#and BEFORE the race we need to submit an assignment that’s like. ‘here’s what our final identical robot design is’ w a SHIT ton of cad

[pallases]

okay guys i have calculated it all out and even if i get a big fat zero on this race i will still earn a b in the class assuming i get 100% on the other remaining three assignments two of which are a given for 100% and the last of which is like. even if we get a 75% on it (which i do not really see happening) i can still scrape by w a b-

[writingwithcolor]

Announcement: No Longer Answering Rubber Stamp Questions

Introduction

Here at Writing With Color, we’ve noticed a shift in the questions we are receiving. In the past, the majority of questions challenged the necessity of diversity in fiction or asked for assistance in making diversity seem more plausible in world-building. We also received many questions on how to describe and characterize people of color in respectful ways that didn’t demonize different races, ethnicities and religions.

By and large, we see that our followers understand why these concepts are important, and for that we congratulate you! This kind of progress takes real, long-term, internal work. Our team hopes that any advice or input you received from us over the years has helped you continue to develop as a writer. We hope you will continue to support us in the future and are especially pleased to hear from our non-white commenters who have let us know when our content has let them feel seen or heard.

However…

We have noticed a recent trend in asks that is discouraging. Many askers seem concerned with receiving our blanket approval of a particular concept or character. These asks often don’t provide us with the direction and context crucial to providing advice from a race or ethnicity-based perspective. Examples include:

“I’m writing a character from [insert background] who has [insert traits]. Is this ok?”

“I’m creating a world where I have made [insert concept] the basis of my world-building. Is this allowed?”

Hi, I’m a [insert identity]. Is it problematic to have [concept/ character] in my story?

“I’m creating a [Race A] character with [these] traits, a [Ethnicity 1] character with [those] traits, a [Race B] character with [some other traits] and a [sex/ gender minority] character with a [different set of traits]. Is this combination offensive?

We call these questions rubber stamp questions. If this describes your question, there’s no need to feel bad. We realize that there was never an explicit explanation of this concept. In addition, our team is mindful of the changing demographics of tumblr that might make it mean we are receiving questions from a younger user-base are not yet familiar with many of the principles we outline on this website. However, on that note…

What is Rubber Stamping?

Rubber stamping refers to the practice of seeking an endorsement without questioning or seeking to alter the status quo. The purpose of Writing With Color is to be a focal point for discussion about diversity in writing rather than simply prescribe a series of corrective measures. Without knowing the asker’s intent (Which we can’t, since we aren’t mind readers), our moderators are not in a position to provide you with carte blanche for your writing concept in the name of all other non-white people. Yes, we have a certain level of skill and expertise on many of these topics, but we are not here to take on the burden of all PoC to approve your writing choices. Nor would it be fair to other PoC if you took our response as a reason to dismiss the perspectives of other PoC (An unfortunately common phenomenon).  

Bluntly, on the moderator end, these asks are also incredibly frustrating because they are vague and thus:

Time consuming

Labor intensive (mentally and emotionally)

The last example from the previous section (AKA “Laundry lists”) is particularly time consuming because multiple moderators must collaborate to produce an answer that boils down to each moderator saying, “I guess it depends??? *shrug*” but in slightly different ways.

Perhaps the biggest problem with rubber stamp asks is they feel (to us) like they are more about the asker’s desire for closure/ approval/ virtue signaling than a willingness to participate in the kind of education and discussion on diversity we are trying to foster on this blog.

To that effect: We will no longer be answering such questions.

(If you sent in such ask before this goes up on November 15th, 2020, a moderator may reach out to you individually to better address your inquiry as submitted.)

However: Don’t worry! We also are here to teach you how to makes these questions better!

Fixing Rubber Stamp questions:

1. Be specific.

Instead of Can I/ May I, try “How can I” or “When can I” or “What can I”?

Thus instead of: “I’m Christian. May I create a Jewish character seeking to become an actress in 1920s Hollywood?” —> “How do I, as a Christian, create a compelling Jewish character while being mindful of the interplay between my own intrinsic bias and historical accounts of prominent Jewish figures in early Hollywood?”Or, instead of: “I want to write a story about a modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, but with magic. Is this problematic? —> “Given the continuation of modern day piracy in the East Indian Ocean, what are some tropes I should avoid if I decide to go with a modern fantasy set in this region?”

2. Remember: The goal is improved understanding, not approval. Sometimes, you really just want to know *why* you can’t use a particular concept, and that curiosity is good! Questions that ask “Why?” in good faith are often how you can learn a lot about your own intrinsic biases and the limits of your own knowledge.

Thus, instead of: If I write about [controversial topic], am I a bad person? —> Why is it better for someone like me to not write about [controversial topic]?

This approach has the bonus effect of making us feel like you actually care about what we think.

3. Write your question as a draft: Edit your ask at least once or twice to provide as much information as possible while being concise. I’ve told this to college students before, but I can tell when a person wrote their assignment by the quality of the writing. Writing done late at night, when sleep deprived and without at least one edit contains extraneous information while not having a clear point.

Going through your question (Preferably a day after you wrote it) will help you narrow down what you really want to know.

Remember: You all have free will and can write whatever you please. We presume that you seek WWC’s input because you wish to write on issues pertaining to people of color with greater levels of awareness. On a practical note, we recognize that social media, trolling, call-outs, doxxing and other dimensions of cyberbullying make writers online hesitant to do anything unless they think they have the majority of the public on their side. There are times when it is obvious that the asker is asking more because they need approval to feel less anxious when they share their work with others.

However, if the above is your worry, either you aren’t ready to write on this topic or you need to rethink the boundaries you set with the online communities/ individuals you interact with as well as how you manage your internet presence. With respect to personal anxieties when it comes to writing, morality, your conscience and so forth, we recommend turning to your own support systems IRL. As relative strangers on the internet, we are not well-qualified to allay personal concerns.

Remember: Writing with diversity is like training for a marathon. Give yourself permission to expand your comfort zone at the pace your research capabilities and experience allow!

We appreciate that you all trust us to provide helpful, well-thought out feedback for your ideas, and we also thank you for respecting our perspectives even if you may disagree. In the same vein, we request that you put the level of thought into your questions you think appropriate given that another human being is going to spend, at a minimum, several hours coming up with their response. We look forward to hearing from you! 

- The WWC Team

(A link to this article will be added to the pinned FAQ for everyone’s reference)

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: Intermingle: part 1

Pairing: dom! yoongi x inexperienced reader

Warnings: co-workers to lovers, angst, smut, public sex, dry humping, oral (f) receiving (brief), oral (m) receiving (brief), fingering, squirting, orgasm denial, daddy kink, fluff, teasing, pussy spanking, talks of cheating

Rating: 18 and over

“You think I can make you cum just by sucking on your sweet little nub?” He questions from between your thighs, gripping tightly at your flesh. You nod desperate for him to lap up your arousal before it reaches your knees. “Beg me, I want to hear you beg for my tongue in your cunt.” “Please, Yoongi, eat my pussy. I want you to so bad.” He smirks up at you, moving slowly to your dripping sex. You drop your head back in anticipation of his tongue.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Your eyes shoot open as your alarm clock goes off at exactly 6:45am. You whimper like a spoiled child, flailing in bed with need, your panties soaked. Another painstakingly good dream about your office crush that never really goes anywhere. “Meow.” Your Chartreux cat hops onto the bed to inform you it's time for her feeding. “Go away Frenchie.” You shoo, leaning over to your side table and pull out your pocket rocket, deciding to take a few minutes to relieve yourself before you must hop in the shower. “Don't judge me.” You look down at her before throwing yourself back onto your pillow. You release a lustful sigh, your room soon filled with the sounds of your moans and the buzzing of your favorite toy.

“Good Morning everyone. Welcome. Let’s get started quickly, we have a lot to cover and not a lot of time to cover it.” Your boss begins the Monday morning meeting. You take a seat next to your friend Rebecca and hand her a coffee you bought for her. She mouths a Thank you and your boss begins. “Okay. The launch of the new game is in a month's time. We need all testers working with the graphics team to get this game up and running for release time,” He looks around the conference room, “Where is Yoongi?” You look around and realize that he isn't seated in the meeting this morning. “Someone get him on the goddamn phone!” Your boss commands, his assistant hoping up to run out of the conference room to make the call. Just as she twirls in her seat, as if summoned, Yoongi walks into the conference room looking like pure sin. Your breath hitches at the sight of him mouth open wide as if he's been running, dressed in all black with a thin diamond crusted choker around his neck, his messy hair covering his eyes enough to cause him to have to tilt his head up to scan the room. “Fuck Yoongi, if you weren't essential to the team, I'd fire your ass.” Your boss calls out to him. Yoongi yanks his headphones from his ears and gives your boss a tight smile. “Sorry I'm late. There was traffic.” Your boss rolls his eyes while you bite your lip. It was ungodly for a man to look this good.

“As I was saying, for you Yoongi, we need to get the kinks out of this game before launch. The higher ups don’t want excuses they want results! I am putting you all in teams to finish up the last of the projected maintenance, testing, and graphics updates. I want all your work submitted to me one week before launch so we can revisit and correct any errors that pop up. Any questions?” He looks around at all the faces in the room. “Good, please see the assigned teams listed on the white board behind me. No excuses people. If it's my ass, its sure as hell your asses! Got it. Now get to work!” He stands quickly, exiting the room as his assistant flips the white board to reveal the assigned teams. You linger for a moment to gather your things. “Oh, girl, your dream has come true.” Rebecca elbows you. “What are you talking about?” You walk over towards the board and catch Yoongi pinch his nose. “Great looks like I'm stuck with Mother Teresa.” He whispers to himself. You swallow thickly, moving forward to catch a glimpse of the list. Your heart begins to thump heavily in your chest as you see in big bold letters under tester/graphics team 2: Y/N/ Min Yoongi. Never once had you had to work so closely with someone you were crushing over. You and Yoongi worked together in the same office but never.... closely. Hell, your conversations were so minimal you weren't sure he even knew your name.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

You jump at Yoongi hitting his knuckles against the white board before you. He gives you a perplexed look, “Are you ok? You spaced out I think.” “I’m fine.” You whisper. His eyes pop open in a worrisome way and you clear your throat, standing a bit taller. “I am excited to work with you.” You brighten up. He gives you a tight smile and quick nod before walking off. “What the hell was that creepy?” Rebecca scolds. “I have no idea. I just completely shut down.” You groan. “You think! He probably thinks you're a weirdo now, on top of the fact that you dress like a nun!” She points at your outfit. “What's wrong with my clothes?” You whine, stepping into your shared cubicle space. “You look like a librarian and not a hot one.” She notes, plopping into her seat. You run your hands over your favorite buttoned up black cardigan, tugging the fabric down to meet your black dress pants. “I think I look fine.” You shrug, taking your seat. She snorts. “You missed a button.” She teases. “That was purposeful!” You snap at her.

“Hey,” Yoongi appears at your cubicle, “If you have time today to go over our assignment, maybe we can grab lunch or something.” “Uh, sure thing.” You say quickly. “Cool, I’ll shoot you an interoffice message around noon.” “Yeah, sounds like a date… I mean plan…meeting. You know what I mean.” You ramble. He chuckles pointing at your shirt. “You missed a button.” You look down and fumble with your cardigan. “That was on purpose.” You mutter. “Oh, I like it. Living on the edge.” He teases, walking away with a wave. You drop your head into your hands, feeling your face heat with embarrassment. “Smooth Y/N, really smooth.” “Shut up Becca.” At noon your computer pings with a notification from the interoffice messenger:

Minyoon93: ‘I ordered sushi. Hope that’s ok. Going down to grab it. We can eat in my area. Meet you there.’

Y/L/N/Birth year: ‘Yum, sounds good.’ “Catch you in an hour.”

You tell Rebecca, scooping up your notes from today’s tests runs. “Mm, unbutton a couple more buttons.” She yanks at your cardigan. You swat her hands away, “Stop that! Goodbye.” You walk off towards the rear of the office, pass the larger glass door that separates where the graphics team sits, from where the testers sit. You walk past the single seated cubicles, catching everyone lost in their own worlds. You finally make it to the last cubicle before a left turn that’ll ultimately take you to your boss’ office. You run your fingers along the plaque with Yoongi’s name on it, surprised by how neat his cubicle is. He isn’t back from grabbing the food, but he’s set up another chair for you. You snoop a bit around his area, looking over his equipment, notes, and random Knick knacks on his desk. “You know its impolite to snoop.” You jump at the sound of Yoongi’s voice. “I’m sorry. I was just looking at your equipment. It’s really state of the art. I wasn’t snooping, I mean…” “I’m fucking with you. Are you always this wound up?” He tilts his head to the side looking you over. You feel your face heat under his gaze. “Uh, how much do I owe you?” You dig in your pocket. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You get next time.” You nod, your pulse racing at the idea that he wants to have another lunch with you before this one is done.

He opens the trays of food, handing you chopsticks, and begins to dig in. He points at the trays for you to join him. You smile, grabbing a sushi roll and popping it into your mouth. “I brought my notes on the levels I’ve tested so far. There are a few things that can use a bit of a makeover. Some general glitches that need software upgrades, and a few areas that need smoothing.” He nods, staring off, chewing his food. You don’t know why but you find yourself nodding with him. He says nothing, just keeps eating, and your eyes move down his neck as he swallows. You begin to look over his features. His sharp jaw, profound Adam’s apple, his cute button nose, how pink his lips are. God he’s gorgeous, you think to yourself, rubbing your thighs together. You’re almost tempted to reach up and run your fingers along his pretty little choker. He licks his lips, and a small moan escapes your throat. His eyes widen and he looks over to you. You collect yourself and grab a sushi roll, “So delicious.” You raise it up to him. He smirks.

“So, what’s you deal? You’ve been working here a while. You obviously like gaming. Why do you always seem so, I don’t know, reserved?” “Uh, I’m not reserved. I’m cool and fun. We just don’t hang out in the same circles. There’s no deal.” Yoongi looks you over, shaking his head so his bangs move away from his eyes. “If you have to say your cool. You’re not cool.” He replies with a point of his chopsticks. “Oh, and you’re the king of cool?” He sighs, thinking over your comment. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, no, but I think you like what you see.” He licks his lips watching you squirm in your seat. “I, you are crazy.” You stutter. “Am I,” He leans in close to you now, “Then how come you keep staring at me the way you do?” You don’t know how to respond, instead opting to stand to escape the conversation. In your haste to get away, you accidentally flip over one of the trays and it lands right in Yoongi’s lap. “Shit!” He shouts, dusting the rolls from his lap. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry,” You reach for napkins and begin to rub at Yoongi’s lap, “Let me get it.” “It’s ok Y/N, it’s ok, hey, stop. Stop! Hey, your rubbing my dick.” He grasps your wrist to stop your movements. You gasp, realizing you’ve been rubbing aggressive circles against his shaft. “I, oh my God. I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.” “Hey, no, it’s ok. No harm done. Just a few fallen rolls and jeans that need washing.” He smirks. You cover your mouth feeling your face burn bright red. You apologize again and run out of his cubicle as fast as you can.

“So, what, you jacked him off?” Rebecca looks at you confused. “No, I was trying to clean up the mess. I didn’t realize I was rubbing his.... ugh. He probably never wants to speak to me again. Why oh, why am I cursed to be this clumsy, nervous wreck?” “Girl, you need to get laid. I think you should march over to that boy’s desk and tell him you’ve been craving him for the last two years!” “Are you crazy!?” Suddenly a notification pops up on your interoffice messenger:

Minyoon93: ‘Hey! I didn’t mean to scare you away. We didn’t get to talk about our assignment, and you left your notes here at my desk. I usually work late if you’re interested. I’ll be here. No pressure.’

You read and reread his message, unsure of how to respond. “Don’t! Just show up to his desk after work.” Rebecca suggests when you show it to her. You work your current levels until the end of the day. “Go get him tiger.” Rebecca winks, leaving you at your desk. You fix your hair, apply a little lip gloss, and unbutton two buttons on your cardigan. You grab your new notes from the rest of the day and head back to Yoongi’s desk. He’s seated with headphones over his ears, his face going from his computer screen to your notepad from earlier. You tap his shoulder gently and he turns to face you. “Hey,” He smiles wide taking in your fresh look, “I was just working on your notes.” “I have more.” You dance your new pad in front of him. He waves you in, patting the chair beside him. You clear your throat. “Sorry again about earlier.” “It’s cool, I came on a bit strong. I shouldn’t have grabbed your wrist like that, I didn’t realize you were, well you know.” Your brow furrows. “I don’t know actually.” He leans in to whisper to you, “A virgin.” Your eyes burst open and your mouth falls open. “I’m not a virgin!” You protest. “Really? You just seemed uncomfortable with, anyway, I’m sorry if I was inappropriate.” He smiles. You sit in shock, wondering how you got yourself in this embarrassing situation. “Well, you weren’t inappropriate, I’m was honestly. I shouldn’t have touched you like that so I should be the one to apologize for inappropriate behavior and just for the record I’m not a virgin, so how about we just forget this whole thing.” He leans into his computer screen, stifling a laugh. “Sure, yeah. I’m ok with that. Sorry for assuming.” “You should be.” You tease, batting your eyes a bit. He scoffs, looking your way and you decide to be brave and sit a little taller, raising an eyebrow and crossing your legs in what you hope is a seductive manner.

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Silly me, how could I have missed all the signs? What with your sexy cardigans and shiny loafers? You really know how to take a man's breath away.” He licks his lips, pressing his folded hands into his crotch. You swallow thickly, feeling your core heat. “Well you know we all don’t have the ability to don sexy little chokers and actually look good doing it.” His mouth falls opens as the realization of your own words hit you. “Did you just call me sexy?” He inquires with confidence. “No, I said your choker was sexy.” A large sly smile forms across his face and he reaches up to caress the diamond crusted choker. He reaches his hand back to undo the clip, removing it from around his neck. You watch him suspiciously. He soon hands the dangling accessory to you. “What are you doing?” You huff. “You’ll never know if you can pull it off, if you don’t try.” “Yoongi, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He rolls his chair close to you. “Maybe that’s the problem Y/N, you think too much.” He leans in close, bringing his arms up to either side of your head, and latches his choker around your neck. You touch the tight accessory once he's done. “There, see, sexy.” He tilts his head to the side with a sly smile.

“Ah, look at you two working late on your assignment.” Your boss interrupts. Yoongi straightens in his seat, turning to face your boss, you on the other hand jump up. “I was just dropping my notes off for the day. I’m actually heading out.” Yoongi looks at you puzzled. “Well any productivity makes me happy! Come Y/N, I’ll walk with you over to the elevator.” Your boss states. You nod, walking towards him, stopping to turn to Yoongi. “Your choker.” You whisper, moving to remove it. Yoongi shakes his head. “Keep it, it looks better on you anyway.” You smile and walk off with your boss towards the elevators. “Y/N, do you know why I assigned you to work with Yoongi?” “No sir.” “Well, while he is one of the best graphic designers we have here, he’s arrogant, late, unorganized. I could go on but I imagine you get the drift. You on the other hand are classy, quiet, neat, put together, always on time. I know you can get things done in a timely fashion. You are always focused and someone I can count on. My intent was not to have that boy corrupt you and believe me I know his charms. I have heard the office rumors. What I need here Y/N are results in favor of the company, now can I trust you to keep that chaotic Min Yoongi in line?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Your boss was standing before you gossiping about you coworker. You could only imagine the things he really said about you behind your back. You simply nod. “Excellent. You really are a gem.” The elevator opens to lobby. “Have a Goodnight Y/N. I’m counting on you.” “Yes sir. You too sir.” You wave, happy that you are both going in opposite directions.

“You really know how to take a man’s breath away.” He praises, pushing your head down further onto his cock. His head falls back as dark sultry moans leave his gaping mouth. He hitches his hips up causing tears to form as you gag all over his twitching cock. “So sexy”, He grips your hair tightly, “I’m going to cum down your tight throat. Would you like that?” You hum in approval. He cries out loud and you brace yourself for his seed.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

You wake with a gasp, covered in your own sweat, panties soaked through. “Ugh, this has to stop.” You whisper to yourself. “Meow.” You look down at your cat, who calmly licks herself “Alright, you win today, let’s get you fed.” You slide out of bed and head to your kitchen to set out her breakfast. She hops up on the counter and you scratch behind her ears like she likes. “Eat up kiddo.” You place a soft kiss atop her head and jump in the shower. Today you opt for a different outfit, you wear black jeans and white spaghetti strap tank, with a jean jacket. You apply a little bit of makeup and curl your hair. “How do I look?” You turn to your cat who is now lounging on your bed. You nod and her unimpressed look and head out the door.

You arrive at the office and find your notepads on your desk with a post it stuck on it from Yoongi that reads ‘done’ with a wink face. You smile down at it and decide to stick the note onto your desk. You pull off your jean jacket and sit down at your desk, loading up your computer. “Damn Y/N, look at you. You have shoulders.” You roll your eyes, grabbing the coffee Rebecca is now passing to you. “Thank you. For the coffee, not the stupid comment.” You sip from your drink. “I guess you and Yoongi had a great night.” She smiles. “No, I dropped off my notes and left. I did however have an interesting conversation with our boss about Yoongi. He said he paired us because Yoongi is unorganized and he’s heard all these rumors about him and he wants me to keep him in line. How do suppose I do that? I can barely speak to him without creaming my pants.” Rebecca laughs out loud at your comment. “Who’s creaming their pants and why?” Yoongi appears with coffee in hand and your laugh catches in your throat. “Y/N was just telling a hilarious story about some movie she saw last night. You look great Yoongi, I love you in red. Y/N doesn’t Yoongi look great in red.” You look Yoongi over, he’s dressed once again in all black accept he offsets it with a red bomber. “Yeah, you look nice.” You compliment. “Speaking of looking nice, did you lose your cardigan?” He snickers. “Ha. Ha. It’s nice to change it up a bit.” You shrug. “You look good. So, you wanna grab lunch later?” “I can’t actually. I’m meeting someone.” “Oh, yeah, of course. Some other time then.” You nod as Yoongi gives you a nod and heads to his desk. “You’re meeting someone? Who, pray tell, are you meeting?” Rebecca slaps your arm. “Taehyung.” You murmur. Rebecca’s eyes pop open. “Get the hell out of here. Why? I thought we agreed, you were done with him popping in and out of your life. He broke your heart or did you forget?” “Of course, I didn’t forget,” You scold, “He’s in town ok. He just wants to check in and see how I’m doing. That’s it. It’s just lunch.” She shakes her head at you. “I’ll be fine Becca. Don’t worry about me.”

You sit, shaking your leg at the restaurant that Taehyung texted you the address for, he’s late. When he finally burst through the door, you’re livid. “I only get an hour for lunch.” You huff. “Sorry Jagi. I couldn’t find parking.” “Don’t call me that.” He nods. “Um, I wish you could’ve met me after work. This rush conversation stuff is hard for me.” He looks around for a waiter. “Well, how about you just start talking then.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. He frowns at you. “How’s Frenchie?” “She’s fine. Is that what you wanted to discuss? My cat?” “Our cat.” He whispers. “MY cat. She was left with me after YOU left me. So, she is MY cat.” “Still so angry Jagi. It’s not healthy to be this way. What was I supposed to do? Lie? Keep secrets?” “You did lie and keep secrets! You cheated! You cheat still just now it’s the other way around.” You hiss. He snorts. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I asked her to marry me. She’s pregnant. I want to do right by her. I love her. I can’t see you anymore in any capacity. I came clean and told her everything. She’s going to give me another chance so long as I end this for good.” You sit in shock. “Married.” Is all that slips past your lips. He nods. You grab the water from the table and toss it in his face. “Fuck you Kim Taehyung!” You spew as you head out of the restaurant. You allow yourself to get two blocks away before allowing your tears to flow. You run into the restroom when you get to your office and sob as quietly as you can. You wash your face of any and all makeup and head back to your desk. You find another post it on your desk this time from Rebecca. ‘Had to leave early, one of the kids is sick. Call me on my cell if you need me. Becca.’ You sniffle, curling the note and chucking it in the trash, immersing yourself in work for the rest of the day.

Its 5:15pm, when you get a tap on your shoulder. You yank off your headphones and give Yoongi a small smile. “Hey! You staying late tonight?” He asks. “Uh, I wasn’t planning on it. I lost track of time.” “You look stressed. You ok? I can take these notes off your hand if you’re done with them.” “Yeah sure. Thank you.” You hand him your notepad full of today’s fresh scribbles. He tucks it under his arm. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll handle this.” He throws a fist in the air and walks off. You smile weakly and begin to cry again thinking of the news Taehyung dropped on you. “Married.” You groan. You get up to leave but something pulls you in the direction of Yoongi’s desk.

You lurk a moment, watching him look over your notes. “Want company?” You interrupt causing him to jump. “Ah, you scared me,” He whines, “I thought you left.” “I was going to but the thought of going home to my uninterested cat made me kind of sad.” He smiles wide, exposing his gums and pats the chair beside him. “You have a cat huh?” He inquires. “Yeah. Her name is Frenchie. She’s cool.” You shrug. “I like cats.” “Oh yeah, wanna come meet her some time? She hates people.” You giggle. “You want me to come over to your house?” Your eyes widen and you begin to stutter. “I’m fucking with you calm down. You’re so uptight sometimes. You do know what joking around is right?” Yoongi says, stretching in his seat. “Sorry, I had a terrible lunch date today.” “Wanna talk about it?” “I don’t know. It’s weird.” “I like weird, try me.” He rests his elbow on his desk and props his head up with his fist. “I met up with my ex, which in and of itself should be a huge no no, but I don’t know part of me just hopes that one day, he’s gonna wake up and realize he made a huge mistake and we'll get back together.” Yoongi just nods, so you continue, feeling surprisingly at ease with him. “Well, it turns out he just wanted to inform me that he would no longer be reaching out to because the woman that he cheated on me with and then subsequently left me for is having his child so they are going to get married.”

“I’m sorry. I am sure that was hard to hear.” He whispers. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “I shouldn’t still have feelings for him. It’s stupid I know but, I loved him you know.” Yoongi nods again. “How long were you guys together?” “Three years.” “That’s a long time. How long was he cheating?” You cringe at the question but answer truthfully. “Two out of the three we were together.” “Damn, I’m sorry. What a jerk. How long since the break up?” You cover your face with your hands now, afraid to tell him. “Three years.” You whisper. “Say again.” Yoongi leans forward. “Three years ok! And before you judge me, just know he kept popping in and out of my life sporadically to sleep with me, making it hard for me to let go.” Yoongi stares at you like you’re crazy. “You just let go, you don’t do to someone what they did to you.” He replies. “Oh, what do you know ok. It was hard for me. He was my first.” “Heartbreak?” Yoongi inquires, still with the look as if you’re crazy. “No,” You turn your head away from his gaze, “my first, you know, sexual partner.” You look back at Yoongi to see his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Meaning, you’ve never been with another man…. since…when?” Yoongi squints at you. “I don’t know. Since he and I last hooked up. Maybe a year or so ago.” Yoongi’s mouth hangs open again. “Stop looking at me like that.” You shout at him. He suddenly starts laughing, rubbing his eyes, then drying his palms on his thighs. “You’re fucking with me, right? This is a joke. You got me.” He turns, shakes his head, and laughs some more. “Who jokes about stuff like that?” You remark and he snaps his head to look at the seriousness of your face. “You’re not kidding. So, you really are a virgin? Explains the button up cardigans.” He whispers to himself. “Alright, ha ha, very funny. Glad I could make you laugh. I’m leaving now.” You stand and he slides to the exit of the cubicle. “Come on,” He whines, “Don’t leave. I’m sorry ok. I just was…surprised by your story. Sit down, we are having a nice talk, getting to know each other. Please. I promise, no more asshole comments.” He gives you a thin smile and you sit down. “Well, what’s your story? I think we’ve heard enough about me.” You lean back in your chair.

He clears his throat. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Haven’t had one in a long time.” He fiddles with a character on one of the levels on his screen as he speaks. “Ah, I see. Not the commitment type. More of a tinder kind of guy.” He scoffs at your comment. “Uh, full disclosure, sure I’ve dabbled around in the tinder pool but after a while it gets boring and repetitive. I don’t mind commitment, I just haven’t found anyone worth committing to, you know?” “Yeah I get it. So, when’s the last time you, you know, did it.” You squirm awaiting his response. “Did it,” He cringes, “Uh, I don’t know like 3 or 4 months ago.” “Oh.” Is all you manage. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” He stops what he’s doing and turns to face you. “No, why would it?” You avoid eye contact with him, instead staring down at your feet. “Why do you ask then?” “Uh, I heard rumors. That you fool around here at work.” The words are out before you can think and he is completely taken back by the statement. “Oh yeah? Did you hear that from the boss?” You stutter unsure of what to say. “It’s all good Y/N, I know he doesn’t like me. I don’t sleep around with people from work. He made up that rumor himself because the person I screwed around with 3 or 4 months ago was his daughter. She passed by here once and left me her number. It was a one-time hook up but I guess she likes to throw it in daddy’s face. He can't fire me for it so he gives me shit instead.” “That sucks, I'm sorry I said that. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's a stupid rumor.” Yoongi shrugs, “Just admit that part of you wishes it were true cause you have a huge crush on me and we can call it even.” You giggle at his confidence. “I do not have a crush on you.” You attempt to look appalled. “Really,” He smirks suggestively, “That's too bad, cause I most definitely…” He leans in to whisper in your ear and you lean in close so you can feel his breath on your neck. “Think you're lying.” He whispers and you shove him away. He laughs, biting his lip. “You're too easy to tease.” “That's just mean.” You pout. “Don't do that.” He groans. “Do what?” “Pout like that. It makes it hard for me to resist kissing you.” You chuckle nervously, not sure if he's teasing or not.

You both stare at each other, the tight space filling with your heated tension. “You'd like that wouldn't you? If I kissed you right now?” His voice changes, deepens, as it fills with lust. You look up and around at the cameras on the ceilings afraid of being caught. “I could hack those you know. Make them see what I want them to see.” He reads your mind. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, your core heating. You move your right hand over you left and pinch your own skin. “Oh, this is very real baby,” He smirks, “All you have to do is ask.” You lick your lips and watch as Yoongi's eyes flicker with excitement. You stand and move towards his desk, pushing his keyboard back so you can sit before him. He swallows hard watching your every move. “Here,” You whisper, “I want you to kiss me while I sit here.” His face changes and he becomes a man possessed hopping from his seat and leaping towards you. You pull him into a desperate kiss, digging your hands into his messy hair. His lips are warm and commanding, and you are surprised at how quickly you fall into rhythm with him. He glides his tongue along your bottom lip and you gladly open your mouth for him, allowing him to hungrily swirl his tongue around yours, claiming your mouth. You wrap your legs around his body, pressing your heat closer to his growing erection. He soon takes a hold of your hips, grinding your clothed sex against his length. You moan into his mouth while he nibbles and tugs on your lips. He growls quietly and you know you’re driving him wild. “Fuck you sound so sexy.” He confirms, lifting a hand up to grab one of your full breasts. You gasp at the sensation causing Yoongi to stop everything. “Is it too much?” He asks breathlessly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting it. Please don’t stop, touch me again.” You beg. Yoongi groans, pulling you closer against his jailed member. He begins trailing kisses along your neck, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.” He whispers, pressing kisses along your ear. You bite your lip, tugging at your tank top to free your left breasts. “I want your mouth on me.” You whisper to him, kneading at your heavy mound. His eyes are completely blown watching you touch yourself. He lowers his head, opening his mouth to latch onto you erect nipple. You curse under your breath at the feeling of him suckling and licking at your nub ever so gently. He kneads at the soft flesh with his large hand, pushing more and more of it into his mouth, eliciting loud moans to fall from your mouth as all your darkest fantasy of this man flood your mind. He releases your nipple from his lips to blow softly on it causing your skin to goose. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He tells you, gazing in your eyes from under his bangs while he lowers his head to suckle at your nipple once more. Your pussy clenches at the sight. You moan loudly, aggressively grinding against his massive hard on. He curses around your nipple, allowing it to fall from his lips with a loud pop.

He leans back a bit, pushing his hips forward, intrigued by your sudden burst of excitement. You are suddenly so overcome by lust and want that you've taken to a steady pace, thrusting along Yoongi's cock. He grips your hip with his left hand, panting heavily, still fondling your exposed breast with his right hand. He soon licks his thumb and index finger, tugging and yanking at your nipple. You curse under your breath as you fuck yourself shamelessly, your moans becoming more desperate and wail like. Yoongi watches you in awe, his mouth wide, and you wonder when the last time was that he had ever been dry humped. Suddenly, your eyes widen, as you feel that coil deep inside you tighten. You are in complete shock that this could even be happening but are too overcome with pleasure to care. You grip his desk tightly, moving your hips faster, dying for more friction. Your head falls back as that sweet sensation hits you, your coil snapping, sending you straight to heaven. You cry out, feeling your walls tremble, not stopping your thrust until your high has fully washed over you. When you finally come down, your eyes meet a sweaty Yoongi's impressed expression. You swallow hard realizing you're still at work. You raise your hand up in shock, covering your mouth, then your breast, pulling your tank over it. “Did you just cum right now?” He pants, adjusting himself in his jeans. “I need to go.” You shove him away. “Wait, what? Why? Hey, don't be ashamed. It’s ok, I thought that was so fucking hot.” You cringe. “What happened to not sleeping with people from work?” You snap. He looks at you confused. “That's a bit of a low blow isn't it. I've never done this before ok. Besides we didn’t exactly sleep together.” He responds angrily. “Oh really, mister I can hack the cameras. How many times have you done that before?” “Are you serious right now? You’re just attacking me to make yourself feel better about getting off at work.” Your mouth drops open at his comment. “Now that is a low blow. Excuse me please. I'm leaving.” He sighs but moves out of the way.

The following day, you arrive at the office early and get right to work so you can leave early and avoid Yoongi all together. Rebecca texts to inform you she will be working from home since her kid is still sick. You power through all the updates that Yoongi made to ensure that there were no more glitches. At exactly 9:15am, Yoongi saunters into the office late as usual, looking fresh faced and divine. You groan, drinking him in. His hair is still slightly damp from a morning shower but today he is in a crisp white shirt that brings out his pale complexion. You turn your head quickly as he passes by your cubicle. “Morning.” He grumbles as he passes.  You don’t respond, instead choosing to put on your headphones and work on your levels. By 10:30am, you receive an email calling for an emergency meeting of all the teams working on the new game in the conference room. You curse under your breath, throwing your headphones down and grabbing your notepads containing everything you and Yoongi have been working on. You reluctantly head into the conference room, spotting Yoongi already seated at the table. He looks up at you, nodding his head towards an empty chair beside him. You opt instead for one across the table from him. You hear him scoff as you once again avoid him. Your boss flies into the room with his assistant in tow. “Good Morning everyone. I have just heard from the higher ups today that they want to move launch day up a week.” Everyone in the room either groans or sucks their teeth.

“I know, I know, believe me I fought hard to avoid this but unfortunately my hands are tied. I was shooting for a week three review with a launch at week four but unfortunately that’s not going to happen. Review is next week, launch at week three people. I hope you are all working your asses off to get this game ready for streaming. How have our teams been working out, Y/N?” He shoots his gaze at you. You jump up. “Uh, great! Yoongi and I have already cleared levels one through ten of all its glitches. I have been reviewing Yoongi’s work to make sure nothing was missed but all in all we are ahead of schedule.” You explain. Your boss nods as Yoongi shoots his hand up like a child in class. “Yes, Yoongi?” Your boss looks in his direction. “Why on earth is she reviewing my work. Isn't that what review week is for? In addition, she's not my boss. I don’t need her micromanaging me. I am more than capable of handling my side of things.” You begin to shift uncomfortably in your seat but luckily your boss cuts in. “She is just a perfectionist Yoongi. No one is having you watched or micromanaged. We all know what you are capable of, no one is doubting that we just need to ensure that everything is set for launch day. Now you two play nice. Review is next week people. No more bullshitting! Now get out and get to work.” You see Yoongi clench his jaw, unsatisfied with the response.

Everyone runs out of the meeting room and you race to catch up to Yoongi. “Hey,” You breathlessly catch his attention upon arriving at this cubicle, “what was that back there?” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “What?” He drawls. “Your outburst.” You snap. He chuckles. “Go away Y/N.” He turns suddenly and begins starting up the new game. “Look,” You move closer to him, sitting on his desk, feeling awkward in the skirt you decided to wear today, “I am really sorry about last night. I get that I overreacted, and you're pissed but during work hours we need to remain professional.” He snorts, “So, after work hours we get to be unprofessional.” He leans towards you, grazing your knee with his slender fingers. You look around the office to see if anyone is watching the two of you. “Don't worry Y/N, I cleared the cameras after you left. No one is the wiser. Everyone thinks we’re just two regular co-workers discussing levels. Tell me, are you getting paid extra to keep me in line?” You are completely lost, and it shows. “What are you talking about?” “Funny what kind of conversations people have when they think no one is watching.” He runs his hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “I don’t know what you're talking...” Suddenly it hits you, “The elevator with...” You cover your face with your hand. “There it is,” He sighs, “I never took you for an office gossip, making dirty deals with the boss while no one is watching. Boy, if he saw you last night.” “Fuck you!” You shout. Yoongi’s brows shoot up as he looks around. You soon do the same, luckily no one has noticed. You drop your head. “I'll have you know that conversation was not what you think. I was horribly uncomfortable the entire time. If I agreed to anything it was because I like you and felt like I could protect you.” “You like me huh? Then why did you run off last night?” “Why do you think? I was embarrassed, I have never done anything like that before. Ever! To be frank, my sex life has been.... what's more basic than vanilla? Italian ice?” You cover your face with both hands to avoid Yoongi’s wide stare.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He whispers, pulling your hands away from your face. You look at him with doubt. “I am so serious Y/N. I think you’re sexy whether it’s showing some skin or in your button up cardigans and loafers. Sure, maybe you can call what happened last night Italian ice and maybe someone really hasn’t been good to you emotionally or sexually, but I have never seen someone look more gorgeous than what you did last night when you made yourself cum. I couldn’t get that face out of my head.” “Oh yeah? Even though I left you with blue balls?” You laugh quietly. Yoongi’s face suddenly changes, his eyes darken, and you can tell he's turned on. “Is there something you wanna ask me baby?” He says in a low tone. You feel it straight in the pussy. You begin stuttering and he tsk at you. “No baby. No stuttering,” he leans in and whispers, “From here on out, you’re going to need to tell daddy exactly what you're thinking. Every. Single. Dirty. Thing.” He leans back in his chair, pressing his fist into his crotch, with sly smile. “I can't.” You whisper. “Yes, you can. I know you can. Your ex may have given it to you in vanilla, but I know you dream in rocky road. You wanna know if I went home with blue balls, if I still have them now?” He stands suddenly and moves closer to you, rubbing his fingers along your jaw. You shoot your head around, but no one is looking everyone still comfortable in their own worlds. “Yoongi, people will see us.” “Then you should act natural, so no one suspects anything.” He whispers, running the back of his hand down your arm now until his fingertips rub along the exposed flesh of your thigh. You shiver under his touch. “So, do you wanna know?” He asks again. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, gripping his desk tightly at the feel of his erection against the back of your hand. You nod your head. “I did and I went home last night craving you so bad that I lubed my hand up and stroked my fat cock until I drained my blue balls all over my belly. Then I laid there kicking myself because I never got your cell phone number so I couldn’t text you a picture of the mess you made me make because fuck if I didn’t wish you were there to lap It all up with your tongue.” You bite down harder on your lip, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. “Yoongi.” You mewl. “Yeah baby?” You respond by brushing his hard on with your fingers. “Say it, I need to hear you say it.” He leans into your roaming fingers. “I want…” “What do you want?” “I need…” “Tell daddy what you need.” You bite your lip, hearing him refer to himself as daddy has you bravely turning your hand to palm him through his jeans. His mouth falls opens, a small moan escaping his pout.

“She should be back there working with Min Yoongi.” Both you and Yoongi turn to the sound of the approaching footfalls. Yoongi swallowing hard, growling a bit before stepping away from you. You take a deep shaky breath, feeling the heat emanating from your cheeks. “Y/N?” Your eyes shoot open and you step out from the cubicle. “Taehyung? What are you doing here?” “Hi,” He smiles brightly, hugging you, “I hated how we left things. I needed to see you, make things right. I don’t want to end things poorly.” He takes your hand and you melt into his warm eyes. “Didn’t you guys end things years ago?” Yoongi states plainly with a clearing of his throat. Taehyung laughs, moving towards Yoongi and sticking out his hand. “Kim Taehyung. You must be Min Yoongi. One of the other testers told me you guys are working together on the new game.” “Among other things.” Yoongi gives a tight grin. “Right, well, I know it’s a bit early but maybe you can take a break and come grab lunch with me. I’d love to really talk, like really.” Yoongi scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Sure.” You respond. “Actually, we are really swamped. They pushed the deadline up so; we really have to get to work on these glitches.” Yoongi answers for you. “Oh, well in that case how about dinner?” Taehyung offers now. “Yeah I can do that.” You nod. “Ugh, we’ve actually been working late nights, double checking everything. Maybe next month, you know, after the launch.” Taehyung gives an awkward smile. “Can we talk in private?” He whispers to you. “You should really wrap this up Y/N, wouldn’t want the boss to see you just standing around.” “What’s your problem bro?” Taehyung snaps.

“Yoongi its fine! I’m fine. We are ahead of schedule. I’ll be back in an hour. Come on Tae, let’s grab a quick bite.” You push Taehyung towards the front of the office. “Uh, Y/N,” Yoongi calls out to you with money in his hand, “Can you grab me some sushi on the way back?” You nod and walk over to Yoongi to grab the money. “Please, don’t go to lunch with him.” Yoongi whispers to you, holding onto his money tightly. “Will you stop being so weird? I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He looks you over, nodding in defeat. “Combo 13.” He says, releasing the money. “Got it.” You give him a smile, heading out with Taehyung. “Are you seeing that guy?” Taehyung asks once in the elevator. “Yoongi? Uh, no, we’re just friends.” Taehyung nods. “Really? You know you can tell me, right? It’s not like we are together. You can date whomever you want. He just seemed, I don’t know, jealous or something.” Suddenly your heart drops at the thought. “Really,” You suck your teeth, “I don't think so. He's just really serious about work.” Taehyung just hums in agreement. You both walk over to a nearby sushi restaurant and grab lunch, placing Yoongi's order to go. “So, let me just say that I'm sorry for tossing the water in your face. I was very angry. I'm sure you can understand why.” Taehyung nods. “Of course. I shouldn't have just thrown everything at you the way I did. It was insensitive. Look, I want you to know that despite what I did during our relationship, I really truly loved you. Even now I care so deeply about you. We were so young when we got together, we didn't know anything. I mean you were still a virgin; did you really think I was the one?” Your brow furrows. “Yeah actually, I did. I loved you with all my heart. I thought you were my forever. I thought WE would be getting married someday.” He frowns at your statement. “I'm sorry Jagi. I really messed up but I hope that moving forward we can remain friends. I think the world of you. You deserve nothing but the best!” You sigh, angry that you still had feelings for him.

“I agree. Thank you for saying that.” You tell him. He smiles, taking your hand from across the table, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “So, you’re not dating that guy?” You chuckle at the repeated question. “Like I said we are friends. He’s really nice to me. Doesn't judge me or poke fun like other people. He accepts me for me.” Taehyung gives you a thin smile. “Guys like that only look for one thing. They don’t care how you look or sound. He gives me bad vibes. Pushy you know.” “Well, he actually likes how I look. Unlike other men I know and to be honest I don’t know how you can determine his intent or pushiness from one encounter. He’s actually really sweet.” “Then I suppose you like him then?” “I never had an issue with how you look Jagi. I, for one, think you’re beautiful.” “Is that why you cheated?” You clip. Taehyung sighs. “I’m sorry again Jagi. I know it’s not enough but I really am sorry. What I did had nothing to do with you. It was my own issues. Maybe when things aren’t so painful, we can really talk about them you know. Right now, I think they’re still too fresh.” “Maybe you’re right. No point in opening old wounds.” You nod. You finish up eating, and allow him to walk you back to work. He insists on bringing you all the way upstairs. “Maybe when your game launches, we can grab dinner to celebrate?” He suggests on the elevator ride up. “Sure, that'll be nice.” “You're truly are so beautiful Jagi. Thank you for letting me set things right. Well, some things anyhow.” He leans in, taking you in a deep hug and you breathe in his cologne, taken by his much you miss his smell. He pulls away slightly and presses his lips to yours. You should shove him away, slap his face, but you don't. How could you? This man that that you loved so deeply, that took your innocence, that stole your heart, NO, that broke your heart! The elevator door opens on your floor and you push Taehyung away. You begin to stutter until Taehyung cuts you off. “Take care Jagi. Dinner soon.” You nod, stepping off the elevator, waving goodbye to Taehyung as the doors shut. He gives a cocky smirk. You take a deep breath and turn to bring Yoongi his lunch, only instead you slam right into his body. “Nice kiss?” “Yoongi, how did you?” “I'll take that, thanks.” He grabs his lunch from you and turns to walk away. “Hey! Wait. It's not what you think.” You whisper. “Don't care either way. Let me know when you finish levels eleven through twenty. Talk then."

You plop down at your desk and pull your phone out texting Rebecca, filling her in on all that has gone on in her absence. “FUCK!” She responds in big bold letter. You write back that you think you’ve blown it with Yoongi and now you don’t know what to do. It takes her a while, but she finally responds. “Be brave Y/N!!” You release a deep sigh and nod, knowing your friend is right. You’ve been in your neat little cage too long. It was time to be brave. You send her a kiss face and place your headphones on, determined to finish your next ten levels in record time. By 5pm, everyone is making their way out of the office, including your boss who makes it a point to say goodnight to you on the way out. When you’re sure everyone has gone, you walk over to the back with your notepad in hand. You slam the notepad down obnoxiously onto the desk of Min Yoongi. He doesn’t even react, pissing you off just a bit. You stand tall however, crossing your arms, awaiting a response. He turns his head slowly to look up at you. “Thanks, I’ll get to work on this. Have a goodnight.” He turns his attention back to his computer, pulling his headphones back on. You feel your resolve cracking. You remain standing there but Yoongi continues to ignore you. You tap his shoulder, but he simply raises one finger to make you wait. You fume at the gesture, yanking the headphone jack from the computer angrily. He swirls in his chair to face you. “I want you.” You say plainly. He opens his arms but says nothing. You begin to stutter, unsure of what to say next. He scoffs, shaking his and turning back to his computer. “Wait, um, I need you.” You pretty much whimper, biting your lip at how desperate you sound. Yoongi doesn’t turn around. “Please.” You whisper. “Go away Y/N.” He grumbles. “Did you hear what I said?” You whine. “Yeah, I did and to be frank, I don’t think you know what you want. Is it me? Your ex? And even if you did, you're so caught in your own head you wouldn’t even know how to verbalize it,” He turns suddenly, “I meant it when I said I liked you, but I won’t sacrifice my sanity for what you got going on with that guy. I play a lot of games Y/N, but what you got going on with your ex, isn’t one I’m interested in.” He moves to his computer once again, plugging his headphones back into the monitor.

‘Be brave! Be brave! BE BRAVE!’ You tell yourself.

You look up at the cameras for a moment, “Fuck it.” You whisper to yourself; you have wanted this man for too long to have him slip away now. You watch as Yoongi begins to work on the notes you left him. Your heart pounds in your chest, ‘Here goes nothing.’ You think to yourself. You lift your skirt a bit and slide your panties off, walking forward and dropping them onto Yoongi’s keyboard. He looks at the lacy fabric with intrigue, swallowing hard, and turning his head to you. His eyes are filled with desire, but he says nothing; does nothing. You lick your lips and move towards his desk; his eyes follow you the whole way. You push his chair back away from the desk just enough to lean against it. He smirks seductively, leaning back in his seat. You grab the sides of your skirt and slowly begin to tug the fabric up your thick thighs, stopping right before you are about to reveal your pubis. He releases a slow unsteady sigh, lightly clearing his throat. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to, you knew how bad he wanted you in this moment. You glide your butt onto his desk now, being sure that you are seated comfortably. You slide your feet out of your loafers and rest one on each arm rest of Yoongi’s chair, parting your legs to reveal your dripping folds to him. His face soon drops, as if taken over by a completely different force, he watches you slowly caress and then part your lips. You dip your middle finger towards your entrance, collecting your juices before bringing it back up to your throbbing bud. You moan gently, staring straight at Yoongi who stares at you like a man possessed. “You see how wet I am?” You cry, arching your back as you rub circles around your needy clit. “I need you so bad.” You confess shakily. His eyes darken. “Careful,” He finally speaks, “You’re not in your right mind right now. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” You moan faster, feeling your core burn with the build of your orgasm. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” You cry out, slapping your clit now to keep from cumming too soon. “Fuck.” Yoongi growls, shaking his leg feverishly. You needed his hands on you, his mouth, something and soon! You were ready to burst. “Daddy.” You moan out the nickname you’ve heard him use on occasion, hoping to elicit a response, and boy a response you get. Yoongi’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas and he takes hold of one of your ankles pulling you forward a bit, his resolve seemingly holding on by a thread. “Don’t call me that. You have no idea what that does to me.” He warns. You rub your finger gently up and down your clit, opening your lips once again, “I need your hands on me, right here, in my tight hole. I want to cum on your fingers. Please…. daddy.” You say as sultry as you can. Yoongi springs up from his seat, wrapping a hand around your neck. Your eyes widen at the abrasiveness, your back pressing into his monitor. “Yoongi.” “No….no…. kitten, its daddy remember?” He pants, turning your head to suck on your neck. You moan at the feel of his wet tongue against your skin. He grabs your hand away from your cunt and places your sticky fingers in his mouth, sucking off your juices. “So, fucking sweet.” He groans, lowering his hand to your sex, cupping it gently, staring deep in your eyes searching for doubt. “Please don’t tease me. I want you to touch me.” You beg. He smirks, slapping your pussy hard. You cry out, arching you back. “Yoongi.” “Wrong again.” He corrects you with another slap, then another. “I’m sorry, I meant daddy.” He smiles now, gliding a finger through your slit. You whimper, pushing your hips forward.

“You’re a needy little kitten, aren’t you? How often have you dreamt of me annihilating this pussy?” His whispers in your ear. “Every night.” You admit. Yoongi moans at the confession. “What’s your favorite color?” He asks out of nowhere. “Uh, yellow.” “Yellow if its too much.” He tells you, kissing your lips hard, pressing one sole finger into your slick, pass your folds and into your entrance. Your mouth falls open, your moan trapped as he quickly adds another finger. He slowly begins to fuck your pussy with his long slender fingers, bringing them to the tips and shoving them in to the knuckles. His pace is so tortuous that you find yourself grinding your hips forward, trying to fuck his hand. He presses his forehead to yours, looking down, watching himself fuck your needy cunt. Your folds become more and more sodden with every thrust of his fingers, the sounds of your moans and slickness filling the small space. “God your so wet, I bet my cock would slide right in wouldn’t it? I can’t wait to fuck this tight hole. Make you mine.” His words cause a desperate cry to escape your throat.  “I love that sound. I’m gonna make you scream so loud when I fuck you senseless.” You mewl just thinking of all the dirty things you want him to do to you. He begins to tighten his hold around your neck, moving his thumb to your clit, rubbing your swollen bud. “Yes, daddy. Please don’t stop.” You strain, your core burning with your impending orgasm. He curls his fingers, pressing on the soft bundle of nerves inside you and your body ignites. Your vision begins to blur, your walls clenching hard on his digits, a sharp yet warm flush overpowering you. Yoongi quickens his pace and you scream out his name your orgasm rising fast. “I’m going to cum.” He groans deep in his chest, removing his fingers from your clenching cunt. You gasp, reaching up to claw at his shirt. “Why? No. I was right there.” You whine. “I know baby. Shh.” He kisses you gently, entering your mouth with his tongue. He cups your sex once again, slapping it suddenly, you jump at the sensation. He enters you this time entering you with three fingers. You squeal with pleasure, causing curses to fall from Yoongi’s lips at the sight of you. You relish in the delightful burn of this newfound stretch, baring down, to clench around him, your legs are stretched so wide Yoongi takes to rubbing the soft flesh of your inner thighs with his free hand. “So, fucking sexy, pussy so tight. My cock is so hard thinking about how amazing you’re going to feel stretching around me.” “God, daddy please, I need to cum.” You nearly sob. He quickens his pace, fucking you relentlessly now. He curls his fingers inside you once again, rubbing large circles deep inside your walls. “Rub your clit baby. Cum for me.” He commands. You drop your hand quickly, rolling soft circles over your bud. Your breathing quickens as your climax once again climbs up your abdomen causing your skin to goose. Yoongi presses harder into your g-spot, dropping his head slowly to your sex. Your eyes roll back at the sight as white waves of pleasure soon wash over you, your body trembling with the most overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever experienced. His fingers curl at just the right angle to cause your entire body to tighten and your climax to shoot out onto Yoongi’s face and waiting tongue. Yoongi pants hard, swallowing your juices as you continue to thrust onto his fingers wailing through your climax. He lifts his head pressing gentle kisses on your face as you soon come down from your high. You wrap your arms around his neck, saddened by the empty feeling once he removes his fingers from inside you. He licks them clean, kissing you softly again, your juices coating his lips. “I’ve never done that before.” You whisper to him, “You should come over to my place and we can do it again.” He chuckles. “No, that’s all for tonight. I will however drive you home.” You pout but nod. Yoongi helps you off the desk and you dress watching as he clears the camera footage. “Where’d you learn to do that?” You inquire. “Sorry kitten you can’t have all my secrets.” He turns to wink at you. “I’ve never been touched like that. Tae could never…” You trail off. Yoongi stands after he finishes hiding the evidence of what you’ve both done. He puts his hand out for you to grab and you both walk over to the elevator.

“If you let me, I want to make you feel good all the time, in so many ways. I just need you to trust me, we have to trust each other. I’ll give you whatever you want, you just have to ask and its yours and if its ever too much, you use the safe word.” You nod at him. “Yellow.” He smiles, nodding with you. “Yellow.” You arrive at the garage and Yoongi unlocks his car. You hop in. “So, what’s with the daddy thing?” You inquire. He laughs. “It turns me on. I like to be in control. I mean if it makes you uncomfortable, we can try something else.” “Did other women call you daddy?” You can’t help but ask. “I don’t want to talk about other women. “So, that’s a yes.” You chide. He sighs. “Full disclosure, yes, some other women have called me daddy. It’s what I like, but like I said if it makes you uncomfortable then we can switch it up.” “Did you call them kitten?” “No.” He says plainly. “What did you call them?” “Honestly, I like calling my women sluts, whores, things like that. It turns me on.” You nod. “So why kitten?” He shrugs. “Its what popped into my head, what turned me on in the moment. Do you want me to use something else?” You shake your head. “I like kitten.” “Then we’ll use kitten.” He rubs your cheek with the back of his hand. He soon begins driving, “You know you really surprised me today. I was definitely not expecting that from you.” He laughs. “I wanted to be brave, I guess. I wanted to show you that I’m serious about you. That whole thing with Tae was nothing. I don’t want to look back anymore.” He nods, nibbling on his lower lip. “I’ll admit I was jealous when I saw you guys kissing. I know I don’t have a right to be, we aren’t dating but still, it really pissed me off.” He swallows hard. “Well, you have no reason to be jealous. I can assure you Tae has nothing on you.” Yoongi laughs out loud at your comment, exposing his gums. “I love seeing you smile like this Yoongi. Its rare.” He looks at you quickly, leaning his hand over the gear shaft to place it on your thigh. You trace the prominent veins in his hand with your fingertip. “Um, I was brave today but I might still be shy about things.” You tell him. He squeezes your thigh. “I’m not in a rush.” He pulls into the garage of your building. “We’re here.” You pout. He nods, leaning in to kiss you. You latch onto his lips, kissing him desperately. You pull him closer, sticking your tongue in his mouth. He moans at the contact. “Please come up.” You say against his lips. He shakes his head. “Some other time.” You lean back in your seat, saddened by his answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow kitten.” You smile at your new nickname. “Hey! Take down my number.” You light up. He gives a big smile and hands you his phone. You enter your digits and lean in to kiss him again. “Goodnight Yoongi.” “Goodnight Y/N.”  

[violet-knox]

Signals

Year 7 - Chapter 66

Summary: You meet up with Connor in the library but start to worry when Severus takes longer than expected to join you after his meeting with Slughorn.

Word count: 2182

Warnings: Swearing? (I supposed)

A/N: This chapter didn’t end up as I first planned, I’m started to feel a bit repetitive in my storyline, but I suppose we shall see where it takes us. Also it turned out rather short (oops). Hopefully it’s length doesn’t minimize the plot or importance of what happens here. 

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1 

~

Looking over at the clock on the wall in the corner of the library you’d invaded with Connor, you began to worry Severus had forgotten about your agreement to meet here after his talk with Slughorn. He spoke of nothing but his interest in joining the Society of Potioneers after graduation as a member in training these past couple of weeks, building his profile to submit the application that was due beginning of April. Slughorn was well connected, he made sure the whole world knew that, and Severus knew a reference from him would push his application beyond his competitors and better his chances of receiving an acceptance. Supporting him was the only thing you felt like you could do, completely helpless as you yourself were struggling with figuring out life after Hogwarts. But it was enough for him and you were grateful for that. 

Since the start of this year, your excitement for graduation had only grown stronger, even with the weighing dread of stress hanging over you as you riffled through your career options. Nothing would please you more than to play Quidditch for the rest of your life, but the odds of being accepted into a team was very unlikely considering your age and lack of experience, but you had to try nonetheless. Severus of course had nothing negative to say about your application, pushing you to it and supporting you as you did for him. 

“He’s brave for trying to get a reference out of Slughorn,” Connor commented when you told him about Severus’ adventures today. “I’ve heard rumours that asking a favour of him is like selling your soul to the devil.”

You laughed at his comparison, Connor smiling in turn. Your friendship with him had been quite the gift this year, even if Severus found him to be intrusive at time. Connor was there for you when Severus wasn’t, he was a breath of fresh air from all the drama your class had created over the years. You’d even grown to enjoy helping him with his assignments and studies despite the repetitiveness and you knew Severus shared that same pleasure despite him claiming otherwise. You were going to miss him next year and from that longing look in his eyes that appeared every time you spoke about graduation, you knew he’d miss you and Severus too. 

“Severus is brilliant at Potions, best in our year. Slughorn would be a fool for not offering him a reference,” you said confidently, worry Severus was taking so long because Slughorn had decided otherwise growing like a seed buried in the back of your mind. “And if he ends up ‘selling his soul’, then I’m sure Severus will find a way to get it back.”

Smirking, you imagined him emerging triumphant after going toe to toe with the Devil himself. Severus was a rather mischievous person, ambitious enough to chase his goals, never faltering, never giving up. There was nothing you could imagine Slughorn doing or saying that would stop Severus from obtaining that reference. But no matter what happened, no matter the reason for his current tardiness, you would be there to support him, to comfort him and cheer for him. 

“I’ll miss these talks next year,” Connor said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. You looked at his eyes that could brighten the darkest of nights, a smile already etching on the corner of his lips as his sadness turned into hope. Friendship had always been the strongest magic you’d known, even after you found out you were a Witch. Nothing you’d learned at Hogwarts could ever compare to the strength true friends drew from one another and when you met Severus, you’d learned of a new form of magic, one you were sure could conquer all. 

“So will I,” you smiled back at him, assuring him he wasn’t the only one who cherished the sudden friendship that had grown between you. “But we’ll write to you, or at least, I will. And you could always come visit over the holidays.”

“I’d like that.” Connor’s smile grew wider, his eyes sparkling with hope, something you’d clearly misunderstood as he slowly stretched out his hand to place over yours. Your eyes shot to his in confusion, his filled with curiosity and optimism. You felt your heart sink at the realization that Severus’ absurd claims hadn’t been so irrational after all, you were only too naive, too blind to see it. You’d wanted so badly to believe the friendship between Connor and Severus could benefit them both, but it seemed like an illusion now, a blindfold you’d placed over your eyes out of sheer denial.  

“Connor I-” you whispered, trying to find the words to explain you had no interest in him the way he did for you when you found yourself interrupted by a familiar voice. 

“What’s going on?” Whipping your head to the side, you found Severus standing there with his arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers at you both, fumes rising from off his body. You’d never seen him so angry before, not even when Lily had stopped talking to him or when James had saved him from the Whomping Willow. You jumped to your feet in fear of whatever conclusion he’d made, needing to deescalate the situation before it got any worse. 

“Nothing,” you said calmly, your eyes completely and utterly focussed on him as you slowly approached him. You felt like he was on the edge of a cliff he could never recover from if he took another step forward. Your heart raged with fright at how quickly the situation had flown out of hand and you were completely powerless to stop Severus from jumping off the deep end. But nothing scared you more than the very real possibility you were just about to lose Severus, that he’d never come back to you after stepping off the edge of the dangerous territory he was crossing now.

“We were just talking about-” Connor’s voice was so much smaller than you were used to, you almost didn’t recognize it when he spoke. 

“About how you want to be with my girlfriend?” Your heart nearly stopped as he tumbled, your hand grasping to catch his, holding him tightly to try and pull him from off that cliff. He’d spoken before he thought of what consequences his words may bring, about how venomous his tone was, poisoning those around him. 

“What?” You could hear Connor almost choking on the word. Daring to look back, you saw him staring at you both wide eyed with shock, the exact thing you were hoping to avoid when you’d decided together you wouldn’t tell Connor you were dating. Your own anger boiled as you saw the hurt in Connor’s eyes. Severus had gone from defensive and upset to vigorous and unstable in mere moments. 

“Severus.” You spoke in a calming yet stern voice, a bit of warning thrown his way in fear of what may happen next if he didn’t recoil from where he stood. He’d already made the situation so much worse when he so bluntly accused Connor of doing something you didn’t even get the chance to correct. Things would have been fine if you’d just explained to Connor you weren’t interested, if Severus had only shown up thirty seconds later. 

“I-I didn’t know you two were dating,” Connor said and you could tell by his tone he was beyond taken back by the mess that had unfolded before you. Your Ravenclaw friend didn’t know Severus as well as you did, he didn’t know Severus only tends to overreact like this when he’s under immense pressure and stress. His meeting with Slughorn hadn’t gone well, you could tell and you knew that had to be the reason why he was acting so rash.  

“LIAR,” Severus howled, completely ignoring the fact you were all still in the library. You felt yourself shrivel at his sudden burst in volume, your heart racing but you kept your eyes on him, taking a step forward hoping he could still be pulled back from off that damn cliff. “You knew, you just didn’t care you filthy mu-”

“SEVERUS!” You shouted, absolutely stunned at the line he so easily crossed without a second thought. You stared at him in horror as he finally seemed to snap out of his anger fueled hysteria when you caught his hand as he hung off the cliff of devotion, a sea of darkness sitting beneath him, waiting to gobble him up. His eyes softened as he realized what he’d done, darting between you and Connor as he fell completely speechless. 

Flashbacks to fifth year filled his mind as you looked at him with disappointment, his anger now transferred to you. You had that same look on your face as Lily, the same look of betrayal and resentment when he’d uttered that awful word to her. He knew it was too good to be true, that it would never last, that he was destined to live alone. A year of working at your relationship, a full year of true happiness and stability and he’d ruined it in seconds, sure there was nothing he could say or do this time to make up for it just as Lily had stated nearly two years ago. 

“I think I’ll make my way,” Connor mumbled as he gathered his belongings, avoiding looking at either of you. Severus could see the hurt in his eyes, the devastation for what he’d done. He wanted to apologize, to find the magic words that would undo what he’s done, but they didn’t exist, he’d learned that the hard way. Looking back at you, he waited to watch you pack up as well, leave him and walk off with Connor, abandoning him, but you didn’t move.

“Connor, I’m sorry,” you said sincerely, apologizing for the boy who just stood there like a lost puppy, wearing a frown on his face rather than trying to reprimand what he just said. 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” Connor shot Severus a rather harsh look, something you never thought you’d see from the kind Ravenclaw before throwing his bag over his shoulders and walking away. Logic told you to follow, to run after Connor and explain yourself, comfort him and make sure he was okay, but it wasn’t him you worried about. It wasn't him you loved, and you couldn’t leave Severus alone now. Judging by the utter broken look on his face, he needed you more than Connor. 

Severus watched with his heart tearing in half as you packed up your own things, your anger free to expand now that Connor had left. He felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes as he thought of how happy he’d been with you, mourning the loss of something so good, something he’d learned to depend on so heavily over the last few years, he couldn’t imagine living without you anymore. 

“(Y/N).” His throat was so dry, your name came out hoarse as he spoke, reaching out to try and stop you, but he couldn’t bring himself to go near you, afraid he’d only worsen the situation. He felt powerless as you picked up your bag only to be surprised when you took hold of his hand and dragged him along with you. Neither of you spoke a single word as you led him out of the library, your hand holding him tightly, your anger pouring out into each stride you took. 

“(Y/N), w-where are we going?” he asked cautiously, the power he held back in the library completely vanished as his voice shrank. Never did he think he’d fear you, the girl who’d supported him over the years, who’d never had anything negative to say about him, but in this moment, he worried over whatever was on your mind. He could only imagine what consequences you had in store for what he’d done, how you’d break up with him and hand him back everything he’d given you, everything that represented the love between you.  

“Somewhere where we can talk without the entire school hearing us,” you gritted between your teeth without so much as giving him a glance. You could feel your anger bubbling the closer you got to the astronomy tower, once a place of solitude, friendship, love and acceptance now to be a place of rage, disappointment and devastation. You were not looking forward to the discussion you were about to have with him, something you never thought you’d have to do. It scared you to realize you didn’t know Severus as well as you thought, that he still held such resentment, such hate within him. But most of all, it scared you to realize that you might not be able to get through to him, to help him and support him like you thought you had over the last few years. You wanted so badly to believe your love for him would get you through this, but after what happened today, you weren’t sure if it would be enough anymore.

~

Next Chapter

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[a-dorin]

the offer | count dooku

word count: 1,682

warnings: sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, mentions of illness/death, 18+

a/n: let me know what you guys think or if you want to be removed or added to the taglist! i actually really like this and where it’s going! enjoy :))

summary: as a jedi padawan, you are in search of a way to earn more credits. the pay is not near enough to help with your sick brother, who is suffering from the effects of the war. one night, you spot an advertisement, with an offer you can’t refuse. 

“so i presume you’re serious about this relationship?” his image glowed a blue hue on the holoprojector, “i was unsure if your cry for help was a fallacy, young jedi.”

“i-i need some assistance,” you mumbled, a blush spreading through your cheeks. 

“you need financial assistance,” his voice was smooth, edged with satisfaction, “one of my droids in charge of the program was notified of your submission only a few hours ago.”

“that didn’t take long,” you muttered under your breath. 

“well it seems as if you were the sole individual who took interest in my program,” he chuckled darkly, clasping his hands together, “what is that you seek from me? credits? clothing? training?”

you drew in a sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “i am seeking credits.”

“credits for what? a new lightsaber?” he scoffed, “regardless, i will have an encrypted transmission sent to the temple on coruscant. from there, i ask that you do not show any of your little jedi friends nor speak with them about us. this is a matter in which they will have no involvement. after you have read the transmission, i ask that we coordinate a time and place in which we will discuss the parameters of the program in detail. you will also sign the contract during this meeting. do you understand, (y/n)?”

the way your name rolled off his tongue sent a shiver down your spine. you nodded, biting your lip, “yes, count dooku. i will contact you once i have read the documents.”

“perfect,” the count rumbled, “now, i have other matters to attend to. i hope to be in contact with you soon.”

his image disappeared from the holoprojector, your mind buzzing. in the many years of your jedi training, there was one mantra that was practically burned into your mind: the sith are the enemy of the jedi. they are pure evil and cannot be trusted. your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up, a torrent of emotions raging within you. part of you was exhilarated that you were going to be forming a relationship with the infamous count dooku, leader of the separatists, one with the dark side.. the latter, however, was dread. how were you going to manage to keep this a secret from your master? let alone the jedi?

yet, one night, you were strolling coruscant, out for some fresh air. you were on the outskirts of the sketchier areas of the sprawling ecmenopolis, where rogues and bounty hunters gathered in dimly lit cantinas. an advertisement glowing in the night caught your eye, the bold print piquing your attention. you found yourself pausing in front of the advertisement, eyes scanning over it. 

the advertisement entailed a relationship with the sith lord himself, count dooku. from the advertisement, it appeared that you would be rewarded with an abundance of credits, the finest robes, as well as a lavish lifestyle. the only requirement was an application. the application itself seemed simple, to send in some brief information about yourself, then transmit it to the headquarters of the separatist leader, at castle serenno. 

no matter how much of your logic was screaming at you to refuse the offer, the harsh reality was that you were in need of credits. the jedi didn’t pay much to begin with, and since you were still a padawan, you were given practically nothing. was your greed speaking over your logic? potentially. 

so, you submitted an application. you described your physical appearance, your personality traits, along with your occupation. you felt no need to lie, pondering if the count would even glance at an application sent by a jedi. turns out, he did. 

now, you were sitting in your quarters, cross-legged on your bed, your hands trembling as you gripped the datapad. it beeped, signaling that you had a message. it was an old text, yet so familiar to you. it was your native language from your home planet of takodana. eagerly, your eyes read the message, your breath hitching in your throat. 

below are the parameters of our relationship. please, read them over and do not hesitate to inquire about any of the regulations or rules when we meet in person. i am looking forward to meeting you for the first time. we shall meet on coruscant as soon as possible, tonight around eight p.m.. i will have a shuttle escort you our designated location. you will find that shuttle with ease. 

best, count dooku. 

your eyes widened, heart racing in your chest as you read the message further. the instructions were in great length, detailed and precise. after all, you were not expecting this to be a simple task. exhaling, you figured that it would be best to get to reading them. you had no current assignments under the council or your master, so you had all of the free time in the galaxy.

settling down, your back hit your mattress, emerging yourself within the text. 

7:45 p.m. 

“are you the droid sent for me?” your voice wavered, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“according to my databank, you are (y/n) (y/l/n),” the droid was cold, “i am the escorter, here to serve you.”

“i have a meeting with you master,” you murmured, “are you going to lead me to him?”

“i am,” the droid responded, “come with me. we have to fly across the city.”

taking one last glance at your surroundings, your heart thudded against your ribcage, you mind buzzing. there was were no familiar faces around, informing you that it was safe to proceed. although you were concealed by a hooded cloak, you still felt vulnerable, as if this was some sort of trap. yet, you felt a strange urge to follow the droid, to board the shuttle. 

“i can sense that you are anxious,” the droid remarked, “you have no need to be nervous. this is not a trap.”

“do you know who i am?” you snorted, “i have every damn right to be anxious.”

“i know who you are. you are (y/n) (y/l/n) of takodana. you are an apprentice under the jedi master kit fisto.”

“damn you’re good,”  your eyes widened. 

“my name is pako,” the shuttle hummed to life, “i am here to serve you and my master, count dooku.”

“good evening pako,” a giggle rose in your throat. 

“good evening miss (y/n),” he chirped. 

pako flew over the city, the lights glowing underneath you. civilians milled around, maglev trains zooming, approaching their destinations. wonder rippled through your being, as you never realized the beauty of coruscant like this before. it was breathtaking. 

several minutes later, the shuttle landed, outside of a brightly lit cantina. the bass vibrated the small ship, pako rising to his feet. 

“come, my master awaits.” 

the doors of the shuttle slid open, and your heart nearly stopped. there, stood count dooku, towering over you. his silver hair glowed in the night, his eyes hardened and dark, gleaming with power. his aura radiated sheer strength and intelligence, his arms folded across his chest. his cape billowed in the breeze, his saber glittering, attached to his hip. 

his lips curved into a slight smile as his eyes drank in the sight of you, “i was wondering if you would back out. come, we have much to discuss.”

dooku offered his elbow, and hesitantly, you accepted it. the two of you strolled into the cantina, pako a few steps behind, keeping watch. the cantina was crawling with thieves, pirates, and bounty hunters, their eyes falling on you as you clutched the count’s elbow, shrinking in your cloak. their eyes were hungry, as if they had discovered a valuable treasure.  

“pay no mind to them little one,” dooku rumbled, “they will not touch me. and i certainly will not let them lay a finger on you.”

“i’m just nervous,” you mumbled, your cheeks hot. 

“i can sense it,” dooku’s tone was warm, “you have nothing to fear, (y/n).”

dooku found a clean table, pulling out a chair for you. gingerly, you sat down, your hands clasped on the table. he ensured that you were settled before he took his own seat, an eyebrow arched, “so, do you have any questions for me regarding the rules?”

you bit your lip, careful to avoid the count’s intense gaze, “i guess i’m just not sure what this relationship entails.”

dooku chuckled softly, “it is nothing sexual, (y/n), i can assure you of that. what i am seeking is more emotional. i am seeking out an emotional connection. someone who can visit me, listen to what i have to say, and give me their loyalty.”

“so this is nothing romantic?”

“there may be some romantic tension, potentially. that will be far in the future, however. i am intrigued onto why you submitted an application. surely any jedi knows better not to interact with a sith lord,” dooku’s voice was smooth, elegant, “tell me, why did you apply?”

you swallowed thickly, “i-i, i need credits for my family. you see, there was a chemical raid on takodana. my younger brother, he’s only four years old. he has a weak immune system, and is very sick. the fumes left by the separatist squadrons almost killed him. he is still recovering, but the cost of medical attention is quite strenuous for my family. so far, all of my credits have been sent home to my family, in order to help alleviate the cost.”

dooku’s lips pursed, his eyes softening, “i ask that you send me the coordinates of your residence after our meeting. inform me of their fees and i will have those paid off immediately. i am so sorry for the little one, (y/n). it appears that this war has gravely affected those who are not directly involved.”

“t-thank you,” you stammered, “how can i repay you?”

“you will repay me,” dooku smirked, “you will be my sugar baby, (y/n) (y/l/n), and i have a premonition that we are going to form a wonderful relationship.”

********

tagged: @doobiwankenooku , @sapphicstars , @demonquartz , @everythinggeeky , @overcastgravestone , @smokahuntis ,  @batsdothings , @whitegirlinstarwars , @barelysurvivingbutheypythagoras , @failinggrace , @nottodaysatan-8866​ , @whoisaribeary​ , @mackstrut​ , @theknightsofwren​ , @two-black-leviathans​ , @kyberphilosopher​ , @salvatore-sister​ , @alwayshappysith​ , @amazinggraceling​ , @pedrosdoll​ , @eknnke​ , @rosesrealm​ , @damienmoonart​ , @monets-corner​ , @jaylovecraft​ , @starflyer-104​ , @maidofsionis​ , @witchy-goth-unicorn​ , @catsnkooks​ , @shytastemakerthing​ , @theclonewarsbrokeme​ , @crystallinee​ 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hey...I am AN ABSOLUTE jercy TRASH like A HUGE JERCY FAN and I was wondering if you could like a one shot of jealous percy...I have seen a lot of jealous jason fanfics but never really saw a jealous percy!!! Thank you and I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUCH...

Hello darling Anon!! Adore that you're #jercytrash (is there really any other way to be????) and I'm so happy you enjoy the mess of content i have🥺💙all the heart eyes

Anyway I loooovvveeeeeddddd this prompt and this is evident by the very many words I couldn't help but write! I do hope you love it as much as I loved writing it☀️please excuse any mistakes it's like 3am here and Ciara be tired as hell

Masterlist

"Are you coming to the party tonight?"

"Gods no," Percy shivers, face pulling into a look of distaste.

"Why not I heard Annabeth is gonna be there," Leo's eyebrows waggle, earth eyes sparkling.

He wants to laugh, to cry a little too. If only that is the blonde he is so infatuated with.

"Nah bro those parties always end up much wilder than they need to be and nine times out of ten they're shut down by the cops."

"That's half the fun Jackson!" Leo's smile widens.

"I'm good thanks, my idea of fun is sitting here playing Playstation and gorging myself on M&Ms."

"Will you at least promise to come on the trip this weekend?"

"I don't know man," He shakes his head, "I've got a psych test to study for and there's like three assignments due by the end—"

"Oh excuses, excuses Jackson you haven't gone out once since we started. It's gonna be winter break soon and we won't see each other for at least a month." Those brown eyes are puppy wide.

He sighs, half-ready to give in, "Who's gonna be there?"

"The usual gang. And Jason finally gets to come this year! His dad is on a business trip so he isn't spending the weekend for once."

Percy's ears get hot and he hopes they don't look flushed, "Oh that's nice I guess. If you leave me alone tonight I'll come on the trip."

Leo's answering whoop is enough to make him laugh. When he collapses on the couch, after waving goodbye to his friend, there is a warmth blooming in his chest.

Three hours, five packets of M&Ms and a stream of curse words at the TV later, he finally decides to head to bed. But as he's shoving on a pair of sleep shorts there's a knock at his door. He frowns, considers ignoring it but his mind whirls with all the possibilities.

What if someone got hurt? What if someone needs his help? What if someone is....oh gods he doesn't want to think about it. He brushes his fingers against the wooden headboard, rubs at his head, grabs his elbow and then he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

"Peerrccccyyy," A slurring, smiling Jason Grace stumbles into him.

"Jason?" He grabs hold of the blonde's arms and pulls them both into his apartment, "What are you doing here?"

"I came over because–" Pearl white teeth flash, "Wow you're so pretty." Those golden hands grab Percy's chin, pulling their faces together until there is nothing but tension and breath between them.

"What are you doing?" He swallows.

"Has anyone ever told you your eyes look like emeralds glistening at the bottom of a river?"

"Uh no can't say they have," He wants to laugh but Jason's lips are so close and his hand is still on Percy's face and oh gods he needs to move before he does something he shouldn't.

"Have we kissed before? No I'd remember that." Eyebrows scrunch, "I think you have a beautiful mouth."

"I think—" He inhales sharply as Jason's fingers dance along his collar bone, "I think we should get you to bed."

"Aw," Full pink lips pout, "But we are having so much fun."

"I think we'll have more fun when you're sober."

The blonde giggles, "I'm not drunk silly. I only had like... fifteen shots of vodka."

"Jesus Grace how are you even standing?"

"When you're this tall it takes forever for the liquor to do its thing and you need a lot of it otherwise it all goes to your toes and you never get drunk."

Jason is frowning again and all Percy wants to do is kiss the crease in his forehead and pull him closer. Instead he tugs him by the hand and guides him to the bed.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the couch." He pushes the blanket aside and let's the blonde fall into the sheets.

"Are you sure? You can always stay with me?" Those blue eyes are bright and big and so full of, of, of... "I promise I won't kick you. I stopped doing that in first grade."

He can't hold in his laugh this time but when he recovers enough to reassure his friend he'll be fine he is greeted by the peaceful sight of a sleeping blonde. He shakes his head softly, allowing himself a moment to take in the scene. Tangled white sheets, golden hair, soft deep breathing, a tiny splattering of freckles, and the wonder of tomorrow carried on the wind that stirs the chiffon curtains. This moment will live within his soul for the rest of his life. Of this, he is certain.

***

The treadmill beeps incessantly indicating the end of the session and the end of Percy's day. He's about ready to pass out from exhaustion and he couldn't be happier. The days are long and blurry and he would do anything to escape the weight on his chest. A blue-eyed, golden-haired weight. He snorts at the innuendo. If only the actual person was sitting on his chest, entertaining each other. But no it's just the feeling, the emptiness, the lack of anything weighted. His eyes shudder closed as he steps into a red-hot shower and let's the memories of his last meeting with the blonde wash over him. There is a time, mere months ago, where Percy would have scoffed at these feelings. Would have told himself it was ridiculous and stupid and there were much more important things to be focusing on than some boy. But every interaction with Jason Grace feels like the middle of a fireworks display, feels like crawling into the sun, or falling off a cliff only for the water to catch you. Every interaction feels electric. And he cannot help but overanalyse each touch, smile, lingering look. Are they for him, or for the world? Jason had always been easy. He could make you feel like the most important person in the world just by glancing at you. It was beautiful, magnetic, but it also meant Percy never really knew if anything they did was genuine. If the extra squeeze when they hugged was as a friend or something more. If those blazing eyes over the campfire was a trick of the light or... But tomorrow it's their annual WastedWinter trip and at the very least he can look forward to a few nights of bad decisions and sinful delights.

The day dawns bright, cloudless, and icy cold. He breathes in the fresh winter air and lets the sting travel through his lungs. There are few things as lively as the winter morning air. With a look through his apartment window to see the birds flying and the wind shaking the trees awake he ducks into the shower and gets ready for the trip.

At exactly eleven a knock echoes through his apartment. He clicks submit on his assignment and races over to throw the door open.

"Good morning Jackson! You're looking especially radiant this find day."

"Must be the seaweed face mask I put on last night."

"Oh," Annabeth Chase frowns, "And here I thought you got down and dirty with someone."

He snorts, stepping aside to let her in. "No such luck Princess, I'm down and out on laundry."

She smacks his arm, grey eyes sparkling, "I hope you know you're driving for most of this."

"Is this because I'm the only one who can be trusted to get us there in one piece,"

She gives him an incredulous look and then turns her nose up, "No Jackson it's because the rest of us want to get wasted and you don't drink."

"Ah, glad to know I'm of some use to the group."

"Oh you're plenty useful," She winks.

He laughs at that, mind flashing to the fling they had at the start of their undergraduate years. Both had realized pretty early that life was leading them in different directions and it would be better to stay friends. But tumbling in the sheets with her had been fun while it lasted.

"Alright who's in our car?"

"We got me, you," She starts tapping her fingers, "Leo, Jase and Rey,"

"Great so I'll be talking to myself for most of this trip." He rolls his eyes.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well Leo and Reyna will fall asleep about five seconds after we start driving and you and Jason will talk incessantly about gods knows what, which leaves poor old me."

"We will not!" Annabeth's ears go pink as she glares at him.

"Mhmm okay Princess."

"Shut it." She grumbles, shoving him.

Some minutes later they're all piling into the car: Percy driving, Reyna in the front, Leo at the back on the left, Annabeth in the middle and Jason on the right.

"Hello everyone ready to roll?"

"I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night," Leo mumbles and then he's fluffing his pillow against the door and closing his eyes.

"What was he doing?"

"Engineering project," Jason grins, "He forgot and had to sit up all night to submit before we left."

"I'm also out," Reyna throws up an uncharacteristic peace sign and settles into her seat, eyes already shut.

"And her?" He asks, a little sore his right-hand passenger is ditching him for dreamland.

"No idea," The two blondes shrug.

Percy refrains from rolling his eyes and puts the car in gear. With a final check to make sure everything is in its place he pulls onto the road and starts the long journey to Lakeside Lodges.

The music is soft, some pop song that everyone is raving about, and the city is alive with the lunch hour rush.

"Jason," Annabeth starts, "What are you doing for the structural—"

Percy tunes them out, content to let their university talk become background noise. He glances at the rear-view mirror and sees shining blue eyes staring intently into serious gray ones. He looks away, focuses his attention on the road.

Sometime later they leave the city behind, the sound of cars and sirens and endless people fading into calmer, more lilting noises. The quiet of the empty road, and the crackle of the radio, and the soft chatter from the backseat. He cannot help but feel at peace, feel as if the world is balanced just right.

Annabeth giggles, catching his attention and he watches in the mirror as Jason lays a hand on her thigh and laughs into her shoulder. Quickly he adverts his eyes, swallowing the sinking feeling and turns the music up to distract his thoughts.

"Percy," At tap on his shoulder. "Pers?"

"Yea what's up?" He smiles and it feels like surgery with no anaesthetic.

"Did you hear what Jase said? It was such a stupid joke I said you'd appreciate it."

He shakes his head, "Wanna tell it again?"

"Nah," Jason mumbles, "Won't be as funny the second time."

"Aw come on Jase," Annabeth pouts, "For me?"

He watches from the mirror as those blue eyes light up, "What do you mean for you? I thought I was telling the joke for Mr Driver?"

She giggles, shoving at his arm, "That's what I mean."

Percy isn't sure he can't take anymore of their whatever it is so he clears his throat and asks them for a pack of Sour Patch Kids.

"Oo I love those!" Jason gasps, rummaging around in their snack bag. A packet drops into the cup holder and he thanks the blonde.

"Jase throw them at me, let's see if I can catch!"

The six gummies shoved in his mouth turn bitter as he watches the two giggle and joke and share space. By the time Jason throws the last gummy Annabeth is practically in his lap to catch it. Percy wants nothing more than to get out of this damn car. His skin is hot and he's sure his blood is about two degrees away from boiling. The stones in his stomach are stacking up like rock scultputres. Pretty but destructive. Nothing can get passed but nothing can leave either. And the heavy, sinking feeling certainly doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Finally though they arrive at the lodges and after check in he practically vaults himself out of the car and disappears into a bathroom.

There staring in the mirror he can see his misery reflected back at him. His green eyes are stormy, and there seems to be a permanent crease in his forehead. His mouth is down turned and his hair is in a state of complete disarray. Tugging at it when he's frustrated is an unbreakable habit.

He stays in the little bathroom for longer than he thought because he is sharply pulled to the present by a rap on the door.

"Percy?"

"Coming," He sighs. He straightens his back, attempts to tame his hair, and plasters a smile on his face.

"You good?" Frank frowns when he walks out.

"Yea sorry, drank one too many slushies."

His friend laughs, "Tell me about it. I think my tongue is going to be stained red for a month."

"I mean that's your fault. Blue is clearly the superior slush."

"Blue is the worst flavor," He scrunched his nose, "It isn't even a flavor. They somehow managed to give colour a taste."

"Well red is nothing but iced medicine."

"Hey guys," Frank waves their friends over, "Percy thinks blue slushies are the best flavour, care to tell him he's wrong?"

There is a pause amongst them and then everyone is talking at once.

"No,"

"I mean I kind of agree."

"Green is obviously the best."

"There is no way, it's red all the way."

"What about-"

"Okay!" Annabeth shouts, "Let's settle this WinterWasted style,"

Leo rubs his palms together, a gleam in his eyes.

"Everyone who says red stand on one leg, everyone who says blue stand on anything but the floor."

They all shuffle around, pushing each other over and generally causing chaos but soon they're in their spaces. Everyone observes the room.

"That's four to red and three to blue." Leo announces.

Jason, Percy and Hazel are standing on the couches and counters. Piper, Annabeth, Leo and Frank are on one leg in the middle of the lounge.

"Yes! We won." Frank smirks, "Alright losers you know the drill."

"No!" Percy yells, "We're missing a person. If Reyna joins us then we're even and we go into death round."

"Okay Jackson, I see you can't take the loser title sitting down so we'll get Reyna's opinion. But if she chooses us you guys have to drink and jump." Frank's black eyes sparkle with mischief.

Percy narrows his own, pinning his gaze on his friend, "Deal Zhang."

Just then Reyna walks in and seeing the odd scene sighs heavily. "What are we trying to settle? We haven't even had lunch yet."

"First of all it's six o clock so it's a little late for lunch and secondly are you Team Red Slush or Team Blue Slush?"

She scoffs, looks over them and grins, "I'm Team Purple because grape is obviously the only valid flavour."

Everybody groans, cursing her.

"Grape is the absolute worst Arellano." Leo gives her a look of disgust.

"Mhmm," She simply smiles.

"Well if you had to choose between blue and red which one?" Percy asks.

She taps her head for a moment and then looks to the ceiling in exasperation, "Guess I'll choose Red."

"Hell yes!" Frank whoops, laughing as the blue team groans. "Guess who's doing the BigFalls jump tonight!"

Percy grumbles but there is a light in his eyes and as he swats away a hand ruffling his curls he decides it was worth it, even if his friends are wrong.

That night they all stumble to the GreatCliff, an area that had witnessed many a fall, kiss, and confession. Most importantly a place that held some of their favourite memories.

Percy, being the only fully sober one, constantly counts his friends, making sure none of them have gone over-cliff or landed in a ditch somewhere. Soon enough they make it to the clearing and lay down the picnic basket and their towels.

"Alright losers," Piper smirks, "You ready for this?"

Hazel pouts, "Do we have to?"

"Yes!" Annabeth exclaims, blonde curls bouncing as she jumps up and down in excitement.

Jason whispers something in her ear and she dissolves into giggles. Percy looks away, refuses to let their closeness ruin his night, weekend, forever.

"On the count of three," Frank starts.

Reyna takes off her sarong and settles down on the blanket with a smirk.

"One..."

Hazel bounces nervously.

"Two..."

"Don't get hypothermia," Piper laughs.

"Three!"

Jason, Hazel and Percy are sprinting, racing for open air. With a yell they jump and then they're free falling, flying, screaming.

Percy hits the water in a neat dive, barely flinching at the icy temperatures. When he comes up for air the world is noisy with laughter and cheering. He waves to his friends at the top of the cliff and checks to make sure his fellow jumpers are okay.

Hazel is grumbling about being fully sober again and Jason's teeth are chattering but there are smiles on their faces and stars in their eyes and Percy knows the weekend has just begun.

They all swim up the stream and climb all the way back to the cliff where a small fire is crackling and their friends are dancing sporadically to a bawdy ukelele tune being played by Leo.

"Oh gods," Jason groans, "How are we already at this stage of the night."

"Whatever Pipes put in the punch is going straight to our lungs," Annabeth giggles.

Reyna shakes her empty glass in confirmation and request. Soon everyone is hopping and bouncing and singing badly around the fire. Percy settles into the blanket and watches his friends. They are full of life and magic and he can't help but tear up at the love he has for them. Even Reyna is joining the revelry, laughing bright and beautiful at something Hazel says.

His attention catches on the twirling figure of Annabeth. And then Jason grabs her mid spin and pulls her to him.

"Dance with me,"

"Of course Mr Grace," She bows.

They draw together, his hands on her hips, her head on his chest, swaying slowly. Annabeth mumbles something and Jason's shoulders shake with laughter. She looks up, their eyes meeting. Percy can't stand to watch anymore. Abruptly he gets up, throws the blanket aside and stalks into the trees.

"Pers?" Someone calls. He doesn't bother to respond.

He hears scattered conversation and then footsteps are running towards his retreating figure.

"Percy wait!"

He manages to hold in a groan as he realizes who followed him.

"Pers slow down, what's going on?"

"Nothing," He grits, "I just needed some air."

Jason laughs, "We are literally in the middle of a forest how much more air do you need?"

They're still stalking through the woods, dead leaves cruching under their feet.

"Come on, what the hell happened? You just up and left?"

Percy stops in his tracks, whips around to face the blonde, "I'm surprised you noticed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been so wrapped up in Annabeth all day I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot to breathe unless she told you to." He spits.

Jason's face crumples, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Percy instantly regrets his words but he can't take them back, "Just nevermind. I'm going to the cabin. Be careful walking back." He turns to walk away but a golden hand on his arm yanks him back

"Um no, you're going to explain right the fuck now because this isn't like you at all."

"Isnt like me?" He laughs sharply, "What isn't like me?"

"This," Jason motions up and down, "You walking away, being angry with us? What is going on?"

"I'm just tired," He sighs, "Can we drop this?"

"No Percy. I've seen you tired. I've seen you so exhausted you couldn't even see straight. I've seen you sad and angry and frustrated and happy and excited and calm but I have never seen you so... volatile. So just tell me—"

"I'M JEALOUS OKAY!" He yells, "I. Am. Jealous."

Jason reels back, lightning eyes blinking, once, twice, widening, "You're jealous?"

"Yes," He breathes, "And I'd appreciate it if we stopped talking about this."

"Oh," Is the blonde's intelligent reply.

"Yea oh," He scrubs at his face, running a hand through his hair.

"You're jealous of me? If you liked Annabeth why didn't you just say so? I wasn't flirting with her, we were just being dumb. I've had a few too many tequilas and she's hilarious and gods I'll back off I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll even hype you up to her if you—"

"You are such an idiot," Percy growls and then he grabs the blonde by the t-shirt, pulls him in and sears their lips.

Jason tastes like the sky, like winter breezes and lightning storms and home. He tastes like home.

When they break apart Jason is gasping, mouth opening and closing.

"Do you get it now?"

"You- and I- and we- and Anna- and just- and-"

"Are you speechless because you don't know how to let me down easy or because I took your breath away?" Percy winces.

He needs to know. Needs to understand if this is a one-sided thing, if he's been dreaming up their dynamic all these months.

"Do that again," The blonde breathes.

A slow smile spreads across his face and then Percy Jackson cups Jason Grace's cheek and comes home at last.

[wifeofkimtaehyungofbts]

Chapter 11

>> Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N, Taehyung x reader

>> Words: 2,379

>> Notes: I’m going to upload a new chapter whenever possible. Please bear with my hectic schedule! You may leave asks and let me know what you think of my writing (:

Synopsis: You run into a rather strange man one night. He seems terrified, as if fighting battles only he can see. He seems detached from the world, talking only to a voice inside his head. Oh, another strange fact: he keeps talking about angels. You discover later that you were the angel he was praying to.

>> Previous / Next

**

“Hey"

I jolted at the sudden voice echoing against the walls of the eerily quiet changing room of the McDonald’s.

Jungkook was leaning against the door. His apron was thrown over his shoulder and he cocked his head at me.

“Wanna go out tonight?”

“Huh?” I wasn’t quite sure I heard him right. Jeon Jungkook. The guy that hardly ever talks to anyone. The handsome guy who shies away from girls at the cashier trying to get his number. The guy who leaves work without sparing a second for an after-work chat with his colleagues. Wants to go out with me?

I continued to stare at him in shock. Instead of breaking the awkward silence between us, he stared back at me. His dark chocolate brown eyes looked deep. Not in the romantic sense. It almost seemed like there was an entirely different person behind them. If the person differed from the one who stood before me in a good way or a bad way, I couldn’t tell. But what I could tell was that if I didn’t reply fast, we'd be staring into each other for all of eternity.

“Don’t you have work?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You are supposed to fill me in tonight because Felix had an emergency at his house and couldn’t make it”

“I got someone else to cover for me" he shrugged.

I wanted to know more but I figured it didn’t really matter as long as my shift was covered and he didn’t get into trouble either.

“Gimme a minute. I need to wash my face” I said turning my back on him.

As I busied myself removing my hair tie and gathering my hair in a bun, I felt someone lightly brush against my back.  I wanted to turn but it felt too cold.

“You look beautiful Y/N" Jungkook whispers, his warm breath blowing the hair at the top of my head.

In reflexive panic, I grabbed my bag pack and dashed to the girl’s bathroom. I couldn’t calm my racing heart as I tried to shake off the eerie coldness I felt a few seconds ago.

Why did Jungkook come onto me so suddenly? And what’s with the compliment? I mean sure, thank you but it felt so off. He didn’t sound sweet or shy when he said it. He sounded stern, like he was stating a matter of fact I better believe else.... else?

Else what, Y/N? He was going to kill you??

I slapped myself for overthinking and washed my face before hurrying to the front. My colleagues were busy with customers so I couldn’t wave them goodbye. I stepped outside to the chilly air, spotting Jungkook standing by the road. I walked up to him and smiled warmly.

He looked down at me and smiled back. “Do you like pizza?”

“Who doesn’t!” I giggled, already drooling at the mere idea of pizza.

He laughed as we started walking towards the Arthur’s Pizzeria around the corner.

**

We were seated by the window across from each other. The table was too big for just us two, but we were glad no one else attempted to sit with us. It was fine, just the two of us.

We ordered our pizzas and spoke about ourselves as we waited for the food.

I found out Jungkook is from Busan and he was studying music at the campus. He was in fact a top graduate from Busan Arts School along with some guy whose name Jungkook doesn’t remember. He likes to play video games and tries new activities every weekend. Last week he had attempted fishing with a friend of his and they ended up catching no fish but a cold so bad, Jungkook requested for an extension on his vocal exam. Oh, and he hates reading.

I told him about the time I submitted the wrong thesis paper for my semester end assignment and had to retake the whole module all over again in the next semester. He asked my favourite colour, movie and book. He judged me for being a book worm and laughed when I pouted at him in annoyance.

Our food arrived soon and we didn’t talk as we devoured the delicious, thin, saucy pizza. I caught him watching me from the corner of my eye but I made no attempt to eat decently. It’s not like I want to impress him or anything anyways.

Three girls seated at the table next to us wooow’ed at the sight of Jungkook. They turned their attention to me and stared on with disgust.

“What’s someone like him doing with someone like her?”

“God knows! See this is why we never get to experience anything good. Because the good guys are always after someone so random”

“It must be true love if he actually chose someone like her. I mean, look at her hair!”

I could even hear their eye rolls as loud as I heard their words. It pricked and I found myself slowing my eating. I suddenly couldn’t chew anymore. I felt restrained. Like someone had put handcuffs and a leash on me and I had to strain against them to take a bite of my pizza.

Growing up, I haven’t had the most stable family. My fatherless life had involved trying to work odd jobs since I was 13 and missing out mile stones other girls got to experience during their teen years. My first kiss wasn’t under a starry night with my first love, it was rushed and filled with greed at the car park of the local book store. And he cheated on me a week later with the girl who sat next to me at chemistry. The man I first shared a bed with was not looking for a long-term relationship and left me when he found a full time, high wage job at his uncle’s company in New York. My mother was crippling, losing a bit of herself every passing day until one day she came down the stairs to have her tea and I couldn’t even recognize her anymore. My sisters were still too young to understand life and I didn’t want them to see the world as I saw it. I wanted them to have a happy childhood and experience life as any growing child should. They were sent away to my uncle’s and although they were more than willing to also let me stay, I needed away. I left my mother as she screamed indecent words at me one night and took the subway train that led me here. The letter of acceptance from the university was the only good thing that has ever happened to me. I soon became best friends with my room mate who is the polar opposite of me but somehow, we spoke to the same stars and saw life in the same light. My life has always been rushed, difficult to comprehend and there was no easy way through. Having to hear the body that pulled me through those sleepless nights of putting my scared sisters to sleep and locking their doors so my alcoholic mother couldn’t hurt them with her drunk violence, the same body that has cried itself to sleep after carrying stack after stack of recycle paper up 7 flight of stairs for very little pay and a terrible neck and back ache, the same body that is still living and breathing and pushing through, is not good enough, is less, is devastating. It makes me want to cry.

I didn’t ask for such a difficult life. Additionally, my face is the only remainder of who my mom used to be; I am the spitting image of her. The her that was over flowing with positivity and had a heart of gold. The her that lovingly brought my sisters and I into this world and took us cycling and cooked our favourite pasta for our birthdays. To think this face, this remainder of what she looked like, who she was, is less makes my heart crinkle around the edges and burn in the deepest pits of its centre.

“All good?”

I look up to see Jungkook looking at me worriedly.

“Oh yes! I just.... should stop eating else I’ll throw up" I laughed awkwardly.

Jungkook continued to munch on his pizza as he stared at me. He was trying to read the worry in my eyes, the sad drop of the corners of my lips. I couldn’t hide my emotions on my face even if the world depended on it, so I wouldn’t be surprised if any minute now Jungkook presses me for answers and stories. Stories I’d rather keep hidden like I have all this time.

“Okay" Jungkook hums as he takes another slice of pizza. I look at him, grateful he dropped the subject. I watched on as he ate. He didn’t once lift his eyes to mine. He busied himself finishing up his own pizza and the remainder of mine. I wasn’t shocked he ate so much given the fact that he was full of muscle and stamina.

I looked out the window at the busy street. People walked by, carrying the weight of their lives on their shoulders. The lights from cars and street lights looked like stars on Earth from where I was seated. I felt a sudden sense of closure knowing I could disappear into the night, walk mindlessly around these people and no one would know who I am. I’d have no one to explain or compare myself to. Nobody would know what’s going on inside my head. Frankly, nobody would care enough to know. And it felt nice. To not be alive and surviving. I wanted to be light, float over the Earth and find my purpose at my own pace without trying to catch up with the rest of the world only to fall short of breath and lost.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I’ll listen if you share” Jungkook wipes the corner of his mouth with a tissue. He has cleaned the trays of pizza without leaving behind even a trace of any food being there. I smiled kindly at his words.

“Thank you Jungkook. But I’m not thinking about anything that needs concerning attention”

My smile doesn’t reach my eyes and I know he noticed it. He pays the bill entirely despite me fussing about wanting to split the bill. We make our way back to my house, the breeze a little colder and stronger than yesterday, reminding us of the oncoming winter.

**

I pace the living room painfully slow, waiting.

Waiting for her to come back home.

Daffodil.

I have been practising what I wanted to say as I give her the present over and over again in my head. I had wrapped it neatly in a brown paper bag and tied with an orange ribbon I found on her study table. The wrapping was not at all attractive, but it was neat and I hoped she would see the value of the gift that’s wrapped rather than the wrapping itself.

I look at the time. 09.19pm.

She was supposed to be back a long time ago. I heard her making arrangements yesterday to leave early from work today. I had cleaned the entire house; sweeping the wooden floor boards, removing cobwebs and brushing off the dust that had collected on top of the cupboards and TV.

I did not have a phone on me and even if I did, its not like I had her number anyway. I sighed loudly and slumped on the cold floor. My eyes kept fluttering, threatening to close for hours. My shoulders felt heavy and I couldn’t pull myself up off the floor. I rested my head on the floor and allowed my eyes to close. The coldness from the floor piercing my right cheek was the last thing I was aware of before I drifted off to a sleep full of nightmares.

**

I saw it again.

The playground.

The swing.

The boy.

I was playing in the park around the corner from school. I had sand in my old, torn shoes and my school tie was hanging loosely around my neck. My hair was a mess and sweat dripped off the ends of my bangs. I was having too much fun running around to stop. I sat at one of the swings and turned to face the boy seated in the other.

“Hey!” I waved brightly.

He did not respond, his head bent low and slowly swinging. He had dark brown hair and a piercing in his left ear. I could not see his face because it was surprisingly too dark on the side of the swing he was on. It was almost as if a dark cloud was looming over him, night fallen on the side of the Earth he was on.

I turned away and focused on swinging as high up as I can. However, my merry only lasted for a short while because I had swung a little too high and as I swung back, I was thrown off the seat and face first onto the dirty sand. I got up spitting sand out of my mouth. Any average person would have shrieked in disgust and run straight home for a good shower at what just happened. But I just laughed, almost choking on my spit as I attempted to spit sand out of my mouth.

“Pathetic”

The boy suddenly spoke. His voice was soft, melodic and had a boyish charm to it.

He’d make a great singer if he could sing, I thought to myself.

I turned to look at him, mirth sparkling in my eyes.

“Ha! So you can speak! I thought-” I began but had to stop at the sight before me.

My eyes grew wide in terror as the boy lifted his head to reveal a face with no features except for a gaping hole where his mouth should be. A dark liquid oozed out of his ears, supposed-mouth and where his eyes should’ve been.

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to scream again and again, but no sounds came out.

**

Tag list: @tae-n-u​

[scariusaquarius]

take a ride pt 3.

Mechanic! Thorin Oakenshield x Female! Reader

—

A/n: Alright. This is the official end of this series, but I’ll make a sequel if people ask for it :D And I’ll do more Mechanic! Thorin fics, if anybody would like them <3

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE (HERE)

—

Genre: Humor, Friendship, Romance Rated: General Warning: Swearing, Humor, Fluff

—

Author: dabisburntnut

—

Ever since the coffee shop, your heart had been racing in your chest. Just remembering Thorin’s laughter, his beautiful smile...it made you squeal every single time you remembered how happy he had been.

 It was beginning to near spring break, and the only thing that you could think of was riding in Thorin’s truck with your feet on the dash while he blared his classic rock and held your hand. It was a daydream that always made you giggle, and you rolled over in your bed. 

You had forgotten to give him your number, and he give you yours, and there were times were you were tempted to text the company Instagram page. Would it be creepy if you did? You had decided against doing it, but the silence had made you want to see him even more. 

It sucked because it had been a whole three weeks since the last time you spoke to Thorin, and you weren’t about to just show up at the shop like ‘hey, wanna go out?’ who even does that? You slapped your hands onto your face. You had to stop thinking so much about Thorin! You finally sat up, texting your manager that you were interested in picking up an extra shift for your dead Saturday. 

Elrond was understanding, sending you the okay and that he would be excited to see you, and you were quick to get dressed. Grabbing your wallet and satchel, you slid into your vehicle and made a quick pit-stop at the coffee shop. 

Your eyes were searching for Thorin, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he was nowhere in sight. Your stomach dropped, and you walked up to the counter sadly, ordering your usual. 

Was it normal to be so infatuated with someone you had only ever met twice? Were you weird for feeling this way? When you sat down at your booth, you hardly touched your coffee, simply staring out the window and fingering the rip of your coffee cup. Not even your little snack that you bought was touched, smelling so sweet and tempting. 

Packing up the snack, you decided that you would give it to your fellow librarian, Bilbo Baggins and left as quickly as you could. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and you hummed softly. Must everything remind you of that handsome mechanic? 

When you arrived to the library, it was just starting to rain, and you dashed inside the library as fast as you could before the downpour began. Wiping your damp face, you greeted your fellow librarian quietly. 

“Hello, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo Baggins perked up, his blue eyes wide and a smile crossed his face. 

“(Y/n), what a surprise. You’re usually not here on weekends.”

You smiled and set your bag down on the desk, slipping out your uneaten snack and handing it to him. 

“Yes, I know. I was just very bored today. I figured I’d just come in for today and get some extra hours in.”

Bilbo made a delighted face at the treat and hummed softly as he took a bite of the sweet. 

“Goodness, did you get this from the coffee shop just down the street? They have the most magnificent teas there, you have to try them.”

He then slid you a catalog of unmarked books, instructing you.

“It’s good that you came in. We have new shipments of crime and psychological thrillers that need to be put into the system, marked, and put away, if you can.”

You smiled politely, taking your coat off and draping it on the back of your chair. 

“That’s what I’m here for. It’s a bit quieter today. Is Elrond not here?”

You sat down in your computer chair, dragging the large box of new books to you and began to assign them barcodes, scanning each one before placing them on the cart as Bilbo replied. 

“He is in a meeting with Professor Grey from the university in the Bree district.”

You hummed deeply, saying as you continued to work. 

“I wonder what they’re meeting about. I notice that Professor Grey comes by often.”

Bilbo shrugged, taking a large sip of his tea before taking another big bite of his sweet. 

“I’m unsure, honestly.”

When you were finished with the last book, you sighed and sat back in your seat, making sure to submit the log into the system before grabbing your scanner, laptop, and the cart full of books. 

“Alright, I’m off. If you need anything, go ahead and send me a text.”

Bilbo waved you off playfully. 

“Shoo, shoo, I haven’t finished my tea yet.”

You giggled at him before stealing a sip of his tea, Bilbo gasping. 

“(Y/n)!”

You scurried off with a giggle, and Bilbo shook his head before sitting back down at his seat. A few moments later, a familiar face walked in, making Bilbo smile widely. 

“Thorin, what a surprise!”

-READER POV-

As you wheeled your cart towards the crime/psychological thriller section, you began to think of Thorin again. How was he? Was he having a good day? Was he busy with his work? You groaned to yourself, hitting your head against the handles of the cart. 

‘Come on, girl! Give it a rest...’ 

Sighing, you grabbed your laptop, logging into the cataloger program before beginning to scan the books to their designated shelves. As you worked, you gently hummed to yourself, becoming lost in your focus as you shelved the books and cataloged them all. 

The sound of a deep voice startled you, and you turned to see who had spoken to you.

“I’ve always enjoyed Dennis Lehane’s Shutter Island.”

Your mouth was dropped in awe as you watched Thorin flip through the book, his sunglasses perched atop his head. He was wearing his half-up/half down look again, his manbun looking a bit messier than usual. His blue eyes flicked over to you, and you shook your head lightly as if to shake yourself from your shock. 

“I always thought the book was very nice.”

Thorin smiled down at you before placing the book back down, saying as he picked up another book, reading the back of it. 

“Have you read much of his works?”

“Ah, no. I’m not really a crime/psychological thriller person. I’m more into (book genre).”

Thorin smiled lightly, and you asked him nervously. 

“Um, are you here for long?”

Thorin hummed lightly, answering honestly. 

“I was here to pick up a few more books, but now that I know you’re here, I guess I could stay for a while.”

Your cheeks went red, and Thorin looked as though he was mentally patting himself on the back, a proud grin on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a large clap of thunder. As it broke through the sky, you gasped and jolted, dropping your scanner and book onto your foot. The power immediately shut off, and you cursed, holding your foot before fishing your phone out as the library went completely dark. 

“Thorin, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, what of you?”

You sighed and carefully stood, turning on your flashlight. Thorin made a face as the light went right into his face, and you panicked lightly.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

Thorin rubbed his eyes before smiling slightly. 

“You’re fine. Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

You sighed and rubbed your forehead, and Thorin leaned down onto his forearms onto the cart, gazing at you softly. 

“I’ll look at the weather and see how long it’s going to last. Maintenance still hasn’t finished updating our backup generators, so we’re kinda locked in the library at the moment. The doors are all electronically locked.”

Thorin hummed deeply, asking you. 

“Do you have an food? You can’t possibly go without eating for a long while.”

“There are breakrooms on each floor of the library, so we should be able to find something.”

Thorin nodded again before it went quiet, Thorin watching you as you surfed through the weather app on your phone. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked over at Thorin, his eyes soft. 

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve been on my mind for the past three weeks. I...was admittedly so distracted that I forgot to ask for your number that day at the coffee shop.”

Oh my Mahal. Thorin Durin, your hot mechanic, wanted your number? You about fainted, and you offered shyly.

“I can...give you my number right now, if you want? That way you don’t forget it...if you still want it, that is!”

You averted your gaze from his own, and Thorin chuckled softly.

“Yes, I would indeed still like your number.”

You recited your number for him, and Thorin recited it to himself a couple times before winking at you teasingly. 

“I’ll make sure to never forget that.”

“Stop, I’ll faint if you keep doing that.”

Thorin laughed lightly, and you shook your head at him, shyly smiling before sighing, looking down at your phone. Thorin moved from the cart to get a look at the text from Bilbo as well, and you said to him.

“Mr. Baggins says that there’s a power outage, so we’ll most likely be stuck here for a while.”

“That’s alright. Your crime & psychological thriller section is big enough to last me for years.”

You chuckled and reached into the cart, picking up a book as you leaned towards him a little as you became comfortable again.

“And we just got new shipments, so tack on a few more years there, Mr. Durin.”

His eyebrows shot up, a smirk on his face as he leaned in a bit more closer to you, your fragrance wafting into his nose and making his knees become slightly shaky. 

“Oh, so now we’re back to last-name basis?”

“We’ve only met twice, three times if you count this time.”

Thorin hummed, grabbing the book from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. 

“And to think that I was getting somewhere.”

“I am not that easy of a woman to have.”

Thorin grinned at you, and you smiled back at him softly. Thorin replied gently, his other hand reaching over to shut the lid of your laptop, plunging the two of you into complete darkness. 

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“I would like to believe that I am.”

Your heart was racing, feeling his warm skin against yours, and your knees became weak as you felt his hot breath against your lips. 

“I want to kiss you, Ms. (L/n).”

You swallowed thickly and whispered. 

“I would like you to, Mr. Durin.”

Within a second, his lips were on yours, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, and Thorin’s hands came to your face. He cupped your cheeks gently, sighing softly as he kissed you, and you swore that you would faint from how happy and elated you were. 

Thorin pressed you against the bookshelf, pulling back to take a deep breath before kissing you again, and you hummed softly. Thorin’s tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you allowed him in, his tongue dominating your mouth, and Thorin’s hands rand down your sides to your hips, and you gently tugged on his hair. Thorin pulled back, saying against your lips. 

“You are a temptress...haunting my dreams for the last three weeks. All I could think about since the coffee shop was how much I wanted to see you again.”

You let out a shaky breath, and Thorin kissed you again, stealing the breath you took. 

“You were volunteering today, right?”

You replied, biting your lip as your hands came down to feel at his biceps. 

“Um, technically, yes. I’m not required to stay for a whole shift.”

“Would you do me the honors of coming home with me to have dinner then, Ms. (L/n)?”

You bit your lip, your heart racing even more, and you replied to him. 

“This isn’t just another way to get another tip from me, is it?”

Thorin’s head tilted back as he laughed, and he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. 

“No, this is not another way to get more money from you.”

You smiled and Thorin asked you within your ear. 

“Would you like to take a ride with me?”

“Only if it comes at no additional charge.”

“For you, my services are free.”

[END]

Richard Armitage & Co. Taglist: @fizzyxcustard​ @aspookybunny​ @daisy-picking-lady​ @narnvaeron​ @thequeenoferebor @abiwim @crazytxgradstudent​@ruthoakenshield​ @sgtbarnes107 @thorinthehottytotty​ @mariannetora​ @deepestfirefun​ @onlyyoudarling

Hobbit Taglist: @underthemoon-n​ @tschrist1​ @avaria-revallier​ @cassiabaggins​

Take a Ride Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ 

[prrplwtch]

Simeon + 22 and 94 ;) prompt fic from the swoon prompts 💜

Hi nonnie :) Sorry this took a while 💜

A/N: second part to this fic. Special thanks to the amazing @lucivoid for providing jealous Simeon inspiration. 

“Are you going to kiss or keep staring?” “Don’t act innocent, you had me pinned underneath you five minutes ago.” Simeon x f!MC

Simeon was walking through the empty hallways of the academy, heading to the demonology classroom. The school day was over, and the last thing he needed to do before he could leave was to submit his assignment to the collection box on demonology professor’s desk.  

The last few days have not been easy for him – ever since the encounter with MC at the House of Lamentation he’d been troubled by her question.

Are you seducible?

He wanted to say no, of course, he was not – and yet his chest felt heave with some new, unfamiliar feeling. He had not seen MC since that conversation, and yet, no matter what he was doing, the only thing he saw before his mind’s eye was her. He could not let anyone know about this inner turmoil – and so he did his best to act the same as always.

When Simeon finally got to the demonology classroom, he walked in and froze. MC was in the classroom with Asmodeus, and both of them looked positively flushed and disheveled. Simeon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to suppress a sudden burning feeling in his chest.

They must have noticed him, because suddenly Asmo said, “MC, behave yourself – we are not alone here anymore.”

“Don’t act all innocent, Asmo,” MC scoffed, looking at him, “You had me pinned underneath you five minutes ago – you are the one who needs to behave.”

The room suddenly spun before Simeon’s eyes and he took a deep shaky breath – he really did not need to hear that.

“Ah, darling, when you put it this way, you make me want to do it all over again,” Asmo replied with a slight smirk

“Oh please,” MC rolled her eyes, “As if you’d be able to pull that off again.”

Simeon knew that it was best if he turned in his essay and left the classroom as soon as possible, so he decisively walked over to the professor’s desk.

“Pull it off?” he could hear Asmo say, “Of course I could – easily. Simeon, did you know that our dear MC is extremely ticklish.”

“I would rather stay out of this conversation,” Simeon replied in a tone that showed more annoyance than he would have liked.

He could almost feel MC look at him.

“Very well,” Asmo said, as Simeon turned to them, “In any case, I have an appointment to keep. See you later.”

With that he left the classroom. Simeon wanted to follow his example, but, suddenly, MC was in his way.

“Are you headed to the library?” she asked him, looking into his face.

“Yes,” Simeon nodded – he did not want to tell the truth, but it would not befit an angel to lie.

“I will walk with you then,” MC said.

On their way to the library, both MC and Simeon were quiet. The burning sensation that Simeon felt while hearing MC and Asmo talk did not disappear – somehow it had only grown stronger with time.

“I haven’t seen you around very much since the time you visited me in the House of Lamentation,” MC said, looking at him, “And I wanted to ask if everything was alright?”

“Of course,” Simeon told her with a reassuring smile, “It’s just I hardly had time to do anything other than work on the two major assignments we had for demonology and devildom’s history.”

That was not entirely untrue.

“I see,” MC nodded, seemingly convinced by his answer, “I must admit, I was quite busy with the two myself.”

As they walked up the stairs, suddenly, MC stumbled slightly.

“Ah,” she said.

“Are you alright?” Simeon asked her, concerned.

“I am,” she replied, “Damn Asmo, who would have thought that the desk would be this hard.”

Simeon could feel blush bloom on his cheeks. He did not want to be here; he did not want to be having this conversation – but he could not exactly leave.

“I…am sorry to hear that,” was the only thing he could manage.

“I think I’ll have bruises all over my sides tomorrow,” MC continued complaining, “I swear, if he is not gentler next time…”

Simeon knew he should not have responded to her words – that he should have let it go.

“I would really appreciate if you did not try and talk to me about…things like this,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Things like this?” MC looked him in the eye, confused.

They stood in the middle of the corridor, looking at each other for a few long moments, and it was hard for Simeon to hold MC’s gaze.

“Just what kind of things do you think I was talking about?” she laughed.

Simeon was taken aback – surely, she knew. What kind of games was she playing?

“I think you know…” he told her, feeling blush spread across his cheeks.

“Oh,” sudden realization dawned upon MC’s face, “Oh my. You thought that Asmo and I…”

He did not respond. What else was he supposed to think?

“Who would have thought that angels can have such a dirty mind?” MC laughed suddenly, as Simeon felt his cheeks turn deeper shade of red, “I’ll have you know that we did no such things.”

Simeon looked at her, feeling confused.

“There is no need to explain,” he told her, trying to sound calm, “It is not my place to ask these questions.”

“What happened is that I grabbed Asmo’s phone,” MC said, as though she had not heard him, “Because I really wanted to see who his new boyfriend was. He’s been so secretive about him this entire week. And when I did, dear Asmo tried to wrestle me for it. Unfortunately for me, I was too ticklish to prevail.”

Simeon was astonished – the explanation was so easy. Why did I immediately think that…

“So…were you jealous of me and Asmo then?” she asked quietly.

Simeon did not want to respond – being jealous was not befitting of an angel, but he also did not want to lie to her. MC, it seems, was able to read his answer in his eyes.

“To be honest,” MC took a step towards, Simeon, looking him in the face, “I am quite offended.”

“By what?” Simeon asked as MC stopped right in front of him.

“Well, I’d thought that after our last meeting at the House of Lamentation, you’d know that the only person with whom I would like…to make such close acquaintance is you,” MC murmured, as she looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

Simeon’s heart raced in his chest, as the room suddenly began to feel quite hot. MC was looking at him, her face mere inches away from his. The warmth emanating from her body felt positively intoxicating.

“So,” she said, after a moment, “Are you going to kiss me or keep staring?”

All his life he’d been told that angels were created to be immune to temptation, and, yet, Simeon found himself leaning in closer to MC – and for a moment their lips met in a soft, featherlight kiss. Once they parted, Simeon felt the burning sensation is his chest disappear slowly, replaced by the pleasant feeling of warmth.

As they continued their walk to the library, Simeon found himself thinking that, perhaps, the answer to both of MC’s questions was “yes” – and that, perhaps, he’d have to learn to live with that.

Fic list

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper (Chapter 2: Green Light)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter – to-morrow we will run farther, stretch out our arms farther…” (F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gastby)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1

The morning was just as torturous as Janus had expected it would be. He chewed through another pop-tart, this time bothering to actually check and see that it was a cinnamon-sugar one and drank three cups of caffeinated orange juice. Then, he waved his hand through the air and selected the first saved location on his device. He popped up directly behind his desk where he’d been standing the night morning before.

Someone, probably Remus, had shut his integrator down. He swiped a finger across the power button, and it flickered back on, scrolling through its morning start up routine.

The machine scanned through all of the data in the three main system it was connected to and sorted all information into things that concerned him, could concern him, and did not before then sorting the first two categories into order of importance. As it did, he set up his screen reader so he would hopefully not start the day with more of a migraine than he already had. It took about 3 seconds for everything to turn on and settle.

Sitting down in his desk, he dismissed the notification that Remus had finished and submitted the report from their mission the day before, before looking through the next things on his list. A mission had been scheduled for him today, and the details were in his inbox. A piece of time travel technology had been accidently dropped by an archology student in the 1890s during a trip. It was an earlier model of emergency time travel given to time travelers that would dump them back into the Registration Office in the year they originated. It wasn’t extremely dangerous, but could pose some problems, especially if someone who didn’t know what it was activated it.

Surveillance agents had tracked it down and found that it had been picked up by a local and sold. Though no one from that time had known what it was, they had identified that it was made out of a precious metal and it had been crafted into an expensive necklace. Janus and Remus were supposed to retrieve it today. It had been pinpointed that the most opportune time for the extraction was 1923 during a masquerade ball held by those who had bought the necklace. It was a fairly low stakes mission.

He wasn’t set to leave for another couple of hours, so he clicked through the rest of the important notifications and then set off to meet his missions coordinator, Rhi, in her office.

Rhi and Janus got along fairly well. She was a well put together woman who took her job incredibly seriously. It was fair as her job was to organize all information and materials from every other department and make sure the agents she was assigned to got and understood all of it. A mistake from her could lead to an agent’s death or something far worse.

This, of course, made her relationship with Remus… interesting to say the least. Janus could never place whether they were nemesis, frenemies, or mortal enemies, and he doubted he would ever know.

“Okay, but it’s the 1920s America,” Remus was already in her office arguing when Janus arrived. “There were so many gangsters! I could be a gangster. I would make a fantastic gangster! Just give me a gun, a snazzy suit with a white hat, and a buttload of alcohol. I will be running Chicago with Al Capone in five minutes.”

“Al Capone didn’t become a crime boss until 1925 and you are going to 1923,” Rhi said, sounding bored, “you aren’t going to Chicago, and as I have already stated, your cover is already decided.”

“But-”

“It is nonnegotiable, Agent Clockson,” she said firmly. Remus pouted, but seemingly accepted his fate.

“May I come in?” Janus asked.

“Please do,” Rhi said. “You have been to the 1920s before, correct?” she asked Janus.

“Yes ma’am.”

She tapped the screen on her desk in response. “In the last two years?”

“About two months ago,” he responded. She tapped something else.

“Any blacks, reds, or yellows?” she asked.

“All green.”

“Great. Do you need a refresher course on basic cultural or linguistic procedures?”

“No.”

She pushed one more thing and then swiped the check-in document over to him. He glanced at the report stating he’d had no incidents of any level the last time he visited the 1920s and had opted out of the optional refresher course, and then pressed his finger against the screen to sign it with his fingerprint.

The document returned to her side of the desk automatically. “Okay,” she said swiping another document from her left over to be in front of her. She twisted her wrist to copy it and slid copies to Janus and Remus. “Here are exact details on the time, place, and event you are going to, as well as details about your cover.” Janus scrolled through his quickly. It wasn’t as detailed as some he’d had considering this was a brief in-and-out mission, but he still took care to memorize everything on the page.

As he and Remus read through their things, Rhi got to her feet and turned to the storage compartments behind her desk.

She grabbed out two packages and when they’d both signed that they’d read and understood the paperwork, she slid them across the desk to them. “These have everything you need,” she said. “Clothes, money, and an invitation to the party you’re off to attend. You are to get changed now, have a last check in with costuming to make sure everything is in order, and then report to decontamination in 23 minutes. You’re set to leave in 38 minutes. Any questions?”

“How much-?” Remus started.

“None, agent,” Rhi said.

“But-”

“No alcohol,” Rhi said. “It is the prohibition era in the United States anyway.”

“Like there’s not going to be alcohol at the rich people party,” Remus said sullenly.

She pressed her lips together. “It is an in-and-out mission,” she said to both of them, and then turned to glare at Remus. “Do not get arrested.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said joyfully. “I think I still have room for a 1920s mug shot on my wall.”

“Behave,” she said, “or I’ll report you for the cat you smuggled in from the 1800s.”

“You’d never,” Remus said. “You enjoy the cute pictures of Diesel Fuel I send you every day too much, and you know it!”

“Just… don’t get arrested.” She turned to Janus. “Don’t let him get arrested.”

“I’ll do my best,” Janus promised, standing. “Now come on, Remus, we need to get changed.”

“You just want to see me naked,” Remus replied with a wink, but he did stand.

“If I see you naked one more time in my life Remus, my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets,” Janus said, waving to Rhi as he pulled Remus out of the door.

“Kinky.”

Janus’s eyeballs almost did fall out right then and there with how hard he rolled them.

They got changed quickly, Remus complaining and saying if he couldn’t dress like a gangster, he should at least be allowed to wear a flapper dress. Janus had long ago learned to ignore his ramblings. He did seem enthused about the included mask for the masquerade. It was a silver fox shaped mask with green accents that reminded Janus of the Egyptian God Anubis.

Janus’s own mask, on the other hand, was only designed to take up the left half of his face. It was mostly golden with a black swirled design. Attached to the side, there was a plume of golden tipped white feathers. He had to give it to the costuming department, they did have good taste.

Once they were both dressed, they were poked and prodded by one of the costumers to make sure everything was accurate, fit right, and had been put on correctly.

After that, they went to the decontamination area to have themselves and everything they were taking with them sterilized so they didn’t accidently take any pathogens to the 1920s. They also received an oral vaccination to be sure they didn’t pick up anything from the 1920s and bring it back.

Then they were ready to go. The correct time-space coordinates had already been sent to their timepieces. With a push of a button, they were off.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[kat-hawke]

Vynette’s Request

The Unit's return to Stormwind was unceremonious, as Kat preferred, and every operative had their hands full within the first hour. The guards were overworked and understaffed following the scourge onslaught, and the paperwork piled higher by the day: missing persons, domestic threats, Cultist sightings and speculations. Kat and the others worked tirelessly throughout the day and night over the week to sort the reports to the correct groups and chase leads on the ones which pertained to their Unit.

At nearly two in the morning, Kat and Vynette were the only two remaining, shuffling through folders with inkwells, and the Director's supply of whiskey, running dry. The elven operative repeatedly tapped her heel, earning a stern glance from the Director in a silent demand to cease the annoying habit. All the while, Kat could feel Vynette's occasional glance, but the Director was content with the silence and private conversations with the dagger on her thigh.

"I was talking to an agent from another Unit today," the elven operation finally spoke without looking up from her work. "I guess they've had eight agents now put in to answer the call for aid. From, you know, the Covenants."

Immediately Kat's patience ebbed at the mention, letting out an exasperated sigh through the nose as she muttered her response without eye contact. "Uh-huh."

There were few reports about the tear in the veil between realms, and few yet about these supposed Covenants on the other side. Each document was skimmed and submitted to the appropriate Units, but Kat remained adamant that none of it was her concern.

She could hear Vynette's sigh, knowing the operative would push the topic, her patience continued to decline.

"It seems like the need for more trained hands is still pretty great. And what with the duties of wartime off everyone's plates, more or less," the elf's voice trailed softer and quicker as she mumbled, "I was considering requesting a temporary assignment to offer my abilities. Ma'am."

While Kat speculated, this is where the conversation was leading, hearing the words still shook her. The depleted patience turned to annoyance and anger as she stared at the paper in hand, a slow exhale spilling over the faintly parted lips which curled inward over the teeth. Collecting her thoughts with eyes closed and shutting out the voice from the dagger for a moment, she refrained from an explosive response.

"There are plenty of eager hero types and bucket-heads t'full the ranks," she spoke in a monotone, slowly opening her eyes. "We have plenty t'do here."

"I know. There is work to be done, and I'm not ignoring or underplaying the work we do." Vynette kept the topic afloat, furthering the slow boil in Kat's blood and testing the limits of her restrained temper.

"It is just... the request came for me specifically." An uncharacteristic uncertainty softened Vynette's voice. "My teacher is part of the House of Eyes. He has called for me to aid the Necro Lords."

Without missing a beat, Kat's eyes narrowed sharply following Vyn's confession, her tone turning ice-cold. "I see..." 

Looking away from the elf, she went back to the papers on her desk, the grip on her temper slipping away as her operative mentioned a figure from her past. The sudden sense of abandonment weaved into the abusive thoughts that came to mind.

"So after everythin', I've done, everythin' I've risked, yer going t' abandon me just like that." Pain and anger laced Kat's words, her jaw tightening towards the end as a stamp violently slammed upon a folder. "One letter from a ghost and I'm nothin' t' ya'."

"No, that's not it at all! You're... you mean a lot to me. You took a chance on me." Vynette's voice lowered as the door to their office remained open. "I owe you everything."

Her words did little to cool the building heat within the Director's blood as she continued to shift through documents furiously and refuse to look at the elf.

"I am not looking to leave beyond a temporary reassignment; my home is here. With you and with the Unit." Vynette spoke again after a deep breath. "But he was the one who got me here. He saw value in me and gave me purpose. And I failed him. And he died," she finally admitted.

The rubber stamp was slammed into the ink pad and abandoned.

"And I saw value in ya', and gave ya' a new purpose!" Kat quickly countered, pointing a finger in the elven woman's direction. "A purpose that could have, and still could, get us both killed." 

With a scoff, Kat's head shook, and her arms crossed as she stood from the desk and paced. "Ya' failed him, but he sends a letter? Have ya' gone dense Vynette?" The woman's first name's deliberate use was rare, and she hoped it would erode the elf's will to continue the conversation. "It has trap written all over it. Or did ya' forget how ya' were ejected from the Horde?"

"I was overconfident when I got set up. I'm not that any more thanks to you," Vynette pointed out, pained by the truth in the Director's words. "Being by your side is important to me." 

Kat scoffed, shaking her head and putting her back to the elf as she examined the wall. Documents, photos, pins, and red tread all created the tapestry of their current open case to locate The Renovator. Her eyes glanced to the pin, which represented the Ren'dorei she awaited to hear a response.

"If bein' by my side is so important, then why so eager to leave it?" Pain and anger continued to lace the Director's words as she refused to face her operative.

"Kat..." Vynette pleaded. "There's still closure I need from my time as an apprentice. Shit I'm still carrying with me. My loyalty is with you; no one can change that. So I'm asking-- begging for the chance to serve the cause in the Shadowlands and put my ghosts to rest."

"Livin' in th' past never moved anyone forward," Kat responded in her chilled tone. "I need ya' here. Or is suddenly wot I and this job I graced ya' with no longer of importance? I didn' say a bloody thing when I came back to find yer visage eerily similar to mine, plucked a hair from the office, no doubt. Even when my patience is tested by yer sometimes questionable motivations and comments in the borderline territory of breakin' my rules, I allowed yer leash to remain lax. I never asked fer anythin' other than service in return, even after footin' the bills to fake and create yer life in the Alliance. But this is the thanks I get? T'be abandoned fer some Horde dog."

The elven operative stood from her seat as she pressed her defiance and rare occurrence from a woman who took pleasure from remaining obedient. "You've let my leash remain lax because I've done everything you've ever asked of me, without question. I've followed every order, completed every mission," her voice dropped lower but picked up its intensity, "I've done every off-book task you've needed with a smile because I'm your knife. I've committed sins for you, and I'd commit them thrice over, and you know that." 

As the operative's tone raced away, Kat looked back over her shoulder. One brow lifted as she stared the elven woman down from across the room as if cursing her for the act of defiance. Her teeth ground together as she contemplated the whispers of the soul-bound dagger.

Vynette's nose scrunched as she realized her tone was getting away, composing herself before resuming. "He's not some Horde dog, Director; he's found a place of high standing in the House of Eyes. If I went over your head, they'd give me the go-ahead. Hell, I could go to Fiske. I didn't do that because I don't give a shit about their authority. You're the one I follow."

"Go over m'head or t'Fiske, and it won't be a temporary reassignment." The Director barked the threat, the hold on her temper loosening further as the primal beast within began to stir. Though she knew the woman would never go over her head.

Resigning to defeat, Vynette sank into her seat, her gaze fixated on her desk. "If you command me to stay, I'll stay. I don't ask for much. But I'm just asking for you to trust me. I have debts to repay, but he's not my master anymore."

Content with the operative's surrender, Kat raked her fingers through the raven tresses with a silent breath of relief. "When this case is over," she motioned to the wall at her side as she turned to face the elf finally. "Then I will consider signin' off on a temporary reassignmen'. I will no' make any promises, however."

"Of course, ma'am," Vynette replied with an earnest salute and a genuine, radiant smile as the visible tension in her shoulders relaxed. "Til then, the only thing on my mind is our case. I'm all yours; you have my word."

"Good," Kat murmured as she returned to her desk and the papers scattered atop it. The pleasure she found in the elf's tension over the defiance was kept hidden.

"Now get out of m'sight for an hour or two before I change m'mind, and there better be a bottle in one hand when ya' return."

"Yes, ma'am," Vynette complied without hesitation, hastily exiting the office as commanded.

The fountain pen spun between Kat's nimble fingers as she stared at the door long after the elf was out of sight, leaning back into the seat with a deep sigh. This act of defiance was unexpected and worrisome, as she relied on Vynette's desire for subservience to keep her firm grip over the displaced Sin'dorei. The thought that putting those supposed ghosts to rest would change her behavior had the Director concerned. A shift in their dynamic of power was a threat to stability and security, the very idea of which caused the pit in her stomach to churn. There was also the fear of this former master swaying her operative into a new life and role, one of possible betrayal from within.

"I said I would consider it, not guarantee it." She responded to her mental conversation and returned to work, trying to set her paranoia to rest.

[ @lovelydeadlysocialite​ ] [ Vague Mentions: @alyssa-ward, @longveil ]

(Vynette’s perspective)

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Mission

Part 6 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Please beware the tags!

Zuko crouches on the thick tree limb, bow poised and arrow nocked, and silently watches the small herd of fox-deer grazing down below. One of the animals shifts, and between one breath and the next, Zuko aims, pulls, and looses, downing a medium-sized buck. A split second later, Private Shun of Haili Squad looses and brings down a second buck. He catches his eye across the clearing and grins at him, feeling his facepaint crinkle a bit. Shun nods back, cracking a tiny smile of approval, his own Yuyan “mask” smooth and flawless.

The fox-deer have run off, spooked by two of their own dropping dead from flying sticks, and Zuko and Shun clean and dress the kills before lugging them back to camp.

Kai is mending a net and sulking a few feet away from the campfire as Zuko and Shun approach, and he turns to pout at them pathetically.

Zuko, Jiyoti won't let me help make dinner! He signs, puffing out his cheeks like a child, although his eyes twinkle behind his own facepaint mask.

Because we don't all want to die of food poisoning, dumbass, Jiyoti replies, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue. On a bamboo mat in front of her is a pile of chopped tomato-chokes and a kitchen knife, while a pot full of boiling water and noodles hangs over the campfire.

Captain Hiroki is sitting nearby with the Captain of Haili Squad, Satomi, pouring over maps of the local terrain. He watches the conversation with a smirk, and signs, I have orders from Commander Toshiaki himself not to let you cook anything, Private Kai.

Kai groans silently and flops backward onto the ground. Why is everyone so mean to me?

Zuko places the fox-deer carcass on a bamboo mat that Mika spreads out, and gently kicks at Kai's hip. Cheer up, if you really want to help out, you can do the dishes after!

Somebody kill me please, Kai signs limply, wrinkling his nose.

Captain Satomi rolls her eyes. You'll have to wait until the mission's over, Private. We've got a job to do here.

Zuko butchers the two fox-deer, separating some of the meat out to be cooked fresh, and using his firebending to dry the rest into jerky. Jiyoti takes the fresh meat and spears it on thin sticks to roast over the fire, and once Zuko is done with the jerky, he takes over control of the fire while Mika and Haili Squad's sergeant, Ai, divvy the jerky up between the two squads' supplies.

After dinner, Captain Satomi orders the two squads to gather for a briefing.

We're a day out from Huzhen, where the Third Infantry Corps is waiting to take the last Earth Kingdom outpost west of the West Lake, she signs. The 63rd and 59th Divisions will reinforce the Third, while we keep watch on the rear and make sure the Earth Kingdom forces don't attempt to surprise our own. When we move out tomorrow, Haili Squad will take point and Chihese Squad will cover until we reach the Third's encampment.

Zuko isn't thrilled about having to trail behind two whole divisions of infantry all marching across the Earth Kingdom for a whole day, but at least he'll get to practice his tree-running.

The two squads and the divisions they're accompanying break camp the next morning and are formed up and marching as Agni rises before them. Zuko spends the morning leaping from tree limb to tree limb, racing Kai until the moron misses a step and gets a tree branch in the gut for his trouble, then following the cart Kai is assigned to "protect" and making stupid faces at him. The small force marches all day, eating on the go and only stopping for a few minutes at a time to refill waterskins as needed.

The sun is low behind them when they finally reach the Third Infantry Corps' encampment. The commanding officer of the Third, a Lieutenant General Hanzou, greets the arrivals and relieves the two Yuyan squads of their escort duty. Captains Satomi and Hiroki are to report to a strategy meeting in the morning with the rest of the Third's command staff, otherwise the squads are to stand down for the time being.

Zuko sleepily helps Kai pitch the tent, starts the campfire with an exhausted wave of his hand, and collapses into his bedroll with a silent sigh. It’s been a long week, and he has a split second to enjoy the idea of not having any real duties tomorrow before he's fast asleep.

As always, he rises with the sun, and joins the Third's firebenders in their morning meditation and drills before returning to his squad for breakfast. After a quick meal of fox-deer jerky and noodles, the captains go off to their meeting, while the sergeants drill the half-dozen privates for morning PT. After PT ends and the captains haven't returned, Zuko decides to spend his downtime exploring the Third's camp. He shimmies up a tall tree to get a good look at the lay of the land.

The Third Infantry Corps is camped on top of a bluff overlooking the village of Huzhen, which is a ramshackle cluster of buildings hugging the shore of the massive West Lake of the Earth Kingdom. Between the Third's camp and the village is a good half mile of open ground, which Zuko figures is where the battle with the Earth Kingdom forces camped just outside the village will take place. He peers at the haphazard collection of green tents huddled in a tight square less than a hundred feet from the edge of the lake, and his stomach sinks as he compares it to the sprawling complex of the Third's encampment on the bluff. He can't imagine such a small force, barely a company's worth, being so much trouble that a whole corps, made up of five divisions of Fire Nation Army Infantry, is needed to ensure victory. It feels a bit like treason, but he can't help but think that the Fire Nation Army's response to this situation is a little excessive.

But if there's anything his burning and abandonment has taught him, it's that nobody with any real power cares what he thinks.

Zuko leans back against the trunk of the tree and breathes. He can distantly hear the sounds of military life coming from the Third’s camp, and he lazily scans the neat assemblage of red tents until his eye falls on a dark, squat, rectangular box about the size of a mess tent. It’s a mobile prison, meant to contain earthbenders captured in battle, and Zuko is immediately on fire with curiosity. He’s never seen an earthbender before, and this could be his chance to get close without having to worry about them burying him alive or grinding him to a bloody paste between a pair of boulders. No one can bend metal, after all.

Zuko makes his way to the mobile prison, grinning and waving at the soldiers who called out friendly greetings, and ducking away from the ones who leer or swipe out at him.

The squat iron building seems much bigger now that Zuko is standing beside it than it had when Zuko had seen it from afar, but he shakes off his sudden nerves and circles around it. It’s made up of multiple panels of iron bolted together, with a single door and one long narrow window at the top of each panel for air. It can be put together in a matter of hours, and taken apart just as quickly.

“Who’s there?” A powerful male voice rings out from within. Zuko startles, then takes a running jump and lands lightly on the prison roof. Each panel of the roof has a large square barred window for light and air, and he approaches the closest one and peers down.

Narrowed green eyes glare murderously back. “Well?” Demands the hugely muscled man they, and the voice, belong to. “Who in Koh’s name are you? What do you want? If you’re just here to gawk, then you can go right on your merry way and leave us alone.”

Another man, with less muscles but an impressive brown beard, stomps over to join his fellow in glaring up at Zuko. “Something the matter, Corporal?”

“Got another visitor, Sergeant,” the corporal replies. “Not very chatty this time around.”

The sergeant’s face goes slack as he stares up at Zuko. “Oma and Shu, that’s one of those Yuyan demons!”

Demons? Zuko’s pretty sure no one in his Troop is a demon, except maybe Lan during that time of the month.

“For real, sir? A Yuyan?” The corporal asks, hostility melting slightly into curiosity.

The sergeant sneers. “Yeah, you can tell by the face markings and the uniform. They don’t talk, though, so good luck getting anything out of it.” The sergeant claps the corporal on the shoulder and ambles away to sit against the wall with some of the other earthbenders. The corporal stays where he is, fist propped on one hip and the other hand rubbing his stubbly chin, stance wide and firmly rooted as he stares up at Zuko. He almost looks… thoughtful, if Zuko is reading his face right.

“Hey up there,” he calls, far more curiosity than suspicion in his tone this time. “You understand Common?”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but obligingly taps out yes.

The corporal blinks, and his mouth works a bit without sound. Zuko wonders if the man actually expected a response.

“Does… does that mean yes?” The man asks, voice slow and careful, as though Zuko is a mongoose lizard about to spit poison.

Zuko taps out yes again.

A broad grin spreads across the corporal’s face. “Wow, okay, what’s “no”, then?”

Zuko taps out no, then again when the corporal asks. Then, seemingly emboldened by their interaction so far, the corporal asks, "Are you actually a demon?"

Zuko wants to bang his head against the metal, but settles for a simple no.

The corporal smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, had to ask. Nobody's ever gotten close enough to one of you to find out for sure. My name's Hwan. Do you have a name?"

Of course Zuko has a name. But he can't teach this Earth Kingdom corporal the signal language, Captain Hiroki would throw a fit, and Commander Toshiaki would never let Zuko out of the Stronghold again. So he can't actually tell Corporal Hwan his name.

And why would he even want to? He wonders to himself. These are earthbenders. They're savages who refuse to submit to Fire Nation superiority. Earthbenders killed Lu Ten, and broke Uncle Iroh's spirit. Why is he even thinking about trying to communicate with them?

But how superior can the Fire Nation be when they sacrifice their own for a meaningless victory? When the response to a tired, bedraggled force on the verge of surrender is overwhelming numbers?

Yes, Zuko taps out.

"Huh, I don't know a lot of Fire Nation names… is it Lee?"

Honestly, that would've been a really good guess––Lee is a popular name in the Fire Nation. Zuko shrugs, and taps out yes.

Hwan lights up like a Solstice firework. "Awesome, first guess! Is it true that the Yuyan Archers are non-benders?"

Yes.

"Wow, that's amazing. I'm an earthbender, I can't imagine not being able to bend," Hwan says, then looks around himself and bares his teeth in a sheepish grimace. "Of course, that was before I was put in here."

Now that is a question Zuko would love answered. What in Agni's name is Hwan and his unit doing here? Why are they being held prisoner on the front lines? Most prisoners of war captured in battle are immediately sent back to holding facilities within Fire Nation territory, either to be ransomed for their Fire Nation equivalents (not that there are many, given that any Fire Nation soldier would rather fight to the death than be taken captive) or to be conscripted into labor for mines and factories that supply the war effort. Depending on how long ago Hwan's unit had been taken, they should've been sent on their way long before Zuko and the Archers had arrived.

Hwan asks more questions, and Zuko marvels as everything he was ever taught about Earth Kingdom people is systematically proven wrong. Hwan is friendly, inquisitive, and intelligent, and honestly makes Zuko wish he could talk without having a panic attack because he has so many questions. The other men in Hwan's unit scowl and glower and mutter darkly, but Hwan happily chatters at Zuko without regard for their status as enemy combatants, and it blows Zuko's mind.

A gong sounds, signaling evening mess. Zuko has to go back to the Yuyan camp, or Captain Hiroki will send someone to retrieve him.

"Do you have to go?" Hwan asks.

Yes, Zuko taps out, reluctantly.

The Earth Kingdom soldier bites his lip, looking conflicted. "Will you… come back? When you can?"

Zuko blinks. While their interaction has been pleasant, and for Zuko, rather eye-opening, he hadn't expected Hwan to want to continue talking to him.

Yes, Zuko replies, resolving to steal some writing supplies to use on his next visit.

"Bye then! See you next time!" Hwan calls, waving. Zuko waves back, leaps off the mobile prison, and books it back to the camp, mind whirling.

Normally Zuko wolfs his food down at meals, partially a holdover from his six months of surviving in the wilderness where every second he lingered over food was one more second something stronger and fiercer than he was could steal it from him, and partially so that he could use his hands to sign with his squad and his other friends. Tonight he eats slowly, thoughtfully, turning over his odd conversation with Corporal Hwan of the Earth Kingdom Army in his mind. Kai has to snap his fingers five times to get Zuko's attention, but before his best friend can even position his hands to sign, Captain Satomi is already doing so.

Squads, fall in for briefing, she orders. Zuko puts aside his noodles and does his best to focus.

The Third Infantry Corps will move out at dawn tomorrow morning, she says, and then pauses to draw a diagram in the dirt. The 63rd and 59th Divisions will flank the Third on either side, surrounding the enemy. Chihese and Haili Squads will be stationed along the bluff to protect the Third's rear. We'll move out before dawn to select perches. Everyone needs to do a weapons check and get a good night's sleep tonight.

Zuko suppresses a sigh and goes to his bedroll. With sure, practiced fingers, he checks over his arrows and his bow, waxes his extra bowstrings, and sharpens his dao and throwing knives. Looks like he won't be visiting his new friend any time soon.

Getting up before dawn is easy for a firebender who meditates with the rising sun, but getting his non-bender best friend up is a process as long and tedious as filing expense reports with the rice counters back in Caldera. Zuko finally resorts to kicking Kai in the ass, hard, which does the trick but results in Kai shooting him baleful looks all through the hurried breakfast of cold onigiri. Zuko ignores him. This is his first real military action, and he is not going to let Kai's determination to sleep in ruin it for him.

The squads split up, with Chihese going northwest and Haili going northeast. The bluff is lined with scraggly tree-bushes, and every couple dozen feet, a squad member sets up a nest. Zuko is positioned between Jiyoti on his right and Mika on his left. He sets down his swords (he would only need them if things went completely to Koh's lair in a handbasket), resettles his quiver on his back, and strings his bow. Sunrise is moments away.

The sky lightens as the Earth Kingdom forces array themselves before the village. Zuko digs out his spyglass from his pack and raises it to his eye. His initial estimate of the enemy's numbers was pretty accurate: there's barely two hundred Earth Kingdom soldiers on the field.

As dawn breaks, the Third Infantry Corps marches out onto the field. Lieutenant General Hanzou and two of his close subordinates ride out on mongoose lizards to meet the Earth Kingdom commander, but the meeting is only a few minutes and both parties return to their respective forces.

A horn sounds, and the Earth Kingdom soldiers roar in response.

A small group of Fire Nation soldiers move forward to meet them, but something is wrong. They're shuffling awkwardly, not marching, and it seems like… they're being prodded along… at spearpoint?

Zuko raises his spyglass, frowning.

The uniforms on these soldiers are ill-fitting… too tight across backs and shoulders, and bunching too much at joints. There's also… shackles?... around the soldiers' wrists and ankles…

Zuko's insides twist.

One of the soldiers turns around, and Zuko's heart stops. Hwan.

The huge earthbender's eyes are wide and his face is pallid in the frame of the Fire Nation helmet on his head.

The disguised Earth Kingdom soldiers shout in terror as their comrades on the other side of the field charge.

Rocks whistle as they fly.

The air fills with screams.

Zuko feels numb. He feels like throwing up. But he can't look away.

The Earth Kingdom soldiers are merciless. If they realize that they are fighting their own brethren, they don't show it. The disguised captives try to scramble backwards, but they're chained hand and foot to each other. They're stuck, and the Earth Kingdom soldiers are relentless.

The captives are slaughtered, one and all.

In the echoing silence after the last boulder falls, all Zuko can hear is his heart thundering in his ears. A quintet of Earth Kingdom soldiers creep out of their trench and approach the dead. Wails rise up as they realize what has happened.

Then an arrow flies, trailing a crimson ribbon. The Third roars in unison and attacks.

In minutes that feel like days, the Earth Kingdom soldiers are all but wiped out. The 59th and 63rd Divisions move in less because they are needed, and more because they want to join in the fun. The Earth Kingdom company is torn to shreds like a fox-deer under the claws of a tigerdillo.

Zuko drops his bow, sweeps his dao out of the way, and vomits.

Then he curls forward with his forehead pressing into the dirt and sobs.

Previous | Next

[becuzitisbitter]

Meeting Your Maker

Another essay I wrote for school.  This one’s about 4 pages and is a reading of Susan Stryker’s  My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix, for the benefit of my composition 101 class.

    In “My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage,” Susan Stryker makes an emotionally-powerful statement to the world which has rejected her as a transsexual woman by mobilizing a critical reading of Mary Shelley’s foundational science fiction novel, Frankenstein, to give an account of her situation and to make the case for the transformative power of rage against all that is supposed to be natural from the position of the unnatural. It was originally delivered as a performance piece at California State University in 1993 as part of a conference aimed at theorizing rage.

    Stryker grabs the attention of the reader immediately with a few short, rapid-fire sentences: “The transsexual body is an unnatural body. It is the product of medical science. It is a technological construction.” Next, she begins to explain what she means and presents the essential analogy of the piece, adding “It is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than that in which it was born. In these circumstances, I find a deep affinity between myself as a transsexual woman and the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.” This identification with the monster’s unnatural origin is central to the piece, but the monster’s rage with its creator and the entirety of the world from which it is excluded is also essential. These two themes, that her body is unnatural and that this unnaturalness is the basis of an exclusion which she feels as an enraging pain, work together to drive the piece to its conclusions.

    The tendency to associate transgender bodies with Mary Shelley’s work predates Stryker’s work, though.“I am not the first to link Frankenstein’s monster and the transsexual body,” (Stryker 2) she clarifies. She proceeds to quote the transphobic remarks of Mary Daly and Janice Raymond, a pair of influential feminists, comparing transgender people to Frankenstein’s monster. Her response is to return to the text, arguing that the monster importantly appears in the story as Frankenstein’s “...dark, romantic double,” (Stryker 2) She asks what making such comparisons between transgender people and the Monster might imply about the people making them, “Might I suggest that Daly, Raymond and others of their ilk similarly construct the transsexual as their own particular golem?” (Stryker 2)

    Stryker doesn’t shrink away from the monstrous associations such transphobic feminists make, instead she embraces the archetype, turning on them the way the monster turned on its maker. She says, “When such beings as these tell me I war with nature, I find no more reason to mourn my opposition to them—or to the order they claim to represent—than Frankenstein’s monster felt in its enmity to the human race.” (Stryker 3) Indeed, she does not shrink away from these critics’ company, she roars “...gleefully away from it like a Harley-straddling, dildo- packing leatherdyke from hell.” (Stryker 3)

    Examining what it means to be labelled a creature, Stryker says that it is essentially to be something (presumably something with a subjective experience) which is created rather than appearing naturally. She does not elaborate on the reasoning behind this premise, but goes a step further to say that people take offense at being called or compared to creatures precisely because most people are accustomed to affording themselves a higher status, that of creator rather than created. Her reactive impulse is markedly different. She says, “I find no shame, however, in acknowledging my egalitarian relationship with non-human material Being; everything emerges from the same matrix of possibilities.” (Stryker 4) She doesn’t see the appeal of the civilizing separation between Man as maker and creator on the one hand, and the rest of the world on the other, which is presumed to be infinitely passive, infinitely subject to use and attribution by others. Instead, she allows this schism to drive her back into solidarity with all that is unnatural.

    For Stryker, revulsion toward transgender people stems from their inability or refusal to conform to the supposed natural order, distilled to its most-essential form in the rigid categories of man and woman. Although the transgender body is said to be monstrous because of its artificiality, Stryker says all that is called Nature and used as a cudgel against transgender people is actually just as artificial, just as constructed as the transgender body. She warns the reader against the falsity of Nature as a concept, “Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense.” Here, she asserts the general threat transgender people pose to the social order, which is to make-visible all of the horrible techniques by which each person is made into themselves. After all, she says, “You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic Womb has birthed us both.” (Stryker 4) The author is attempting to make good on the threats her experience is said to pose toward nature; in fact, this is exactly the way forward she suggests, “Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.” (Stryker 4)

    In spite of her close identification with the creature, Stryker specifies that their situations are not the same, noting that, “Unlike the monster, we often successfully cite the culture’s visual norms of gendered embodiment.” (Stryker 4) Transgender people cite these visual norms through the manipulation of subtle signifiers such as hair length, cut of clothing, use of makeup, wearing packers and binders, and medically altering the appearances of their bodies. This becomes subversive, she says, when transgender people, “...declare the unnaturalness of our claim to the subject positions we nevertheless occupy. (Stryker 4)

    Stryker reminds us that after Frankenstein’s monster learns the details of its creation, “...rather than bless its creator, the monster curses him.” Frankenstein cannot control the monster’s mind. “It exceeds and refutes his purposes.” (Stryker 5) This is central to one of Stryker’s main uses of the Frankenstein analogy; if the Monster’s mind is not beholden to Frankenstein, the transgender consciousness is also not determined by the doctors who reshape flesh or the entrepreneurs who sell synthetic penises. Although medicine is capable of making a body seem natural to any observer, being the subject of such techniques might permanently alter the way one views nature or medicine in general, or as Stryker says, “engaging with those very techniques produces a subjective experience that belies the naturalistic effect biomedical technology can achieve.” (Stryker 5)

    In Shelley’s novel, Frankenstein meets with his creation at last while hiking the glaciers above the village of Chamounix. The two go to a cabin together where the monster spends almost a quarter of the book telling Frankenstein its story from its own perspective to explain why it has turned against him. The essay itself enters Stryker’s analogy, “These are my words to Victor Frankenstein, above the village of Chamounix.” (Stryker 6) She goes on, later in the passage, “I, too, have discovered the journals of the men who made my body, and who have made the bodies of creatures like me since the 1930’s.” (Stryker 6) She is well aware that the scientists who developed sexual reassignment surgical and hormonal treatments did so for wildly different motivations than those that led her to engage in them. However, by nature of her desire to engage in them, she must submit herself to their categorizations, and of course at the time of her writing, to be transgender necessarily meant maintaining a proximity to diagnoses of mental illness. She comments on the effect of this, “Through the filter of this official pathologization, the sounds that come out of my mouth can be summarily dismissed as the confused ranting of a diseased mind.” (Stryker 6) This highlights the uneasy relationship between transgender people and the medical community at large. After all, the doctors who perform sexual reassignment surgeries and the like are not accused of insanity, as are the patients who submit to their care.

    The essay shifts into a journal entry about the day the author’s partner gave birth. She describes a powerful and moving birthing process, awkwardly interrupted for her alone by a thoughtless designation by the baby’s biological father, upon seeing the baby’s genitals, “It’s a girl!” (Stryker 7) Returning home, she was filled with a well of pent-up emotions. She says, “To conclude the birth ritual I had participated in, I needed to move something in me as profound as a whole human life.” (Stryker 7)

    She looks inward, and backward through time, reflecting on the relationship she had been in when she had her first child, before coming out as a woman. She remembers, “I had always wanted intimacy with women more than intimacy with men, and that wanting had always felt queer to me. She needed it to appear straight.” The author wanted to love women as a woman and her partner needed love from a man. Thus, refusing the gender she was assigned at birth, she refused the love that was predicated on it. In other instances related to the most recent birth, after she came out as a woman, people would ask if she were the baby’s father, of which she says, “It shows so dramatically how much they simply don’t get about what I’m doing with my body.” (Stryker 8) This interconnected web of rejections and losses is perhaps what leads her to conclude that “Nature exerts such a hegemonic oppression.” (Stryker 8)

     The text continues in italics, in a more-poetic tone before breaking into poetry completely. The author was reeling from the day’s compressed emotions: the intensity of birthing, the dark cloud of the baby’s gendering, and the recollection of past relationships. She seems sad here, and angry, but also resolute, saying, “I can never be a woman like other women, but I could never be a man.” (Stryker 8) This hard realization drives her to reject that false choice. Instead, she says, “I do war with nature. I am alienated from Being.”

    From here she moves on into the actual poetry. She references drowning and becoming water to escape, “If I cannot change my situation I will change myself.” (Stryker 8) This moment of recognition of her existence in an unlivable space and being forced to become something else carries through to the final lines of the poem, “In birthing my rage, / my rage has rebirthed me.” (Stryker) and into the final portion of the essay.

    If the categories of gender are transmutable, then anyone with the power to “...cite the culture’s visual norms of gendered embodiment.” (4) also has the ability to reduce all the trappings of identity to a tactical level and explore new possibilities, or as Stryker puts it, “... by mobilizing gendered identities and rendering them provisional, open to strategic development and occupation, this rage enables the establishment of subjects in new modes, regulated by different codes of intelligibility.” (10)

    Gender attribution robs individuals of this tactical posture toward gender and expression, pushing them into narrow corridors of expression instead. Babies are unable to choose this fate for themselves. This is critical because fotr Stryker, gendering a child is not a simple labeling, it is a prescription for a lifetime of behaviors that will have to be programmed into the child. She explains, “Gendering is the initial step in this transformation, inseparable from the process of forming an identity by means of which we’re fitted to a system of exchange in a heterosexual economy.” (Stryker 10) This fitting for a system of exchange, she says, is exactly what is meant by phrases like, “It’s a girl.” (Stryker 10) It is for exactly this reason that to be without gender, or even to perform gender incorrectly, would form the basis for social exclusion. If gender is meant to be a universal means of social coding, being able to express one clearly is a precondition to be understood. Stryker puts it this way, “A gendering violence is the founding condition of human subjectivity; having a gender is the tribal tattoo that makes one’s personhood cognizable.” (Stryker 10) Considering her own participation in gendering an infant, she speculates about the baby’s future, “I stood for a moment between the pain of two violations, the mark of gender, and the unlivability of its absence.” (Stryker 10) As violent and painful as her relationship to gender has been, she wonders whether it would be possible for the child to exist at all in our world without a gender, “Could I say which one was worse? Or could I only say which one I felt could best be survived.” (Stryker 10)

    In bringing the piece to a close, Stryker continues to look toward the future and its possibilities for herself and other creatures like her. Even if gender presents itself as inescapable, that does not preclude the strategic approach to its expression she suggested earlier, “Though I cannot escape its power, I can move through its medium.” (Stryker 10) Perhaps, she suggests, by using the medium against itself, she can short-circuit the meanings that gendered signification are meant to communicate and even elaborate new and exciting ways to use the social coding of gender to express new ideas, “Though I may not hold the stylus myself, I can move beneath it for my own deep self-sustaining pleasures.” (Stryker 11)

    In spite of this optimistic note about the potential to play with gender’s meaning, she holds that transgender people undermine this system’s integrity, because “To encounter the transsexual body, to apprehend a transgendered consciousness articulating itself, is to risk a revelation of the constructedness of the natural order.” (Stryker 11) She also reasserts that one cannot take part in this process without being transformed by it, “Be forewarned, however, that taking up this task will remake you in the process.” (Stryker 11)

    The ultimate subversion is that the monstrous are resolute in articulating themselves in spite of the peril such expression spells for civilization. “Like that creature, I assert my worth as a monster in spite of the conditions my monstrosity requires me to face, and redefine a life worth living.” (Stryker 11) After all, Stryker didn’t ask to be born into this particular world. Like the monster, she asks, “Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?” (qtd. in Stryker 11)

    In the end Stryker parts with her reader with a sort of benediction, “May your rage inform your actions, and your actions transform you as you struggle to transform your world.” (Stryker 11) In the final words of the essay, then, she is returning to one of its central themes. One cannot engage with the world without being changed by it. Perhaps this is the process by which the world moulds monsters from each of us. It is only by investigating our seams and sutures for ourselves that we can learn the impact the world has had on us, or the impact we might have on it.

    Works Cited

Stryker, Susan. “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix” June 1993, https://sites.evergreen.edu/politicalshakespeares/wp-content/uploads/sites/226/2015/12/Stryker-My-Words-to-VF.pdf

[eltanin-malfoy]

THE QUIET

based on the song by Troye Sivan

pairing : draco/veryintroverted(quiet)!y/n (gender neutral :))

word count : 7.7k (i genuinely have never written anything as long as this)

warning(s) : abuse/self-harm/torture/trauma/depression/ptsd mention, fluff, angst, slight smut

requested : nope! (i am going to have a request from a while ago up soon so watch out!)

a/n : lots of pan-top! draco vibes. also based somewhat on this song by our boy tom. i conceptualised this quite a while back after sorta getting my own heart broke, so it’s kinda.. um.. sad. screw men! lol. not to mention, this is my 1st attempt at writing in 2nd person, so i hope it isn’t total crap.

taglist : @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @socontagiousimagines

Silence is something Draco used to hate. With every fibre of his being. 

When he was seven and sitting at the dining table, picking through his greens with his fork, his mother not letting him get up till he was done, everything was quiet. Forcibly so. His father thought that his chatting only got in the way of him finishing his spinach.

He’d overheard his parents talking about him when he’d sneaked out of his room late one night, to get his toy broomstick out of his father’s study after he’d confiscated it. (“You can’t be mucking about outside all day, Draco.”) He’d hidden behind his father’s desk, fingers wrapped tightly around the wood of the broomstick, while his parents had walked in, Lucius’ voice practically booming.

“Draco’s taken after me quite a bit. You’re right.”

“He definitely has.. Like everybody says, his fa-”

“No, not just that.. His behaviour. Just what I used to do.” “You haven’t told me about that.”

“He’s smart, isn’t he? He can babble on about anything and everything at dinner and you gush over him, and he realises it.” “Are you just pointing tha-”

“No, dear. I mean, he realises it. He hates eating his greens, you know that. He tips them into his pocket while you fawn over him when he speaks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I glared at him when I noticed it myself and put a stop to it this evening.”

“Wow.. he’s only seven and-” “He’s smart. At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin.���

Draco’s eyebrows had raised considerably since this conversation had started. He poked his head out the side of the drawers lining the side of the desk and couldn’t miss the smile lining his mother’s lips.

“At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin. I’ll just have to keep him quiet, I suppose.” She agreed, giggling as his father picked out a novel from the bookcase by the door. “So, this is the Waffling novel you so worship? Doesn’t look like much.” She took it from him and checked out the cover, turning towards the door. “Narcissa.. “ His father’s voice muttered off in a slow drawl as the two exited the room. 

Draco clutched the broom closer to his chest and felt his heart racing, a smirk soon forming on his face as he realised he’d gotten away with what he so desired. He slowly crept out from his hiding place, carrying the broomstick with both hands now. He waddled over to the door, conscious of his movements as he tried his best not to make a single sound. 

Tiptoeing on his tiny toes, he managed to get out of the study. The weight of his parents words suddenly hit him. For the first time in his life, he’d understood… his parents did in fact, notice the things he did. Little mischiefs here and there to somehow cajole an extra sweet or two from his mother. Their line of sight didn’t extend simply to his bad posture or hyperactivity. 

Not only that, they’d figured out exactly how to combat his actions. Drat! It was such a clever idea.. how did he manage to see through it? Or, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as slick as he would like to admit. Either way, he’d seemed to have gotten his broom out just fine, so maybe they weren’t that aware of everything he did. Right?

Wrong. It wasn’t long after he’d gone up the staircase towards his bedroom that he felt a hand press flat onto the top of his head. He flinched at first and then looked up, squinting slightly. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” His father’s voice came out in a whisper, while his features still seemed high strung, even in the dark. Draco simply stared up at him silently and handed over his broom. “Now, you’re not getting this back. Not for another month.” 

Draco pursed his lips and trudged silently up to his room. “And I’m not going to keep it where you found it either. You won’t be able to search for it yourself.” Draco felt the slightest bit of rage pulsing through his temple but kept his gaze on the floor, knowing even a cruel glance back at his father would only earn him an even longer punishment. He felt the need to retort and felt his lips moving before he could stop them. 

“I’ll find it, alright. Like you could hide it from me.” 

Draco felt his father jabbing the tip of his broomstick into the back of his hip and winced, quickly reaching back to grip at where his father had poked him, where there was sure to be a purply red bruise the next day. It wasn’t even like he’d never been put in his place much as a child, but this one time.. just.. 

“Silence is golden, Draco.”

His hip wasn’t the only thing that was bruised that night. His lovely, large ego hurt too.

And since then, for some stubborn reason, Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it being silent. Not when he knew he wasn’t alone. Not around anyone else. Being silent only meant submission. Giving into something he didn’t want to be. 

Submission was weakness. His father had told him that himself. Giving up wasn’t something Malfoys did, and submission was practically the same thing. But apparently, the same didn’t hold for however his father wanted him to behave around him. Even then, Draco knew submitting to another’s will only meant the loss of his own intent. Submission meant vulnerability, and being silent, listening to what someone else wanted to say rather than his own will, meant he was giving himself up instead of getting what he wanted for himself. 

And so, he began to treat it as practically his own responsibility to always keep conversations going. Sure, he’d want his peace and quiet now and then (his friends’ constant bumbling around did grow annoying after a point), but he felt that the only way he could truly enjoy silence was in absolute solitude. Pursuing his own interests, reading a book or listening to a song..

If anyone was nearby, he couldn’t really stop himself from saying something to them, whether it be rude or not. He always had a word to put in. He found that while what he said didn’t always reflect what he truly felt, it made people recognise him. Know who he was. Even if it was for the wrong reasons, he found that he liked it. Popularity (or even notoriety) felt good on him. Or at least it felt great for his ego.

Being heard meant being in charge, at least in his perspective. He realised that facing situations head on, that confrontation was the best strategy for him. Even if it didn’t always end up in the best way for him, he never had many regrets. Most of the time.

Even at Hogwarts, his confrontational manner had earned him some sort of following, at least in his own house. Sure, it was also the same manner that had made Potter his rival, but hey, if Potter didn’t know what a great offer he’d just declined, it wasn’t his fault. He could go hang out with Weasley as much as he liked, it wasn’t like it was Draco who really even wanted to be friends with him. Like, at all. He was just doing what he thought he should be doing, dutifully. After all, if he, the Malfoy heir, didn’t attempt to befriend The Boy Who Lived, would he even be a true Malfoy? 

But what truly validated him, more than anything else, was knowing that.. people were interested in him. Not that they treated as some sort of queer phenomenon, but that they.. romantically liked him. Sure, it did sound plenty pathetic, feeling great about himself thanks to someone else fancying him, it shouldn’t matter as much to him, should it? But then again, he loved attention. Especially that sort of attention.

And there was Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott and Padma Patil and Wayne Hopkins and.. well.. there was a fair share of people Draco definitely wouldn’t mind a love note from. But even then, so far only one of them seemed to actually feel the same way about him. And after spending enough time around her, it was clear she felt even more intensely about their relationship than he did. And so, he ended it, because while he did love getting fawned over, even he had his limits. His type wasn’t.. people who were clingy, so to say. 

The one main similarity he noticed between all those that he developed some sort of attraction for was that they were all outgoing. Not necessarily assertive, some of them even came off as unpleasant at times, but they seemed at least interested in getting their word across, some way or the other.

Of course, there are always, always exceptions to rules. Draco couldn’t even understand why he felt the way he did about you. It certainly wasn’t immediate, as far as he could tell. It was incredibly gradual. For sure. He wasn’t impulsive. Not at all.

He didn’t even really see you at first, per se. You were apparently in the same year but managed to avoid his glance for the entirety of your first four years. It was only really in Draco’s fifth year that he even noticed your existence, frankly.

The very first time was during the later hours of the day, after dinner one evening in September. He’d realised his first OWL practice essay for Transfiguration (homework McGonagall had assigned in the second week of school, Merlin) wasn’t up to the mark. He’d scanned through Pansy’s when she’d left her materials in the common room while she headed to the washroom and was not pleased with her seemingly improving essay writing skills. He certainly wasn’t going to let her do better than him. Not when he knew a victory like that would go straight to her head and make her stop basically kissing the ground beneath his feet, even though they’d been apart for quite a while now. 

He’d gone off to the library by himself in an attempt to rework it. Roping in another student to do it for him would have definitely done the job as well, but for some reason, a churning feeling in his gut told him this was something he needed to deal with himself. Maybe there was something special about Vanishing spells..? Maybe this was the year he’d impress everyone and get straight O’s for each of his assignments. And of course, his actual OWL’s, O’s on all of those too. Maybe he’d even do better than that mudbl-

And suddenly, the usually-very-regal-in-his-gait Draco Malfoy fell to the floor, face first. He felt an uncomfortable flaring up on his nose and grimaced. His book bag fell to his side, and he heard his ink bottle crack open.

He got back onto his feet as quickly as he could and picked up his bag, narrowing his grey eyes as he watched a dark stain forming on the side of it. Merlin. His father had only bought it for him that summer. Shit. He quickly looked to see what had caused him to fall on his face, frowning terribly. But he definitely wasn’t expecting what he saw. He was figuring some overexcited Gryffindor first year had bumped into him and pushed him over but.. no..

It was you. You. Someone close to his own age, looking up at him with nervous, nervous eyes, anxiously darting all over his figure and his bag. “I’m sorry.” You managed out, reaching into the pocket on the side of your robes. You did seem familiar. He recognised you somewhat. Sort of, at least. You couldn’t possibly be trying to get on his nerves on purpose. Not with the finicky way you were picking through your coin purse. 

“I”m sorry. I.. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, you should have.”

“R-right.” You paused and stared up at his face, avoiding his piercing gaze. “How much d-”

“You don’t need to pay for this. Just leave.” Draco uttered before he could even process his own thoughts.

“But I do.”

“No, i-it’s fine. I can handle it. Don't need you.” Why was he being generous? With this stranger?

“Your parchment..? And your b-books? They must be ruined too.”

“I know how to deal with them.”

“Oh.. oh. If you-you say so. I’m sorry. I can-”

“It’s alright. You don't need to bother.” 

You offered him an awkward sort of smile and nodded before turning to leave. Draco blinked slowly and took a deep breath, holding the bag up a bit higher. He reached for his wand and did what little he could to deal with the mess. It was almost hopeless to begin with. And he couldn’t exactly understand why he was suddenly all jittery. Why his stomach suddenly felt like it was full of butterflies.

It really was hopeless. To begin with.

You were so not his type! Sure, there were no real physical aspects to tie into ‘his type’, but goddamn it! He now realised you’d been in his year all this while and he hadn’t thought of you once. Not once. You’d stay huddled up within your tiny group of friends most of the time. You’d shy out of uttering a word in class to anyone but those sitting right next to you, and the couple of times he’d heard your voice was when a teacher directly questioned you. Oh, dear god. He shouldn’t even care. If he actually had forced someone else to polish his essay for him, this problem would never even have manifested in the first place. He found himself wasting time, so much time, just pondering over you. Wondering over dumb, idiotic things. Time he could’ve spent studying for his OWL’s, practicing Quidditch, trying to butter up Umbridge… he was staring out the window by his bed, looking at the Black Lake, thinking about the color of your eyes.   

Even during lessons, he’d find himself staring at you while you remained mostly unaware. Mostly, since at random moments you would peer back at him in fear. Why were you so goddamn afraid of him? What had he even done for you to think of him as such? Sure, he was intimidating, but he’d been nice to you. Right?

And before he knew it, he was pulling you to the side of the hallway after a particularly tricky Charms practical when he thought you seemed relatively.. alone. You looked up at him, again nervous, nibbling at your lip.

“D-do you want me to pay up now?”

“What? No.” Draco didn’t even understand why his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“Are you going to take me up to Umbridge?”

“No!” You were far from intimidating. Adorably rattled, if he were to be honest.

“Then? C-could I go?” 

Oh god, what happened to his normal headstrong sort of preference in people? You and Draco were seriously total opposites. 

But then again, opposites do attract, as a wise man once said (or at least Draco thought so).

“No. I.. was.. um.. we have a Hogsmeade weekend next week.” 

“Yes..?”

“And I wanted to know if.. if you wanted to go with me.”

“W-”

“Just.. nothing more than that. We can just go there. As friends.”

“I don’t kn-”

“Please?”

“I.. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Alright.” 

The shaky way in which he was gripping your wrist suddenly came to his attention and he drew his hand back. “L-let me know.” He muttered, watching as you slowly turned and walked away. 

It was truly abnormal for him to be acting so.. unhinged. On edge, even. Really. This was all so pathetic. He was all worked up simply due to a crush. So very pathetic. 

He spent the rest of the day walking around idly between classes, with Crabbe and Goyle following after him. They’d caught on to some extent, it seemed. And it deeply annoyed Draco that he wasn’t the one initiating a conversation for once. His nerves were much too on fire for him to even consider saying a word.

Unfortunately, Pansy noticed him being uncharacteristically calm as well. And what was even more unfortunate was that the Head Boy and Girl had made it such that the two Slytherin fifth year prefects had to do their rounds of the dungeons together that very night. Jesus. Christ.

Not only was his gut still seconds from turning in on itself, but he also had to face a girl who was as nosy as she definitely didn’t need to be. 

“So… is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Pott-”

“Nothing to do with him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s got your tongue?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Is there-”

“It’s nothing.” He responded somewhat harshly, hoping to force her silent.

But alas! Pansy wasn’t the sort to relent. She managed to nag and tug at his strings long and hard enough for him to actually snap at her. Thankfully then, she decided to stop sticking her nose into where it didn’t belong and fell silent herself. Oh, thank god. He didn’t want to have to give her the silent treatment himself, goodness knows how much his head would have hurt after that.

Even after his rounds were complete and all his work for the following day was complete, Draco found his stomach swirling with anxiety. It had been hours, hours, since he’d spoken to you. How long could it take for someone to come to a decision to something as simple as what he’d posed to you? Not to mention, there were an infinite number of ways for you to contact him. He had a lot of friends (all of whom definitely weren’t that intimidating and for the most part could easily be manipulated) who could pass on messages to him. 

What did you quiet types even think of yourself? That you could keep everyone waiting and hope that they all just chalk it up to you being too goddamn demure? Annoying. You weren’t allowed to make his heart flutter by a simple glance. And with the way all your past encounters had gone, it seemed as if you weren’t going to give him much more than that. Gosh.

He was sitting by himself on his bed, legs crossed while he tried to somehow focus on his DADA textbook. Slinkhard could make even Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation sound plaintive. No matter how much he pretended to enjoy Umbridge’s presence, he had no idea how he was going to act like this textbook was actually usable. 

As he found himself reading over the first few lines of the chapter for the seventh time, Nott burst into the dormitory holding up.. something. A piece of folded up parchment, perhaps. 

“Y/L/N handed this to me. Just now. By the dungeons.”

“Thanks.” Draco took it from him, his hand trembling in excitement. Finally, finally, finally!

But then he paused. Nott must have read the message already. He wasn’t actually purehearted enough to simply hand over a message as asked. He ran his thumb over the parchment. 

“Have you.. looked at it?”

“What? No. It’s private.”

“Don’t give me that.. you have, haven’t you?”

Draco suddenly wished he wasn’t in his silky pyjamas so he could use his prefect badge as a threat. What could you have possibly offered him for him to do this for you? He watched as his cheeks slowly turned crimson.

“No. Haven’t. Couldn’t. It… couldn’t open it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, nodding. Huh. He attempted to unfold it himself and found that it was in fact impossible. Theo was still staring at him, and Draco found that for once, he wasn’t enjoying the attention much. He sneered at him enough to get his message across and walked back to his bed, drawing up the hangings so he could continue with his efforts without any prying eyes around.

Physical efforts proved to be worthless and he found himself extremely confused. Could you have sent him a message just to tide him over for a bit? Give him some sort of hope but actually mean to just annoy him. Maybe you were more annoying than he’d given you credit for. 

But then again, he had yet to put any sort of wizarding skill to the test. He brought his wand out from under his pillow and tapped the note.. and somehow.. it opened up! He honestly shouldn’t have been as astonished as he was, sealant charms weren’t new to him. 

Draco,

I accept your offer. Let’s meet in the courtyard at ten o’clock on that Saturday morning. 

See you,

Y/N.

And that was all it said. And for some reason, Draco couldn’t stop smiling. 

You’d accepted his offer! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! He wanted to jump around and sing and dance and just tell everybody. But maybe it would do him better just to go to sleep. It was quite late.. and well… he was tired. The unusual bout of anxiety he’d faced through the day had only made him weary.

Within the next few days, most everyone he knew, at least in his year, seemed to have gotten wind of him having received a secret message from Y/L/N, courtesy of Nott, of course. Gods, he should really have Crabbe and Goyle just let loose on him. Then maybe he’d learned his own place. Never mind, his face was still much too appealing to even imagining disfiguring as such. Maybe some other time. 

Pansy didn’t hesitate to ask him, even tease him about it. He’d obviously offered no comment. It was obvious that her and her band of girls had already gossiped quite a bit about it, and he could only hope you weren’t being disturbed. 

Surprisingly, you bothered giving Draco an actual smile a couple days later. A few times, in fact. It made him feel a lot giddier than he would have cared to admit. 

Your actual ‘meeting’ with Draco turned out to be a lot more.. pleasant than he’d originally anticipated. While it was true that you weren’t one to talk much, you were a real pleasure to have around. You certainly weren’t the type to talk his ear off, and he found that he enjoyed that, for once. 

Going to the Three Broomsticks hadn’t resulted in a prolonged awkward silence, as Draco had been expecting, but more of a.. blushy exchange of smiles. Sweet ones. It was totally new to him, what with always being surrounded by his Slytherin cronies meaning hours and hours of pointless banter. It wasn’t absolutely silent either. There were the greetings, exchanges of pleasantries and everything along those lines. Not much more, since, you know, you were.. shy. And it was adorable. Perhaps coyness wasn’t as annoying as he thought.

You’d even held his hand for a bit on the way back, and he’d loved it. (Obviously, he’d never tell a soul that.) 

As the browned autumn leaves fell to the ground and left the trees bare, whatever it was between the two of you blossomed into something more. Exchanging letters later into the night (+hiding outside of the dungeons to even receive them) even stolen kisses when Draco knew you wouldn’t expect them (causing you to blush, which he so adored. Which was.. top secret, as well), became more commonplace. He grew accustomed to the frigid breeze that would blow around the courtyard onto his hands, he passed his own thick gloves to you while you walked, of course.

For once in his life, Draco understood that silence didn’t always have to mean subservience. Silence was tranquility. Silence was a symbol for.. intimacy. Sometimes the times when the two of you exchanged no words were the most meaningful of all. Sometimes holding each other close was all it took to calm him down, even after the wildest of days.

Feeling vulnerable didn’t have to mean you were shooting yourself in the foot. Draco now learnt what trust truly meant. Perhaps distance wasn’t the ideal, in actuality. Perhaps being superior wasn’t what he always needed to chase. Perhaps it was simply compatibility.   

It felt nice to have you beside him. Or at least.. following nearby. All of his own friends had caught on to what was going on quite easily, and thankfully, Draco had gotten it across to them that there would be real hell to pay for teasing either of the two of you about it. He knew there had to be gossip. Hell, he could imagine some of it himself. But he knew how to pretend he didn’t care. Pansy’s jealousy had only grown, but Draco couldn’t find it in him to give it much thought.

One of his favourite instances was the one time he managed to sneak the two of you out to the Black Lake. It had taken some convincing and quite a lot of sneaking out here and then, but thankfully, Draco wasn’t one to shy away from using his prefect badge to further himself. He got out of his nightly rounds with Pansy and forced Macmillan to take them up instead. You didn’t like that very much but.. hey, Draco wanted to spend time with his significant other, doing.. important things.

Losing it (his.. virginity, shhh) was something he’d anticipated for much of his adolescent life. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t desired it, very very badly at that. (He was a teenager, wasn’t he? If he wasn’t allowed to be hormonal, who was?) The Black Lake was isolated in the dark of night, and a few Lumos Maxima’s did enough to offer some sort of romantic lighting. Setting out a makeshift mattress was hard enough, but he was ultimately just satisfied with the fact that you’d even agreed to it in the first place.  

A lot of hand holding, quiet compliments, uncontrollable blushing and petting later, he’d managed to fit himself inside you. The slight tears in your eyes had made him feel like stopping it all right there, but you’d assured him it was all okay with a slight squeeze to his hand. Locking eyes with you had made him want to just… give in right then. He’d have thought the silence would have been awkward (and maybe it was, a tiny bit), but it felt ethereal to just be there.. to feel infatuated. To make love. 

The only thing that had really bothered Draco was that your silence seemed to continue into then. Light gasps were all he could seem to coax out of your mouth, even at the tugging of tongue with teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was doing something wrong, or if it was just you. He held you close to his chest long after, grey eyes trailing over you with some degree of perplexity. 

It had been very cold outside and you’d practically snuggled into him while you walked back, leaning back onto him while he tried to fit you into his coat. You couldn’t seem to get close enough to him, it seemed. He wanted to just carry you around wherever he went. Keep you on his lap and cuddle you. 

And that was when he realised he loved you. And his lips felt oddly loose and he leaned down to whisper it into your ear. 

And you said it back.

If only..

If only good things didn’t come to an end. 

The Inquisitorial Squad was a beginning. A new start for the spring. But an end to his own free time. What he didn’t take seriously at first turned into an ordeal he was forced to take charge of. Responsibility, the word just didn’t roll off his tongue as easy. 

Sure, he was allowed to take his liberty with practically every single decision he had to make. He didn’t have to give any kind of mercy to the people he took points from, and he didn’t plan on it. But it only seemed to force cracks into the foundation of your relationship. 

The silence was slowly beginning to fade. 

You weren’t enjoying the antics he’d begun to pull. Sure, his teasing was something that annoyed you to begin with, but now that bullying was backed by an official contract.. even watching Draco do his ‘prefectural duty’ and put the students in their place seemed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“Draco.. I.. I just.. I don’t like it.”

“I have to do what I have to do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have to go around.. Being so awful.”

“I didn’t ask for you to approve of it.”

“Draco.”

“What?” He took a deep breath and looked up from the book in front of him to see you looking back at him, face more stern than usual. “Take me seriously.”

“I-.. I don’t see why this should matter. I’m not..”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s horrid, you know that.”

“This doesn’t.. “ He huffed. “I’m not doing anything to you. This has nothing to do with you. Keep out of it.”

You got up all of a sudden, making him raise an eyebrow. You hurriedly started putting everything away, silent again.

“W-what? What is it now?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be sporting a black eye if you didn’t go around on such a high horse all the time. I care about you, Draco. I’m only saying this because I do.”

You left soon after, leaving Draco in your wake, unsure of how to proceed. Your words only seemed to grow harsh when Draco was at his weakest. It wasn’t his fault Potter and the Weasleys were so goddamn sensitive, he thought. 

As spring melted into summer, everything only seemed to grow colder. 

His OWL’s were just as challenging as he’d anticipated them being but he hoped he hadn’t done too badly. The time he’d previously spent studying was filled with him trying to look for where Potter’s secret youth corps was hiding. 

The Dark Lord was coming back to his full powers, Draco had known. But what Draco hadn’t expected was his own father being thrown into Azkaban after losing a battle to Potter’s preposterous student group (Dumbledore’s Army, really? The nerve of people!), of all people. The universe was truly bent on humiliating him. He could only feel rage. Red, burning hot. 

You tried to comfort him, somehow. Surely, you had to be scared of him. He was the son of a full blown Death Eater.. of a prisoner of Azkaban, how couldn’t you feel afraid? Everyone else must have been. He’d seen the stares the younger children had given him, and he’d given them a taste of what was boiling deep within. His tongue had grown quicker, less patient thanks to all of this. He’d begun to crave the redemption of his family name above all else. Enough to try and seek revenge on the Hogwarts Express. (and fail.)

It was only a few weeks into summer when he’d been told that the Dark Lord himself wanted to include him in his ranks, even offer him a mission. One just for him. A special, secret task he felt Draco was up to. And how could he say no? 

His mission was difficult, extraordinarily difficult. Getting rid of one of the most powerful wizards of all time was certainly much more than he could handle along with everything else going on in his life. His turbulent relationship with you, with whom he was still only.. sporadically exchanging letters, was not what he wanted anymore, it seemed. If you got to know about his goal, you’d only try to encourage him not to pursue it, and he couldn’t have any distractions, not when he was bearing his family’s status on his shoulders. 

And so he wrote you one final letter. A short one, just to inform you of his decision on the two of you. At this point, he could care less about your feelings. He was simply more focused on being proud of the mark he wore on his forearm, the snake and skull etched into his skin forever. Eternal glory was what he was hoping for, and romance suddenly seemed irrelevant. 

Y/N,

I have to end things between us. I’m sorry if this is very sudden. This is all just too much for me to handle, with father and everything, I find myself very stressed..

Good luck and I love you,

Draco.

And that was that. The end of an anomaly, of ten odd months of his life. He’d been happy for a while but it was time to move on and take life by the reins! His new mission was clearly something to be proud about and he knew it. But it was so simple to fall back into his old habits. Pansy…

She was far too eager to take your place. She was far too unconcerned about the mark on his arm. And he could care less for the consequences as she lay on his bed, kissing every part of him that was exposed to the cold air. Moving on was easier than dealing with his feelings, after all. If he moved fast enough, he wouldn’t have to think about you again. 

It was clear you had thought about him. Made it clear. You’d sent him letter upon letter after receiving his own, your brown Athene noctua had twittered all over the place, chasing after him for a response. But Draco hadn’t even opened your letters, he’d tossed them straight into his fireplace upon receiving them. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

And for the most part, it worked. He wasn’t hung up. He wasn’t moody. He wasn’t crying. He was using up whatever energy he had in bed. Over and over and over until Pansy was exhausted or simply excused herself. He flaunted her a bit, spent time alone with her. Looked you in the eyes while he held her hand. He didn’t even try to hide it. And he hoped his shamelessness helped you move on too. He knew you weren’t going to approach him, and that simply egged him on. The public displays of affection continued and you only seemed to continue to blend into the background, as you always used to. It was all for the best, really.

Except it wasn’t. The mission wasn’t as simple as it had seemed at first. It wasn’t something he could just.. do. It took effort and it took courage. Something he’d realised he lacked, greatly. It was much too much responsibility. Yet again, he struggled with it. His sixteen year old shoulders weren’t strong enough to bear so much weight, or at least that’s what he told himself.

But inside, he knew. He knew it was his own cowardice which would thwart his plans to save his family’s name, which would bring dishonour to his family. He had to try his best. 

But he only seemed to fail. His plans didn’t seem to work for much. All that was working was the training Aunt Bella had given him. Compartmentalisation seemed to be the only thing keeping him going. If he gave in to his thoughts, he knew he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.

And suddenly life began to move faster than he could think and he’d Imperiused Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungo’s and Ron Weasley had been poisoned and he was confiding his deepest thoughts to the ghost of a Mudblood. 

All his feelings began bubbling up to the surface and he couldn’t attempt to numb the pain, the guilt, the fear by just forcing them away. He was making mistakes left and right, and perhaps.. his first had been you. Maybe if he hadn’t ever met you. Things would have been simpler. He could’ve gotten straight to Pansy. And.. there would have been no complications. Nothing in between. No guilt deterring him from looking you in the eye and just telling you to sod off. 

Perhaps it had been true all along, that vulnerability was like holding your arm out on your own accord while it was permanently marked to show your allegiance. It was only regretful. For what reason would you bare your soul to someone? Why would you let down your guard? Was there anyone you could really even trust?

Draco didn’t know why. But inside, deep, deep inside him, he knew that there was still love for you in plenty. But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not when he was so close.. 

And everything else after that point seemed to pass on in a vivid haze. It was like having an out-of-body experience, except the ‘experience’ wasn’t coming to an end. No matter how hard he tried. Scraping his nails along his skin drew blood, but nothing else. It seemed the pain had turned into something habitual. It was as if it lived inside him. 

He watched himself grow paler, have to buckle his belt as tightly as he possibly could, give up his life of luxury in favour of serving the Dark Lord, as if he was simply looking in on someone else’s life. 

His home was no longer his home. The Manor had turned into a place where turmoil and torture were everyday things. He could barely live with himself. His mother’s smile was all that kept him from knotting a rope around his neck and-

Well, it was that and… it was the memories. The few happy memories he had outside of the Manor. While now his childhood was tainted with what haunted his present, he remembered.. you.

The hours spent in silence, just being around each other. Giving each other smiles. Having no expectations of each other but to just.. give each other company. Cuddling. Kissing. This led his mind to a different path of thinking but he kept it at bay. He had enough of that from his time with Pansy, and he didn’t want to think about being with anyone but you. 

It was no mistake. It was fate. It was destiny. That one day at the library was everything. And even if his heart still ached, he was better with the memories than without them at all. 

He still loved you. But this damned war was in the middle of everything and the guilt was getting to him. 

Hogwarts had succumbed to the Dark Lord’s forces only after Draco had managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. It was all him. He was the reason why so many first years would be filled with dread for years to come. He was the reason why so many people had to face so much more than they needed to. He wanted to end it all. Just. Get it over with. 

But he wasn’t brave enough to. 

Everything he set his mind to seemed out of reach. 

And so, he lost his wand. And his sense of self. He betrayed the Dark Lord. And he endured his punishment for it too. The Cruciatus curse was more painful to experience than it was to watch, he’d learned. Hours and hours of it would leave a bloody taste in your mouth. Even the ruddy scars he’d scratched into his own skin burned. His Dark Mark was sizzling as if on fire.

The “Battle of Hogwarts”, they’d called it. It sounded so much more epic than it really was. It was pain and it was pain and it was pain. Over and over and over. The sight of the dead made him want to empty his guts and pull his eyes out of their sockets. 

He couldn’t help but think about you. Where were you? Had you been evacuated? Or were you fighting too? He would have thought the former.. but the war drove people to extremes, he’d noticed. Bellatrix couldn’t have always been this bloodthirsty, surely. 

He hoped and prayed and just wished that you were safe. He wanted to find you. And that he would. Perhaps after all of this. Perhaps you’d forgive him. Perhaps everything else would fit into place and you could live together. Maybe you’d be able to help him rid his memories of this insane, inhumane conflict. 

But it wasn’t so.

It had been months since the war had ended. Since Potter’s side had triumphed and his had lost, if you could call it his. His family had managed to avoid going to Azkaban thanks to his mother’s courageous feat. His mother was braver than him in every which way, he understood that now. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward, everything wouldn’t have been left in pieces. 

The only thing he was glad about was that your name hadn’t been listed in the casualties of the war. He’d searched for it from paper to paper and had been glad it was nowhere to be seen, for once.

He was still in and out of St. Mungo’s and the memories still haunted him. The dreams would never end. Sometimes he’d see it all happen again in a rush, sometimes he’d imagine it was his parents they were hurting. Sometimes it’d be you. They were much too real. Once he imagined it was him hurting you. He’d woken up and gotten into the tub in his bathroom, writhing and shaking, clammy with perspiration. He wouldn’t have gotten out of the water alive if his mother hadn’t noticed his bed was empty.  

And so he spent his days in bed, his body barely able to keep down what he took in, if at all. Their house elf practically resided by his bedside for a while, offering him glasses of water when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, nightmares as dark as always. 

He wanted to, no, needed to find you. Apologise. Even kneel in front of you until you forgave him. 

But he knew you never would. He’d hurt you and then gone on to aid in the murder of one of the most valuable headmasters of Hogwarts. He’d helped the Dark Lord harm all those that were supposedly beneath them. How could you even look him in the eye? You’d been afraid of him before you’d even spoken properly and.. he expected you to forgive him for essentially assisting in the taking over of the Wizarding World? It was impossible.

Draco found himself avoiding every sort of human contact. He’d stay in his room for hours on end with the door locked. The silence was everywhere, all around him. Swallowing him whole. 

He’d spent ages just fathoming what it might be like if he could summon the courage to contact you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive him. Maybe it would all be okay.

But the chances of that happening were too low. And so he let the quiet envelope him instead. 

He was barely a shadow of himself. Of the person he thought you’d loved. He couldn’t tell you a single good thing about himself. He wished you would write to him instead. He wished there was some way he could retrieve those bloody letters you’d sent him all that while ago. But he could only be filled with regret.  

The silence that had once disgusted him, then comforted him was almost mocking him. The loneliness, the despair, every negative emotion was as if a part of it. He knew the only way out of it and although he knew it was practically pointless to even try, he knew he had to. 

Y/N,

I can’t take this any longer. I just can’t. I’m the most pathetic person on earth. I can’t live with myself anymore.

I love you. I still do. And I’m so deeply sorry. There is no way I can even attempt to justify what I did because it was just horrible. It was so terribly idiotic. You were right about all of it. I was such an arse. To everyone. You deserved so much better than me. You always have and you always will. 

But I need to see you. Please. I need to speak to you. Just give me that much. I’m barely holding on. Just write back to me. Please. I know I sound desperate.

I understand if you decide against seeing me ever again. I do. I deserve it. Just give me this much. Please.

With love,

Draco.

And so he sent it off to you, putting it in his owl’s beak while spilt ink still blotched his fingers. 

He could only hope that you would treat it better than he had treated your own letters. That you would even read it. Even two words of acknowledgement would be enough from you, really. He just needed to know that you had seen it. 

He sat in his room, waiting for his owl to return. And it did a few hours later, but it was empty handed.

He laid down in his bed, even the thought of going to sleep having left him entirely now. The tears came dripping down his cheeks before he even realised how hard it had hit him. 

He was alone. The one for him didn’t want him. He had been right all along. 

Thus he spent the night crying into his sheets. The memories of the war and from everything between you flooding his mind and driving him senseless. Was this really the end? The end of everything he’d hoped for? Everything that he’d imagined would never come to fruition. Should he just lose hope?

There was always the proposition from the Greengrass family to consider. Astoria seemed.. pretty, for sure. But.. he wanted you. You over everyone else.

He didn’t even realise when he blacked out. Memories of you plagued his mind, almost as if he was dying and he thought he very well was. Was all that had been happy in his life flashing before his eyes as he lost consciousness? He could practically feel the ground turning to air beneath his body, how he lost his grasp on everything and fell into the void. 

But then he woke up again. It was just a bloody dream. His consciousness was as it was. He should have expected as much. The healers had said shell shock was unpredictable. 

What truly surprised him was the unusual bird cry that had prompted him awake. The familiar yellow eyed, flat headed, brown feathered, white spotted creature that stood on his window pane. Gripping a folded note in its beak.

And that was when he began to hope.

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

Voting for Chopped 3.0 Round 2 is Officially OPEN!

You know how voting works so we wont bore you with a massive post. Remember to rank fics based on the USE of the tropes and theme and to rank ALL fics in each question, so we can avoid any technical difficulties! Please try and read all the fics so you can vote fairly! Reminder, you must include a URL, and you may only vote once, we will NOT count multiple votes by the same person.

You can vote here:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/WQ9BNFS

Thanks to all our BRILLIANT writers, these fics are so exciting and we are so glad you decided to share them with us!! 

———

and i'll never say i love you (but i meant it all along) (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke]

Summary: When Coach, a dating system that pairs you with someone for an allotted amount of time and gives no way to bypass its rules, matches Bellamy and Clarke together, they find an immediate dislike for the other. Luckily, they only have to spend twelve hours together and then they can go their separate ways.

That is, until Coach matches them again. And again. And again. Until they start to wonder if something deeper is going on.

Or, Bellamy and Clarke in Hang the DJ

Per Aspera Ad Astra [Through Hardship to the Stars] (Rated G) [Bellamy/Clarke]

Summary: It's boredom one fateful night that leads Clarke Griffin to ditching the first basketball game of the season. That same boredom then leads to her choosing to hang out with one Bellamy Blake – which should feel weirder than it is since they haven't really been friends since his sister's disappearance two years ago.

But then their night really takes a turn.

The two of them discover a strange audio frequency that could change the small town of Arkadia, New Mexico – and the future – forever. Dropped phone calls, forgotten tapes, and strange lights follow Bellamy and Clarke as they race through the night on a scavenger hunt to discover the truth. That maybe there was something more to Octavia's disappearance, maybe there's more to their friendship than being just friends, and that maybe they aren't as alone in the universe as they thought.

through the muted waves (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori]

Summary: Scientists call the Tomorrow People the next stage of human evolution, the government denies their existence, but their cocktail of psionic abilities have made homo superiors the target of Eligius. Even though Eligius has closed the project that allows Tomorrow People to override their genetic inability to kill, they still relentlessly hunt them, desperate to neutralize their abilities. When Murpy wakes up in Eligius headquarters, he knows he’s returned for a reason...if only he could understand his connection to the brown-eyed girl who keeps cropping up on the corners of his memory.

in the red snares (Rated T) [Octavia/Lincoln]

Summary: The prevailing theory around the existence of Slayers (her existence) is that a variation of the alien parasite the miners unearthed deep in the Sub Stratum started infecting hosts in order to combat the vampire parasite. Octavia scoffs at the thought. The theory is probably right, especially since Monty is pretty confident in it, but she still hates the whole thing. The Slayer parasite really needs an upgrade in her opinion.

The Cockroach (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori]

Summary: “This is the cockroach hailing Mission Team Alpha. It’s Sol 30 here on good ol’ Planet Alpha. Not that it’s really a planet, but eh whatever. Technicalities, right? Anyway. Systems check. Arm: healing. Bugs: normal. Radio: shitty. Attitude: good.”

I'm No Hero (Rated T) [Murphy/Emori]

Summary: It’s 2052 and Reapers are wreaking havoc on mutants and humans alike. Murphy is recruited by Kane and Jaha to go back in time to prevent Octavia Blake from starting an international crisis that made the future much worse. But going back to the past comes with some side effects, mainly having to do with some relationships that Murphy left on bad terms.

from angels or devils (Rated T) [Octavia Blake]

Summary: Octavia was dead, and then she wasn't. The nuns say it was the gift of an angel, but they may not know as much as they claim.

Will she be able to learn to channel it's gifts, or will she be claimed by the villain who has followed the Halo through time and space?

Can't Tell if this is True or Dream (Rated M) [Echo/Gabriel]

Summary: “Do you understand your mission, agent?” A cloud of smoke punctuated the Director’s question, streaming from his mouth in thick, grey ribbons.

“I am to evaluate the necessity of the work Dr. Santiago is doing and report back at the conclusion of the investigation,” Echo repeated her instructions. Her lungs filled with second-hand smoke and she stifled a cough.

“I hope you appreciate the delicacy of this mission, Echo.” His intense gaze bore a hole into her’s. “Gabriel is not to know the nature of your assignment.”

She met his gaze with equal intensity as she stood up to leave.

“I understand, sir.”

There are some things written in the stars (Rated G) [Bellamy/Clarke]

Summary: Dear Bell,

I know you have a million questions. When I planned to come see you in Sau Paulo, I knew I wouldn’t have much time, and there was just too much I wanted to say. But also so much I knew I couldn’t. My only hope is that this journal answers some of your questions, and by some miracle saves your life.

My name is Clarke Griffin, a historian. We’ve never met before today, in your time at least. In 2019, I would be just starting my professorship at Arkadia University back in the states. That’s honestly the only reason Murphy didn’t fight me on seeing you — no chance that I’d cross paths with myself. He wouldn’t have been able to stop me, mind you. But he’s definitely the better pilot, so I’m glad he was on board.

I’m getting away from myself. It’s hard to remember a time when you didn’t just instinctively know what I was thinking. It’s felt a little like you’ve just known me my whole life, the way we’ve always been in sync. Let me start from the beginning, just rip the bandaid off…

___

Or the "Timeless" AU you never knew you needed. Submitted as part of the Chopped Challenge: Round 2.

Healing AIs, Healing Hearts (Rated T) [Octavia/Raven]

Summary: Raven and her mother were a perfect team, working with damaged and mistreated AIs and tech. When tragedy strikes, however, Raven has to figure out how to make it on her own. And then there's that new assistant her mom hired, making things interesting.

inconceivable (Rated T) [Bellamy/Clarke]

Summary: The first touch of his fingers on her wrists makes her whole body shiver. She’s so painfully aware of him being just behind her, of the wonder and the impossibility of his existence here, that she has to remind herself to keep breathing as he slowly picks apart the knots binding her hands together. “If I turn around, will you be gone?” she murmurs. “Is this a bad dream? Will you be dead again when I wake up?”

“I’m real,” he says softly, and finally the last knot falls away and her hands are free.

It's practically inconceivable.

(Chopped 3 presents: The Princess Bride. In space, bitches.)

[libermachinae]

Drops in a Bucket, Splashes on the Ground

Also available on AO3! Tags: Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gen, Whirl (Transformers), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Whirl is Primus AU, Angst, would you believe me if i said i didnt set out to write another angst fic, whirl's just like that Wordcount: 4202 Notes: I would highly recommend you read "Bullets" or at least be familiar with Whirl's abuse of Rotorstorm before reading this fic. The scene containing graphic violence begins with "Tacticians always struggle..." and the scene referencing abuse begins "He shoves his way..." Please feel free to reach out if you need any further information.

~*~

“And I guess old Primus makes five.”

“Hah! No, no, no. That’s not Primus… you’re Primus.”

~*~

 Whirl has never been intimidated before. Not so intentionally, not by bots whose forged bodies have been piled on with armor and weaponry, no expenses spared by the ganglords. The Heavies rolled up on treads that left gouges in the streets, painful marks that tomorrow’s taxes will go to fixing, and their transformations took a full five seconds as excess plating moved out of the way while their protoforms tried to bend per their original configurations. They wear identical red visors and dark gray masks: faces, certainly, but only in the barest sense of the word, enough to separate them from lowlifes without affording them identity. It is impossible to tell one from the other and Whirl knows, intrinsically, that it will not matter.

 ~*~

 Rung is the only one who doesn’t flinch. Whirl stands over Adaptus’ body, freshly relieved of what they can all agree was a spectacularly ugly head, and puts away his gun.

“Right,” he says, with a meaningful glance out the window. “Want to agree none of us heard that?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus shouts. “You can’t just kill a god!”

The body explodes into a pile of dust.

“Sure I can,” Whirl says, shaking it off his foot even as he leans down to inspect the scrapple. “Hey Ratch, can you rig me to explode next time I get shot?”

“Is it true?” Nautica asks, doing her intellect a massive disservice by stepping in front of the unhinged bot with a blaster.

“Obviously not,” Ratchet says. “He was lying.”

Whirl nods.

“Yeah. You think I would keep it a secret from any of you if I was a god? You think Cyclonus would ever hear the end of it? Nah.” He stands, kicking pile and sending a spray of metallic dust into the air. “Awesome way to go, though, can’t say I’m not jealous.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him for it.”

“So, you’re not Primus?” Nautica asks. She hasn’t moved, her arms crossed in front of her. If Whirl had been her creator (and he isn’t, he already has his claws full with a nest of scraplets), he would have been pretty proud of her right now.

“Nope!” he says. “I’ve never vouched for the universe before, but that kind of joke would take on an extra level of cruel, don’t you think?”

“Got to agree with Whirl, here,” Rodimus says, a hand on Nautica’s shoulder drawing her back. “I could buy pretty much anyone else. Maybe not Rung, but, say, Velocity? She could be Primus. Or Roller. I guess not Megatron, since we saw him come online, but—”

“The point, Rodimus,” Ratchet deadpans.

“The point is, not Whirl,” Rodimus said, sweeping his hands up to gesture at him. “I get Primus is disappointed in us. We are a textbook example of why a race of sentient war machines should never be left to their own devices, combined with a case study on how to avoid learning from every mistake you’ve ever made. But I really don’t think that disappointment would translate to actively hunting us for sport. Isn’t Primus supposed to be all about forgiveness and loving your cellmate?”

“Right,” Whirl says, clacking his pincers together in his approximation of a snap. “An angry god is so cliché.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Primus believed,” Rung says. Oh no. He’s taken off his glasses. “I don’t see any reason he couldn’t be Whirl.”

“How about we start where the part where gods don’t exist, and Whirl does?” Ratchet suggests.

“I… I am Solomus, though.”

The whole group turns to the offending voice. Whirl goes for his gun and Rodimus knocks it out of his hand, a stern finger silently telling him not to kill any more gods. As if being an ex-Matrix bearer gives him some sort of say.

Tyrest has not stopped touching his gaudy mantelpiece, poking at the holes. It wouldn’t be so disturbing, except he’s staring at Whirl while he does it.

“Primus, don’t you remember?” he asks.

“Hey, let’s watch the fragging language.”

“Adaptus wanted to send our creations to pointless war,” Tyrest goes on. “Violence for the sake of violence, conquests built on the backs of others. We fought him.” He steps forward and reaches for Whirl. “Together, we—”

Whirl jerks back with his claws extended out.

“I will cut your hand off, I swear to—I swear.”

He is saved from any more interrogation by the ground violently rumbling underneath them.

“Okay, so regardless of whatever’s Whirl’s deal is, we do still have at least one Primus to worry about,” Rodimus says, looking out the window at the approximation of what Whirl, personally, had always assumed god would look like. “Solomus, you still got your teleporting rigged up?”

 ~*~

 No one ever considered giving The Institute a waiting room, so Whirl stands to one side of the hallway while the butchers discuss his case. He knows his proposal intrigues them: they have never had an opportunity to shadowplay a willing subject before. What is there to learn from a brain that does not fight them every step of the way? What backdoors exist that every other victim kept hidden? Whirl does not care about the potential scientific advancements his offer provides. He just wants to stop dreaming of gears, lose the phantom aches of his fingers. He wants to look in a mirror and see nothing: not himself, not a monster. Just an object, fulfilling its purpose.

The scientists who walk by him in the halls stare. Everyone stares, but the look they give him is different. They do not find him exceptional, nor do they feel for him pity or contempt. He is no marvel. He is a creation, perfectly engineered to suit its purpose, every detail minded with care to ensure it all works together as an ideal mechanism. He wishes he could see himself through their eyes.

The door beside him slides open and a bot he has never seen before steps out. His helm comes up no higher than Whirl’s waist and his large yellow optics do not look up from his datapad.

“Whirl of Polyhex, the panel has elected to reject your petition,” he says. “I am to remind—”

“What?” Whirl startles; his new head shoots upward, forcing him into an angle that is both unnatural and instinctual. “Why? Ice Pick said he could—”

“I am to remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement; failure to comply will result in penalty of death.” The little bot flares his plating, the click of a motor lock setting it in place. “You will now submit to full stasis and be escorted back to your home.”

The jack comes from behind.

 ~*~

 “This is my hab suite.”

Whirl knows the tonal difference between a bullet hitting living metal and a wall. He scowls and gives up, waving Cyclonus inside.

“My room’s a mess,” he says. “Think I’m gonna crash here for a while.”

Cyclonus comes in and sits beside Whirl on the berth. When the door slides shut, they are visible only by their biolights: Whirl closed the shutters when he came in, the stars too much like blinking numbers. Cyclonus is a surprisingly quiet machine. His presence comes with none of the usual hisses and clicks one would normally get with their kind, like each component was designed specifically to work with those around it. Compared to Whirl, whose body is a wreck of pieces that almost fit together, clinking and scraping through their standard functions, he practically doesn’t exist.

“This is slagged, huh?” Whirl asks.

Cyclonus thinks on it a moment, then there is a shift of plating as he nods. Is it an admission, a confession? Pri—frag, Whirl doesn’t want to have to start thinking about that.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

“Scrap, you’re right. What am I doing?” Whirl laughs. “I’m infallible now, right? It’s all been part of my grand plan for Cybertron. I should be saying you’re welcome; you should be thanking me.”

Cyclonus sighs, a rush of air out his vents.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.

Whirl pokes and pinches at his own plating, trying to make sense of it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Start praying, and keep Megatron far away from me.”

 ~*~

 He’s spent two days in the holding cell before he realizes no one else is coming for him.

That Orion Pax… he’s good, and Whirl’s not sure whether it’s the kind that gets people hired or gets people killed. Not that it matters, not that he cares. The Senate’s going to crush all of them one by one, like little cans of oil under a rolling tank. He thought being a tread would come with some measure of relief; instead, it just landed him in a hole.

He digs a claw tip into the wall, another score among a small collection. He has been trying to reconstruct the miner’s face, what it looked like in the split second between recognizing he had been struck and realizing there was more to come. He can’t relish a memory if he can’t keep it, and he’s already struggling well enough to accomplish the former. This assignment was supposed to be a release. Look down at the big thinker and imagine in his place Senator Proteus, Sentinel Prime, the faceless Functionist Council. Tell himself that this is what it would feel like to rip their plating open until their priceless energon spilled onto a dirty floor.

The face, though, it’s escaping him. How can he fell anything about a person with no face? What relief is there to be found in beating the slag out of a nobody? He is trying so hard to adapt, but it’s like his processor is working against him, reminding him how far he got before he was reeled back in. The silhouette of his sketch is familiar.

His claws hurt where he has worn the tip blunt, and the portrait is still incomplete.

 ~*~

 “I don’t make Matrixes,” he insists. The group was polite enough to knock once they found him, but they’re failing to pick up the hint that he wants all of them to go away, right now, and leave him alone forever.

“Well, Epistemus says you can,” Rodimus says, dentae blocked together. “Why do all the other gods have their memories back, but not you?”

“I dunno, maybe Needles can stick me and figure it out.”

It’s almost cute, the way Rewind steps protectively in front of Chromedome.

“Rodimus,” Rung says, trying to get between them, “this isn’t helping.”

“Thank you,” Whirl says. “Now can we get to the part where we storm the planet, guns a-blazin’?”

“That won’t help either.” Rung turns to look at him. “Your memories haven’t been deleted, Whirl. Somehow, there should still be some part of you that remembers creating the Matrix.”

“The Functionists probably took it out,” Whirl says.

“That’s not how mnemosurgery works.”

“Says the dropout.”

“You told me once about your earliest memory,” Rung says. Whirl should be furious that he’s doing this here, in front of people who have no business knowing what’s in his head, but he’s more interested in the way Rung has taken off his glasses and is squinting up at him. “What happened just before it?”

They did not bring Ratchet, a testament to the fact that they will not leave before he gives them answers. He could start lying again, or find another way to forgo the question, but something about Cyclonus’ presence at his back helps him settle down the compulsion. Everybody lies about their forging. Everybody wants to say it was overseen by the Prime, or that they settled into their form like resin poured into a mold, instant and perfect. Whirl has a set of seven stories he deploys on rotation, ranging from heroic to beautifully tragic, and he spends a moment picking through them, trying to remember which was the real one.

“I showed up at the Functionsts’ place to get my docs in order,” he says. “I was… I was trying to get Polyhexian citizenship.” Awful city, but he had always sworn the energon tasted better there than anywhere else.

“But you said you were forged in Polyhex,” Rung says.

“Yeah. It was easier that way.” Whirl puts a claw to his head. “I… augh, nope. No, this is stupid.”

“Whirl—”

“No, I’m done,” he says, pushing Rung away. “Fully done, Rung. That’s right. You were god’s therapist, and he fired you. I’m gonna go take out a planet.”

 ~*~

 Tacticians always struggle with where to put Whirl on a battlefield. On the one hand, he’s an attack helicopter, equipped with long-range cannons and advanced aiming modules. Keeping him in the sky is the perfect way to set up a terrible surprise for Cons on the ground. On the other, he’s Whirl, and facing him head-on can be just as chilling and or fatal.

In the end it rarely matters which call they make because, as stated before, he’s Whirl. He will do whatever he damn well feels like. Right now, that means skimming over the top of the battlefield, sights trained on the odd dot who tries to disgorge themselves from the fighting mass. He is supposed to be providing support to the ground troops, peppering the Decepticon line so they can break through, but no one is going to complain about a few more dead soldiers.

A truck breaks free and he pitches down, giving chase, machine guns firing before he’s got a lock on. The ground explodes in shrapnel as they try to serpentine out of the way, but he keeps firing and soon enough their paths cross.

He riddles them. Their roof is already a puckered, punctured mass of warped metal before their back tires blow and they go skidding and flip onto their side. Their plating shuffles, uncoordinated, as they try to transform, and Whirl goes for the underbelly, shattering the exposed protoform in a burst of pink energon. They slump with their legs disengaged. There is a buzzing, crunching noise as the dying t-cog tries to settle into either mode, then a jet of smoke erupts from the body. The engine has seized, locking it in a permanent limbo.

Whirl spins around to track down his next prey. He loves his job. The Autobots have a need, and he fills it with a gusto that only occasionally gets him in trouble. He’s no hitmech: he lacks the finesse, the style. But he can rain irreverent murder down from the sky, send Cons fleeing just long enough to make them think they had a chance, and he can do it without questioning an order. The war needs people like him.

Two soldiers are trying to escape together, one with their arm over the other’s shoulder, a sparkling stump of a leg between them. Whirl gets low, following them until the roar of his rotors is unmistakable, until they cannot help but turn and he sees their optics. Then he fires.

The wounded one falls first, knocked onto their front and grasping uselessly until their hand is blown off and they go still. The other gets their legs knocked off and goes spinning, landing on their head with a crunch. Whirl keeps advancing, keeps firing, tearing open their plating and reducing their inner working to molten slag, spattering the ground with used energon. They flop, over and over, until Whirl gets bored of the show and hauls off, leaving them almost indistinguishable from the carnage of the land itself.

Whirl hovers over the fighting and looks down while he scans for a target. This high up, visuals are useless for determining Bots from Cons. Little Cybertronians run around, whacking and shooting at each other, falling down, down, down. The metal under their pedes is slippery pink with energon. It splashes against their plating, over their insignias, until they are all just little wandering targets.

Whirl has his job, and he loves it, and he does it well.

 ~*~

 He should feel something, but his spark is a void as he tosses the rest of the guns into the shuttle, all the stuff he held off using because he wasn’t ready to get kicked off the ship. He is not coming back from this. He knows it, so better to take it all.

He’s just fastened the locker when he hears the footsteps on the hatch and looks up. It’s Tailgate, of course. Tailgate, who has a pack hanging from one shoulder and a gun holstered at his side. It’s a shrimpy thing, something Cyclonus taught him to shoot in case they ever got separated, more useful for making noise than taking down an aggressor. It has room for one round of ammo and Whirl doubts he brought a bullet more.

He comes aboard without saying anything and stops beside world, continuing to say nothing. The hand on his pack is clenching: he’s being brave. He’s also waiting for some grand speech, some sacred insight to the nature of their quest and their places in the universe. Well, tough. He should know Whirl better than Primus.

He lifts a claw to shove Tailgate backward and down the hatch, but it stops an inch before Tailgate’s plating. What does it matter? Cyclonus can’t kill him where he’s going and Tailgate himself is just a drop in the bucket. Standing there with his chest puffed out, optic band steely and focused, he looks like any other Cybertronian, never mind a few years left behind.

Whirl retracts his claw. Tailgate nods at him.

Another drop in the bucket.

 ~*~

 He shoves his way to the front row, slamming himself into his chosen seat just ahead of a little spy plane who had been angling for the same spot.

“Buzz off,” he says. Never mind the spy plane outranks him. This is his big day! He got here early so he could get this seat, right in front, though he can barely hold it as the audience fills in around him, so many Bots he does not know and who do not matter. The only one he cares about it up on the stage, smiling with an air of detached cooperation, off in his own head again like he always was. Whirl thought they had made progress on that, but some habits were just too hard to break.

The opening speech is long and predictably boring, lots of talk about this base he has never been on before. Whirl’s engine clicks in agitation. When bots give him dirty looks, he sneers.

“Chronic fanbelt lockup, ever heard of it?” he hisses at them, adding in a few extra ticks for good measure. They go back to minding their own business, but Whirl still catches the optics glancing at him, and his engine goes from annoyed click to angry hum. He knows what they see.

Luckily, the speaker eventually gets over himself and moves on.

“Rotorstorm, will you please step forward?”

Whirl is on his feet before the other copter has a chance to rise, his cheering rising well above the swell of the crowd. He shouts, he stomps his feet, and he bangs his claws together until the bots on either side of him wince, and he gets even louder when he knows Rotorstorm has noticed him.

“Go on, get up there!” he shouts. “You earned this, didn’t you?” The rest of the crowd has calmed down, but he stays standing, arms dropped to his sides. He stares at Rotorstorm as he crosses the stage, shoulders pressed back, each step placed so precisely in front of the last that it must be calculated. He waits until Rotorstorm has reached the edge to sit back down, and then still his optic is pointed, refusing to let Rotorstorm look anywhere else. Rotorstorm’s own optics are wide, though the rest of his expression is slack. His biolights are steady, his ventilations manual and even. He’s perfect.

“Rotorstorm,” the presenter says, “I hope you will forgive us; this is an honor that is long overdue. During the Simanzi Massacre, you singlehandedly scouted a pass through Mount Helix that allowed for the rapid evacuation of the 9th Battalion. Your commanding officers estimate that your decisive actions saved upwards of one thousand Autobot lives.” Whirl’s engine is silent. He’s drinking in every word. “Today, we present you with the Novic Medal for Outstanding Honor. ‘Til all are one.” Rotorstorm ducks his helm as the award is magnetized to the right of his cockpit, finally breaking his optic contact with Whirl.

“’Til all are one,” he repeats, though most of the crowd does not hear him over Whirl’s cheers.

Rotorstorm turns without looking up and returns to his seat. The next recipient is called forward and Whirl walks out.

 ~*~

 He can’t do it. He’ll blame it on the way Tailgate’s plating quietly rattles or Cyclonus’ entire personality as he starts to board, but he shuts off the shuttle’s engine and disembarks with them trailing behind. He retreats to his hab suite, and though he does not invite them he’s glad when they make it inside before the door closes.

“Nobody in the mutiny is allowed to have any of my stuff. I don’t care if Thunderclash is dying again and my innermost energon is the only compatible fuel in the galactic sector, he can’t have it.”

Tailgate nods along, his fingers in a death grip around Whirl’s pincer.

“And when you guys are talking about me later, no one call me anything but Whirl. I’m serious. I don’t know about anything I did before that, so what could it matter?” He looks up at the ceiling. “In fact, don’t tell anyone about the Primus thing. No point.”

Cyclonus is a solid, immobile presence on his other side.

“Am I forgetting anything? Oh, tell Roadbuster I’ll be waiting for him in the pit.”

“Do gods go to the Afterspark?” It’s not clear who Tailgate is asking.

“I definitely don’t plan to stick around and watch over you or whatever. Think I’ve had enough of this universe.” He chuckles, a strained sound. “Yeah. So, that’s it. Better get this show on the road, huh?”

“We’ll be with you the entire time,” Tailgate promises.

“For as long as you want us,” Cyclonus amends.

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs, laughs again. “I’m not even really scared of the whole dying thing. I’d made peace with that. Whenever there was something I needed to do, I took care of it, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it if the right bullet finally found its mark.” He glances between them. “Now, though… you two better behave, I swear. I’m making it your Primus-sworn duty to take care of and listen to each other, okay?”

Cyclonus nods, and the way he takes it so seriously makes Whirl almost glad he’s on his way out. He couldn’t handle being looked at like that all the time, and especially it’s the way they reach across his lap and entwine their hands that really does him in. He hates them dearly.

“Okay,” he says, winding up his t-cog for the big spin. “Okay, twelve Matrixes. No problem.”

 ~*~

 Whirl times the blinking numbers to the rotations of his spark. 1,600 exactly. He’s done it.

He leans back in his chair but cannot stop staring at the little device in his hands. It is perfect. After years of researching, studying, trying, and failing, the pieces have come together to allow him to create this one perfect thing. He loves it, and a dangerous feeling of pride fills his spark, the kind that has so long been missing from his work in the Aerial Corps. If there is a Primus (and he’s still not sure, whatever the Functionists insist), this is what he built Whirl to do.

He gets up from his desk and walks across his small living space to a shelf. Nearing capacity, it has just enough room for him to push a few previous attempts aside to make room for the latest version. Surrounded by its brethren, it becomes lost almost immediately amid the sea of blinking lights, indistinguishable even from those he considers lesser. Some defects are more obvious than others: one has sat at the same time since the moment he brought it online, while another counts one klik backward for every two forward. But most are just slightly imperfect, necessary steps to get to this point, and he loves them all dearly.

He stands back. It feels like the work of a lifetime, these clocks, though he knows he took up the pursuit relatively recently. It’s just hard to remember how he filled his time before he had this project to work on, and he is again grateful he discovered it at all.

It is a gift to be able to create, he thinks, to cast a broad eye over his creations. The numbers blink at him, all out of tune, and he lets himself imagine being content doing just this for the rest of his life.