#and i’m SO fucking grateful for each and every person who has ever commissioned me

[irlplasticlamb]

Good afternoon!

I love to zoom in on your art, to see the small details, and the little things of your style that you put on, are magnificent <33

- 🪻

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

i absolutely LOVE adding silly little details on my art — honestly if not for the busy schedule i’m on now it would probably be even more 😭

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ MAGNESIUM

tw. noncon, blood, branding/marking, some pretty egregious dirty talk and degradation, threats, mirror sex, horror elements, knife play, manipulation, murder, little bit of gore, there be a dead body in here somewhere wordcount. 6.3k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely lovely person whomst im so grateful for ♡ i reallyyy liked writing sakusa a lot so i hope you like it and it is what you hAd IN MINDDD!! this was such a fun commission thank yoUU a ton seriously! mwUah ♡♡♡ i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again a million million kisses to everyone who helped read through it when i was struggling you're the bestest ilY

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

It’s almost impossible to believe that everything led up to - this. You’re slumped against the car door in the back, and though you’re not knocked out, you sort of wish you were. Instead you have to feel the hard glare Kiyoomi sends you through the rear view mirror each time his eyes flick up as he reverses out of the street. There’s tension so thick that you can’t just cut it, but it’s troubling the air between you two like polluted water. Silence drags on until you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm up.

“Where are we going?” You whisper. 

The man in front smoothly turns the corner, as an almost impalpable furrow moves his brow. It takes him too long to answer for your liking, as you shuffle in the leather seat, unable to get comfortable. “I don’t like fighting with you, but you always push me.” The dry tone and answer says everything his eyes can’t. “Tonight pissed me off, you know? I’m not ever gonna let you go.”

“All this because Atsumu complimented me?” You try, and when that doesn’t get a reaction - not even a blink, your hands clamp together. “He’s like that to everyone. He was calling Hinata ‘real handsome’ all evening.” Nothing. The Kiyoomi you fell in love with was a bit sarcastic and clumsy in his words, but he wasn’t ever cruel. Wasn’t ever purposefully standoffish. What seems left of him is only the brittle, icy void. You would’ve been better off breaking up days ago.

He also would’ve given the blond the benefit of the doubt.

You can basically feel the smile shine off of your face closing the billowing curtains against the golden light, looking back at the dark-haired beauty splayed out over your bed. You clear your voice. “So what’s the deal with your teammate- that Miya guy?” Kiyoomi’s brow raises a few millimeters. “He’s serious? He’s really like that all the time?”

“The whole flirtatious act?” Your boyfriend yawns into the question, before rolling over so that his muscular shoulders, pecks, and that pretty waist are even more distracting. It’s infuriating how good he looks. But you nod, and place yourself down on the edge - where he trails a lazy hand over the back of your hand. “Oh, yeah. He has this overflowing… charisma that you can’t help but get used to, and learn to appreciate.” He chuckles when you frown. “He drives me up the wall. But he’s a good guy.”

“Hmm?” Your pout is instantly enough to have him reaching around to pull you down onto him. “You’re not worried?”

You try to blink away tears, and stare out the window instead, at every light that flashes past. More to yourself than to him, you hiccup as you brush away the wobbly lines of heat down your cheeks. “You’ve been acting so— different.” He barely glances before turning too comfortably at the next lights, speeding up enough to make your chest feel tight. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I want you to go back to how you were.” That’s the only way you can put it. It’s like there’s nothing left.

Kiyoomi’s mouth corners drop at your confession, but he doesn’t speak. You’re not sure you want him to anyway. His free hand runs through his brushed back hair, long fingers sitting still against the steering wheel when they land. And they don’t move again as you sit in the quiet cold.

“Worried?” He repeats, calm expression changing into a grin. “Please, Miya fucking wishes.” You laugh when his lips start dragging down your pulse and he softly moans against you. “You’ve got way better taste than that. In neighbors - and,” his kisses get a little more hot and needy when his large hands glide down your body to grab your ass and pull you closer, “in boyfriends- and in perfume— you smell sexy, ‘s that new?”

You giggle harder, can’t help but get flustered when he gets so touchy. “I’ll get an inflated ego if you compliment me so much.” He shrugs, and positions you better onto his broad chest. But still. “How don’t you get jealous? I’m pretty sure I would if the roles were reversed.” His dark hair is splayed out over the pillow when he drops his head back, and those pretty eyes flick over your face for a second, thinking.

“I do,” he eventually breathes, “but not because of you, and definitely not with Miya Atsumu.” When you start giggling again, he frowns. “I mean, truly- genuinely-” You snort, and he stares at you with an affronted look. “If you wanna run into the egotistical, bombastic, borderline- pathetic sunset with that guy, I might have to take a long, hard look at myself. Wonder what horrible traits you’re dating me for.” His eyes fall back to you when you take a deep breath, and he goes a little bit softer as you nuzzle up under his chin. “You wanna leave me for a shitty dye job?”

“I don’t think so,” you whisper back. He looks much too at ease in the comfort of your now shared apartment.

The silence that once felt so comfortable, now squeezes the life out of you with all it’s got. Only after a few minutes, Kiyoomi’s voice reaches out, and the shiver down your neck seems to screw the icy collar down tighter.

“Y’know, I hate how that Miya looks at you. Makes me want to carve his fucking eyes out.”

+

About a week into living in Tokyo, you decide it’s not all that bad. Hauling along the giant box of fresh veggies and two more bags of groceries, you can barely look over enough to watch the elevator open, and hasten your steps. “Hold the door, please! There’s no way I’m doing the stairs today,” you sigh, and watch as the doors ping. You slide in just in time, and a deep chuckle follows when your arms start slowly folding with the weight.

“That’s … some collection you’ve got there,” the deep voice continues, “did I miss the call on doomsday?”

You manage to turn yourself enough to see the pair of warm, obsidian eyes staring down at you - soft curly hair freshly wet from a shower. The eggplants and pumpkins in your box start rolling toward the edge, so you shift the box onto your side with a struggling smile. “No, I- I like to buy in big batches and pre-chop everything to freeze. I don’t really love cooking so… that way I save- some time while still…” You fall quiet when he keeps your gaze without any reaction, and clear your voice. Most of his face is kept behind a black surgical mask, hiding what you imagine to be the rest of a handsome face.

But no one likes being stuck in unwanted small talk, do they. He nods though, right as you arrive on your floor and the doors slide open. “That’s smart. I’ll have to try that sometime.” The box starts slipping further. The noiret’s eyes go from your face to your white-knuckled grip, and then back. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Please,” you can’t say quickly enough, afraid that one wrong move will send the entire box rolling across the floor. It’s not like you to admit defeat so easily, but currently your pride could cost you a hundred on fresh produce, and— he doesn’t seem like the type to ask if he’d mind. Your neighbor doesn’t say anything, but his eyes crinkle a little with a smile. Aside from some very brief passings in the hallway, you haven’t had the chance to meet any of your building’s occupants yet. He doesn’t bat an eye when lifting the very heavy box out of your arms, and you fluster. “Sorry for the hassle.”

“No, it’s alright. I have the afternoon off - ‘s nothing. You’re the new 3B tennant, right?” He frees one hand just to slide his mask down when you nod your face towards your door. He’s probably the prettiest guy you’ve seen to date, strong jawline, full lips and an almost perfectly straight nose; dark curls framing smart, observant eyes. So not only is he tall and charming, he’s also hot. When you mumble a soft acknowledgement, he gives you a little smile, and you can’t help but feel a bit too seen. “I’m Kiyoomi.”

You think you like Kiyoomi.

+

The heat of hands shakes you out of sleep with a slight startle, and the surprise soon makes way for a wave of rolling pleasure mixed under a heavy layer of embarrassment - at the way Kiyoomi’s toying with your body like it’s his own, and the low chuckle he lets out when you let out a pinched whimper. One of his hands is two fingers deep inside your pussy by the time you can even blink the sleep out of your eyes, feeling the warmth flood onto your face. As slick gathers between your thighs, he pushes himself up above you, and squeezes your throat between his free fingers.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby.” There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that you can’t miss even with the low light, deep from within. His hand slides down the curve of your spine to settle around your hip, pressing you further into bed as your back arches when he curls his fingers without any mercy. Though you are leaving wetness all over his hand, the sudden invasion is still a little jarring, definitely when he starts sucking at your tits and bites down. “Omi, ow,” you breathe, and he only grunts as he nudges a thigh between your knees, spreading you apart. “Right now?”

“Shhh, just bear it for a bit,” he mumbles back, as his hand trails down your ribcage and forces your body to adjust to him when he hikes your leg over his shoulder. “Woke up so hard thinking of you, and- you were so cute just sleeping here next to me without a worry in the world.” His fingers are replaced quickly by the hot head of his cock, that is slid a few inches too deep right away, and your whimpering only drives him further. “Ah, fuck, there it is. Good- fucking- girl…” By the time he bottoms out there’s silvery slivers running down your face and you’re shaking your head as the ache has you moaning with pain.

But the dark haired man above you barely gives you any time to adjust, before he starts rocking himself against your center and rubbing himself deep enough to force your mouth shut. “You trust me, don’t you, angel?” He pants, stroking the inside of your thigh a few times, before starting a punishing rhythm that rocks the bed hard. The question takes you off guard, but it doesn’t seem like Kiyoomi needs an answer to keep going anyway, and you swallow down your whimper to hide your face in the pillow. He’s so big and rough and your body can’t keep up. “Oh, your pussy’s so fucking good. So tight and- warm, agh, fuck.”

Jutting out your lip into a little pout, you let out a little noise. You’re trying not to let the way he’s basically getting himself off inside you ruin your mood. After a moment, you blink up at him with wobbly vision. “Can you kiss me?” He takes a few seconds before the words register, fucking you harder each time he bottoms out— before his dark eyes go from your eyes to your lips like he’s having to debate it. And that hurts. He decides maybe against better judgment to lean in anyway, and presses his lips to yours with a low sigh, an almost moan that you suppose you have to be content with. 

He pushes your knee up to your chest as he gets closer, and the heavy pressure of his body on yours gets even more unbearable when his free hand wraps around your neck and presses until you’re gasping out. Your boyfriend’s eyes glint as they flick all over your face, and a small grin starts to travel up his lips. “Don’t you like me better like this?” You’re too distracted by the pounding in your head to answer, and whine out his name as your back arches off the bed. And Kiyoomi pants as he forces you to take each thrust. “I like you a lot. Wanna keep you.” You throw your head back, and reach around his wide shoulders to pull him even closer, trying to lock your legs around his waist with a sigh.

“Shit, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he pants into your mouth as he rocks himself into you, forehead to forehead as your nails dig into his skin. You feel bad, but you can’t help but pull him closer by his shoulders as the shower water trickles between you two and makes the entire room a steamy mix of pants and sweaty touches. “So-” he kisses messily, making you smile as his tongue swipes yours, “-damn pretty. I love your body so much.”

“And me?” You breathe back, letting your body tremble in his strong hands as he rocks himself so deep inside you that it’s making you breathless. Your little whine makes him stare, and nod.

“Of course I love you even more— don’t be silly- agh, fuck.” You move one hand to brush the wet tresses of hair out of his face and let yourself get moved up and down him, thighs wrapped ever so tight around his narrow waist. He breathes your name like the word itself is lovely, and you can’t help but moan a long whimper of his name when he hits the right spot so perfectly. “You feel so good, taking my cock right in there- that tight, little pussy. Drooling all over me, huh.” Another kiss as you swallow your mix of spit and rest your hand on his cheek. “You drive me crazy. I really- ugh- really love you, baby.”

Your tits brush up against his chest. “Promise?”

“Uhuh, mh-ahg. Promise. I can’t get enough of you.”

Sometimes you swear you can hear the house close in around you with heavy breaths.

+

The door to your apartment already hangs open when you notice the noise. The low thumping that is only audible when you slide the headphones off, a vaguely rhythmic noise that makes the hairs on your neck stand. You slide off the bed with a little frown, and smooth the wrinkles in your camisole as you peer into the open apartment area - which is empty. “Babe?” The door wobbles when the wind passes through, and your frown only digs deeper into your face when there’s no answer.

“Kiyoomi?”

The noise is louder when you walk towards the hall, and fist your hands into the bottom of the flimsy dress to pull it down. Only after a few moments of thought, your instinct drives you across the hall to pull open the door of the neighbors’, a young guy who moved in after you two did. Sure enough, your stomach drops as the scene splays out before you. There’s red all over the floor, Kiyoomi’s hands, and most horrifying - all over Ryouta’s nose and mouth as the barrage of fists lands over and over again— and you let out a horrified gasp. The damage has already been done, the brunet lays back with swollen eyes and is no longer fighting back, and you’re basically stunned in place as his knuckles crack on his cheek again.

When you manage the next breath, you force out a call of his name between tears. “Hck- Kiyoomi- w-what are you-,” your voice sounds too tiny to be your own, but any more volume doesn’t make it out of your throat, “please stop.” The last crack that resounds before he stops is even harder than any of the ones before— and he gets up without a word, smoothing his jersey back in place. He only quiets a moment, before turning over his shoulder to look at you. You, wobbling toward him like a baby deer.

Honestly, you don’t want to worry about him. But you can’t help but take his hands in yours to inspect the split knuckles, bloody and bruised— as if this is some bizarre dream. Kiyoomi’s precious about his hands. They’re his dreams, his passions, and his opportunities all in one, something to be cared for, rested gently like they mattered more than anything else. And now they’re bloodied like animals at the slaughter. When you look up at him- there’s no regret, no worry or care or concern. Just a blank sort of faux-understanding of your worry when he reaches out to brush your cheek.

You pull back away to look instead at the young man on the floor, because if you think about it too hard, you might start sobbing. Your hands drop by your thighs and feel so heavy, tears drying on your face. “Why did you-”

“Got back from my run and he said he needed your help.” There’s a cold, detached resolution in his voice. “And I told him to forget it, and then he asked me what ‘the fuck’ my problem was.” You find yourself shrinking into yourself when his dark eyes shift to you, with that unreadable look in his eye once more. His hands are slid into his pant pockets with a soft sigh, but he still raises an eyebrow your way. “Why would another guy need my girl?” Ryouta’s been nothing but nice to you since he moved in. You believed, maybe mistakenly, that that niceness had extended to your boyfriend.

But staring at the poor, battered face of the guy on the floor— something tells you that even if it did, Kiyoomi no longer cares. It feels like really, he’ll take any excuse to lash out. Your eyes flick over his face again, before swallowing. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.” For the first time since you’ve noticed this new side to him, you’re truly scared when he eyes you down. You’ve been upset, and worried, and angry before - but this is new. As the only sound between you two is the shallow rise and fall of your chest, you try to walk up and wrap your arms around his bicep. “I love you, Kiyoomi. I have only ever… loved you.”

He frees a hand to run it over your hair, before leaning down to rest his nose at your crown. “I know you do. You’re a smart little thing, that’s why I like you.” His training jacket still smells like mint and eucalyptus wash sheets, and it does absolutely nothing to soothe the aching pressure that makes its way between your ears and squeezes. And the soft kiss to your forehead doesn’t, either. “Get back inside. I’ll be right there in a bit.”

+

Your apartment is barely a shell of itself now. You realize it -truly realize it- when you toss and turn in your bed and can’t help but get stuck on little things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. The sheets are different, silkier somehow. Kiyoomi got new toothbrushes instead of the old ones with dolphins, and your entire apartment smells just different enough to make it pressing. Slightly bleachy, and too hospital-like. A blue haze is cast through the window by the moon when you softly slip out of bed, ignoring the way a soft puff comes from your boyfriend. He doesn’t stir as you move, though his empty hand seems to reach for the heat you left. Normally you’d wonder if he misses you when you go, but instead the reach just feels possessive. 

It’s like living with a brand new boyfriend all over again.

You don’t like it as much the second time, you realize, trying to choke down the bad air you’re breathing. As you wobble around in the dark, it’s hard to find your footing. The door clicks too loud for your liking when you brush it closed behind you, and slide down onto the couch as your eyes adjust to the dark. You feel like you’re hanging off the edge of falling apart as you look around the room— and try to think. That night when he came home, when he stared off into space and wouldn’t talk to you, your first thought was of another woman. Kiyoomi had never given you any reason to doubt.

He was handsome and intelligent and you were lucky to have him, but he always made it easy to trust him. If he wanted to be with you he’d be with you.

But as more and more days passed, small things got bigger. Not letting you call friends, not letting you dress how you wanted to, glaring at anyone who so much as looked up at you on the street. He’d never been so possessive when things were good. Still, you don’t want to mourn a relationship that isn’t even over yet. You cover your sniffles into your hand, and get up from the couch to go search through his jacket for his phone, or wallet. A stray bobby pin or earring, anything to make sense of the mess inside your head. You wouldn’t be proud of this in the morning - but your brain is eating itself alive. The apartment’s so quiet at night, and the old building pants and moans in the darkness.

The small closet is hotter than the rest of the apartment, more damp too. The jackets are piled high on the dryer, and though you shove your hand down every pocket, your search turns up empty. After a few seconds of turning the last pair of pockets inside out, you sink down into a crouch— and take a deep breath. Just a few weeks ago, you’d thought that you could see yourself marrying Kiyoomi. You’d spent hours by his side, convinced that no one in the world knew you better than he did.

A soft whistling noise sounds from behind the dryer, and makes you wipe your hand under your nose. There’s an old door to a bricked up stairway here, that you never got any use out of. Kiyoomi once stored some brooms there, you think. You don’t know what possesses you to slide your hands into the narrow space between the dryer and the wall and pull, but with some force- it moves. You strain to drag it aside until you jerk, scrambling up.

A track of blood.

Smeared over your normally proper linoleum, there’s a dried off-maroon that can only be blood, crusted onto the wood as a dark patch between the dryer and the door. Your chest caves. Instead of normal breaths, shallow gasps start making your entire body go solid and cold, and your throat dries up. This can’t … it isn’t real. Can’t be. Everything inside you tries to convince you that this is just a nightmare, but even as you pinch your arm hard, nothing happens.

Blood rushes to your bruised knees as you look around, trying not to panic too hard— instead put a shaky hand on the handle. It could be rusty water. A busted pipe. As you move at a glacial pace to open the door, it creaks, and you lick your lips. You can’t cry. You want nothing more than to explode into a dam of tears and unload, but it’s like your body refuses. Every second makes your body pump with adrenaline, until the door clicks open and reveals the narrow space - and in it, something that doesn’t make sense.

Blood pools on the floor, dulled, matted and a disgusting, sticky mess that has you gasping; only to hold back a gag. But in it, sits the slumped, unmoving body of your boyfriend.

The same boyfriend you were sleeping next to just a few minutes ago.

Every hair on your body rises when you choke on the smell, and sink down to press your fingers to his pulse— even when the off white pallor of his face says everything it should. “Omi?” You whisper, and when you breathe out, your throat closes up. You want to wake up. Your first coherent thought is that you can’t breathe; the next, to run. There’s no more heat in his skin, icy to the touch, and it frightens you so much that you jerk back and slam the door to the closet, stopping abruptly between the couch and the door.

It’s when the lights flick on that you do regret that.

Kiyoomi’s voice sounds deeper when you turn. As he stares at you, he brushes his messy curls out of his face. “What are you doing?” You don’t speak. Nothing but a shallow hiccup makes it out of your mouth, but you’re still holding out your hands like they’ve been burned, and maybe that’s enough for him to slide his eyes over to the closet. For a moment it stays quiet. So quiet that you can hear the blood rush beneath your skin, pumping with adrenaline you have no room for. Kiyoomi’s dead. Your Kiyoomi’s dead, isn’t he. “Ah.”

“I- I-”

“You weren’t supposed to go snooping, angel. You’re really making things difficult.” The noiret’s quiet calmness makes way for a slight smile, before he steps out of the doorway towards you. And you flatten yourself to the wall on shaky legs, but moving any more than that feels impossible. You’ve never been so scared in your life— literally frozen solid to the wall as your panicked hiccups send tears welling up in thick, childish bubbles that refuse to tip. He gives you an up and down, before pointing at you as he walks over to the closet, and sighs. “Don’t move.”

You couldn’t, even if you had the courage to. And you very much don’t. It’s so cold— you watch as he pushes into the small room only to drag the body you’d left there out of it. The heavy scraping noise of a limp body across the floor is almost enough to have you totally break. When he dumps the body in the middle of your shared living room, you manage to let out a few noises, strangled, pathetic noises, before you wring your hands together. “W-what did you do to Kiyoomi?”

“I am Kiyoomi,” he says back with enough certainty to shake you, and then smiles a little when finally the tears spill, and you shake your head left and right through your panic.

“You’re not—” is all you can squeak before he walks up to you too close and grabs your face, leaving sticky cold blood with his touch. Your cheek is almost held lovingly, but one glance up at his eyes convinces you that it’s anything but. It’s predatory, a mean glitter of amusement that plays in the darkness, and the harder you cry, the giddier it seems to get. “Let me go, p-please,” you sniffle, “let me go. I won’t tell, I just don’t wanna be- h-here.”

“Shhh, we might as well pretend I’m him still. You look so cute whining that name like it’s your fucking job.” He takes you by the hand after pressing a brief kiss on your forehead, and then sits you down onto the couch. And your chest still feels much too rattled to think about running anywhere, but when he pushes one finger into your mouth with a slight grin, you consider it. “Don’t know any better, do you?” He groans. You want to bite and run, and hide until everything stops pounding— but run where? Your boyfriend’s cold on the floor of your apartment. You can barely stop crying for long enough to take a breath, and the man above you pushes another finger down your throat. “Such a pretty little girlfriend I’ve got- look here-” 

You do - can’t help it when the pressure starts choking you, and whatever frightened look you’re giving him, is enough to make him groan long and hard. It fucks with your brain. It’s still your boyfriend- looks, smells, tastes the same- and if you stop paying attention for a few seconds, it’s almost like everything is back to normal. It’s almost like you’re safe as long as you pretend not to notice what’s going on around just you and the invasive touches that are forced onto you. “Man, you look so fucking wrecked, baby. Say my name, won’t you?” His grin is wide and cheshire-like when he leans in and starts nudging your top down your shoulders. “Say ‘please, Kiyoomi’.”

He doesn’t move his fingers out of the way to allow you. Instead you whimper around his fingers, and try not to choke as spit gets all over your chin and his hand. “Pwea-se, Kiy-oomi.”

“Hahah, you’re so fucking nasty, getting spit all over me. Drooling like a fucking dog while you’re being forced— You like whining and moaning for me?” He takes his fingers out to wipe them on your flimsy camisole and stands to start sliding down his boxers, pushing you back towards the couch. The small grin changes to a tight grimace when you try to grab at him for comfort. “Ah ah ah, don’t think so.” There’s a fistful of hair in his hand before you can apologize, as he shoves you face down towards the couch and holds you there, cheek pressed to the rough fabric. Until your face is hung just off the side, and you’re forced to face the trail of blood that ends in a familiar face.

It’s horrible, and the harder you squeeze your eyes shut against the wave of fresh tears, the deeper the image seems to force itself into your brain. “Kiyoomi~” You whimper pathetically, and he hums in response. Everything’s too close, too loud, his touch is too real and too pressing and warm— burning you from the inside out as he yanks your clothing the last bit down until it hangs around your waist and he drags his fingers up and down your slit through your panties a few times. It leaves the wet fabric awfully sticky against your pussy, and your cheeks get hotter. It’s not your fault, his fingers work you in ways that always work. That thought has your eyes flicking open, but the horrific sight has yet to disappear. “Mh-hck,” you start up again, and try to roll aside as he grabs your thigh hard to hold you in place. “I wanna stop. I wanna stop.”

“Aw, poor baby. Poor angel.” The dismissive tone is cooed as a loving mockery when he pushes you down between your shoulder blades and yanks your panties the rest of the way down. “You don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” He then yanks your head up so you’re forced to stare at your reflection in the window, unable to see anything else. You can’t close your eyes to hide from it. Kiyoomi’s grabbing you tight enough to have you unable to move. “I’ll give you a hint. You lay here and you take it. You just listen nice and sweet, ugh-” He groans low when pushing the hot head of his cock against your entrance, patting it with a patient sigh— only to push in with a force that makes you jerk.

Why does it hurt so much? You wanna cry harder when he forces all the heavy girth of his cock inside you and the wetness dripping between your legs squelches loud, but your throat’s too clogged to. Instead only a pinched moan comes out, and he grunts when bottoming out deep inside you. “Girls who don’t listen make me wanna cut them open and eat their insides out. Would you like that?” The pull on your hair forcing your head up is making you lightheaded. That, and the stinging, uncomfortable tightness inside your pussy, squeezing and clenching against the intrusion - still isn’t enough to drown out the horror of those words as he whispers them.

Almost instantly you shake your head left and right, and your muffled ‘no’s melt into a childish cry. “No, nonono, Omi- ‘yoomi- I, no~ pleas-hck- stop. Wanna stop.” He pulls back his hips for long enough to really let you feel the ache of your walls as they cling to his cock, but then thrusts back in and bounces you on his cock. He drops your head back to the side of the couch, and places a hand in the middle of your spine to anchor you down under his weight. 

“You don’t? I think you’re lying. You want to be treated like a sack of meat.” His hips make a loud sound when connecting with your ass. “You don’t like this?”

“Ow, oww, Omi- ‘hurts-” You’re fighting against the caving of your chest each time you exhale, and forced to take shorter breaths each time he fucks back into you. “Ah, ow.” And your pussy hurts, but the rolling of his hips and the stubborn, deep grinding is too overwhelming. You hate that you can hear the wetness of your cunt squeezing around the pumping of him inside, you hate the way he breathes above you, how you can feel him everywhere. It makes you sick. It’s all too much, and still it feels so fucking good that you’re hot in the face. “Mhm~ ‘m sorry. I’m sorry.” You blink through the tears to stare just a second at the trail of blood that he made from the closet to the couch— but you can’t make yourself look any closer. Instead you aim your eyes back at your reflection, and meet other eyes.

“You haven’t wanted to play with me much since I got here. ‘S your own fault that I’m all pent up now, stupid girl.” The steady rhythm in and out of your needy pussy is too much. It feels so good— and you hate it. You clench your hands into the couch as best you can and try to hang on, until your knuckles turn white. The noiret’s voice is back to taunt you, this time as his other hand reaches around to grab the soft of your throat and squeeze, shaking you back to him. “If you want your nice, reliable Kiyoomi, look- he’s right here for you.” You can’t. You can’t. Your tears well over in ugly rivers that you shut behind your lids, and Kiyoomi makes a noise.

You can’t tell if it’s a pleased noise or not, you don’t care. He rolls his hips, and your cunny accepts too eagerly. But it still feels so fucking good. And you can’t stop yourself from feeling like the worst person in the world. Your hands shake, and your head feels faint. Kiyoomi’s dead. There’s nothing else to know. Kiyoomi’s dead and you’re about to cum getting fucked— your whimper gives you away. It’s faint, but he hears it. “Hm, you don’t like him either now huh?” Instead of squeezing your throat, his hand moves to grab your tit instead, pinching your puffy nipple until you can’t help but make a noise. You’re so gross. And your pussy’s still pulling him back in, clenching to the pulsing heat as it fucks right into the softest part of your walls. “I- agh, f- I like bullying my pretty little cock sleeve to tears. So- f-fucking cute like this.”

He ruts into you until your belly feels hot and tingly, and you grind back against him on instinct. You’re getting so close, the pinching, the precise way he hits the needy spot deep inside you - you don’t even want to. “No, no- Omi, I’m- agh, please stop.” You really don’t. “I’m- I’m gonna—” But before you can stop it, your eyes squeeze shut, and your entire body goes tense. The tight ball of heat that’s been expanding all over your body with each pump, each time his heavy balls slap against you, explodes into a million pieces. “Kiyoomi, I love you, I’m so- sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s— all my fault.”

As he fucks you through the blooming heat and the white and black spots that play on your lids, he groans your name low and possessive. Your clenching only slows way after you’ve grinded yourself back against him and drooled all over the couch, until your tired body drops back into the plush. And Kiyoomi lets out a little chuckle. “Yea, it’s all your fault, stupid girl. You lay here and stay— I’ll be right back.” You barely feel the heat leave until it comes back, shoving some of the wetness from your sensitive pussy right back inside with a grunt, and a harsh tap of his hand to your pussy. The sting is sharp, and you glare through your tears as you look up. Not that he cares. “Here. Look. Kiss it.”

The sharp blade that’s basically shoved in your face glints when you hesitate, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth. “Come on. Or else I’ll put it to use on him instead, and you don’t want that, do you?” Your lips press against the cold metal, but your eyes stay resolutely on his face. Dark curls framing dark eyes and long lashes — you often told him he was the most beautiful man you knew. You wonder if he remembered it in the end. You suppose it doesn’t matter though, watching his mirror click his tongue.

“Good girl, such a good baby girl under all the crying and mess, aren’t you? Almost make me think you like me better like this after all.” You can’t answer, but the tears that wobble sadly along your waterline spill over in the silence— and your lip wobbles. And Kiyoomi only brushes a thumb along your lip, before shrugging. “No? That’s a shame. Because you are mine now. Mine. All of you.” He points the knife into the top of your leg, and leaves behind a mark that immediately wells up with dotted red. The immediate pain and sting of hot blood sears through your skin. “Tell me again what name you want me to write? Say it nice and sweet, angel.”

Your voice doesn’t shake as much as you think it should. “Kiyoomi.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[mrs-snape5984]

“I will follow you into the dark…”

“If there′s no one beside you, when your soul embarks, then I’ll follow you into the dark. (…) The time for sleep is now. But it′s nothing to cry about, ‘cause we′ll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms.” (“I will follow you into the dark” by Death Cab for Cutie)

Trigger warning: My thoughts of despair can be quite dark. If anyone has difficulties with reading these things, please skip the next five paragraphs.

I’m struggling with ME/CFS for 1,5 years now and my life, as I knew it before, has changed drastically. Damn, I’ve lost so much…so much I’ve taken for granted, although my life wasn’t easy before this disease, either.

The small things in life, which have always felt so naturally, are gone for me. Driving my car, being active with my three children, going to work, taking care of my household, meeting my friends and family, making a phone call, taking care of myself, watching TV, listening to loud music, reading more than just a few pages of a book, drinking a glass of wine, leaving the house or even my dark room in general….everything was just taken from me by this fucking bitch of a disease, called ME/CFS!

I feel so stupid for having regarded these things as a matter of course….and I would rather relinquish the things I’ve gotten instead: The pains, the fevers, the lack of orientation when I’m leaving my darkness, the fatigue, the brain fog, the disability of comprehending things, the hypersensitivity to dealing with noises and lights, the lack of understanding from others…the list seems to be endless.

Every little thing too much results in another “crash” of my disease…and it’s getting worse every time. I’ve lost some friends over this period of time, my children have lost their active and funny mother and on some days, I’m trying to fight the thought away, that I’ve lost the sense of purpose in my life.

It’s only going downhill from here…further down into the darkness, which is now the only stability in my life. I’ve lost the grip on myself…the understanding of who I really am. What is left of myself?

Sure, I still haven’t lost my sense of sarcasm and my rather dark humour. I’m also sure, that I’m still an empathetic person, who’s interested in other’s thoughts and feelings. And maybe that’s exactly, what I should rely on. These are parts of my personality, which this goddamn disease ME/CFS hasn’t stolen from me.

The other thing, no one, not even ME/CFS, could ever take from me, is my love for Severus Snape. Since 21 years, I’m clinging to him, letting him comfort me and console my troubled heart and soul. He’s the one, who’s following me into the dark…being my unwavering companion in these rough times.

When I commissioned @madfantasy for this stunning piece of art, we’ve talked a lot about the meaning behind it. Mani, my dear friend, I’m beyond grateful for your understanding of the feelings, which I wanted to express with this artwork. I’ve never met anyone else in my entire existence, who had the ability to grasp every nuance of my emotions, transforming them into something so powerful…so creative…so beautiful!! You are such a gem of a soul and my heart swells with joy for being counted as your friend. I’m sending you my love! 🖤🖤🖤

🖤 Severus & Julia 🖤

[theamberwriter]

Always Be My Hero [Pro! Eijiro Kirishima]

A/N: I read THIS by @dreamy-writings and was inspired to write this, lol

Warning: Angst, cursing

Pair: Pro Hero! Eijiro Kirishima x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

*~*~*~

"Oi, you need to talk to shitty hair," Katsuki snapped, throwing a bunch of flowers on your bed.

Mina sat on the edge of the mattress, took your shoulders in her hands, and gently shook you. "Please, [Name], Eijiro has gone off the deep end."

"I'm sure just Ei is just a little stressed," you tried to sound soothing. "He's been working a lot -"

"We wouldn't be here if we didn't think it was serious," Denki urged.

"He's going to hurt himself," Katsuki growled. "Don't need both you idiots out of commission."

"We know, after everything, we shouldn't be bothering your healing time. But…. Eijiro needs you." Mina hung her head in defeat. 

Just what was going on? When your fiance was home, he was as cheery and bright as you'd always known him. Was he different at work? With his friends?

"Shitty Hair thinks this -" Katsuki gestured to your broken arm and leg, the bandages around your head, your sprained ankle and broken ribs, the numerous bumps and bruises, the multiple hairline fractures and surgery incisions, and the antibiotic drip the hospital sent you home with. "Is some how all his fucking fault. That damn idiot won't listen to us! He's been working the hell out of himself. Spends hours beating himself up."

You felt like you cracked in half. Like a bit of you shattered. Not the ones from being thrown into buildings and trampled on by a giant villain. But deep down in an untouchable place. You felt like you broke apart. 

Knowing you caused your beloved so much anxiety and stress had boiled up in him. Maybe you should've seen it. But he was just so happy. Glued to your side, helping you bathe, helping you get to the bathroom, changing the bandages on your head - assuring that he still thought you extremely attractive, even though you were going to have a hell of a scar going from the middle of your hairline down under your left ear. He was always smiling and joking when he was with you.

"The wheelchair they gave me is in the closet," you muttered, eyes on where your hands were balled around the blankets. You had to be strong. Normally, Eijiro was your rock. Now the tables had turned.

Mina pulled out the wheelchair while Denki and Katsuki helped get you out of bed. Luckily you'd asked Eijiro to help you into sweatpants and a decent t-shirt before he left for work. You asked for one of your shoes to put on your uncasted foot (which was wrapped in an ace bandage instead). Then unhooked the IV and pinched the line. The bag was nearly done anyway.

"I'm ready when you all are," you muttered. A silent tremor passed through the room. Then you all were out the door.

In his agency training facility, Eijiro was giving all he had to a punching bag. Sweat poured from the hardened ridges in his skin. He felt the solid bag meet his fists, but none of it was satisfying. None of the hits eased the guilt.

No amount of punching had shaken away the image plaguing his mind. You lying in bed, barely seeming to hold on. The doctors said you had internal bleeding, a concussion, then listed off all the broken parts. A bit of himself broke with each word.

Eijiro had bawled hysterically when the doctors left and he was alone with your unconscious body. He gripped your hand, begging to anyone who would hear him. Asking them to let you pull through. That, in exchange, he'd get stronger. No matter the cost.

Eijiro was determined to keep your spirits up. To not let you know how much he'd been suffering. You couldn't imagine the wells that wanted to overflow the first time your eyes opened. The first kiss you gave him after waking up. He felt like bursting, you'd been returned to him.

In exchange, he'd train himself raw. He'd push himself past his limit. It didn't matter what Katsuki, or Tamaki, or even Fat Gum had to say. Eijiro was going to protect you next time. For now he'd train. Then go back to you at the end of the day with a smile, no matter how much he hurt or how tired he was. Coming home to you, hooked to an IV and barely able to move around the house - that image drove him.

Eijiro had been so excited to have you home. But every time he looked too long at your casted arm, or uncovered the puckered gouge on your head. Everything reminded him he hadn't been there to help. To save you. Deku had been, he lifted that gargantuan off you like a pillow. Eijiro didn't think he'd ever have been able to do that. So he was going to train until he could.

You hadn't complained once since you'd been home. Only grateful when you'd gone out a few days after to greet your fans. There were so many who thanked you for saving them. Each felt like a bit of a hit to him. You'd saved all those people and he didn't even manage to save you. Was he truly a hero if he couldn't protect those he cared about?

It didn't matter to him that he was a five hour plane ride away when it all happened. Eijiro had gone to do some publicity stuff with other heroes. He had to hear it from an insensitive reporter who asked how he felt knowing his fiance was in the hospital. But he hadn't. He didn't know. His fellow heroes outraged at the question and Eijiro was on a plane back to you within the hour.

He swore he'd be there next time. That he'd never let anything like this happen again. Eijiro had gone in the plane bathroom and had a good deep cry a few times. When he saw the videos, read the articles, saw all the people asking Where was Red Riot? He hadn't been there. He'd let down the one person he never wanted to. It broke his heart into a million bits. He didn't think he'd ever be able to repair himself.

Eijiro cried as he punched. No one would be able to tell through the sweat. But each and every punch got harder, and so too did his tears.

Pitying looks were passed your way as Katsuki pushed you through Eijiro's agency. You stopped in briefly to talk to Fat Gum. He looked so put out and desperate. He said he'd tried everything. But everyday, Eijiro had been in the facility's gym. Working himself until he bled or passed out. 

Katsuki pushed you, Mina and Denki in tow, down the halls to the gym. You heard the blunt hits long before you saw the doors. Each one grating into your mind. You were never going to forget the hot guilt that bit at you with each thud.

Katsuki pushed you to the gym door way. It was empty, except where your beloved stood hardened to the max, shirtless. You saw a bit of blood dripping from his back. The punching bag was losing sand and stuffing. A defeated one laid in a lump on the floor already. You watched a long minute. Then you realized each grunt turned more into a cry or a wail.

You turned to Denki, and held out your hand. He gave you the crunch he'd been carrying. Luckily the arm and the leg you'd broken were on the opposite sides of your body. You hauled yourself up, your friends helped steady you. Then you limped your way across the gym. Finally, you came into view in the mirror in front of him.

A few spots on Eijiro's face were bleeding. His eyes were blown out. His features scrunched up in….there wasn't a word strong enough to explain the pain. The anguish. The despair. His eyes met yours and, all at once, he broke down. 

Eijiro collapsed to his knees. His quirk finally releasing him. Sobs still wracked his shoulders, they shook violently. But his sobs were silent now. Though you didn't miss the tears that dripped onto the floor.

"Eiji," you cooed and lowered yourself to the floor.

He shook his head. "You….sh-should be-e….hom-m-me. He-healing."

"You need me more." You put a hand on his shoulder. Eijiro latched on to you. You didn't care about the blood, sweat, or tears, or how much sitting that way hurt. You just needed to get him to breathe now.

"I -" he hacked. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not….I'm not manly enough. Even now. What if you get hurt again - or worse? Because I couldn't….I can't…."

You shook your head and kissed his damp hair. "Eijiro - honey, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. Really. This was me being overconfident. It was my own fault. You're an amazing hero. Thousands of people look up to you. You have to stop beating yourself up. You're being the best hero you can be. And I love you for every bit of who you are. No matter what happens to me, you'll always be my number one hero."

Eijiro sobbed harder, gripping you closer. You didn't complain at the protesting throbs of pain screaming all over your body. You sat a while longer. When he was finally feeling better, he carried you back to your chair. Then he took a quick rinse in the shower before pushing you home. Your friends had prepared everything for a movie night when you got back; movies, drinks, takeout. 

You could see the relief in their faces.

You still caught him giving you long, guilty glances. You would only lean over and kiss the look away. But you could never know the weight of what you said. He wanted to eat, sleep, live, and breathe by that creed.

You'll always be my hero.

~

[krreader]

aurora.

pairing: kim taehyung x reader ; jeon jeongguk x reader ; jeon jeongguk x iu fandom: bts ; solo artists (iu) warnings: language genre: angst ; fluff word count: 6k+

summary: dawn comes after the darkness, and with it the promise that what has been torn by the sea is not lost. - lisa wingate

a/n: you read that right. 6k. this escalated so hard. but anyways, let me say the biggest fucking thank you to my lovely friend @belovedcherry​ who actually commissioned this and was kind enough to let me post it. I am beyond grateful for you, seriously. I truly hope this is everything you wanted and more and thank you again for being such an amazing person. I love you, boo ���

“What are you doing? It's too early,” you turned around when Jeongguk opened the curtains, the sunlight hurting your eyes this early in the morning, so you tried to squeeze them together tighter.

He started chuckling and jumped back into bed, wrapping an arm around your middle and pulling you against his naked chest, “It's 11 AM, (Y/N).”

“Too early,” you whined, but started giggling when he began to kiss your shoulder, then neck. His hand rested on your hip, but slowly traveled up until he could hold your hand.

His thumb brushed over the back of it, then over the diamond ring that he put on your finger only last night. Then, you finally opened your eyes, smiling at the memory of the simple, yet beautiful proposal over dinner. The most wonderful things he had said last night, about you, your future..

“I still can't believe it,” you whispered.

“Believe it. Believe that you're going to be the lucky Mrs. Jeon (Y/N) soon,” he chuckled into the nape of your neck and pulled you yet again closer, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“I really am the luckiest woman alive.”

It was a memory that used to give you joy, of course. How couldn’t it? A proposal was supposed to bring happy memories with it. 

But it seemed as if everything went downhill from there on. Thinking back on it, that was the last good memory that you had of your time together.. of him. And if you could.. you’d gladly erase it from your mind, just so you’d finally stop your heart from hurting so much and the tears from flooding.

But how could you have possibly known? After four years, you obviously had trusted him blindly and believed everything he told you. Every promise and every 'I love you' was a genuine one, you didn’t even question it once.

So how could a person that promised you the world, throw you away like garbage in less than five seconds, when you were ready to give up everything for them? How could the person that promised you their name replace you so easily and give it to someone else only five months after your broken engagement?

Like it meant nothing.. like you meant nothing.

“I don't.. I don't understand,” everything was.. fine. Everything was perfect, this made no sense, why was he saying these things? Why was he suddenly talking about IU again when he hadn’t mentioned her name in years?

Was this because.. she broke up with her boyfriend?

“I'm truly sorry, (Y/N).”

“You're.. sorry?” you got up from the couch, your eyebrows furrowed, “You're telling me you're sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that you want to throw away everything you and I built for the last years for the chance of being with someone else? You're replacing me for the slight possible of being with.. someone else?”

Being broken up with was a horrible feeling in itself. But the reason for it being that he wanted to replace you.. now that was something that would leave you scarred forever.

Jeongguk tried to look at you, but he failed miserably.

He felt mad at himself and so utterly ashamed, but it's what his heart wanted.. it's what it always wanted. So he couldn't pass up the chance of finally being with her now that he got it.

“She already approached me, (Y/N).”

“So you already cheated on me,” it wasn't a question. It was a statement.

“No!” he quickly yelled out, “No, we didn't, we only.. we agreed to meet.”

“You fucking asshole,” you let out a humorless laugh, your head shaking, “You fucking asshole,” you repeated, but this time you screamed at him, pulling the engagement ring off your finger and throwing it at him.

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely audible.

Jeongguk and you used to be so happy that even the thought of you eventually breaking up with each other was not something you could have ever seen happening. He was your soulmate, your best friend, your ride or die. He was the one who was always there even when he was far away, the one who you saw as the father of your children.. well.. that one turned out to be kind of true.. but only kind of.

“Miss?” you jumped a little when the lady working at the airport stood in front of you with an unsure smile, but quickly put on a smile as well to show her that you were ready to listen now that she already ripped you out of your thoughts, “I'm really sorry, but there's no seat left in the front row, all passengers that sit there paid extra already.”

“Ah, I see.. thank you for trying anyways.”

The only reason why you wanted that seat was that you would have liked to stretch out your legs a little more. Ever since your pregnancy began you were having trouble with your legs swelling, something completely normal, but on such a long flight you would have appreciated it if you have had the chance to stretch a little bit.

Your hands rested on your belly, a sigh escaping your lips, “I hope you'll be more comfortable than mommy, little bean.”

This wasn't the life you had wanted for your child.

You had wanted your child to have a happy family once it was born, a happy father and mother who were more than excited to finally be able to hold him or her in their arms. But what would they get instead? A scared and lonely shell of a person who was struggling mentally and financially..

But no matter the financial problems that you had, you couldn't stay in Seoul.

Not with their pictures being plastered everywhere you went. Not with the ‘Congratulations on your marriage!’ slogans in every subway station.

“Flight L730 to Sydney is now ready to depart. We ask our passengers sitting in first class, as well as our gold star members and senators to..-” the lady started to announce. Most people had been lining up for a while already, so you decided that you'd get up and get in line as well, especially because it wasn’t as easy for you anymore to just get up and walk somewhere, despite you only being five months pregnant now.

You were minding your own business, when two girls in front of you started talking about a subject that you really had enough of hearing about.

“Did you see their wedding picture? IU looks breathtaking, don't you think?”

Your jaw began to clench, your eyes slowly looking up and seeing the picture that one was showing the other through the gap of their shoulders.

“I'm so happy for them. He's tried so long, I'm glad he finally got his happy ending with the woman he loves.”

They didn't know.

They couldn't know.

You weren't even allowed to be angry at them, because they were oblivious to what had been going on behind closed doors. No one had known about you. Four years he had kept you a secret. Fuck, even Bangtan didn't know you existed for the first two and a half years. And even after that you rarely saw them. Jeongguk never told you the reason as to why he didn't like you being around them, but you had been alright with it. You weren't dating him for his group, after all.

Still.. you often wondered what people would think of Jeongguk if they knew the truth.

If they knew how he had handled the entire situation.. especially in regards to the baby.

“(Y/N).. you need to stop calling me,” he let out a heavy sigh, his fingers massaging his temples.

“You need to listen to me,” you let out a sob, the pregnancy test between your fingers shaking due to your trembling hand.

This just made everything ten times worse.

A broken heart was one thing, but a baby.. fuck. This complicated matters.

“No, I don't,” Jeongguk looked to the sleeping IU to his right, then pushed the covers away and walked into the living room so he wouldn't wake her up, “I've apologized enough, I can't do much else than that. You need to accept it, as hard as that might be. I truly am sorry.”

“Jeongguk, I..-”

“No. We're done,” he said a bit more sternly now, “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

You had sent him countless of messages afterwards in which you told him about the baby, but the messages were never opened or read. After a while and after a few more calls that never went through, you realized that he probably blocked your number.

And that was that.

Because you didn't have any other way of contacting him.

He had moved out of your shared apartment after the break-up and you didn't know where he lived now. You also didn't have phone numbers of any of his band members.. you had no way to tell him that he'd be a father soon.

But now, after five months and the wedding picture that you saw on the phone of this girl, you once again realized that even if he knew, he probably wouldn't even care..

..because it wouldn't be her baby.

Just like you didn’t matter anymore, because you weren’t her. 

“Flight L730 to Sydney is now ready to board for all passengers. Please take out your passport and flight ticket for us to scan and we hope you enjoy your trip.”

Your hand once again rested on your belly, your thumb gently brushing over it.

This was it.. you'd finally leave that part of your life behind that once brought you so much happiness but had left you with a shattered heart.

It was for the best.. maybe you'd even find your happy ending there.. someday.

                                                  three years later

“I love Sydney,” Jimin sighed happily, leaning back in his seat and enjoying the sun shining into his face.

“You say that about every country we tour in,” Taehyung chuckled and wiped his mouth with a napkin, “But I agree.. it's beautiful. Especially the architecture.”

“If you end up talking about architecture again for an hour straight, I'm going to leave,” Jimin warned, but with a smile.

“I mean, come on, how could I not? It's such a beautiful mixture of old and new architecture, forming something so unique and special that..- hey! Come on!”

But Jimin stayed true to his word and actually got up, “No, I'm sorry, I can't listen to another one hour ramble about some architect that’s already been dead for years, I already did that in New York and London. You pay, I'll be back at the hotel.”

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh. He should have simply asked Namjoon hyung to go to lunch with him. At least he would have listened.

“Uh, sorry? Pay?” he asked when a waitress passed by, then quickly looked down to pull out his wallet from his pockets.

“I hope the food tasted good?”

“Ah, very good!” and when he turned around to look at you with his boxy smile, both you and him instantly froze.

You recognized each other within a second, despite you not having seen each other in years, and even then, only briefly.

He knew who you were and you obviously knew who he was, not just because of the fact that his face was plastered all over town because of their upcoming concert, but also because of your history. Your history, that you successfully managed to forget about.. or at least.. that's what you wanted to believe.

“You..- (Y/N)? What the hell are you doing here?” he instantly switched back to speaking Korean, his smile reappearing on his face. He even got up and hugged you tightly, despite you and him never having been that close to each other.

But maybe he was just happy to see a familiar face in a foreign country.

You just stood there stiff as a tree, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“Man, it's so nice to see you again! It's been.. what? Three years? How have you been? What's new?”

You couldn't have this conversation.

Not here and not now, because you couldn’t predict your emotions.

You hadn’t talked about what had happened to anyone ever since you left and you didn’t want to do that now after you successfully locked that part away and threw away the key.

“Do you want to pay with cash or card?”

Taehyung was taken aback, but the surprise of meeting you so suddenly made him completely forget about the reason why you left in the first place.

Maybe seeing him didn't bring back the best of memories.

“Card, please.”

He took that moment that you walked away to get the machine for his card to gather his thoughts and really think about what he'd say next. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries, or more than he already had.

And so when you were back and inserted the card, he said, “I never got to say that I was sorry about everything that happened between you and Jeongguk, but..-”

“Don't,” you whispered, your eyes firmly on the machine.

“What?”

“Don't pity me,” you handed him the machine, “I don't want pity.”

He gulped down hard. He hadn't said one good thing to you, apparently. And he felt bad about that. So he quickly typed in his PIN, but before he handed you back the machine, he said: “When are you done here? Do you.. want to go grab a coffee? Talk about.. something? Not.. him. Just catch up?”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Please, (Y/N). You live here now, right? So maybe.. you could show me around a bit? I only have today off, so I'd love to see some secret spots that only the locals know about,” he grinned.

“I'm not your tourist guide,” you said bitterly and handed him the receipt, already wanting to leave again.

“I know you're not,” he got up and wrapped his hand around your wrist, quickly letting it go again when he saw the way you looked at his hand, “I want to know how you are. I truly do.”

It was the sincerity in his eyes that made you actually think about it. A part of you told you not to fall for it, that he was just like Jeongguk and that you'd get nothing good out of having an actual conversation with him, even if you'd never see each other again after today. But you had always liked Taehyung those very few times that you saw him. He always treated you well, respected you and took good care of you when you were out together for dinner.

So because of old time's sake, you said: “I get off in two hours. So 5PM sharp,” and with that you turned around and walked back into the restaurant, leaving a smiling Taehyung behind.

“Hyung!” Jeongguk ran after Taehyung when he wanted to get into the elevator, “I've been looking for you! Do you want to go out? Do something?”

Should he tell him? Probably not.. not even for his sake, because Taehyung knew that he didn't care, but for your sake. You probably wouldn't want him to know that you were here.

“I already have plans, sorry.”

“Huh? With whom?”

“See you tonight for dinner!” Taehyung pressed the button and watched Jeongguk's eyebrows draw together in confusion when the elevator doors closed.

He was a little early when he arrived back at the restaurant, so he just stood outside and watched you work for a while.

You were still pretty.. he always thought you were beautiful, but the Australian sun illuminating your skin and smile.. it suit you. Taehyung could never quite understand Jeongguk on why he rather wanted IU than you. If anyone were to ask his opinion on the matter, he immediately would have chosen you to be prettier than her. But maybe that’s just personal preference..

“You should just ask her out, mate,” a guy nudged his side, making Taehyung jump a little.

“Sorry?”

“(Y/N). She's single. Actually, would do her good to have someone by her side,” he only understood half of what he was saying, especially because of the accent, but this guy seemed to know you. When he walked into the restaurant he realized that he must be your co-worker since the two of you started talking casually.

It was only when you approached Taehyung after you got off that you confirmed it, “My co-worker thinks you have a crush on me.”

“I just.. I wasn't.. I was just..-”

“Relax,” you chuckled, “I told him you're an old friend,” you shouldered your bag, “What did he tell you?”

“Honestly? I don't know. The accent was a bit.. much.”

“Yeah,” that made you laugh as you two started to walk away from the restaurant together, “It takes a little time to get used to it. But people are nice here, you know?”

“So you're happy?”

You didn't answer right away, really thought about your words, “I'm.. okay. It's easier here than it was in Seoul. And it's getting better every day, you know?”

Taehyung nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, “I thought about you a lot, actually. About whether or not you were doing okay. Some of us thought about contacting you, but we didn't know how.. and.. well, we didn't know whether or not we should get involved.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” you admitted, “I needed space and.. time. I needed to be alone to really cut that part of me off, as hard as that sounds.”

“No, I understand,” he nodded, “Still.. it can’t have been easy, moving here all on your own..”

“I wasn't alone.. not really.”

“Oh? Then you..-?”

Taehyung must have thought about a man, a boyfriend maybe. A past one, since that co-worker mentioned you were now single.

But that's.. not really what you have had in mind.

Before Taehyung even knew it, you had led him to a child care center. Only a few children were out playing at this time, since it was already rather late.

He was confused for a moment, thought you might just wanted to pass by, but.. you walked in.

And he followed.

“MOMMY!” a little girl, not older than three, ran into your arms with her black pigtails, you picking her up and spinning her around.

“Ah, I missed you so much,” you showered her face with kisses, loving the giggling sounds she made, “Did you have fun today?”

“Yeeeeah! We made a lot of drawings! I’ll show you!”

“Okay,” you gently put her back down with a smile, “Then hurry, get your bag and paintings. I'll wait here for you.”

She ran back inside, past the child care worker who waved at you to greet you.

For a moment you had completely forgotten that Taehyung was even there, only when he spoke did you remember, “Oh my god..”

“I told you not to pity me.”

“I'm.. not, I'm just..- does he know?! He never said anything?! Oh my god, he knew and didn’t say anything? Or did you never tell him? I don’t..-” his eyes were wide, plainly speaking what he was thinking. Which.. didn’t make much sense.

“I tried telling him, but he blocked my number. He was.. too busy,” you shrugged, “I don't care anymore, Taehyung. I made a promise to myself when I gave birth to her that I won't let him ruin my life any more than he already had. I got two jobs to provide for my girl, I got us an apartment that is big enough for the both of us and I'm doing the best I can to give her everything she needs and wants. I don't need him anymore and I will never need him again.”

He was.. glad to hear that, really. He was actually even a little proud that you got your shit together like this, but it still pained him that Jeongguk would do this to you. To him, it almost felt like he was a little bit responsible, even though that was bullshit.

Taehyung couldn’t have changed any of this, Jeongguk was his own person and you knew that. 

So you didn’t hold a grudge against him or any of the other members. This wasn’t their fault.

When your daughter ran back out she finally saw Taehyung for the first time. He thought she may be shy, but not at all. She actually extended her hand to him, “I'm Zoe.”

“Zoe, my friend Taehyung is Korean.. can you introduce yourself in Korean?”

Her eyes widened, even beamed a little and Taehyung couldn't help but grin and kneel down when the little girl bowed and introduced herself in Korean.

“Wow! You speak Korean?”

“Mommy taught me!”

“Your mommy is a very smart woman.”

“The smartest,” the little girl giggled and leaned against your leg.

“Oh wow.. did you paint these?” Taehyung pointed at her pictures and your little girl instantly showed him with a proud smile, “These are.. amazing!”

“Mommy he likes them! Did you hear? He likes them!”

“I heard,” you grinned and picked her up, brushing down the skirt of her dress, “Let's go home, though. You need to eat something and so does mommy.”

Taehyung didn't move when you walked up ahead, he didn't think you'd want him to come, but..-

“Hey.. you coming or what?” you smiled at him and even Zoe waved him over, “Come on, Taehyungie!”

"We need to talk about honorifics, I think,” he chuckled.

Taehyung remembered the old apartment you used to live at with Jeongguk. It had been luxurious and big, too big for two people actually.

Your apartment now was a lot more cozier.

It was a one bedroom apartment, small, but still nice. It felt.. like home. Like what he always wanted to experience when he was a teenager and thought about moving in with his girlfriend eventually.

“Look,” Zoe struggled to climb up on the couch, her tongue sticking out in concentration, but once she sat next to Taehyung, she proudly showed him all her favorite paintings that she made, “This is mommy and this is me.”

“Wow.. your mommy looks so beautiful here. And you look so cute!”

“My mommy is the beautifulest person on the planet,” she proudly said.

Taehyung raised his head and watched you make dinner in the kitchen. You had put up your hair, but some strands kept falling into your face. He watched with a smile as you pushed them back again and again, letting out more than one annoyed sigh because of it.

“She really is,” he whispered.

Zoe might only be three years old, but kids were a lot smarter than adults gave them credit for.

She looked the same direction that he looked at, then looked back at him, “Do you like my mommy?”

“Huh? Oh, I..- well, your mommy is an old friend, you know?”

She was quiet for a moment, then she asked, “Are you.. my daddy?”

Oh god.., “I'm.. uhm.. just a friend, sweetheart.”

“Oh..-” her shoulder slumped in disappointment, then she pulled out a paper from the very bottom and showed him. It was of her, you and a man.. but the man didn't have a face, “I don't have a daddy, you know? All of my friends do.. but I don't.”

It broke his heart.

It absolutely shattered it, actually.

And he wanted to punch the living shit out of Jeongguk and that had never been an emotion he felt before.

“But you have your mommy.. and she loves you so much,” Taehyung tried to console her.

“I know,” she nodded, slowly beginning to smile again, “I love her most.”

“Okay,” you walked into the living room and put two plates down in front of Taehyung and Zoe, “I'm sorry, love, I didn't have time to go grocery shopping today. I hope this is okay..”

“PASTA!” she screamed in excitement and sat down on the floor, “Thank you, mommy!”

You gently brushed through her hair, then handed Taehyung a fork, “I know, not what you're used to, but I hope you like it nevertheless.”

“It's perfect,” you stared at each other for a moment, you being the first to break the eye contact when your daughter started to tell you about her day.

But you still caught yourself staring at him more than once throughout the dinner.

Maybe it was the way he talked to Zoe that made you feel this way, the way that Zoe looked at him.. or maybe it was just that you've been so lonely for so long that it was nice to finally have someone like him here again. Someone from your past? Someone that you once liked and got along with? Or just.. anyone older than your daughter?

Maybe.. maybe it was the fact that it was him.

And you knew that was stupid. 

Because what the fuck did you think was going to happen?

He was still a BTS member, he was currently on world tour and he'd leave in what.. two days again? Getting attached was a stupid thing to do and you were not stupid.

Not anymore.

“You need help?” Taehyung peaked his head into the kitchen after dinner to see if you needed help with the dishes.

“I'm good, thank you,” you smiled at him from over your shoulder.

“Mommy, can you read me my bedtime story?”

Zoe squeezed past Taehyung to stand in the kitchen, already in her pajamas. 

“Can you give me ten more minutes?”

“I.. can do it. If you.. want to and if that's okay with you?” Taehyung looked at you to await your approval, but it seemed like Zoe decided before you could.

“YES!” she jumped up and down and pulled him with her into your bedroom.

It seemed like you shared your bedroom with your daughter. There was only one bed here, so he assumed you and her slept in one bed.

And he was correct.

She tried her hardest to climb up onto the bed like she had tried with the couch earlier, but she had no chance with the bed, it was simply too high for her.

Taehyung grinned and gently lifted her up, then sat down next to her, “This is my side,” she proudly said as she got under the covers, “Mommy sleeps there.”

“That's so cool!”

“Mommy says that once we have enough money to move, I get my own bedroom!” she squealed in excitement.

And once again, Taehyung's heart started to hurt.

Jeongguk had so much money.. and you were here sharing a bed with your daughter because you could barely afford this apartment. How was this fair?

News flash. It wasn’t.

None of this was.

And that was Jeongguk’s fault right from the start. But it was only now that he realized just how much of his fault it all was.

Nevertheless, he didn't want to show his emotions to the little girl.

Instead, he read her the bedtime story that she wanted to hear, doing his best to deliver it in a way that children would find entertaining.

Only that.. she really didn't care about the story. At least not when he was much more interesting.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love,” he closed the book but kept his finger in it, in case she wanted to hear more of the story later on.

“Do you know who my daddy is?”

Oh god.. what should he do? Lie to her? 

Yes. Absolutely. You had your reasons for not telling her about Jeongguk, he would not be the one to tell her about him if you hadn't so far.

“I don't.”

And once again, her shoulder slumped.

“I think about him sometimes.. maybe he hates me, so that's why he left mommy..”

“No,” Taehyung immediately shook his head, “Don't think like this. You are a wonderful girl. You're beautiful, you're smart and,” he picked up one of her paintings from the night stand, “So talented. Whoever your dad is, wherever he is, he’s an idiot for not seeing that.”

She giggled, “You said a bad word.”

“Don't tell your mommy, okay? I’m scared she won’t like me anymore if she finds out.”

“I promise,” she giggled, then quickly pushed the covers away and cuddled against his chest, closing her eyes for a moment, “I hope you visit us more often. I really like you..”

Taehyung slowly wrapped his arms around the little girl, but he didn't say anything. Because he didn't want to make her a promise that he couldn't keep.

It took five more minutes for him to come out of the bedroom, smiling at you when he saw you leaning against the wall opposite of the bedroom.

“She's a cute girl,” he whispered.

“Yeah.. I got really lucky.”

Taehyung completely forgot that he had dinner plans with the rest of the boys and his managers tonight. He hadn't checked his phone for hours and wasn't planning on doing it now as you and him sat in front of the couch with glasses of wine in your hands.

“I don't ever really bring men over.. so this is all new for her.”

“What.. no sexual adventures?”

“I know this might be hard to believe, but it’s not exactly easy to do that when you have a toddler sleeping in the same bed as you,” you both chuckled.

It was quiet for a moment, you staring into your glass, when he asked: “She seems to be thinking about her father a lot.”

“It's hard for her to understand why everyone else has one and only she doesn't,” you took a sip from your wine, “But I can't bring myself to tell her the truth. Not now. She wouldn't understand anyways. So I just don't tell her at all.”

Taehyung didn't say anything.

And you noticed that.

“You disapprove.”

“It's not my place to have an opinion on this, (Y/N). This is your child and your child only.”

You liked that. That he didn't acknowledge Jeongguk's role in this, because that's what it was to you now. He was only the one who made her, but he had no place in her life.

Still.. you thought about him every now and then.

And it's been three years.

You were over it.

“How is he?”

“No, I'm not talking about him,” he shook his head.

“I'm okay, Taehyung.”

“I don't care. He doesn't deserve for you to even so much as think about him.”

“He's still your best friend, just because of what happened between him and me doesn't mean that you have to hate him too.”

“I didn't hate him. Not before. But..-” Taehyung gulped down hard, “If I have had the chance to have a girl as beautiful as Zoe as my daughter.. I'd be the happiest man alive, (Y/N). And he..-”

“He doesn’t know and I stopped blaming him a long time ago. I realized that I’m a much happier person if I don’t focus on what went wrong in my life and just appreciate what went right. I used to hate him, but at the same time, I am so grateful that he gave me Zoe. She’s everything to me.”

“Still, I'm sorry for what he did to you. And there is no way that I can.. undo what he's done.. but maybe I could.. I don't know.. come by every once in a while?”

“Sydney isn't Busan, Taehyung. You can't just get in the car and be there in two hours.”

“BigHit is giving us more breaks nowadays and.. we're thinking about a hiatus anyways. Nothing is set in stone, but we all need a break. Maybe one year, maybe two, maybe more, maybe forever,” he then realized what he just told you and his eyes quickly widened, “But.. don't tell anyone about that. That's actually top secret and I shouldn't have told you about it.”

You chuckled and nodded, “I won't tell. Promise.”

“So.. what do you say? Would you like that?”

Your smile slowly faded, then you shook your head a little as your eyes fell onto the picture of you and Zoe together, “I trusted Jeongguk with my entire being and he broke me for having done that. I can't be this naive again. Not when I have Zoe. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, I understand you. But I’m going to prove it to you.. that I’m not him,” he made a promise to himself that night. Jeongguk might have abandoned you, but he wouldn't. He had let you go so easily back then, but he couldn't again, not after all this.

You didn't say anything. You just continued drinking your wine with him in silence.

Nothing happened this night.

You just talked about his life, about your life, catching up like old friends. And it really felt like that's what you were, despite you not having talked a lot back in the day.

Taehyung completely forgot the time and boy, everyone was so mad at him for coming back so late. They thought something might have happened.

And that was true.

Something did happen.

He had made a decision and a promise on where he'd be five years from now.

And he kept that promise.

                                                 five years later

A hiatus that already lasted almost two years, but they needed that time.

Bangtan was drained and they all needed a break.

However, they all went their separate ways, all doing things they were passionate about. But not with each other.

Jeongguk, who had just signed his divorce papers after his marriage with IU had slowly but surely been falling apart for the last three years, was incredibly lost. Normally, he'd just spend time with his hyungs and they'd pick him up again like they always did, but with the way they were all scattered around the globe, that wasn't so easy anymore.

He ended up taking a flight to Sydney.

Him and Taehyung weren't as close as they once were and he never found out the reason for why that was, but he could really use the one that he once called his actual brother.

Maybe this would even bring them closer together again.

Taehyung had once told them the address he'd be staying at while he'd be in Sydney for emergencies, so that's where he was going now.

A.. surprise visit.

Only that when he got out of the car, he didn't see Taehyung, but someone he had only recently been starting to think about a lot again.

And what a surprise it was indeed.. but for him.

“Why are you so bad at admitting it?” you laughed happily as you got out of the car, Jeongguk staring at the girl, not older than eight, who looked.. exactly.. like him, “I know you like him.”

“Mom, stop it,” the girl giggled, “I don't like him, boys are disgusting.”

“You're such a bad liar.”

The girl sprinted into the apartment building, while you walked to the trunk of the car to get the groceries out.

He just stood there in shock, watched you unpack everything, not being able to move or say anything.

But it was as if you knew.

Knew, that someone was staring and watching you.

You stopped moving momentarily, then you turned around and looked around until your eyes fell on him. The man you hadn't thought about in five years. Because you really had no reason to anymore.

He didn't look good. He looked like he hadn't slept in ages and the man you once thought to be a god now looked so mortal and human.

He reminded you of you when you first came here, actually.

Both of you stared at each other for a very long time, before he was the first to approach you.

“You're.. here..?”

“I think the better question would be why are you?” your voice was so strong compared to his.

“I.. well, Taehyung.. hyung, he gave me..-”

“Mom, can you hurry..-” Zoe stopped when she saw you talk to a man, “Oh.. sorry.”

And you could tell that he knew instantly.

Maybe it was the age or the fact that she looked just like him. Probably the latter.

“Hi,” he managed to say in a high-pitched voice.

“Uh, hey,” she furrowed her eyebrows, “Should.. I get.. dad?”

“Dad?” Jeongguk looked at you in confusion.

“It's fine, love. Just wait upstairs. I'll be right there.”

She left, even though she seemed unsure of whether or not she should leave you alone with this guy. He seemed.. weird.

“Dad?” he repeated, “She..-”

“I tried telling you, Jeongguk. I called, I texted, I did everything I could. But you were too busy chasing after your happy ending that, from the looks of it, didn't work out in the end.”

“Who is dad?!” he asked once again.

“That's none of your business. It's not you, that's all that matters.”

“But I am! I am her father! You just said it, she’s my kid!”

You let out a laugh, “No. You really aren't. You might have been the sperm donor, but that’s all you are.”

You wanted to walk past him, but he quickly grabbed your arm, “(Y/N), wait..-”

“No, I know what you're going to say. You're going to apologize to me and you're going to tell me that you made the biggest mistake of your life. You're going to tell me that IU wasn't the one for you after all and you're going to ask me to forgive you, maybe even for the sake of my daughter. Is that about right?” when he didn't answer, you knew you were on the right track, “So let me tell you right upfront, Jeon Jeongguk. The times of me crying over what could have been are over. Because for the first time in over five years, I am finally happy. Completely and utterly happy. And I'm not like you. I'm not going to throw away my happiness like you did.”

He slowly but surely let go of your arm, his shoulders slumping.

“You were wrong back then, you know? It wasn't me who could have been lucky to have you,” you smiled at him, “It could have been you who would have been lucky to have me. But that's your loss.. not mine.”

He came here for Taehyung, but he didn't even think about his hyung after this encounter.

All he could think about was regret.. his body was full of nothing but regret.

You, on the other hand, got into the elevator with a proud smile and entered your apartment with an even happier smile as you saw your son waddling towards you. 

Completely naked.

“Hey, hey, hey, why are you running around with no pants again?”

The little boy giggled and hid behind you and a moment later, Taehyung slid into the hallway with his socks.

“Oh! Hey! You got him!”

“Did he run away again when you wanted to change his diapers?”

“I swear it's not my fault,” he laughed, quickly kissed your cheek and then picked up his son, “Come on now, I know changing diapers isn't your favorite, I don't like it either, buddy, especially after the last time you peed in my face, but it has to be done.”

You walked into the kitchen with a grin to put away the groceries when your daughter joined you.

“Who was that guy, mom?” she sounded worried, but you still smiled at her.

“Just.. someone from my past.”

Maybe she knew. If she did, she didn't say anything. 

Life changed as much for you as it did for her. 

She wasn’t the three year old anymore who was yearning for a father, because she had one now. And even if she knew that Taehyung wasn’t her biological father, it didn’t matter to her. He raised her. He loved her. He cared for her.

She hugged you from behind like the angel that she was and held you tight, whispering, “I love you, mommy,” into your back.

Your life used to be so broken that you felt like it would never be okay again.

But as you could hear your son scream from happiness and your husband making airplane sounds and as you turned around to properly hug your daughter, you once again realized that you’ve finally passed the stage of darkness.

“I love you too, Zoe Kim.”

[tundrainafrica]

Note: Instead of posting a meta or a fic today, allow me to take a quick break from that because I think I really need to appreciate some people here and the fandom overall.  

February 7, 2021. 

Today, I turned 24 and my boyfriend surprised me with a gift I think I’ll be taking to heart for a very long time. 

The story behind the gift was as precious (or even more precious) as the gift itself and I thought I’d share it since it turned out some content creators were involved in this gift and I very much want to express how much this gift has defined this day for me and will place my 24th birthday as one of those birthdays I don’t think I’ll ever forget. 

Apparently, I had casually dropped both my tumblr and my ao3 account during one of our conversations and somewhere around November he had started looking through my bookmarks, my posts on tumblr and some of my interactions with people in the fandom.

I should have seen it coming. It had started with my boyfriend suddenly asking about my hyperfixation with Levihan.

Sav? Shipping? Sav? Binge reading ships and meta posts? Sav? Gushing about a fictional ship?

And I remember gushing about this with my seemingly uninterested boyfriend a long night after explaining what was oddly the most out of character thing for someone like me. 

I was sharing with him my metas and hcs and maybe, I was dropping a few of my favorite quotes along the way and it turned out he was interested. Suddenly he was asking me about my favorite fics, my favorite scenes. Suddenly, he was rereading my favorite fics with me and a few times, he was quoting those same scenes. I did find out he was looking through my blog when I got a random message from a really sketchy tumblr telling me to open my facebook. 

I suspected a few times that he could be planning something. December passed with nothing and eventually he stopped asking so I clocked that as a fevered dream or unnecessary assuming on my end and didn’t think too much of it after. 

It turned out my boyfriend had messaged my favorite authors about their fics and he commissioned one of my favorite artists (if not my favorite) to draw a few photos and bound them into a Levihan Anthology 

And it feels fucking amazing to receive something like this. To get Levihan which helped me through the worst of 2020, bound forever as a book I can just open up and read anytime. And I guess tearing up at receiving such a gift had me thinking of a lot of things at once (which were always at the back of mind) but I thought of sharing now. 

The past year wasn’t easy. Actually. don’t think it’s an understatement to say this past year was dog shit. With the covid pandemic and all plans after that cancelled, I’m sure we can all agree we had our ups and downs. 

I had a lot of my own plans completely thrown out the window for numerous reasons. I had plans of going to law school part time while building a career. And, I got a job right after college to make these plans come true. In September the law school I got accepted to (after working so damn hard the past year to get accepted) denied my appeal for night classes. I decided to drop my enrollment to focus on my career. A week later, my job laid me off. 

And for once in my life, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I lived in a house where everyone was always doing something and as soon as I lost my job I was pressured to find another one. But as we all know, searching for a job during this pandemic isn’t easy. I was still reeling after having dropped my enrollment just to focus on my job only to lose that job the week after with no prior notice. Everyone around me was busy doing their own thing. I had no one to talk to and for a while, I was falling into this pit of depression. 

My days consisted of me hiding under the covers of my bed in between the few interviews I would take day to day. Around that time, I decided to binge watch Attack on Titan as well 

I was never one to get hyper fixated in ships. In fact, this was the first ship since Royai and Victuuri which I have been so passionate. And this is a whole new level of passion. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written so much in this small amount of time. It was slow going. Just like Levi and Hange’s relationship, my fixation with this ship was a slowburn. 

Those days alone, I was reading fanfiction by the bundle, I was scrolling through the Levihan tag like a simp, leaving kudos in ao3 on a throwaway account and just scrolling through random people’s tumblr accounts. 

What happened during the one month? And when I was alone, sad, lonely and stagnant with no one to talk to, when everyone around me was living their own lives, all I had alone in the bedroom was Levi and Hange’s stories to keep me company between interviews. 

And the meta analyses and headcanons I had about their relationship were teaching me things. They were teaching me that life was never about how quickly you progress or how far you go. Maybe the real winners in life are the ones who can build good relationships, build relationships so mutually satisfying they keep each other growing and in those few moments reading, headcanoning ships, I did realize, maybe even as stagnant as I was at that moment, my life wasn’t dogshit. 

No one’s life is dogshit for a few small bumps along the way. Sometimes it just is part of the process of growing, learning to get past the worse, learning to manage relationships. And maybe it’s these relationships which make life worth living. Maybe it’s these struggles depicted in these stories and the bounce back. Maybe it’s the love, the life, the emotions so carefully described and depicted in every single story which makes life, life. 

With every single fic I read and every single fan art I scrolled through. Levihan was teaching my things about love, loss and life. 

Sometimes, these fandoms are the things which can catch people before they fall too low into something. These works and stories authors and artists shared so generously were what pulled me out of this state and are what inspired me to explore this relationship for all the potential its worth and maybe share my own stories and headcanons which people may learn a thing or two from or maybe just find some comfort and hope in.  

And these inspirations eventually evolved to writing. Writing 10,000 words in a day in between three interviews? I never was a writer but somehow, I found myself spending hours exploring the themes of love, loss and life with our favorite pairing 

I didn’t start writing out of nowhere. I didn’t start making metas out of nowhere. I needed the right inspiration, the right content to get me into this point where I could continue writing, reading, meta-ing, appreciating, headcanoning and everything in between.

And I just wanted to express my gratefulness to every single person in the fandom who had made it possible for me to pull out of that blackhole. Fandoms are underrated and I believe there are so many lessons which can be learned from the right content and from the right people. 

To the people who so willingly went along with my boyfriend’s little project: 

@faerielleart​ I saved A LOT of your art and they’re sitting in my google photos under a folder called Levihan and maybe I did share a few of your photos (the cheeks one and the beast titan one and the les miserables) ones to my boyfriend unsolicited just to show him how beautiful Levihan can be. Thank you so much for these beautiful drawings.

@lizaloveslevihan​ You were one of the first people I talked with in this fandom and dreams really was one of those stories that fucked me up a little bit, had me make a few misses on the commute on the way home one day but maybe it did have me explore the angst genre a little more, maybe it did have me explore Levi’s character a little more. 

@ariadneamare​ YELLOW. OH GOD. You know those letters? The ones which Hange left Levi at the end of the story? I ended up copying and pasting them and sending them to my boyfriend right after reading and I remember talking to him about this. We might be facing that same type of story in the future and I guess that ended up becoming a lot of foundation of our discussion and I guess, it’s just proof that there is so much to learn from fanfiction. There’s just so much to explore and fanfiction as a genre just does not get the credit it deserves.

@fanmoose12​​ I was exploring your works even before I started this tumblr up again. Maybe it was even your works which got me building my own headcanons from Levihan and writing from there. And I think I did leave a few anonymous messages telling you how I started exploring other genres because of your fics. Your works got my out of my dark place, it got me exploring a lot of other genres and for that I’m eternally grateful.

And somehow, my boyfriend picked that all up from late night discussions and one-on-one metas. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just playing along to humor his girlfriend. He was exploring the themes of love, life, loss and Levihan right along with me. (And got spoiled about Hange’s death along the way… Oops.) 

And I am eternally grateful for that and I made sure to shower him with a lot of kisses after he kept me in the loop with what has been going on these past few months with his sudden interest in Levihan.

And this huge thank you goes out to all content creators (authors, artists, gif creators, shitposters alike). Sometimes you never know who’s thinking about your work, who’s shoehorning your works and quoting them to their best friends. Sometimes, you never will find out but your work had pulled someone out of a blackhole which they’ve been stuck in and sometimes you never know that your work has been that seemingly small thing that had taught them a lesson in love, life or relationships. Sometimes, that one work turned out to be an inspiration which got them writing and sharing their own stories or making their own drawings

And I guess, the point is, keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep sharing pouring your love, passion and emotions into works of art because you never really know whose heart you touched or whose life you changed.

I have a job now. I decided to push law school a few years back and maybe take the time to work on myself now and maybe spend the next months or maybe years writing metas and fanfictions. I was pulled out of my hole. I was inspired. I have my own stories to tell and I don’t think I would have been here if I hadn’t spent the last few months reading fic after fic, meta after meta, appreciating art after art, 

So anyway, I just wanted to share some pics of my favortie fics, immortalized in one anthology, all organized by my boyfriend. And I think he made some great decisions with these.

(Bookbinding credits to @mayerwien)

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard. 

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody. 

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does. 

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... " 

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling. 

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them. 

Kurt doesn't answer. 

He doesn't even look at him. 

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall. 

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends. 

But Kurt is gone.

[adammilligan]

i ABSOLUTELY want to hear about the fantasy au!!!

OKAY! this is gonna be a ride so strap in. if it's incomprehensible and confusing then whatever let's do this anyway

so adam is from a town up in the far north, right. he lived there with kate until he was fourteen and kate (who worked as the town healer) passed away. kate was respected in the town because she was the best at her job but adam, as a bastard child, could never quite manage to win that same respect from the townspeople (and ofc it being a small town that same distrust generally gets passed down to children as well) so when his mom died adam was like yknow what? fuck it??? i'm leaving i'm out and if i'm gonna die of starvation sooner or later i'm at least gonna visit someplace beyond this icy wasteland for the first time in my life. so he takes what he knows about traveling through the snow and what little possessions he can carry with him and he just fucking. bails. if the town wants a healer they can do it themselves❤

so anyway he travels south and he damn near doesn't make it because he's fourteen and entirely unused to traveling because he's lived in the town his whole life and doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. but he's also stubborn as all fucking hell and doesn't let himself collapse until he starts seeing deciduous trees instead of coniferous and then he's like "wow. that's pretty" and just fucking faceplants. right in the grass.

so of course he doesn't die yet, right, he's found by somebody who drags his scrawny ass to some shelter and it turns out she's a sort of traveling healer??? and like...adam learned a lot from his mom but she was supposed to start REALLY teaching him when he was fifteen and obviously that didn't happen. so adam decides, since he has literally nowhere else to go and nothing else to live for basically, that he'll ask to be the woman's apprentice and (to his MAJOR fucking surprise) she accepts. so for the next six-ish years he basically spends time learning how to properly heal people and traveling along EVERYWHERE (he absolutely has a little summer fling with kristin in a seaside town. this is non-negotiable) and eventually all good things have to come to an end, right? so the woman isn't OLD old but she's certainly hitting an age and she decides that she's gonna settle down and just pass all her shit on to him and though he doesn't wanna leave the only person he's known for years he decides that he stills wants to Go Out and See Things and Help People and so they part ways.

meanwhile, in the world of royalty, there's a battle brewing because one kingdom just Will Not Fuck Off at the border between them and michael's acting as the prince regent right now because chuck is indisposed one way or another and he just sort of decides yknow what? fuck it? if these motherfuckers aren't going to leave then we're just gonna make them leave? and takes a party of knights down to the border to make them fuck off.

adam, who just so happened to be headed straight for the border, is not amused. but we'll get back to him in a moment.

anyway the fight starts, shit gets wild because there were more people down there than they thought, and michael's party is pretty much forced to in the midst of battle (like some "EVERY MAN FOR THEMSELVES" thing) but the PROBLEM is, michael gets hit and he gets hit BAD. like someone sliced him up and then a fleeing horse trampled him for good measure. the thing though is while michael's party was forced to flee, the opposing side was also forced to retreat because more of their numbers were taken out than he thought. so michael's essentially bleeding out on the forest floor, adam's been hiding up a tree this entire time because....what the FUCK just happened. and then he sees someone who's very obviously royalty just laying on the grass and decides to go up to him and poke him with a stick because if he's dead then HEY⁠—free stuff he can loot off his body to sell, right? give him a break he could always use the coin.

so, as it turns out, the dude's not dead! fan-fucking-tastic, right?

and adam TRIES to leave him behind. he really does. but then he thinks about how he would've died if the healer hadn't helped him and he thinks about what his mom would do and he bangs his head against a tree a couple times before finally turning around and performing the speediest emergency patch job on this man who might not even make it and all the while he's just like "don't wanna be here. people are gonna accuse me of murdering nobility. i have better things to do that be executed. cmon" and he's not even sure that the royal dude's gonna MAKE IT but he does his best anyway. he's using up supplies for this. royal dude better be fucking grateful.

once it finally seems like royal dude's not gonna die if adam moves him more than two inches, adam (veery slowly) drags him to a nearby cave system that he'd seen when he'd passed through the area before and decides to just look after him from there.

eventually, after adam has been looking after him for a While, royal dude wakes up. and he's Not Happy about it. so, naturally, he and adam get into an argument where he declares he's a prince and how dare adam lay his filthy hands on him yada yada yada and adam's like lol i'm not the one with the major fucking injury but alright. but also he's worried that michael's gonna kill him after he gets better but he doesn't want to leave him to die either and also he put too much work into this pretentious mf to just leave him now SO he might as well risk death.

and michael TRIES to do things independently at first. he REALLY does. he tries to the point where he keeps tearing his stitches and adam starts absolutely raising hell about it because his supplies are already wearing thin enough without angryfuck mcstubbornmeister fucking ruining them every chance he gets. and then he just fucking storms off for literally eight hours and michael's like "FINE. DIDN'T NEED HIM AROUND ANYWAY" but is also worried because he really can't move around all that much and he doesn't WANT to die and just as he's sort of accepting that he's been left adam storms back in with new supplies that he spent the last of his coin on and literally just starts raving about how if michael fucks these up too adam will LITERALLY smother him in his sleep. prince or not. and honestly adam's surprised michael didn't try to forcefully claw his way out of the cave but michael's just surprised that this commoner didn't just leave for good.

they both make an effort to get along a little better after that.

and then they actually get to talking and realize that they have more in common than they thought. which is odd, because they're also so different but they're similar in all the ways that matter and eventually they start trading stories while adam starts helping michael finally move around again and oftentimes the caves would echo with their laughter, so loudly would it reverberate around the stone walls. when michael is finally able to start walking (albeit REALLY stiffly) without assistance, he insists that he's going to go hunt because adam's been doing it for the both of them all this time and he hates just sitting around doing nothing. and when he ends up unable to catch anything because the pain flared up a bit too much, adam doesn't say a word, just flashes him a smile and shoots down a rabbit that they share without a word. and then adam lets him get water from the river instead, and somehow they end up laughing and soaking wet because they started a little splash fight even though adam starts fussing about the wounds afterwards.

but then the day comes; the day that michael can finally move around normally without too much strain, and at first neither of them acknowledge it. at first, they still sit by the riverbank and fish and tell each other whispered stories (whether fact or fiction) by the cooking fire, faces tanned from the heat and sitting a little too close than they'd like to mention. but michael brings it up one day, with hunched shoulders and a weary frown at the reminder, that he has a kingdom to rule. that his father was out of commission, and the longer he stayed hidden away the weaker the kingdom would seem, and adam sighs and concedes.

michael asks, a little hopeful, if adam would come with him. he could be appointed as the court physician, and he wouldn't ever have to worry about money or shelter or supplies ever again. but adam is used to small houses and worn paths and the ache of travel and the hard earth as his bed and his pillow, not downy mattresses and pampering. besides, constantly having to be in the presence of all those snobby nobles would be the absolute death of him, and he knows it.

so he says no, and very nearly changes his answer when michael's form deflates, the prince regent's face pulling into something downright sorrowful, and adam promises to accompany him to the border before they part ways.

they make it to the border, and it isn't even two moments of them awkwardly standing there shuffling their feet before adam thinks to hell with it and pulls the prince regent of one of the largest kingdoms in the land into a hug, except...they don't separate. they don't separate until adam pulls back, just enough to look michael in the eyes, before kissing him. it's soft and light and chaste, something that begins and brings with it the promise of never quite ending, even after they finally break apart, their foreheads gently meeting as they stare at each other.

michael asks if they'll ever meet again. adam doesn't know what to say, because life is tumultuous and messy and he might die before the year is at an end, so he only smiles. he smiles and he kisses michael once on the cheek and tells him that his kingdom is waiting for him, all while thinking (but never voicing) that it is his kingdom that needs him and michael has never been nor ever will be bound by the wants of a nameless travelling healer, and they finally unwind from each other and turn their separate ways, determined to not look back even as their minds scream for them to.

michael heads south, towards his kingdom, and adam heads west, always veering just the smallest bit north but never quite making it back to the town of his roots⁠—what holds him back, he's not sure yet. but there are people in need of help, and he'll be damned if he's going to let them suffer.

and so, it ends.

(until the unwritten sequel, where michael returns to his kingdom⁠—only to find it in utter shambles)

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel​ for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!! 

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected. 

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three. 

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck.  And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved. 

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke. 

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice. 

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased. 

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted. 

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” 

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.” 

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.” 

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there. 

“Where may I find him?” 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls. 

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed. 

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement. 

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance. 

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth. 

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing. 

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment. 

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.  

Joy. 

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett. 

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood. 

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” 

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers? 

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face. 

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered. 

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again. 

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.” 

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.” 

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.” 

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-” 

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?” 

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…” 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous. 

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-” 

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead. 

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all. 

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen. 

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.” 

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.” 

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.” 

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct. 

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?” 

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.” 

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.” 

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope. 

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face. 

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.” 

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun. 

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s. 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.” 

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

[justalittlelemony]

Cold

Read on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 5,055

Tommy and Tubbo try to work through the aftermath of the festival.

Full fic under the cut

The first thing Tommy noticed was the shivering.

He hadn't really expected to fall asleep right away after the hell of a day he had. None of them really wanted to be around either Wilbur or Techno, so after they had finished listening to Blocks, Niki, Tommy, and Tubbo had pretty much gone straight to bed. It had taken Tubbo some time to fall asleep, and for a while, Tommy worried that he would be kept up all night from the discomfort of his injuries. But eventually, Tommy felt the smaller boy's breathing even out, and soon, he was fast asleep as well.

As expected, falling asleep quickly was not equivalent to sleeping well. Only a couple of hours later, Tommy was awake, eyes blinking groggily. Based on the clock on the wall, it wasn't quite midnight yet, which meant there wasn't much he could do to spend his time. He could tend to the potato farm, but Tommy didn't really enjoy farming that much, and the potato farm was kind of Technoblade's territory, who was certainly someone whom he did not want to see. He could always expand the tunnels, but there wasn't much purpose in doing so anymore. Tommy had become quite adept at sneaking around Manberg, and with Tubbo no longer going between the two places, there wasn't much use in creating any more than the existing tunnels. At least until morning, the only thing he could do that his sleep-deprived brain could come up with was keep an eye on Tubbo.

He shifted in the cramped bed, twisting around to face the other sleeping boy. It took his eyes a moment to adjust in the dark, but once they did, a strike of concern shot through him.

Tubbo was shivering, his arms and knees pulled close to his chest. His breathing was short and ragged as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Tommy could see the sweat glistening on Tubbo's forehead from the sliver of light coming from the ravine. Without thinking, he pressed a hand to his forehead. It felt warm, warmer than he thought it should. He was pretty sure that meant he had a fever, but he couldn't quite remember. It was always Wilbur or Tubbo in their little makeshift family of three that would deal with colds and fevers. Tommy knew some, enough to keep him alive, certainly, but not enough to tell if someone had a fever.

He stayed still, mulling over his options before making a decision. He slowly climbed out of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too badly. Stood up fully, he turned to the bed and rearranged the thin blanket over his friend's shivering form. It did nothing to stop his shaking.

Quietly, he crept out of the room and into the main ravine.

The only way to tell the time in Pogtopia, other than a clock, was by the sounds coming from the ravine. During the day, one could hear the faint movements from the caverns, the soft murmurings of conversations bouncing off of the stone walls, the echoes of footsteps. But at night, it was dead silent. It was a heavy silence, an unnerving silence that conveyed what every inhabitant already knew to be true.

Pogtopia was not home.

But despite the expected silence, Tommy found himself grateful for it. It let him know that, at least for now, he was alone, with no Wilbur or Technoblade lurking or laughing as they had been only hours earlier. He wanted nothing more than to stay alone, or even better, go back and be with Tubbo, the one person who he fully trusted.

But Tubbo was sick and he needed help.

He walked over to the far end of the ravine where he could see the faint glow of a lantern. Wilbur had set up a desk during Pogtopia's early days. It was his own little area, just as Tubbo and he had the bench.

Sure enough, Tommy could see Wilbur hunched over the desk, quill in hand. His grip on it was as tight as he methodically wrote on the paper below. He didn't seem to notice Tommy's presence behind him, engrossed in his writing. It reminded Tommy, a little bit, of the Wilbur before the election. Sat at his desk in the White House, writing important documents that Tommy never cared to read. Wilbur had seemed so distinguished at the time, the perfect fit for president.

Now, Tommy wasn't sure what to think.

"Wilbur?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the man went rigid at the sound. He sat up a bit, placing the quill in its inkpot. Without turning around, he asked, "What is it, Tommy?"

"I," His voiced cracked a bit, not fully prepared to be used. "It's Tubbo. I think he's sick."

Wilbur didn't answer right away. "Are you sure?"

"He's shivering an awful lot, but I checked his forehead and it's warm.”

“Does he have a fever?” Wilbur still had his back to Tommy.

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was his anger from earlier, coming back in full force. Maybe it was Pogtopia itself, getting to him in the same way it got to Wilbur, who asked each question with the same monotone voice and still wouldn't turn around and fucking look at me. “I don’t know if he has a fuckin’ fever, Will. That’s why I’m talking to you," Tommy snapped. "He’s shivering, his forehead’s warm, and he’s still asleep. That’s all I know.”

If Wilbur noticed the change in Tommy's tone, he didn't show it. He merely waited for a few beats before picking up his quill again and replying, "Get Niki. She can help."

"Niki's still asleep. Can't you just-"

Wilbur turned sharply to the left. "Can't I just what, Tommy?" He wasn't yelling, but his words bit harshly through the air, echoing in the ravine.

Tommy took a step back. "Nothing. Never mind. I'll, I'll get Niki." The response seemed to satisfy Wilbur. He turned back to his desk and continued writing. Tommy stared for a few seconds before turning and walking back the way he came.

********

Respawn sickness.

That's what Niki said, and Tommy certainly trusted her diagnosis more than his own. Even without that, though, he had his own suspicions. It was fairly common, especially after losing the second life. Even more common if it was a particularly traumatizing death, the kind that leaves its mark on a person even after they respawned.

Combined with the chilly ravine and an already poor immune system, Tubbo was the prime candidate for respawn sickness. It wasn't a shock. It wasn't surprising.

But, looking down at Tubbo curled under the few, thin blankets Tommy could scrounge up, wet cloth on his forehead, it was frightening.

It was reminiscent of a different time. Not really a simpler time, but a better time. Of course, it wasn't the same, but it was similar.

This wasn’t the first time either of them had died, after all.

He had started to feel awful a few hours after giving his discs to Dream and ending the war. It wasn’t a gradual progression; it was abrupt. All of a sudden, he was lightheaded, dizzy, and felt like his stomach would jump out of his mouth.

Of course, it wasn’t his stomach, but its contents that came out. 48 hours of the most intense symptoms he had ever experienced: vomiting, congestion, fever, and more. Wilbur was quick to identify it. Turns out losing two lives in the same day was a great way to amplify the symptoms.

He wasn’t the only one to get sick. He might’ve died twice, but all of them had been killed in the Final Control Room. Fundy had something akin to a stomach bug and threw up a few times throughout the first day. Wilbur was extremely congested and couldn’t go ten minutes without coughing or needing to blow his nose. Needless to say, most of L'manberg was out of commission for their first few days of independence.

Tubbo had stayed with Tommy nearly the entire time, tending and watching him when no one else would. Tommy had asked him if he had any symptoms, but Tubbo shrugged off the question every time.

"Seriously, man, why are you here? I'm fine. Go lie down or something. You look like shit."

Sat at the foot of Tommy's bed, Tubbo's gaze flickered from his friend to the floor. Tommy may have been violently sick for the past couple of days, but he knew when something was wrong. "Tubbo?"

"I was scared, I guess, for you."

At the time, Tommy had laughed it off, calling Tubbo some variation of "clingy." But now, in the same position as his best friend had been only a couple of months earlier, he understood. He was scared. He had been scared during the festival and sat at the foot of his bed, watching Tubbo's restless sleep, he was still scared.

Part of him recognized the irony of the situation. It was sort of fitting that Tubbo had to watch him die in the duel and take care of him afterward, and now Tommy had to fill those shoes.

Tubbo stirred in his sleep, mumbling incomprehensibly. Even under the covers, his shivering continued. Tommy absent-mindedly adjusted the blankets, only stopped by the sight of Tubbo blinking his eyes open groggily.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Tommy asked quietly, careful not to echo his voice into the ravine.

Tubbo squinted, clearly still not fully awake. "'M cold."

Tommy shifted in his seat. "I know. Sorry, I don't have any more blankets for you. You've got a fever."

"A fever?" He glanced around the room, his eyes clearly trying to adjust to the dark. He sat up a bit.

"Yeah. Niki said it was likely respawn sickness."

"...Fuck."

Tommy laughed. "That's a fair reaction."

Tubbo pulled the cloth off from his forehead. "Wait, Niki was here?" Most of the sleep that his voice had been thick with just seconds earlier was stripped away.

"Yeah, earlier," Tommy said picking at the end of the blanket, "You were shivering real bad when I woke up, so I went to Wilbur, but he said to get Niki." He paused. "Thought it was weird. He used to be all over that kind of stuff before, when we were kids."

There was a poignant pause as both boys thought. "I don't-" Tubbo started, then stopped. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly, carefully, "I don't think Wilbur much cares for me right now."

Tommy wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that of course, Wilbur cared for him. Wilbur wouldn't just stop caring for Tubbo.

He didn't.

*******

The morning had been far more eventful than he had wanted it to be, but frankly, Tommy should have known that something would happen.

But after going into Manberg, gaining a new ally, and begging Wilbur to hold on blowing up their home, Tommy was pretty glad to have an excuse to check on Tubbo.

Trudging down the dirt and stone steps to the ravine, he listened for the sounds of others, but couldn't hear any. Quackity was still in Manberg, but Tommy wasn't sure where Wilbur, Techno, and Niki were. Hopefully, Wilbur was just somewhere else and not in the button room again.

He made it to the doorway but was stopped by the sight of another person in the room. The figure was seated by Tubbo's bedside but stood at the sight of Tommy. It was the absolute last person he wanted to see there, of all places.

Technoblade.

"What are you doing here?" Tommy asked, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword, preparing for a battle he couldn't win.

Technoblade glanced down at Tommy's weapon, then back up to his face, giving him a bored expression. "Wilbur wasn't around and you were in Manberg. Thought someone should keep an eye on him. Respawn sickness is no joke."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "I don't need you to fuckin' lecture me on respawn sickness."

Techno crossed his arms and looked back down at Tubbo's sleeping form. Tommy gripped his weapon a little tighter. "Wilbur said he's on his last life now."

"Yeah," Tommy let the bitterness seep into his voice. He wanted to scream, to yell at Techno that he didn't have to be. That Tubbo could've had two lives left if he hadn't given in so easily, but his anger dies in his throat, stopped by the words of the man stood in front of him, spoken only a day earlier.

"It stays in the pit."

Instead, Tommy let out a resigned sigh. "All three of us are."

Techno turned back to him at that. "The three of you? You and Wilbur too?"

Tommy let out a sharp laugh. "Not all of us can be near invincible. There's a lot you weren't here for."

Techno seemed to ponder the younger's words for a moment. "How'd you lose 'em?" He didn't sound sympathetic or sorry. His voice gave off a morbid curiosity, the words of man to whom death only existed at the other end of his sword, but not as a thing to be experienced himself.

The irony did not escape Tommy. The Blood God, with countless kills to his name, asking a twice-killed sixteen-year-old about death.

"We all lost our first lives together, during the war. Eret, Eret took us underground, into this fucking room, and betrayed us."

"What's this button for?" Tommy asks, pressing it without thinking. Eret seems to freeze at the action.

Behind him, Wilbur stops looking in his chest and turns to face the person who brought them here. "Eret?"

It doesn't take long for Tommy to realize that something is wrong.

A sick grin crosses Eret's face. "Down with the revolution, boys. It was never meant to be."

Dream, Sapnap, George, and Punz pile into the room, swords in hand. There isn't even enough time to process the betrayal before all five four members of L'manberg are killed.

"I lost my second one later that day. I challenged Dream to a duel for our independence, and I lost."

The walk over to the boardwalk feels like a funeral march. Probably because it is.

Tommy isn't stupid. He knows what he signed up for.

The four soldiers are quiet, solemn. Fundy hands him the bow. Tubbo hugs him. Wilbur tells him to follow his heart.

Tommy meets his opponent at the center of the boardwalk. The artificial smile on Dream's mask unnerves him, but he glares defiantly up at it. Wilbur starts the count and the two separate.

At the count of ten, Tommy shoots.

"And then Wilbur lost his second the day you showed up, actually. He got shot while we were fleeing Manberg."

"My first act as president, the emperor of this great country, is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit!"

Tommy stands frozen as the crowd turns to look at them. He can't even process what Schlatt is saying. They couldn't have lost, Schlatt can't be president, everything's wrong-

But then Wilbur pulls him along, running, and says, "Tommy, we have to go!"

He listens and he runs.

Behind him, he can hear footsteps, the sounds of others giving chase. Arrows fly from the sky. Wilbur is running in front of him, leading him, but is struck by an arrow and falls. Tommy screams, but he can't stop. He has to keep running or they'll get him too.

He doesn't stop until he reaches Tubbo's bunker (Tubbo's still there. He left Tubbo in L'manberg.) With Schlatt's booming voice echoing through the land he once called his home, Tommy breaks down.

"And, well, obviously, you know what happened to Tubbo." The anger was present in his voice, but Tommy couldn't find it in himself to care.

If Techno noticed, he didn't say anything. He merely made a grunt of acknowledgment before kicking his chair to the side. Without so much as a sideways glance, he walked past Tommy and out the door.

As soon as he was gone, Tommy felt himself breathe again but didn't move until the echoes of the warrior's footsteps subsided. With slow steps, he made his way over to the chair that Techno had used. He sat down in it and faced Tubbo, who was, mercifully, still asleep. He'd let him rest for a little while longer.

Tommy began to undo the straps of his armor, letting the various pieces of iron fall to the ground. He'd never liked armor. He had never understood people like Dream and Technoblade, who never went anywhere without it. It was so heavy and uncomfortable. Tommy wanted to run and screw around. But armor was a necessary evil, especially during a war.

Is this a war?

It certainly felt like one, Tommy thought, glancing over at the bandages covering Tubbo. He wasn't sure how, but the other two wars hadn't seemed this serious, this grim. Maybe it was because the first time it was just a fight over some music discs and the second time they had each other in L'manberg. When they had died before, it felt worth it.

And now?

Sometimes, he wasn't even sure what they were fighting for.

He finished pulling off his armor, setting down the last piece a bit too harshly. A small clang echoed throughout the stone room. Across from him, Tubbo stirred and Tommy froze.

"Tommy?" Tubbo's voice was small, but he still coughed. "'S that you?"

Tommy stood and walked over, sitting back down at the foot of his bed. “Hey, big man. How are you feeling?”

“My head feels like crap, but other than that, not too bad," Tubbo said sitting up. He gave his friend a once-over, giving way to a look of concern. "Did something happen?”

“Not really," he said, the lie slipping out easily. Seeing Tubbo's unconvinced expression, he gave in. "Techno was here earlier.”

Tubbo seemed to wilt at the mention of him. “Tommy, I’m serious. I’m fine with it." He looked down. "I don't want there to be infighting because of me.”

Something boiled inside of Tommy at Tubbo's apathy, his defeated tone. "I don't give a shit about infighting," he seethed, doing everything in his power not to shout, "He killed you! I'm not just gonna let that go!"

Tubbo shrugged, seemingly indifferent to Tommy's anger. "I mean, it could've been worse. I'm still alive. That's all that really matters, isn't it?"

"No, that's not all that fucking matters! He hurt you, Tubbo!" As if to prove his point, he gestured to the bandages encasing the smaller boy.

Tubbo flinched, then muttered, almost to himself, "Why do you care so much?"

"Why don't you?" Tommy fired back instantly. Tubbo seemed to shrink even further into himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“'S fine," he replied quietly. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, an unfamiliar experience for the two of them. It was only broken by Tubbo clearing his throat and asking, "It's the afternoon now, right? I haven’t seen Wilbur around much.”

“Yeah." Tommy hesitated but continued anyway. "He’s been at the button room a bit.”

Tubbo's eyes grew wide with fear. “He didn’t-“

Tommy shook his head. “No. He hasn’t yet. Gave Big Q and I quite a scare, though.”

"Big Q was there?"

"Yeah. He's with Pogtopia now. He's gonna help us take down Schlatt." Tommy kept his voice level, but he was truthfully rather happy with this recent development. He wasn't sure he forgave Quackity for that had happened (not yet, at the very least), but it felt good to have someone on their side.

"That's good," Tubbo said, and Tommy recognized his tone instantly. It was his logical, analytical voice that he used to look at a situation from a detached point of view. "At least you'll still have someone in Manberg."

Tommy sputtered a bit at that. "Tubbo, that doesn't- That doesn't matter. I'm not- We're not gonna have him really spy for us. Not after what happened to you. We're not doing that again." He shook his head as if to emphasize his point. "I'm just glad to have someone else on our side. I've a feeling we're gonna need all the help we can get in the coming weeks."

Tubbo looked down. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help."

"Don't. You've done plenty. I'm- We're not gonna let you put yourself in a position like that again." He paused, then continued quietly, letting his feelings spill out. "I should, I should've fucking stopped it. I should've never convinced you to spy for us. At least then, none of this would've happened."

Tubbo placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tommy, you didn't convince me. I made my own decision. And the festival wasn't your fault, okay? It was Schlatt's. There was nothing you could've done." He pulled his hand back. "I was dead the moment he put those walls up."

"I had a pearl," Tommy said, guilt lacing his words, "I could've gone down sooner."

"You would've been surrounded or worse, killed. You're on your last life too, remember? At least I had one to spare." He looked down. "Besides, it was only a matter of time before I got found out. I was surprised I even lasted that long."

(That admission hurt a little. Tubbo knew he was doomed from the start. Why didn't Tommy do anything to stop it?)

"I guess we've both gotta be extra careful from now on, yeah?" Tommy said, "Gotta make this last life last a while."

Tubbo laughed with disbelief. "You say that like you've ever been careful!"

And it was just like it was before, during the disc wars, before L'Manberg, just laughing and making stupid jokes. "Excuse you, I'll have you know my name is Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit. It's literally in my name!"

Tubbo giggled some more. "Sure, big man. Sure."

*******

The spoils of his mining trip weren't much, but they were certainly better than nothing.

Tommy was not one for mining. He would usually much rather just steal what he needed from the various members of the SMP. But he wasn't really looking for anything in particular. He mostly wanted a reason to stay out of Pogtopia.

But, looking at the clock he brought down with him into the winding underground strip mines, he figured no one would be awake past midnight.

Coming face to face with Wilbur and soon as he entered the ravine, he realized he was wrong.

Wilbur gave him a once-over. "Where were you?"

"Mining," Tommy said, holding up his pickaxe as if to illustrate his point, "Figured we could use some more diamonds." He held out his mining bag.

Wilbur took it from him, glancing at its contents. A smirk came over his face. "Oh, Tommy." His voice was sickly sweet with condescension. "Maybe you should leave the grinding to Technoblade."

Tommy snatched the bag back. "What do you need, Will?"

"I saw Tubbo earlier."

Tommy stiffened but kept his voice level. "Oh? How is he?"

"Wouldn't actually know," Wilbur drawled, "He was asleep the whole time."

"Yeah, sorry. That would be the weakness pot I gave him earlier." At the mention of the potion, Wilbur perked up. "Should've mostly worn off by now, though."

"The what?"

"Weakness potion," Tommy repeated cautiously, "He had a migraine and he needed to rest anyway, so I gave him a weakness pot to try and sleep it off."

Wilbur covered his face with his hands and started to pace. "Why would you do that?"

Tommy turned to follow where Wilbur was walking. "What do you mean?"

He sighed loudly and pulled his hands from his face. "I don't know if you've fucking noticed, but, Tommy, we're at war!" He had that manic glint in his eye, the same he had when he made the deal with Dream, when he egged Tommy on in the pit, when he almost pressed the button. "We are exiled from our country! We have limited resources! We can't just go around wasting our supplies every time someone has a fucking migraine!"

Tommy matched Wilbur's shouts. "It was a fucking weakness potion, Will. I'll just make another one if you're so bent out of shape from it."

"It's not just about the potion, Tommy! It's the way you tried to decorate with diamond blocks, the way you can't keep a single piece of armor for more than a day. You're thinking in the micro; I need you to think in the macro." Wilbur stopped pacing and put his entire stare on the boy. Tommy seemed to shrink under the weight of it. "You're careless, Tommy. Your solutions are only temporary."

Tommy was never one to back down from a challenge. "What, I'm not allowed to give Tubbo a potion now?" he seethed, "He fucking died for us, man, and you're just gonna let him suffer?"

Wilbur looked unimpressed. "It's just respawn sickness. He'll be fine." He turned to leave.

"People fucking die from respawn sickness! And he's still recovering from the fucking fireworks Techno shot at him!" Wilbur didn't stop, didn't even hesitate. He just went back to his desk, as if Tommy wasn't still standing there. The more rational, less angry part of Tommy realized that Wilbur wasn't right. That he hadn't been right, not really, not since the election. It wasn't worth fighting with him. "Whatever," Tommy said, throwing his bag over his shoulder, "I'm, I'm gonna go to bed."

As soon as he entered the room, he dropped the bag to the side and immediately started towards the bed. He was tired.

Prime, he was so tired.

"Scoot over. I'm climbing in," he mumbled, nudging the other boy. Surprisingly, Tubbo responded almost immediately, pressing himself to the wall to make room.

(They had been doing this ever since they were kids. Wilbur would always find them huddled up close when they were younger. They had stopped when they got "too old" for it but had gotten back into the habit during the war for L'manberg. They always felt safer with the other near.)

Tommy's head landed on the pillow and he glanced over. Tubbo's eyes were wide open, staring concernedly at him. He certainly seemed more alert than Tommy felt, that was for sure. "I heard shouting. Is something wrong?"

Tommy covered his eyes with his hands. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Something clearly happened. You're all tense."

"I'm fine," he lied, "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

"But-"

"Tubbo, please."

"Okay," Tubbo whispered. A second later, Tommy felt the pillow shift as Tubbo laid back down.

Pogtopia was silent.

*******

The sun was up by the time Tommy woke.

He usually was an early riser, albeit, mostly out of necessity. He couldn't remember the last time he slept in.

Tubbo woke up earlier than him. When he woke, he handed him a carrot.

"What's this?" Tommy asked.

"Breakfast," Tubbo replied, taking a bite of his own carrot.

Tommy sat up and swung his legs over the bed. Tubbo sat down to join him. Tommy took a bite of his carrot, then looked at Tubbo. "Are these the ones from my chest?"

Tubbo looked sheepish. "Yeah, sorry. I couldn't find any other food in here."

"No, it's fine. I was just curious." Tubbo shrugged and continued eating his carrot, but Tommy continued to look at him. He looked healthier, certainly. The sickly tint was gone from his skin, although he still looked rather pale. Unfortunately, there was no good solution to that in Pogtopia. His movements were less sluggish, more pronounced. But what really caught Tommy's eye were the bandages. Loose and yellow, grime having accumulated over the past few days. Tommy was no healer, but he knew that couldn't be hygienic.

Tubbo looked back over at him. "What?"

"Your bandages. They need changing," he said, gesturing with his carrot. He stood up and walked over to the chest and started rummaging through it.

"Tommy?"

"What?"

"I don't think the bandages will do much good."

Tommy stopped sorting through the chest and turned around. "What do you mean?"

Tubbo was looking down. He looked uncomfortable. "They-" He hesitated, then continued. "These aren't wounds. They're scars." He touched the bandaged side of his face. "They aren't going to heal."

Tommy paused. "Still raw, though," he said, turning back to the chest, "Gotta keep them from getting infected."

"Tommy-"

"Tubbo, I don't give a fuck if you have scars or not, okay?" Tommy snapped, clutching the edge of the chest, "But I'm not gonna let you die from a fucking infection or some shit." He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but it did. He pulled out a small roll of linen. "Found them." Tommy stood. Tubbo was still sitting on the bed, looking away. Tommy started to speak and he looked up. "Do- does it bother you?"

"That I have them?" Tubbo shrugged. "No, not really. Though, it's not like I've seen them fully." He held his arms close to his chest. "It's just... new." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I'll get used to them."

Tommy sat back down next to him and asked the question he had been thinking since he first noticed the scars. "Do they hurt?"

"I didn't-" Tubbo took a breath. "I didn't know that it could hurt so bad. After I died, I mean. I knew dying hurt, but I thought it would stop, the pain, but it didn't. When I respawned, it felt like I was still on fire." He glanced back over at Tommy. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You haven't done anything wrong," Tommy said, mildly confused.

(Tubbo had been doing that, he noticed, ever since he got back. He apologized for nearly everything, even when it wasn't something to apologize for.)

"I'm," Tommy started shakily, "I'm glad you're still here. Scars and all."

Tubbo gave a faint smile. "Thanks."

"C'mon," Tommy said, holding up the roll, "Let's fix you up."

Things wouldn't really get better, not for a while. They knew this. They weren't adults, but they were realists.

But, Tommy thought, they could make it through whatever the future had to throw at them.

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 5 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: HOORAY last of the strictly rewrites!!! thank u sm for ur patience if ur still waiting on chapter 6, i promise i’ll make it soon! lots of lo-ove, by-ee!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

“And…one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three-”

“Goddamnit shit cunt bitch fuck piss in my mouth,” Brooke exhales frustratedly all at once, and Vanessa holds back an involuntary chuckle. It would be funny if it didn’t hit so close to home. It’s only twelve o’clock and it’s day three of rehearsals but already Brooke’s entire body language is defeated, like a burst balloon, and Vanessa is worried.

It’s all her fault, really. The scores from Saturday night still burn her brain if she thinks about them too much, hot coals on a grate. Twenty one out of forty. If it were a grade in a test it’d barely be a pass, and Vanessa can practically see her eyes turn green in the studio mirrors if she thinks about the fact they were sixth on the leaderboard behind Jan and Jackie, Crystal and Gigi, Monique and Monet, Akeria and Asia and Jaida and Yvie. Vanessa does not do sixth. Vanessa does not do anything other than top three, and the fact that she ended last week in the middle of the leaderboard enrages her. Okay, she knows this isn’t her journey- it’s Brooke’s, but Vanessa has a reputation to uphold; it’s her first year and she cannot be seen as a dud pro. So on Sunday she’d channeled her fighting spirit into an appropriate dance, and this week they’re doing a Paso Doble. Well. They’re meant to be doing a Paso Doble, but it’s fast and it’s frenetic and Brooke isn’t managing to get her head around this one particular section. Vanessa feels like packing it in, to tell the producers they’re doing something else, but really what kind of person would she be if she pulled that stunt? So instead she’s been watching Brooke become increasingly irritated at herself since 8 this morning and tried to come up with a way she can teach it that’ll work.

“This is my fault,” Vanessa verbalises what she’s thinking and bites her lip. “I’ve made this too hard.”

Brooke suddenly freezes and glares at her. “Are you saying I’m shit?”

PANIC. “No, fuck no! That’s not it at all, I just-”

Vanessa suddenly relaxes as Brooke splutters a held-in laugh, thumping her on the arm. “Shut the fuck up, bitch! I was nervous.”

“Not as nervous as I am about this fucking dance,” Brooke sighs, running her hands down her face slowly. Vanessa looks at the clock and makes a decision.

“You hungry?”

Brooke shrugs. “I am quite, now you mention it.”

“Good. Get your jacket. We’re gonna get lunch.”

Brooke winces. “But I still haven’t got-”

“We have got all damn day to learn this motherfuckin’ dance, now will you put your jacket on and let’s go?” Vanessa says firmly, Brooke giving a little laugh, shaking her head in resignation before crossing the room to grab her things. Vanessa’s pleased, and there’s small fireworks going off in her heart. She’s just asked Brooke to lunch and she’s said yes, not that Vanessa gave her much of a choice admittedly. As Brooke holds the door of the studio open for her, Vanessa starts wondering about where they could go to eat. She’s distracted by the way they’re walking down the corridor side-by-side, the way that Brooke stays close to her despite the fact there’s plenty room for them to have their own space. Vanessa feels like putting an arm around her waist, then decides against it. That kind of contact is special, reserved for a Saturday night after their dance is over and they’re standing together in front of the judges.

They walk out into the chilly October air, and Vanessa’s regretting only taking her hoodie out with her. The weather is quintessentially British- it had been raining that morning but now it has subsided, so the paving slabs glisten with puddles and the cars that go by roll smoothly through the rain-sheened roads and the grey clouds still hang heavy and ominous in the sky. Normally weather like this makes Vanessa yearn for her trips back to Puerto Rico, where the October temperatures are what the UK could only dream of in Summer, but standing outside in the cold and damp doesn’t seem so bad with Brooke looking at her expectantly.

“Where d’you wanna go?” she asks her. Brooke shrugs.

“Starbucks? Take it back and we can eat while we practise?”

Vanessa lets out a laugh and rolls her eyes, both irritated and impressed by Brooke’s dedication. She has a think and then remembers that place a few streets along from the studios where she, Akeria and Monique had grabbed brunch one time before a pro dance rehearsal. The thought of poached eggs with golden yolks on avocado toast makes her stomach rumble and she jerks her head in its direction. “C’mon.”

The walk and the fresh, icy air works a treat at clearing Vanessa’s head and by the time she and Brooke grab a wobbly wooden table by the steamed-up window in the cafe she’s feeling loads better about their Paso even though technically it’s still a mess. She picks up the menu despite knowing exactly what she wants and gives it a scan before Brooke plucks it unceremoniously out of her hands.

“Hey!”

“What?” Brooke smirks knowingly. Vanessa doesn’t complain further, instead indulging in the way Brooke’s eyes dart about as she scans the dishes on the menu, the way her brow furrows and the way she bites her bottom lip as she thinks. When Brooke looks at her again, Vanessa rushes to pretend she hadn’t had her eyes on her first.

“They have some really nice stuff here.”

Vanessa nudges the fork on the table a little to the left. “Me, Kiki an’ Monique went here a couple weeks back. They both had pancakes and they were really good apparently, so…”

She tails off, and Brooke nods. “You’re close with them, huh?”

“Well, we’re all kind of like sisters. All the dancers. In, like…the most literal way possible. We bicker and bitch and steal each others’ makeup and clothes but we love each other underneath it all. But yeah, those two are my girls,” Vanessa smiles involuntarily as she thinks about her friends. She thinks before adding, “They helped me through all the shit last year.”

Brooke smiles sympathetically and nods. “That’s cute that you’re all, like, a family.”

“It’s real nice. ‘Specially since all I really have here is my Mom, and I don’t get to see her all that often.”

Brooke leans her chin on her hands, listening intently. Vanessa realises she’s left her last sentence a little cryptic, so she elaborates. “We came over from San Juan when I was two. Fuck knows why my Mom wanted to leave, but we did. The rest of my family’s still over there- my Abuela, my Tia and Tio, all my lil’ cousins.”

“Do you get to visit much?” Brooke asks. Vanessa nods a yes.

“Way more nowadays than I ever got to when I was little. Obviously when we first came here we didn’t have a huge amount of money but my Mom always made sure to save enough to fly back every Summer for the school holidays an’ stuff.”

Vanessa pauses and looks out of the window. Her stomach feels tight with guilt. “But obviously it got harder when I started wanting to dance, cuz hell, if this country don’t like giving out free school meals then they sure as hell hate subsidisin’ your dance classes.”

Brooke laughs humourlessly in agreement. Vanessa picks at her cuticles as she keeps talking, stares at the table to avoid Brooke’s eyes. “So there were sometimes Summers when we couldn’t afford to go back over because of me. That was hard. My Mom was always really good about it and encouraged me and said it was fine but I still remember her on the phone to my family and how much she cried afterwards…damn. I felt like shit. Guess I still do.”

Brooke pulls a sympathetic face. “But I mean, you’ve been able to go back since then, right? So what do you have to be guilty for?”

“I don’t know,” Vanessa shrugs sharply, frowns a little. “I guess it was just selfish of me. Lookin’ back I should’ve thought about my Mom more.”

“Yeah, but it all worked out for the best. You’re now able to fly her out way more frequently because of the career you’re in, because of the sacrifices you both made back then. Right?”

Vanessa feels something bloom in her ribcage as she smiles at Brooke. Her eyes are kind and she’s talking like a therapist and listening to all of Vanessa’s pent-up guilt and regret even though she has absolutely no responsibility or obligation to do so. “Yeah. Sorry. I just kinda dumped all that on you.”

Brooke shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. This is nice.”

Nice. It is nice. It’s nice to sit in a busy, cosy cafe with Brooke while outside is cold and damp and talk about her life and be listened to. Vanessa feels content and peaceful for the first time perhaps since this competition started. Her mind hasn’t been this clear in a while.

“What about your family?” Vanessa asks. Brooke smiles involuntarily as she gazes at the ceiling. It’s cute.

“Aw, I miss them so much. My Mommy, my total queen and my rock. I love her,” she says happily. Vanessa can’t help but smile at her words. She knows what it’s like to cling to her Mom as growing up they only really had each other. Brooke folds her arms as she continues. “And then I’ve got my older brother and two older sisters who I love to death as well. But I don’t miss my sisters. Well, I don’t miss the way they borrow half my fucking outfits.”

Vanessa snorts a laugh as Brooke shakes her head long-sufferingly. “So you’re the baby of the family then?”

Brooke shrugs. “An overgrown baby at thirty years old, but yeah. All my siblings are either in relationships or married so you can imagine how fun that is whenever I go back to Canada, getting questioned by the fucking relationship Gestapo.”

The sentence makes Vanessa’s heart start climbing the stairs of hope, and she’s not even attempting to stop it. She fidgets with a corner of her paper napkin as she speaks again. “Oh, so you ain’t…you’re not seeing anyone at the moment, then?”

“Why, who’s asking?” Brooke cocks an eyebrow. Vanessa instantly feels her cheeks flood scarlet, and Brooke lets out a howl of a laugh. “Kidding, kidding! No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Right, right,” Vanessa nods as nonchalantly as she can. She thinks about testing deeper conversational waters, considers killing two birds of curiosity with one stone. They’re on the topic of relationships, and who knows when they’ll get onto it again, so she decides to dive in. “Just thought you might, y’know…have a boyfriend. Or somethin’.”

“No, no boyfriend,” Brooke says simply. She leans her head on the fist she’s made and raises her eyebrows a little, giving Vanessa a quick once-over. “Or girlfriend.”

It’s the answer she’s been hoping for, confirming her suspicions that Brooke’s into girls, but the flirting panics her and so Vanessa reaches for the discarded menu to fidget with as she lightly shrugs, moving the conversation along with all the tact and delicacy of a steamroller. “So you live on your own then?”

“Yeah. Just me.”

“Me too. You like it?”

Brooke pulls a face, looks down in thought for a second. “Sometimes. Part of me likes the feeling of being completely on my own, because I can do literally whatever the hell I want, take things at my own pace. There’s nobody to nag me or tell me what to do. I realise that makes me sound literally half my age, but it’s true. I can sing as loud as I want.”

“You sing?” Vanessa asks, intrigued. Brooke laughs.

“I didn’t say I sing well!” she snorts, and Vanessa lets out a giggle too. Brooke continues, her gaze focused on the world outside the window as she speaks. “It’s nice though, that feeling of freedom. On the other hand I just miss, like…coexisting with someone? I don’t know. Like when I came to uni over here and I had flatmates and there was that feeling of comfort to know that there was always someone in the next room to talk to, or make dinner with, or just watch TV with. Just someone to do normal shit with. You know?” Brooke narrows her eyes as she finishes her sentence, appealing to Vanessa.

“Yeah, I get it,” Vanessa replies, letting out a little sigh as she lets a few memories in and then slams that particular door firmly shut. “I miss that too, sometimes.”

The silence lingers between the two of them for a second before Brooke speaks again, her tone upbeat and cheerful. “But I mean, for the most part, my flat’s great. It’s part of this new-build, hi-tech apartment complex that only got done building last year. We’ve got a gym, there’s a shop at the bottom, there’s meeting rooms we can book…”

“Yeah, I think you told me about the gym once,” Vanessa nods in recognition, and Brooke’s smile widens as she has an idea.

“You should come round some time. You’d love it.”

Vanessa tries to stop the blush that threatens to hit her face. The invitation is personal and not rehearsal or show related, and that fact shouldn’t make her as happy as it does. She fixes Brooke with a smile and nods shyly. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

Still visibly buoyed, Brooke reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of Vanessa’s, patting it gently. There’s a little spark of static when they touch, a metaphor come to life. When Brooke smiles at her, Vanessa feels comfortable.

“This was a good idea. Thanks for dragging me out.”

Vanessa shrugs, doesn’t move her hand. She smiles lazily at her dance partner. “It’s okay. We both needed a break.”

As the waiter comes to take their order Brooke’s hand flies out from its position on top of hers, but Vanessa doesn’t mind. There’s a connection that’s been forged that isn’t physical, and she knows it’s still there even if Brooke’s hand isn’t.

Rehearsal ends up going smoother the rest of that day. Okay- it’s not perfect, but Brooke starts picking it up and Vanessa’s mind is less cloudy. Thursday brings more rain and full runs of the dance that don’t go smoothly but Vanessa is relieved because at least they’ve fucking learned it. By Friday they’re exhausted and worn out and Vanessa hates this dance, hates this fucking dance, but it’s one step closer to being over for good. She’s disappointed when it occurs to her that they’re not going to get particularly favourable scores- their run is still riddled with mistakes, but at least Brooke’s worked hard on what she was critiqued for last week. Her core is stronger due to the planks Vanessa’s been making them both do at the start of every rehearsal and her elbow hasn’t drooped once- not that there’s much chance for it to during a Paso, but at least the judges will be able to see that she’s taking their comments on board. Vanessa’s proud of her. She tells Brooke so before they go home on Friday night, when it’s quiet outside and different shades of dark. She thinks Brooke might be blushing as she thanks her and says goodbye, but she can’t be sure.

Saturday happens in a frighteningly fast blur- there’s excitement but it’s nervous instead of anticipative, as everybody knows that tonight one couple will be eliminated. Vanessa’s not really worried about that though- the bottom of the leaderboard last week was comprised of Courtney and Blair, Plastique and Scarlet, Willam and Phi Phi and Aja and Farrah, so in comparison she supposes sixth isn’t too bad. Her aim for tonight’s dance had been to climb up the leaderboard a bit, but knowing how their Paso’s been going Vanessa will call it a success if they both stay where they are.

It turns out they drop down to seventh behind Shea and Peppermint, after their American Smooth has the judges on their feet. Brooke and Vanessa’s Paso goes…well, it goes. It’s not the best they’ve done it but it’s done, thank God, and they never have to do it again.

Unless of course they’re in the dance off. But Vanessa doesn’t permit herself to think about that. Instead, she thinks about the warmth of Brooke’s hand in hers as they walk through the corridor together after their judge’s critiques and their interview. Neither of them address the fact their hands are entwined, and that’s okay. Vanessa likes it like that.

“You okay?” she asks Brooke, halfway down the hallway, as their character shoes squeak quietly against the laminate flooring and they cast fleeting shadows against the manila walls.

Brooke sighs a little, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah.”

“No you’re not. C’mere,” Vanessa frowns, using the hand she’s holding to pull Brooke into a hug. It’s gentle and tight all at once, the way Brooke’s strong arms are holding her close contrasting with the way her hands are light against her back. Brooke smells of a Saturday night: tan in a bottle and hairspray and Jimmy Choo Flash perfume. It’s not like her usual scent of freshly-washed hair and her fabric softener (Lenor Gold Orchid- Vanessa had smelt them all rather self-indulgently on her last trip to Tesco to work out which was Brooke’s).

“I don’t want to let you down,” Brooke whispers above her, and Vanessa can tell she’s got tears in her eyes without even having to look into them. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head against her chest.

“You could go out there, forget the entire dance and do the fucking Macarena for all I care. You always make me proud.”

Vanessa feels Brooke press a kiss to the top of her head and it sets off a blush she can feel spreading down her face onto her neck and across her chest. Brooke had kissed her again after their dance had finished, quick and emphatic against her temple, and it had set off butterflies in her stomach that threatened to fly up into the rigging of the lights. Vanessa wants to get caught up in the moment, wants even to hold her gaze and see how she’d react if she asked to kiss her properly, but instead she pulls herself out of the hug. She keeps their hands connected though and as she meets Brooke’s eyes and finds that she’s smiling at her, Vanessa concludes it was the right decision to make.

“Fuck the scores,” she says, remembering each paddle (4, 5, 5, 5) with a sting as if she’s been smacked with them. “The Paso wasn’t for us and it’s over now. On to the next one.”

“Unless we’re in the dance off.”

“Brooke Lynn, Bianca gave Blair a two. I think we’ll be fine.”

Vanessa isn’t wrong, and it turns out their position looks better compared to some of the other dances they see once they’ve been through makeup to get neatened up again. Poor Scarlet tries her best to get through her Jive with Plastique but her feet just aren’t doing the things Vanessa knows Scarlet wants them to, and the judges give them a combined score of fifteen. Scarlet looks deflated as she leaves the dancefloor and the moment their interview is over Vanessa watches as Yvie pulls her into a hug (Vanessa knows that type of hug because she’s just given Brooke the exact same one). Aja and Farrah’s Samba wasn’t great either and they earn themselves a mark of seventeen. Despite this, though, by the time the show finishes and they have to assemble to film the results (which are pre-recorded and then broadcast on a Sunday), they’re both a bag of nerves. She and Brooke are placed on the stairs with a spotlight burning down onto them, ants under a magnifying glass. The mood between the couples is decidedly tense, and as Vanessa looks down at the girls on the dancefloor she sees Monet squeeze Monique’s waist as Monique sighs and rests her head against the other girl’s shoulder. Vanessa wants to scoff at the fact they both seem nervous. The waltz they did almost brought the house down and they even got a nine from Laganja, so unless the only votes they got were ones they gave themselves, they’re very likely to be safe.

Michelle does her intro and, as the lights go down, Vanessa feels as if her heart is going to break her ribcage it’s beating so heavily.

“I can now reveal that the first couple safe and through to next week is…”

Long pause. The beat of a drum and Brooke’s pulse that Vanessa can feel through the hand she’s holding. Vanessa is so nervous that she casts her eyes up to the heavens. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…

“Jan and Jackie!”

Jan screams and Jackie falls gratefully into her arms as she yells a “thank you!” at the camera that’s barely heard over the applause.

“The second couple safe is…”

Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Vanessa gives a minute bow of her head like her Mom taught her to do at mass when she was little. Is it sacreligious to pray if you’re lapsed? Some priests probably think so. Vanessa hopes it’s working in their favour anyway.

“Heidi and Vixen!”

Vanessa can’t see their reaction as they’re positioned above them at the very top of the stairs, and she doesn’t want to turn around in case…it’s bad luck? She doesn’t know. At this point she’s not risking anything, not even looking up to see Brooke’s face.

“The next couple safe and through to next week is…”

Holy Mary, Mother of God…you take away the sins of the world? Nah, that’s the wrong one. Fuck.

“Gigi and Crystal!”

Vanessa wants to roll her eyes, much as she’s happy for her friend. Of course they’re safe. They were second on the leaderboard last week and first tonight after a scarily in-sync Charleston. It comes as no surprise to her.

“The first couple in tonight’s dance-off will be…”

Vanessa feels truly nauseous. It wouldn’t be impossible for it to be them, stranger things have happened on the show. What the fuck is that next line? Holy Mary, Mother of God…

“Blair and Courtney.”

Vanessa’s heart feels as if it’s been shocked by jumpleads. She feels Brooke give an involuntary squeeze of her hand, and Vanessa strokes her thumb against hers in return. They just need to not be the other couple in the dance off. It’s doable.

“The next couple safe and through to next week is…”

…pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death-

“Brooke and Vanessa!”

Vanessa doesn’t screech or scream. Instead she finally turns to Brooke, who’s meeting her smile with a matching one plastered across her own face. She falls into her outstretched arms in relief, and mumbles a “thank you” to the camera while Brooke holds her tight. They’ve made it. They live to fight another week.

Amen.

Of course, one couple isn’t so lucky and, after a tense dance-off between Scarlet and Plastique and Blair and Courtney, it turns out Blair is the first celebrity to leave the competition. The girls get upset- the celebrities have all become a part of their big, crazy family now, and it’s sad that Vanessa will no longer hear Blair laugh at something Vixen has said, or compliment her on her makeup, or ask to get selfies with everyone in the dressing room. It’s Vixen, though, who is affected the most by Blair’s departure. Vanessa knows they’re good friends but she wonders if perhaps they’ll ever become something more as she watches Vixen cling to Yvie and sob and sob. The moment they’re all allowed, the pros and celebrities flood the dancefloor as Blair and Courtney dance their last dance. Vixen makes a beeline for Blair and Courtney graciously steps out of her way so the pair of them can hug and cry in tandem.

“Shit, this is rough,” Vanessa mutters to nobody in particular. Monique, who’s materialised beside her, shrugs.

“Yep, well. I don’t plan on havin’ to go through it, so it’s not a problem for me.”

Vanessa snorts at her friend’s cockiness, then pulls a sympathetic face as Blair approaches the pair of them, all streaming mascara and sniffles.

“C’mere, baby. You did so well, be proud of yourself,” Vanessa offers to her, and Blair smiles gently before her face crumples again.

“Just…look after my girl, okay?” she asks them hopefully. Monique smiles, rubs her forearm gently.

“Oh, sweetie, Courtney will be fine, she’s a big girl.”

“Courtney?” Blair asks, confused. Then she appears to realise something and she smiles back at Monique, a little embarrassed. “Oh no, um…I meant Toni. Can you both look out for her? Make sure she’s okay after I’m gone? I mean I know her and Heidi are going to go far, but…y’know.”

Vanessa wants to cock an eyebrow at Monique in recognition, but she doesn’t. Instead she gives Blair a reassuring look, takes her hand and squeezes it gently. “Sure we will.”

Appeased, Blair thanks them and gives them both a hug before moving on to say goodbye to some of the other girls. As she walks away, Vanessa hears Monique give a big sigh beside her. She tilts her head at her friend inquisitively. “You ‘kay?”

“Yeah, uh…” Monique sighs, rubs her eyes a little. “Could we do lunch at some point this week? Me, you, Kiki. I just need my girls’ advice.”

“About what?” Vanessa asks her. Then, as she follows Monique’s gaze over to where Monet is standing talking to Shea and Aja, the penny drops. “Oh. OH. Okay. Yeah, we’ll do lunch, bitch.”

Monique smiles gratefully at her, then gives her a hug and a goodnight as she’s starting choreography early tomorrow. The coming week’s theme is movies, which is always fun, and Vanessa already has a number in mind. It’s ridiculous, and so quintessentially Strictly. She can’t wait to show it to Brooke.

As Vanessa thinks of Brooke, she finds her eyes scanning the group of girls to see where she is. She’s smiling as she’s talking to Plastique and Scarlet, her smile bright and dazzling and her eyes kind. The lights are hitting her highlight and making it look as if she’s glowing, and her hair catches the light too in its smooth and glossy bun.

Vanessa feels her heart yearn, and she considers the possibility that perhaps it won’t just be Monique talking about the feelings she has for her partner when they both go to lunch with Akeria.

[ddaenggtan]

lay me gently | ksj

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of. more technically accurate would be chronic pain!reader. but thats a whole discussion that ur welcome to have with me), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, smut, literally the most vanilla smut i’ve ever written there are only two warnings, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, there are mentions of a war god that is a dick but it is Not Ares i promise, everyone still hates zeus bc he sucks, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little, 

word count | 12.9k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | this is the second installment of gods and monsters!! i was actually in the middle of writing from eden when i stumbled across a really fantastic blurb about retelling aphrodite’s story the way we’ve all collectively decided to retell persephone and hades, so that there are two decent fucking couples in greek mythology, and there were a lot of good comments on said blurb that made those last two braincells in my head run into each other and make an idea. and then i promptly opened a new doc and typed half of this and a vague summary before sleeping for longer than i should have! and i’m always weak for aphrodite jin bc i mean....look at him....man looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo like who am i to deny the gods, y’know? and i figured that since i had olympian!reader in the last one, i’d continue that and have olympian!reader in this one, also i wanted an excuse to write from a hephaestus pov since i’ve loved that dumbass blacksmith since i was ten and wrote a greek history article in school. so here, have this aphrodite retelling!! | title from work song by hozier

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of. 

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you. 

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks an order out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and everyone works much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade. 

You valued your time too much for that. 

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit. 

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is. 

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you. 

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says. 

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him. 

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has. 

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed. 

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time. 

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched. 

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her. 

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened. 

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop. 

You've got work to do. 

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop. 

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can. 

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other. 

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter. 

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise." 

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them. 

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree. 

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead, you tighten your grip on it and take a breath. 

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth. 

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly. 

He's taller than you - though, with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

"It's...a pleasure." He looks you up and down, not unlike you did him, but whatever conclusions he makes, he says nothing. 

"Your quarters are on the fifth floor," You reply in lieu of an actual greeting. "Delius will show you the way. Be careful, or you're likely to lose your head. Keep a cyclops with you while you learn your way around, they can get anywhere." The god looks surprised, though you aren't sure why, and you turn. "They'll see to your meals and needs, as well, so if you find yourself wanting, just let one know. I'll have a key made soon, so you can come and go as you wish." 

Aphrodite starts to say something as you walk away, leg dragging slightly behind you as you go. Jimin seems to cut him off, though, already asking for wine. 

"And get that bastard out of my forge!" You yell over your shoulder. "If he's still here when I get to the lift, I'm throwing him to the pit." 

There's scrambling behind you as the doors close. You feel a twinge of regret; the love god has done nothing to you, you could have given him even the slightest chance. The memory of his eyes as he looked at you flashes in front of you and you lean against the wall for support. No love god would want to associate with someone like you. He is beauty and elegance, a practiced dance in a moonlit gazebo, and you…

You are a mistake, cast from your home and crippled for all to see exactly what happens when you get in Zeus' way. 

You take a breath and let the heat from the stone wall soothe the pain in your hip as much as it will before you set off for your workshop.

Seokjin isn't quite sure what to do with himself that night. His friends - suitors - have all gone, unable to bear the heat of the mountain for more than a brief goodbye, and Jimin was quick to go when the cyclopes started for him. What the story there is, he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, as a matter of fact. 

He doesn't know why Hera pushed so hard to have him wed to Hephaestus. He doesn't know why the girl was so cold at their first meeting. He doesn't know why she seemed so normal. Most people he met fell to their knees within moments, desperate to please him and showering him with vain compliments that used to sound like music in his ears. Most were insistent in their offers to him, throwing out their bodies and souls and anything else they thought he might want, just for a single glance from him. He used to laugh as he blew them kisses, delighted by their mindless adoration. 

Used to. 

He doesn't delight in such things anymore. Centuries have passed, and still, not a single one of the people and creatures that fought to stand in his presence cared about him. All of them saw Aphrodite, god of love and fertility, beauty and passion. They vied for just one night with him, fighting wars to win his hand, throwing whole festivals across Greece for his blessing. It was and would always be an honor. He is beautiful and is thankful for it, but…

Just once, he would like to be beautiful as Seokjin instead of Aphrodite. Would like the people attempting to woo him to hear the words he speaks instead of merely listening to the musicality of his voice. Would like to be believed, trusted, valued for something other than his face. Seokjin has a mind, a creative, capable mind that has - more than once - developed solutions to issues plaguing the mortals, only for him to be brushed to the side while the smart ones figured things out. 

He hates it, just like he hates that Hera sprung this on him without so much as a warning. One day he'd been lounging in her garden, the one place he could find some reprieve from the hordes of suitors, and talking to Artemis about her life as a maiden, and the next, Zeus thrust a marriage certificate into his hands and told him to be packed by the end of the week. 

And now his wife doesn't even care to look at him. You're not entranced like everyone else. The stories have grossly exaggerated your looks; he was prepared to look upon a monster, not a woman, pained and covered in soot with a limp. Still, there had been no emotion in your gaze, not even an ounce of the hatred or disgust he may have dreaded in his journey to this volcano. 

Nor do you care to dine with him, clearly. He's been sat at a scorched rocky table longer than three of him, by himself, for nearly two hours. Olympus has spoiled him, clearly, or perhaps it's that your own manners are lacking. In the skies, everyone dines together, lounging on cushions and waiting until Zeus and Hera arrive before digging into the food presented to them. It's respectful, a way to honor the hosts of the home. Even there, however, he would not be kept waiting for more than ten minutes.

"You, there," He eventually calls to a cyclops in the corner, polishing goblets that likely haven't been touched in centuries. It turns to fix its eye on him, and Seokjin represses the instinctive shudder. "When does Hephaestus intend on dining tonight?"

"Apologies, my lord, but the lady has her dinner served in her workshop." Seokjin frowns at that and the cyclops continues. "She stays there most hours of the day, takes her meals there to ensure she makes the most of each day to create her inventions and improve upon her current ones."

Seokjin huffs and debates with himself for a moment. It would be rude to eat without his hostess present, but if you had your meals delivered elsewhere there was little chance you'd bother to come to the dining hall. He couldn't possibly go to your workshop to dine with you either; the cyclops could show him the way, yes, but he would no doubt be intruding on things he had no business being near, even as your husband. 

He spews out a slew of curses that make the cyclops in the corner blush and digs into a roll. He would simply have to eat alone tonight, and perhaps if he catches you tomorrow, he can request your presence at meals. 

You don't see Aphrodite again until the next evening. 

You've almost forgotten anyone else lives in the mountain you call home, still used to being on your own besides the cyclopes. Roniah had informed you that morning that the god inquired as to your whereabouts the previous night during his supper, and the slightest bit of guilt shoots through you. You should have joined him if only for a moment to be polite, but you'd gotten entranced in your latest designs. Your own food had been taken away in the wee hours of the morning, stale and unwanted. It was commonplace, but you need to at least be polite to your husband. 

You sink deeper into the steaming water around you, rubbing away the last bits of soot and grease as you ponder. The hot water is heaven on your aches, the warmth seeping through and relaxing them into painlessness. You don't allow yourself the luxury of bathing often, usually just wiping yourself clean every so often when the remnants of your work become too thick on your skin or the ache in your bones is too much to ignore. It's a nice reprieve, though, one you bask in each time. The water is close to boiling, comfortable and warm for a goddess such as yourself, and the steam makes it difficult to see much of anything. 

You've long since come to terms with your life; you aren't beautiful, you won't ever walk without pain again, you won't be the daughter your parents wanted. But it's moments like these that you let yourself pretend, if only for a moment. Pretend you weren't thrown from your home. Pretend your leg isn't covered in scars from where the rocks of Olympus sliced it open. Pretend you're the same woman you were all those years ago, clutching at your mother's skirts as Zeus thundered towards her. 

Your head starts to spin and you stand, clumsily making your way out of the pool and to the stone bench where your linen towel waits. You slip your robes over your shoulders and sigh at the softness of them. The black linen you keep here was woven by Ariadne herself, enchanted by Athena and dipped in the fires of your forge to withstand the heat. It allows for a slight breeze as you move into your bedroom, not bothering to tie the material closed completely so it hangs limp on your shoulders, torso exposed. Your skin is overheated from the water and you enjoy the way the air cools you just slightly as you sit on your bed.

You don't think anything of it until a throat clears behind you and you whip your head around to see Aphrodite standing just inside your door. 

"Apologies, my lady. Horedon did not mention you were indisposed when I asked him to show me to your quarters." His voice is pleasant, soft and gentle. It matches his image and makes you acutely aware of how loud you always are, always must be in order to be heard over the forges.

"It's an honest mistake," You say eventually, tugging your robes tighter around you. "What do you need? As I said, the cyclopes are more than capable-"

"I wanted to extend my gratitude, actually." You can't even be mad he cut you off, too surprised by his words. "You and your workers have been very kind in the day that I've been here, and I appreciate that. I know that this isn't exactly something we had planned."

You nod in understanding. Pain flares in your leg once more and you massage the muscle out of habit. "Are your quarters to your liking? I did my best to position you high enough that the heat from the magma wouldn't be too overbearing, but not high enough that the forge smoke would choke you. Ah, and your bed also has a screen function built in to help to filter the air, so it may be more like what you're used to."

"Thank you, it's lovely. Delius showed me yesterday, it felt very much like Hera's garden." If he notices your flinch at the words, he doesn't say anything. "Listen, Hephaestus, I know neither of us may have wanted this, but I think we should make the most of this. We can at least be civil. If you would, your company at dinner would be most welcome." You stare at him, a laugh bubbling up in your throat that you can't stop. He looks baffled upon hearing it and it takes you a full minute to calm down enough to speak. 

"Thank you for inviting me to dine at my own table, Aphrodite," you say with an amused smile. "I shall do my best to attend, should I find myself near the hall." His ears turn a lovely shade of pink as he inclines his head in a small bow and leaves. You laugh again once he's gone. The entire situation is too hysterical for you. 

You, a plain and hobbled smith, are married to a love god who is beauty personified, who has already taken it upon himself to invite you to dine at your dinner table with him. You really should have expected him to pull something like this; already comfortable enough to show up unannounced in your private chambers and issue invitations and probably demands of your workers. You're not sure why Hera has banished him here; he's so much like her, he should be a favorite, and yet she must hate him if she's sentenced him to live here for the rest of existence. 

With a sigh you settle back into your bed, pillows supporting the weight of your bad leg and sheets thrown haphazardly around you. 

You don't expect to sleep, so when you wake, you're disoriented. You're not sure how long you were out, but it seems to have been a while based on the hunger that gnaws at your stomach. You click your heels and wheel your way to the kitchens, rubbing at your eyes to clear the sleep from them. 

You're focused when you enter the kitchen and give a curt wave to the mass of cyclopes situated around the island. It isn't until you're done making your gyro that you turn, deliciousness only a bite away and lock eyes with Aphrodite.

He looks radiant, as always; the pale yellow cloth drapes along his form in a most appealing way, and there's an amused smirk playing over his lips. His hair is still that soft purple, but it's faded some. 

"It's nice to see you again, wife," He says with an incline of his head. "It's been a while since anyone's seen you roaming through the halls." You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you lean back against the counter, wheels dig into the stone underneath your feet. 

"Yes, well, I was resting. Nothing strange about that, is there?" His lips quirk in a knowing smile and he shares a glance with the cyclops to his right. You notice for the first time how soft his mouth looks, pillowy and full, and you absently wonder how many have felt those lips against their skin. 

"Eat up, my lady," Aphrodite says eventually. "After a week-long nap, I expect you need it. Zeus dropped by a few days ago to deliver his wedding gift, it's waiting in your workshop. I've already commissioned a new necklace for Hera as thanks."

You frown, stuffing the gyro in your mouth. It was one thing to learn that you've been asleep for a week - not uncommon, for a god, but useful knowledge - but to know that Zeus stopped by without waking you, and that Aphrodite has been running things in your stead… You glance quickly around, noting the way each cyclops in the room is turned toward the love god as if they had all been deep in conversation before you arrived, and the sprawling mass of gems and stones atop the island in front of them. 

"You're commissioning the cyclopes for jewelry now?" You eventually ask. He nods. 

"They truly have an eye for detail," He says, a cheeky grin growing on his face. The cyclopes look amused, a couple even laughing outright, and you stifle a sigh at the terrible joke. "And I had no idea that these gems are so common here. The quality is astounding, honestly, I only ever see it in the gems on Olympus."

"That's because the stones on Olympus are from here," you tell him. Your eyes rake over him and he seems...happier than last you saw him. The soft light from the magma tunnels highlights his features beautifully, only enhancing the natural beauty, and there are gems decorating his hands and wound tight around his throat in a choker. More than that, though, he looks peaceful, relaxed. His muscles are relaxed as he sits among the one-eyed giants, a smile never far from his face, and they make conversation with him easily, despite their usual hesitance to be around any of the other gods. It warms you to see them so at ease around someone other than yourself.

"Well, if it's for Hera, it must be the best. Get me the designs, Aphrodite, and if there's anything else-"

"Seokjin."

"Hm?" You turn, already halfway to the door. 

"Seokjin is my chosen name. Please, you don't need to keep using my title." 

"Oh." Your eyes must be as wide as saucers as you stare at him, but the soft grin on his face doesn't falter in the least. "Alright then, Seokjin."

"We'll get you the designs when we're done, then, Hephaestus." You nod a little at his words and roll yourself away from the kitchens. It isn't until you get to your workshop that you realize you never gave him your own name.

Seokjin is...confused, to say the least. 

The stories on Olympus about your mountain forge are varied and extravagant, but they all seem to agree on the basics. The mountain is a terrible place to live, always filled with soot and impossible to navigate and as hideous as its master. The cyclopes are unfriendly and outright rude to everyone, if not openly hostile, likely because they are forced into servitude. The forge goddess that rules over the volcano is as violent and temperamental as the mountain itself, liable to explode at any moment after being cast out of Olympus for her own hubris. You're said to be cold and unfeeling and cruel, whipping any cyclops that doesn't do what you say when you say and beating the others into submission as you forge more and more powerful weapons for Zeus, your punishment for daring to stand against him.

Seokjin was finding more and more that none of those things were true. 

Yes, there is soot everywhere, but a simple wash and blessing upon his clothes keep them clean and beautiful. The mountain itself is a bit harsher than what he usually would consider beautiful, but the crystal mines glow with the magma behind them, lighting the walls with a myriad of colors, and the soft light in the palace does wonders for his looks, not to mention the way the ash and charcoal have helped his complexion. The halls are winding and strange, but following the system of bells and strings that he's seen messages shooting along means that even when lost, he can easily find a cyclops to help him to where he's going. Said cyclopes were unfriendly that first day, but now? They were nice beings, each one enthusiastic about the things they create and excited to be there, especially now that there's another person to talk to. They warmed to Seokjin fairly quickly after he asked what they were making; some kind of automaton, apparently, and when he asked what it was supposed to do, how it works, each eye lit up with glee as they began to explain it to him.

And you.

You are not violent at all. Every time you look at one of your workers, it is with friendship and happiness, and while you are easily distracted and yes, a bit temperamental, you are ultimately kind. He wants for nothing, everything he could ask for is given almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he is free to come and go as he wishes, which is more than can be said for some of the other gods he's met. You have been unfailingly kind in the wake of your marriage to him. Everything he's witnessed, from the way you rushed to stamp out a flare at the bottom of his robes one day to the way you held a cyclops in your arms as he sobbed for a brother who had been lost to the sea, nothing has shown him that you are anything like what the Olympians say. You are frequently absent, locked away in your workshop for days at a time and leaving him to his own devices, but even that is a breath of fresh air. For so long, he's been surrounded by people - gods, nymphs, mortals, anyone and everyone all vying for his attention because he's beautiful and elegant, stealing precious moments of solitude where he can, and now he has as much as he desires. It makes him want to cry, he's so thankful for it. 

He's only left a few times, determined to visit Hera and see the few friends he keeps - Dionysus is always glad to see him, odd enough, and loves to hear his tales of life under the mountain. Each time he leaves, however, he's swarmed. Not always immediately, but it's as if the world can sense his return, and they come in droves, all to catch a glimpse of his beauty. It's exhausting and overwhelming now that he's had so much time on his own, which is the exact reason he doesn't leave very often. The worst of them is an especially willful war god, who Seokjin swears has been camping outside the volcano to know the second he leaves to visit a friend because the man is on him in a heartbeat and refuses to leave him alone. 

It's irritating and the way the man looks at him leaves him uncomfortable for days after he returns. He has half a mind to ask a cyclops to start accompanying him out, but even Seokjin knows better than to bring one of them to Olympus; Zeus would strike the gentle being down in a heartbeat just for daring to step where the gods live. 

He ponders what else he can do as he wanders the halls of the mountain, a habit at this point. He's been here weeks, each day better than the last, and still hasn't explored the entire place. He's on the lowest level now, heat scorching the hair on his arms and sandals blackened with ash. There's been quite a clamor down here somewhere for the past few days, and he's curious to see what project is being hammered out. 

He doesn't expect to turn a corner, walk past an open door, and see you, wheeling frantically around a large room, papers tucked in all sorts of pockets on your overalls, hair wild, face covered in soot. He watches, fascinated as you screech to a halt beside a large worktable, rifling through paper after paper before finally finding whatever it is you're looking for, only to push yourself to the other side of the room to pull a steaming piece of celestial bronze out of a pail. You look harried and distracted, not even having noticed him yet, and it…

It's honestly beautiful. 

He's always loved seeing beauty like this; the sheer, unfiltered rawness of creativity and passion. The way you and others lost themselves in their work, blind to everything but the vision in their heads, forgoing sleep and food and everything else in favor of making something out of nothing. It's beauty in its most naked form; the naked truth of being real, in the fleeting moments of existence, and Seokjin lives for it. It's his personal favorite of all the beauty in the world, and you encapsulate it better than anyone he's ever met. 

It's also beyond fascinating to watch you roll around on the wheels attached to your sandals. He can't help but wonder what it's like, to not have to take step after step and instead just roll through the slightly slanted halls of the mountain. 

"Did you make those?" He regrets the words almost immediately, reaching in futility to catch you as you turn and trip over a pail set just too far in your path for you to dodge. "I'm so sorry, I should have announced myself. I don't mean to keep startling you." 

"It's fine," you groan, though the hand on your hip is white-knuckled and your teeth are gritted. "I should have been paying more attention." He strides over and helps you to your feet, not missing the way you lean on him for support until you can sit on the now-overturned pail. "What did you need?"

"Oh, nothing, I was just exploring. Those, on your feet, though. You made them?" He smiles at your nod, however hesitant it is, and settles on the ground beside you to get a better look. "They're amazing. This compartment here, are they retractable?" You click your heels together in response, and Seokjin watches with wide eyes as the discs fold themselves up and slide into the soles of your sandals. "Amazing. Can you make me a pair?"

"You...you aren't going to tell Zeus, are you?" Your voice is the most unsure he's heard it, and he frowns.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, I just...he wouldn't really be happy if he knew I made these. Since I'm supposed to be suffering and everything, and they make it...not as terrible."

Seokjin scoffs. "No, I won't tell Zeus. You really do have to make me a pair, though, these are amazing. What else have you made?" Your eyes are wide when he looks back up at you, but you quickly pull papers out of your pockets to hand them over. 

"Well, this is my current schematic. I've just got to figure out how to get it to work."

"Is this...is this a person?"

"Kind of. The muses asked for some kind of...enhancement that would let them be heard in more places at once. So I've created this," You point to the left-most figure, which could only be Calliope. "Which is going to essentially absorb whatever the muse is doing, and then these," You run your finger along the other eight figures, each distinct but still matching overall, "Will distribute that to wherever they are. I've got a good basis for the visual representation, I think, and the audio system should be fine, but the issue I've been having is that I can't seem to get it to all...click."

"So you've got the transmitting figured out?"

"Yeah, that part was easy. And I built the miniatures, and they've been working fine, but I can't get the full sized ones to work correctly. I've smelted them down at least five times just to rebuild them." Seokjin stares at the papers in his hands, trying to make sense of the little scratches of handwriting that dart on and off the papers. He shakes his head, and pulls back, squinting.

"This may be a stupid question," He starts, looking at the front and side views you've drawn out, "But did you account for the weight?" You're silent for a long while, and when he looks up, you're gaping at him. "Sorry, of course you did, that was dumb."

"The fucking weight," You mutter. You're off in a flash, pulling the papers out of his hands to throw them down on a workbench and start scrawling again. "Because it wouldn't affect the smaller models since they use less material, but the full-size automatons would have the pressure which would affect the-" You start whispering to yourself, too rushed and quiet for him to make sense of, but he softens as he watches you go. He pulls the pail out of the way and sets it back against the wall before settling in on top of it.

He stays there for what feels like hours, watching as you pour adamantine into the molds and weld parts together and breathe that spark of life into the core of Calliope's automaton counterpart. He doesn't dare to breathe as you watch, hope clear in your eyes. Then the whirring starts and the automaton assumes a very Calliope-like pose, and you actually start to laugh and jump up and down. He can't keep the smile from his face, but he's satisfied now that he knows you're happy, so he moves to leave.

He's stopped by your voice, softer than he expected it over the hissing of the dying forge. He turns and you repeat your name. It sounds awkward on your lips, like you haven't said it in so long that your voice has forgotten what it sounds like, but you're smiling at him and you have soot on your face and he has to resist the urge to wipe it off. He echoes you quietly, and he thinks he's never heard a name more beautiful and fitting for someone like you.

Later, as he sinks into the steaming water of his rooms to wash the soot from his skin, he surprises himself. For the first time in his life, he wishes he wasn't a love god not for the unwanted attention, but because now he knows. He knows this feeling blossoming in his chest, and he knows how it mirrors that spark in your own heart. He can sense it, can feel it in the air as if it had actual weight to it, and he just...knows. He knows that you don't know what this is, that you probably will never realize what he feels, that you'll brush off your own feelings as some reluctant fondness while he can feel every step you take further into the magic of love.

And he won't be able to do anything to keep himself from falling in love with you and you won't ever be able to see that.

You've been locked in your workshop for days, putting the finishing touches on the Muses' automatons and adding the decorative bits you know they'll love. You haven't slept in twice as long, food even further from your mind, as it usually is when you get into one of your projects. It's a shock when Seokjin returns to your workshop balancing several trays of food and drink. You hold a strange fondness for him, unable to resist after he'd pointed out something so obvious in your designs. Anyone that could help you with your designs was worth at least knowing a little, you figure, but you never expected him to keep coming back.

And yet here is, directing three cyclopes to set cushions and blankets and all manner of soft, plush bedding on the ground just inside the door of your workshop. You gawk, wondering just how much nerve he has to be doing this and also what possible reason he thinks is good enough to disrupt you. 

"You need to eat," He says when he notices you staring at him. "Besides, you're basically finished with them, and you need sustenance and rest if I'm going to get my awesome wheel shoes." You refrain from mentioning that you've already got them made; you don't want to encourage him too much. Pelion gives you a look as he exits the room and you huff. Just because they spend centuries here, they think they can tell you when to take breaks and eat. Typical cyclops. 

You grumble as you wheel yourself to the mass of cushions Seokjin has created, but you quiet at the way it does ease the soreness in your leg. As good as you've become at drowning out the pain, the steady onslaught to your nerves has been fraying your attention more than you'll admit. 

Seokjin sits after you have and presents the food with a flourish. It all looks delicious, much better than the hasty gyros and wraps you put together, and your mouth waters. He very kindly does not mention how disgusting you must look as you begin to dig in, instead talking about a recent trip he'd taken to see Dionysus.

His tone eventually catches your attention more than his words. "Wait," You stop him, slurping down some ambrosia. "Back up. Someone's stalking you?"

"I...don't think I'd call it stalking, exactly. I don't think he's going to do anything, either, it's all just talk, but...well. It's still frustrating when I'm just trying to visit friends." 

"No, if it's bothering you, then it's an issue, then it needs to end. Tell me everything." And Seokjin does. From how the war god waits for him, either outside the mountain or outside Olympus, spends every moment Seokjin is gone following him around and saying some truly crude things. All of it makes your blood boil - Seokjin is kind, to the point that even the cyclopes love him, which is rare, and he gets harassed enough apparently without some god running around hitting on him constantly. 

The rumors, though. The rumors are what get you seeing red. It's no secret on Olympus that this was an arranged marriage; they aren't uncommon among gods, and they aren't usually a scandal, but yours apparently is. Seokjin hesitates when he tells you about them, and you nearly break your fork in your effort to keep your rage from him. All sorts of stories, from you abusing him, forcing things he isn't comfortable with, keeping him chained up, feeding him pieces of your cyclopes, that you had bought him from Zeus with promises of gifts from the forge. Each is as terrible as the last, and all of them have your stomach rolling, and Seokjin reluctantly explains that he believes the war god to be the source of most of them. 

"Well," You say, violently spearing a grape. "That must be stopped, immediately. I refuse to allow people to think of you like that, it's utterly disrespectful." You wobble to your feet and roll over to the wall of ideas you hadn't managed to get around to yet. "What do you think? Maiming? Or is that too quick? I've got a truly brilliant idea for a bull, it could eat him if I use the right materials. It'd take at least a hundred years for him to get out of that."

"Well," Seokjin eventually says. You turn to look at him, excitement bright in your eyes. The wheels in his brain are turning and he's got a fondness on his face as he lounges on pillows and cushions; it melts your heart. He looks every bit the love god he is, and something in you wants to sob at the thought. "I would say, personally, if he's going to embarrass us in such a public way, then it should only really be fair to embarrass him in such a way." He tosses the knife in his hand and it embeds itself in one of the papers on your wall. You ignore the throb of arousal that runs through you, looking instead at the design he's chosen. 

"Oh," You whisper. Ideas are already running rampant in your mind. "Yes, I think this could be a very good plan." 

Seokjin is in stitches when he next sees you, clutching at his sides as his laughter echoes through your workshop. The sight of his harasser in your net as he spouted off a variety of kinks that made even Zeus blush, in the middle of the golden city with all of the gods around him isn't one Seokjin is likely to forget. 

"I still don't understand how you did it," He says, calming slightly as he wipes tears from his eyes. "How did you weave such a net, and how did you enchant it to make him say such things?"

"It wasn't much," You say. Your smile is beautiful, a treasure rarer than all the gems that he wears and more valuable than anything he's come across. He wants to wear it, wants you to keep smiling like that, with such pride in your work and happiness radiating from you. "...and then Arachne wove it all together." He nods as if he'd heard the rest of what you said. Part of him feels guilty for not listening; it really is fascinating, how you craft such wonderful things out of such pedestrian supplies.

"You're amazing," He says. He doesn't mean to, but it's true. Even now, as you lean against your workbench, fingers digging into the skin of your hip without even realizing you're doing it, smile slowly fading into something else - something more - you are radiant. Soot across your face and wheels on your shoes and the kindest heart he's ever seen in a goddess, and he wants you like no one else. There has always been beauty in creation, always been love in inspiration, and you are the ultimate mix of the two, painted over with enough cunning and determination to keep at your work no matter what. 

He steps closer to you, slowly, and brings a hand up to wipe at the soot on your cheek. It smears under his thumb and your breath hitches in the most attractive way.

It's unbearably attractive, honestly, and it makes an ache swell within him that goes deeper than the physical. He wants to keep you smiling like that, wants to watch you work and bring you gyros and cart you to a hot bath on a bad day. He can see it, all of it, splayed in front of him as clear as if he were an Oracle. He'd waltz into your workshop and pepper you with kisses before pulling you out after him. Your wheels would squeak along the stone floor but you wouldn't complain even as he settles you in hot water and makes you forget your pain as he asks about your newest designs and creations. He can see it, and it's beautiful, and he wants it so bad that it hurts. 

Almost as much as it hurts when your face falls, expression closing off into the same passive coolness that greeted him when he first arrived. You slide your way around him and turn to face another worktable. It hurts, the way you won't look at him, and moves something deep and primal inside him. It urges him to go on, to trap you against that table and make you open up to him, make sure you know that you can trust him to satisfy you.

He stamps it down with a long breath. 

"Well," He says, pointedly ignoring your shaky breathing. "Thank you, again, for helping me. I suppose I'll see you around."

"You don't need to thank me, Seokjin," You say. Your voice is tight and your hands twitch and he wants to kiss you until the pain is gone forever. He doesn't. "You're my husband, I was only doing what was right."

"Still," He says, "It means more to me than you know."

You don't respond, and he leaves before you can. He doesn't want you to, doesn't want to hear the reluctant rejection spill from your lips when he knows. He's a love god, he knows when someone is in love, can feel in the air and taste it on his tongue. He knows that scent better than his own face and your workroom was suffocating with it. 

He has no doubt that some was his own; he knows this fluttering in his chest, the rolling of his stomach, the spark of lightning dancing along his skin. He knows. 

But he can smell the hesitation, too. Can see the way you fight the feeling, in every aborted reach for his hand and each averted gaze when he looks at you. You love him, he's so sure of it, but you don't want to be.

And he cannot force you to change your mind about that. He won't. He just isn't sure how long he can last without telling you that he loves you, too.

Curses spill from your lips as you glide cautiously through the hallways. You've grown too complacent, comfortable around your husband. You very nearly slipped the other day, were a hair's breadth from throwing caution to the wind and kissing him; it was a miracle you caught yourself. He'd just looked so happy. The smile, that laugh, everything about him was just glowing in the light of your workshop, and then he'd complimented you. 

It's been decades since someone complimented your work like that, and none of them had done so with that look in their eyes. The gentle warmth, the fondness, the glow.

The love.

That was what startled you out of your thoughts, the sheer love that radiated from him. That was what made you push him away. It's what has kept you from seeing him for nearly a week, turning on your heel and going the other direction when you spot him. You can't handle love.

Not just because you've never known such an emotion, not just because you've never had anyone look at you that way, but because...he's a love god. A man like Seokjin surely falls in love every day with each passing stranger that catches his eye, and you...don't. You've never felt this before, you've never had someone love you, you don't know how it works, and worse, you can't figure it out. 

You can't take love apart and look at each gear and cog and spring until you can piece it back together into a whole again. You can't observe and tinker and improve on something like love. Clouds and lightning? Simple mediums. Celestial bronze? Malleable as clay under your hands. But love? No, that was something utterly foreign to you. 

You drop to your bed and pull your leg up beside you to inspect the wheel. It's cracked, badly, and it's a shock that it survived long enough to get you to your room. You lean closer and flinch at the stabbing pain that rolls through you. It's a stark reminder of yet another reason you don't belong with Seokjin. A god like him has almost definitely lain with the most beautiful in all creation; he surrounds himself with only the finest gems, the softest cloth, the richest wine. He only accepts the best. 

You are far from being the best. Mutilated and scarred, left to limp around your mountain in solitude. You're past acceptance of your pain and the scars that mark your skin, you don't really care much that they exist anymore most days. Life could be easier without them, but would you have become the person you are today without them? You wouldn't have been so determined to find an easier way around, you wouldn't have worked for days on the wheeled sandals, you wouldn't have discovered your passion for creating. 

You wouldn't be in pain, though. And maybe, just...maybe, Seokjin would find you beautiful. As beautiful as the twinkling stones around his throat and the flowing silks across his chest. Beautiful enough to stay beneath this mountain in the smoke and heat, to press his pillow-soft lips against yours, to love without abandon. Now, though, with your scars and pain and awkward gait, you find yourself doubting what you saw. It could have been love, yes, but how likely is that? A love god forced to live in a suffocating cave, wed to the laughingstock of the pantheon. It's more likely that he's attached himself to the nearest person that shows him any affection, despite how desperately you want him to really feel something for you.

Three succinct knocks on the door of your room jar you away from the thought.

"Come in," You call. You wish you were more surprised to see Seokjin, purple hair prettily faded and matching the soft lavender cloth that drapes from his shoulders. 

"Can I have a few minutes of your time, Hephaestus?" He hasn't used your title since you told him your name, and it hurts to hear it now. Cements the fact that you are too different.

You nod, and the pain in your hip keeps you from moving away when he comes to kneel before you. 

"I love you," He says matter-of-factly. "I've let you avoid me this past week because it's not my place to force these feelings on you, but the stench of heartbreak is too much now. It just lingers in the halls and it's starting to seep into my clothes and if it keeps up, I might have to double my skincare routine because it soaks into my pores. So I love you. A lot more than I ever expected to, and probably more than I've ever loved anything in my life."

You gape at him. "What...why…what?"

"You are creative and cunning and petty and inventive and intelligent and determined and it's so beautiful," He says. There's not an ounce of hesitation in his face, and it steals the words from your throat. "I love you, and I need you to know that so you stop stinking up the forge with your angst and heartbreak. I understand if you don't want to be with me-"

"What heartbreak, what-"

"Well, I don't actually," Jin continues, ignoring your protests. "I'm really quite the catch and to deny yourself of me when you love me this much would be an entirely new and advanced form of masochism, but nevertheless, I will accept your rejection, however inane and ill-advised it may be, because it is, ultimately, your choice. You can tell me to go, and I will, and you won't ever know I'm here again. But, if you accept this, then…"

He trails off and his eyes soften impossibly as he wraps his hands around yours. You've never believed people could communicate so much with just a single look, but you're proven wrong by the sheer emotion in his gaze. Your name falls from his lips, and it's never sounded so nice to your ears.

"If you accept, then I swear to you, I will spend every hour of every day ensuring you feel loved. I will bring you food when you forget to eat, I will tidy your workshop when you can't find anything, I will carry you wherever you need to go when the pain is too much to bear." One hand moves to rest along your hip, warmth distracting you from the stab of pain that ghosts through it. "I will be everything and anything that you need, always and forever, and I won't let another moment pass with you thinking otherwise."

He looks at you with expectation in his eyes, and you...can't speak. There are no words for what you're feeling; the sureness of his love warring with the anxiety of not being worth it. You open your mouth several times to respond and find that you can't; of all the words flying around in your mind, none of them make it out. He waits, for longer than you would have, before he sighs and nods. 

"That's fine. Love is complicated even at the best of times." He stands, and the loss of his hands on you feels like part of you is being ripped away. "If you ever change your mind, let me know." 

His smile is sad as he leaves, and the clink of the door behind him is the last nail in the coffin. Something wet and warm hits your hand, and you realize you're crying. When did you start crying? You struggle to your feet, rolling wildly across the room before you gain your balance. 

The door swings open as you shove past it, the last bit of his purple robes turning the corner, and you shove off the wall to gain speed. You can't let him go. The knowledge surges through you with surety you've never felt, and it feels like there's a timer above your head, counting down to the moment you lose him forever. His name echoes through the halls, even though you don't remember calling it, and you speed around a corner to him. 

He's half turned to face you already, about to head down another hall since this one dead ends, and it's as you go to brake that you remember the cracked wheel. There is no braking, you're lucky you've made it so far, but you're at top speed right now and there's no time.

"Don't-" is all you can get out before you're crashing into him, wincing as he falls down to the hard ground and the wheel splits in half beneath you. The pain comes an instant later, too much weight too suddenly, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you didn't fight them down. 

"Wow," Jin says after a second. "You really did fall for me, didn't you?" His laughter drowns out your groan, but it's worth it for the way he's smiling at you. 

"I…" You hesitate, unsure of the words. He waits, patient and relaxed even as he adjusts you to sit on his lap instead of the rock. "I do. I want this."

"I know," He says with a grin. "It's nice to hear you say it, though." He doesn't flinch at the smack you give his shoulder, just presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I swear to all the gods, Seokjin, if you don't stop, I'm going to put this discus through your skull."

"Ooh, please do. I hear that's how Athena was born."

"Seriously?"

"You're right, we don't need anyone else like that running around." 

You let your tools fall to the table in front of you and spin around to face your husband. He's exactly where he has been for hours, lounging among pillows and silks on the bed he's had installed in your workshop. A bowl of grapes sits nearby and he's been working his way through them for what feels like forever. If you weren't so irritated, you'd be struck dumb by the image he paints, half-naked and glowing as he pops a fruit between his lips. 

As it stands, you're just frustrated and horny now, which is never really a good thing, but especially not on bad days. The ache has made it hard to think, and you've been shuffling around all day trying to find a position that made it hurt just a little less but had no such luck. You've made no progress on the designs in front of you, either; between Seokjin's commentary and the fog of pain in your mind, you had no concentration. 

"I'm trying to work, Seokjin. We had an agreement, remember? You could have the bed installed, you can hang out here, I don't mind, but you have to let me work." 

"You've been trying for hours," Seokjin whines. "Take a break with me, please? You need to rest your hip anyway, or you won't be able to focus." You hate that he's right, and you hate that he knows he's right, and you really hate that he knows you know he's right. You grumble as you wheel over to him and as you slide your shoes off. It's his one rule about the bed, no shoes, and while you can't blame him since they were covered in ash and soot and rock, you still like to complain about it. 

His hands are on you in an instant, gliding under your shirt and massaging your hip. You sink into the touch, sighing as the pain lessens slightly.

"Let me help? We've still got some of the lotion that Apollo sent as a wedding favor. I brought it down, just in case." Lips press soft kisses to your shoulder, and you know it's only a matter of time before you give in. You should probably be a little ashamed of how little it takes for your husband to distract you, but you can't bother to care now. 

You nod, and you feel him smile against your skin. He's gone and back in a heartbeat and he lays you back against the pillows carefully. You wince when your hip rests flat, instantly adjusting to bear your weight elsewhere. 

"Is it bad today?" He mutters as he slides your usual leathers off. Any shyness and embarrassment you once had are long gone, softened by the passage of time and the sheer amount of times he's seen you naked. 

"No," You respond quietly. He shoots you a disbelieving look. "It's more annoying than usual, I suppose, but it's not any worse than usual."

"You shouldn't have irritated it by working," Seokjin says as he runs some of Apollo's lotion between his hands to warm it. "You could have stayed right here and gotten more done."

"I can't forge a throne from the bed, Seokjin."

"No, but you can draw designs for it. And for the jewelry I promised Dionysus."

"I still don't know how you talked me into making something for him that isn't a chastity belt or a guillotine." The heat in your words is dulled with every slide of your husband's hands over your hip. The lotion starts working almost immediately, sinking into your skin and dissipating any discomfort it reaches. Seokjin is smiling as he works and pats your thigh lightly. You twist more, laying on your side so he can reach the back of your thigh. 

"You can't be mad at him forever, can you?" He asks. You open your mouth to disagree - as a goddess, you quite literally can - but only a squawk comes out when he slaps your ass and watches it jiggle. He laughs as you slap at his shoulder, no real strength behind it. 

"That's it, give me my clothes, I have work to do." 

"Mm, I don't think so. Apollo said you have to rest for a while after applying, remember?" He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. 

"What do you expect me to do, just lay here and do nothing? I can't turn my brain off, Seokjin, I'll go mad if I have to lay here without being able to work."

"I actually had other ideas." The smile never leaves his face, and as he leans over you, you can feel the length of him pressing into your thigh. "Still just laying there, but much more enjoyable."

"Scandalous," You whisper, fighting a smile. "What would my husband think?"

"That you look sexier than anything he's ever seen like this and that he wants nothing more than to make you forget about anything but him." 

“That doesn’t sound very restful,” You tease as he kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can feel his familiar smile against your skin; he always does love it when you get flustered.  “I’m pretty sure Apollo specified ‘no sex’ in his definition of resting. He was pretty clear about it, actually, which makes me wonder what you’ve told him.”

Seokjin nips at your collarbone lightly. “Didn’t I say I want you to forget about anything but me?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to make me?” You retort. It’s a familiar argument, as comfortable and warm as Seokjin’s hands massaging your hip and thigh. His silk-soft hands dip downwards even as he rises, lifting your leg up and hooking your ankle around his neck. The discomfort that hits is overshadowed by the relieving stretch, and heat pools in your belly when you feel his length press against you once more, significantly closer to where you’d like it. He straddles your free leg, pressing against your naked core. 

“Seokjin, please,” You mutter. His touch is feather-light now, fingertips ghosting over your skin and marveling at the goosebumps they raise. You wiggle underneath him as he begins to trace your scars. The first time you’d done this, you didn’t let him linger; you were too embarrassed, too ashamed, too aware of the marks that start just above your hip and travel nearly to your knee. He’d insisted on it the next time, but you’d kept the room dark so you wouldn’t have to see his face. Months had passed before you could bear to watch him look at you, and when you did, it shocked you. It still does. It never seems to matter how many times he sees you like this, bare and vulnerable, scars on full display underneath his large hands. He always wears the same expression, the same awe reflecting in his eyes each time, his touch always gentle and careful, like he doesn’t want to make it worse than it already is. There’s no disgust, there’s no carefully crafted neutrality, nothing that you convinced yourself to expect. Just pure, unfiltered love.

It’s there still, radiant as he slides his hands along your skin. The sensation is dulled along the scar tissue, and yet you feel it in your very core. Wetness seeps into the fabric Seokjin is still wearing, and you whimper a little. He shushes you softly, grinding lightly to give you just a taste of the friction you so desire.

“Oh, my beautiful little blacksmith,” He coos. “You are absolutely soaked, did you know that? I haven’t even started yet, and you’re already so ready for me.” You whine as he slides a finger along your folds. You try to buck into his touch, but his other hand holds your hips firmly in place, though he never stops his massage. “Ah-ah, none of that. You’ll make the pain worse.”

You huff slightly under your breath, but you know he’s right. It’s a lesson you’ve learned several times over. 

“Seokjin, don’t tease,” You plead. You let your lip pout, knowing he can’t resist the very rare sight. “You said you would distract me. Or should I go back to my designs?”

“If you think you can,” He responds amicably. You turn slightly, your back resting flush against the bed while he moves your leg to wrap around his waist. It’s still twisted to the side, but the position helps with the pain leftover from the ointment. You open your mouth to snark at your husband, but all that comes out is a loud moan as he sinks two fingers deep inside you. His length, pressed into the meat of your ass, twitches at the sound. 

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You breathe. The way his fingers fit inside you is like no other feeling, and you could spend centuries trying to recreate it with no luck. 

"That's it, love," Seokjin purrs. His eyes are blown wide with desire and focused entirely on where his fingers disappear into you. "You take my fingers so good, sweetheart, like you were made just for me." A whimper escapes and you roll your hips slightly so he hits deeper inside. He grins and quickens his pace, knowing all too well what your body wants at this point. His thumb comes up to rub circles into your clit, gentle but firm; your back arches and your vision goes white with the force of the orgasm that's torn from you, and when you open your eyes, Seokjin is glowing. Literally, because you found out after the first time he made you come that that's a thing that happens to him.

"Please, love. I want you inside." Seokjin chuckles a little at your words, and if you had the energy, you'd kick him, but your legs don't work very well on a good day, so it's unlikely.

"Always so impatient," He tuts, though he does slide his fingers out of you and into his mouth. He moans at the taste of you, and your pussy clenches around nothing, because it's absolute sin to hear, and you wonder idly if maybe those Christians were on to something when they started talking about things being so good it's unholy.

Seokjin grabs your attention with a soft nip to your calf, accustomed to the way your mind wanders. He smiles at you, soft and private and beautiful, and lifts your hips with one hand. He slides a pillow underneath you and stifles a laugh at the way you wiggle into comfort as he settles your legs on either side of his hips. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” You huff. Seokjin doesn't respond, but you can see him trying not to smile as he pumps his cock lazily with one hand. "It's not very polite to laugh at your wife. In fact, it's considered fairly rude."

"Oh, is it?" He teases as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. The contact is brief but has your heart jumping in your throat nevertheless. 

"Yes," You reply, "It is. You should be nicer to m- fuck, Seokjin." He grins against your lips at your reaction, stilling as he bottoms out inside you. The stretch is perfect, would hurt if it didn't feel so good, and he knows it.

"What was that?" He asks. He nips at your lips when you whine. He drags his cock out, slow and delicious as you tighten around him, before sliding himself just as slowly back in. You'd be embarrassed about the moan that escapes you if you could focus on anything that isn't the way he feels inside you. 

From the first time he slid inside, there's always been something so right about the feeling. He fills every part of you, thick and long and harder than the bronze you work with every day. You've never been to the underworld, but you imagine this is what the Isles of the Blessed are like for the mortals, because it's rapturous. 

He thrusts gently in the beginning, always, careful to be sure he isn't too rough with your hip. He doesn't stop kissing you, plump lips moving sinuously against your own and breathing in every little moan and whine you make as he moves. He's so slow, so considerate, lets you set the pace each time, and right now? Right now, this is good. The slow, sensual strokes that you can feel against your walls, the steady press of him against your g-spot with every thrust, the warmth of his hand traveling from your thigh up your torso to tweak your nipple as he moves to glide a thumb over your jaw and then retrace his path back down. This is exactly what you want: the two of you moving together, slow and soft and perfect. 

You have plenty of time to try some wild new position later, after all. 

Your stomach lurches at the thought, heat pooling between your thighs as the band in your tummy steadily stretches. He doesn't change his pace at all, just adds a bit more force as he thrusts inside, and the added force against that spot inside has you seeing stars. Your moans are echoing and loud and with each one, Seokjin's glow just gets brighter and brighter. His hand wanders between your legs, rubbing small circles into your clit in time with his thrusts. 

"Show me, love," He mutters in your ear. "Love you so much, show me how it makes you feel. Let go for me." You whimper, blunt nails digging into the skin of his back. He doesn't stop, whispers exactly what he wants to see you do, but it's the way he says your name - quiet and reverent, like you may disappear if he's too loud - that finally has the cord snapping.

It must be too much, because you come to after a few minutes - maybe, time is so strange as a goddess - to find Seokjin rubbing soothing circles into your hips and pressing gentle kisses along the column of your throat. Your pussy contracts around him, and you whimper when you realize he's still hard inside you. 

"You didn't…?" You mutter, finding more words are too much work right now. 

"No, I don't need to," He assures you. He starts to pull out, but you manage to get a hand on his shoulder. 

"Want to," You mumble. Talking is hard, but you manage. "Want to feel you. Inside. Fuck. Please." He asks you if you're sure and you nod, and that's when he kisses you, soft and sweet and completely at odds with his next words.

"Gonna fuck you so good, my little blacksmith," He groans as he begins thrusting once more. He's faster now, hips snapping roughly against yours as he chases his high. "Can't wait to fill you up, wanna see you so full of my cum, want you to swell with it." He grins as you moan, tightening around him as another orgasm approaches. "You like that, love? You want me to fuck you full of my cum? Fill you up so good that it spills out of you for days?" He hisses a curse under his breath as you buck. Your free hand moves downward, rubbing at your clit gently. It's just the right edge of overstimulation, and it sends you off the edge once more, clenching around him. His hips stutter, and the feeling of you milking his cock sends him past the brink as well, and then he's painting your walls with cum. 

Later, after he's fucked his cum into you three more times and then eaten it out, he watches you draw a lazy sketch on the little bit of paper that you can reach. 

"It looks good," He says softly. You hum, wrinkling your nose. 

"I'm worried it's too...understated, I guess."

"No, I think it's perfect for her," Seokjin assures you. "Very Hera. Though, you should put in a secret compartment here, so she can stash her sex toys somewhere he won't look."

"What? No! I'm not building a secret sex toy stash in my mother's throne!"

"Fine." He's quiet for a few more minutes as you sketch. "I'll just get the cyclopes to do it."

[krisroley]

February 9th, 2021

One Small Moment

Today I want to talk to some specific friends who I won't name, but I'm fairly sure that this will apply to way more of just them.

First things first, I'm not going to insult your intelligence by giving you a bunch of platitudes. In my experience, they're nothing but empty calories. Filler and no substance, they're designed to make the person giving them feel better, not the person who needs help. In some cases, people who need help end up feeling worse. I'm one of those people, so I absolutely understand the feeling. So, no bullshit from me. Cool? Moving on.

Let me describe my lack of bona fides right upfront. I'm a guy with a high school education and one year of college because I let my dick do the thinking up to the point that I ended up homeless and friendless. I tried to follow in my Dad's footsteps and join the military and washed right out after six months because I have a mouth bigger than my brain. I come from a family that describing as dysfunctional is exceedingly generous. My dad had anger issues, my mother was a narcissist manipulator, as is my brother. He's got a criminal record and is probably on his way back to prison for at least 12 years as I write this. I'm the voice of reason in my family, and as I have said repeatedly, this should scare the fuck out of you. I got married at 24, and I had three kids by the age of 30. I've been dirt poor most of that time. At this stage of my life, I believe that I am an undiagnosed case of autism from the 1970s because my kids--all of them--are on the spectrum. I didn't have a bad childhood if you looked at it from one angle, but I had a horrible one if you looked at it from the inside out. I inherited my Dad's anger issues and my mother's narcissism. I was a horrible husband for years until my wife walked out on me in 2005. It made me face myself in a way I had not seen before, and I couldn't take it. I had a nervous breakdown. My wife thought I was worth saving, and I am forever grateful for it. I promised I would work on my issues, and I have. Three times in my life, I thought I was at the end of my rope. Not from a thought of suicide ideation, just that there was nowhere else to turn. No one else to ask for help. No one else I could lean on. Just Roley.

That moment right there is the point. The entire lesson. One small moment when your brain says, "Well, you're really fucked now, aren't you?" There is only one answer to that question, and that answer is yes because if you answer no, you ain't there yet. Trust me on this. You have to answer yes. This is the moment where you're accountable to no one but you, and you cannot lie to yourself. You can TRY. It ain't gonna work. Not for long.

Let's not bullshit ourselves. There is a lot of work in repairing a life that you fucked up on your own. You climb up out of a hole for years before you ever see daylight. I was a shut-in for two years because I thought it better that the world forgets about me. I tried to make a living from home in 2006-2007, but this world we live in hadn't come to pass yet, and I was living a fantasy. It made me feel worse that I couldn't provide for my family, but I could barely function as a human at that point. So I decided to do the only work I was capable of: Working on myself. I read every self-help book and mental health book I could lay my hands on. I dug deep into myself to try to figure out why I was the person I was, how I became that way, and the answer was straightforward. First, I thought I was absolutely normal. My behavior, though abhorrent, was how I was raised. My parents treated each other and us kids horribly, but it wasn't physically abusive save for a couple of times I'll keep to myself. I grew up in the same environment I perpetuated. I was continuing a cycle. Secondly, to accept that fact and to change meant work I wasn't ready to take on. But human psychology is a lot like a car in that regard; you can do the work now, or you can do it later, but it's going to cost you a lot more. In my case, it almost cost me everything. It was the third of those three times that I faced myself in the mirror and heard that voice, and this was the time I said yes.

For two-thirds of my life, my story is a story of failure, of self-hatred, of being a bad example. But from the age of 35 to 50, it's a story of repair and redemption. I'll put my humble path to today up against anyone's and dare them to do the work I've done to heal myself and come out who I am today. I'm still married to the same woman for over 25 years now. I've got three amazing kids who I adore. Up until May of this year, I had what I consider to be a dream job until COVID ate it, but I'm still with the same company, and I'm going to bust whatever amount of ass it takes to get my job back or demonstrate the skills I learned there to someone else who's willing to take me. I have a sense of self-worth and purpose that I've never had before, and I'm not taking being a call center tech support agent for the rest of my life. It is a means to an end, and it is not my life's work. I know what that is. It's helping you in the best way I know how: By being not the example of how to fix it, but from showing you by my example, it CAN BE FIXED that you can go from being a person full of anger and self-loathing and cruel behavior to being a person of kindness and compassion and love for people. That you can go from being a person who has no prospects to a person who can go to a job every day that fulfills them personally and professionally. That you can go from being a person who hasn't got their shit together at all to a person that can get morning to night without falling apart at the seams. This is my road, and my lane, but it's big enough for you, and I want you on this road with me. Some of you are gifted and talented beyond description, but the world doesn't know it yet because you have these problems. I know. I get it. I also see who you are, and the world deserves to see you as well. I had no one else to turn to at that last moment, so I did what I had to do. Myself. I'm asking you to take a walk with me because I don't want you to have to do it on your own. I may not know your way home, but I can get you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going.

I had to get one joke in there somehow.

Did Joe Know About This?

On the heels of the news of Joe Budden maybe-kinda-sorta-moving his show to Patreon (which is weird since it looks like it’s being hosted on Libsyn now), Spotify has announced plans for multiple business models for podcasts, possibly to include ad-supported subscriptions and a la carte options. These may be discussed at a live stream event later in February.

Asked if Spotify thought customers would be willing to pay for podcasts, Ek on the earnings call responded that he believed there were several new models that could be explored.

“I think we’re in the early days of seeing the long-term evolvement of how we can monetize audio on the internet. I’ve said this before, but I don’t believe that it’s a one-size-fits-all,” he said. “I believe, in fact, that we will have all business models, and that’s the future for all media companies — that you will have ad-supported subscriptions and à la carte sort of in the same space, of all media companies in the future.”

“And you should definitely expect Spotify to follow that strategy and that pattern,” Ek added, more definitively.

The answer seemed to indicate that Spotify is considering some of the ideas in that recent survey — of getting consumers to pay for some podcasts, instead of accessing them all for free or having them bundled into their music subscription.

I wonder if Budden was aware of this and balked. Would there be a revenue split between Spotify and the creators, and what’s the ratio? Now that I think of it, isn’t that what they’ve been crying about re: Apple?

For more than a year, Spotify has been making noise about Apple’s unchecked power over the App Store, and in March 2019, it filed a complaint against Apple with the European Commission. Spotify claims Apple’s practice of taking 30 percent of an app’s revenue is unjustified, and says the company operates as a monopoly on iOS.

Suddenly, I find this Budden/Spotify deal more intriguing.

Wait, You Can Make Money Doing That?

Julie Miller from Vanity Fair writes about Hollywood coming over to the Pod Side for ‘fun and profit’:

…entertainment types began orbiting the audio space about two years ago in earnest, as the number of Americans listening to podcasts every month headed toward the 100 million it is today. It was also around 2018 that agencies like CAA began incorporating audio deals into their development packages. One insider estimates that many celebrities could get a six-figure guarantee per year, with the biggest actors receiving between $1 million and $3 million to launch an unscripted podcast. Scripted projects offer less up-front money but can be adapted into TV shows, films, books, and so on.

For the record, I am Steve Jobs, “Podcasts are Amateur Hour" Years Old. For years, podcasting was seen as less-than, so when I see stories like this, the little imp of the perverse in the back of my head tosses a bone at every true media elitist who, strangely, has a podcast now..

How About Not Doing That?

Chris Curran over at PES has a question about your thin mouth:

When I’m doing my fine-tuned editing on a podcast episode I use TwistedWave or Sound Forge because they allow me to VERY QUICKLY zoom in, highlight very small things like single mouthclicks, and delete them. 

When I try to make the same kind of edit in a DAW (Reaper and others) it takes forever. 

What say you?

For the most part, my workflow tends to remove mouth clicks, or at the very least minimize them. If they still show up through my noise gate, I highlight and remove them. I can’t say this happens often because I like to make sure I keep some water near me while I’m recording. The single biggest thing you can do to prevent mouth clicks is to keep hydrated. Remember, you can’t fix it in Post if it never happens in the first place.

Shot Of The Day

[rosaguard]

summer’s power hour of love(tm): kas edition.

    i feel like this post has probably been a long time coming. i don’t generally like digging into my feelings - whether positive or negative because...well i’m weird lmao. but tonight, i’m digging into the trashcan that is my feelings(tm) to show appreciate to someone who deserves it.

intro.

 i generally don’t like being redundant so i won’t go into how our friendship started but i will reaffirm something you said before which is that i appreciate that our friendship felt natural. it wasn’t forced, we didn’t instantly become ‘friends’ - if anything it was the opposite. we were in some of the same circles and had a mutual respect for each other before we really started writing together in like late 2018/ early 2019. i probably don’t say it off enough but it makes me so happy that we’re friends now. like, really, really happy. i appreciate you lot even if i don’t talk to you constantly. so much so that internally, i keep a specific list of relationships that i’m very determined not to fuck up(tm) and my friendship with you is one of them. ( and no, i’m joking/memeing for once. i’m dead serious ). i won’t get too deep into main but there have been rare times where i’ve gotten more...personal(tm) i guess about my struggles, self-isolation being one of the biggest, so it’s nice to know i have a friend i can just...share stupid stuff with or whatever whenever i’m feeling lonely.

writing.

     for starters, you’re...probably the best writing partner i’ve ever had? i don’t really throw out compliments to people easily so this isn’t something i say lightly. in your words we just ‘vibe’. like i probably could talk constantly about our muses, dynamics, plot more, etc. but i do partially hold myself back because i don’t want to come off annoying ( which i know is dumb!!! b/c you’ve said it wouldn’t be annoying but!!! i’m an insecure lil shit man. it’s hard. i’m working on it lol ). anyway, the point is that i enjoy writing that builds towards something and i feel like every one of our dynamics is like that. i know you’ve gone into your feelings about being slow and it’s like...whatever to me lol. life > roleplay. plus, i’m cool with waiting because i know the payoff for whatever you write will be worth it. also you constantly indulge me in my bullshit. exhibit a and b:

HEHE

but seriously you’re great. whenever i come up to you with ‘i want to write this dynamic/ship/whatever’, you’re always open to and ready to give 100% no matter what. again, it’s something i appreciate and don’t take for granted at all. writing with you has pushed me to be a better writer, to challenge myself, and to get out of my comfort zone. i’ve been writing on tumblr since 2013 and didn’t actually start writing ships until 2018. i don’t really have experience with it like a lot of other people do but it’s never really been hard because there’s no pressure to be writing with each other all the time and whatnot. also anyone who can get me to actually write smut is well...they’re worth keeping around because i hate it!!! but also found it weirdly fun too lmao.  

me, first writing smut for kas:

me, writing more smut later.

    we call that growth kids. anyway, you’re also an extremely talented writer. you always put so much thought into your blogs, nothing feels half-assed and i commend you for that. there is always a passion for whatever character you choose to write - and it makes me even more interested even if i’m completely unfamiliar with who they are / what series they come from ( ex. gene ). you’ve also influenced my blogs  - both directly and indirectly. for instance, guess who encouraged me to make aeri.s brown when i was on the fence? you! you’ve always been so supportive of me and i feel like i wouldn’t be the same writer i am know without having had the opportunity to write with you.

friendship.

   i’ve already told you’re a good person - probably too good for a lot of people on this site - and i mean that. truly. you do so much for a lot of people here - whether it’s making blogs for your friends or offering to make themes for free ( and honestly, the price of your commissions should be appreciated because the amount of effort and work put into this is realistically worth more ). i can’t speak for anyone but myself but i just want to say that it’s a noticed and appreciated. always. you care and you give a shit about your friends wholeheartedly and it’s great? you’re fucking great kas. ( god, i hate getting sappy but i’ve come this far so i can’t stop now i guess ). but like seriously, you’re a special person who deserves the world.i can’t believe i’m admitting this shit but i really almost cried a bit today when i thought about how you actually listened to songs / playlists i send you for our ships. in the grand scheme of things, this is not a big deal at all but it is important to me in a way i can’t properly articulate(tm). 

    i feel like...i’ve always been ignored / easily replaceable by friends so someone just...giving a shit for once, no matter how small, is nice. i’ve always gotten that sense of ‘i care’ from you. you’ve always made an effort to reach out when you didn’t have to, do nice things for me which you didn’t have, and matched my energy - whether it’s writing, venting, or just casually talking - which again, i appreciate more than you know.

conclusion.

anyway, i feel like this post still doesn’t fully cover exactly what i want to say but that’s probably just because i’m bad at expressing myself lol. but just know that i do really love writing with you and cherish all of our ships so much!!!  our friendship means a lot to me and i’m grateful that i got to meet you on here. love you 3000 @castershot​.  ❤

[buttsonthebeach]

Lost Horizon, Pt. 2

@scharoux is the sweetest and most patient soul for waiting so long for part two of this story - thank you, dear friend, for trusting me with Rhaella and her epic tale!

This long fic picks up almost directly where The Last Game last left off - with Rhaella pregnant and alone in a world where Solas has removed the Veil, despite her attempts to stop him.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Part One of Lost Horizon can be found here

Other pieces about Rhaella I have written include:

1. All Things Green and Growing

2. The Long Road Back

3. The Turning of the Year

3. The Same Kind of Scar (contains explicit content)

4. World Without End (contains explicit content)

5. The Last Game Pt. 1, the Last Game Pt. 2, and the Last Game Pt. 3 (contains explicit content), and the Last Game Pt. 4

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas, post-Trespasser

Rating: Teen for violence, references to sex

Warning: Directly referenced character death for a character from DAI, general references to death and destruction

********************************

Merrill and Rhaella’s journey to Skyhold was slow. Isabela’s ship carried them swift and true - that part wasn’t the problem, even if the ship and all the crew seemed haunted, even if Rhaella could feel the absence of a woman she had never met as surely as she could feel the sea breeze - but once they were back on land, and traveling via horseback, her pregnancy proved a problem once more. She felt impossibly huge, her belly as big and round as the horse’s it seemed. Years of practice had made her a good rider, but the extra weight and the shift in her center of balance was even more pronounced now than it had been before, when she had ridden from Skyhold to Jader for her journey to Kirkwall.

The slow going meant she had plenty of time to take in how much had changed since that last journey, when she had been on her way to stop Solas. The burned out villages, and also the rapturous displays of light in the night sky - the dance of spirits thrilled to be free of the Veil. They rarely had to use a campfire for light, in fact. Wisps were drawn to them the way moths used to be. They frequently went to Rhaella’s belly after floating near her head and Merrill’s.

At least you’ll get beauty like this, little one.

Her magic surged towards each and every wisp when they came, but she tamped it down. Solas would know the feel of her magic, even across the distance, as surely as he would know the sound of her voice. They had not been pursued as far as they could tell, by people or by spirits, and she wanted to keep it that way. Merrill had known a draught to keep her from entering the Fade, which was their other means of concealment since they’d left.

“Poor Feynriel,” Merrill said the first time she brewed it. “I wonder what’s become of him in this world. If it makes more sense to him now, or less. Marethari made this for him while he was staying with the clan, and I learned it when we visited once. He was a Dreamer, so a draught like this didn’t always work for him, but it will be good enough for you and I. It feels like a different life to remember those times, when he was one of my biggest worries..”

“It does,” Rhaella said, even if she was only remembering a few weeks ago, when she’d been on this road going in the opposite direction, convinced she could stop the tide of Solas’s power from sweeping through and changing everything.

Sometimes on that long slow journey she lay there and was convinced the baby would never be born. She would be trapped like this forever, huge and waiting, adrift. She wondered how many other pregnant mothers lay awake in Thedas staring at the same moons and feeling the same way. They’d conceived their children in one world, and they would be born into an alien one.

Rhaella was grateful for Merrill’s training as a First, and her involvement in Kirkwall’s alienage since then. She still knew enough about pregnancy and babies to act as a midwife. She seemed less puzzled than the other midwife about the size of Rhaella’s belly, how it was bigger than they were expecting.

“Solas is not a small man,” she said with a shrug. “As long as you feel well, and you can still feel your little one wriggling about in there, I’m not worried.”

Solas is not a small man. The words sent a shiver of memory through Rhaella as she envisioned the days and nights that had led her to this moment. The size and weight of his body, how sheltered it made her feel, how whole. She pushed those thoughts away. She imagined, instead, a son that was as tall as him, who had only his kindness and not his narrowed vision, his pride. A son who reminded her of her own father.

I will love you no matter who you are, she promised anyway, feeling the child move.

The journey grew slower and more difficult as they climbed the mountain paths towards Skyhold. Rhaella struggled to lean far enough forward in the saddle to make her horse comfortable, so they had to walk the steepest parts of it. But, the feeling of being further from civilization, and the giddiness of having evaded Solas for nearly two weeks now, loosened their tongues a little, and Rhaella and Merrill were able to talk more freely. Merrill told stories of Hawke that she had not heard from Varric, and they shared their memories of growing up Dalish, compared notes on the Arlathvhens they had been to, speculated on whether or not they had ever met at one of them. It started to feel a little normal. Almost like Rhaella was back to being Inquisitor, and Merrill was one of her companions. 

(It was probably a testament to how upside down things were now that Rhaella could think back to that time with fondness.)

Then they arrived at Skyhold, and all that warmth, all that strength she’d built, drained away.

It was not so much that the building was different. Its ancient stone was largely unchanged. It had weathered the creation of the Veil, after all. It was not even the scorch marks all over the courtyard, or the charred ruins of the stables.

It was the sound of the empty hospital tents flapping in the breeze. Of wooden shutters banging listlessly against stone walls.

It was the total, absolute emptiness of the place that had become her home.

The castle stood, but the people were gone, and the emptiness of that threatened to swallow her whole.

She should have been wise enough to expect this, to know that things would not be as she left them, that she would not return home to rally the people she’d left behind to some sort of unlikely victory. She had not heard from any of her forces in the weeks she’d been in Kirkwall. She’d hoped that was because Solas was intercepting their messages, that against all odds, there was still a home to come back to, a chance to set things right. Still, the blow of the silence struck her as true as any kick or punch ever had.

Then there was a high, hollow sound - a call, almost like that of a bird’s - but bigger, and then louder, like a trumpet, coming from the lower courtyard, and the sudden movement of a big brown blur -

“Thistle!” Rhaella called, and her hart galloped to her, drawing up short when he reached her, and then snuffling her with his warm, soft nose, whining again in his throat. She rested her forehead against his, breathed in the warm, woodsy smell of his hide. She scratched the place behind his ears that always made him stamp his feet with delight.

“Hello, friend,” Merrill said, approaching. “You’re a delight! I haven’t seen a hart like this in a long time.”

“He has been my constant companion for years now. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to see that he is okay.” Rhaella leaned her head against Thistle’s again and took another calming breath. She did not need to jump straight to despair. She had not even gone inside the keep yet. Who knew who else she would find, or what signs would be left behind - maybe everyone had moved somewhere else, or gone out into the world to help make a difference -

She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or afraid when the first arrow flew and landed at her feet.

Merrill’s hand flung out instantly, as if to shield her, and Rhaella’s magic crackled beneath her skin, longing to cast a barrier. She had to actively work not to cast the barrier without the Veil in the way, and it made her grind her teeth. Her son kicked wildly in her stomach at the sensation of the caged magic.

“It’s okay,” Rhaella called out when the urge to cast her spell passed. She looked in the direction the arrow had come from - the old tavern. She started in that direction, brushing off Merrill’s arm. “It’s me, it’s Rhaella.”

Another arrow flew, this one passing over her shoulder, so close that Rhaella could hear the pitch-perfect whine as it cleaved the air by her ear. Thistle snorted and stamped behind her, spooked, and Merrill took her staff off her back. The third arrow struck the barrier that Merrill cast, splintering into a shower of wooden shards, but Rhaella had seen where it was headed. Straight for her head.

Then Rhaella saw her, in the upper window of the tavern, leaning out now, bow in hand. Sera.

“Sera!” She called, waving her arms, walking closer. Surely it was an accident. Surely Sera had not actually meant to aim for a killing blow. “Sera, it’s just me.”

“Yes,” Sera said, nocking another arrow, half-drawing back the string. She stepped out onto the roof of the tavern. Her skin was even paler than usual, but her eyes were rimmed as red as the plaidweave armor she wore. “Who the fuck do you think I have been waiting for?”

Rhaella’s heart sank.

“Sera -”

“They’re all dead!” Sera shouted, the tears coming now. “All of them! Every person that mattered to me is gone now. Every person who trusted you to lead us. They all paid the price, and for what? So you could get a good shag with a man who never really loved you? And you didn’t even have to see it, did you, oh high and mighty Inquisitor? No, you got to be somewhere far away when it all came crashing down, all the fire and magic and shite, all the screaming and the dying. But I didn’t get that. I had to be here. I had to see it happen. I had to watch and even when I shut my eyes I had to listen. D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?”

Cullen.

No, not Cullen.

He was many things - not all of them good - but Rhaella prayed in that moment to the gods she didn’t believe in that Sera was lying.

“D’you know what it was like for him when all that bloody magic came rushing back, after all those years he’d worked to stop taking that Maker forsaken lyrium? I bet you didn’t even think about it when you went rushing back to your arse-wiping Dread Wolf. About how he would fucking scream -”

“Stop!”

Rhaella was aware that Merrill had shouted the word, that Sera was still talking, but the sounds were distant, covered up by a roaring as real as the sound of an ocean storm, of an earthquake. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think beyond the roaring sound. It was only the kicking and rolling of her child within her womb that brought her back to the surface.

“You don’t understand,” Merrill was saying. “Rhaella went to Kirkwall to stop him. She tried her best. She never stopped trying. She fought him until the very last moment, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was too strong for anyone but another of his own kind. And Rhaella didn’t stop there. She has been aiding the wounded ever since then, and once she had her first opportunity to flee from Solas, she did. How do you think she ended up here?”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Sera said, and there was a sudden wave of magical heat rolling off of her, sparks at her fingertips. “Shite!” 

She threw down her bow and Rhaella could see the trembling in her fingers. Sera had never wanted this, and now she was cursed with it. Magic.

Rhaella opened her mouth but no words came out. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Like all of Sera’s words had lodged there, true as arrows, true as morning sun.

“Please, believe us,” Merrill was pleading. “Neither of us wanted this. We’re trying to make our way in this world, the same as you.”

Sera shook her head once, viciously, and picked up her bow. She nocked the arrow again and started to draw it back. Rhaella realized that her hands were over her belly, feeling it warm and tight as a drum, but her magic was not seething inside her this time. She was making no real move to defend herself. Merrill grounded herself, started gathering the energy for a barrier. Then Sera lowered her bow.

“Get whatever supplies you need to get somewhere else. And then get gone.” Her eyes bored into Rhaella’s. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Then she disappeared back into the shadows of the tavern.

Rhaella felt rooted to the ground where she stood. Like she might never move from this spot again.

It was one thing to see the devastation of Kirkwall - a city that was not a part of her, another vein through which her own heart’s blood flowed - it was another to stand here in Skyhold and witness the magnitude of her failure. To hear those words of accusation dropped not from the mouth of a stranger but from a friend.

Cullen.

“Rhaella. Rhaella. Come on, love. I don’t think we want to stay here long.”

Merrill was using the same voice that Rhaella herself used to gentle Thistle when he was spooked. Her hands were on Rhaella’s shoulders, guiding. Their steps towards the keep were slow. Thistle whined, high and loud and mournful. Rhaella wondered what stories he would share of the day the Veil fell, if he could speak.

She tried not to study Skyhold as they walked through it. Tried not to see the blood or the winding patterns of lighting etched into wood and stone, the overturned tables, the shattered glasses. The kitchen was ripped apart but there was still food enough in the storeroom beyond it, and she and Merrill filled their packs with as much of it as they could reasonably carry. Rhaella felt the burden of her pregnancy all over again, how she would need more food than she ever had before on the road.

“Is there anything else you want to get?” Merrill asked when they were done there.

Rhaella nodded, and went wordlessly towards the long staircase that led to her chambers. Merrill did not follow. She was grateful for that.

Her chambers were exactly as she had left them. That was the most eerie part of all. She was not the same woman she was the last time she slept here. Her bedroom should have reflected that. But everything was in its place - each pillow on the bed, each paper on her desk. She picked up her field journal, which she’d left behind in her haste to get to Kirkwall. Then she saw the one thing that was out of place. A letter in an envelope, right in the center of her desk.

Rhaella

It was Cullen’s handwriting.

D’you know what it sounded like when your precious Commander died?

Rhaella tucked the letter quickly into her bag. She couldn’t read it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Merrill had distributed everything they gathered between Thistle and their other two horses by the time Rhaella returned. After a brief discussion, they agreed that they would keep both horses, using one for supplies and if one of their other mounts got tired.

“So where do we go now?” Merrill asked, her eyes shifting towards the tavern and then back to Rhaella.

“The Emerald Graves,” Rhaella said. “It has plenty of resources, plenty of places to hide, and it isn’t terribly far from here.”

“I have always wanted to see them,” Merrill said. “All those tombs of the elves who came before us, who fought for our people.”

Rhaella half wondered if the tombs had broken open when the Veil fell - if those elves had stepped out to a brave new world where their people had both won and lost. 

She cast one glance back at Skyhold as they rode through its gate. The towers and battlements she’d come to know as home. It was lost to her now, like so many things were. Another ghost of her own, standing stark and sad against the blue mountain sky.

She took a deep breath and rode on.

*

They rode until nightfall, back down the same road they’d taken up the mountain, until Rhaella’s lower back ached so badly that they could not continue. She warmed damp cloths on a stone over the fire that Merrill built and then had Merill place them where it ached. She’d never wished so desperately for a bed in her life as she did in that moment, lying there on her side on the nest of blankets they’d arranged, unable to curl up into a ball or lie on her stomach, anything to relieve the pain.

“Warn me if it gets more intense,” Merrill said. “Sometimes that’s how it goes for women - the start of labor, that is.”

Rhaella felt a surge of panic and joy alike. Would tonight be the night she met her son, the person that made all of this worth it? The reason she continued putting one foot in front of the other on this road that had no real destination yet. At least not one she could see or count on. But the pain in her back did subside eventually. There was a new chill in the air by that point, a wind coming down off the mountains that made them both shiver. Rhaella looked to the saddlebags they’d removed from their pack horse, hoping for another blanket - and spied something familiar sticking out of one of the ones Merrill had packed. Red and fur-lined.

Cullen’s cloak.

She rose, went to it, pulled it out, half-hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. She’d have known it anywhere, and of course Merrill would not have. She’d just seen something warm that might help them on their journey, and not another dagger aimed directly at Rhaella’s heart.

Merrill was a few paces away, standing watch since they didn’t want to risk setting wards. Rhaella went to her bag and pulled out the letter she’d found on her desk, the tears already rising in her throat, the guilt already swimming in her stomach. She found a tree that she could sit against, looking away from Merrill, and eased herself to the ground, cloak and letter clutched in one hand.

She read.

Rhaella,

I am never going to see you again.

That's the worst part of this. It isn't the pain or the screaming or the uncertainty. It's knowing I will never see your face or hear your voice again.

My hand is shaking. I hope you can read this if you find it. When you find it. I refuse to believe that you did not survive this. You and the baby - you have to survive. I have to believe this was all worth something, and if the two of you are still out there, it was.

You are the most incredible woman I have ever known, Rhaella. Your quiet strength - I know it will see you through. I have watched you move mountains and I know you will move them again and again.

(I hope this all makes sense. I was never good at words, and my hand is shaking, and everything hurts -)

I wish I could be there to see you move those mountains. To see your baby. The baby I thought of as ours no matter what. I understand that what we had was never going to be real. I am at peace with that. I would have given you everything nonetheless, Rhaella. You and the baby deserved that and I would have been whatever you needed me to be. If - if this isn't the end - if I can withstand this - if we are both alive - I will still give you everything. Not because I want you to wake up one day and love me. But because you deserve that as my friend.

Whatever happens - when you find this - I want you to know that I believe in you. I wish I had words good enough to express it. I don't. I believe in you the same way I believe in the Maker and his Bride. Maybe that is the closest I can come to explaining it. I believe in you, and if anyone can stop Solas, it is you. 

If I die today, I die with nothing but faith and devotion in my heart. It was how I always wanted to go, Rhaella. It's okay. I am at peace.

Yours always,

Cullen

She was crying before she finished the third paragraph, of course. Deep, wracking sobs that hollowed out her chest, carved up her ribs, scratched up her throat. They were animal sounds. She wasn't sure how long they went on. It seemed there was no beginning or end to her grief as she thought of everything Sera said, how she'd sacrificed everything for a man who never really loved or deserved her. Were they both right? Was that really the source of her weakness? Had there been some final part of her strength locked behind a door with Solas's name written on it, where she hid all the memories that were good? Had that been the strength she would have needed that day in Kirkwall?

Rhaella cried into the folds of Cullen's cloak, her mind a maze of questions with no answers, and grieved.

*

Solas generally prided himself on being the master of his emotions. Controlling them, subduing them, and, when all else failed, simply hiding them away.

He did not bother hiding his frustration when he returned from his fight with the Evanuris.

He came into his Kirkwall base of operations and threw down the helm he'd been wearing, reveling in the loud sound of metal striking wood as it hit the table. Maybe if he did that over and over again he could drown out the sound of his failure - of half of the Evanuris's forces escaping into eluvians and shattering them as they left. He'd wanted to pull them out, root and stem, to be done with all of this, to focus on what came next - rebuilding, helping those that remained find peace and meaning in the new world he'd made. Helping himself find peace with what he'd done. Finding time to mourn the friends he had lost (sacrificed).

Mending things with Rhaella.

"We have not been able to trace them yet," Abelas said, calm and even, but with a hesitance that Solas noted at once.

"What else?" He barked. He'd tried not to be the kind of Commander who yelled unless it was truly what the situation warranted. Then again, he'd tried a lot of things. And yet here he was again, with nothing but ash and loneliness to show for it.

"Rhaella and Merrill are gone."

Abelas said it swiftly and calmly, with the precision of a surgeon making his first cut.

Solas felt the air leave the room.

He felt his power leach into the vacuum it left behind.

Raw mana, undirected, uncontained, filling up every object and person around him, lighting up the room with a blue glow, filling it with a subtle roar. He felt his advisors shield themselves in barriers, as if he would attack them. Perhaps he would. (He would not.)

Solas took a breath and drew his mana back in.

“When?”

“Not long after you did as far as we can tell,” Abelas said. Another surgeon’s cut.

“Together.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where?”

“Unknown. We have not been able to track them via traditional or arcane means, though perhaps you will have greater success with the latter. You know Rhaella better than any of us, after all.”

For a moment, Solas considered letting her go. It would be kinder in the long run. He’d told her that once, when he was a stronger man. But he still had dried blood under his fingernails, the screams of the dying in his ears. He still had unfinished business, and people who would seek to hurt Rhaella and his child. 

(The child, the child, the child, he could hardly bring himself to think the word at first but now it was ringing through his mind like a struck bell, an endless echo. He might not get to meet his child if he could not find her, and perhaps that was what he deserved -)

He had to find her to protect her. To tell her one last time that he was sorry. If she went her own way then - if they went their own way then - he would just have to find a way to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, she had said to him the day he took the Anchor and her arm. Perhaps that was when she was a stronger woman. Perhaps he had broken them both.

“We leave for Skyhold at dawn,” he said. He turned on his heel and left. He had enough control, enough composure, not to spill his tears before them. He waited until he was in Rhaella’s room, surrounded by the smell of her, to do that. 

He would endure, he told himself over and over again. He would endure. He simply wasn’t sure what it would cost.

[magioftheseas]

The Hinata/Kamukura Files - Recent Patients’ Thoughts

Written for @the-hinata-project

Day 6: Heterochromia/Hope Arc Hinata/Kamukura -or- Boats/BBQ/Friendship

Rating: PG

Warnings: There’s some references to past despair but it’s mild.

Notes: I was going to do all the sdr2 kids but decided to stop with all the ones who died in the simulation. The survivors will get their day tomorrow. For now, I didn’t want this one significantly longer than the others. It’s still pretty long though. It’s really hard to write in all the different voices but I did my best and I hope this counts for something.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It’s funny, for a boy who thought nothing of himself to mean the world to everyone else. You don’t believe me? I’m not terribly good at words, so I’ll pass on the torch in this case.

--

Hinata Hajime is someone who I suppose I envied. A person who accepted himself even after desiring to be someone else for so long.

“It’s because what I have is more precious than talent,” he said. When he had supposedly been chasing talent all his life.

I envied that—perhaps I also sensed it. He’s definitely a person that can be trusted in spite of his mysteries. His identity not quite being as set in stone as it should be.

I understand that, likely better than anyone. That’s why I—well.

It’s why we are friends, I suppose.

--

Hinata-kun’s perfect and delectable in many, many ways! Fine personality, fine face, finer a—

Cough. Cough. It seems I’ve been struck.

More seriously I suppose, Hinata-kun is a kind and adorable sort of person. He’s been through a lot but he’s still innocent. He’s someone that I’m sure Mama would adore me bringing back home.

He’s rough around the edges, but as sweet and homely as red bean paste. Truly wonderful.

--

Hinata’s super unreliable, but he’s motivated and considerate if nothing else. It’s honestly a little embarrassing to praise the guy, but... I do remember a bit more about him.

He was classmates with Satou. And even Kuzuryuu’s sister. I heard—that he was friends with her. With that sister. And yet, I remember Satou mentioning that he’s not the worst offhandedly when I had asked back then. I hear he blames himself for what happened. Back then.

It makes me so angry I want to cry. I’m still fighting off the urge to tell him off! But, the realization that he saw an entirely different side to that conflict—I’ve been thinking about that.

I don’t hate him. I like him a lot, actually. He’s described my photographs in a way that warmed my heart.

He may be unreliable, but I still have places I need to improve, too. So, I think the two of us are fine as long as we keep trying.

--

We don’t have much of a relationship but it goes without saying that I’m aware he’s a kind person. He’s close to someone I—care very much about, as well.

Truth be told, I’ve been drawn as of late to that other presence. The one called Kamukura Izuru. Someone who is very different and yet very similar to myself.

It is not very often I wonder what would have happened to myself if I was never taken in by the Kuzuryuu family. I sincerely do not believe it would have been a normal life regardless. Even now the idea of seeing myself as normal is incomprehensible.

“It is how you lived,” Kamukura would say oh so dully.

“We’re all struggling to be normal,” Hinata would hurriedly add, smile strained.

And both are true, aren’t they? I am aware—that both of them are right.

And I am grateful for many reasons that go beyond expected.

--

They’re both wimps and cowards, but that’s why they need to be protected. That’s what I definitely think—even though I definitely want to mess with them until they keel.

Hinata-nii in particular is still so easy to mess with. Kamukura-nii is less so, but that just makes me more determined. It’s a welcome distraction from all the bullshit we deal with beyond ourselves.

...

We really shouldn’t be alive, y’know? We’ve done way too many fucked up shit to ever make up for it, so I don’t even see the point. But, because of those two, we’re all here anyway. Because of those two, the others are trying to live. Mahiru-nee and all those idiots—even...her.

That might count for something. It might not. I don’t know. I don’t really care.

I’m too stubborn to fall behind at this point. And I might struggle, and I might have to bite the hands that get offered to me by Hinata-nii, but I—

I think we’ll manage somehow, even after we inevitably fall back down.

--

The person you are takes a lot to nurture and blossom, you know?! Hajime-chan has made that much clear! He’s always struggling, sometimes his arms are all wobbly like noodles! And yet, he keeps on beating that drum I got him!

We’re all struggling but making noise—and I think the louder, the prouder!

There are still days where we scream our hearts out, even to the point it blows out our throats. It’s a good thing, then, that Izuru-chan has the talents to deal with that. Him and—even Mikan-chan can help a lot. We’ve all gotten really good at supporting each other!

But, I’m also sure a day will come when we go our separate ways. It’s heartbreaking, maybe even despairing, but despite that, I won’t be alone even when on my own.

It’s fun—how we’re all so different and yet glued together by our experiences. And we have Hajime-chan to thank for that, don’t we?

--

It’s, um, difficult to figure out the words to say. And it’s also so...so difficult to get on your own feet. I still struggle a lot more than I probably should. It’s hard. Even now I have to remind myself where I am—who I’ve become with everything that happened.

It’s horrible, but—I still miss her. I miss Nanami-san too, of course, but—it’s horrible that I miss a terrible person, too.

“It is expected,” Kamukura-san had said. “Regardless of the circumstances, your feelings had ran deep.”

“You’re not a bad person, Tsumiki,” Hinata-san reassured me. Hinata-san reassured me, and Kamukura-san had nodded as well—even though they both hated her so much. Even though they couldn’t understand at all.

They really were so...so kind...

It’s so...difficult but...it’s worth living for.

--

It’s important to live and work hard every day, despite the failures along the way.

That’s always been clear but with Hinata, it’s been even clearer.

He’s the kind of guy who takes on a lot—a real athlete, even discounting Kamukura’s obvious advantages in strength. Kamukura was supposed to be unmotivated—but like hell I’d allow that!

They both need to work hard! Run until they’re high on fumes! Beginning to end!

But it’s our duty to support them. It’s my duty to guide them, since I’m supposed to be acting as a coach right?!

In the past—I may have let a lot of people down. I may have even pushed them to the brink. I won’t lie, waking up was hell, but training from hell is just par for the course, isn’t it? Gyahaha!

I’ll support them, and they’ll support us in return—we’re all a team after all.

--

There are few titles befitting of such a being. However, he is and always shall be the singularity. The singularity of our realm who had crawled his way out of an imprisonment of his own design. Someone who voided their existence—only to return.

Something like that could be called almost godly, but Hinata Hajime, the singularity, is as mortal as can be. He is still weak to humanity’s faults. He can be meek. He can be hesitant. He can be cowardly.

However, he still pushed through—and he is ultimately the reason that our world and our own reason was restored. To call that a feat would be inarguable.

There is—much to be grappled with. Even someone such as I can confront difficulty, but there is no greater privilege than to live and live I shall. Death is a mere afterthought—I have already died twice, fufufu.

But, I live again because of him.

For that, I...will not forget.

--

Ahaha, wait, it’s my turn again? Hasn’t this been dragging on for too long already? I’ve already had my moment before, too.

That doesn’t count? What are you even saying? Someone like me shouldn’t count in the first place.

I chose to die within the simulation. But, so did Kamukura-kun. Hinata-kun also chose to die when he accepted the terms for that wretched project all those years ago.

I suppose it’s only to be expected that we all remain, wretched beings that we are alongside everyone else.

...

It’s because of both of them that we turned out the way we did. I hate them, but I love them, too. I’m not like everyone else, who are all irrevocably kind and appreciative.

There’s still one other ‘victim’ that deserves to speak but she’s no longer here. Expected. But still—unfortunate, I suppose. She was quite cared about.

In her stead, I’ll make sure those two don’t falter. That their future is seized with no chance of escape. It’s not because of my own gratitude. I’m not that selfish.

Hinata-kun...and Kamukura-kun...

I do want to see how you two will shape that future.

It looks bright already.