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goddesswritings · 4 years ago

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“Can I slap her for you?” - Corpse Husband | Part Two

Title: “Can I slap her for you?” – Part Two

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader

Summary: Being stuck living with the queen of YouTube drama and partying during the pandemic has seriously worn down your patience. Meeting Pokimane has changed your life for the better, making Among Us a pivotal part of your life.

Word Count: 5.2k

Unedited for now. I was eager to post. I will edit it later.

Corpse Masterlist

********

<< PART ONE

After you left the apartment, you sat in the parking lot of some random store, trying to decide what to do now. Sighing, you opened your phone and went to Instagram. Corpse was probably wondering if it went okay.

Corpse: She left the stream, thank you!

Corpse: What exactly did you do?

Corpse: She’s sending Sean angry DM’s now.

Corpse: Hey, are you okay?

Y/n: Hey sorry, I had to pack. I’m fine, happy to help get her out of the stream. I switched off the power to her office.

Honestly, you wished you could have stood up against her more often than you did. She was four years younger, so you should have been able to have the say in things. But no, Olivia was a control freak and a spoiled brat too. She would no doubt tell your parents you started a fight with her, and she felt unsafe.

Corpse: Wow, you’re badass. Packing for what?

Y/n: Um, she may have kicked me out of the apartment, and I may have left without a fight because I’m tired of her shit. 🤷‍♀️

Corpse: Do you have a place to stay?

Of course you didn’t and you really should have thought about that before just leaving the way you did.

Y/n: Not really but I will find somewhere.

Well you hoped you could. There weren’t many people who were keen in taking in a friend during a pandemic.

Corpse: Poki’s going to call you.

At that message, your phone started to wring and sure enough, it was Poki.

“Hello?” You asked hesitantly.

“So someone let it slip that your sister kicked you out?” Poki said calmly.

“Is that someone, Corpse?”

“Yes, he said it out of shock but I’m glad he did. Knowing you, you would have kept it a secret from me.” She was right. You hated inconveniencing your friends.

“Damn you, Corpse.” You muttered making her laugh. “Yeah so I ruined Olivia’s stream and she started screaming at me before kicking me out. I didn’t fight it because I am tired of her.”

“Understandable. Well do you need somewhere to stay?”

“Yes but I will find some place.”

“Nope, you’re staying with me. Come over now or I am coming out to drag you back to my place.” Her protectiveness made you smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a few.” You hung up.

Y/n: Thank you for looking out for my stubborn ass, Corpse. I would have never told her.

Corpse: Stubborn is one word to describe you. Cute is another.

That comment made your face heat up from the sheer adorableness of it. Corpse seriously just called you cute.

Y/n: Can I say you have a genuinely nice hand. It’s marvelous.

Corpse: Hey, don’t make fun of my hand. It takes all the heat for me. That hand is very anxious every time I post him.

Y/n: Awe I bet. Give him hugs from me. Also tell him I’m a big fan!

The easy flow of conversation between the two of you was nice. You got along extremely well and talking outside of the game was nice, since you could focus on what you really wanted to say to him.

Corpse: He’s flattered!

This was great and took your mind off Olivia and the fact she just kicked you to the curb with nowhere to go. But Poki was there for you. You appreciated her more than she knew.

You pulled up in front of her apartment building, parking the car, you got out and grabbed your stuff. Typing in the code Poki had given you a while ago, you were let into the building. Entering the elevator, you made your way to her apartment.

Barely knocking, the door flew open to reveal Poki. She looked mad but also worried. She pulled you into the apartment and hugged you tightly.

“Can I slap her for you?” She asked calmly.

This made you giggle. “I mean I would like to slap her as well.”

“We should make a plan. Hey, the group is still on, come say hi.” She started to lead you to her office.

“Are they still streaming?” You didn’t want to reveal your face to the world, not like this.

“Oh no. We ended our streams when Olivia started talking about you. She completely wasn’t respecting your privacy and we weren’t about to let her spill it to our viewers.” That was so sweet of them to do.

You had left your bags in the other room while you followed her. An idle conversation was going on when you entered.

“Hey guys, I’m back.” Poki took a seat in front of the computer, she pulled up a second chair. “I have someone special here.”

Sitting down, you saw her nod for you to say something. “Hey, did you miss me?”

They went wild.

“Y/n! Oh we missed you!”

“Don’t leave us again.”

“I’m sorry I invited your sister to stream.”

“Hey Y/n.”

The mix of voices was overwhelming in a good way. Sykkuno, Rae, Sean, and Corpse pretty much spoke over each other which made you laugh.

“One at a time, guys. You can’t overload her.” Leslie told them.

“Sorry Y/n. We just really missed having you here. You’ve become one of our favorite friends to play with.” Sykkuno said sounding as sweet as ever. That man was just the best.

“Yes, I can say we agree.” Rae added.

It was nice to hear they missed you. It really helped to lift your mood as well.

“Did your sister really kick you out?” Toast asked

“Yes she did. But it’s not surprising at this point. She’s probably been gunning to kick me out as soon as she could.” Sad truth

“Well she’s the worst player ever. She can’t keep a secret at all. I really should have never agreed to get her into the group.” Sean said sounding sad.

“Hey Sean, please don’t worry about it. She’s always weaseling her way into things. It’s completely not your fault.” One of the things she loved to do was incessantly DM other youtubers for collabs or for free stuff. She really had no morals.

“Well thank you, Y/n. You’re literally the sweetest.” Sean said earning a bunch of ‘I Agrees’ from everyone else. That really was helping make the night better.

“Who’s up for some more Among Us to relax after that shitshow?” Lud asked making everyone laugh hard. It was agreed the group would do it. Luckily, you had your laptop and joined the call and game and stayed in Poki’s living room to play. Honestly, it was so good for you.

At the end if gaming, you said goodbye to the group. Then Poki showed you to the extra room that used to be her roommates before she moved out last month.

“Hey, are you looking for a roommate?” You asked as you put the bags on the bed.

Poki sent you a smile. “I am. Are you interested?”

This was good. “Yes, I mean I still have to find another job since my main is still furloughing me until this pandemic gets better but I have some money saved up.”

“Hey, please don’t sweat it. Besides, I know a friend who’s in need of an editor, I may have mentioned your name and she really wants to talk to you about it. Is that okay?”

“Wow, that’s perfect. Thank you, Poki. You’re such a great friend.” It felt good to have someone there for you.

She pulled you into a hug. “Always. I am so glad I met you. You’re one of my best friends.”

This was an honor. “Don’t make me cry.”

“I can’t promise anything. Anyway, I will leave you to rest. It’s been a long night. Tomorrow I will give you my friends details.”

“Sounds good, night Poki.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” She waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself.

Smiling, you sat on the bed. It was such a good thing that she was here got you. But also Corpse was the catalyst that got you to actually tell Poki was what happening. He was sweet and it seemed he was looking out for you.

After changing into comfy pj’s, you brushed your teeth before climbing into the freshly made bed. Opening Instagram, you saw that Corpse has messaged you.

Corpse: I don’t like being too forward but hey here we go. Can I please have your number so we can talk more easily?

A smile made its way to your face. For a tough man, he surely had a sweet way of getting to you

Y/n: Yes you can. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

The nerves jumped when you sent that message. Less than a minute later, you received a text from an unknown number.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Hey Y/n, it’s Corpse. Would you mind if I called you so we could talk for a little?

You liked this idea truthfully. It only helped to show how genuine Corpse was being.

Y/n

Not at all. Please go ahead and call me.

Your phone rang, displaying Corpse’s name.

“Hello?” You answered the phone while pushing away the anxiety.

A soft deep laugh filled your ear. “Hey sweet girl. How are you feeling?”

His words made you want to sigh in the most lovesick way. That never happened these days.

“I’m good. Poki had an extra room I could crash in and well I might just be her new roommate.”

“I love that. She’s so much better than your sister I assume.”

“She is. Here I won’t have to deal with the incessant pandemic partying Olivia likes to do.” That selfish bitch.

“Shit, is she stupid? She does know she’s risking a lot of lives, right?” You loved that Corpse had the logic you craved.

“So she is stupid, and her response was always that it’s not her problem and that the vulnerable people should stay home.”

“She sounds like the typical beauty youtuber these days.”

“Yes, she is. She has no morals.”

“Well that’s not good. I guess that’s why her name keeps popping up all over social media. She really needs to be careful, before she becomes the next Tana.” He was right but you personally thought she was past that point already.

“It’s too late. She’s already passed the point of return with all of this.”

“Yikes. It’s good you got out of there when you did.” A soft but deep laugh was heard through the phone. The sound made you giggle. Hearing such a tough guy laugh the way Corpse laughs, made you feel giddy. “So about what I said earlier, I meant it.”

“Huh, what are you talking about?” You truly were a little lost by this.

Corpse laughed again. “When I called you cute earlier. I meant it.”

Heat filled your face and a small smile made its way to your lips. “Thank you, Corpse. That’s really sweet of you. I don’t like to show many people who I am because they will immediately connect me to Olivia, and I don’t want that.”

“I get that. I don’t show my face for fear they won’t like me when I do. All my fans have built up this expectation of what they want me to look like and now I just don’t want to let them down. Plus it’s nice being able to stay anonymous if I go into public, but of course people will hear my voice and know. Shit, it’s hard.”

“Awe, I’m sorry. I saw what the attention has done to some people, but I think not everyone goes into that headspace. Also, I think you should stay faceless if it makes you feel better. There is no rule that says you ever have to show your face. People who push you to do it have no boundaries.”

Corpse was quiet for a while and you thought you had offended him. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing, Corpse.” You squeaked.

“No, you said the right thing. I was just thinking. You’re right. A lot of people have been on me to reveal my face, but I never intend to. I want to be able to live my life without being swarmed by fans, or god forbid, them judging me by my appearance.”

“Which is really fucked. When I first appeared in my sister video, the comments were awful. They couldn’t understand how she was related to me, but I never thought I looked bad. But I guess they expected Olivia to be surrounded by people in her genre. It was so hard to see those comments.” Thinking back to it, Olivia had even added to it. Telling you that you should have tried to look more like her for the video. You should have worn something more colorful and put-on way more make up then you liked. But you hated that. That wasn’t you.

“I can’t imagine the things they said. Is that why you deactivated your twitter?” How did he know about that?

“Oh, yeah. How did you know about it?”

“I remembered seeing a story about it on YouTube last year. They didn’t show your face, so of course I didn’t know it was you. But I figured it out when Olivia joined the game tonight and she blabbered on about being your sister. I’m sorry you received that hate. No one deserves that ever.” His voice was calming you now.

“Thank you. Olivia seemed to add to it, as well. Fuck, she’s just the worst person.” Family definitely had the ability to be shitty. “Meeting Poki last year really was the best thing. But also joining this Among Us group has been so good for me. Thank you for accepting me.”

“Of course. You’re a natural in the game but you also fit very well with the group.” Corpse really hoped you believed him because this was true. The group had a whole conversation about it when Olivia finally left

“I’m flattered. The Corpse Husband is telling me I fit in with him and his streamer friends. Wake me up, I must be dreaming.” You knew his words were genuine because it was just easy to tell.

“You better believe it, baby, because it’s true.”

You stopped short when you heard him call you baby. Of course Corpse had used that word before but right now it felt more intimate.

Letting out a yawn you realized it was nearing 4 am. “I appreciate it.” You mumbled, feeling the events from the day seep in.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” His deep voice was lulling you closer to sleep.

“No.” Another yawn broke through.

“You can’t lie to me, Y/n. Get some sleep and we will talk tomorrow.”

The words made you smile. “That sounds good, Corpsie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweet girl.” Despite wanting to stay on the phone, you hung up. Sleep was quickly coming in to claim you. You can happily say you fell asleep with a huge smile on your face.

Waking up was easier than it had been in a long time. Normally you woke up to Olivia screaming at you or someone else. So it was nice to wake up to silence. It allowed you to relax and wake up properly.

Your phone buzzed from beside you. A text from Corpse is what you first saw, so you opened it.

Corpse

Good morning, sweet girl. I hope the night treated you well.

Sweet and to the point. His messages made you think he had a thing for you. Well you hoped he did but he also could just be treating you the way he treats friends.

Y/n

Yes, I slept well and for once I wasn’t awoken by my obnoxious sister.

It would he good not to live with her.

Corpse

I bet. Hey I hate to be the one to show you this, but your sister posted this on her instagram.

He then sent a link to the post. It made your blood boil.

::::

There was a picture of her, she was holding up a ripped picture of you. A huge frown was on her face.

oliviaxoxo It’s a shame when family starts to treat you like you weren’t the one to give them money when they needed it. This is my sister and she’s a bitch. For the last few years, she’s been the one editing my videos. Well I found out she was trying to sabotage me, so I had to fire her and kick her out. What a shame it is when family stabs you in the back. 🙃🙃

1,454,787 people like this

oliviafan23 Is this true? Damn, f*ck fake people.

queenolivia Sueeee herrrrr!

lovinliv Family ain’t shit. Spill her info so we can drag her.

sykkuwu Whoa, why are you spreading lies about your own family?

queenolivia Why would you defend someone like that?

valkyrea You’re such a sad human for doing this. Stop lying.

pokimanelol Let’s see, none of this is true. Your sister has done so much for you and you’ve never appreciated it. Get some help for this.

corpse_husband This is sick. No wonder your name is always blasted everywhere. Do your sister a favor and stop talking about her.

oliviaxoxo I don’t know why you’re defending my stupid sister, but that totally makes you not hot to me anymore. Ugh.

valkyrea Uh, that’s what you got from this. Wow, you’re not worth this.

corpse_husband What can you expect? The covid must have gone to her brain. |

corpseandlivfan Whyyyyyyy Corpse, why would you stand up for her. Do you not realize how horrible Y/n is? Please tell me this is a joke!?!?

corpse_husband Well, she’s a good friend of mine and I won’t let people make up lies. So it’s not a joke.

::::::::

You were mad that she’d even say this shit publicly, but you should have known she would. She was nothing without her group of misguided followers.

Y/n

Can’t say I’m not surprised. This is so on brand for her. Thank you for sticking up for me. It means a lot.

Corpse

I would do it any day. She shouldn’t be able to get away with doing that to you.

Sadly, growing up, she did get away with doing the absolute worst shit and you always received the brunt of it.

Y/n

With any luck, she draws negative attention.

You clicked the link to view it again but instead were lead to a page that said the content was unavailable.

Y/n

I believe she just deleted the post.

Corpse

Oh, she did. That’s awesome.

It was. Olivia was never one to swallow her pride and admit any wrongdoings. That means she would never delete a problematic post, but she finally did

Y/n

I didn’t really read any other comments besides you and your friends and the top comments. I can’t imagine what her fans are really saying.

Olivia was completely okay with letting her fans attack people. It was seriously a huge mess. She fell into the category of YouTuber with the worst most entitled attitude.

Corpse

It’s good you didn’t read them, because they were horrible. I can’t believe she would let her fans do that.

Y/n

She’s done a lot of shady stuff. This is even before she blew up on YouTube. There is a lot of issues between us.

There was a lot that could be said about your relationship with Olivia and none of them were good. Forever it seemed, you had tried to make it work and hoped your sister would grow up and change but it never happened.

Corpse

I think she’s a vile human. From what I have seen and her complete lack of human decency, I just can’t help but feel she’s just not a good person and she never will be.

He was right. She would never change.

Y/n

You’re right. Hey, I have to go thank Poki for letting me stay but I also need to go back to that apartment to get the rest of my stuff. Can I call you when I get back?

Corpse

Yes, of course. Good luck heading over there.

Talking to him was pretty natural feeling. It was clear now that you were getting a massive crush on him. You had a crush on a man who’s face you’ve never seen. You couldn’t help it though, his personality just meshed so well with yours. He’d made you feel safe and wanted.

After getting dressed, you found Poki in the kitchen making breakfast. She sent you a sweet smile when you entered the room.

“Thank you for standing up for me against my sister on Instagram.” You were truly honored this group of friends liked you enough to do something like this.

“You’re welcome. I couldn’t just let her say that and get away with it. She’s done a lot to you, that you don’t deserve. Corpse messaged all of us the minute he found it and we all jumped into action. Sean and Felix were getting ready to comment when she deleted it.” She explained as she set a plate in front of you.

“I’m so honored. Thank you!”

“Of course, you’re one of us now and we will never let her get away with this stuff anymore.”

You could just cry with how loved they were making you feel. This is what had been missing in your life. Friends who genuinely cared about you and wanted to protect you from the nasty stuff Olivia was capable of doing.

“Would you come with me to the apartment to get the rest of my stuff?” You asked once the two of you finished eating.

Poki nodded. “Of course I will. You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

An hour later, you exited the elevator on the floor where you once resided. Your sister wasn’t home, which would be good but there was a chance she could return while you were packing. But you would deal with that when it came down to it. The two of you quickly got to work, packing your life up into the boxes you’d brought with you. Luckily, you weren’t one to collect a ton of stuff. You mainly just had to make sure your clothes and makeup were packed up.

You and Poki would fill boxes and pile them by there door, then you would take them down to the car when you acquired a good amount. In the end, you figured you would fill maybe 10 boxes which is actually not too many considering you’ve lived in that apartment for five years.

Poki had left to go take two more boxes to the car while you finished up packing up your last few items. The front door closed, and you assumed it was Poki, but it wasn’t.

“Oh look who’s here? My lovely sister.” Olivia’s voice was flat and emotionless.

You rolled your eyes and turned to find her standing in the doorway, glaring at you. “Hello, Olivia. I’m just packing my stuff and then I’m leaving.”

“Who said you were allowed to come back here?” She grumbled, eyeing the boxes.

“Well, this is my stuff and I have every right to come pick it up.”

“If it’s in my apartment, it clearly belongs to me.” She snarled.

You snapped. “Cut it out, Olivia. This was my apartment too, until you kicked me out last night. You can’t just claim my stuff as your because you’re salty about me having friends.” She was a spoiled brat, and you were done letting her get away with it.

“I’m not the salty one. Everyone can see it’s you.” God she was so annoying. You taped up the last box and turned to her. She held her phone in her hand. “Everyone say hi to my sister. You know, the one I posted about earlier before someone reported my post.”

“Are you live?” You asked, keeping your face expressionless. Olivia would do this.

“I bet some of you remember the few videos I did with her. Well of course that was before she turned against me and decided she was going to try and ruin me. Say hi, Y/n.” A sick smile played on her face.

“I never consented to being in your live, Olivia. Please stop.” You tried to keep your voice calm so that she wouldn’t have any way to make you look like the bad person. But regardless, she was already doing it.

Olivia cackled. “Well I think I’m free to do as I please in my apartment.” You could only imagine what her fans were saying. “You’re right, Andrea, she is an idiot, and I should have her arrested.” She spoke aloud making your blood boil.

“You’re so immature, Olivia.” You grumbled before grabbing the last couple boxes and moving towards the door. Olivia decided to swat the boxes out of your hand, and they fell tumbling to the ground. “What the hell, Olivia. I could have fragile stuff in there.” You growled at her.

Olivia was just laughing. “This is funny. What else should I do, guys?” She asked as she panned the phone around the room.

Her immaturity was giving you a headache. Poki walked in and saw Olivia.

“Oh hey guys, look who’s here. Pokimane.” She panned the camera to Poki who frowned. Olivia just laughed and started talking shit until she was cut off by the stream just ending. “What the hell.”

You gathered the last few boxes, and Poki came to help while Olivia attempted to start another live.

“What the fuck, it won’t let me go live.” She growled while stomping her foot like a child.

“That’s what happens when an influx of people report your live.” Poki spoke as you both had gathered the boxes.

Olivia was frowning. “What did you do, Y/n.” She wanted to pounce at her, but Y/n and Poki were already at the door.

“Y/n did nothing, but I got word of your little livestream and contacted some friends for help. It will be at least 24 hours before you can have another live. But with the amount of people who reported you, well you may be banned for a while.” With that, you and Poki left Olivia standing there is absolute shock.

You and Poki put the last boxes in the car. “Thank you, Poki. How did you get so many people to report it?”

“Well it was actually Corpse. He texted me and informed me that she was doing a live and bothering you. He had his fans go report it, but apparently Sykkuno and Rae also sent their fans. I was going to send mine, but they had it handled. So this was all Corpse.” She explained.

Hearing this made you feel so soft for Corpse. “Awe wow. That’s so sweet of him.”

The two of you entered the car. “Y/n, can I tell you something without you telling him I told you?”

You looked over at her. “Yes, sure.” Your heart rate kind of picked up.

“Well the other day, Corpse admitted he has feelings for you, but he wasn’t completely sure if you felt the same way for him. But I mean I can clearly see you do. Your whole face just lit up when I mentioned him. So do you?”

Heat filled your face and you suddenly felt shy. “I do, yes. Which is ridiculous because I just met the guy, and I don’t even know what he looks like. But gosh, I like him so much. When I talk to him, I feel happy. He’s been so good to me through this crap with Olivia.” You admitted, knowing she already knew.

Poki smiled and squealed in complete happiness. “You two are just the most adorable people! It’s not ridiculous. We pretty much knew from the first time you joined us, that Corpse was into you. But oh my god, you’re into him. You need to tell him!!!!”

You agreed, Corpse deserved to know. “I do. But how? It’s been a really long time since I’ve told someone I liked them. Shit, I feel like I’m in high school again!”

This made Poki giggle. “Calm down, Y/n. I have a plan. Let’s get back to the apartment and we will talk about this. Rae also wants to be involved in this.”

Back at her apartment, you had jumped onto a call with Rae and the three of you talked about what your plan was for you to tell Corpse what you felt for him. Rae and Poki decided to organize an Among Us game strictly for fun and no one would stream, they would also use Proximity chat.

“So we will get him to follow you around until one of us is imposter, then we will lock you into wherever you end up. Do it then” Rae explained sounding so excited.

“Okay, that can work. Let’s do this!” You were nervous but also excited to finally do something good for yourself.

You and Poki set up for the gane and Corpse sent you a text.

Corpse

Are you joining the game tonight?

Seeing a text from him, made you feel giddy.

Y/n

Yep I am. So I will see you in game?

Corpse

Yes you will, angel.

Cue the insane butterflies.

The lobby loaded and it was you, Corpse, Poki, Rae, Sykkuno, Karl, Tina, Sean, Toast, and Leslie. All streamers you had grown to like a lot in the time you have been playing with them.

“Y/n, I am so happy you’re playing with us!” Tina gushed as her little character ran around yours.

“I’m happy to be here.” You really were.

“You’re sister is a piece of work, Y/n.” Sykkuno said.

You giggled. “Don’t I know it.”

“What did she do this time?” Sean asked.

“Decided to film a live when we went to get Y/n’s stuff from the apartment.” Poki explained.

“Oh, that’s gross.” Karl commented.

“I have to thank Corpse for helping.” You stated to the group.

“Yeah Corpse was quick to text us.” Sykkuno added.

“You’re welcome, Y/n. I wasn’t going to let her get away with what she was doing. Truth is, I got a bunch of fan DMs that were telling me what Olivia was doing. So a lot of my fans were already reporting it, but the tweet helped.” Corpse’s deep voice soothed you.

“I appreciate it so much. She was just being an immature brat as always.”

The group laughed before deciding to start the game. Poki and Rae agreed to text you when either of them were imposter. Now it was a matter of getting Corpse to follow you.

The group was on the Polus map, which seemed to be a favorite for everyone.

Rae

We should lock them in weapons.

Rae had texted you and Poki through the group text.

Poki

That’s the best place for them.

Y/n

Okay but I still have to get him to follow me.

Rae

He will. Just wait, I have a plan.

You trusted Rae and Poki to help you. Now it was time to admit it all to Corpse and hope he genuinely liked you back.

Y/n

Let’s do this!

PART THREE >>

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 4 years ago

Text

I came back for you

Word count: 2123

Genre: Angst but happy end

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Abusive prison/government (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: Hey, so this is kind of a weird request, but could you do a Nattie x Powered! Reader during Civil War, where Nat, of course, is on Tony's team, and the Reader is trying to keep the peace between the two teams. Maybe the government takes (Y/n) and puts her in a shock collar like Wanda's because they think she was on Steve's team? Sorry this is so weird . . .

Summary: You are neutral in the fight, or so you think before you are told you can't be and are taken away with the rest of Cap's team.

A/n: Thanks @thewidowsghost for requesting this! Honestly I didn't plan on writing anything or posting anything today but I saw that I had a little bit of this done and to be honest my day has sucked so I needed a distraction and this worked perfectly. Also I could someone tell me how the formatting looks? I'm trying the new beta editor and I think I'm doing things right but idk. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!

As you take in the scene that surrounds you you can’t believe that you once considered everybody to be a big weird family. Certainly none of them are acting like it now. It breaks your heart to see them on opposite sides, throwing themselves at each other because apparently their personal beliefs are more important than their friends.

Neither of them are right or wrong in your opinion. There’s too many factors and both options suck, it’s the government’s fault for placing the team in this situation. However you are not happy with the way anyone is handling it, especially Steve, Tony and Natasha. Both Tony and Steve are acting based on what they think is right without considering the other sides to the story, although you can’t say that’s surprising coming from them. You do know that they genuinely do care for others but they can be very hard headed and neither of them like to be wrong.

It’s Natasha who you’re most disappointed in though, you thought that she would be a better negotiation, helping ease the tension but she’s out there fighting like the rest of the idiots. You thought that she would agree with you and try to bring together the two sides.

You narrow your eyes and zoom in your vision to the far side of the airport where you see Spiderman. You have no idea who he is but you can tell just by looking at him that he’s only a kid and it was irresponsible of everyone to let him be here and to fight him. You use your superspeed to get to him quickly and take him out of the way of flying cars and leave him by the side where it should be relatively safe.

“Stay here.” you tell him.

“But-”

You glare. “Stay here.”

You rush off before you can make sure he listens because you can hear a grunt of pain from Rhodney. He’s lying on the ground with Tony standing over him and Sam a few meters back. The fight seems to be ending now, you see the plane leaving and the rest of the avengers start to gather but it doesn’t matter because the damage is already done. You don’t know exactly what happened but it looks like a freak accident, somehow nobody’s fault and yet everybody’s fault for getting into this situation in the first place.

The mood is weird, as if everybody is holding their breath and taking in what they’ve done. In the background you can hear trucks pulling up and footsteps follow soon after. The first man grabs Wanda and she blasts him back lightly so he falls down. Immediately a circle forms around her, everyone pointing their guns. Clint takes a step in, raising his arms and trying to calm the situation down but the guns shift to him and one agent steps forward and roughly grabs him, forcing his wrists into cuffs.

They go for Sam next and he looks pissed but lets them cuff him without comment. Scott looks completely confused and out of his depth. You don’t know him but it’s obvious that he is not trained for these types of situations and is in over his head.

It’s Wanda that makes your heart break the most though. She’s like a little sister to you so seeing the tears in her eyes and the terror on her face as the agents move in to cuff her makes you want to wrap your arms around her and promise it will all be okay. But you can’t, that would be a lie because everything is not okay and trying to hug her would only make things worse.

The agents start to move away, leading Cap's team to their trucks to be taken away. One of them turns back and notices you, murmuring something to the agents beside them. Before you can even understand what is happening they are right back and grabbing at your arms roughly. Naturally you try to pull away but they are strong and once you realize what is happening you stop struggling.

“I didn’t pick a side,” you try to explain, “I was just trying to make sure everyone was okay.”

“You didn’t sign the accords and therefore have no right to be here.” one of the men tells you. You look towards Tony’s team for help but they all seem to be busy. Tony and Vision are trying to make sure Rhodney is okay and the kid is luckily back where you left him. T’challa is shaking hands with one of the agents and although it makes you sick because of the way they are treating some of the others you understand, he does have a country to run and his people must come first after all.

Natasha is the only one not doing anything and she meets your eyes. You silently beg her to do something, anything against what is happening. She stares you straight in the eye and shakes her head. You actually shiver at how cold her look is because you never thought that would be directed at you, you thought that the two of you were close.

“I’m not going to help you Y/n, you made your own choice and I made mine.” Is all she says before turning away. You watch her back as long as you can as you are led into the trucks, wondering how everything went wrong so quickly.

---

Nobody talks. You aren’t even sure if you’re allowed to. There is no way what they are doing is legal but who is going to argue with the government. A secret prison built just for enhanced individuals and imprisoning people without trial isn’t right. You were neutral before but the more you see of how the government operates the more you start to lean towards supporting Steve and the rest of his “team”.

You shift slightly because the shock collar is getting even more uncomfortable. Wanda is wearing one too, probably since the two of you are the only ones that have powers unrelated to technology and suits. She looks smaller than ever in her cell and you close your eyes because if you continue to look at her you know you’ll end up crying.

Nothing changes throughout the day until you hear the door creak open. Everyone glares when they see it’s Tony and he and Clint share a few words before Tony practically begs Sam for information. Sam’s reluctant but gives in, seeing that Tony is sincere and knowing that although he disagrees with Tony it’s not really his fault that you’re all here, it’s the government��s.

When Tony leaves things go silent again for a few hours. You haven’t been fed since you’ve gotten here, you realize, but you aren’t hungry anyways, your mind can’t stop picturing the fight, being arrested and most of all Natasha’s attitude towards you. It hurts even more than you would like to admit. You considered her your best friend but you also had feelings for her and you were dumb enough to think that just maybe she felt the same things about you. Obviously that is completely untrue and you wonder if even your friendship was a lie.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here for?” Wanda asks finally and although her voice is quiet you wince at how it breaks the silence.

“I don’t know kid.” Clint responds. “Too long. My wife is going to kill me and my kids-”

He stops himself, getting a little choked up which surprises you. You’ve never seen him this emotional before.

“I already miss my daughter.” Scott adds on and there is a moment of understanding that passes between the two of them.

“I don’t have my own family but I’m going to miss my sister.” Sam says. “She probably won’t even find out what’s happening until it’s on the news, if the news even covers it.”

“I miss the team.” you add. “Before this fight, we weren’t perfect but I considered everyone family.”

“So did I.” Wanda says and you all take a moment to miss what used to be.

“I miss pizza.” Sam jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works and soon everyone is adding on ridiculous things they miss and things they want to do when you get out (you can’t even think about the fact that the “when” might actually be “if”).

Your eyes snap to the door when it opens and everyone shuts up immediately. You look warily at Natasha, unsure of why she’s here. Maybe the government sent her in to interrogate, god knows she is amazing at that and you honestly wouldn’t be able to not talk to her, as much as you’re mad at her right now.

She doesn’t speak, going straight towards Sam’s door and kneeling down, fiddling with the lock. After a few seconds it clicks and the door swings open.

“When did you switch sides?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, impressed.

“I don’t pick sides, I do what makes the most sense and right now breaking you out is the right thing to do. Besides I’m wanted now too, apparently the government doesn’t like it when you aid fugitives in escaping.” she responds smoothly, moving onto Wanda’s cell and repeating her actions until it opens.

“Do you know how to take the collar off?” she asks and Sam nods. He gets to work while Natasha moves on. Both Clint and Scott pass at her offer of freeing them. They both look like they’re itching to escape but you respect that they’re putting their families first.

You’re surprised by how emotional you get when she unlocks your cell. You thought she didn’t care about you so to have her here now is amazing and makes you feel bad you ever doubted that she would do the right thing.

“Y/n, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” she tells you as she undoes your shock collar carefully, doing her best to not hurt you.

“I-I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.” you admit, a single tear dripping down your face.

She wipes it away with her thumb. “Oh sweetheart I care about you so much, more than you could ever know and I want you to always remember that, promise me.”

You nod, sniffing. “I promise Tasha.”

“Good because I came back for you and I will always come back for you.” she says, leaning in closer. You look down at her lips as she continues to lean in because she is so close and it seems like she’s going to kiss you.

“Glad to know Y/n was the only reason you came back.” Sam says, smirking. You love him but you also want to strangle him right now, that bastard could totally see what was happening and ruined the moment on purpose.

Natasha flips him the finger but otherwise ignores him. “Steve and Bucky are waiting in the jet outside, I was able to dismantle alarms and cameras but we only have a few minutes left so follow me and be quiet.”

She grabs your hand as she moves out of your cell and you walk with her, the others trailing behind slightly. The halls are clear and it’s only a few turns before she ushers everyone into a vent. It’s a tight squeeze but you make it through and you pop out to find sturdy wires attached to the side of the raft coming from a nearby jet. Wanda and Sam each take one and their wires retract, pulling them into the jet. You gulp nervously, heights are definitely not one of your favourite things.

“We have to go Y/n.” Natasha whispers just as alarms start to sound, the noises loud with flashing lights.

You take a deep breath and grab the remaining wire and once you’re secure Natasha grabs it too. Closing your eyes tightly so you don’t look down you feel a strange whooshing sensation before it disappears and your feet touch down on the jet floor.

“So what next?” Sam asks once you’ve all collected yourselves, directing his question at Steve.

“We lie low and try to help as best we can.” he responds, sighing heavily. “We’ll figure out the details as we go, what matters is that everybody is safe.”

Natasha holds your hand again and squeezes it tightly. “And that we are together.” she whispers into your ear so only you hear.

You squeeze her hand tightly back. Your relationship with her has gone through a rollercoaster of a day and is mostly undefined but she’s right, all that matters is that you’re together now and you wouldn’t rather be with anyone else.

---

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel fanfiction #x reader

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chryuhwan · 3 years ago

Text

helloooo i’m sol (21+, they/them) and this is yuhwan. he’s an old oc revamped too many times so if he seems familiar... my b dude i’m attached i guess. anyway, i’m excited to be here! please like this post if you’re interested in plotting and i’ll hit you up. i’m not on twitter and pretty sparse on discord, so i prefer tumblr im! but if that’s difficult for you, we can figure smth out! i have a short (haha) tl;dr under the cut, but you can also read up more on his BIO and PROFILE pages.

RUNDOWN

TRIGGER & CONTENT WARNINGS: physical abuse, underage drug/alcohol consumption, (attempted) suicide (lmk if you want a redacted summary!)

BASICS — born and raised in busan up until the tender age of seventeen, when he was sent (“exiled”) to seoul to live with his aunt and uncle and attend hannam. the catalyst was a rebellious phase turned lifestyle (a lot of really reckless decisions involving drugs, alcohol, vandalism, swiping money from the tithes & offerings, u name it) and his parents deciding they a) didn’t want to deal with that and b) didn’t want that to reflect on their reputations. he’s been in seoul ever since and has never stayed in busan for longer than a couple of days.

ON RELIGION & FAITH — the only son of the head pastor of a well-known megachurch in busan, yuhwan was raised under the strict and watchful eye of his obsessive parents! he’s not religious anymore by any means, but faith (or his lack thereof) has shaped a huge part of his mentality. his lack of belief in a higher power is the foundation of his ‘if i have the confidence to own up to the potential consequences of my actions, then i’ll do whatever i want to’ mindset. he’s not going to be discouraged by a god that doesn’t exist!

ON SEOUL — hates it. yep. he hates seoul, but he doesn’t really have the drive to try to find somewhere he does like because he hates busan too. when he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, he was treated pretty poorly (still flinches when people raise their hand at him), like a glorified punching bag. hannam wasn’t any better, and the military was nice in the way prison cells might be. he hates cramped things and the only decent jogging path he knows runs him right by the bridge he almost jumped off of after his military service ended so. you know. you win some, you lose some.

ON HANNAM — hated it. yep. straight up hated it. he was pretty good about being friendly around virtually anyone who held his attention for more than a couple of seconds, but yuhwan hates the idea of hierarchies! finds them downright stifling, and he doesn’t like the idea of being placed in a box, etc. hannam felt like an oppressive social pyramid and he thought that kinda sucked so as friendly as he was on the outside, he had zero interest in making friends and has probably only willingly kept in touch with a handful of people since graduating.

ON GOSSIPS, RUMORS, AND SECRETS — he’s a tabloid writer. once a regular editor for a small newspaper, he gave that up and decided to sacrifice his morals for a higher paycheck. he blames his mom because she, as the pastor’s wife, had a lot of access to juicy gossip and liked to tell yuhwan about it. yuhwan’s probably the least trustworthy person he knows. he’s careful to keep the secrets of people he cares about, but as it turns out, he doesn’t really care about that many people. he’s friendly, open to listening, and honestly not that bad at giving advice etc., but be on your guard. wouldn’t want your dirty laundry to be aired out for the world to see, after all.

ON THE PRESENT — he’s minding his own business. really. like i said, he’s probably kept in touch with some people, but otherwise he’s not really interested in the busy lives of almost-strangers unless they’re going to get him a bonus on his next paycheck. yuhwan very much so marches to the beat of his own drum. he doesn’t care much about the world around him and only cares when it inconveniences him. like a kite without a string, he’s floating wherever the fuck the wind’s going to take him!

ON HIS SECRET — after graduating from high school, and then university, and then finishing military service, yuhwan thought he might literally lose his fucking mind if he didn’t set himself free in one way or another. ultimately, he decides he won’t be able to coexist in peace with his parents unless they change. and because they won’t change of their own volition, he submits an anonymous tip about his father’s embezzlement of church funds. in the end, it doesn’t destroy his dad’s legacy or anything; the church is still up and running—but it’s an ordeal that takes months, years of being humbled by the weight of the world. he doesn’t feel bad about it. his mom gossips less and his dad’s less of an asshole, after all. makes family gatherings that much more bearable when they’re all tired of existing!

CONNECTIONS

BEST FRIEND — just one. no dramatic childhood friends story or anything like that. just one person he actually really genuinely sincereeeeeely liked from hannam that didn’t take any effort or slow build to figure out. probably the only person he really trusts in this big, bad city. you’ve got a huge weapon in your hands! he’s not used to putting this much trust in others. (+1000 if in a two-day relationship that ended terribly. ‘i would never date you again, but i’ll still die for u’ kinda vibes)

HANNAM FRIENDS — there won’t be many, but! anyone? anyone?? he was a friendly, easygoing person (still is, tbh) during his hannam days, but was definitely a free spirit who did whatever he wanted. if you could keep up with his pace, then he might have liked your company. he’s not a fan of overly serious people unless they have the patience of a saint! (trust me, you’ll need it.)

HANNAM... NOT FRIENDS — he’s not so conscious of his surroundings as to have enemies himself, but he definitely did get pushed around for a little while when he was first getting settled. and he’s also definitely spoken out of turn and said some rude shit (not on purpose) (he just doesn’t have a filter) here and there. want to hate his guts? please do. negative energy’s welcome in this house!

COUSIN — a similar-aged cousin, also the child of the aunt and uncle yuhwan absolutely fucking abhors. they might have a contentious relationship. might even be a positive one. either way, they lived under the same roof for a few years!

TABLOID VICTIM — got a little fame to your name? have a nasty scandal you didn’t want to get out? well, now it’s out. and sensationalized, too! maybe you know it’s him who leaked it (and wrote the article, while we’re at it). maybe you don’t!

BUSAN BUDDIES — and i use the word ‘buddies’ loosely. grow up in busan? have religious parents? religious yourself maybe? well, maybe you bumped into each other then. yuhwan had the reputation of being a prim and proper pastor’s son, amiable and cheerful and so so devoted, up until he was suddenly sent to seoul. all of his bad habits and reckless adventures were largely done behind his parents’ backs (until he got caught, at least!)—you know of them? partake in them, maybe? or maybe you didn’t know, and you’re wondering why the fuck he came to seoul in the first place

BLACKMAIL — he’s not above using underhanded tactics if they’re made available to him. sometimes he doesn’t even need a big reason. maybe he found out a secret of yours and he wants a secret you know��about someone else. he’ll hold it over your head! call it a little game of cat and mouse!

#thank you for the welcomes! will get to them soon #chrintro

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egcdeath · 4 years ago

Text

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that.

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise.

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email.

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse.

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit.

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time.

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest.

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them.

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.”

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit.

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark?

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began.

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself.

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.”

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged.

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument.

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure.

——

Barber and his Greatest Critic Break Bread Together on Friday

Y/N L/N Announces She’s Not Resigning from Senior Position, and That She’s Been Seeing Barber!

BREAKING! Barber Announces Relationship with Critic Y/N L/N

Is L/Nber the Ship that Shows us How Relationships Are More Powerful than Politics?

Our New Favorite Political Power Couple Showed Up Together at a Rally, and We Couldn’t Be More Excited.

Barber 7 Points Ahead in the Polls, Leaving Loguidice and Kline Trailing Far Behind

Was Y/N Really in the Wrong?

“L/Nber” Celebrate Valentine’s Day Together

These L/Nber House Hunting Photos Are Giving Us Life!

This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together.

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you.

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage.

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist.

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next.

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again.

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you.

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were.

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home.

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state.

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore.

You just needed to be with Steve again.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #marvel fanfiction #ABITRV

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leejungchans · 4 years ago

Text

— made with love...i mean telepathy.

word count: 1.4k words

content warnings: mentions of food

notes: words in [ ] represent the editors’ comments added in post-production; words in bold represent those spoken in english!! i added an additional ingredient because there’s an extra member!!

summary: ateez plays the telepathy relay cooking challenge on ateez treasure film.

a/n: my semester just ended and it feels really nice to finally be able to relax a bit and watch some going seventeen (ahhsjajs i just started stanning them and i love them so much😭🥺)!! i still have some assignments due later this month, but it’ll still be a lot nicer than the last two weeks bc they were hectic💀 i hope you’ve been well, the fourth wave of the pandemic is hitting where i live, so please stay safe!! happy reading and let me know what you think!!

you can watch the episode here!

Juliet paces around her single bedroom, waiting for her cue. She has no clue what the group challenge involves, nor why each member has to take turns playing.

She flops onto the bed, looking every bit like a starfish, and turns her head to look at the camera situated in the top corner of her room. “I’m so sleepy,” she whines, simply lying there for a few moments. [Are you going to fall asleep~]

As Juliet stares up the ceiling, eyes unfocused and lazy, the surreality of being back in Sydney sinks into her slowly. It felt like forever ago when she left home, not being able to see her family in person for years because of her trainee years and their conflicting schedules after her debut. It feels like a dream to finally not be in separate hemispheres with her home. Even better, she came back with her second family, eight boys who looked after her better than she did with herself.

Her vision blurs from a combination of tears and drowsiness, and she could feel her eyelids start to droop. She sits up with a jolt. “Wah, I almost fell asleep!” she says to the camera. “I can’t keep lying down here or I’ll really fall asleep, seriously!”

To keep herself awake, she gets up and plays “Wave” on her phone, occasionally singing along or dancing to the music while listening for her cue. [Let’s enjoy Juliet’s mini performance~]

Moments later, she hears Jongho yell from the base of the stairs, “If you’re the prettiest member in ATEEZ, come on out!”

“Oh! That must be me!” Juliet turns to the camera and cups her face with her hands to resemble a flower. [Blooming flower Juliet shows off her shining visuals~] “Wish me luck!” she says excitedly before leaving her room and skipping down the stairs.

Upon walking into the kitchen, her attention is immediately drawn by the lack of people in the adjoining living room. [Juliet enters prettily~]

“Hm? There’s no one here...” She pads over to the kitchen island and silently reads the instruction card. “Is that supposed to be Hongjoongie-oppa?” she giggles, asking no one in particular as she points at the cartoon version of their leader on the card.

She turns her attention to the ingredients, consisting of rice cakes, fish cakes, water, gochujang, chilli powder, soy sauce, sugar, diced green onions and peeled hard-boiled eggs.

“Oh my God, wah...I’m really stupid,” she admits after a while of pondering, turning to the camera in the living room behind her briefly. [So suddenly?] “I thought you weren’t going to refill the cups, but then if you didn’t, there wouldn’t be a point in this game because then we’d know which ones the others already added...” [A delayed realisation for Juliet ㅋㅋㅋㅋ]

“Okay, okay, okay, let’s think about this...” Juliet sighs and closes her eyes. [*programming noises* She is deep in thought...] “Hongjoongie-oppa, Seonghwa-oppa, Wooyoungie-oppa and Jongho-oppa already went, so one of them definitely added the water already, and I think the gochujang and rice cakes are in there too...”

Another sigh leaves her lips. “But if they all had this thought process also, would that mean they added in the more unexpected ingredients? Or should I just keep it simple and trust my gut?” [Lol, she’s so serious about this] Juliet playfully wriggles around like a petulant child. “Ah, I just want this tteokbokki to taste good! I’m getting kind of hungry...”

After a few more seconds, she picks up the cup with the eggs. [Juliet picks the hard-boiled eggs] “I like eggs,” she muses to herself as she moves towards the pot, and starts laughing when a hilarious thought crosses her mind. “Imagine if I lifted the lid and it was all just eggs in the pot. That’d be really funny.” [Luckily, ATEEZ will not be eating just eggs ♡]

To Juliet’s pleasant surprise, she lifts the lid to discover rice cakes cooking in a boiling red sauce, topped with the diced onions. “Oh, someone already added in the rice cakes! Good job!” Humming happily, she drops two eggs into the pot and puts the lid back on. [She made a good choice~ the tteokbokki is cooking well so far~] Off-camera, staff members guide her to a room just a few paces away from the kitchen where the four members are waiting. But before she enters, she shouts for the next person.

“Come on down if you’re the tall member who resembles a puppy!”

“Yah, great job!” Wooyoung says when she enters the room, and he high-fives the youngest member. Juliet beams from the praise.

“I did well, didn’t I?” she asks teasingly, high-fiving Jongho as well, obviously fishing for more compliments.

“You did, it’s going well so far,” Seonghwa replies, excitement clear in his tone. Next to him, Hongjoong nods in agreement as he readjusts his cap over his muted pink hair, faded from the bright red it was dyed months ago for their comeback. Juliet sits on one of the sofa’s armrests next to the oldest, as the other was occupied by Jongho.

The five of them watch the rest of game on the TV, squealing in happiness when Yunho and Mingi added the sugar and chilli powder respectively. [So far, each member chose different ingredients!!! Will they succeed?]

“PD-nim,” Wooyoung cheekily addresses the director behind the cameras in the room, “isn’t it going too well?” He bursts into his signature giggle as the others laugh along. [Who are you guys...?]

Juliet grins when she sees the matching smiles on the staffs’ faces. “Isn’t it boring? Aren’t you bored with this?” she cutely taunts, but almost immediately stops. “Oh, wait...I hope I didn’t just jinx us,” she adds sheepishly. [Master of foreshadowing...?]

She really should’ve seen it coming, because nothing is ever too good to be true. The group, now joined by Mingi, watch in shock and exasperation when Yeosang decides to add sugar like Yunho already did. [The tteokbokki’s already been messed up...]

Hongjoong whimpers, “We already added the sugar...”

“No! No!” they whisper-yell when Yeosang starts spooning the sugar, desperately trying to send telepathic signals. [Their telepathy fails for the first time] Their efforts are futile as the oblivious member happily skips over to the pot with the cup of sugar in his hand. [If you’re happy, that’s all that matters, Yeosang...] Juliet collapses to the floor and hits it with her fists as she wails.

Before he adds the sugar, Yeosang turns to the camera and gives a thumbs-up twice. [Hey guys! Aren’t I the best? Did I do well?] At this, Juliet’s expressions immediately sobers and she sits up on the floor. “Why is he giving us a thumbs-up?” she half-heartedly deadpans, “he’s the only one so far who chose the wrong thing.” [She hits Yeosang with a cold fact]

Her members and the staff laugh silently at her pouty face. “Yah, she’s really starting to get mad,” Yunho jokes, pointing to her face so the cameras can film it. [The tteokbokki is ruined, oppa...ㅠㅠ]

Things take a turn for the worst when San adds even more sugar while the other eight members can only watch helplessly through the screen. [Bitter smiles] “Is it supposed to be this sticky?” he asks innocently as he stirs the sugar into the pot.

“Not if you added something else!” Juliet whines, tossing away the cushion in her lap from mock frustration as the others cackle at her outburst. [Get ready to face the wrath of the maknae]

Wooyoung wraps his arms around her from behind. “Don’t get mad, don’t get mad!”

“Let’s eat!” San shouts, [The relay cooking is over] and the eight members instantly pile out of the room, loudly complaining as they curiously make their way over to the pot while Mingi chases San around the living room.

Juliet grabs a fork and spears it into a rice cake. Right away, the overwhelming sweetness attacks her taste buds and becomes the only thing she tastes. She winces, glancing at her members who have equally pained smiles on their faces. Yunho even saying it tastes like spicy red bean porridge.

She discreetly cranes her neck to find the camera, quickly realising she is mostly obscured by the others from it. She creeps to the other side of the island to grab the soy sauce and gochujang before sneakily dumping a good amount of both into the pot, stirring briskly in an attempt to disguise her actions, but they don’t go unnoticed by the members around her and the editors. [Juliet...what are you doing..? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ] Jongho and Hongjoong watch her and snicker, the former pouring more water into their snack to mellow out the sickly sweetness of the sauce.

The game ends with everyone rinsing out the taste of the tteokbokki with, ironically, more sugary soda, and Juliet makes a mental reminder that the best course of action is to simply order takeout when it comes to ATEEZ.

[This is it for the telepathy relay cooking. The challenge is complete!]

a/n: ahshjahs i had no idea how to end this💀💀thank you so much for reading🥺💗

#scenarios.juliet #ateez 9th member #ateez ninth member #kpop oc #idol oc #ateez oc #kpop addition #idol addition #ateez addition #kpop imagines #idol imagines #ateez imagines #kpop au #idol au #ateez au

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connordavidscamera · 4 years ago

Text

Saying Goodbye | Connor Brashier

A/n: What? Tori writing and posting a new fic??? The world must be coming to an end or something. But please let me know what you guys think of this one because it might have a part 2 if you guys like it? I have more ideas for it, so let me know! Summary: Connor is leaving for college and that means having to leave you behind.

Warnings: kinda angsty?

Word Count: 3.3k

***

I knew this day would come. But I didn’t realize it would come so soon.

Being with Connor for the past (almost) two years has been nothing short of a dream. The problem thought? He’s two grades ahead, so he’s leaving for college… next week. Which is why I’m here, sitting on his bed, helping him pack up his stuff. He sets his suitcase on the bed in front of me and sighs, “Okay, so I guess I could start packing up the clothes that I know I won’t be wearing in the next week, right?” He asks, opening the suitcase.

I nod, “Sure, baby. You want to hand it to me, and I’ll fold it? Make sure everything fits nicely.”

He smiles and nods, leaning forward to kiss me. “Sounds perfect. Thanks, kid.”

I’ve folded four shirts and set them nicely in his suitcase when I get an idea. While he’s sifting through his clothes, I quickly move from my place on the bed, into the open spot in front of me and laugh when he turns around with another two shirts.

He chuckles, “What are you doing?”

I shrug, “Sorry, but there’s no more room for clothes because I’m going with. See? I fit perfectly, right here.”

He shakes his head and throws the shirts on the bed beside me, putting his hands on either side of the open suitcase. “I like that idea. Can I zip you up? Make sure you really fit?” He presses his forehead against mine.

I lean forward and bump his nose with mine. “Don’t be silly, I can’t go in your suitcase. Once you zip it, there won’t be enough air for me.”

He pouts dramatically, “I’ll leave it open just enough. And then I’ll have everything I need if you come with.”

I nod and play with the tufts of hair on the nape of his neck. “I’ll be there. Just give me a couple years, yeah?”

He’s still pouting, but nods. “Okay. Kiss?”

“As many as you want, Brash.”

“And if I want them all?” He questions, leaning back, taking his shirts off the hangers.

“Then you get them all,” I say, taking his shirt from his hands and pouting when I see it.

“Hey, why the long face?”

“You’re taking my favorite shirt,” I say, looking up at him.

He sighs and leans in, kissing my pouty lips. “Thought you already had that one. You literally wore it the other day.”

I roll my eyes, “No, I meant dress up shirt. The rhude shirt is my favorite everyday shirt.”

“So, you don’t really have a single favorite shirt then?” He shakes his head with a soft smile.

“Well all of your shirts are really my favorite. You look good in everything.”

“I could leave the shirt if you want it.”

I shake my head, “No. It’s okay. Just send me lots of pictures when you do wear it,” I say, folding the shirt and putting it on top of the others that are already in the suitcase. I look up at him and smile softly at his pretty face.

“What?” he chuckles. “What’s that face for?”

I reach up and pull him to me by the nape of his neck, bringing him in for a deep kiss. “Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” I ask when I pull away, eyes still shut tight.

I hear him sigh again before he presses another gentle kiss to my lips. “I promise, I’m gonna stay as long as I possibly can.”

“Help me out of this thing?” I hold my hands out for him and he nods.

“Course I will.”

So, we create a system while I help him pack up his clothes. It’s a slow process because he’s only handing me one shirt at a time just to ensure he’s getting all those kisses he says that he wants. And I’m glad to give them to him. But by the time we get to the fifteenth shirt, the kisses are getting longer and it’s clear that we’re both over this packing thing for now. Which is why when he goes to pull away from the kiss, I whine and pull him back. “Not yet.”

He nods and tosses his shirt behind him, cradling my face as I lean back, pulling him with me. We stay like this for a while, mouths pressed against each other’s in a heated, passionate kiss that neither of us want to break. But we don’t have much of a choice when there’s a knock on his bedroom door and his brother comes in not even a second later.

“I hope you’re decent,” he says as Connor gets off me, running his hand through his ruffled hair. I sit up, covering my mouth with a clenched fist.

“You know, usually people wait for someone to say ‘come in’ before just walking in.”

Dylan shrugs. “It’s not like you’re doing much in here anyway.”

Connor rolls his eyes, “What do you need, Dylan? We’re packing.”

“I know. Mom told me to tell you guys we were going out for dinner.”

“Okay?” he shrugs.

“We, as in all of us. As in you and y/n need to get in the car because we’re leaving in five minutes.”

“But-“

“Mom said it wasn’t negotiable.”

I stifle a laugh at that because I know she said it exactly like that because she knew Connor would try to get out of it. I stand from the bed and hold my hand out for him. “Come on, bub.”

He locks our fingers. “But you and I can get dinner?” he says, to which I shake my head.

“Dylan, can you give us just a minute? We’ll be right down, I promise.”

Dylan nods. “Yeah, I’ll tell them you’re on your way.” He turns and I wait until the door closes to look back at my boyfriend.

“We don’t have to go,” he says to me.

“Yes, we do. It’s non-negotiable,” I joke.

“But I wanted to stay here with you. Make out a little more?” he pouts.

“And while I would love that too, I’m not the only one that has you for only one more week.”

“Kid-“

“No, I know. We’re still not talking about it. But your parents are gonna miss you too. And even though Dylan won’t show it, he will too. So one dinner with your parents won’t kill you.”

He sighs, “I hate when you’re right.”

I shrug, “Come on, we don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.” I let go of his hand to grab my purse from his (now) sadly empty desk.

---

It wasn’t until after I said it to him that I realized how true it was. I only had a week left with him and then he was off for college. Starting a new chapter of his life, and… we still haven’t talked about if I’m going to be part of it. I mean, I guess part of me assumes that we’re going to try the whole long distance thing, but what if he decides that it’d be best to go to school single. So that he can get the full college experience without me holding him back.

I look over at my boy, who is scrolling through his phone with one hand and stroking my thumb with the other. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder, allowing his lips to press against my temple and I try not to imagine what life is going to be like without his lips. I’ve grown so used to being so close that the thought of him leaving is severely messing with my head. But I won’t let him see that.

So I put on a brave face throughout dinner, but it’s just a little harder to hide it when we’re back in his room, finishing up with his clothes. But I don’t think he’s noticed.

“That’s the last shirt, kid,” he says, resting his hands on my hips. He kisses the back of my head as he watches me fold the shirt before setting it in his suitcase.

I nod and reach forward to close the top. “Well… guess you’re pretty much all packed up, now,” I say, looking around at his room that is filled with boxes that are already taped shut and labeled.

He looks around too, squeezing my hip. “I guess. Would still like to take you with me though.”

I smile sadly, “Yeah, wish I could.”

“I should probably get you home now, huh? It’s almost curfew.”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “Yeah, I should go.”

“Let me get my keys and we can go?”

“Bubba?” I say when he turns to get his keys.

“Yeah?”

“You think we could just drive around for a little bit?”

“But don’t I have to get you home?”

I shrug, “I’ll call them and ask if I can stay a little longer. Tell them that packing is taking a little longer than anticipated?”

“You sure?” he turns his head to the side and looks at me, raising a quizzical brow. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

I sigh and nod. “Okay, but… you think you can sneak in tonight?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “How many nights have you gone without me there?” He questions.

I roll my eyes, “Okay, I get it. Dumb question.”

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, “Come on, let’s get you home, kid.”

The drive to my house is silent, except for the soft music playing through the speakers. Connor’s hand is placed rightfully on my thigh and he rubs his thumb over the outline of my knee.

“See you in fifteen minutes?” he asks when he parks in my driveway.

I nod. “Window’s open.” I slide out of his car and to the front door, which, like it always is until I get home, is unlocked. When I close the door, Connor pulls out of the driveway, making it seem like he’s going back home, when in reality, he’s parking around the block so that my parents don’t see his car parked out front.

It’s worked for us for the past two years. He hasn’t been caught yet. I smile fondly at the memory of when he first snuck in. He had been over to my house once before while we were working on page layouts. From the second I stepped into that yearbook classroom; he was my go-to. Although, he did kind of make it that way.

“I’ll take the freshman. Get the kid familiar with everything.” He was a junior at the time, and photo editor. He was also insanely gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could tell that he was the most beautiful boy to walk this earth. (Of course, I might be biased though.)

He was a cocky sonofabitch. But I couldn’t find it in me to care. Not when I looked at his eyes that just seemed to always be sparkling. Or his hair that was screaming for me to run my fingers through it. Or his lips that seemed to be set in this perfect pout. And when he got me alone? That façade changed. And he was just Connor. He was funny and beautiful, and albeit, a little bit awkward. When we were able to properly introduce ourselves to each other, he stumbled over his words and he couldn’t even look me in the eye as he blurted out, “You’re really pretty.”

I was red as a tomato, I know I was. Because this beautiful boy, who could be in a museum, he’s so goddamn beautiful, thought I was pretty.

That day was the start of his oh-so endearing nickname for me. Kid. I didn’t hate it then. And I still don’t now. It’s probably my favorite thing actually.

We’d been working together for a couple of weeks, when he told me that he had more to teach me, because I was picking everything up so quickly. He asked me if it was okay if he came over to teach me a few things and I agreed. Not necessarily because I wanted to learn more, but because I wanted to spend more time with him. And we did. We probably worked on page designs for a solid fifteen minutes before we got bored of it and just started talking. We were sitting on my living room floor, telling embarrassing stories and laughing, and genuinely getting to know each other and enjoy the company of one another on a different level. It was nice to see him when he wasn’t trying to be so “professional” even though it was only a high school yearbook. But it turns out he did have a goofy side. And that just made him all the more attractive to me.

We soon started texting almost nonstop, flirting here and there. And in the midst of flirting one day, he told me he had taken a photo that made him think of me. I could not have been more smitten with him at this point. I begged him to send it to me, but he said he wanted to show it to me in person. I contested and finally said that was fine.

But I didn’t expect him to show up at my window no more than thirty minutes later. I held my hand to my chest as I hurriedly walked over to my window to unlock and open it. “Connor what are you doing here?” I whispered, looking back to my closed door. My parents had gone to sleep about an hour ago, but I was paranoid they heard him.

“Can I come in?” he asks sheepishly.

“Um, yeah,” I moved to the side, allowing him to come into the room.

He stands there next to me, by the window still, and looks around. “Nice room,” he comments, his eyes landing on the photos plastered to my wall behind my bedframe.

“Connor, how’d you get up here?”

“Climbed your tree,” he said casually, moving deeper into the room.

“But why?” I crossed my arms over my chest, still sparing glances to my door, keeping my ears trained for any sign of movement from the outside. I don’t want either of us getting caught.

“I wanted to show you that picture.”

“Okay,” I nod. “But you couldn’t show me tomorrow in class?”

He shrugged, “I couldn’t wait.” But then he paused when he looked back at me and slipped his hands in his pockets. “I know I should have asked first. Is this okay?”

I scoff lightly, “You’re already here.”

“But I can go if you’re not comfortable.”

I shake my head. “No. You can stay for a little bit. But you have to be quiet. I can’t risk my parents hearing you.”

He motions zipping his lips and I can’t help but laugh.

“Okay then,” I sit on my bed, patting the spot next to me. “Show me the photo.”

I’m still reminiscing on that night when my window slides open and his soft footsteps hit the floor. “Coast clear?” he whispers, closing the window behind him.

I nod. “You’re good, bub.”

“Good. Now I can cuddle you.”

“Yeah, I just need to change first.”

“You can change in front of me,” he wiggles his eyebrows, but he knows it’s a long shot.

“Good one,” I say, taking one of his hoodies that I like to sleep in sometimes and a pair of shorts. “I’ll be right back.”

He sighs softly, taking his shoes off and placing them next to my bedside table.

“Oh, and the shorts you left here last week? They’re in that drawer next to you. So you’re not sleeping in your jeans.”

Connor smiles softly, “You take good care of me.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, okay.” I say back before opening my bedroom door and slipping out and to the bathroom.

We don’t say much of anything when I get back to the room and turn out the light. I slide myself into bed and he curls around me, his head in the crook of my neck, his steady breathing aiding in lulling me to a peaceful slumber. However, my brain is painfully aware that this is one of the last nights that this will be like this. Because in only a few days he’ll be off at college, in a new room, far enough away from me and that’s still such a terrifying thought because we still haven’t talked about what’s going to happen when he’s gone.

We should have.

---

I close his passenger side door after putting his backpack in the seat and walk around to the back where he’s stuffing in his last box. I’m not going with him to get moved in. It’d be too hard, we decided. So I’m seeing him off here, in his driveway.

He closes the trunk and turns to face me with a deep sigh. “That’s the last of it.”

I nod, willing myself not to cry yet. I can cry when he’s gone, but I refused to do it while he was still right here in front of me. We stand there for a minute, just staring at each other before he takes my hand and pulls me into his chest. I cling to him, scrunching up his shirt at his shoulder blades.

He holds me tighter as I breathe in his scent that now smelt like home. My eyes start to water and I cling to him even more. He kisses the top of my head repeatedly. “Don’t want to let you go yet,” I mumble into his shirt.

“Me neither,” he whispers. “But we’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna call you and text you and FaceTime you so much. It’s not gonna be as bad as you think. And I’m still close enough that I could come home for the weekends or something.”

I nod, sniffling. “No, I know. I just… how am I gonna get my Connor cuddles during the week?” I choke on a sob as he pulls me impossibly closer.

He runs his fingers through my hair and kisses my forehead. “You’re gonna call me and we’ll figure it out, okay?”

I pull away, wiping at my tears with a scoff. “It’s not gonna be the same.”

He nods, wiping away more of my tears. “I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he lets go of me, even though I really don’t want to release him quite yet. Connor walks over to his passenger side and unzips his backpack, pulling out a teddy bear. He holds it out to me sheepishly. He chuckles, “I know it’s not much. And it definitely can’t give you kisses, but maybe, on those nights when you’re missing me a little bit, you can cuddle your bear,” he clears his throat, handing me the bear. “I uh, I even sprayed it with my cologne, just to ensure that you know I’m still here. A hundred plus miles isn’t gonna keep me from you. Okay?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and squeeze the bear to my chest, choking back a sob. “You should get going. Don’t want to hit traffic, right?”

“I love you, kid. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I swallow thickly. “I love you more. Please be safe.”

“Always safe. Gotta come back to you, can’t afford not to be.”

He leaves me with one more deep kiss before getting into the driver’s seat. I watch, clinging to the bear that smells just like home, as he drives off. I stand there in his driveway until I’ve pulled myself together, and once I have, I get in my car and drive back home. But it feels so different. And even more so when nighttime comes and I’m doing my nightly routine, and I come back to my room and make sure my window is unlocked.

And when I slip into bed and keep my lamp on, like I do every night anticipating Connor’s arrival. But after ten minutes laying with my back to the window, I’m reminded that he’s not coming tonight.

And he’s not coming tomorrow.

Or the next day.

***

I hope you enjoyed! Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @tinycertain @magcon7280 @daisyangei @fallinallincurls @lovewithanattitude @sinceweremutual @myyohmyuohmyy @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @zaahidahhh @adelaidestreets @shawnandconnor @shawnsblue @turtoix @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s

Connor tag: @gangofhoes @verlaneswiftie13

#connor brashier #connor brashier x reader #connor brashier x y/n #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier imagine #connor brashier fanfiction #connor brashier blurb

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cowboyshit · 4 years ago

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Only for the Holidays

Ship: Adam “Hangman” Page and Ivy (OFC) Summary: Adam and Ivy cross paths at a mutual friend’s holiday party and hit it off, both admitting they’ve grown tired of constantly being asked about having a partner at the various holiday events they have to attend. They come to an agreement to pretend to date for the holidays to get their friends and family off their backs, but neither of them admit that they’ve had an attraction to each other from the beginning. Will these feelings come to a head? Or will the pair be able to stick to their original plan and only get through the holidays together? Rating: general/fluff the whole way through Length: 2,221 words part ONE of THREE

author’s note: this is my first entry for the @12daysofchristmas challenge hosted by viv! this fic is split into three parts, the other parts will be posted on other days during the challenge!

The warmth of the crackling, orange-red fire soaked beneath her bundled layers of clothes and heated the bare skin of her cheeks. She held her hands out to it and felt it soak into her palms and fingers until it was almost uncomfortable, pulling them back to rub them together. Her eyes darted over the tops of the flames, where little red sparks flew off into the night sky, distinguished quickly in the cold. All around the bonfire there were groups of friends gathered, drinking and laughing, their conversations rising and falling in volume.

“Hey Ivy, what are you doing by yourself over here?” Her friend, Mia, was frowning as she walked up next to her and held out a mug she’d brought over of something that was lightly steaming.

“I was just warming myself up by the fire,” Ivy said, feeling the heat of the liquid in the ceramic mug before she wrapped her fingers around it’s handle. “What’s this?”

“Homemade cider! Spiked with a bit of honey whiskey, of course.” Mia winked and then nodded toward the house quite a distance off where soft, yellow lights poured out of the windows. “There’s more in the house when you need a refill. Roger has been working on it all day and he’s very proud.” She rolled her eyes, but playfully, clearly amused by her husband’s party-host excitement.

Roger and Mia hosted a winter bonfire for all their friends when the temperature dropped enough to comfortably host. There was always good food, good drinks, good company, and…

“Stop standing by yourself! Roger invited a lot of his friends through work,” Mia leaned in, lifting her dark brows, “Cute, single friends.”

There it was. Every single year Mia tried to use it as an opportunity to hook Ivy up, too.

“That’s nice, Mia, but I’m not interested. Remember?”

“Yes, yes, you’ve had a string of bad dates the past two years that’ve dramatically turned you away from love forever.” This time when Mia rolled her eyes it seemed far more pointed.

“That’s not the only reason,” Ivy felt herself getting defensive, but carried on, “I also need to focus on my career, and I do just fine on my own. Honestly, Mia, I get it. You and Roger are great together and I see how happy he makes you and you make him, but I promise you my life isn’t lacking anything because I don’t have anyone.”

Mia frowned and shook her head. “Alright, alright, that’s a fair point. Still…” she raised her brows and seemed to fight a smile, “There’s some really cute single guys here. I’m not saying you need to fall in love and get married or anything... But what’s wrong with a little bit of companionship?” She winked, just as Roger beckoned her from the house. “I better go see what he needs. Mingle! I mean it! This is a party!”

Ivy laughed, promising to find someone to talk to as Mia walked off. Alone again, she glanced over the different sized gatherings of people to figure out where she could seamlessly slide into a conversation. There were a few familiar faces and enough for her to find somewhere to go or someone to talk to. But it was the man she’d never seen, standing off by himself much like she’d been, with the colorful pearl snap tucked into a tight pair of Wranglers, a decent-sized buckle catching the reflection of the flames of the bonfire, and blond hair loose in fluffy curls around his face that caught her attention.

Okay, so there were definitely some cute guys here.

***

“Did you choose to outcast yourself, or were you just enjoying the fire and I’m being a presumptuous jerk by assuming you’re all alone?”

Adam looked over at the woman who’d walked up to him just then and gave a half-grin. “Ah- you caught me, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t really know many people here, just Roger.” He pointed the tip of his beer bottle toward the house where he’d last seen his friend. “I was trying to figure out how to get naturally into a conversation with these strangers or wait until Roger came back out here to tag around with him.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you were enjoying the bonfire and minding your own business and not at all an outcast.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said with a chuckle. She was cute, and witty. Adam prided himself on being fairly charming in most conversations, and always quick with something to make people laugh. But this girl was tripping him up, he felt like he was a step too slow with her and he wasn’t sure what he was more of: excited or nervous?

“How do you know Roger?” She asked.

“I used one of his horses for work.”

“Oh! You work in the film industry?”

“Kind of,” he gave a small grin and shrugged. “I’m on t.v.” It still felt weird to say it, even a year later.

“Let me guess,” she said, narrowing her eyes in thought as she tilted her head and looked up at him. He couldn’t help but notice the way the orange-glow of the nearby fire looked pretty in her eyes. “You’re definitely one of the stars of whatever show it is.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch.” When she smiled, there seemed a bit of extra brightness in her eyes. A little bit of mischief. She lifted her cup to her lips to take a drink of whatever she had in her hands, and Adam found himself momentarily distracted by the shape of her lips.

“Well, I guess you’re sort of right.” Though he certainly felt a pang of nervousness at referring to himself as a star. “I am on there pretty frequently.”

“I knew it!” She grinned. “What’s it about?”

The hand not holding his beer reached to rub at the back of his neck as he grinned. “I’m a professional wrestler?”

“No way!” She seemed delighted.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his hand back to comfortably rest his thumb on his belt.

“Wait… Why on earth did you need a horse as a wrestler?”

It was Adam’s turn to laugh. “I have this whole cowboy persona, so we just thought it would be cool for me to ride a horse.”

“Ahhh, I guess that explains the wranglers and the pearl snap,” she gestured at his front.

“Well, hey now, just because I have a cowboy persona for wrestling doesn’t mean I’m not a cowboy myself.”

“Are you?”

“Kind of?”

They looked at one another and she grinned.

“I grew up on a tobacco farm, we had cattle, horses. The whole thing.”

“So you’re a cowboy who wrestles.”

“Yep,” he said, and was happy to see another smile on her face. “And you?” He had fallen comfortably into their conversation, and hadn’t even noticed Roger was already back around the bonfire, mingling with the other attendants. Adam was too distracted by her.

“I am not a cowboy who wrestles,” she pointed out playfully, and at the roll of his eyes, laughed. “What I do is not nearly that exciting. I’m an editor at a publishing firm.”

“Hey, that’s pretty cool!” He encouraged.

“Not as cool as being a professional wrestling cowboy on T.V.”

“Okay, maybe you got me on that one. My job is pretty cool.” He lifted the beer to his lips to take another swig. “But you get to read stories like they’re plain river rocks and polish them up so they look as pretty as a gemstone, and I know that’s no easy job to do. We do a lot of that where I work. Kind of. We come up with our stories and everyone kind of helps refine them to make them something great by the end of it. I could only imagine what it must be like to read other people’s work and have the talent to go in and make it great.”

“Thank you…” her voice trailed off as she looked at him almost curiously, and Adam worried he’d said something wrong. His brows dipped in together as he watched her. “Sorry,” she said when she noticed him frowning, “it’s just that no one has ever really cared that much about what I do. Or at least, not really understood it. They normally go with a traditional nod of their head and a polite compliment before they change the subject.”

“Well, maybe you haven’t been telling the right people.”

“Maybe,” she said, her smile growing. “Honestly, this whole conversation is refreshing. I’m used to dodging people not caring about my job and jumping right into asking me about my relationships. It’s like everyone assumes my life isn’t complete without a partner in it. Every single conversation always leads back to that.”

Adam laughed and nodded in agreement. “Oh, I know. Almost all of my friends are happily settled down, and they all like to worry about me, so every time there’s some big event where everyone’s got their partner and I’m standing off with my beer they start to bug me about not finding a girl yet.” He shook his head and took another swallow of beer, then realized it was the last drink in the bottle. He licked the remnants off his lips and sighed. “Don’t even get me started on my mama.”

“Don’t get me started on mine!” She retorted. “Come on, let’s get you a refill.” They fell easily in step together, and as they left the warmth of the big, crackling bonfire he found himself moving a little bit closer to her in step, as if to block away some of the chill on the path to the house. There was an ice chest filled with beer back at the bonfire, but Adam didn’t want to question her as she led him away from it.

“My mom has been pressuring me about settling down and having kids for years now,” she continued as they walked up the back porch steps and into the cozy (and quiet) house. “Sometimes I wonder if she even knows what I do for work, because it sure doesn’t seem like she cares.” She stopped in front of a large crock pot with its light on to signal it was keeping whatever was inside warm.

“You know what really sucks?” She asked as she gave him a look, to which Adam widened his eyes a little and shook his head. She was ramped up on a rant, and he was happy to stand aside and let her work through those frustrations.

As she took the ladle and poured rich, amber liquid into a new cup and then added more to hers to refill what she’d drank, she sighed. “I’m possibly up for a promotion soon. A big one. I want to tell everyone, but I already know the next words that are going to follow are going to be about if I’m dating.”

“Congratulations,” he offered a little gently, and found he didn’t like the way dejection looked across her face. “They really wouldn’t care about you getting promoted?”

“I mean, they’d congratulate me and say it’s nice and they’re proud, but I already know unless I have someone, they’re still going to see me as…” she frowned as she tilted a bottle of honey whiskey to spike the drink, “Incomplete.” The golden liquid splashed inside before she set the bottle down and then handed him the cup. “Enough of my woe-is-me stupidity. Here, no more beer tonight. You’re at a bonafide bonfire, and that means you’re going to get really into the traditions and drink some homemade, spiked apple cider.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned as she pressed the warm cup into his palm, but he was thinking. As she turned to walk around him, intending to head back out the door with her cup in hand, he spoke up.

“Hey, wait a second.”

She looked back at him and he wondered why his heart was suddenly beating so fast.

“I know this is cliché and a little dumb, but I don’t like people poking into my personal business, even my friends, and I don’t like those looks they give me when they’ve got their arms wrapped around their loved ones and I’m alone. If you had someone, it’d stop all those questions about your relationship, right? What if we just pretended to date? Just to get through all these holiday parties.”

“This sounds like a set-up to one of those cheesy, Hallmark Christmas movies.”

“I promise not to fall in love with you if you promise not to fall in love with me.” He teased, and was happily rewarded with her smiling. To hide how much he liked seeing it, Adam lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip of the drink she’d made him. It tasted just like winter traditions, warm apples, cinnamon, and a sweet hint and burn of honey whiskey.

“Oh, what the hell,” she shrugged after seeming to contemplate it for a moment, “If it means I have one Christmas season where everyone isn’t up my ass about finding someone, I’m in.”

“Alright,” he grinned and held out his hand. “Shake on it?”

She slipped her hand into his, and he tried not to pay any mind to how much he liked feeling the contact. He told himself he had no ulterior motives and that this was simply to get everyone off his back, and everyone off of hers. Plus, she was nice and easy to talk to, he wouldn’t mind having her company at the holiday party.

“I promise not to fall in love with you while we fake date through the holidays to get all of our loving but annoying friends and family off our back.” She declared, and they shook on it as he chuckled, then raised his cup.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

Adam and Ivy will return on December 19th - Holiday Party!

#fanfiction #aew fanfiction #hangman adam page fanfiction #hangman adam page #adam page #hangman page #adam page fanfiction #mine: fanfiction #my fics: hangman adam page #12daysofchristmas

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forgottenyogurtgods · 4 years ago

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Author stuff: After much wait, here’s chapter two! I still don’t know how long this baby’s going to be. Everyone’s positive reactions so far is giving me tippy-tappy toes, so thank you!

Possible trigger warning! COVID-19 is briefly mentioned and, ultimately, the lockdown that came with it as well. (I’ll try to post all trigger warnings at the top here. If I don’t, give me a shout. I’m pretty easily accessible on the websites I post on.)

no body, no crime

by forgottenyogurtgods

Summary: [I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. No, no body, no crime But I ain’t letting up until the day I die.]

Adrien is a Swiftie. To be fair, who isn’t? And her Evermore album? Chef’s kiss! Except… one song put an idea in his head and now he can’t get it out.

Inspired by this tumblr post.

Chapter 2/?

Last chapter

Episode Two

Two years ago, Emilie Agreste vanished without a trace. Her car was found abandoned on the side of the road, just outside of Paris. All of her things were still inside.

No one has seen or heard from her since that night.

The police are officially calling it a missing person’s case.

I am your host, Adrian Agreste, and I plan to use this podcast docu-series to find out what happened to my mother and prove to the world that my father killed her.

This all kind of started with Taylor Swift.

You know, country music star turned pop singer turned alt-folk-rock singer? The one who’s won an award for almost every album she’s ever released? Yeah, that Taylor Swift.

And you can blame some of my classmates on this, too. Specifically, Mylene and Rose.

I’ve always been a Swiftie. Her music helped me to actually learn quite a bit of English. And my mom used to like singing her music with me, so Taylor kind of has been… important in my life, I guess you can say.

As a Swiftie, I was perfectly obligated to join my classmates in our discord chat to stream the albums together. Because, you know, COVID-19 is a thing.

[Future Adrien here! Hey, if you’re from the future and listening to this, first off, hello! Second, thanks for stopping by. Third, yes, I made this podcast during the COVID-19 pandemic. That was a… questionably strange time. Of being isolated to my house once again — we’ll talk about that later in the series.

Anyway, back to the show!]

Classes were over for the day, and we were all just helping each other get through our homework. As I said before, Mylene and Rose kind of started it.

And everyone went along with it, because they’re Mylene and Rose. They’re just… I can’t really explain it. You just can’t say no when they ask to stream the latest Taylor Swift album over discord for everyone to listen to.

I don’t think anyone was really paying attention to the music much at first, we were just talking over it. I actually didn’t really notice “No Body, No Crime” until the chorus came in for the last time.

I ended up buying the album later that night and relistening to the whole thing while I was supposed to, umm, be working on my English. Which, technically, I was. Just not in a way that was approved by my English language instructor.

Anyway, “No Body, No Crime” kind of stuck out to me. And it stuck with me. For a while.

And it got me thinking about my mom again. About how she was never found, and no matter how hard they searched, no new information was ever uncovered. How her case is still open and unsolved.

Okay, so I think about my mom a lot, just in general, but I was thinking about the night she disappeared and how everything played out after that.

Something… something just didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t place what, but just that something had been off.

Things just didn’t add up.

So, like any sane person, I ordered a transparent dry erase board and markers. I also printed out all the information I possibly could when I had some spare time.

And I looked over all of the details that had been available to the media and, essentially, the public. As well as the conspiracies that can be found on Reddit and other forums.

We’ll, uh, we’ll get to the conspiracies in a later episode. Those kind of deserve their own episode. They really, really do.

Where was I?

Oh, right. Getting everything in order.

I ended up recruiting outside help. Not just my friends, like Nino who is my producer and editor, or Marinette who actually designed a really cool logo for this podcast. I’m actually getting help from one of Paris’s akuma-fighting heroes — Chat Noir!

[Dude, when did you even get a chance to talk to Chat Noir?]

Oh, uh, a couple of days ago.

[Alya is going to freak out. You know that, right?]

Yeah, I, uh, kind of figured she would.

I should… probably explain who Alya is and why she’d freak out. Alya loves superheroes. More than me and Nino, and trust me when I say we binged the entire Marvel and DC movie universes. So many hours…

Anyway, Alya.

Alya runs a blog — the Ladyblog — that reports on Paris’s own superheroes, mainly Chat Noir and… and Ladybug. She’s been faithfully reporting on everything since day one. News reporters all over the world rely on her for not only information but live footage from every battle.

She has actually been really useful in helping me organize everything.

And it’s because of Alya that I finally figured out what was so wrong with my mother’s case. The thing that had been nagging me at the back of my mind.

The investigation on my mother’s disappearance wasn’t that deep of an investigation. It barely scratched the surface. It was all for show.

No one was putting in any effort to find out what happened to her. But why?

Author stuff cont’d.: So! This being kind of a story told through a podcast was heavily inspired by a few true crime podcasts. Most notably In the Dark (both the Jacob Wetterling case and the Curtis Flowers case) and Up and Vainished (the Tara Grinstead case), as well as To Live and Die in LA (the Adea Shabani case).

Also available on

[Ao3]

[FanFiction.Net]

[Wattpad]

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #mlb fanfic #mlb no body no crime

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wiseabsol · 4 years ago

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WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 15: Lost

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/15/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula’s defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister’s plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 15!

CHAPTER 15: LOST

Alright, I’m a little late on this one, so let’s just dive into the ugly sadness of “Chapter 15: Lost,” shall we?

The A/N mentions that Toph, Suki, and Sokka will be back in five or six chapters, and a part of me can’t help but think, “Good, you three are distracting us from the Surround Sound Stereo Angst for the Royal Fire Family.” Joking aside, I am looking forward to Toph’s character development later on, because even though I know some of what is going to happen in future chapters of “Dominion,” I legitimately don’t think that Aurelia and I have discussed Toph’s arc yet. It’s a blind spot for me, but I’m okay with that, since I want to have some surprises in the wings, rather than just enjoying how X and Y parts are executed. Both ways of reading this story are fun, but the former is more enjoyable for reader in me, rather than the editor.

If the outline mentioned in chapter fifteen is still accurate, then that means that we have seven chapters left of “Dominion” at present, before we move on to “Thrones.” That number might be off, though, because Aurelia tends to be more verbose than she expects and has to split the chapters into multiple parts.

On to the chapter itself. Ty Lee and Mai are meeting in a sitting room. Ty Lee is nervous and Mai wonders if Ty Lee thinks that she’s mad at her, but Ty Lee hastens to reassure her. Mai’s aura indicates that she’s anxious and struggling to maintain control during this conversation. Mai is upset about “Zuko’s mistake,” but she doesn’t blame Ty Lee for it—she knows who to blame (Azula, probably, but maybe both her and Zuko). Mai doesn’t think that it was a bad idea for Zuko to team up with June, because the bounty hunter will track Azula down in short order and have her back in custody.

Ty Lee is not enthused about this idea. Despite knowing that Mai isn’t going to like it, she tells Mai that Azula shouldn’t be put back into the asylum. As trash of a human being as J. K. Rowling is, I can’t help but think of the quote, “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends.” Ty Lee, you are the overlooked and unsung hero of this story. There should be shrines in your honor.

Mai never likes it when Ty Lee brings up Azula, and usually deflects the conversation. Ty Lee also sees Mai less than she sees Azula, so they don’t get much of a chance to talk anyway. “Ty Lee still felt a little guilty about that, but Mai was always so busy, and Mai and Zuko would never even talk about Azula when she was the one who brought them all together in the first place….”

A few things here. Ty Lee and Mai are maybe a little like Ty Lee and Zuko, in that they call each other friends, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is putting in the effort to be friends. Mai could be making more time for Ty Lee. Mai could be trying to empathize with Ty Lee over the Azula issue. At the same time, I think Mai has been trying to set a boundary with Ty Lee about Azula, but either Mai hasn’t made it clear enough to Ty Lee that this is a boundary, or Ty Lee isn’t able to respect it because Azula is so important to her. It seems like there are competing needs at work here, and the feelings on both sides are valid.

At the same time, this situation has been festering for years. It’s clear that Mai has never been at peace with her feelings towards Azula, and that this is hurting her as much as it’s going to hurt Azula. I think Mai’s hatred for Azula is founded on the love she once had for her. While a large part of her might think that Azula deserved her fate, and even found it satisfying to see Azula brought low, there might also be a small part of her that wonders if that fall was partially her fault (it was, since Mai accidentally slammed down on Azula’s triggers), and feels guilty for it and for feeling that satisfaction. Also, from the way she’s been behaving, Mai might very well have been just as toxic and false a friend to Azula as she accuses Azula of being to her. She didn’t communicate her needs or desires to Azula, but instead let herself boil alive with resentment. She might blame Azula for how things went down, but she’s ignoring the role she played in it.

As the conversation continues, Ty Lee dances around why it would be bad to send Azula back to the asylum (because Azula is pregnant), and Mai says, “‘She tell you they abused her? And here I thought it was her dad.’”

Which brings another layer into this. I’m going to discuss this in more detail later, but Mai has now been confronted with the idea that Azula was an abused child—just as abused as Zuko was. And besides this recontextualizing Azula’s behavior, now Mai is left to wonder, “How did I never notice?” I think there’s a tiny part of her, one that she denies, that is appalled over what happened to Azula.

Ty Lee, who loves Azula whole-heartedly, is HORRIFIED by this revelation. She feels like the ground is “rushing up to hit her” and remembers how Ozai treated her, the last night she spent in the castle as a kid. And then she…well: “But Azula was so strong, she wouldn’t let anyone do that to her, would she? At least she would have told Ty Lee, they were best friends!” Oh Ty Lee, honey. That’s not how abuse works. Azula wouldn’t have told anyone, both because she was ordered not to by her abuser, but also because that would have meant being vulnerable around someone else. Does that sound like something Azula would do?

Mai says that Azula must have been lying about the abuse, but the thing is, Azula didn’t tell Mai about it. Zuko did. And even Mai doesn’t really believe it is a lie, if Ty Lee’s aura-reading is accurate. Mai’s just trying really hard to believe in her own lie. Mai argues that Ty Lee only ever sees the good in people—which isn’t true, since Ty Lee can see the flaws in people, but is more forgiving of them than the other characters are (except for Aang). Mai wonders if Ty Lee has convinced herself that there’s goodness in Azula where there is none.

And that’s…a lot. Because there’s a mix of good and bad in everyone. Some people lean more towards one end of the spectrum than the other, but if you look hard enough, you’ll always find something that humanizes even the most saintly or heinous of people. My stepmother, who was emotionally and psychologically abusive, wasn’t pure evil. She made my father happy. She was fiercely protective of those she loved. She made the best oatmeal cookies in the world and shared my passion for sappy romances. I’ve progressed enough in my healing that I can see these things, and see her as a troubled person who made mistakes and never got the help she needed. But Mai…she hasn’t healed the way I have. She hasn’t forgiven Azula. She might never be able to do that, either, given recent events (and she doesn’t have to—that’s her choice to make). And as long as that’s the case, it’s so much easier for her to demonize Azula, because if Azula is a demon, then Mai doesn’t have to grapple with the messy reality of Azula as a person, or grapple with how Ozai’s, Zuko’s, and Mai’s own choices damaged her.

Then we get this passage, which I’m going to quote in full, because it’s a slap in the face to absolutist thinking where Azula is concerned:

“‘I know she did some bad things, some awful things even, but that was four years ago and she was just a kid! We all were!’ [Ty Lee] argued [ . . . ] ‘And most of that stuff she did on her dad’s orders, and who knows what he would’ve done if she refused—’

‘Oh yes, poor helpless little victim,’ Mai interrupted coldly, rising to her feet with more grace than Ty Lee. ‘It’s not like she ever had a choice.’

‘She had a choice, but this stuff makes a difference, Mai!’ Ty Lee insisted, desperate to make her see it. ‘It makes a difference how we judge what she did! And we know now she was crazy!’ Ty Lee seized on the horrible truth with more enthusiasm than she would ever have guessed, spreading her hands to offer explanation. ‘Doesn’t that make a difference to you?’”

Context. Matters. It matters so much when you’re judging someone’s behavior. If someone is under duress, or isn’t fully in their right mind, or if they have no good choices, can we really blame them from making bad ones? And in Azula’s case, she was a child. Should she really have been written off by anyone, let alone our heroes?

Mai doesn’t believe that Azula was mentally ill, though. That was just a part of Azula’s scheme, you see. Ty Lee is rightly appalled by this. “‘Even if—you thought she just made it up—to avoid prison or something,’ she grasped at the logic only loosely, because it was disgusting, ‘you can’t deny what it did to her! She starved herself almost to death, she almost died!’” I really appreciate that Ty Lee is disgusted by Mai’s reasoning here. You go, Ty Lee! Four for you, Ty Lee! You’re the only reasonable person from the Fire Nation in this cast, I swear.

Ty Lee reminds Mai that there were witnesses to Azula’s deteriorating mental state, but realizes that Mai is in denial about this: “Realization leaked through cold and creeping as the egg Ty Lin broke over her head that one time. ‘Or maybe you can deny it,’ she whispered, horrified, and took a swift step back with hands raised before her when Mai lifted her head.” Yeah, I’m fully in agreement with Ty Lee’s horror. She’s looking at a friend who is so twisted up by resentment that she has lost sight of reality, in favor of believing a comfortable lie—namely, that Azula is irredeemable and so Mai doesn’t need to care about what happens to her. Even though Mai does need to care about this, because Zuko and Ty Lee will be gutted if Azula dies, and the Fire Nation will probably go to war over it.

“‘I didn’t see her because she treated me like shit,’ Mai spoke deliberately.” Mai is right that she doesn’t have to have Azula in her life if she doesn’t want Azula there. You don’t have to have anyone in your life who has hurt you. But that isn’t all that’s going on here. Mai is still smoldering with anger four years later, and her inability to let that anger go has been eating her alive. It’s making her lash out at Zuko and Ty Lee when they try to broach the subject of Azula. This isn’t healthy for her or anyone else. This is just a continuation of the behavior that plagued her as a teenager—suppressing all of her negative emotions until they explode outwards, rather than allowing herself to feel them, accept them, learn from them, and move on.

When Mai points out that she doesn’t owe Azula anything, Ty Lee replies that she wouldn’t have met or fallen in love with Zuko if she hadn’t been Azula’s friend. This stings for Mai, given that the siblings have had sex: “‘She gives, and she takes away….’”

Ty Lee, being more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, figures out that something must have happened. She’s very sympathetic, asking if Mai wants to talk about it. Mai panics and has another angry outburst, thinking that Azula must have told Ty Lee about what Zuko did. “[Ty Lee] was reminded uncannily of how Azula reacted to Mai’s rejection at the Boiling Rock, and found it hard to fathom how Mai hadn’t run for the hills on receiving such a look.” This is interesting, because it suggests that part of the reason why Mai loathes Azula so much is because of the similarities between them. There is nothing more unsettling than seeing a dark mirror of yourself in someone else.

Ty Lee doesn’t know what Mai is talking about, and then kicks herself for revealing that to Mai: “Azula would have known enough to pretend she already knew, so Mai would tell her.” Mai shuts down at this point and tells Captain Tadao to take Ty Lee to her rooms, because they’ve “embarrassed each other enough for one day” and that they’ll talk later.

Ty Lee knows that’s bullshit. “They wouldn’t because Mai never wanted to talk about Azula, and was extra unlikely to want to talk about Azula when she had problems of her own with Zuko.” I’m sure that Mai was reluctant to talk about Azula with Ty Lee because she didn’t think that Ty Lee would let her vent about her anger towards Azula, or understand it and not make excuses for Azula. Which is fair, but Mai should have found someone else to vent to to get the poison out, and then circled back to seeing Azula as a human being who fucked up.

Actually, you know what Mai probably needs? She needs to confront Azula about what happened between them, because she hasn’t seen Azula since the Boiling Rock. Yeah, Mai had a cool line about loving Zuko more than fearing Azula, but that didn’t get into her specific grievances, or allow Azula to address or apologize for them to give Mai closure. And we know that Azula feels bad about what she did, because it was what haunted her the most when she was having her breakdown. If Azula really was a monster, then she wouldn’t feel that remorse.

“Ty Lee felt bad about that, and she wanted to help Mai, she really did”—Ty Lee is too good for this sinful Earth—“but Mai wouldn’t tell her anything, and even though her problems seemed bad, Azula’s could get her killed—” Yeah, the most reasonable one of the bunch, our Ty Lee.

Ty Lee begs Mai to do something to help Azula, because she’ll die if the Earth Kingdom catches her. Ty Lee has this heart-wrenching speech: “‘I know you guys had problems, and—maybe you think she was never your friend [ . . . ] But she thought of you as a friend, Mai, she told me so! She fought so hard to get better, she’s a better person now, and she deserves a second chance! But she’ll never get that chance unless we help her.’” Carve my heart out and eat it, why don’t you?

And Mai…is unmoved by this. And condescending about it. “‘I hoped your actions might prove you were ready to cut ties with her too. But clearly you can’t be trusted to know what’s best for you” She’s referring here to Ty Lee seemingly choosing the Kyoshi Warriors over Azula. But also, it’s gross that Mai assumes that she knows what is best for Ty Lee. Fuck off with that, Mai.

Mai doubles down on the whole, “Azula’s awful, I don’t owe her anything, and don’t come crying to me when she hurts you” schtick. If she’d met the adult version of Azula and seen that version of her hurt someone, such as Ty Lee, then this reaction would make sense. What this is instead is Mai holding onto a grudge that is years old and using it as a weapon. She’s clinging to the idea that Azula can never change…even though that’s not how people work. Especially not people in the formative years of their lives, which they all still qualify as.

Aaaand Ty Lee, panicking now, reveals that Azula is pregnant as a last-ditch effort to get Mai to get her head out of her black-clad butt and see reason. Mai goes into despairing shock at this news and accidentally cuts herself with her own knife, much to Ty Lee’s and Captain Tadao’s alarm. One of the guards tries to grab Ty Lee, but Ty Lee chi-blocks him and he collapses. The next one manages to grab her. Mai orders them to remove Ty Lee from the room, and instead of putting Ty Lee in her guest bedroom, they stick her in a study.

We learn that Ty Lee actually likes Tadao, because he works hard and doesn’t dismiss Ty Lee’s suggestions on how to improve palace security. He’s the one who comes to see Ty Lee instead of Mai. He tells her that Mai is going to be fine. She might have a scar on her hand, but she’ll still be able to use it. When Ty Lee wonders why she got so upset, Tadao points out that since Mai and Azula are sisters-in-law, Azula’s condition will have an impact on Mai. This is also “the latest in a recent line of insults.” To put it another way, Mai is bitter at Azula for having sex with Zuko and throwing that wrench into her marriage (namely, by revealing that Zuko is not the person she thought he was). Then there are the political considerations, given that Azula’s kid could have a place in the line of succession, if the kid gets legitimized someday. Which then puts little Lu Ten’s claim at risk.

This also reveals that Captain Tadao knows what happened between Azula and Zuko. For a second, I thought that he was Mai’s uncle, and so the ugly secret was just between them and the Fire siblings. But no, more people know about it, and that is NOT GOOD. But Captain Tadao seems like a good guy (sidebar, but was he the guy who escorted baby Ty Lee out of the palace during the abortion episode? It would be a sweet connection if so), and when Ty Lee asks why Mai won’t confide in her about what is going on between her and Zuko, Tadao is gentle when he tells her, “‘I think you know the answer to that question.’” Ty Lee’s love for Azula and Mai’s hatred of her is something they cannot reconcile, and given how important Azula is in their lives, it’s a potential dealbreaker for them, at least as far as having a close emotional, trusting relationship goes. A casual friendship is still possible, but probably not if Mai or Ty Lee keep pushing each other.

Mai has decided to pack Ty Lee off to Kyoshi Island, and has gotten her a ticket and an escort to the harbor. Ty Lee has written Mai a letter to continue their conversation. I’m struck by how fast Mai is pushing Ty Lee out of the Fire Nation. What if Ty Lee wanted to visit her family? What if she wanted to enjoy some spicy homecooked Fire Nation food? What if she, god forbid, decided to visit Ozai for a nice shouting match (well, shouting at his comatose body, more like)? Alas, the plot beckons us forward!

We find ourselves back with Zuko and June. Hooray? I put a question mark there because Zuko doesn’t appearing to be having a good time with the bounty hunter. He is, in fact, puking his guts out. Traveling with June has the feeling of a boot camp to Zuko, because she keeps trying to “toughen him up”: “It reminded Zuko uncomfortably of his father’s early tutelage, before Ozai gave up shaping him into an unfeeling weapon of war, and turned his sights to Azula instead.” Oh Zuko, if you knew what Ozai was trying to shape YOU into, then why blame Azula for—at least in your eyes—becoming it?

June puts all of the gross chores of their journey onto him, and tries to steal his food to see if he’s cunning enough to get it back. I’m sure she finds this amusing, but I remember how hard Zuko’s journey apart from Iroh was, and I think she might have an overly inflated opinion of her teaching skills.

In any case, they find the Dai Li agent hiding in a cave and June forces Zuko to interrogate him. It sounds like June is doing the heavy-lifting where torturing the man is concerned, though. June keeps telling Zuko to burn the man, and reminds him that Azula will be tortured if she’s captured. Eventually, the man begs Zuko to kill him, and Zuko has a flashback to when he was burned by Ozai: “he could only think of a hand wreathed in flame, reaching for him.” It’s at this point that Zuko throws up. He tries to argue that the man deserves this: “He would have blackmailed me, hunted my sister down like an animal. He wouldn’t flinch from torturing her, even killing her if he was ordered.” This line of reasoning doesn’t give him any comfort, though.

I do want to point out that torture, despite what fiction would like us to believe, is an ineffective tool for getting reliable information out of someone. Oftentimes it’s bribery that works better, such as, “You know we can’t let you go, but if you tell us what we want to know, we can make sure that no harm comes to your loved ones.” People in pain will say anything to make it stop, so gentler methods are more effective. However, it’s become ingrained in our cultural consciousness that torture works, despite what studies have shown. And since hurting the villain can be cathartic to an audience, and a hero hurting the villain can tell us something about them as a person, it comes up a LOT in action stories. And while I am exhausted by it being used in this way (torture as a tool of the villains tracks better, since there is no shortage of people who find satisfaction in making other people feel pain), I do see why it is used here. It’s only recently that the ineffectiveness of torture has become more generally known, whereas Zuko lives in a time period analogous to…probably the late 1800s?

I do wish that the torture here hadn’t yielded the information that it had, or that this information turned out to be bunk upon investigating it. As if it, the Dai Li agent is mostly filling in non-vital information: that he worked as an orderly at the asylum and had a partner there, hence how he got to the beach house on Ember Island so fast. So the partner needs to be taken care of at some point soon. Zuko better remember to send that letter!

Then we get this chilling thought from Zuko: “Zuko considered for the first time what might have happened, if she had not run from the asylum. If the Earth Kingdom grew impatient [ . . . ] it would have been appallingly easy to make her death look like a suicide, an accident overdose, a bad reaction to her medication….” Yeah, she was definitely a sitting duck there.

“He wondered if Azula knew, or suspected, that she was in the care of her enemies when she decided to run [ . . . ] She had an instinct for these things. The only time she hadn’t seen it coming was when her friend betrayed her. And when Zuko left to join Aang in ending the war, if her converse [sic] with absent fathers was to be believed—" I don’t know if Azula ever knew that there were Dai Li agents lurking about, but even Zuko is starting to see why Azula has such bad trust issues.

It looks like June continued with the torture and got the location of her dad out of her victim. I really wish she’d gotten a fake location, but I understand that the plot necessitates a swift end to this subplot. June hopes that Zuko is less squeamish about violence when someone is out to kill him, but I’m sure he would be fine in that situation, because that would be a fair fight, rather than causing someone who is helpless and incapacitated a useless amount of pain. June killed the agent in the end, and when Zuko argues that torturing him wasn’t right, and she replies with, “‘It was necessary. You head one of the most powerful nations in the world, don’t you know what that is?’”

And…(sigh)…yes, leaders need to make tough calls sometimes. But if they choose to do something this ugly, they really shouldn’t be fine with it afterwards. They should acknowledge that it was evil, but that they couldn’t see another way to accomplish their goal. That route accepts more responsibility than hiding behind the idea that it was for “the greater good” and that no one else could have thought of a better path forward. When June says that the torture was necessary, that doesn’t make it not evil. It just means that she didn’t see another way to get what she needed.

June then points out that Ozai was a helpless prisoner when Zuko burned him, which stings Zuko. I would argue that Zuko is right about it being different—his crime was one of passion, whereas June’s was coldly calculated. But both ultimately led to human suffering, so both of them were wrong to do it.

Zuko takes a deep breath to keep from lashing out at June, which tells us that he CAN manage his anger when he wants to. He’s struggling, though, because he’s tempted to tell June what Ozai did to Azula to justify burning his dad. He decides not to: “It didn’t feel right somehow, telling anyone else about the abuse. He wondered if this was how Uncle felt when he found out, and why he didn’t say anything. He still should have said something….” Zuko is right—Azula’s trauma isn’t his to share. He also goes from having empathy for Iroh to being angry with him in a split second, which makes sense. He’s conflicted about how his uncle handled the discovery. At the very least, Iroh should have told her doctors, so she could get the care she needed.

“How many more of [June’s] cruelties would he have to witness or take part in, before this was over?” This is rough and why I am not a fan of characters like June. Azula’s actions in this fic are calculated to minimize harm; June has no such scruples. She’s too much in “the ends justify the means” frame of mind.

Zuko has two thoughts that suggest that Azula is the devil on his shoulder, as far as his brain is concerned. “You would [burn Ozai] again” and “You could kill [June . . . ] Remove the threat.” He describes the latter thought as being “so alien and disturbing Azula might have suggested it herself.” No, my dude. Just like hallucination!Ursa is a reflection of Azula’s doubts, whispering!Azula is a reflection of Zuko’s darker thoughts and impulses, which he deflects onto her because that is easier for him to do than face the darkness within himself.

He then has some off-color thoughts about June, besides the idea of murdering her. “Sometimes Zuko thought she was more animal than woman”—Gross!—“and didn’t know whether to be turned on or disgusted by her antics. He had even wondered once in the long hours he spent riding behind her how Mai would look dressed all in black leather like that.” This would be a much lighter story if Zuko and Mai had just embraced his leather kink, rather than him embracing his toxic desire to possess Azula.

As June taunts him about how he wouldn’t win if he tried to kill her, he figures out that she knows that he slept with Azula. She confirms it: “‘Your secret’s out. I might have forgot to mention our mutual friend let that slip, before the end. He got a message to the others. Looks like we should’ve moved faster.’” This means that Zuko, Azula, Mai, Mai’s uncle, Tadao, June, and now some unnamed Dai Li agents—who will probably pass this information along to their superiors—are in the know. That is very bad! Zuko had better hope that they’ll be able to spin this information as slander against him and his family, because if people believe it, his family is going to have a tough time holding onto the throne.

June throws in that now she knows why he has problems with women, which Zuko denies. I feel like he’s better about women than Iroh and Ozai, but his treatment of Azula is definitely skeevy. June, in any case, isn’t bothered by this information, because she doesn’t have siblings as far as she knows. She also doesn’t have the same cultural teachings as Zuko, so she doesn’t have the same taboos that he does.

We switch over to Mai, who is sulking in Zuko’s study. She’s read Ty Lee’s letter a few times by now and is not impressed. She thinks that she’s entitled to be upset, given the situation, and I can’t fault her for that. “That a man so endearingly awkward and painfully sincere would betray her with anyone, let alone his manipulative bitch of a sister, was a permissible source of surprise.” While I don’t like how she describes Azula, I agree with the rest of her sentiment.

“That Azula would take fullest advantage of his lapse was not.” This is ridiculous, though. What, did Azula plan to escape while she was ovulating so that she would become pregnant when she seduced her brother? Is that how the story is going in your brain, Mai? Why would Azula do something like that? She’d be disgraced if anyone found out, just as much as Zuko (unless she spun it as rape, which IT WAS. But Mai seems to be thinking that Azula would make a false accusation). Azula certainly will be disgraced if she has a bastard. Also, her being pregnant is going to slow her down and make her more vulnerable. That’s such a stupid plan, and when have Azula’s plans ever been stupid?

“Mai bent her head and gripped her bandaged hand, to draw a deep breath against the grief that welled inside her like an aching void. A void that demanded how he could do this, how he could still defend her, how he could think she didn’t plan this, why—” Mai is struggling because she knows that she was mostly betrayed by Zuko (she no longer trusted Azula, so how could Azula betray her?), but she can’t help but think that Azula had an evil plan. Probably because if Azula did have an evil plan, then maybe Mai could someday forgive Zuko for falling for it.

Her uncle arrives and she tells him the news. “And Mai felt a rush of ruthless satisfaction, upon seeing the warden back into the desk adjacent to her, revulsion etched in every line of his aging face. It wasn’t just her. Zuko tried to act like this was a terrible but legitimate mistake, like it was at all comparable to anything he’d done wrong before. But her uncle knew. He knew it was an abomination.” Yeah, Zuko and Azula committed a big cultural taboo. It’s unsurprising that other people are reacting this way. Also, I’m sure some of Mai’s satisfaction is that finally, someone is on her side, rather than on Zuko’s or Azula’s.

Her uncle voices the idea that maybe the child isn’t Zuko’s at all—that Azula is trying to trap him with a lie—but Mai responds that whether it is or isn’t, Zuko will think it is, and that’s what will matter. She then reflects on her own sexual history with Zuko. They were sleeping together before he defected, and they continued to carry on without protection when he returned. It took two years before she became pregnant with Lu Ten, long enough that she’d wondered if Zuko was waiting to marry her until he was sure she could get pregnant. Which even she knows is a silly idea. He probably just didn’t think to make their union official until she got pregnant and he realized that he should do the “honorable” thing and wed her.

Mai is salty about Azula getting pregnant from one night with him, when it took so much longer for her. When her uncle asks her what she plans to do, she comments that Azula’s medical records have gone missing. Zuko might have them?

“‘Supposedly she almost died in the asylum,’ Mai explained, her words ringing strangely hollow to her own ears. ‘Her doctors said she would never fully recover. I wanted to know if I could reasonably expect this to kill her.’ She tried to imagine the princess bleeding out, that she might die screaming in the same agony Mai endured when Lu Ten was born—and couldn’t. But there would be time enough to consider why later.” Mai can’t imagine her ex-friend dying. As much as she hates Azula, I don’t think she genuinely wants Azula dead, as convenient as that would be for her.

She then subtly suggests to her uncle that they could make it look like Azula just bled out like that—a tragic turn of events, but not anyone’s fault. Mai then accuses Zuko of being irrationally protective of Azula and that he’ll set Mai aside if she moves against Azula openly. I’m not sure Zuko would really do that, since he loves Mai deeply, but I don’t think their marriage would ever recover if Mai killed Azula.

Her uncle notices her hand, and we get this sweet moment: “Mai put her hand in his offered palm without hesitation. A reflex born of the first months she spent training with knives under his tutelage, when he had often [sic] to tend nicks and cuts gained in her practice. When Mai showed no signs of firebending by her fifth birthday, it was her Uncle Tom who first put a blade in her hand, and offered his home for the summer, so she might learn to use it.” When Mai mentioned that her current injury was an accident, her uncle adds, “‘A man like that isn’t worth hurting yourself over.’”

This is a genuinely sweet relationship, and it makes me wish that he had been the one who raised Mai, instead of her parents. She probably would have learned how to express her emotions in a healthy way, rather than bottling them up. He also doesn’t seem to care that she was a girl and had gender roles to conform to. Really, I’m glad that he’s in her corner. She needs someone to be, because this situation is legitimately awful for her.

Mai gets a hug from her uncle, which I think she’s needed for a while. She thanks him for being there for her and not saying, “I told you so,” because her uncle never approved of Zuko. They even make a joke about the situation, about how neither of them thought Zuko would cheat on her with his sister, which is some very dark humor.

Things take a turn when her uncle comments that the Royal family has been corrupt since Sozin, to which Mai replies that he should be careful, because her son is one of them. Tsutomu then suggests that he doesn’t have to be—that if something happened to Zuko, Lu Ten could be raised away from the toxicity of the paternal side of his family. Mai doesn’t like this idea, but her uncle keeps pushing, suggesting that if Zuko has cheated once, maybe he’s done so before and will do so again. Mai shoots this line of reasoning down, because she’s questioned their household about it and knows better, and doesn’t think that Zuko will stray again. Tsutomu keeps suggesting that they could have Zuko killed, and Mai tells him to stop thinking about it. He insists that he would never do anything without her consent. I want to trust him on this, but given later events, I worry that he might have some involvement there. If he does, it will be a case of him thinking that he knows what’s best for her, rather than respecting her wishes.

We then shift back to Azula, who was being pursued by Fong’s men, but managed to shake them when she entered the swamp. Unfortunately, her mount broke its leg when they were running down the mountain, so Azula had to put it down. What a waste! It would have been cruel to let it suffer, though. Azula wanted to trade her ostrich horse for a different mount, but the sandbenders never showed up. She travelled in the desert for a while, keeping the mountains in sight to avoid getting lost, but she needed more water before long. That was when she was discovered by Fong’s men, and she has a couple of sardonic thoughts about how her “famous luck” hadn’t helped her out.

She then starts trekking through the standing water in the marsh, and I’m already shuddering at the thought of all of the mosquitos there. Though they’re probably crossed with something like a wasp to make them extra horrible. Azula climbs up a tree to see if she can spot her pursuers, and thinks about how stupid they were to advertise their intentions in a fight. Fair! We also get the interesting tidbit that benders and nonbenders in the Earth Kingdom tend to work together in squads, whereas this team was specifically all earthbenders and was patrolling during peace time. Azula takes this to mean that they were searching for her. We also learn that Azula is heading to an avatar shrine.

Azula’s pack is waterlogged at this point, and she sighs in a way that reminds her of Mai. This thought leads her to reflect on her ex-friend, much like Mai was doing earlier in the chapter. There is a humous moment where Azula thinks that Mai would have given herself up to avoid stepping into the swamp, and then a bitter one as she thinks, “You never minded getting your hands dirty except in the most literal sense. Yet it was you and not Ty Lee who finally suffered a crisis of conscience—” Meaning that Mai’s betrayal really did come out of nowhere for Azula.

At this, Azula starts hallucinating Mai. She nearly falls out of the tree in surprise, with her pack opening up and her supplies tumbling into the water. Hallucination!Mai is offended by Azula’s thoughts, reminding Azula that she loved Zuko and didn’t want his blood on her hands. Azula, after a moment, reminds herself that she’s not in the asylum anymore, so what she’s seeing could just be a trick of the light or her imagination…except the Gaang ran into visions in this swamp, so it might be magic at work.

Azula tries to get herself back onto the branch properly, but can’t manage a full crunch. Oh buddy, I feel you. She then does the way more impressive thing by swinging backwards, releasing the branch, and grabbing the vines to stop her fall on the way down. She notices that her pursuers are spreading out around the edge of the swamp, probably to intercept her when she emerges. She figures they’ll wait for reinforcements and might try to flush her out when they have better numbers.

Azula considers that there might be dangers in the swamp that she’ll have to deal with, such as “deadly beasts or hostile primitives.” (Sigh.) Sometimes, her being from an imperialist society rears its ugly head. She figures that she needs to make her way to the far end of the swamp before her pursuers do. She takes some time to regather her supplies and then starts the wet trek, while being swarmed by mosquitos. She decides to heat the air around her to try to drive them off. I wish I could do that on summer evenings!

We shift over to Zuko, who is fighting with a team of Dai Li. Looks like he and June have arrived at the hideout! June has coated her whip in shirsu weapon, which works well and makes her match with Nyla. Zuko notes that the Dai Li are trying to use lethal force on him and June, since they aren’t there on official Fire Lord business, so no one will know who killed them. June at one point does a handspring that would have impressed Ty Lee, which is a fun detail, and then Zuko pulls a leaf out of June’s book and makes some fire whips. Once they’ve taken care of the team, they go through the cave and pass by the crystal cells, which June doesn’t bother to check because there are no guards around. Zuko has a sinking feeling that some of the guards must have smuggled June’s dad out and they’ll have to start the search all over again, which means that one of the unconscious men they left behind might get a spot of torture. BUT Nyla knocked out the guards before they could flee on ostrich-horseback, so June’s dad is fine and trying to get his cuffs off.

June’s father is a balding man with a squarish face and glasses. He teases June for taking so long, and then notices Zuko. There’s an argument about the logistics of the fight, the point of it being that June wasn’t sure if Zuko was going to hold his own, and that if he got caught, she was worried that he would have told them which way June and her father ran. Zuko is insulted at the idea that he would have ratted them out, and asks if they would have left him behind. June says that they wouldn’t have, mostly because it would have come back to bite them if they had. Zuko reminds her that now that her father is free, it’s time for her to fulfill her part of the deal and track down Azula. June asks him if he has a scent sample from Azula on him, because the last one they had is ashes now, and led Nyla to him anyway.

He thinks there are still things in the house on Ember Island that they could use, and remembers some of what happened that night: “Her lips moved silently, forming the same word over and over again. He knew what word she spoke now, two months too late…. I used her no more kindly than him.” Yikes! That word is father and just…ugh. This twisted family. I was trying to explain the appeal of this fic to a friend last night, and I kept saying, “It’s really dark and heavy, but it’s fascinating from a psychological standpoint!”

The trio decide to head to Ember Island. If nothing there works as a sample, they’ll go to the palace. I don’t think there would be fresh enough scents there, so the beach house will have to work. Zuko thinks that after they find Azula, he’ll “make amends, the only way he had left.” Presumably he means to Azula, but he could also be talking about Mai, since Mai also wants Azula caught, though his sister’s fate afterwards would probably be darker than what Zuko wants.

We switch back to Azula, who is being badgered by Hallucination!Mai. I am a little amused about the joke she makes about Azula never lacking direction, though the direction was sometimes the wrong one. If this is Azula’s self-doubt talking, then that’s an acknowledgement that she’s made mistakes and hasn’t always gone down the right path, which flies in the face of her usual self-confidence. There is a suggestion that this hallucination is actually a swamp vision, rather than a symptom of Azula’s mental illness. Unlike her normal hallucinations, this image of Mai vanishes as soon as she looks too closely at it. “Strange that the hallucinations at the asylum never did that.”

This Mai talks more than the hallucinated version of her did. “‘You ever think maybe I didn’t say much, ‘cause I knew you didn’t care what I had to say?’” this Mai says. Azula, tired and bitter, snaps back sarcastically, pointing out that she asked for Mai’s council many times and trusted her as much as she allowed herself to trust anyone. I suspect part of what’s going on here is that Azula is grappling with her fear about how other people—specifically the people she loved—view her. She fears that they see her as a monster and that they’re right to do so, because of the choices she’s made. It’s one thing to have your family by blood betray you, but another thing to have your chosen family do so.

Azula admits that she used Mai’s “infatuation” with Zuko for her own self-gain (clearly not realizing the depth of Mai’s love for Zuko), but that she “still expected Mai to be smart enough to act in her own self-interest.” She was secure in that belief, otherwise she wouldn’t have brought Mai to the Boiling Rock or let Mai have the “first crack at Zuko.” From the sound of it, Azula thought that she was giving Mai a chance for revenge over being left behind by Zuko. Except that Mai couldn’t stand by as he was killed….

Which Azula doesn’t understand. “‘He was a traitor!’ Azula screeched in disbelief, her fist clenched so hard she could feel every bone in her hand. ‘He betrayed you just as much as me! And you still chose him!’ Her voice broke. I was your friend first. He wasn’t anything to you anymore. He ended it in a letter, too much of a coward to tell you to your face. He hadn’t even left her a letter, or any warning of what to expect, the next time she was called before their father….”

While it was a good thing for the world that Zuko chose to help Aang, these are all solid points. Zuko did betray his Fire Lord and nation, so from their perspective, he is a traitor (who, in addition to defecting, then took the throne from Ozai’s appointed heir). He didn’t break up with Mai in person. He didn’t think about what Ozai might do to Azula afterwards. Zuko could certainly have handled the latter situations better.

Vision!Mai devalues Azula’s friendship next, saying that it didn’t compare to his love, and that Zuko was the love of Mai’s life, whereas Azula was a monster. It’s playing right into Azula’s deeply held belief that the reason no one loves and chooses her is because there’s something inherently wrong with her—something that isn’t wrong with Zuko (even though Zuko has fucked up in this story real bad).

Azula punches a tree in anger and thinks that the hallucinations have said worse to her than this, which is super sad. What’s even sadder is that Azula thinks the same things about herself, even without them around: “didn’t Azula think that about herself every day?” She needs some real therapy, not whatever she was getting in the asylum.

Azula is lost by this point, and decides that she needs to find a dry place to sleep and recover, rather than continuing to drain herself by wandering around. Once she gets into the hollow of an old tree trunk, she takes off her socks and boots to avoid trench foot. Good plan! Though couldn’t she also dry out both with her bending? Probably for the best to let her feet air out, though. She then tries to eat, but her food has bog-water in it, and the rice apparently looks like maggots. Gross! She gets sicks, which could be from her morning sickness, from a blood-borne disease from the mosquitos, from the contaminated food, or from a combination of the above. After throwing up a second time—the Fire siblings both have delicate stomachs this chapter!—she decides to stick to drinking water instead.

Azula is getting chills now, which suggests that she’s genuinely sick. She then sees Vision!Mai again, who gives her a nasty Reason You Suck Speech. She accuses Azula of not knowing what love or trust is—excuse me, Ty Lee is proof that that’s not true!—and then adds, “‘You never respected me, or my boundaries, or anything that was mine.’” I’m trying to remember if there was evidence for this in the show, or if this is Azula trying to come up with reasons for why Mai turned on her, and wondering if it was these things? That Azula feels guilty about this, though, shows that she is capable of seeing what she did wrong and learning from it. She can grow as a person…though she needs to be allowed to do so by the people around her. Ty Lee gave her that chance and now their relationship is much healthier. But it’s hard to grow when the people around you keep punishing you for what you did, and never believe that the growth you’ve made is genuine.

Mai then asks, “‘Why else would you seduce [Zuko]?’” which Azula denies, saying she didn’t mean for it to go that far. Apparently, Azula hoped that the kiss would distract him, and then she’d be able to chi-block him so he couldn’t move. Unfortunately, he reacted by throwing her into a nightstand, and after she twisted her ankle, there was no running away.

Mai accuses her of lying—that she did it because she saw Zuko’s weakness and was exploiting it. She asks, “‘How did it feel when he did that to you?’” and Azula doesn’t respond. I think this is where, if she’d felt any pleasure or satisfaction from the sex, it would sneak in and provide an extra layer of shame. That it doesn’t suggests that all Azula felt was violation and pain in the act.

Mai says that this must be why Azula hates her—not because of the betrayal of their friendship, but because she “played the game better than [Azula]. And [Azula] lost.” If I’m parsing this right, Azula thinks that Mai believes that Azula wanted Zuko, and that because Mai won Zuko, Mai got more political power than Azula, beating Azula at the political game. It’s an ugly take, and while I don’t think Mai’s accusations are fair—because we’ve seen from Azula’s perspective what her motives were—this does show that Azula knows Mai quite well, because the real Mai’s thoughts run along similar lines as the vision’s. Real Mai believes that Azula seduced Zuko to blackmail him and continue playing the political game, when in reality, it was a terrible mistake. Azula might have “started it,” thanks to Ozai’s training, but she never would have considered kissing Zuko if Ozai hadn’t done what he did.

Azula asserts that she hasn’t lost until she’s dead. I don’t think she means “winning Zuko” when she says this. She then puts out the fire and goes to sleep, dreaming about her father. After Zuko was banished, her training went into high gear, with more lessons on statecraft and the like. She was so busy that she didn’t have time to miss Zuko—which is definitely a lie—and he would have spoiled her happiness anyway by sulking and trying to get their dad’s attention. “It had been a source of amusement one, but they were not children anymore.” Oh honey, you both were children during canon. Maybe Zuko and the water siblings came of age during the show, but that age was still below what we would currently consider the age of majority.

Azula wondered what Zuko would have thought about the sexual training Ozai inflicted on her. Not that she would ever have told Zuko. We then get a series of thoughts that were almost certainly things Ozai told her: “[Azula and Ozai were] willing to do whatever it took to succeed, to survive. [Zuko] would never realize that people will use anything against you, unless they are too afraid of your doing the same.” This is a paranoid way of looking at the world and the people around you, and also self-defeating. If people are afraid of you, they will turn on you the moment they think they can get away with it (and sometimes even before then—Mai knew that she was throwing her life away when she saved Zuko, but she did it regardless). Love and trust, on the other hand, are what makes people will stick by you, even if you’re a walking disaster.

“[Zuko] never saw his own peril, until it was too late. Sometimes Azula thought he still didn’t see it.”—Foreshadowing!

Azula then thinks about the training itself. “Her father said it would hurt the first time”—that’s a myth. If you have a vagina and are aroused and lubricated enough, even the first time shouldn’t hurt. “—but it didn’t only hurt the first time. Sometimes it was hard to know what he wanted, and he was as intolerant of failure in this as in her firebending.” This is awful, but also, Ozai sounds like a terrible sexual partner. You’re supposed to communicate what you want and don’t want during sex. You can’t expect your partner to intuitively know that. They’re not psychic!

“As he should. It made her strong.” Azula, that training didn’t make you strong. It destroyed your boundaries and your ability to approach sex in a healthy way.

“It wasn’t always—Sometimes he would stay with her after, and just talk. She liked those times. It made her feel important. It made her feel loved.” She’s shying away from thinking of it as awful, even though she clearly felt that it was. The implication is also that she didn’t feel important or loved during their other interactions. Ozai, you are a TERRIBLE parent!

Which I think some part of Azula knows, because when she starts to feel the vines from the swamp wrapping around her, she imagines her dad molesting her. Still half-asleep, she lashes out with fire knives to free herself from the vines and runs out of her shelter. It’s daytime—Azula missed rising with the sun—and Azula is sicker now than she was the night before: “Her head pounded, her heart hammered, her joints ached like she took a beating. Her skin burned so hot that steam rose from her body when she hit the water.” This could suggest that she was beaten by Ozai at some point, but then again, all of these characters have been in combat, so that might be what this comparison is referring to.

The plants keep trying to grab her, which I think indicates that the waterbenders in the swamp are trying to catch her. I seem to remember them being the ones in control of the vines, rather than the vines themselves being predatory. Azula manages to escape, but is winded from it, which means that she won’t be able to bend. She’s also dizzy, nauseous, and shivering uncontrollably. Plus, it’s actually evening now, so she slept through most of the day. Azula realizes that she has no idea where her old shelter is, so her supplies are lost to her. She’s experienced abdominal cramps, too, and wonders if she’s miscarrying.

“This was what you wanted, she reminded herself pointlessly, though she knew very well what her mother would say. That she deserved this, for wishing her baby dead. Her tears fell on the water when Azula bent forward to hug herself, head bowed as if she could hold the pain inside anymore—” This might be the first time that Azula thinks of the fetus as her baby, which indicates that she might not want to lose it as much as she thinks she does.

She then hallucinates child!Zuko, which is heartbreaking. He tells her not to cry, “his round face scrunched in the look of unstudied concern their mother loved so well, and which Azula could never recall him directing at her.” Ouch! The dysfunction in their relationship went back really far, didn’t it?

“Didn’t he know the world would beat him down over and over again so long as he kept that way? That not just Father and Azula, but every person with an ounce of cunning would take advantage of him when he wore his heart on his sleeve like that? She told him so many times, but he never listened until it was too late.” So she acknowledges that she and Ozai took advantage of his naivety. She certainly did when she tried to trick Zuko into coming home early in season two. But also, Azula has a point. There are people in the world who take advantage of emotionally open and giving people. I don’t think that the solution to this is to harden your heart, though. Instead, you need to surround yourself with people who genuinely care about you. Zuko did that with the Gaang, which is part of why he succeeded and Azula failed. I’ll also note that Zuko would have done better with Azula as his ally, since she would have been more discerning about who was allowed in his court, and could have told Zuko about their ulterior motives and told him the unpleasant truths he wouldn’t want to hear. As it is, Mai has taken on that role.

“Yet in the end, he prevailed. The world bent to him. He got to be himself without condition, but not her. Never her. She didn’t understand….” Zuko allied himself with what wound up being the winning side, due to Aang defeating Ozai. If Aang had fallen, Zuko’s fate would have been much grimmer.

Zuko made a better choice than Azula did, but it’s important to note that he knew he had a choice. I don’t think Azula realized that leaving was an option for her. Why would she, when she believed that her nation was the best in the world, that their cause was right, and that if she stayed loyal, she would be the ruler of it all in the end? She would have lost everything if she’d left, and gained…what? The Gaang, Iroh, and Zuko hated her, so she couldn’t go to them. Mai and Ty Lee hadn’t defected yet, so she would have been abandoning them. And while she would have escaped Ozai’s abuse, she also saw Ozai as the only person who valued her and loved her for who she was. Even if being around him hurt, it was better than being alone.

No one except Ozai, at any point, held out their hand to Azula and asked her to join them. So while she is responsible for her own choices, how much can we blame her for what she chose, when none of her alternatives seemed viable?

Child!Zuko says that they are playing a game of hide-and-seek, which is true in the grand scheme of this story. He claims that he’ll always find her, which Azula says she no longer wants. He’s disappointed, but insists that it’s getting dark out, so he’ll help her find her way. He then lights the tiniest flame in his hand. “Azula’s stomach clenched painfully at the sight, plucked out from her earliest memories and brought freshly to life. How desperately she wanted to bend when Zuko made his first flame, and she saw how their parents explained over him….” This suggests that neither of Azula’s parents paid much attention to her before she first firebent. No wonder she came to believe that their love was conditional, and that she had to excel at what she did to earn it.

Child!Zuko, seeing her sadness, assures her that she’ll learn how to firebend when she gets older. I think it was mentioned already that she learned when she was three, which is mind-boggling to think about, since she would have been a toddler. He adds that she’ll pick it up in no time, since she’s “smart for a girl.” Ah, that sexism. He could have left it at “you’re smart,” but he had to add that qualifier. While the Fire Nation is less overtly sexist than the EK and the NWT, it’s clear that sexism is still a problem there. That baby Zuko is saying things like this is symptomatic of that.

“Half of what he said might be condescending bullshit, but this was still more supportive than Azula could ever remember him being.” This is very sad, since it means that Zuko started treating her as an adversary very early on in their childhood, once she proved better at something than him. He was jealous of her for earning their father’s interest, for all the good that did her. He was “resentful” when she survived her fall at the Western Air Temple, which is so ugly. He should have been relieved. She thinks of other moments where his hatred for her was apparent, like during the Agni Kai, at the asylum, aaaaand….

“The night he raped her.” And there it is. She can’t bring herself to see what Ozai did to her as rape, but she views what Zuko did as such.

“And she couldn’t reconcile it. How the little boy who stood before her could do—” This is a fascinating parallel to Mai’s thoughts about Zuko earlier in the chapter. Neither of them can understand how he did this. I’m reminded of how shocking it is to find out that someone that you know and care about sexually assaulted someone. What do you do afterwards? The safest option is to cut ties with them, but that doesn’t address the difficulty in doing so when they’re your family, or the grief of doing so when you’ve loved them for so long, only to find out that they weren’t who you thought they were.

Azula starts to ask him why he did what he did, but I think she knows the answer to that—because Zuko hated her and wanted to punish her that night. So instead, Azula asks where this good, caring version of her brother was when she wanted him—which, in the context of this fic, was from the time she was a toddler until now.

“‘Dad killed me,’ the hallucination said forlornly. ‘And you laughed.’” Ozai destroyed Zuko’s innocence just as much as he destroyed Azula’s.

I thought this was a reference to Zuko and Ozai’s Agni Kai, but this seems to actually be referring to when Azulon told Ozai to kill Zuko, and Azula’s teasing about it: “Her chest clutched painfully when she remembered that night, the night her mother left. And Azula thought it was cruelly appropriate that it was not Ursa here with her, at the end.” Ouch!

“She whispered, ‘I didn’t mean it.’”—I believe her, but unfortunately, the real Zuko never realized that.

The vision version of him does, though. “Azula felt his presence as clearly as if he sat on the edge of her bed, when she pulled the covers over her head.” At some point, Azula was just a little girl who hid under the covers. “‘I know,’ she dimly heard him speak. And the last thing she felt was him hugging her shoulders, his head laid against hers.” This is heartbreaking. It’s an exchange they should have had in reality years ago, but one that they might never be able to have, now they’ve hurt each other so badly. This is one of the scenes that sticks with me the most, because of how tragic it is and how poignant the imagery is: of the tiny, kind version of Zuko hugging the adult version of his sister, who is being eaten away by sickness, grief, and remorse.

And on that tearjerking note, we have reached the end of chapter fifteen. As always, thank you for the read, Aurelia. Thank you also to the folks on FFN and Tumblr who have been encouraging me to work on these reviews. Your support has been keeping me going!

Until next time,

WiseAbsol

#Dominion by Aurelia le #Azula #avatar: the last airbender #fanfiction review #WiseAbsol

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talkfastromance4 · 5 years ago

Text

Cross Her (C.H) Part I

Yeah, so. I haven’t posted anything in a HOT minute. But this little Calum-and-Grace-world I’ve created is very near and dear to my heart. I’m not sure how many parts this will be, they’re kind of lengthy but I hope you like it.

Please let me know what you think so I can post more.

Summary: With a new album and tour soon to be on the rise, 5SOS’s management has decided to put Calum into a public relationship.

Warnings: none except cute fluff from Calum

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist

With the promise of a new album on the horizon, and with Luke and Sierra now engaged the band’s management and PR have come up with an idea for Calum to get a girlfriend. The four young men are sitting in a conference room listening intently to their management’s pitch.

In theory, it sounds great. The first single to be released is a love song and with three of the four members being married, engaged and happily committed, it will be seen as kind of tired. But if the song is tied to Calum and his new ‘love’ the sales will increase tenfold and will skyrocket on the charts.

Calum nods along but at the same time he doesn’t like the matters of his heart to be discussed like a business deal. His three best friends keep looking at him during the whole meeting, waiting for him to throw a tirade or silently walk out in a brooding cloud. Calum walks the line on both discreet and outlandish very easily, so who knew what he was going to do?

“We’ve got some ideas thrown around for who you should be paired up with—“

Calum snorts. ‘Paired up with’ sounds like he’s back in school being assigned a lab partner. In this case, there’s really no difference is there?

“Who’d you have in mind?” Ashton asks twiddling his thumbs together on the table.

“Taylor Swift, she’s been in the business for a long time. She knows the ropes, she can handle press and the fans really well—“

“No, she is great, musically and otherwise,” Calum says shaking his head, “but no. Not her.”

“All right,” Francesca huffs then looks at the next name on her list. “Then there’s Selena Gomez, she’s been out of the limelight since that whole Justin Bieber fiasco. She’s also been in the—“

“Why does it have to be someone so famous?” Michael asks, his glass green eyes darting from Calum to their team.

“It will draw the crowd and other people’s attention,” Dewey states.

“Who else?” Calum murmurs in defeat. He rests his chin in his palm, his voice muffled by his fingers in front of his lips.

“Uh, Sofia Carson, Camila Cabello. . . there’s also a young woman who has become famous over Instagram recently. She’s a uh. . .” Francesca peers at her tablet, “she’s an aspiring poet but her fanbase is huge. Almost 7 million followers, she posts a lot of content on all platforms.”

“What’s her name?” Calum asks suddenly intrigued.

“Grace Fallows, she’s 24, cute little thing,” Francesca nods.

On the outside Calum stays stoic, but on the inside he’s beaming. He already follows her on his own Instagram. He loves the poems she creates, they’re clever and beyond impactful with just a few choice words.

“Can we see if she’ll do it?” he asks. “She seems more up our style than the others, more genuine.”

“I’ll get in contact with her and see what happens,” Francesca nods.

Calum glances at his friends who grin encouragingly back.

»»»

The first time Calum and Grace meet is three weeks later in the same conference room where the discussion was first established. Francesca and Dewey had her flown in from Southern Wisconsin a few days ago with the promise of landing her a manager, a publisher and an editor all in one meeting. The three subjects were sitting alongside Francesca and Dewey while Calum and Grace were across from each other at the other end.

He smiles at her immediately when he walks in, which she returns happily but nervously. He’s never seen what she looks like because her Instagram page is all of her poems, she never posts a selfie.

But he knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. She has dark brown hair that waves around her round face, and has the biggest, dark blue eyes he’s ever seen. He notices her playing with the rings on her fingers, a habit he and the guys have been known to do when they’re feeling anxious.

“We’re so glad you could join us on such short notice Miss Fallows,” Francesca smiles warmly.

“Thank you for arranging everything,” Grace nods. Her voice is quiet and full of kindness, it piques Calum’s interest even more. He notices her eyes dart about the room and at the other five faces down the table, she inhales a shaky breath.

“Joining us today are Cordelia Fox, Gwen Gilbert and Alonso Lopez,” Francesca introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” Grace says politely.

“And I’m sure you know Calum Hood,” Dewey laughs heartily pointing to Calum.

Grace’s dark ocean eyes slide down to Calum who gives her a slight wave, she smiles impishly. A little flush of pink colors her cheeks and she fiddles with her rings a bit more quickly.

The meeting lasts for almost two hours, Cordelia, Gwen and Alonso chat with Grace about their plans for her to get a book published within the next 9 months. Grace listens intently, her eyes wide and appearing glossy a few times because her dreams are just within reach of coming true.

“So, what are your thoughts, Miss Fallows?” Cordelia smiles kindly.

“I mean . . . this is amazing. I’ve been wanting to be published since I started my Instagram page,” Grace begins. “I would love to work with all of you, but I’m just slightly confused with why C-Calum is here.”

She stutters over his name because she has been a fan of the band for yearss She’s amongst the other fans waiting aptly for the new album to drop. She wanted to come into this meeting being calm, cool and collected with a twinge of professionalism added in. But she’s never had a meeting with a probable manager or whole writing team before and to throw in a member of one of the biggest bands in the world?

Her stomach is doing cartwheels.

“Uh, that’s another matter we need to discuss,” Dewey says a bit uncomfortably in his chair.

Calum feels a bit smug at that, he was uncomfortable at the meeting about this three weeks ago. He doesn’t want to come off as smug because Grace is present. He doesn’t want her to think this was all his idea, a fake relationship and all the PR.

“With the band’s new album coming out, we thought to help up the ante would be if Calum had a girlfriend to help promote the single. It’s a love song. And with Michael already being married, Luke is newly engaged and Ashton’s relationship is stable, we thought a fresh, new relationship would reflect the song perfectly,” Francesca smiles.

“So . . . all of this—“Grace motions the table generally”—is just so I can be used as a fake girlfriend?”

Francesca and Dewey open and close their mouths like fish staring out of a fishbowl. Calum shakes his head, silently cursing his team. This was a fucking dumb idea and he hates the expression on Grace’s face, like she’s being used, like she’s just a small pawn in this big scheme.

“Grace,” Cordelia leans forward on the lacquered maple table, her blond hair falling in front of her face. “Whether you say yes or no to the fake relationship, Gwen, Alonso and I still want to be a part of your team. We aren’t the strings attached to this deal, you are the puppeteer. You call the shots, and I’m sure Mr. Hood agrees.” Cordelia’s powder blue eyes meet Calum’s.

He nods immediately looking to Grace. “Absolutely. I follow you on Instagram and love your poems. There’s absolutely no pressure for you to do this.”

Grace chews on her lower lip then sits up a bit straighter in her chair.

“Can I have a day or two to think about it? The relationship part.”

“Of course,” Cordelia smiles. “Right, Francesca?”

“Uh, y-yes, of course,” Francesca smiles tightly “The first single release isn’t for another three weeks, but if we could know by Friday that’d be wonderful. I’ll send over all of our contact information, including Cordelia—“

“Actually I’d like to talk to Cordelia on my own,” Grace states.

Calum grins. He likes her spunk and hopes she’ll agree to the deal. Even if it’s not real, he has a feeling she’d make it fun.

»»»

“So, how’d it go?” Ashton asks Calum while they’re out for iced coffee after a cardio workout.

“All right. Cordelia really liked her. I did, too,” Calum smiles. “She made Francesca and Dewey sweat in their seats though, she called them right out on the bullshit of it all.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that,” Ashton laughs. “So, did she agree to it?”

“She agreed to the book deal but wants a few days to think the fake relationship bit over,” Calum shrugs swirling his ice in his cup. “Which I respect. I don’t want her thinking it was my idea.”

“You crushin’ on her already, bro?” Ashton giggles taking his straw in his mouth.

“No, it’s just a big fuckin’ deal to be put in a relationship with someone for PR,” Calum’s voice comes out a little clipped.

“Right. Sorry,” Ashton apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry they’re forcing you into this as well.”

Calum shrugs. “Comes with the job I s’pose.”

“Do you think she’ll agree?”

“I—“ Calum’s cut off with his phone buzzing in his hand. He smiles when he sees the name on his phone. “That’s her now, she wants to meet for coffee tomorrow.”

“That’s a good sign,” Ashton raises his eyebrows.

»»»

Calum was actually really nervous to meet with Grace for coffee because the meeting could go either way. She’ll either yell at him for agreeing to this or she’ll tell him she’ll do it and they’ll set up their own boundaries outside of his team.

He taps his fingers waiting for her at a table in the back of the store, some fans came and said hello but otherwise he was left alone. He hoped no one would come up to him when Grace is with him, he didn’t want to freak her out too much.

The bells above the door jingle and he sees her small frame enter, the gust from the door causes her brown hair to fly in her face. She tucks the stray strands behind her ear as her eyes scour the place for the tall Maori-Australian man.

Calum stands from his chair waving to her and she catches sight of him easily; it’s a small shop and he’s a tall guy. She smiles then weaves her way through the tables and other patrons to him but accidentally bumps into one of the baristas.

He’s a young teen with a face full of acne and a lanky build. He apologizes profusely, his cheeks turning even redder when he sees he bumped into a pretty girl.

Grace smiles kindly and touches his shoulder in comfort. “You’re totally fine! Don’t worry about it.” She flashes him one more smile before continuing her way to Calum who is as much enamored by her as the teenage boy.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says briskly. “I totally forgot I could order an Uber instead of catching a bus which terrified me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Calum smiles easily. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Um a vanilla cappuccino please,” she smiles.

“Be right back,” he touches her shoulder gently then heads to the counter.

Calum watches her from his vantage point. Her brown hair is pulled back halfway behind her head and she’s got on a white t-shirt with dark denim overalls. She has white converse on her feet and he really likes that considering he’s wearing his black pair.

Grace crosses her legs then begins to play with her rings while waiting for him to return. It makes him feel a little better she’s as nervous as he is. This actually feels like a first date but it’s so far from it it’s ridiculous. He sort of wishes it was a first date.

The same teenage boy hands Calum their drink order and Calum gives him a ten dollar tip hoping that will ease his embarrassment.

“One vanilla cappuccino,” Calum says sliding the mug in front of Grace then he sits across from her.

“Mmm, thank you,” she grins giddily holding the mug in both of her hands. “So, this whole relationship thing wasn’t your idea, right?”

Calum pauses his motions of bringing his own mug to his lips. “Wow, right to it, huh?” he half jokes setting his mug down but she doesn’t laugh. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “No, it was not. I’d never ask someone to fake date me, but apparently that’s what our team thinks is best for this album.”

She eyes him for a moment, Calum’s heart is beating hard in his chest. She stares at him as if analyzing him then lets out a breath.

“Okay, you’re telling the truth.”

Calum chuckles. “You got a super power of spotting lies?”

“Sort of,” she purses her lips and Calum is hypnotized at the pinkness of them for the moment. “My intuition is super strong, I can read people really well.”

“That’s good to know. What’d you pick up on about Francesca and Dewey?”

She purses her lips again forcing Calum not to stare at them again, she taps her chin for good measure and dramatics.

“They’re very analytical, they do want you guys to succeed but they think you do that with more of the public eye on you rather than your music. Their intent means well,” she shrugs taking a tentative sip of her drink.

“This might be a weird question,” Calum leans forward on the table lowering his head a little. He notices her eyebrows twitch in the cutest way. “Do you like our music?”

She visibly relaxes then giggles. “Oh thank God, I had no idea where you were going with that. But yeah, I do like your music. I got into you guys a little bit during the One Direction era but then I really got hooked when Youngblood came out.”

“You mean you weren’t around for our awkward Twitcams and YouTube lives?” he’s silently praying that she says no, those videos are so cringey now. They were ridiculous teenagers who thought they were badasses and clearly weren’t.

“Oh no, I definitely saw those,” she giggles again. “You were pretty raunchy back then.”

She’s teasing with him and it makes him smile and blush slightly. He groans at the memories of those videos, he’d always smack the guys’ asses for no reason and try to get naked on camera. Again for no reason.

“That’s embarrassing,” he shakes his head then looks up at her through his lashes.

“It was funny. My little nineteen year old heart swooned,” she presses her hand to her heart.

“I guess that counts for something. So, what are your thoughts on all this?” he asks. “Francesca and Dewey won’t have a say on how exactly we do this, we can set our own boundaries. I don’t want you to feel pressured at all and, if you do decide to do it, we’ll get to help you promote your book.”

“It’s a little crazy,” she laughs. “Twenty-four hours ago I was back home bingeing Pretty Little Liars and now I’m here with a book in the making and a fake rock star boyfriend.”

“Yeah, things move fast in LA—wait, are you saying you’ll do it?” he’s astounded.

“I was actually on the fence but when you said we could set our own boundaries . . . that made up my mind. I feel like I’ll be here for a while talking with Cordelia and I need friends so . . .”

“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I promise you, I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she giggles.

»»»

After the meeting with the team and the guys about Grace agreeing to the fake relationship, a contract is set for the relationship to last until her book is released. Calum wants to help her out as well even if it is in this weird, twisted way. Nine months of fake dating, hopefully he won’t actually catch feelings.

Grace was a little nervous meeting the rest of the band, especially Luke because he’s so tall and towered over her.

“You make me feel like an ant,” she giggles and the guys laughed. Calum really enjoyed when she giggled, it caused her nose to scrunch up and her cheeks got really round.

“Would you want to catch dinner with us tonight?” Ashton asks. “We can all get to know each other better

“Yeah, that sounds great,” she smiles. “Text me the address—“

“No, no. I’ll pick you up,” Calum shakes his head. “I won’t have you spending money on an Uber all the time.”

“Okay,” she blushes.

»»»

Calum knocks on her hotel room door at promptly 6:45 p.m, the exact time he said he’d be there. When Grace opens the door he’s welcomed with her perfume, lilies and ocean water. She’s wearing a pretty black dress with a silver belt and her hair is straightened.

“Hi! Wow, you’re right on time. Um, I just need to get my purse.” She disappears and Calum catches the door before it slams in his face.

He peers in her room, it already smells like her and he notices a big gray fuzzy blanket on the hotel bed. Clearly it makes her think of home, he notices the curtains are shut and her suitcase is zipped shut on the opposite bed.

“Okay, ready,” she beams in front of him.

»»»

The first five minutes of the car ride are silent but it’s comfortable. Calum doesn’t know what to say first, his mouth goes dry every time he tries but when he looks over at her he sees her bare legs.

“Does everyone in LA eat dinner this late?” she asks.

“Uh . . . this is late?”

“I had to order myself an appetizer at 5 in my room cause I was so hungry,” she snickers, “but I’m always hungry anyway.”

Calum frowns. Not only is she far from home in a hotel by herself, but her habits and lifestyle have completely changed. And she’ll be here for nine months being viewed as his ‘new girlfriend’ while also having a deadline for her first book.

“I’m sorry, we should’ve asked when you normally—“

“Oh, no! It’s fine! I was just curious, it’ll probably help me in the long run anyway, and it’ll help me lose a few pounds,” she shrugs nonchalantly and stares out the window.

Calum gives her an exasperated look which makes her laugh.

“What?”

“You don’t need to lose a few pounds, you look fantastic, Grace,” he tells her and turns smoothly into a large parking lot.

When he looks at her he’s pleased to see she’s blushing and he’s not lying. She’s petite but her curves are out of this world, and her legs. Her legs! He never knew he had a thing for calves but hers seem muscular and he wonders if she danced when she was younger.

“Well, thank you,” she says quietly and he notices her playing with her fingers.

Calum pulls into a parking spot near the front and thankfully there aren’t any photographers or fans waiting outside. He doesn’t want her to get freaked out by the chaos of his life with flashes and screams from fans quite yet. He wants to make sure she’s comfortable with him so she can trust that he’ll keep her safe.

“Ooh, is this Italian?” she asks peering up at the sign out of her window.

“Yep, best Italian restaurant in LA.”

“I love Italian.”

She snatches her purse and practically leaps from the car and Calum hurries to her side so he can walk alongside her. He locks the car then shoves his hands in his pockets. The doorman opens the door for them and Grace thanks him kindly with her warm smile and Calum lets her walk ahead of him.

Once inside she tucks against his side while he weaves to the back of the restaurant where he knows their table is. The guys asked if their significant others could join them but Calum thought that would be a bit overwhelming for her in one night. They all exchanged a knowing look but Calum had no idea what it meant.

“The guest of honor has arrived!” Ashton shouts raising his beer glass, his eyes are already a little glazed over and Grace giggles.

She hugs them all quickly before sitting at the head of the table where Ashton told her to sit. Calum sat next to her silently wishing he was a bit closer.

When the waiter came by to ask for her and Calum’s drink order, she denied the house wine and ordered a mint mojito instead. Calum ordered a beer and asked for a rush order on the breadsticks throwing a wink at Grace as he did.

“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly then takes a sip of her water.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl deny wine,” Luke says incredulously.

Calum shoots him a glare and smacks his best friend in the chest.

“OW! What was that for?”

“Don’t be rude,” Calum shakes his head disapprovingly.

Grace laughs into her water at the altercation. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t really like wine. Whenever I drink it I get a headache and I forget what I’m trying to say. I’m more of a rum girl.”

“Ah, there we go!” Ashton hollers. “Rum’s a good choice.”

“What’s your signature drink?” Calum asks.

“Malibu and pineapple juice,” she smiles with her tongue between her teeth.

Calum has the desirable need to kiss her smile but he refrains. None of this is real as them being in a relationship, he has to get that in his head.

Throughout the dinner they ask her questions about her home and how she got into writing but that was a fleeting topic. Calum made a mental note to ask about that later when it’s just them, he loves talking creativity. Grace gushes about the food and asks them all questions about themselves.

Soon their table is filled with laughter and more drinks as funny stories come about. Many of them are about Calum because his best friends want to embarrass him in front of his ‘girlfriend.’ She enjoys herself, she truly does.

She really feels like she belongs and that they’re all slowly moving towards friendship. Throughout the evening, Grace notices Calum looking at her a lot, it makes her face feel warm. She’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or his deep brown eyes gazing at her.

The guys order another bottle of wine, Calum is all about having another glass when he notices Grace has gone quiet and she’s playing with her fingers again. He knows the sign of anxiety and she’s doing it right now, whether it’s from the amount of alcohol or just the night in general, he’s not sure.

“You guys enjoy that last bottle, I’ve had enough,” Calum says throwing his napkin on the table and he looks at Grace. “How about you, Grace? Ready to go?” he figures he’d give her an out and if she refuses then he’ll stay.

“Yeah, I’m ready if you are,” she sighs and the twiddling stops.

“Oh sure, leave us with the bill!” Michael hollers and Luke barks out a laugh.

“Oh, get off. I caught the bill at Poison,” Calum shakes his head standing up. He pulls out his wallet anyway and tosses a few twenties on the table. “That should cover me and Grace.”

“Oh, I can put in some—“Grace says reaching for her purse but Calum’s large hands stop her.

“My treat,” he grins rubbing his thumb over her knuckle gently.

“At least let me pay for my drinks—“she shakes her head trying to unzip her purse under his long fingers.

“Man, you’re sweet,” Ashton smiles then glances to Calum. “but it isn’t necessary, don’t worry sweetheart. We’ve got it covered.”

Grace slumps in her seat but finally gave up. “Okay,” she sighs. Calum removes his fingers and helps her out of her chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Our pleasure,” Michael smiles. “You kids get home safe now.”

She waves goodbye and Calum nods at them ignoring their eyebrow waggles and winks and follows Grace to the front of the restaurant. The tables are still packed with people and Grace gasps stopping in her tracks causing Calum to nearly knock her over.

“What is it?” he asks in alarm.

“That’s Leonardo Di Caprio!” she whispers excitedly.

Calum looks in the direction she’s subtly pointing in and sure enough, he’s there with a glass of wine and a table full of models and other friends.

“Want to go say hi?” Calum asks enjoying the size of her star struck eyes.

“What?” she squeaks, “are you crazy? I would literally die! Let’s go.”She grabs his wrist pulling him out of the restaurant.

He’s laughing at her as she has her actual freak out in the parking lot. He notices her fingers are still latched around his wrist, he likes the feeling.

“I’m guessing he’s a crush?” he asks once they’re in his car again. It’s nearing midnight and he really doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, even if the drive is fifteen minutes to her hotel.

“Ugh, yes,” she rubs her temples. “He’s so much older than me but I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

Calum chortles as he peels out of the parking spot and gets onto the main road to go on the highway.

“I’m sorry, that’s really weird to say,” she shakes her head staring at him.

“No it’s not. This is all new to you, I kind of like seeing you experience it all. It’s adorable,” he admits. He inhales through his nose, was that the wrong thing to say?

“You think I’m adorable?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles looking her way to see she’s pointing to herself, “is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s just . . . have you seen you? You’re the most adorable thing on the planet.”

“I think that’s the mojito in you talking.”

“No, it’s the me in me talking.”

Calum laughs at her verbiage.

“Okay, that made you ten times more adorable now.”

“Your smile makes you fifteen times more adorable,” she insists and it causes him to smile once more. “So you’re in the lead by five, you win. That’s math.”

“Your brain earns you another fifteen.”

“My brain?!” she shrieks in laughter.

“And your laugh, so that’s another ten and your giggle is pretty damn cute so that’s another . . . fifty, I’d say. So no you’re 65 points ahead, you win.”

She huffs in her seat.

“That earned you another five, make it 70 points,” Calum adds smugly.

“You can’t just keep adding! A person can’t be that adorable.”

“You are,” he grins.

“Okay, so I’m at 70 and you’re only at . . .” she thinks back on the numbers they’ve been throwing about “twenty-five?! That’s not fair. Can I give you some of my points?”

“Nope, you keep the points I give you, those are the rules, sorry.”

“Okay then bucko,” she folds her arms angling her body to him in her seat, “you get another twenty because of your laugh, and you get fifteen more for the cute faces you make.”

“What cute faces?”

“There! That’s one of them! You’re doing one right now, ha! So now you’re at 60 and I’m at 70.”

“Can’t even give me an extra ten so we’re tied? Wow, Grace, I thought you were nicer than that,” he shakes his head in mock sadness.

“Okay fine, you get a solid ten for your hair. It’s very Disney-Prince-like.”

“What does that mean?” he laughs making another face.

“It’s so curly and perfectly styled, like a Disney Prince.”

At the stoplight he gives her a sidelong glance. “That earned you another five points.”

“Are you kidding me?!” she throws her hands up in defeat.

“You’re more adorable than me, Grace, just accept the facts. That’s math remember?” he’s leaning across the console giving her a smug look.

“Using my own words against me,” she grumbles and pushes on his forehead lightly so he’s looking at the lights.

He knows it’s an innocent gesture, but his skin is on fire from her touch and it was only on his goddamned forehead.

“Okay Mr. Math Wiz, let’s test your skills.”

“How?”

“Have you ever played War?”

»»»

They’re sitting in the middle of her bed with a deck of cards playing War. High card wins and you keep going until one person has all of the cards. Grace changed into leggings and a large long sleeved shirt as soon as they were in her room, Calum was comfortable enough in his black slacks and black t-shirt.

“Y’know, this isn’t really a math skills game,” he says as they flip their cards. He’s got a 9 and she has 10 so she takes the cards.

“It is a skills game,” she retorts.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you come up with your poems?”

“Um, different things give me inspiration. Usually it’s a word or phrase and it just sparks something in me. Sometimes a song will give me a feeling and I’ll go off on that. I love when word vomit happens, it just keeps coming out, it’s not always good but it’s better than writer’s block,” she explains.

“What do you do when you have writer’s block?”

“Listen to music, read other poetry and go crazy,” she laughs. She snatches two more cards. “I hate writer’s block, especially when I really want to write something good but nothing is flowing. It’s the worst.”

“Do you write them all on your phone?” Calum takes the two cards this time.

“Sometimes,” she nods biting her lip. “but I prefer writing them in a notebook. If you saw my process you’d laugh, it’s so crazy. There’s so many scribbles and circled words, question marks, you name it. It doesn’t look like it makes sense but it makes sense to me.”

“That’s not crazy, that’s your writing process. Mine is pretty similar actually.”

“Really? How so?”

“I like writing songs down in a notebook, too. Makes them more real, I think. I like to know I can physically change it instead of deleting it, cause then I can go back to the first idea if I wanted to,” he explains taking another set.

“That’s how I think, too,” she smiles then abruptly shouts, “I DECLARE WAR!”

“What the hell does that even mean?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“We both have the same card, so we draw until one of us has the higher card. Go, go, go!”

Their three cards deep until she has an ace and he has a 5. She laughs a ‘mwahahaha’ as she takes the cards. Calum can’t even be mad.

“That laugh earned you another ten,” he comments putting his card down.

“You’re ridiculous,” she shakes her head.

They stay up playing War until 2:30 in the morning when Grace finally wins it all. She yawns as she pulls together all the cards.

“I should get going so you can get some sleep,” he says rolling off the bed.

“You can’t drive in your condition.”

“My condition?”

“You’re sleepy! That’s just as dangerous as drunk driving, Calum,” she says sternly.

“I promise, I’m fine. I live five minutes away, Grace.”

She stares at him for a beat then gives in, her eyes are heavy. “Fine, but text me when you’re home safe?”

“I promise. Did you have fun tonight?” he asks by the door.

“I did have a lot of fun, thanks for it all.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When um, when exactly does this whole thing . . . start, exactly?” she motions between them.

“Uhh, I think Francesca said on Monday they want us to be seen out in public together. We’ll be releasing the new single in two weeks, so.”

“Right, right,” she nods looking at her toes in the carpet.

“Hey,” Calum says softly so she’ll look up at him. “it’ll be okay, yeah? We’ll come up with our own rules, remember?” he smiles tiredly.

“Yeah, okay,” she sighs bouncing one foot on the floor. “It’s just so weird, you know?”

“I know, but we’ll make it work. We’ll make it be like how tonight was, easy and fun.”

“Easy and fun,” she mutters, “I can handle that.”

“Good. I’m gonna go cause you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” he chuckles. “Sleep well, Grace.”

“I will when you text me you’re home.”

They bid goodbye and he walks down the hallway to the elevator. In the time it takes for Grace to brush her teeth, wipe off her make-up and change into her pajamas, Calum is already home and has texted her.

She shuts the lights off and snuggles into her bed smiling at her phone.

Grace: ‘I’m glad you got home safe (:’

Calum:‘thanks for being concerned. Another ten points ;)’

Grace: ‘calum. I’m almost at 100 points! That’s insane’

Calum: ‘that’s accurate. Now go to sleep and dream sweet dreams.’

Grace:‘I’ll try. You have good dreams, too’

Calum: ‘doubtful, I don’t remember any of my dreams’

Grace: ‘really? That’s sad. I once had a dream I was best friends with Ariana Grande and we were just walking around saying hi to fans. It was so cool’

Calum: ‘Grace.’

Grace: ‘yes?’

Calum: ‘go to sleep lol’

Grace: ‘okay fine’

Calum: ‘goodnight, grace (:’

Grace: ‘goodnight calum, goodnight moon . . .’

#calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood fanfiction #calum fluff #5sos #5sos imagines #5sos writings #calum imagines #calum hood writings

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 5 years ago

Text

The Model and The Stylist

Hello there! Finally, my first story post! Sorry for the delay, but I was busy with work as always, and I was feeling down for the past couple of days. Anyway, I decided to share this first because your boy’s been getting a lot of exposure lately – modeling, that is. That W Korea May 2020 editorial with Jaehyun is so divine that your girl pre-ordered her copy even if it will take her maybe until the end of the year to get it. See that GIF? Damn!

This story was based on the story of one of my characters in my original story written ages ago for a friend, and I’m glad that something came out of it now.

You’ll also get to meet Essie Park now, my Y/N that got a name. I might still post my first stories with Y/N in it, so look out for that. I hope you’ll enjoy and let me know what scenarios you’d like me to write about.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

–––

Summary: Let’s keep it simple: this is an AU where OC is a fashion editor/stylist, and Johnny is a model.

Word count: 1,600 + words

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Warning: It’s so fluffy and cheesy, you might as well think you’re munching on cheese popcorn. But I think this is my specialty so...yeah.

–––

Essie decided that from this day onward, she would make Johnny’s life a living hell.

He was one of the most uncooperative models she has ever met – he didn’t bring what was needed, didn’t arrive on time, and didn’t listen to her instructions.

Even though she was a fashion assistant at the magazine she was working for, he didn’t give her the respect she needed for her job.

Instead, he bossed her around – asking her to buy him Starbucks, charge his gadgets, and even get him a top that he could use to his next event.

“Cheska, I need more coffee. Can you buy me another iced Americano, please? With more hazelnut syrup too,” he ordered with that sickeningly sweet tone of his.

“My name is not Cheska!” she roared before storming out of the set. She wasn’t even halfway through the shoot and he had already worked her like his slave.

When she got inside the coffee shop, she went on autopilot and ordered his drink of choice. As she stepped out with the drink on hand, she slapped her forehead in annoyance. “I should’ve tampered with his drink to get even with him!” She grumbled, staring at the iced drink in disdain. “Unless…” Her thoughts led her to some of the cruelest pranks she has seen until she figured out what she can do with his coffee.

Once back on set, she decided to do the classic prank: accidentally throw the drink all over him. It was a good thing that he was still wearing his regular clothes or else she’ll pay the price for damaging designer goods. She couldn’t help but smile evilly at his drenched figure. He was wearing an all-white outfit and she felt satisfied knowing it has turned into a brown mess.

She might be celebrating a small victory now, but Johnny won’t let her get away with it.

He swore as well that he would make Essie’s life a living hell.

\\\

Unfortunately, they worked with each other again. And again. Even Essie’s side projects with her friends in the creative industry.

Johnny was always the available model who was game to do experimental shoots.

The two tried their best to downplay their pranks – Essie once poked him a couple of times with safety pins as she adjusted the excess fabric of his clothes. He wouldn’t stay put, which made her more intent to push the pins deeper into his skin.

“Don’t you even dare try, you cocky bastard,” she grumbled, purposely poking his sides with the pin.

“I could file a complaint against you,” he whispered in her ear, making the hairs behind her neck stand. He was dangerously close to her, and she noticed that he was about to wrap an arm around her waist.

“You think I’m scared? I’m not,” She gently pushed him away from her as she locked the pin in place.

“I’ll make you,” he responded, gripping her arm. “But now, I won’t because I look good in this outfit you picked.” He admired the work she did in front of the full-length mirror and she rolled her eyes in response.

There was a time that Johnny always set the cable of one of the camera lights for Essie to trip on. He would deliberately stretch his legs to do so or even use his hand to place it to where she’ll be coming from.

The girl tripped a couple of times and didn’t mind it at first. But when she noticed him sniggering after her fifth trip, that’s when she realized he was behind this. Essie stormed towards him and glared daggers at him.

“You think this is funny, Suh?” she muttered, folding her arms over her chest. He nodded, trying his best not to laugh. “You’re such an immature brat,” were the last words she said before she walked over the cable and glared at him once again.

\\\

Over time, Essie and Johnny decided to call their feud a truce. It took some mental toll on the girl to prank him. She was already tired from the demands of her job and she had to think of ways on how to make his life as miserable as she could.

The same could be said for him – he was getting more projects now that he has become popular. In fact, he is slowly dabbling into the entertainment industry as a budding actor.

Since both of them were close to her friends in the industry, they met each other again for dinner.

It was during this moment that they got to know each other better – they were so similar that their friends thought they were perfect for each other.

“I think you two should date,” Kibum, a fashion stylist, suggested. “As much as it pains me to admit this, but yes, you two should definitely go out,” Ten, a jewelry designer, agreed.

Ten and Johnny were the closest in the group and sometimes Essie teased them about their skinship.

The two subjects looked at each other disbelievingly before bursting into laughter.

“Seriously guys?” Johnny and Essie asked the people on their table, who nodded in unison.

Eventually, they would eat their words after a heated argument on another shoot.

“You are so annoying, Suh! Why can’t you just give me the respect I deserve?” Essie was on the verge of tears, frustrated at how uncooperative Johnny was on set.

It felt like they were back to square one. The 6-footer would boss her around and give mean comments about the outfits that she chose. “I look like a firefighter in that, and I mean that in a bad way,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the red and yellow outfit she chose.

“That was the instruction from the style sheet, dude. Get over it. You’ve worn much weirder things than this,” Essie was losing her patience as she shoved the outfit in his hands.

“But you could’ve done better,” he said matter-of-factly, gazing into her brown eyes. “You’re already known for your work but you settled for this mediocrity,” Johnny eyed the outfit in disgust.

“Ugh! I’ve had it with you!” The girl screamed, earning the looks of the crew as she exited the studio.

She thought they were already on good terms. They’ve been hanging out a lot more after work – opting to watch the last showing of movies, drinking coffee at 3 in the morning, and even driving around until the wee hours of the morning while listening to the latest album releases.

Essie felt her heart ache when he treated her like a slave again. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She had the urge to smoke but remembered that her kit was inside her bag.

She was about to return to the studio but he was already there, looking apologetic.

“What do you want, Suh?” She asked harshly, not looking at his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he started, walking closer to her. She saw his feet approach her and before she could back away, he already held her wrists.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but I mean it when I said that you could’ve done better.”

She looked at him with all the rage she could muster, even if tears were threatening to spill on her face again.

“Why can’t you just say it like a normal person?” Essie was already sniffing.

“Because it is never simple with us,” he said softly, now leaning closer to her face. “We always complicate things even if we shouldn’t.”

“Then why don’t we just–––” She was cut off when he kissed her.

Time slowed as they kissed under the starry sky. It wasn’t as romantic as Essie wanted it to be – they were outside the studio where the air was polluted with smoke and rubbish was almost everywhere.

When they broke apart, Johnny pulled her closer to him. “Let’s just simplify things. I’ve been attracted to you from the start, Ms. Park,” he said, tilting her chin so she could look at him.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth, Mr. Suh,” she replied, a grin spreading across her face. “But not the attraction part. I thought you were a big piece of poo,” she stuck out her tongue at him and he pinched her side in response.

“I admit that seeing you mad was cute but not all the time. You can be scary too, you know,” he said, looping both arms around her waist.

“Well duh! Is there anyone who isn’t scary when they’re mad?”

Johnny just laughed and squeezed her. “I just want us to be together. Our friends were right – we are perfect for each other,” he looked down on her with the gentlest smile on his face.

Essie felt her cheeks flush and looked away from him. “So what are you going to do about this?”

“I’m going to tell everyone that we’re dating now.” With those words, he led her back into the studio and announced to everyone that they were dating.

The crew was overjoyed when they heard this – one of them screamed ‘Finally!’ with all his might. Essie’s boss ordered a giant pizza enough to feed them for days and the photographer got three cases of beer.

It may seem like another day in the life of a fashion editor and a model wrapping up another all-nighter shoot, but for Johnny and Essie, today was the day they finally came to their senses and became the most adorable (if not sometimes obnoxious) couple the world has ever seen.

–––

FIN

#nct drabbles #nct scenarios #johnny drabbles #nct 127 fanfic #nct johnny #nct fluff #nct au #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny suh scenarios #johnny suh fanfiction #johnny suh au

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baepsaetan · 4 years ago

Text

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 8k

A/N: Another one! Already! Ideally this frequent posting will become a Thing but if we’re being honest Maybe Not. Still, hope some people have a chance to read this! Also shout out to @samwithham! It really has been a hot second, but I’m grateful you’re still reading <3

---

The last short finishes with a melancholic flourish that’s a little campy but still effective, and applause fills the theatre. Unlike at normal showings, there’s no immediate mass exodus; almost everyone stays to watch the credits, and even as they roll to a close, only a few people drift out. A low murmur arises from the crowd, and Hoseok hears snatches of opinions on the piece.

“Can you believe he said that?”

“… still caught me by surprise. I liked the depiction of family as…”

“Weren’t you crying? I thought…”

They wash over him, and he drowns in the ideas and impressions bleeding their vivid colours into existence even after the film is done. It doesn’t matter that the lights are coming on, that the screen is black, that people are slowly finding their feet and their car keys and getting ready to leave. There’s something comforting about his satisfaction, something tangible and unquestionable and honest, and Hoseok wants to bury himself in that emotion until he can’t see or feel anything else, forever.

He wants to, but he can’t.

During the presentations of the films, especially as they’d gotten into it, he’d managed to submerge himself in the experience, yet now that it’s over, Hoseok is drained, exhausted. Yoongi had kept hold of his hand for most of it, they’d eventually banished the arm rest and curled up together, and if the artist had dozed off once or twice during the four hour showing, well, Hoseok isn’t in the mood to hold it against him. At least he’s awake now, watching the black screen with a furrowed brow that makes Hoseok think he might be creating some tattoos off of what they’ve seen.

Hoseok eventually rises from his seat, unexpectedly stiff, and Yoongi is much worse, cursing and standing up so slowly he may as well have claimed a senior’s discount. Watching the grumbling sight, against his inclination Hoseok smiles.

“Such an old man,” he comments gently.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Yoongi replies, and laughs at the instant flood of red across the face of the other man, the quick glance to see if anyone heard.

Once he’s sure there’s no one within earshot, Hoseok relaxes, though he’s not necessarily keen on keeping up this line of conversation. Not in public, anyways. As they file for the exit, he asks, “What was your fave? Film, I mean.”

Yoongi pauses by the garbage at the entrance and throws out the wad of Kleenex he’d shoved into his pocket when his nosebleed had ended, a few minutes into the first film. “The one with the girl who gets lost,” he replies. “Though it’s fucking bullshit she never finds her way out.”

Hoseok chucks away the now-empty bag of candy that his boyfriend had impatiently refused every time it had been offered. Remembering the picture Yoongi’s talking about – the editor had gone crazy with the light filtering, but the tracking shots were gorgeous – Hoseok frowns. “You’re calling the ending bullshit but it’s your fave?”

A shrug. “I think we’re supposed to be pissed off about it. Mad no one helped her or something. It being bullshit is the point.”

That… is deeper than he’d expected Yoongi to go, and Hobi probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. It’s not like his boyfriend isn’t a thoughtful person – not in the least, actually – but he tends to get impatient trying to explain what he means, and it isn’t often he sounds so calmly certain about a point he’s trying to make. And Hoseok finds himself agreeing. There had been something demanding about the end of the short, about the way the camera spiralled away in an ever widening shot, something that asked why she was left standing alone in that barren space.

“Didn’t look at it like that, but I think you’re right,” Hoseok says quietly, and can’t quell the swell of guilt that washes over him. Had Yoongi been able to see it so clearly because he feels equally abandoned?

The other man glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m glad a soon-to-be famous film director agrees with my theory. Maybe I should publish a thesis paper or something.” Sardonic, but lightly so, and Hoseok may or may not be imagining the searching concern hidden behind that sarcastic gaze.

“You can put my name on it, if you want.” Hoseok smiles as he says it, but turns away from the worry his conscience might be making up. If he’s right – if any of the thoughts skittering through his head are right – it isn’t Yoongi who should be looking at him with that veiled compassion. If he’s right, he thinks his heart might just break under such a look.

“I’ll take you up on it,” the tattooist promises. “Until then… what was your fave, Mr. Expert?”

Did he even have one? It’s not that he can’t remember them all individually, but it’s as though Hoseok had tried so hard to submerse himself in the films that he had accidentally pushed too hard against them, smudged the colours and details of their wet-paint newness into a blur. There’s nothing that truly stands out, and that’s… well, that’s just a shame.

“They were all so good. I’m not surprised any of them were included in the festival.”

Head ticking to the side, Yoongi sucks on his spit, opens his mouth, seems to think better of it. He looks down as they push their way through the doors and out into the early evening, his hands crumpling the beanie he’d taken off long ago into a tight ball before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. From the corner of his eye Hoseok catches him chewing on the inside of his cheek, the motion almost savage. Throwing up a hand to shield from the sudden sun, eventually the artist mumbles, “I just – I hope you enjoyed it, yeah?”

“Of course!” The reply is immediate, fervent, because Hoseok can’t bear the tentative way he asks that question. “Especially – man, that you thought of me at all. That you got the tickets for me. That’s so cool, Yoongs.”

The other man relaxes. “Well, like I said, they were free. Really wasn’t much.” That had been such a relief the first time Hoseok heard it, and even hearing it again has him sighing gratefully. He knows Yoongi doesn’t have money to spare – he makes a respectable amount tattooing, but almost everything goes into the rent for Born Tiger – and the thought of him paying had put Hoseok’s throat in knots. At least Yoongi had set that straight during the first intermission between showings.

It suddenly occurs to Hoseok that he knows that Yoongi isn’t lying about getting the tickets for free. Knows, not assumes or believes. It’s like knowing a fact is true because he’s seen it for himself. Where does that certainty come from? Where did–

He jerks his thoughts to a hard stop. He’ll figure it out, one way or another, but for now… for now Yoongi is watching him with gentle, tired affection, and if his eyes are bruises and his skin too blanched, at least he looks happy. Hoseok would do a hell of a lot more than play dumb to keep that expression in place, if only for a little while longer. They stop a little way down the street, keep out of everyone’s way. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Yoongi considers that for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “I don’t want to take too much of your time – it’s already cool you agreed to spend some time with me today.”

“Y’know, I’m not a celebrity just yet. It’s not like my time is worth gold or anything.”

“Nah,” Yoongi replies with a wry twist of his lips, “just worth something else. Let me start paying you?” Then he reaches over, catches at the back of Hoseok’s neck, and Hoseok is already grinning at the familiar joke, but his smile becomes softer under his boyfriend’s mouth.

This kiss is quiet, almost too timid, so he throws his arms around the other man, pulls him closer, anything to cement their contact. His boyfriend responds with a low hum, the sound a reverberation of appreciation that pulses through Hoseok’s bones, replaces his marrow with a contentment that’s too airy to hold the weight of everything else. But – for a moment, it can manage. And it does, as they break off and Yoongi presses his face against Hoseok’s chest, though not quickly enough to hide the expression on his face, so tender it appears a mere breath from falling apart. Tightening his arms around the small man’s shoulders, as though that alone could hold them both together, Hoseok kisses the top of Yoongi’s head. Was there a way, some magic of filmography he hasn’t found yet, to extend this moment forever? Not freeze it like a photograph, but just… keep it going, keep all the affection and warmth and the way the sun burnishes Yoongi’s blonde hair into feathery gold?

“I love you,” Hoseok murmurs, and for once there’s no anxiety in those words, no uncertainty or fear of rejection. He and Yoongi – together, like this – is so right. Maybe only for a minute or a moment, but for as long as it lasts, he can close his eyes and feel that rightness like music in his ears, like honey on his tongue, like a shot of some view you’d climbed miles to see.

For a long time, there is simple quiet in response, but Hoseok is aware of Yoongi’s shoulders trembling as he struggles to draw in breath after breath. Eventually the artist clears his throats, whispers shakily, “Yeah. I love you too, Hobi… so much,”

They stay as they are for several minutes, secure, linked by touch and something so much heavier, something Hoseok can’t name. Eventually though, Yoongi stirs in his arms, eases himself away. His mouth is a reluctant slash when he looks up, but nonetheless he says, “We should go. You got too much shit to do to be standing around.”

In more ways than one, he’s right. Hoseok can hardly think about the various project deadlines and exams coming up in the next two weeks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And besides, if he’s actually going to make himself go through with the plan…

It’s his turn to take in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’ll drive you home first.”

“It’s not that far,” Yoongi snorts dismissively, already turning to walk away.

Hoseok catches his wrist. “You set all of this up for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Aish… okay.” The surrender comes quickly, more quickly than Hoseok expects it to, and he finds himself wondering at it as they begin to stroll to Hobi’s car. For all of Yoongi’s dismissive tone, it is a pretty far walk to Born Tiger – is that why he’d agreed so promptly? Because a walk like that is hard for Yoongi nowadays?

Jiggling his keys to keep the electric tension at bay, the warmth dissipating like water through his grasping fingers and leaving something cold in its wake, Hoseok can’t stop himself from chatting as they walk, but his heart isn’t in it. Neither is Yoongi’s, to judge by the distracted responses, and he keeps expecting there to be a sudden crack, a sudden halt, a sudden outpouring of whatever is welling up inside the both of them. It never comes, though. The thunderous clouds just swell without rain, and he’s no god to know how to change this weather pattern.

He has to try, though.

By the time they’ve slipped into the car and Hoseok has pulled into rush hour traffic, that knowledge has hardened into resolve. When the other man takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it, he glances over – probably too intently – and asks so casually that it’s not casual at all, “Are you gonna call your doctor for an appointment now?”

Yoongi fumbles the device, drops it into his lap. “What – right now?” he asks, picking it back up.

“Not everyone works ‘til two in the morning, Yoongs. Pretty sure doctor offices close soon.” His companion is frowning at him, and Hoseok just hopes Yoongi assumes he’s nervous about bringing up something that was close to starting an argument a few hours ago. Which he is. Amazing how even a lie can rest on a foundation of truth. Clearing his throat when the other says nothing, he coaxes, “It’ll only take a moment.”

“And you get to see me doing it,” the artist observes flatly.

Hoseok flinches, can’t deny the implicit accusation. But neither can he backtrack, so he keeps his eyes on the road and sits a little straighter. “You put this off a lot, Yoongi. I’m just – I’m trying to help.”

A violent exhale from the man beside him, and Hoseok flinches again, more from the guilt of what he isn’t saying than anything else. After a moment of fraught silence, another sigh, considerably softer than the first. “I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. It’s just, this,” he touches his nose like it symbolizes all the misery he’s been going through, “this ain’t anything until someone tells me it’s something y’know? And I think I would have preferred… I mean, that I’d prefer not knowing. Easier.”

“But not necessarily better,” Hoseok says quietly, and wonders how much of this is real and how much is just more of the same.

“Maybe…” A few seconds pass in torn silence, and then abruptly Yoongi snorts. “Fuck. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Without waiting for a reply, he scrolls through his phone, has it up to his ear before Hoseok can doubt if he’s actually going to call. “Hello? Dr. Cho? Yeah, this is Min Yoongi calling. No, not – not about that.” It’s impossible to miss the tension in Yoongi’s voice, the coolly impassive look plastered across his face when Hoseok risks a glance, but Hoseok can’t make out anything the person on the other end is saying, just hears an incomprehensible voice.

“No, I don’t want that. I just wanted to schedule another appointment….” A pause as he lets the other person talk, and if anything, Yoongi’s expression grows colder. Or maybe not colder, maybe just… rigid. Eventually he seems to interrupt. “I know all that. Thanks. Like I said, just want an appointment. Some time next week? Yeah, sure. Uh huh. Mhm. Yeah. See you soon. Thanks.” His hand drops to rest limply on his thigh, and it takes several more seconds before Yoongi hangs up the call.

He turns to Hoseok. “Three o’clock on Tuesday. You satisfied?”

Refusing to rise to that combative tone – it’s obvious this call has unnerved his boyfriend, and in between his guilt and his pity, Hoseok can’t feel anything else – the film student just smiles as brightly as he can. “Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Yoongs. Seriously – thanks.”

His voice has lightened into something closer to grumpiness than anger when he replies. “Yeah, whatever. Now I get to spend an hour having her rip into me for not scheduling sooner.”

“Do you not like her?” Hoseok asks in surprise. He’s always assumed Yoongi’s aversion to getting a checkup was an internal issue, but maybe it was partly his doctor’s fault? That makes him hope. Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe it really is as simple as that. Maybe…

Yoongi grimaces. “It’s not like that. She’s just… pushy. Doesn’t like putting up with my bullshit.” His laugh isn’t very amused. “Guess that makes two of us. Anyways, no, I’ve had her for awhile now. She’s fine. I’m just being a bastard.”

“Good to hear.” Although it isn’t, not really.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the trip, Hoseok sweating over somehow giving himself away while Yoongi seems withdrawn and comfortable staring out the window without speaking. When they pull into a spot a short distance from Born Tiger, Hoseok feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. Hands pressing into the steering wheel until they ache, he almost doesn’t manage to make himself do it. Yoongi’s gathered up his stuff, hand on the door, before a surge of desperation rips the words from Hoseok’s tongue.

“Uh, hey! Could I borrow your phone for a sec? Mine’s dead.”

“What do you need it for?” Yoongi asks, but he’s already handing it over, nothing but distracted amusement on his face.

“I forgot I wanted to text Jimin, tell him I’m just gonna grab some fast-food for dinner. Ask if he and the other guys wanted anything.” The pads of his fingers are sweaty, and he has to try a few times to type Yoongi’s password – genius – before getting in. He hovers for a moment over Contacts, struggling to make himself move.

Meanwhile, Yoongi scoffs. “Dunno why you even need to ask. Tae and Kookie would eat out of a garbage bin if someone told them it was free.”

Hoseok cracks a weak smile. “Probably not out of it.” He still can’t make himself do what he’s been planning since before the films.

“Yeah, you’re right. They’d get plastic plates first.” It’s the fondness in Yoongi’s voice that does it. Pushes him into leaving Contacts untouched and pressing on Phone History. Because that gruff, protective affection for the younger boys… Hoseok can’t lose it. He can’t stop having those rough, secure words in his life, not when everything before Yoongi was too smooth to hold onto. He just can’t. And if this isn’t what he dreads it might be, well, Yoongi will be pissed, but he’ll also be forgiving, sooner or later. Haven’t the last few months proven that?

Phone tilted away from the other man, Hoseok taps into the most recent call, made to a Dr. Cho Jiyoo. Moving his fingers like he’s texting, he just stares at the number there instead, committing it to memory to the best of his ability. A few seconds later, he actually goes to Jimin, sends the message, and then hands the cell back to Yoongi with an empty hollowness in his stomach. It’s a good thing his boyfriend has his own things to worry about, because Hoseok isn’t exactly doing this with picture perfect guile.

It doesn’t take hardly any time at all for Jimin to reply, which is a blessing. Hoseok can only repeat the numbers in his head for so long before he’s bound to mess them up, especially while encouraging Yoongi to do most of the talking.

Breaking off a story about a guy who fainted dead away within five minutes of his first ever needle, the artist checks his vibrating phone. “Jimin says Taehyung is eating with Jin, but he and Jungkook could go for something.” Another buzz of an incoming message, and he barks a laugh. “Jungkook votes for McDonald’s, so I was right; he would eat out of a dumpster if it was free.”

Shaking his head at that – 4, 53, 67, 32, 08 – Hoseok asks, “Did Jimin get a vote?”

“Subway. You roll with the most high-class people, hey?”

“Oh, ‘cause your choice would be so much better.” When Yoongi opens his mouth, Hoseok adds, “Starbucks isn’t that classy, Yoongs.” 67, 32, 08…

“You would know,” Yoongi shoots back, with a gummy smile that’s nothing short of breathtaking, and it lurches through Hoseok’s throat until he almost lets go of the numbers and plan altogether. He can hardly breathe through his shame about not speaking honestly to Yoongi, and with that trusting grin right in front of him…

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, and the man across from him dampens his smile at the strangled tone, leans forward a bit.

“Yeah?” the artist asks quietly, brows furrowing in miniscule tension.

Please tell me the truth. The words are so easy – so impossible to say. What is the truth? What is the nagging feeling that drags like oil across Hoseok’s brain whenever he looks at his tattoo? What is the crumpled expression Yoongi wears when he thinks no one can see him? And what the hell could Hoseok do if Yoongi refused to answer any of those questions?

And what if he didn’t?

His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he can’t get them to stop, Hoseok wrenches them off, buries them in his lip. He smiles, or tries to. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay? You can listen to me cry about how behind I am with everything.”

“My favorite mixtape,” Yoongi jokes, though the furrow across his forehead doesn’t really disappear. “I’ll be expecting that call. Don’t skip out.” His way of saying that he’s around to listen, that he doesn’t want Hoseok to keep it to himself. If they don’t get away from each other soon, Hoseok really is going to start crying.

Keeping his breath shallow, he shakes his head. “I won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”

He’s actually relieved when Yoongi doesn’t make any move to kiss him goodbye. It’s not the usual – just another signal of how off things are between them – but Hoseok’s pretty sure if they touched right now, everything would come spilling out. Not necessarily through his lips, but maybe through his skin, or his head, or his heart… or wherever this aching connection is anchored, somewhere beyond his mere body.

Hand against his neck, Yoongi hesitates before he opens his door. “Happy belated b-day, Hobi,” he says, and the humour is so pale it might as well be invisible. All Hoseok can do is incline his head and murmur a tight thank you. Fingers still stroking across his neck, there’s another breathless pause before Yoongi shuts his eyes and heaves himself out of the car, movements stiff and pained. “I’ll see you later,” is his low promise, and then the door is thudding closed between them.

Because the spikes of restless agony are threatening to drive straight through him if he doesn’t move to avoid them, Hoseok doesn’t wait to watch his boyfriend walk to Born Tiger. Because there’s something ripping him apart already and anything added will splinter him into even smaller pieces, he doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror once he’s beyond the other man. Because the only thing he can do right now is go forward, Hoseok doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t go back. He sets his jaw, looks up a number and an address on his almost fully charged phone, and puts it into the GPS.

---

The office looks as conventional as any medical company Hoseok has seen, at least from the outside. Short and insistently rectangular, the building is painted a sandy brown, while the double doors of the entrance are white, and plenty of windows dot the squat structure. There’s a little bed of flowers and some potted plants out front. It doesn’t look like a place where people go to learn they’re dying.

But it is. This isn’t the doctor’s office Hoseok had expected when he looked up the name and the number he had taken from Yoongi’s phone. He isn’t really sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t an oncologist’s office. The CL Courage Clinic is, according to the website, a specialty cancer clinic that deals with various kinds of chronic leukemia. There aren’t all that many cars in the parking lot, but then again, it’s kind of late. He wonders if Dr. Cho is still here. He wonders what he’s doing here.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and when Hoseok swallows it feels like his heart is about to burst through his trachea. He knows what the doctor looks like – the website had all of their pictures – but there’s a layer of static over everything he sees and he’s not altogether confident he’ll even be able to recognize her. Breath so harsh he can’t hear the music playing on the car radio, eventually Hoseok shuts it off, anything to reduce the unrelenting everything that’s crushing him into a panicked nothing.

What am I doing here? He’s falling to pieces so quickly he can’t put himself together again. Am I really about to– He can’t think about it, he can’t, he can’t. He has to do it.

He has to, but for a long time Hoseok just sits in his car, shifting constantly, rubbing his fingers raw against anything that comes under his hands. He’d thought he’d go into the building, ask for the doctor, but now he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should just wait for her out here. Maybe she’s gone home already. Maybe the thought that has him caressing his collarbone and then jerking away as if stung is more ridiculous than anything else he’s managed to think up. After so many months – after what feels like a lifetime – would Yoongi really not have told him?

By now, Hoseok isn’t really sure what he’s talking about, even within his own mind. Told him what? About sickness? Or soulmates? Or are they somehow the same thing, now?

Minutes pass and doubts churn trenches through Hoseok’s head, ruthlessly treading the same paths over and over again until it feels like there’s no way to think outside the ditches, no way to leap beyond their bounds. He thinks, and only manages to dig himself deeper into paralysis.

For the seventh or eighth time, the clinic door opens, and someone steps outside. He looks towards them, empty of expectation. That might be why it takes him a moment to recognize the lady in a flora summer dress as she hitches a purse over her shoulder and walks with quick, short strides. When he does, everything… collapses. The fear, the doubts, the shrieking, formless anxiety, they don’t disappear, but they contract into a place somewhere just behind his sternum. It’s almost as though the sheer weight of his breakdown has finally ripped a blackhole into existence, and it’s dragging his heart and lungs and stomach into a mangled mess of impossible heaviness. What emotions could escape the gravity of such dread?

He forces his door open too hard, has to wrench it back to avoid smashing into the truck he’d parked next to. Clambering out of the luxurious car feels like a confession of sin, and his jerky steps are quick to leave the sleek vehicle behind.

“Dr. Cho. Umm, Dr. Cho!” The second time he calls she hears him, turns his way. His immediate impression is thinness – thin black hair, thin lips, thin eyebrows, thin shoulders… thin patience, if the expression on her taut face is any clue. He’s not sure how old she is – maybe fifty, though the exasperation makes it harder to be sure.

“May I help you?” she asks, in a slow way that suggests she’s hoping the answer is no. He can’t entirely blame her, given the time and the way he’s accosting her outside her work.

Bouncing his weight back and forth from foot to foot, Hoseok nods several times as if the motion alone might shake some words from his head to his too-dry mouth. It doesn’t, but the compression in his chest hasn’t managed to swallow his tongue quite yet, and so he manages to push out a quick introduction. “Uh, hello, Dr. Cho. My name is Jung Hoseok. We haven’t – I saw you on the clinic website, and I, umm, was hoping we could talk.”

If anything, her eyes narrow even further. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jung, but I generally only meet by appointment, and only during office hours. You could have phoned the clinic and scheduled a time to talk.” ‘Should have’ is more than implicit in her words, but the doctor’s displeasure hits his chest and – dissolves. It can’t gain any purchase in the flattened landscape of his feelings.

“I’m really, really sorry, but I couldn’t – I only just, uh, found out I need to talk to you.” Because I’m stupid. Because I’ve failed him.

Dr. Cho sighs, adjusts the purse on her shoulder. The motion makes her seem less annoyed and more… tired. “Did you receive a referral from your family doctor? I know it’s always very terrifying to receive a possible diagnosis, but it really would be better to schedule an appointment, so I have the opportunity to look at your information and –”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok interrupts, the pressure mostly squeezing embarrassment into oblivion. He doesn’t even flush at accidentally giving her the wrong impression. “It’s not about me, it’s about one – one of your patients.”

Immediately her back is a little straighter, her brow a little more creased. “One of my patients?”

“Yes. His name is Min Yoongi. He’s… I think he’s been seeing you recently?”

She mouths the name, not as if it’s unfamiliar, but rather as though it surprises her to hear someone mention it. The tightness behind his ribs contracts even further, to the point of pain. He’d thought – hoped, prayed, begged – that she wouldn’t know what he was talking about, but she definitely knows Yoongi. Everything had suggested that she would, but if it had been a misunderstanding, if he’d gotten the wrong doctor… It’s getting a bit hard to breathe.

For a second, it looks as though curiosity might impel Dr. Cho to speak further, but the inclination is quickly suppressed, and her wariness comes back. “We’re not permitted to discuss our patients without their permission. It’s best if you ask him about–”

“He won’t tell me.” Even to his own ears, the toneless certainty is too flat to be anything but despairing. Hoseok tries to picture it – tries to imagine a conversation between he and Yoongi that leads towards them understanding each other more, and not breaking apart – but he can’t. He believes Yoongi loves him, but now, with the open chasm of truth before him, Hoseok knows his boyfriend would do anything to avoid pitching him into its consuming blackness. That must be why. It’s the only reason he can think of for why they haven’t taken this plunge together.

It doesn’t make him feel better – if anything, it just makes it worse. He had thought honesty was white, was open, was a bridge between two trusting people, but this – this isn’t that.

Her eyes flick to his face and then quickly away again, embarrassed or uncomfortable with whatever she finds there. When the doctor speaks, her voice is kind but without an inch of give. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with this. It seems best that you talk to him directly. If he gives permission for me to disclose information…” By the way she trails off, Hoseok isn’t the only one who knows that won’t happen. How long has Yoongi been seeing her for, that she’s so aware of that fact?

Straightening her shoulders, expression apologetic in face of his hopeless silence, Dr. Cho inclines her head. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I hope everything works itself out.” And with that she moves to leave.

It turns out there’s one thing strong enough to escape the blackhole nestled in his chest – desperation. “Wait!” Hoseok reaches out, jerks back his hand before he catches her. Nonetheless, she pauses. Hardly knowing what he’s doing, he finds himself scrabbling at the high neck of his shirt, yanking it down with enough force that it sounds like the fabric is ripping. Ignoring that, he pulls it even further, baring the wilted flower there. The way her eyes widen, the way she leans forward with a mixture of revulsion and reluctant fascination, tells him it’s exactly as it’s been for the last few weeks.

He knows what she’s wondering as her gaze traces the withered lines, the tones that smudge more towards ashen rot than any real flower would ever experience. Why would someone get a tattoo like this?

Why did he get a tattoo like this? And God, doesn’t he know the answer?

“This belongs to him,” Hoseok blurts out, still only half sure of what he’s saying.

She doesn’t look away from the decaying image, but there’s no dawning awareness on her face as she replies, “Yoongi is a tattoo artist, isn’t he? He did this?” Can he blame her for not understanding? How long has it taken him to finally grasp what’s been hovering over this mark? How many times has he been on the verge of holding it, only to let go at the last moment, afraid that comprehension will make it into a reality too heavy to carry?

He takes too long to respond, grappling with what to answer. Dr. Cho straightens, finally pulls her eyes away. “It seems you’re good friends, and he’s obviously very talented, but that… I still can’t help you.”

“No, I don’t –” Just what is he trying to say? The pressure crushing his insides is finally too tight; cracks are ribboning through the blackhole, fissures of agonized acknowledgement that his whole existence isn’t enough to suppress. Guilt, terror, rage, grief – what are those words in the midst of the detonation blossoming it’s frenzied heat up his throat?

His hand finds the tattoo, presses against it. Too hard, his nails digging into the skin, but the heat remains, and so does the flower. It will continue there. He can’t rip it off. Nothing can. Nothing can separate the mark from the flesh. Hoseok finds a sudden, bracing relief in that thought, as though, with everything spiralling out of his hands, this alone will remain as it is. No matter what he says, no matter what he does – this bond is going to remain.

He breathes through his clenched teeth, as if the air burns his lungs, but there are a few words that haven’t been immolated in the fire. “This tattoo belongs to Yoongi,” Hoseok repeats, his tone almost too shrill. “It belongs to him, because–” There is a small falter, another hard inhale, before he continues, voice picking up force and certainty. “Because he belongs to me.”

Caught up in the torrent of his declaration, Dr. Cho understands what he means immediately, and her expressive eyebrows jump up in startled incredulity as she takes an involuntary half-step back. He almost wants to do the same, with the words still searing his tongue and blistering his lips. Saying it feels like releasing a spell, like casting some kind of dreadfully powerful incantation that he couldn’t undo even if he wanted to. At the same time, there’s a shuddering throughout his whole body, as if his muscles and bones are snapping into their proper places, for the first time in forever. He belongs to me. Hoseok wouldn’t unsay that, even if he could.

This time, when her gaze lands on the mark, it tears along the lines like a surgical knife, trying to separate the bleak colours from the skin, to see it in a different light. And see it she does, as the understanding settles into something deeper, sorrowful realization mingling with heavy pity. Hoseok doesn’t want to see that – he wants to shut his eyes – but that won’t stop the sensation discharging through his arteries and carrying liquid anguish to the rest of his body.

“You two are bonded?” Dr. Cho all but whispers, and it’s so easy to ignore the way his eyes are aching and simply nod instead, as though he’s known all along. So easy to acknowledge that blood is red, tears are clear, Hoseok has a tattoo, and he and Yoongi are soulmates.

Why is it so easy? After months of refusing to believe, embracing this truth feels like holding onto Yoongi; light, warm, and altogether too real to be doubted. Hoseok finds himself mouthing the words, though he can’t quite say it yet. We’re bonded.

The doctor’s lips twist, her head tilting slightly, but nonetheless her examination doesn’t let up, body angled unwillingly forward to get a better view. “It hasn’t always looked like this?” she finally asks, and he wonders suddenly if there’s some kind of medical practice that takes the condition of soulmate tattoos into consideration. If she could have used this earlier.

It’s not so easy to shake his head, but Hoseok forces himself to do it anyways. “No, it hasn’t. Just – just recently. It’s always been – it’s never been absolutely perfect, but never this bad.”

“He really hasn’t told you anything?” Her disbelief hurts him, ashes and cinder burning along his throat as he’s reminded of how wrong this is.

Swallowing the embers, he replies, “No, he… I didn’t ask him enough. I should have pushed harder. I should have…” There’s too much to write in this column, not enough ink to jot it all down. He should have, he should have, he should have. “Please, I don’t know what else to do. Please, just…” Help me. Hoseok doesn’t know how to say that to this stranger, this woman who may well have been keeping his soulmate alive, who is undoubtedly judging him for his severe deficiencies now.

But if Dr. Cho is judging him, that judgement doesn’t overwhelm her sympathy. Eyes rising from his tattoo to meet his frantically imploring stare, the thin woman taps her forehead, where thoughtful creases have appeared. She doesn’t seem like the type to agonize over a decision for very long. And sure enough, far before the apprehension can do more than constrict his throat, the doctor turns away, begins to walk back to the clinic. Hoseok stares after her, not daring to expect anything.

Over her shoulder, she calls words that give him the barest hint of a reason to hope. “Come. We should discuss this in my office.”

Injected with something resembling relief – but not that, never that, not while Yoongi’s reality is still so twisted from what it should be – Hoseok hurries after her.

---

He’s collapsed on the couch, back pressed into the armrest, knees drawn up, a sketchbook resting on his abdomen and balanced against his legs, his coloured pencils on the table next to him. Yoongi is hunched over the drawing, almost curled around it, as though it’s an open wound that needs protecting. And maybe it is. He’s made several dozen strokes of his pencil along the page, but they’re just aimless slashes, split seams with nothing in between. He’d wanted to put his feelings down – on paper and otherwise – but his ideas keep slipping away, and if Yoongi knew what he wanted to draw when he sat down, he certainly doesn’t know now.

Hoseok’s face keeps intruding. That isn’t unheard of – and typically it’s more of a pleasure than a pain – but today is different. The sun without its rays is stark. Hoseok’s face without its smile is bleak.

Today had gone so fucking wrong.

I am so tired of this fucking bullshit.

It’s true, but it’s truer to say that Yoongi is tired of his own bullshit. Whether he means his body’s slow deterioration or his constant lying to hide that decline depends on the day – hell, it depends on the hour. Right now, he pretty much means the lying part. Pulling himself together enough to accompany Hoseok to the film festival after the news Dr. Cho had given him hadn’t been all that difficult – even Atlas had to get comfortable with the world on his shoulders, sooner or later – but had it even been worth it?

More and more, when Hoseok looks at him, Yoongi senses that the other man is… searching. Looking beyond the barriers he throws up, even looking beyond the concrete comfort that they feel when they’re together. His sun tattoo has been looking off recently, too. The colour isn’t draining, but the rays of light have become sharper, more defined, almost painfully distinct. Little spikes of anxiety. The overall tone has also shifted to a redder hue, more like a dying sun than a brilliant one.

Brushing his thumb over the inside of his elbow, he can’t stop the twist of his lips. Today, with Hobi all but demanding he call the doctor, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or smack him upside the head. The concern is touching, a heart-hurt that he can only be grateful for, but it can only lead one way, the one way Yoongi can’t accept, and he suspects they’re getting closer to that path.

In fact, as Yoongi had shut the car door and walked away, that feeling solidified into certainty. Hoseok found something. That’s what his demand was about, that was why he was acting so shady. The realization had been all altitude and dizziness for Yoongi, and even now, there’s nausea cringing at the corners of the artist’s stomach, like he expects the floor to collapse at any second and send him plummeting straight down. What had Hoseok found? Which secret? Any? Or is this just paranoia stacked on pain?

Another rough line added to the rest of the strokes, and it’s still a mess. Nothing clear. No answers. Just the wild apprehension teeming like termites through his wooden brain. Mumbling to himself, Yoongi tears out the page, holds it in his hand for a moment before, with a low exhale, he casts it aside.

He can’t start over anywhere else in his life, but isn’t that half the appeal of what he’s doing now?

This time, when Yoongi begins to draw, he has a better idea of where he wants to go. He’s borrowing from the film he’d liked. The concept, not the actual image. A single stem of soft blue orchids, floating in a black expanse that’s barely discernable as water. It looks more like ink. Some of the flowers are already partially submerged in the dark substance, the gentle petals streaked with oily shadows. There’s no ripple across the water, no sign of movement or change. Just the orchids, alone, slowly sinking.

It takes him a couple of hours, and during that time he can pour everything into the long funnel his focus creates, splattering the page with his loneliness. The fear, the anger, the guilt, the grief, it’s all there in that limitless lake of black. It’s nothing more than a sketch; he needs a table and a better setup to draw something worth showing to others. It is what he wanted to draw, though. As he finishes he knows that, yet… when Yoongi looks at it, his pencil falling into his lap, the itching, frantic feeling is already beginning to squirm to life again. He can’t exorcise it with this torrent of truth.

What if Hoseok does know? What then? Where is the beaming man in this picture?

Yoongi glances at his cell, checking the time. He’s only a little surprised to see that it’s a bit after 7. Time is a construct, after all, and it’s especially unstable when creativity and emotions come out to play together. A direct quote from Namjoon. Yoongi scoffs at it even as fondness makes him smooth the page against his knees with more gentleness than he might have done otherwise. The despair is demanding he crumple paper and shatter glass, but the artist shoves it down. Remembers the look on Hoseok’s face when he saw the theatre and realized where they were going.

His pencil – a yellowy gold tone – hovers uncertainly over the corner of the drawing. Can he add this? Does he deserve to add it?

Before he can make up his mind, there’s a knock on the entrance downstairs. Hard. It comes again, and then again, no regularity to the sounds. Again, like stuttering breaths or crippled steps. The pounding sets his nerves alight, and against any rational thought, Yoongi freezes, his fingers curling into fists. It’s probably some drunk messing up where they are; there are enough of those on Skymont, even if it is kinda early. Or maybe it’s a customer who forgot something, even though he’s meticulous about cleaning the studio and hadn’t found anything recently. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he doesn’t even need to answer.

It isn’t any kind of rational thought that has Yoongi casting his eyes down, half-flinching at a new round of knocking. It isn’t even intuition, the kind you laugh at during the day and heed while walking down dark streets. Something more forceful, inexorable, makes him drag his gaze back to the tattoo he had been considering only a few hours ago. A tattoo that is, before his eyes, slowly but surely dissolving through a slew of sickly colours, like diseased flesh across his skin. Yet, even as Yoongi watches in numb, detached interest, the form begins to solidify in an explosion of brighter, harsher tones.

As it does, he hears someone call in a voice stripped to its ragged core, “Yoongi!”

The sun loses its colours, finds them again, shot through with waves of distortion that look like a mirage. Repeat. And repeat.

The entire process takes about five minutes, and the knocking doesn’t stop, and still Yoongi can’t make himself move. He watches the tattoo, waiting for it to fade into nothing, or at least go dead and black. It doesn’t, the jumbled swirls of colour continuing, but the person at the door calls again, “Yoongi! Yoongi – open the door.”

Yoongi’s complained about his thin walls before. Hoseok knows that he can hear. It wouldn’t even matter if he hadn’t. The tattooist – feels his soulmate. All the time, yes, but more so now, the awareness closer to a deafening noise than any kind of conscious recognition. And the wavering lines of the tattoo mean… just exactly what he’s suddenly terrified that they mean. The numbness is washed away in a flood of ice through his stomach, and Yoongi realizes that he’s trembling.

Almost too hard to make it down the stairs, hand on the wall for balance.

Stumbling off the last step, the artist makes his way down the hallway, through his tattooing parlour. The scents and sights of his chairs and equipment aren’t reassuring; he’s alienated from them, as though he’s become a ghost, just drifting through an existence that’s no longer his. Each knock jars him further from reality. He can’t seem to formulate any thoughts. No words or excuses or apologies to set his slanted world back on its straight axis.

The dread is a far stronger impression than anything else, coppery on his tongue, and by the time Yoongi gets to the front of the store, he can even feel it coating his fingertips. Lifting a too-heavy arm, he pauses at the lock, watches the way his hand shakes in front of it, and abruptly feels contempt. He’s so afraid. Does Hoseok deserve such a cowardly person?

“…Yoongi?” Quieter now, as though he knows how much closer Yoongi is, Hoseok’s voice wedges into the icy fear, sends little cracks shuddering through it.

His other hand comes up to press against his neck, almost hard enough to cut off air and dread altogether, and in the same motion, Yoongi throws the bolt. He can’t make himself open the door. He doesn’t need to. The other person must hear him fumbling with the lock – or maybe they just know – and a second later the door is jerked open.

The bell rings. Yoongi flinches. Hoseok doesn’t.

His crumpled mouth hurts more than even the red, frantic eyes, though those are hard enough to meet. It’s just, Yoongi hasn’t ever wanted to be the reason Hoseok frowns like that, like he’s going to crumple at any second. Hoseok is the most beautiful person on the planet when he smiles, and right now his mouth looks like it will never remember how to smile again. Yoongi caused that misery one too many times already, and he’s literally sacrificed everything to avoid doing it again.

Looking at Hoseok’s foundering expression becomes too painful and he wrenches his eyes down only to see his hands, running feverish tracks along the seams of his jeans. Faced with the silent, screaming pain of those fingers, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say.

#yoonseok #sope #sope fanfiction #yoonseok fanfiction #networkbangtan #my fanfic #yoongi #hoseok

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

On What They Fall 2/4

So let me start by saying how much I hate @thisonesatellite. I mean obviously I don't hate her, I love her even though she has been HOGGING THE BRAIN, but I hate that EVERY TIME she says I’m going to need more chapters to tell my story I DO. I DO NEED THEM. Curse her.

The upside of her eerie genius is that there are now three chapters in this fic. ONLY THREE, DAMMIT.

I’d like to say that this one is less angsty than the first but that would be a LIE.

The first angsty chapter can be found here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is an angry young man. He has no family and few friends, and he’s stuck in a small town where everyone views him with fear and suspicion.

Everyone but Emma Swan.

She’s everything he wants in life and everything he can’t have. What he doesn’t know is that she wants him too.

Part 9 of Secret Things.

Rated: T

On AO3

Tagging some folks who might enjoy it: @kmomof4, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @teamhook, @resident-of-storybrooke, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @shireness-says, @thejollyroger-writer, @ohmightydevviepuu @jennjenn615 @superchocovian (Give me a shout if you’d like a tag for Chapter 3 THE REALLY VERY FINAL CHAPTER I MEAN IT THIS TIME)

Chapter 2:

Killian doesn’t write and he doesn’t call. He doesn’t contact anyone except Belle, and she gets nothing but the odd text message sent at irregular intervals. She never tells anyone what the messages say and Emma can’t bear to ask.

She googles him, though, in moments of weakness— when Graham pushes a bit too hard or when her parents smile at him too fondly, when Emma’s had a drink or two too many she gives in to the longing that is never not a part of her and searches for any scrap of information about him that she can find.

Her searches come up empty, at first. She expects little else —he’s off on a boat after all— but then one day about a year after he left she searches for his name and finds an Instagram account. She holds her breath as she clicks on it, wondering if after so long it could possibly, actually be him. All the pictures are of landscapes and cityscapes and food and people— so many people, and though none of them are him she knows instinctively that this account is his. These are photographs he’s taken of his travels.

She makes a second account for herself with a meaningless username and follows him. She checks his page daily, marking off all the places he visits on a globe she buys expressly for the purpose, charting his progress as he travels around the world. His photographs are gorgeous, full of colour and life, and they capture the spirit and the essence of each location. He’s a fantastic photographer, and it turns out an even better writer.

One day when she checks his Instagram she sees a link to a blog. With shaking hands she clicks on it and finds a single post—a story, complete with pictures, of a day he spent in Vietnam. It was a hot day, he recounted, edging towards 50 Celsius (122 Fahrenheit, Emma learns from Google, and her jaw drops) and Killian spent it in a place called Hoi An, visiting an elderly couple who breed silkworms for the local trade and taking photographs in their un-air-conditioned house. By the late afternoon he was bathed in sweat, thirsty and grumpy and wanting nothing more than to get back to his boat and have a beer, sail out to sea to catch a cool breeze. When he returned to where he’d moored her, however, he discovered that some local children had cut his line and set his boat adrift off the coast. The children thought this was a hilarious joke, and Killian, despite his mood and the sweat pouring off him, found himself laughing along with them. With no other practical options available, he put his camera bag on his head, secured the strap under his chin, and carefully swam out to his boat. The water was warm, he wrote, like a tepid bath, bright blue and gentle, and it washed the sweat away and refreshed him. When he reached the boat he tossed the camera bag aboard along with the wet clothes he simply stripped off and then floated in the water, watching a thunderstorm roll in over the mountains behind the town.

Emma devours the story eagerly, then goes back to the beginning and reads it again. His writing style is eloquent and engaging, his descriptions of the locations and people vivid and funny, and she feels like she’s there with him. She feels a pang at that realisation. If only she were there with him.

The story ends with a final photograph, clearly taken from the deck of his boat. A stormy grey sky lit up by a flash of lighting arcing down over the tops of lush green mountains. The brown roofs of houses dotted around the lower elevations and down to the white sandy beach fronted by clear azure water. The caption reads: I had never known such contentment or such peace.

That he had to go to the other side of the world to find those things breaks her heart.

She checks his blog daily and he updates it often, and soon she is only one of his regular readers. He gets dozens, then hundreds of comments on each post and he replies to them with charm and humour, and before too long advertisers begin to take notice. As do editors.

His first professional article appears in Wanderlust about two and a half years after his departure from Storybrooke. More soon follow, and his blog is updated with less and less frequency. And then, four years after he left, he makes the cover of National Geographic.

Emma cries as she reads it, huge, silent tears that leave tracks down her face, and with her fingertip she traces the small picture of him next to the article. His beard is thicker, she thinks, though he still hasn’t learned how to use a comb.

Six months later he announces that he’s shutting down his blog because he’s written a book, a novel that will be published the following year. Emma is thrilled, and so proud of him. He always was good with words, as his impressive career in travel journalism proves, and she’s delighted he’s found an even more creative way to use that talent. But then she thinks about how, once, he would have given her this news himself, and her tears fall again.

She thinks about how things were between them, so long ago now. How from the very beginning he fascinated her, that sullen, beautiful boy with his soft accent and his furious pain, the wary disbelief in his eyes when she brought him a blanket and the shock of intense connection when she shook his hand. Her persistent campaign to break through the bastion of his anger and discover the person beneath, her joy when she succeeded. The long, hot days of his first summer in Storybrooke, walking in the woods or sitting by the docks together, reading, listening to music, talking about everything. How in love with him she was and how she thought, in odd moments and snatches of glances that he might feel the same.

Then autumn came and Killian turned eighteen. The morning of his birthday he dropped out of school, telling Emma without looking at her that with the chaos of his parents’ deaths and the struggle to find someone to take custody of him he missed his exams in England and here in the US everything was too different. He wouldn’t be able to graduate in the spring and he didn’t see the point of staying in school when he should be earning money. Now that there were no more funds from the state to support him, he said, he couldn’t be a burden on Belle.

He got a job at the docks, working such long hours she barely ever saw him. When she did he was exhausted, worn in a way that worried her, though he always had a smile for her and a new book he discovered for her to read. His mind was so active, so curious, but when she tried to talk him into going back to school he refused to listen, withdrawing into himself if she even brought it up.

Emma thinks about how he began to pull away from her, subtly at first, allowing the circumstances of their lives to do most of the work. She thinks of the gossip she began to hear about him, stories of sleeping with older women who would buy him alcohol, drinking until he passed out. She confronted him about it and he stonewalled her, telling her to go back to her high school boys and leave him in peace.

Man whore, she hissed at him.

Princess, he snarled back, turning the word into an insult.

Emma cried herself to sleep that night, and the next day agreed to go to her senior prom with Neal Cassidy.

When word of Killian’s book gets out Storybrooke goes insane. Everyone seems to have forgotten the way they once treated him, the suspicion and distrust, the whispering behind his back, always waiting for him to explode in violence or do something that would get him locked up for good. All they remember now is that he’s a ‘local boy’—one born on a different continent, but that is also forgotten— and there is pride in their voices when they speak of him. There is speculation on when he’s going to ‘come home.’

Emma wants nothing more than for him to come home, but not like this, not into the clutches of these vultures, she thinks viciously, these people who made him feel like less than nothing and who now just want to trade on his acclaim. Yet she wants so badly to see him, to hear his voice again. He’s been gone five years and the wound is still open, still gaping and raw. By now she knows it will never heal, and if she lives to be a hundred she will never stop missing him.

Graham knows it too. They’re still dating, sort of, in the sense that they go out together sometimes and they sleep together sometimes but Emma has never been able to fully commit to the relationship. She loves Graham but she’s not in love with him, as the cliché goes, and when Killian becomes the focus of eager conversation throughout the town Graham thinks he may finally know the reason why.

“It’s Killian, isn’t it?” he asks her out of nowhere one day. They’re in the sheriff’s station where Emma now works alongside him, having graduated with her criminal justice degree and joined the force as a deputy. “You’re in love with him.”

“What? How do you know?” She stares at him, too astonished to dissemble.

“Emma, you should see your face whenever anyone mentions his name.” Graham smiles sadly. “I didn’t notice at first because— well, no one talked about him, but now his name’s getting thrown around all over the place and every time you hear it you look like your heart is breaking.”

“Graham.” She has no idea what to say to him.

“At least now I know why you couldn’t ever fall for me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Emma feels terrible. “I probably shouldn’t have— It’s just my dad was so—”

“I know. I probably shouldn’t have pushed so hard. With hindsight it’s always been pretty obvious your heart wasn’t in it.”

“I wish it could have been,” she says with a flare of anger. “Killian never wanted me, he left without even saying goodbye. I haven’t heard a word from him in five years, so why can’t I stop loving him?”

“What is it they say? True love never dies?”

“I’ll have to find a way to kill it then, because I can’t live the rest of my life like this.”

Graham stares at his hands for a long moment, and then he speaks. “You might not have to.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think— I don’t think Killian didn’t want you.”

“What?” Emma glares at him but he doesn’t look up.

“It’s not something we ever spoke of, but looking back.. hindsight and all, I see some things now that I didn’t want to see back then. He was always so tense when you were around, and his face when anyone said your name— well, it was a lot like yours is now when someone says his.”

She shakes her head. “You’re imagining things, Graham. Projecting—”

“No, I don’t think I am,” he interrupts firmly, finally looking at her. “I think Killian loved you but thought he couldn’t give you what you needed and that’s why he left.”

“And what exactly did he think I needed?”

“Maybe you should ask him that.”

Emma throws up her hands. “I just told you he hasn’t spoken to me in half a decade. I’ve got no idea where he even is.”

“You’re a cop,” says Graham. “You have resources.”

“Graham Humbert, are you suggesting I misappropriate—”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Emma, other than that it seems you and Killian have a conversation that’s at least five years overdue, and maybe it’s time you finally had it.”

Two weeks later Killian’s book comes out. It’s an instant sensation, shooting to the top of the bestseller lists. All his Instagram followers and blog readers and travel magazine subscribers buy it and so do their friends and family. Emma buys a copy and stares for a long time at his name on the cover before she begins to read.

The book is not a love story. It’s a story of love frustrated by life. It’s the story of a boy and a girl, the classic star-crossed lovers, who end up not dying in each other’s arms or living happily ever after but just… living. Ever after.

It’s the story of bad timing and bad choices and circumstances that grind away at love until nothing remains but the ghost of it, and of two people who would once have done anything for each other but by the end barely speak. It’s beautifully written and it’s heartbreaking, and for Emma it hits her straight in her soul. Because she is the girl, and Killian is the boy, and she doesn’t even have to read the interview he gives to the New York Times Book Review, confessing that the woman he wrote about is based on a real person, to know that this is them. This is how Killian imagined the path their lives would take, if they got together all those years ago. This is why he left.

Emma takes the book with her everywhere, rereading it in every spare moment, searching for something to convince her she’s wrong, that she’s imagining what isn’t there. She forgets to eat and barely sleeps, and finally she goes to see Belle, knocking on her door with the book clutched tightly to her chest. Belle hugs her, the minute she opens it. She’s read the book too.

“He’s never coming back, is he?” Emma whispers.

Belle shakes her head. “No.”

She ushers Emma inside, sits her down on the sofa. Waits.

Emma stares at the book, ruffling its pages and toying with its dust jacket. “Isn’t there anything that might make him— any reason he might want to— to come to Storybrooke again? Doesn’t he at least want to see you?”

Belle chooses her words carefully. “I visited him last Christmas,” she says gently. “In his new place, at his request. He doesn’t want to come back here. I— believe there are some things he thinks would hurt too much to revisit.”

“The woman in his book.”

“Yes.”

Emma takes a deep breath, looks Belle straight in the eye. “Is it me?” She holds up the book. “Is she— me?”

Belle sighs, but there’s no point in lying. The woman in the book is so obviously Emma. She’s kept Killian’s secret as long as she could, but if he’s going to put his heart on display in the pages of an international bestseller there’s only so much that she can do to protect it for him.

“Yes,” she says. “It’s you.”

“Then he… he loved me?”

Belle nods, and Emma’s fingers grip the book tightly. “Did he leave town because of me?”

“He did. He loved you deeply, Emma, but he never acted on it because he believed you didn’t feel the same, and even if you did he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. Then you started dating Graham and couldn’t bear to watch you fall in love with someone else.”

“He’s such an idiot,” hisses Emma, and Belle does rather agree. Yet she’s not sorry Killian left Storybrooke; he’d never have made anything of himself had he stayed. He’s got the life he deserves now, and he’s stable, if not quite happy. He’s been seeing a therapist and working through the scars from his past. For the first time in all the years she’s known him anger isn’t his defining feature, and while she does think his book takes rather too pessimistic a view of the life they might have had together, she’s certain none of the progress he’s made would have been possible if he’d remained here in this town with Emma, however much he loved her.

“Tell me something, Emma,” she says. “If Killian had told you he loved you before he left, what would you have done?”

“Gone with him,” says Emma, without a second’s hesitation.

Belle gives her a hard look. “You would have given up everything —your education, your family, your home— to live with him on a boat, scraping by on his savings?”

“Yes.” Emma thinks about the picture from his first blog post, the calm and contentment he’d found floating off the coast of Vietnam. She would have given up anything to experience that with him. Just to be with him. “All I’ve ever really wanted is to have a life with him. The details of that life don’t really matter. I mean, they do, but— we could have worked them out together.”

Belle smiles and gives her head a little shake. One of these days, she thinks, she’ll stop underestimating Emma Swan. “He’s living in New York now,” she says casually. “In a neighbourhood called the Bowery. Bought himself a nice little flat there. Apparently the advance on his next book was a generous one.”

Emma swallows hard before she speaks. “Is he planning to stay there?” she asks.

“I think so,” says Belle. “I think he’s ready to stop wandering and find his place.”

Emma has been with the sheriff’s department for three years and she’s never once abused the power that comes with her position. She doesn’t speed or park where she shouldn’t, or even cut in line at Granny’s as even Graham has been known to do. She’s never even jaywalked. But when she learns where Killian lives, his very neighbourhood in fact, she busts out every cop trick she knows to find his address.

When she has it she sits for a long time, thinking. Then she opens Google Street View. She feels a bit like a stalker, looking online at the very building where he lives, but she can’t help herself. And if she goes through with her plan then she will quite literally be stalking him and via not-quite-legal means as well.

But she can’t get Graham’s words out of her head. A conversation at least five years overdue. She wants to know why he left, why he pushed her away even before that, why he didn’t trust her to love him enough to make everything else irrelevant. She needs to hear it from his own mouth, not from Graham’s or Belle’s or anyone else’s. She needs to know.

She doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going or what she intends to do. Her dad is surprised when she asks for two weeks off work— she’s not had so much as a sick day since she started— but when he and her mother ask about her plans she tells them she just needs some time away after her breakup with Graham. Her father’s mouth goes grim; he’s not happy about that breakup. But he says nothing and her mother hugs her and tells her to take all the time she needs.

The next morning finds her at Killian’s door, trying to calm her racing heartbeat as she stares at the number on it, gathers her courage, and rings the bell. When he appears her breath stops. Her world stops. He looks good, is all she can think. Older, of course, filled out and more solid, with thick scruff along his jaw and his hair neatly trimmed if less than neatly combed. He’s always been good looking, but in the past the anger and defiance that so often marred his features made it hard to see. But now… now the anger is nowhere to be seen and he is beautiful, his smile shining as brilliantly as she remembers until he recognises her and it fades away.

“Swan,” he gasps, staring at her with wide eyes. “What— why are you—”

“I read your book,” she says breathlessly.

“Ah.”

“I loved it. You’re an incredible writer.”

He drops his eyes and rubs his neck, a pink flush spreading over his cheekbones. Some things haven’t changed, she thinks. He never could handle praise.

“Erm, well, yes. Thank you,” he says. “Um. Come in, Swan.”

He steps back to allow her entrance and she feels breathless again as she takes in his apartment. It’s plainly furnished but everywhere there are things, all manner of them, clearly souvenirs of his travels. Sculptures and paintings and knickknacks and other little touches of the life he’s lived without her. She spins slowly around, wide-eyed.

“This is amazing.”

“Aye, well, I’ve done some travelling.”

“I know. I read your blog too, and your Instagram.”

“You— really?”

She turns to look at him. “Yeah. I’ve been following you for a while. On the internet at least.”

“That’s— well, I don’t really know. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think you—” I didn’t think you cared. She hears the words he doesn’t say.

The urge to touch him is so strong she digs her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from reaching out, wrapping him in her arms and never letting go. She notices that he seems to be doing the same, one hand stuffed deep in his pocket and the other a tight fist at his side. The tension Graham spoke of is there as well. It radiates from him, belying his casual posture. He was always tense around her in those later years, she remembers. Now she has some new ideas about why.

She doesn’t know what to say, though, how to start the conversation she needs them to have.

He starts it for her. “Why are you here, Swan?” he asks.

“Belle told me where you live.”

“That’s a how, not a why,” he says, with a small smile.

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

She tries to sort through all the reasons: because she still loves him and always will, because she missed him every second he was gone and she’s so angry at him for leaving without even a goodbye but also she’s proud of him for what he’s accomplished, for pulling himself out of the life he hated and finding success through his talent and hard work and sheer stubbornness. She tries to sort through the chaos of her thoughts but before she can the door opens and a woman rushes in.

“Sorry I’m late, I— oh. I didn’t know you were expecting any visitors.”

“I wasn’t.” Killian smiles at the woman as she approaches them. She’s tall and elegant with dark hair that tumbles in wild curls down her back. Emma feels small and dowdy next to her, and when she kisses Killian in greeting Emma can’t suppress a flinch.

“This is Emma,” says Killian. “A friend from Storybrooke.”

The woman looks at her with sharp interest. “I thought you didn’t have any friends there.”

“I believe I said I didn’t have many,” Killian replies with a grin. “She’s one.” He turns back to Emma and the smile slips away. “This is Milah, my agent,” he tells her. “And, ah, my girlfriend.”

Emma doesn’t flinch this time, she’s frozen by the stab of pain through her heart, though she knew this was coming from the moment the woman came through his door. Of course he has a girlfriend, she thinks, he’s moved on with his life. He’s been moving on, for the past five years. She’s the one who can’t let go.

She feels like she’s watching herself from outside her body as she summons a smile from God knows where and shakes Milah’s hand. She says all the right things— nice to meet you and yes, here on vacation and just in the neighbourhood, thought I’d look him up. From the expression in Milah’s pale eyes she doesn’t believe a word of it.

“Well, I’m sorry to cut your reunion short, Emma, but I’m afraid Killian has an appointment and we’re already running late,” she says briskly.

“Yes, of course,” Emma, replies, leaping to her feet and grabbing her things. “I’ll just… it was nice to meet you Milah, and to see you Killian. I’ll, uh, find my way out.” She forces herself not to run.

Killian catches up to her as she’s waiting at the elevator. “Swan!” he calls, and Emma wills the elevator to come faster, wishes she’d just taken the stairs. She tries not to turn around, but he calls her name again she can’t resist the entreaty in his voice.

“Where are you staying?” he asks, all in a rush. “For how long? Can I— can we—” he takes a deep breath and tries again. “I’d love to see you before you go. If you like, that is. Can I take you for coffee or something?”

The elevator doors open and she steps inside, turns to look at him almost against her will.

“Swan,” he says again, and his voice is so soft.

She gives him the name of her hotel, forces herself not to be thrilled by the warmth of his smile. The first smile he’s directed at her in five years. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning,” he says, and she nods as the doors slide shut. It’s just a platitude, she tells herself, just something people say. She won’t get her hopes up.

She won’t.

Killian returns to his apartment where Milah is waiting, actually tapping her toe on the floor as she stares at her phone with a stony expression. He ignores her mood, grabs his jacket and his satchel and holds open the door.

“Are you coming?” he asks.

She sweeps by him without a word and he follows her downstairs to where a town car is waiting. There is no sign of Emma in the street.

They sit in silence as the car navigates the heavy traffic. Killian is lost in his thoughts, unnerved by the way his skin is tingling, his blood pounding hot in his veins. This reaction is insane, he thinks, they didn’t even touch. Just seeing Emma again has shaken him to his core and he can’t work out how he feels about it. He never expected to see her anywhere but in his dreams.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” says Milah, interrupting his reverie. “The woman from your book.”

“Aye.” He regrets Emma’s presence in his book, resents it a bit. He tried to write the woman differently but no matter what he did she refused to be anyone but Emma. In the end he gave in, hoping that writing about her might excise her from his heart. It didn’t. Nothing ever could.

Milah is silent for several streets. When she speaks again her voice is carefully neutral. “Are you going to tell her you’re still in love with her?” she asks. “That you’ve never stopped?”

“Milah—” he begins, but she cuts him off with a short, sharp gesture of her hand.

“It’s okay, Killian. Well, it’s not okay, but I’ve always known you didn’t love me the way you love her.” She gives a wry smile. “I just never imagined she’d show up at your door.”

“No, nor I.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Milah pauses again, chooses her words carefully. “You know you’ll never be completely happy without her, right?”

He nods. “I know. But—” He hesitates, and she steps in.

“But you don’t think you deserve to be.” She gives him a probing look. “You do, you know.”

Killian stares at his hands, fighting against the memories that are starting to engulf him, things he hasn’t allowed himself to think about for years. Emma’s laugh, the way she smiled at him, the sunlight in her hair. Her father’s face whenever he saw them together. The way people in Storybrooke used to watch them, resentfully, as though his mere presence in her orbit would despoil their princess.

He shakes his head.“You don’t understand. Emma, she’s perfect—”

“She’s not,” snorts Milah, and meets his glare with a calm stare of her own. “She’s just a woman. A lovely one, yes, and by your account a remarkable one. But still just a woman. One who loves you.”

His heart squeezes at that thought, one his brain refuses to entertain. “She doesn’t,” he insists, “she’s just being—”

“Oh, stop it!” snaps Milah. “Stop making excuses. It’s fucking obvious to anyone with eyes. She’s as bad at hiding her feelings as you are. That woman is crazy in love with you and the only reason you can’t see it is because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve her,” insists Killian, his jaw set stubbornly.

Milah rolls her eyes, huffs out a breath. “You know what, maybe this is for the best,” she says. “Your moods were driving me crazy anyway.”

“What, are you breaking up with me?”

“Yes. Yes I am. I can do better than a self-loathing nomad who’s in love with someone else.”

They glare at each other. “You probably can,” says Killian.

“Damn straight,” says Milah.

“You will still be my agent, right?”

“Of course I will. You’re my fucking cash cow, love.”

Their glares fade into grins and they laugh. “Maybe it is for the best,” he concedes. “I like you too much to impose myself on you.”

“Stop that,” says Milah. “That self deprecation gets really bloody tiresome. Just tell Blondie you love her, the rest will sort itself out. And quit holding her up in your mind like some sort of goddess. She’s just a woman.”

Killian doesn’t reply.

He calls Belle late that night. She answers after many rings with a sleepy “Hello?” He’s woken her up. He expects he should be sorry for that but he isn’t; he’s too mad at her for telling Emma where to find him. For destroying the peace he’s worked so hard to achieve.

“Why,” he chokes out. He’s been sitting alone for hours fighting the urge to drink, unable to sleep, thinking about Emma and remembering and trying not to tumble back into feelings he thought he’d escaped. “Why would you tell her where I was?”

“What?” says Belle, and there is genuine confusion in her voice. “Killian? Who did I tell what to?” She must be tired, thinks Killian, if she’s dangling prepositions.

“Emma,” he snarls. “You told her where I live. Why? Why, when you know how I—”

“Hold on,” Belle is awake now, and there’s a snap in her tone. “I told Emma you live in New York but I didn’t give her your address. Why? Is she there?”

“Aye.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “She appeared at my door this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Belle sounds satisfied.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Killian. Please think about this. She tracked you down. She went to a lot of trouble to find you. Why do you think she would do that?”

“I’ve no bloody clue.”

“You do,” says Belle sharply. “You’re just being obtuse. What did she say?”

“Not much. The timing was complicated.”

“Well, talk to her. Just talk. See what comes out.” There’s a pause as Belle sighs. “You’ve spent so long thinking you can’t have good things, Killian, I suppose it must be difficult to change that mindset. But you have to. You can have the things you want. You are allowed to be happy.”

“I—” He doesn’t know what to say.

“Get some sleep,” Belle tells him. “Talk to Emma in the morning. And keep me informed.”

“Aye.”

He hangs up the phone and drops onto his sofa, letting his head fall into his hands. Belle’s words ring in his ears.

You are allowed to be happy.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #angst #mutual pining #secret love #pining idiots #captain book brotp is strong #people aren't here for Killian's shit #on what they fall #profdanglaisstuff

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