his desires” as part of his character arc? Yuuri who had to be pushed by other to do the things he wanted for himself? Ok so she clearly doesn’t know her characters.

She “thinks” there are many reasons that led to the conclusion of Yuuri continuing to compete? Please enlighten us. Other than “we wanted a s2 and didn’t know how else to pitch it, also give us your money”, what other many reasons were there? Narratively, I’m pretty sure not even Kubo knows, considering the “MAYBE he was influences by the other athletes’ performances too”. 

This interview guys. I’m pretty sure it shortened my life span. Character derailment, retcons, continuing to insist on the at this point blatant lie that the finale was planned from the start (I would still be furious about it, but I would respect the staff so much more if they admitted they changed it at the last minute), and still no confirmation of a romantic relationship between Yuuri and Victor, on the contrary. I don’t really have new thoughts about s2, other than the fact that it’s not looking great. Not looking great.

Platonic wedding rings.