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curiositydooropened · 1 year

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Wildfire • Spark

After a less-than-ideal first week in training with your new partner on the sparring mats and in the swimming pool, it's time to flex your skills on the Scorch course. When Eddie discovers terrifying evidence to the face you saw in the swimming pool, you learn a bit more about what it means to be Flayed. Harrington learns some truths about the day Vickie died.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 9,765

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter One: Ember • Chapter Three: Ignite

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NOW

August 1988

Indiana thunderstorms came in soft and slow, the call of wind and blooming, teal clouds. They wet tarmac and corn fields first. A cascade of large drops that melted against windshields and abandoned shopping carts. Then came the downpour, hail and rain that ricocheted off tin roofs, just beyond the safety of underpasses and covered porches.

Before the world opened up, you delighted in them. You and Vickie, in matching raincoats, would run into the street and spin and spin until the world wet fuzzy and your teeth chattered. You’d laugh and dive into puddles, soaking your canvas shoes and the socks underneath. You’d sing and play until dad warned you about lightning strikes and called you inside. You’d shriek in delight under the warmth of your covers while electricity buzzed the power out.

And after, you peered beyond the safety of double paned glass and watched, watched for red lightning, for ash, for tell-tale signs that you weren’t right-side up. Your breath fogged the glass in front of you, arms crossed over your chest. The massive cloud, in its slow approach, shadowed the far end of the asphalt, faded yellow parking spots shining wet.

“Hey,” a voice startled your focus, and you turned to see Eddie, brows furrowed, leaning against the left side of his walker. “I need to show you something.”

Something urgent in his tone, laced with concern, almost had you forgetting the storm outside, but a voice on the wind called your name and you turned your attention back out the window one last time, watching the cloud loom in teals and greys. A large flash lit up the sky, sheet lightning, blinding white. You startled.

Eddie led you down darkened halls, everyone busying themselves in separate dorms or a rec room somewhere, out and away from the storm outside. He didn’t try to make small talk, or manage any of his signature quips. His silence only perpetuated the static you felt on the back of your neck, the breath that chilled you to your core.

“In here,” he gestured to a doorway marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, and you reached for the handle to push it open. You glanced around the empty hallway, checking for some sort of surveillance, before following him into a room lit only by a single television, it buzzed with that same static.

“What’s going on?” You asked, pulling up the rolling seat Eddie gestured to before he popped a tape into a deck.

“Wheeler copied this for me, and erased the original. So if we get caught, we’ve officially tampered with government property.” As if that was an explanation.

“We?” You tried to get comfortable in the chair, suddenly feeling eyes on you from all angles.

Eddie reached forward and hit play, and the sound of the tape winding preceded the screen going black. Then, slowly, banks of lights were being turned on, and you recognized the pool, however many stories below you now. Harrington took several strides before dumping his rucksack poolside. Then, he busied himself around the room, checking levels and cleaning where he could.

“Eddie,” you swallowed. “What is this?”

Eddie responded by hitting fast-forward, and you watched as Harrington stripped from his day clothes and jumped into the pool. He did a few laps, quite a few, before squeezing the chlorine water from his hair and got dressed again. Eddie hit the button once more, and Harrington waited around for quite a while before the doors swung open again, and you arrived. Eddie hit play.

The video was silent, but you’d seen it all play out, you’d been there. You watched Harrington drop the brick. You watched yourself strip to your underwear.

“We can fast-forward,” you instructed, clearing your throat as you tried not to dwell on the pudge around your middle, the unflattering angle of the security footage.

Eddie did as instructed, and you watched yourself go through your trials, Harrington spurring you on. Until Harrington jumped back in, and you knew what you were looking for.

“There, stop.”

Eddie paused. The freeze frame was blurred with static, the edges of the camera blurred with mist and condensation. The ripple of water took up the lower half of the frame. Your head was barely above water, mouth agape to take one final gulp. And there was no one on the tiles.

“Watch,” Eddie muttered, playing frame-by-frame. His fingertip stretched to the screen, pointing for you to keep your eyes on the steel double doors. And you watched, in horror, as they swung open. Exactly as you remembered.

Only, no one entered. No one walked to the edge of the pool to smile down at you. No one was watching. It was all in your head.

“So what? A draft?” You prayed.

“That far underground?” Eddie hit play, and you watched the door swing on its hinges for only a moment. Then, your limp body was being hauled upright, a dark bead in the water must have been the blood from your head (the dull ache hadn’t quite disappeared). Harrington lifted you onto the tile and leapt up after you.

Your best friend paused the video and turned to face you, half of his face glowing blue in the light, features gaunt, terrified. “Have you heard his voice?”

You knew who he meant.

“Have you heard the chime of a clock? Have you been seeing things other than Vickie? Hearing things?” He was frantic now, hands tangled in curls, good knee bouncing.

You clutched his thigh to stop the movement. “Ed, stop. He’s dead. Eleven killed him. He’s not coming back.”

“We don’t know that,” he shook his head.

“We do,” you nodded, though you weren’t sure which of you needed to hear it more. “We know that he’s gone, and I’m not hearing voices. I’m not hearing chimes. It’s just her, and it’s just PTSD or whatever bullshit Linda’s telling me, okay?”

“Then what’s with the door?” He gestured back to the screen.

You didn’t know, and you didn’t love the pit growing in your stomach, that lingering feeling of being watched. You tried to push it out, force it down, but couldn’t manage to answer Eddie more than a shrug. “Wheeler’s not going to tell Hopper, right?”

“Nah,” Eddie scrubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “I sold him pot last week. He owed me.”

You snorted.

The tape was ejected, static buzzed on the television once more, the screen illuminated in blues and grey. “I’ll keep ahold of this until we show Steve.”

Your stomach sunk further. You swallowed. “What?”

Your name left his lips in a scold you haven’t heard since you were in high school. “You have to tell Steve. He’s your partner, and if this shit is the asshole we hope it isn’t, we’re all in danger. He deserves to know.”

You avoided his gaze, running a tired hand down your face.

“If you don’t tell him, I will.”

—

The heat was oppressive, humidity that stuck your clothes to your skin and wet the hair at your temples. The plastic mask surrounding your nose and mouth was fogged, and you peeled the suction from your skin, letting it dangle around your throat to rub sweat from your eyes. You winced at the burn and peered ahead at the giant concrete structure before you, bathed in the neon orange rays of the setting sun.

The Scorch practice building wasn’t much more than concrete and rebar, four levels high with no roof. There were no glass in the windows, just holes shaped into the four sides with views of stairwells and open rooms. It was about as dark and desolate as any structure in the Ether, and just as imposing.

“20:04,” Harrington spoke beside you, voice muffled by the mask around his face, sweat sticking his hair likewise to his tanned skin. He was looking at the watch around his wrist, and you did the same to yours, clarifying his time as second hand ticked. “Twenty minute run.”

You nodded and placed the mask back over your features, the elastic too tight around your skull. You adjusted your fuel pack next, a thirty pound tank that slipped against your tank top at the slick of your back. You tightened the shoulder straps and buckled the strap at your chest, constricting your bosom even tighter.

You and Harrington pulled the hoses from their holsters simultaneously and stepped forward into the abandoned building, and it was like stepping back into that world.

The structure had been manufactured for these purposes, faux vines made of rubber tubing stretched across the surfaces, outward and upward, curling like they would in the Ether. You weren’t to step on them, weren’t to let them know of your presence as you made your way through the building looking for bigger things, darker worries, greater enemies. Trainers would rearrange it after each run, a new horror around new corners.

You had every iteration memorized. Muscle memory kicked in the moment your heavy boot went over the threshold. Finger on the trigger, the sound of your breath in your mask, you curved to the North, around the first corner into a room staged as the kitchen. They like it cold.

No lights, only an island covered in the charred remains of fruit and tin cans, vines melted to fixtures that had been stolen from once-happy homes. From the corner of your eye, Harrington side-stepped to round the refrigerator, but you knew it’d be too obvious.

“Clear.” He instructed, two fingers saluting to proceed into the formal dining space.

You shook your head and flicked open a blackened corner cabinet. You managed to dodge an egg as it rolled from its perch and onto the countertop. There, you hit the trigger. A surge of energy burst down the length of your arm, bright orange and white hot, like Vickie’s hair and autumn nights and agony, screams and cries of agony and the shatter of your heart and -

“Good job,” Harrington affirmed as he passed you, something unforgiving in his tone, something trepidatious.

You swallowed back the fear crawling up your esophagus and followed.

Harrington discovered a nest in the dining room, two dogs watching television, and another egg sack at the top of the stairs to the next floor. You hadn’t pulled your trigger again, letting him get the kill as you followed on, clearing bedrooms and hallways up to floor three, your heart pounding against the mask, sweat blurring your vision.

A demogorgon waited, split through the walls of an upper floor bedroom, made of vinyl and something else toxic, and Harrington laid into it, spreading fire across the ceilings and concrete bookshelves, and the fire licked at your cheeks and forehead too hot, too close, too much.

“Harrington!” You roared over the sound of his machine buzzing, flame thrown from his grasp.

He took his hand off the trigger and looked back at you with furrowed brows, sweat striping the dirt across his features.

You shook your head and gestured to the fresh char marks, the fizzle of embers against the stone. “It needs to be more contained. You spread it that much in the Ether, the whole structure’s coming down on you.”

“I’m trying to be thorough,” he argued, rubbing at his own stinging eyes.

You continued to shake your head. “Thorough doesn’t always mean safe. You wait for it to jump out of the wall, then you scorch it.”

“If it gets down here, it has a higher chance of killing me,” he propped his hand on his hip.

You rolled the side of your tank top up to expose a long, spindly scar on your hip bone that you knew continued down your thigh. “Get clawed or get killed. Keep it contained.”

The words echoed around your own skull, a buzz like nicotine or caffeine, something sharp and spiky that hadn’t left the jitter in your hand since you first pulled the trigger, since you stepped foot in here. Those muscle memories, all those hours training fellow toy soldiers, fuel strapped to their backs, the sickly sweet stench of lighter fluid, the only thing you’d ever felt you were meant to do.

You left Harrington fogging up his mask, back to the wall, feet avoiding the vines on the ground like they were second nature, like you’d always known where they were because you put them there. You turned into a bathroom, pulled open the cabinet under the sink. “Clear,” you shouted before scurrying into the final room.

A demodog decoy stood on the bed, flower-shaped head bared, legs squat. A hatchet was stuck through his middle. Your finger tugged the trigger, second-nature, the surge of energy a warm, familiar buzz against your forearm, the breath on your tongue metallic. You’d been born for this. Keep it contained.

“The rest of this floor is clear,” Harrington’s gruff tone filled your space again, a jostle of your pack indicating he was too close. If you were fire, Harrington was water, a quench of cold rigidity that doused that which ought to have been fanned within you, that need to burn.

You followed him for the final climb, these walls cast in pinks and reds and oranges, the twilit sky looming beyond. A breeze trickled in, cooling the sweat that lined your décolletage. You licked salt from your upper lip, burned remnants of paper and cloth crunched beneath your feet.

The hall split in two, doorways littering either side, tattered vines, sun-stained pale grey, bathed in red, trailed up the walls, flapping in the breeze.

“South,” you called out, and Harrington nodded, turning right when you turned left. Your packs knocked against one another.

Room one was clear. Room two was clear. You heard Harrington call similarly from the hall, and the sound of fire scorching something he had found in his third room. You edged your way around the corner and into the final open space. There, you found five mannequins.

Stood in perfect formation was a family, two parents and three children. The paleness of their skin had all been blackened around the edges. Some limbs were missing: the smallest one teetering on one leg, the mother missing an arm. Faces were in various stages of melt, dark grimaces on misshapen heads. One of the children remained eerily in tact. Her eyes glowed blue, hair a shock of red, smile twisted in delight, the strap of her blue tank top slipped down a melted shoulder.

“What the fuck is this?” Harrington’s voice was unmuffled, and when he stepped into your periphery, you saw he’d pulled his mask down to hang loosely around his neck.

You swallowed and held your weapon at your side. The red haired girl stared back at you, unblinking. “They’re flayed.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” He scoffed, adjusting his pack, bumping you with his elbow.

You shook your head. You’d been the one to set it up, Vickie’s suggestion, pulling mannequins from the old mall site. Trainees needed to practice. They didn’t know what they’d be up against, or who. You swallowed. “Put your mask back on.”

“What? No. We aren’t burning them.”

“We can’t risk contamination.” You thought of the video tape, of the face above the water, of that gnawing on your skull where you impacted the tiles.

“Contamination? They’re mannequins. Have you lost your mind?”

Maybe you had. You licked your lips, tried to ignore the shadow looming just beyond the figures, just beyond the girl with the red hair and the smiling face, just beyond the memories of Vickie’s screams, the taste of ash, the smell of flesh. “If you can’t do it in here, how can I trust you to do it out there?”

“Eddie survived,” Harrington argued, and suddenly the buzz in your skull silenced, a splash of ice cold water to your bones. You were drowning in it, the disdain that dripped from his tongue.

You turned to face him, pulled your own mask from your face. “You know he’s an exception. We don’t know how he got out.”

“But he did,” Harrington’s jaw was clenched stone-tight, he wasn’t looking at you. “He survived. He was flayed, and we got him out.” Everything that wasn’t said was caught in between words, context oozing with mistrust, with the truth he believed about you, about Her.

“Well, she couldn’t have been saved,” you spat, that vine crawling itself up and out of your chest, like fire and agony and screams. “By the time I found her, she had a hole in her chest the size of my arm. There was black shit spilling out of her mouth. She was -” You couldn’t breathe, eyes blurred with sweat and red hot sunlight, the heat was suffocating, the smell of smoke and ash.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tried to will away the images of her begging for help, pleading for you to end it, telling you they knew, they saw, telling you it was time because if you didn’t kill her, they’d know where to find you, all of you. She was a spy.

When you opened your eyes again, Harrington looked pale, nostrils flared, stone faced, but processing the horrors you let slip. You felt a modicum of triumph at knowing he’d experienced even a sliver of it, a piece of it broken from you and transferred as a weight to his shoulders now too. Consider it a bonding experience.

You glanced down at the ticking hands of the watch on your wrist and said, “20:25. Twenty-one minutes. Mission failed.” Before you shouldered away from him and back down the stairs, ignoring the lingering itch over your right shoulder, that presence that reared its head all the times you wanted to be left alone.

—

The halls were eerily silent on Scorch days, when the majority of the team had been sent from the building in twos to repel through gates and torch the boundaries of another dimension. You weren’t used to the silence, having spent nearly two years on those vehicles, adrenaline pumping and back aching from the weight of your pack. The past four months had been spent outside the War Room, pacing, waiting for an inch of hope, an eavesdropped morsel of what was going on down there.

Today was no different, nursing stale coffee from a styrofoam cup, watching blips on a fuzzy radar screen from behind several panes of glass. At one point, you’d made eye contact with Hopper, frown creased between his brows and beneath his mustache, and he shooed you away with his hand.

You’d memorized the names on the call sheet, muttering silent prayers that they’d all make it back safe, unscathed, untethered. Harrington’s words echoed in your mind, louder and louder as the day progressed and your legs grew weary of propping you against concrete walls and linoleum floors. His insinuation that Vickie could have been saved hung heavy on your shoulders like the straps of a fuel pack.

Eddie sat with large headphones over his ears, scribbling things onto notebook paper, wrapping his eraser against the page in a way that made you wonder if he was listening to radio frequencies or heavy metal music. You knew it calmed him, knew it brought him back from Vecna’s grasp.

You tried not to think of the song that left your chapped lips, the rough scratch of your vocal chords against the ash and ruin as you tried to bring Vickie back to you, back to the light.

You rubbed at tired eyes and pulled yourself off the wall and continued to pace. You thought of Harrington again, of the look on his face when you’d shared your truth about Vickie, of the obstinance you received when teaching him how to properly scorch, of the sass he spewed ad nauseam. You rolled your eyes and glared back through the glass at the balding patch on the back of Hopper’s head.

The scuffle of feet startled you from your thoughts, and you spilled cold coffee down your forearm. You looked up from the splash on the floor to two gangly teens who rounded the corner with hushed whispers and hands in the pockets of their tactical pants. They seemed twice as scared of you as you were of them.

The Wheeler kid’s eyes went wide like saucers when he recognized you, and the tips of his nose and cheeks flushed a deep red. Remembering the tape he procured for Eddie, you fumbled to speak and ended up sandwiching your tongue sharply between your molars.

“Hi,” Will Byers attempted to diffuse the tension with the quirk of his smile, and you swallowed back the saliva flooding your mouth.

“Hi,” you managed to wince through the pain and toss your scrunched styrofoam into a nearby trash can, wiping your forearm on your pant leg.

“Any news?” Wheeler managed, scratching at the back of his neck. The boys approached the glass and peered in.

“No. Your siblings out there?” You asked, as if you didn’t already know, as if Nancy and Jonathan hadn’t replaced you and Vickie as Scorch team leaders, as if you hadn’t watched Nancy zip her tac vest and tie her laces.

“Yeah.” Joyce turned from her spot and caught her son’s face outside the glass. Her weary smile showed so imminent danger, and she flexed her fingers in a wave.

Will waved back, relief relaxing broad shoulders. “No news is good news.” Then, he turned to you. “So, how are you? How’s training with Steve?”

You swallowed and glanced back at Wheeler. Suddenly, the bean pole found something on the floor very interesting. You sighed and lied through your teeth. You’d done it with Linda, why not the Byers kid too? “Yeah, great. Harrington’s a really hard worker. He’s a good asset for our team.”

“Jesus, you guys script that?” Wheeler snorted. Will elbowed him in the ribs.

“We talked to Steve earlier today,” Will explained. “He had similar nice things to say about you. Seems like a good match.”

You nodded, the words that once would have flipped your stomach now souring the taste in your mouth. Or maybe that was the blood pooling from your tongue.

“We better get back to El,” Wheeler bounced on the balls of his feet, elbowing Byers back. He offered you a bored nod and started back down the hallway.

Will pushed off from the window with another understanding smile. He’d nearly followed his friend around the corner before you heard the squeak of his sneakers as he paused and turned around. “Hey, I’m really sorry, by the way. About Vickie.”

Your stomach lurched, the flash of fire and screams echoed in your mind’s eye.

“I’m here if you ever you know, need to talk to someone.”

Eddie survived. Eddie survived and so did Will. Will Byers, Zombie Boy, the original spy, the reason for all of this. You swallowed back the bile surfacing and tried to will your eyes to focus on the features of his face, but your mind was reeling with information. You just nodded and somehow managed to croak out a thank you.

“See you around,” Will waved and stepped slowly away.

—

Harrington was a wall of meat, the slap of skin to skin, gulps and gasped breaths, heaving chest, sweat trickling down the column of his neck, sticking wild hair to the sides of his face. His jaw was tight, brown eyes black as he watched you down the scar-split bridge of his nose. His fists were clenched, the muscles of his forearms and biceps glistening under the fluorescents.

You huffed, grit your teeth, and swung on him again. You felt the whoosh of air brush your knuckles as he, once again, dodged your throw. You squared your shoulders, pivoted on your back leg, watched for weakness.

You found it in an open-mouthed exhale, a moment of respite on his end, a wheeze through salvia-slick lips, and you swung on him again, your knuckles cracking against his collar bone.

He cursed, backed off, rolled his shoulders, massaging the bruising bone.

“Ouch, that had to hurt!” Eddie cheered you on from the sidelines, balanced on a stool just off to the right of the sparring mat.

Harrington didn’t appreciate the commentary. He made that explicitly clear with a side-eye to the audience for every quip.

You waited for him to square up again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists ready. You swung and he dodged, catching you on the backside with a jab to your kidneys. You stumbled, but otherwise felt no pain. You huffed in frustration.

“Steve, you’re pulling your punches.” Jonathan spoke freely from his spot beside Eddie. He sported a bright red burn mark on his left temple, but otherwise managed to return from the Scorch unscathed.

Harrington’s fists dropped to his side, and he fully turned his attention to the crowd. “Will you two get out of here?”

You took the pause in momentum to get a drink, quenching your dry throat with a spray of water. You swished it, lukewarm, against your molars before swallowing.

“He’s right. You’re taking it too easy on her.” You flipped Eddie the bird, and he grinned back at you, dimple exposed, hair shaggy in front of mischievous eyes.

“Believe me, I’m not,” Harrington argued, cracking his knuckles beneath un-torn athletic tape.

“You are, though,” you piped up from your spot, readjusting the torn edges of your own tape. The adhesive had all but slipped from sweat-slick wrists, and had more than cracked from your knuckles on your right side.

“What?” He snapped, unimpressed, hands to his hips like a mom at a kid’s dance recital.

You shrugged, let your water bottle slip from your hand back to the ground. “I barely felt that last one.”

“Yeah! A love tap,” Eddie argued for you. “She’s been hit harder than that in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” you cut him off, feeling the buzz of embarrassment tickle at your chest. You pointed at the grinning idiot on his stool. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Strategizing to win this war?”

Eddie made a face of mock confusion, though it wasn’t convincing past the grin of delight that he’d gotten under your skin. “No… no, that doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Come on, man,” Byers snorted, patting Eddie’s shoulder as he stood from his own stool. “Let’s leave these two alone. Maybe he has stage fright.”

“Oh fuck off,” Harrington scoffed, earning bright grins from both of the chuckleheads.

Byers helped Eddie from his seat and muttered something under his breath. You couldn’t quite hear it from your distance, but you caught something about owing Nancy money.

Eddie caught your eye from over his shoulder, expression suddenly changed to something much more serious. He eyed you and then Harrington, an unspoken question that had your stomach lurch.

You shook your head and warned him with your eyes. Now wasn’t the place nor the time to tell your new partner about the encounter you’d had in the pool. In fact, you hadn’t seen anything else all week, too preoccupied with intense training hours. You and Harrington had an unspoken truce. Nothing was said. Punches were made, laps were swam, decoys were set ablaze, and not a word had been shared between you.

Eddie gave you one more warning glance before settling his shoulders and pasting his smile back onto squirrely features. “Well, I’d ask you not to kill each other, but I don’t think Harrington has the balls.”

Harrington rolled his eyes at the quip, and you waved Eddie off, waiting until he and Jonathan had made significant distance before turning your focus back to your partner. You found yourself glancing over their shoulders at the large steel door, half-expecting it to burst open.

“What was that about?” He broke the truce.

“Nothing,” you responded, tight-lipped, peeling the adhesive from your skin for one more adjustment.

“Whatever,” your partner sighed. “We done for tonight?”

You glanced up at the big clock on the far wall. You’d been at it for just under an hour, the time slipping quickly away. You rolled your shoulders, the joints in your spine cracking. “Fine. Same time tomorrow?” You tugged on the athletic tape instead to unravel it, a bit at the back ripped some hair from your forearm.

“No.”

You sighed. “Why not?”

“I have psych tomorrow with Robin.” Harrington’s voice was quiet, measured, as he removed the wrap from his own wrists.

“Oh,” you swallowed, hoping that was the end of it.

“You did good today,” a compliment that should have you preening, instead felt ice cold.

You rolled your head back to quell the chill that settled there. “Byers is right, you’re pulling your punches.”

“I know, I’ll work on it.”

A douse of cold. You blinked back at him, but he refused to make eye contact. He just grabbed his water bottle and walked off the mat.

—

A charcoal sky flashed crimson. Something called in echo, a signal for others of its kind, a signal to the hive. Your throat itched, nostrils burned, eyes stung, ears rang. Your palms, slick with sweat, gripped a railing to pull you upward, knees weak. You weren’t prepared, couldn’t catch your bearings. You didn’t recognize anything, endless trees and vines. You couldn’t make out any landmarks, couldn’t find yourself, couldn’t find anyone.

Then you heard a voice, felt it really, booming, deep, yet familiar. It chilled you, quelled your thirst. His voice, Steve’s voice. You turned to find him stumbling out of the woods toward you, legs weak beneath him. You caught him, clutched the lapels of his vest, screamed his name.

“Help me,” he whispered. “He’s got me. You have to help me.”

You scrambled frantically, called over your busted walkie to receive no response.

Steve sputtered. Black ichor fell from pink lips, tipped down his chin and stained the front of his shirt.

You screamed.

His lips curled upward then, teeth blackened, and he reached for you, hand too large to be his own.

You pulled the trigger.

—

The load was too large, drum banging against the walls of your spin cycle as your clothes rinsed of ash and grime and blood. You’d woken from your nightmare with a nosebleed, something you’d grown accustomed to in the past few months. You’d shed your sheets, your pillow case, knowing you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

The detergent smelled stale, but the water seemed hot enough to rid your clothes of their stains, and the loud beat of metal was enough to silence the dull thud in your skull. Your eyes blurred on the steady shake of washing machine, and your throat was dry from the screams you’d undoubtedly released in your sleep.

It wasn’t the first night terror, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last, all of them flavored with the same dystopian horror that tainted your waking life. Sometimes Vickie would be herself, you forced to live out the worst moments of your life again and again and again night after night. Sometimes, Vickie would be replaced with your mom, your dad, Robin, Eddie. Harrington made his first cameo the night Hopper announced you’d be partners.

Sleepless nights were spent up in bed, reading a single page of a book dozens of times, only managing to focus on a sentence or two. You’d take yourself to the track and run into your legs jiggled. You’d tiptoe to the common area and fix yourself a bowl of cereal, Vickie’s favorite, and sob over the first bite. Once, it’d been bad enough that you’d crawled into Eddie’s bed with him. He smelled of old cigarettes and something spicy, but it was the only night you’d managed to fall asleep, knowing he’d be alive when you woke back up.

The buzz of the machine indicated you could switch, and garment by garment, you shoved your items into the wider drum of a stand-up dryer, one of three in the facility. You separated your sheets into another, ensuring everything would dry before the sun came up, and you slipped your coins into the slots before turning the machines on.

Out of your periphery, the laundry room door opened. A crack at first, just enough for someone to slip in and out, and you backed yourself into the corner, watching and waiting. Maybe you hadn’t woken up, maybe you were still dreaming, maybe this is when you’d see the face smiling back at you.

Only, Harrington entered, grime free, in fact the cleanest you’d seen him maybe ever. His hair was nicely coiffed, an old grey Member’s Only jacket shoved over broad shoulders. “Oh good,” he said, “you’re awake.”

His eyes trailed your body, scrutinizing the tactical pants you’d shoved over the breadth of your hips, the tank top, the sport’s bra holding you together underneath. That crease formed it’s way between his brows again. “You got any other clothes?”

“In the dryer,” you gestured to the steady rhythm of the dryers.

“Okay, that’s fine. Let’s go.” He swung the door open, and you heard the stomp of his feet up the tiny staircase.

You blinked, slow in processing from your lack of sleep, but followed him to the doorway instead. “What part of ‘my clothes are in the dryer’ do you not understand? What’s going on?”

He turned back to you, hands on his hips, and rolled his eyes. “You’re the only one I know who does their laundry in the middle of the night. If anyone steals them, there’s a hundred percent chance of finding them and shaking them down for you belongings. Now, come on.” He gestured like a pestilent child taking their mother down the toy aisle.

You cursed, debated whether this was worth an all-out brawl, and decided to follow him, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t let you catch up, remaining a handful of steps ahead until he was leading you up, across a darkened gym floor, and out a large steel door.

The night air coated your skin in gooseflesh. A single flood lamp illuminated the tops of a dozen or so cars in the parking lot, abandoned and unused, aluminum rusting under an ever-present cloud, sun set hours ago. The air smelled somewhat less foul, the sulphur and decay cast away on a cool breeze that brushed between your legs and pebbled your skin. You were unable to hold back a shiver.

Harrington crossed the lot to a little maroon BMW, waving you over with an impatience only he could exude. “Hurry up, we’re on a time crunch.”

You scurried after him, boots crunching on gravel, and waited for him to reach over to unlock your door before you opened it and settled in. “What is going on?” You asked through grit teeth, slamming the door.

The car smelled of him, that cologne you once found intoxicating, and when the engine turned over, the speakers blared Queen’s greatest hits, and you were thrown back against plush seats as he took off, peeling out of the little parking lot and out and away from the facility. You glanced at the compound out the back window, the looming concrete structure you called home fading into the horizon.

“Where are you taking me? Will you slow down?” You buckled your seatbelt and gripped the door handle while he shifted gears, racing along curves in backroads he’d memorized years ago.

If he could hear you over the speakers, he acted like he couldn’t, fingers wrapping to Roger Taylor’s beat.

You had half a mind to shut the music off, to pull the emergency brake, to get him to answer you. But something in you felt more settled here than you had been for months, the warmth from the heater fanning your chest, comfortable seats, Freddie’s dulcet tones bringing you back to reality, shielding you from any more horrors.

—

Roadie’s Roadhouse stunk of spilled beer and fried food, the sweet tang of barbecue that lured you further in and grumbled at a hungry stomach. You followed Harrington’s broad shoulders to two empty seats at the bar, behind which a rotund woman in a jean vest offered a gap-tooth smile.

You glanced sideways at a group of pool players, balls clacking against one another atop patchy green. Steer horns coated one wall, the wall beside it collaged in autographed photos of celebrities. A blues guitarist sat lonely upon the world’s tiniest stage, picking out a wholesome tune.

Harrington cracked a wry smile, holding two fingers to the woman who was already removing the caps off two beer bottles with her bare hands.

With the chill of wind at the back of your neck from the open door behind you, a few stragglers entered whooping and hollering, slapping hands in greeting with the men playing pool.

“You lovebirds lookin’ to eat tonight? Kitchen closes in twenty.” The woman whistled, leaning too far into Harrington’s personal bubble. He didn’t seem to mind. Your body wracked with another shudder of disgust.

“Two briskets please.” He offered a smile, sticky sweet glazed.

“All the fixin’s?”

He nodded.

“Comin’ right up, sweetheart.”

You waited for her to head to the kitchen. “Harrington,” his name fell from your lips drowning in disdain. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

He sighed and brought the amber bottle to his lips. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank, wiping foam from the corners of his lips when he’d finished. He glanced at you sideways, shrugged his shoulders, and set the glass back on the bar top. “It was Robin’s idea.”

Another gust of cold air blanketed your shoulders, and you spun in a panic. Bikers exited with raucous laughter. Your heart thundered in your chest, your skull. You weren’t ready to face her, to see the hatred in her blue eyes. Had she brought you out here for payback? Far away from the compound where no one could hear your screams?

“Hop said he wants us closer than the Sinclairs,” Harrington took another swig, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “So Robin suggested I buy you real food and ‘get to know you’.” He put the last phrase in air quotes, head tipping back with another drink.

You took a few steadying breaths to soak in what he was telling you, glanced around the room again for any sign of Robin, any sign of Vickie, any sign that you were still dreaming. “You already know me,” you scoffed, bringing your own beer to your lips. It was cheap ass beer, more water than anything else, but it satisfied that unease in your stomach, gave your hands something to do as you ran your thumbnail over the ridged bumps of the glass at its base.

“Do I?” His voice was almost imperceptible against the glass, but it struck its intended target.

And maybe he was right. You considered through the fizz of alcohol. The woman you were now was certainly different from the girl he’d once held in his arms, scarred over and changed forever. One soft and cocksure, thirsty for adventure, you were now hardened, eroded by the elements, carved into the stone hearted being that sat beside him.

You chugged the rest of your drink, holding back a burp with the back of your hand as the fizz bubbled up, and you slid the bottle back to the lip of the counter. “What do you want to know?” You breathed.

Harrington eyed you for a moment, and you waited under his scrutiny, staring at your own reflection in the stained mirror behind shelves of liquor bottles.

You were nothing like the girl he’d met. Your jaw was sharper, shoulders broader, biceps sculpted and scarred. Your eyes were cold, lifeless, with permanent bags beneath them, grey etched through your hair at the temples. You were tired, ridden hard and left out to dry.

“Do you remember Dina Lampenelli’s eleventh birthday?”

Your brain rocketed back in time, doing hurdles over mental math to try to remember one date so many years ago. Dina had been a schoolmate of yours, K through 12, a rich-y with serious self-esteem issues. You’d responded to her bullying with a few bloody noses back in the day, a fist to her precious nostrils for being a homophobic bitch. You were the reason her mommy and daddy shelled out so much for a nose job.

“At the skating rink?”

You tried to will any memory to surface. The amount of hours spent at that skating rink, eyes glazed under the disco lights, speeding around and around and around, kissing boys in glow-in-the-dark corners. You swallowed, shook your head.

“Of course you don’t,” Harrington scoffed, turning his body toward you. “You shoved me over a banister, knocked me on my face. Had to get six stitches.” You glanced to see him jut his chin upward, a thin scar pock-marked the perfect flesh there, where jaw bone met his thumb. “Should’ve known you’d be my living fucking nightmare.”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that spilled out, or the ignition of sparks throughout your body as you watched the corners of his mouth upturn. “Always in my way, Harrington,” you tutted, leaning against the bar while he coughed his smile away behind a large hand.

You swallowed back your own, chewed on the inside of your lip and tried to stir up memories you’d had, breezing past late nights and whispered secrets under heavy quilts and heavier intoxication. You bit back another smile, and asked, “Do you remember Samantha Hardy’s sweet sixteen?”

Harrington’s eyes narrowed in thought, mouth hung agape.

“You hooked up with that girl,” you snapped your fingers. “Was her name Lita?”

“Letty Beaumont?”

“That’s the one!” You nodded. You could still see the curve of the girl’s ass cheeks in the wide palms of his hands, the connection of their mouths silhouetted in moonlight.

“We didn’t hook up,” he shook his head, a strand of hair falling into his eyes. “Some psycho tried to run us over with their car.”

Again, you couldn’t help the aching grin that spread across your face with your nod, and you hid another wry laugh from behind your hand. “That was me.”

“What?” He didn’t look impressed, brow furrowed, mouth hung open like you’d told him you were guilty of feeding his pet hamster to your pet snake.

You shrugged. “You guys were making out on the hood of my car, and I had a curfew.”

The bartender came back, uncapped two more bottles and slid them your direction.

You both thanked her, and you took another long swig, all bubbles first, and then ice cold beer. The taste quenched the tingle in your fingers, the tremor of your hands with nerves at what this was, what this could be.

A prolonged silence lingered between you, almost long enough to have you panicking, that your confession would be held against you, that a he’d want to get up and leave, that you’d started another brawl, here in the roadhouse. But instead, he turned back to the bar, arm bumping yours, and asked, “How’d you get that scar on your thigh?”

You shifted your legs on your barstool and glanced over at him. He was staring straight ahead, peeling the label from his bottle with absent fingers.

“Demodog in the back room at Melvald’s. Had to lure it out before I scorched the room down on top of me.”

He didn’t respond, just offered a curt nod, an unspoken tit-for-tat. He asks, you answer. Your turn.

“Have you been to your house? On the other side?” You’d often wondered if you were alone in that, you and Vickie splitting from the party at too early a stage, stumbling into her backyard to see how it had changed, to see how the vines had devoured it.

Harrington’s jaw turned to stone at that, eyes glazed with memory. He blinked back to reality, took a long swig, cleared his throat. “Once, with Nancy. Barbara Holland was dead in my pool.”

You cursed into your bottle, forgot the details that had drawn them all in.

“Do you like brisket?” He asked, gesturing at the woman coming at you with two heaping plastic baskets lined with newspaper.

—

Stomachs full of brisket and beer, you stumbled past the buzzing neon of Roadie’s and onto the graveled pavement toward Harrington’s car. You waited in the cold breeze, hugging your arms to your front while he leaned over to unlock the door for you, and you hauled yourself in to the promise of heat.

Contrary to earlier’s drive, he’d reached to turn the volume down before thrusting a hand to your headrest to watch over his arm as he reversed from his parking space, slow and steady. You watched burgundy lights bounce off his jaw, the planes of his cheekbones. He caught you watching, that permanent crease in his forehead, and when he pushed the car back into first, he didn’t race himself back to the compound. He took his time.

You’d compared war stories over sticky sweet barbecue, scar for scar. You’d bonded over the smell of lighter fluid and the acrid tang of demo-bat blood, and you’d cheersed to fallen comrades. It all felt sardonic, engorging yourselves on good times, guitar music in the background, when those you’d loved most were all gone now, burned up and tangled in vines that never went away.

You’d noticed the dance, too, the unspoken truce, a tiptoe around questions neither of you wanted to touch, feelings you didn’t want hurt or muddled, questions you were terrified for the answer too. But somehow, darkness imposing on the countryside around you, Ether looming in your near future, you felt a little braver.

“Harrington,” his name caught on your vocal chords, coated in something, ash.

He hummed, and you found your eyes lulling to the sound, a warmth blanketing your chest and arms, and you remembered why you were in this mess in the first place.

“You ever have nightmares?”

He snorted at that, an unfriendly sound, lips curled into a grimace. “You ever have good dreams?”

“Not since,” you admitted. Not since the city split open and the sky rained ash, not since you starting training, not since you murdered your best friend. You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowed the bile that crawled its way up.

“We have our first trial on Monday.” Harrington said after a long silence, his knuckles still wrapping a rhythm against the steering wheel, volume too low under the rumble of his engine, tires to gravel.

The trial was your first exam, a monitored test of your teamwork. You were to go through the abandoned streets of Hawkins, Right-side Up, and prove you could work together, could communicate, could be seamless. You hummed in agreement, having no confidence in your abilities as a team.

“I have to ask you something.”

That plunge of cold water, the sting in your lungs, the wash, the crack of skull against tiles.

“Did you see any signs before that day? Nightmares, nosebleeds, hallucinations?” His tone remained so calm, so light, and you fought back the panic that tightened in your chest, restricting your air flow. He meant Vickie, he meant were there warning signs in Vickie, but you couldn’t help but equate them to yourself.

You clawed at the collar of your tank top and leaned forward to turn down the heater, shaking your head, staring straight ahead at the blurring road, the silhouette of trees looming on either side. “No, not at all. If I had known, do you really think I would have let her go down there?” You hated the way your voice wavered, hated the feel of eyes over your shoulder.

“Well then how did it happen?” Again, his tone remained calm, measured. “If it didn’t happen before you left the compound, when did it happen?” He wasn’t watching you, his own eyes on the road, hands wringing the steering wheel, 2 and 10.

You swallowed, tried to stay present, tried to match your energy to his. “I lost her.” A crack. You cleared your throat, forced it back before the spillway opened.

“What?” A little louder, a little less steady.

“That day, we were sent on a mission near Roane County, farm country. She said she was going to scorch the barn while I did the house, easy procedure. When I cleared the house, I checked the barn and she wasn’t there.”

You could still see the roof ablaze, desaturated, sepia-toned scarlet that licked and fanned at your skin. You swore you saw her, a shock of orange through the treeline. You followed. You tripped on a root, pack heavy you fell face-first into the dirt. You scraped your knee, the meat of your palms, the soft skin where cheek met jaw.

“Why did you split up?”

You shrugged, seatbelt suddenly too tight against your chest, air too muggy, suffocating. “We always did. We were team leaders. We got cocky.” The same answers you’d given Owens, Hopper, filing your official report.

“Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I found her quicker than I thought. She’d gone back to her old house, the one on the county line. I saw her pack outside the garage.” You bit back the rest, pressed at the blur in your eyes with the palms of your hands. Keep it contained.

“You should have called for help. You shouldn’t have split up. I don’t understand how you could have lost her? You lost her?” Harrington’s voice sped up, became as frantic as you felt. “How do you lose someone you’re supposed to be accountable for?”

You grit your teeth. He asked as if you hadn’t been asking yourself the same questions for four months, as if you’d ever make those mistakes again. Minutes ago, he seemed so understanding, so accepting of the truths and overlaps of both of your existences, and now he’d exiled you again.

You clung to the seatbelt and rested your head on the headrest, and didn’t say another word. You waited for the push of his foot to the gas pedal, for the sanctuary of solitude.

—

“You’re such an asshole,” Eddie scoffed from his chair beside you, shuffling his deck of cards for the twentieth time. “I can’t believe you made me your accomplice.”

You let your feet dangle from your perch on a tabletop and shrugged. “Hopper told me to wait here. You’re just keeping me safe until Harrington finds me.”

Eddie tutted, shaking shaggy hair and pulling an M&M from your outstretched palm. “Speaking of keeping you safe,” he glanced around the now-empty War Room. All higher officers had left for their dinners, leaving you two alone. “Have you told him yet?”

“How can I tell him if it takes him,” you glanced at your watch, “four hours to do anything?”

You’d been hiding in the War Room almost as long, having managed to bum a ride back to the compound mid-trial. Harrington didn’t understand how it was easy for you to lose your last partner, so you figured you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. Hopper was more than agreeable when you’d shown back up on your own.

Eddie smacked your thigh with the back of his hand, placing the cards facedown on the table. “I’m serious. Have you seen anything new? Heard anything?”

You sighed, shook your head, “No, I really don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. It was just a draft, a couple of nightmares, it’s fine.”

He tilted his head to catch your gaze. “What kind of nightmares? Like the one you had? Have you told Linda?”

You shooed him away with a hand, picked a brown M&M out of the bunch. “Yes, I’ve told Linda. It’s normal. PTSD. Remember? I assume you’ve been having them too.”

“Not as frequently.” He argued.

You shot him a look.

His shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. “Okay, okay. But you promised me.”

You shifted in your seat, pouring the rest of the candy coated chocolate into his hand. You wiped the melted colors off on a pant leg. “I know. I’ll tell him. I will.”

The walkie talkie startled you both, the sharp sound of a signal far too close, and the echoed sounds of Dustin Henderson’s frantic calls from somewhere down the hallway. “Eddie, do you copy? Eddie, is she there with you? Incoming. I repeat, INCOMING.”

You jolted upright to see Harrington approach, Henderson hot on his heels. Eddie rolled himself a few feet away, shielded behind a pane of glass.

Harrington looked like he’d seen better days. He was positively drenched in sweat, a soft v painting the front of his t-shirt in dark greys. His hair stuck up at odd angles, in desperate need of a cut and a wash. Grime streaked from his sideburns down his throat. Harrington rubbed at bloodshot eyes, and you noticed a tear in each of his knuckles.

“Oh, there you are.” You bit back the smile to match, sickly sweet, ignoring the sink of guilt that made its home in the pit of your stomach.

“Is everything a fucking joke to you?”

You swallowed back the panic, flames licking at your chest and throat and cheeks.

“Hey, man, this was Hopper’s idea.” Eddie defended from his hiding spot.

“You can fuck off, Munson. I’ve been calling you for hours.” Harrington pointed a finger the other boy’s direction.

You glanced at the phone on the table from where you sat and placed the handset back on its receiver.

That must have been the last straw. Harrington let out a strangled huff before storming past Henderson, nearly knocking the boy over, and taking off down the hall.

Eddie whistled, and you flashed an apologetic half-smile Henderson’s direction before taking off after your new partner. You called out after him once, twice, three times. He didn’t stop, just kept going until he had shoved his way through the double doors at the end of the hall.

You followed, a burst of humid air hitting you in the face. It was charged, static, the roll of an incoming storm. You could just make out the teal grey of the cloud overhead, just beyond the tree line.

“Today was bullshit.” He was seething, chest moving up and down with rapid breaths, hands placed on his hips like he was ready to give you a proper talking-to. “You have no idea what I went through.”

You clenched your jaw, crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t understand how you could lose someone you’re supposed to be accountable for.” You hoped the words had hurt him as much as they’d cut you, rolling over and over in your head for the past day.

Harrington stared you down, jaw clenched, eyes a little glassy, dark. He was inches from you, you could smell the salty sweat, it mixed with the brine in the air, that ozone layer that had your skin crawling.

Half-hearted applause startled your stand-off, and you were ripped from Harrington’s glare by the voice of your superior. Hopper rounded the corner, pulling a cigarette from the chest pocket of his shirt and placing it beneath that mustache. “Congratulations, you two. You’ve survived trial number one. Hope you learned a thing or two about communication.”

He pulled a lighter from his pants pocket, and you watched the end burn hot orange. He took a drag and blew a billowed cloud skyward, to mix with the impending storm. “Everything good here?”

“Yes, sir,” you flashed a smile fake enough to have the older man snort. Harrington didn’t respond.

“Good. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” And with another cloud of smoke, a pat to Harrington’s dejected shoulder, Hopper was strolling inside, whistling a merry tune.

You both waited until you could no longer hear the squeak of rubber against linoleum, until it seemed like you were finally both alone, and you opened your mouth to snap something, but Harrington beat you to the punch, his voice calm, soft, measured.

“I promised her I’d keep you safe.”

He wasn’t looking at you. His bloodied hand was itching at the bridge of his nose, covering half his face, and you weren’t honestly positive you’d even heard what he said.

You leaned forward to catch his eye, instinctively reaching to tug his wrist away. “What?”

“Vickie,” he said. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple. “The morning she died, she made me promise I’d keep you safe.” His eyes remained avoidant, finding interest in the blood on his knuckles, the touch of your hand to his forearm.

“What? When? Why?” You were frantic, gripping his arm harder to get him to look at you, to tell you everything, pleading. Had she known? Had she know this would happen? Why him? Why then?

He shrugged, eyes finally finding yours, warm honeyed light in the dark, a gasp of fresh air. He shook his head. “I don’t know. We were gearing up, and she pulled me aside.”

“Why -” You swallowed, tried to push back the image of her pleading, asking you to scorch her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He huffed a breath then, head shaking, hair falling into his eyes.

“What?” You grounded your heels deeper into the gravel. “You don’t think I deserved to know that about my best friend?”

“You shut us out, remember?”

A deluge. With his words, a crack of lightning and the downpour started, big, fat, wet drops, illuminated in a stark flash of white. You jumped, suddenly crowded by Harrington’s frame as he hunched over you, doing his job, protecting you from the torrent of rain. You gripped his shirt out of instinct, pulling him into a safe hiding space just beyond the double doors.

Another crack shuddered through the both of you, the low roll of thunder to follow, the rat-tat-tat of hail against concrete, against parked cars, against the asphalt.

You tried to steady your breath, tried to see beyond the lightning that had stained your vision, all whites and blues. You could almost hear your name on the wind, could almost see that familiar face just beyond the glass, in the tree line, beckoning. The hand at your side, white-knuckled, rested in the heavy grasp of your partner, bloody knuckles intertwined with your own, thumb tracing calming circles to your wrist as you both stood and watched the storm.

---

[A/N - Ooooh boy, this chapter was soooo good for me. I learned so many juicy little secrets as I wrote, and I love uncovering this story so so much. Thanks for reading, and as always, come bug me about it PLEASE! xo]

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#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington slowburn #angst fic #whump fic

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bangtanficsforyou · 1 year

Text

Girl Of His Dreams (03)

Pairing: Fuckboi! Jungkook x Reader

Au: Strangers to Lovers au

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut (eventually)

Rating: 18+

Word count: 9.5K

Summary: You think Jungkook is the utter definition of beauty. Jungkook thinks you’re cute but just not his type. Throw a magic ring into the equation, that makes you look like the girl of his dreams and you have the perfect recipe for heartbreak and tears.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The pinging sound of your phone distracts you from your assignment. You put your pen down and look at your mobile screen to notice an incoming text message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: hey

You: hello

Jungkook: free for a chat?

Technically, you aren't.

You have assignments to complete and modules that need to be studied. It only makes sense for you to tell him that you're busy but then there's a part of you that's curious as to what Jungkook might have to say. Plus, you doubt you'd be able to focus on your assignment now, even if you try to. Your mind will keep going back to Jungkook and you will keep wondering if what he had to say was something important.

It's better you quench your curiosity and then get back to work as that will be more productive.

You: yeah sure

You: what's up?

Jungkook: nothing much

Jungkook: just wanted to talk to you :)

Jungkook: but firstly, i gotta ask, did you enjoy meeting Jimin and Taehyung today?

You: ofc I did!

You didn't.

It wasn't nice to be the unattractive one in a room full of attractive people. It wasn't nice to get judgemental looks from Jimin. It wasn't nice to watch Taehyung walk gracefully and realise how incompatible you're. But needless to say, you can't say all that to Jungkook.

Jungkook: well i'm glad

Jungkook: i look forward to our next practice session

You: me too!

A lie.

You chew on your lower lip as a thought occurs to you.

You: btw when is it?

Jungkook: I'm not sure

Jungkook: but most likely next week

Relief courses through your veins, at that. You'd at least get the time to prepare yourself.

You: works fine

Jungkook: we could meet sometime before that if you'd like?

You: for the competition?

You: like to discuss something about it?

Jungkook: nah

Jungkook: just to meet and get to know each other better ;)

Your stomach sinks at what he could possibly mean. But you try your best to not come to any conclusions, although the little wink at the end of his text makes it incredibly difficult for you to do so.

You: is this for anything in particular?

You: i'm asking because i'll have to check my schedule and make time accordingly

Jungkook: nothing in particular really

Jungkook: well we could maybe just go to a restaurant

Jungkook: eat and chat ;)

Uh oh. This definitely sounds like a date.

But you still refuse to come to a conclusion and decide to ask him directly.

You: tell me if I'm wrong but this is sounding like a date 🤔

Jungkook: well then maybe it is 😏

When you read the text that confirms your suspicions, you sigh.

You're aware that Jungkook thinks you're his dream partner. With that awareness comes the understanding that sooner or later he'd have asked you out on a date. Although to be fair, you didn't think it would be this soon. You thought you had more time before you had to face the consequences of your actions.

But then it's Jungkook. He does have this aura about him which gives off the impression that he just goes after what he wants, irrespective of the pace the rest of the world is accustomed to.

However, you don't feel excited at the thought of going on a date with him. If anything, it is making you feel guilty.

One month. Just one month. It's not permanent. The moment you remove the ring, Jungkook will stop seeing you as his ideal partner. Everything will go back to normal.

You repeat the words in your head like a mantra until you feel some of the guilt subside.

You: well then

You: it's a date

Jungkook: great!

Jungkook: are you free tomorrow? After the classes get over?

You: yeah, I am

Jungkook: great I'll come to pick you up

Jungkook: wear something nice for me 😉

Jungkook: oh also, what kind of food do you prefer?

Jungkook: Italian? Mexican? Chinese?

You: anything works for me

Jungkook: well that answer won't do :(

You: umm well then Italian sounds great!

Jungkook: done 👍

Wow.

You stare at your screen blankly as the whole conversation sinks in.

Looks like you are going on a date with Jungkook. That too tomorrow.

"I don't understand who made him a professor," Brie grumbles, looking done with everything.

"Trust me everyone in the class has the same question," you murmur, feeling a mix of amusement, frustration and annoyance.

The professor in question is Mr. Reymond, who writes whatever he has to, on board, while talking and explaining it to himself. Once done, he will ask the class if they have understood or not, but hey, he doesn't really care. Hence, he answers his own question and rubs the board before moving on to the next topic.

"Man, his classes always make me feel sleepy," she yawns. "It's such a pain in the ass to pretend that you're listening to his shit."

"Eh, it's not like he cares," you shrug, noticing the number of people who are busy chatting away, some even occupied with their phones.

Brie notices the same thing and wonders if she could get away with sleeping through the class. "Do you think he would care if we sleep?"

"Try it out, I guess."

"I should give it a try, it would be like a cool experiment," she nods, applauding herself for coming up with something this great. "Now, c'mon close your notebook and put your head down on the table."

You glance at her sideways. "I never said I'm gonna accompany you in your little sleep experiment."

"It's not like copying those notes blankly would do you any benefit." She rolls her eyes and takes the initiative to take your notebook away from you and closes it shut. "Now sleep."

You huff and contemplate. You won't lie, you are really sleepy. You woke up earlier than usual because you had to choose what to wear for today's date. It wasn't an easy decision to make as you had to settle on something that won't look too formal or fancy to attend classes in but at the same time won't look too casual to wear on a date. Ultimately, you squared down to a yellow dress. It's simple yet elegant, which makes it the perfect choice.

But the question in hand is should you give in to your sleepiness? You look at Brie who's looking at you with eyes full of expectations and sigh. A nap is worth it. Who knows maybe you'll wake up looking fresh.

Brie grins at you, satisfied and proud when you put your head down before she does the same.

As it turns out, Mr. Reymond couldn't really care less about his students taking a nap in the middle of the class. Good for both of you, as when the bell rings, you two wake up feeling refreshed and energised.

"Want to go to the nearby cafe?" Brie asks, as she packs her bag up.

"I can't, I have assignments to complete."

That's technically not a lie, you do have assignments that need to be done. However, it's not due to the assignments that you deny accompanying Brie to the cafe. You're supposed to go on your little date with Jungkook and it's only after the date that you'll be able to return to your college work. But you can't tell that to Brie and hence give her the half-truth.

She sighs and mumbles to herself, "I should have guessed that response."

You two head out of the class and you take your phone out with the intention of shooting Jungkook a text to let him know that your classes are done for the day.

"Hey, isn't it that guy?" Brie elbows you and asks in a hushed whisper. "What's his name?"

You furrow your brows, interrupted mid texting and look at Brie in a questioning manner. She motions you to look in a particular direction and your eyes follow hers.

Your mouth parts open in surprise and your steps halt when you realise who it is. "Jungkook."

"Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook! That's what his name is," Brie exclaims, finally feeling satisfied having put the puzzle of his name in place.

You look back at the screen of your phone and delete the words you had typed. Fuck, when Jungkook had said he would be coming to pick you up, you didn't think he meant right in front of your classroom.

"Isn't he a fashion designing student, though? What is he doing here in our building?" Brie asks out loud to no one in particular.

"You know him?" Your ask, your interest suddenly piqued.

"Well duh," she states with an expression as if that should be obvious. "Who doesn't know him? He's famous for being a fuckboy. Wonder what the girls see in him, though."

Well, that makes sense. After all, Jungkook has got quite a reputation for that. "I mean, he's attractive. I think that does it for him," you shrug.

She scoffs in amusement and looks at you in disbelief. "Y/N, please. He's not attractive."

Now, it's you who's looking at her in disbelief. "Are you blind? He's literally one of the most handsome guys I have ever come across."

"Eh, I don't find anything attractive about being a jerk," Brie replies without missing a beat as she looks over to where Jungkook is with eyes full of judgement.

Say whatever anyone wants, there's no changing Brie's mind about the opinion she holds of him. She had seen many girls cry over him and had formed a sense of dislike towards the guy from the very beginning. But it wasn't something personal until Jungkook broke Sana's heart.

Sana, who's a very dear friend of Brie's, is also one of the sweetest and kindest people she has ever met. The audacity Jungkook had playing with Sana's heart had Brie fuming.

She had half the mind to go and punch Jungkook right in his face but somehow managed to hold back her anger. But it wasn't only Jungkook who was on the receiving end of her rage, it was Sana as well.

She simply couldn't understand why Sana would ever expect anything more from Jungkook, despite knowing the kind of reputation he has. Brie did not mean to be that person, but she couldn't help but think that people walking up to him and offering their hearts on a silver plate gave Jungkook the perfect excuse to not own up to the hurt he causes people and say 'they signed up for it'.

However, according to Sana, she had genuinely believed that Jungkook cared for her and liked her enough to not let the relationship be just another casual fling. But of course, she was proved wrong.

Brie had several logical arguments why expecting something more from Jungkook was foolish. But the tears that streamed down Sana's face, had made Brie's heart soften. It made her realise that she did not need to make the points as Sana was most likely telling those things to herself anyway.

Things become messy when despite knowing, that you'll end up getting hurt, you go for it, thinking and believing that it's worth it. When the hurt and pain do catch up, who do you blame? The person who caused it or yourself?

If only Jungkook had a decent bone in his body and knew how to respect people's emotions.

Nevertheless, since that incident, Brie has been holding this resentment towards the boy for making someone like Sana feel this way. She simply can't keep calm every time she thinks about the amount of hurt he causes people and gets away with. Just like that, without any consequences.

Imagine her surprise when she realises that Jungkook; the very same Jungkook she despises, is walking towards the both of you.

The moment you have the same realisation, you look away from him and look down at your feet. You chew on your bottom lip and keep your gaze fixed on the ground, trying to avoid any weird looks you might be getting from the people around.

Jungkook stops in front of you and grins at the way you refuse to look at him. He bends down so that your eyes and his, are at the same level and greets you. "Hey, Y/N."

"Umm hey," you greet back meekly.

He assumes you're feeling shy and the thought makes him oddly satisfied.

"Are you ready for our date?" He queries.

Brie chokes on thin air and starts coughing loudly. "What do you mean by date?"

You look up immediately to answer Brie before Jungkook can but your words get stuck in your throat when you notice the look on Brie's face.

It's that of incredulity.

Her eyes go back and forth between you and Jungkook and it immediately makes you feel the same way you did under Jimin's gaze. You assume that she is most likely thinking the same thing Jimin did; why is Jungkook going on a date with you?

But the fact that it's coming from Brie, makes you more defensive than you were when it came to Jimin.

You almost feel betrayed?

"I think the word 'date' is pretty self-explanatory," you snap, without intending to.

Your sudden defensive stance and stiff body language catches Brie off guard. And before she can ask anything else, you leave the spot and start walking towards the main gate.

Jungkook walks right behind you.

"Who was she?" Jungkook pries once the two of you are out. Although the interaction was short, he could feel how the question asked by the girl caused you visible discomfort.

You take a deep exhale and feel immediate regret for the way you responded to Brie. You don't know why you reacted the way you did. Anyone would think the way Jimin did. Anyone would wonder why someone like Jungkook would take interest in someone like you. So what if Brie is your friend? That doesn't mean that she doesn't have a pair of eyes and common sense. Why did you even think that she would have a different reaction?

"She's Brie," you sigh softly. "She's my friend."

"I see," Jungkook nods, taking the hint that you do not wish to elaborate any further. "Should I call the car then?"

This has you blinking and stops your overthinking. "Car?"

Jungkook winks at you. "You didn't think I'd take you out in an uber, did you?"

Well to be fair, you didn't expect anything in particular. You were too busy stressing about how you should go about things to think about what Jungkook might have planned for the date.

You watch silently as Jungkook types something on his phone and moments later a Mercedes pulls over. You're too much of a noob to guess what the model is but you can tell it's expensive (well, to be fair, all Mercedes cars are).

He quickly walks up to the car and opens the backseat door for you. "Come on, hop in," he urges you, looking excited.

You thank him with a small, unsure smile and get in. Jungkook shuts the door before jogging over to the other side and getting in.

He sits next to you and asks the chauffeur to start the car, having already told him where to go.

However, you have no idea. You're in a car which has three people in it and it's only you who has no clue where you're headed. This doesn't sit right with you and causes your curiosity to spike.

"Where are we going?" You query looking at Jungkook expectantly.

"You will see when we reach there," he replies with a small curve of his lips. "That dress looks really cute on you, by the way. It suits you."

You have never believed any of Jungkook's compliments. You know he only says that because he is viewing you through the rose-coloured glasses the ring has put on him. Hence, every time he gives you these little compliments, you just pretend to accept them with a smile.

But for the first time, it occurs to you, how thoughtless it is of you to not compliment him in return.

Hence your eyes go on a little mission to find something you could compliment him on, knowing full well that there's plenty you could acknowledge and sing praises of.

However, your little mission is proven to be fatal when you get distracted by how ethereal Jungkook looks.

For the first time, you take notice of the white shirt he's wearing. The plain simple piece of clothing makes him look like an angel but the top three buttons which are kept undone make him look like sin.

With his right hand gripping the roof handle, his elbow rests on the window pane and the position somehow makes the veins in his arms bulge out. You find yourself feeling grateful for the rolled-up sleeves as it lets you have a clear view of his thick muscular arms that are inked with tattoos.

Your eyes move from his arms to the expanse of chest that's visible and the sight has you gulping. Gosh, why does it make you want to run your hands over his chest? You shake that thought away and think that it's a wise decision for your eyes to move on to somewhere safer; where you won't be having these unholy thoughts. Your eyes trail up towards his neck and eventually to his face.

His lips. They look so soft and plump and it makes you imagine how they'd feel against yours. The little mole under his lower lip adds to the beauty of his mouth and makes them look even more kissable. You don't even want to get started with the way his lips are curved upwa–

Wait. Why are they curved upwards?

Your eyes snap to his and shit. He's been watching you along.

Your whole body heats up in embarrassment and you scold yourself for having these thoughts.

Jungkook is attractive but that doesn't mean that you should be going on thinking about how kissable his lips are. It was one thing when you were doing it earlier but it's a whole different thing, now. You don't want to imagine kissing him because you'd never let something like that happen.

Him kissing you under the influence of the ring would be the same thing as someone spiking a person's drink and taking advantage of them. You'd never be able to live with yourself, if you were to do that.

You know what you're doing right now is probably no better but as long as it's harmless flirting and silly dates.

Only a month. Only a month. Only a month.

"Done checking me out?"

You look away, flustered and ashamed. "I wasn't."

He knows you're lying.

He also knows that you know that he knows, you're lying. Hence, he decides not to argue. Instead, he takes out his phone and connects it to the car's speaker.

Your brows knit together when you hear the melody that's now playing through the speakers.

"That's my favourite song," you inform Jungkook, your state of surprise turning into that of joy. Your mood lifts instantly as the light-hearted song greets your ears.

"I know," he responds, trying his level best to hold back the smile that's threatening to make an appearance.

Now, that has you looking at him weirdly. How on earth does he know that this is one of your favourite songs?

"How do you know that this is my favourite song?"

"Let's just say I stumbled upon a post yesterday that happened to let me know of this fun fact." The smile that he was trying to hold back, finally breaks across his face and his eyes sparkle with mischief.

Your brows shoot up. Here, you were thinking that maybe it's just pure coincidence and that maybe he likes this song too. But, no. Boy knew exactly what he was doing.

A fleeting thought appears in your mind as to what pictures he might have seen and whether you even looked presentable in them. But you find it easier to get rid of that thought by telling yourself that he's still here. If he had found those pictures ugly, he would have not gone on a date with you.

"So you were stalking me?" You squint your eyes at him in a scolding manner. "You just keep proving to me that you're a red flag."

Jungkook raises his hands in the air as if surrendering. What other option does he have anyway? He has nothing to say to defend himself. It's not like he wants to even. He isn't ashamed of his doings, at all. If anything, it was fun.

"Don't blame me. It's all your fault anyways," he retorts. "Your profile appeared on my for you page and how could I resist the urge to stare at that gorgeous face of yours?"

A red hue appears on your cheeks. You may not believe in his words but the way he looks at you every time while complimenting you, makes you want to hide from his intense gaze.

"Well, my profile let you know of my favourite song," you state, trying to deflect the topic. "What else did you happen to learn from my socials?"

"Let's see. You have a family dog, he's an Australian Shepherd. His name is Jack," he mused while running a hand through his hair. "Your favourite subject is biology and maths. You have a thing for Tom Hiddleston. And chocolate-flavoured ice cream is your favourite."

Damn. They are all correct. You didn't even know someone could know so much about you just from your instagram page.

"You know almost everything about me," you almost stutter your words out.

"I hardly think it's much. I bet there's a lot I don't know about you," he comments.

There isn't. Nothing interesting, at least.

Clearing your throat, you once again, change the topic of conversation and make it about him. "Compared to what I know about you, you do seem to know a lot about me."

He hums, acknowledging your point. "Well, what would you like to know about me?"

You shake your head, refusing to make things easy. "Nah, nah, nah. I'm going to stalk your insta and deduce my facts."

He laughs with his head thrown back, putting his neck on display. "Sure, then. Go ahead. Do your research."

You huff as if to say, challenge accepted. Taking your phone out from your bag, you type his name on the search bar and click on his profile when it shows up.

"Look at that, you haven't followed me yet," Jungkook whispers right next to your ears as he leans towards you to get clearer access to your mobile screen.

You yelp, not expecting him to be that close. Shuddering when his breath hits the skin of your neck, you pray to whatever god there is to give you strength to make it through the car ride.

You try to focus back on the screen and on the silly challenge you have taken. Scrolling through his insta, you realise there isn't really anything that gives away much about Jungkook. His account is full of pictures of his designs and some occasional photos with his friends and of him partying.

What's worse? All posts are captionless.

Not wanting to accept defeat, you choose to scroll down even further. There must be a time when he put up pictures without giving them much thought. Maybe when he was in high school? Yes, that sounds about right. That's definitely the age when people find even a leaf on the ground worth posting on their social media.

However, your strong sense of determination dims when you reach his last post only to find that it's some quote.

You huff and lock your phone screen, which makes Jungkook lean back, finally allowing you to breathe freely.

"This is unfair," you complain with no real bite.

"It's not my fault, I'm just a private person," he defends himself with a wide bunny grin.

"But you know so much about me."

"I assure you, you'll get plenty of time to make things even," he winks, suggesting that this might be both of your first date but definitely not the last.

"You're under my observation," you inform him in a serious tone. "Just wait until I have got you all figured out."

"I will be patiently waiting," his eyes crinkle in the corner as he enjoys the playfulness of the conversation.

Before you can come up with a response, the car comes to a halt and you're reminded that this car ride isn't going to go on forever. You wish, it did though.

Maybe it's the ring that makes you feel confident enough to say what comes to your mind but somehow, you were comfortable like this with Jungkook. But now it feels like the small bubble you were in, has popped. You will have to step out and you are sure people will give you the same looks Jimin and Brie did.

Before you can mentally prepare yourself, a valet opens the door for you. You smile at him and step out.

Your mouth falls open when you realise where you are. It's one of the costliest Italian places in the city.

"I knew you'd like it."

Jungkook feels content seeing the look of awe and surprise on your face. It tells him that you were not expecting to be here and perhaps that's exactly what he wanted.

"I-I do," you stutter trying to find the right words to describe how you're feeling. "It's just that I wish you had told me that we were coming here. I would have dressed accordingly."

"If you were to ask me, you are dressed just right." Jungkook comments. "And you don't need to worry about dressing right. Irrespective of what you wear, you are always the prettiest in the room."

You give Jungkook a small smile to let him know that you appreciate his words. However, his words don't have much of an effect in easing your nerves.

How can it ease you when you know that everything Jungkook is saying is because of the ring? You know you aren't the prettiest. Something which is highlighted even more by Jungkook's presence next to you.

Jungkook takes a hold of your hand— totally oblivious to your insecure thoughts— and with a wide excited grin guides you inside.

"Good evening sir. Good evening ma'am," the receptionist greets the both of you with a warm welcoming smile. "May I please have the name the reservation was made under?"

"Jeon Jungkook," Jungkook replies.

The receptionist nods and does a quick check on his computer before looking up. "Sam will guide you to your table. I hope you enjoy your time with us."

A waiter approaches both of you and upon reading his nametag you realise that it's Sam.

"Please follow me," he requests, politely.

You and Jungkook trail behind Sam until he leads you both to a more secluded area and ultimately stops near a two-seater round table. On your way, you keep your eyes fixed on the ground and try to make a curtain out of your hair so that people don't get a look at your face.

"Please take a seat. Your attendant will be with you shortly." Sam bows, before taking his leave.

Now that you feel a bit more comfortable with the area being secluded, you set your hair back in position and take notice of your surroundings.

You look around in amazement and take in how quaint the place is and how peaceful it feels. Unlike the low murmur outside, there's a low soothing music in the air which greets your ears and makes you relax. The lights are dimmed and to make up for it, hangs a chandelier right above the table and a beautiful vase of bright red roses sits at the centre. Dare you say everything looks very romantic?

The sound of chair scraping against the floor catches your attention.

"Per favore prendi posto," Jungkook says with an Italian accent. Tries to. It comes out so adorably terrible that you end up laughing.

He frowns, confused. "Was that funny?"

You try your best to stop your laughter but the confused expression on his face doesn't help. A few moments later, as your laughter dials down to small chuckles, you finally manage to reply to his question. "It was unique. I have never heard that accent before."

Jungkook squints his eyes and extends his hand for you to take. "Why don't you teach me then?"

You put your hand in his and let him guide you to your seat. "I know for a fact that every time I try to do an accent, it comes out terrible. So, I'm not even going to try."

Once you are seated, Jungkook does the same. "Well, I should at least get points for trying. I listened to a few Italian phrases over and over again during our entrepreneurship class."

"Well you do get points for your efforts," you smile cheekily and shrug.

"Well you're worth the effort," he flirts, not missing the opportunity.

Worth the effort. Something about those words makes your smile drop.

Mayhaps, it's because you have recently been questioning your worthiness and have been wondering exactly how much of the good things and experiences that you have always wished for, do you actually deserve.

Going on a date with a handsome guy and having your heart flutter at the romantic gestures made by him, had always been something that you wanted to feel and experience.

Here you are. Having exactly that experience but feeling way different than you had imagined.

Here's Jungkook, saying how you're worth the effort and all it does is remind you of the fact that it's all because of a ring. That you need a ring for someone to think that way.

Ironically, it makes you feel worthless.

"Good evening, I'll be your attendant for today," a waitress arrives and introduces herself to the both of you with a smile. However—and you might be wrong—but the smile she shoots at you and the one she shoots Jungkook seem different.

"Uhh right," Jungkook trails off awkwardly, realising that the two of you haven't taken a look at the menu at all. "We have not yet decided what to order."

The waitress smiles, putting her beautiful set of teeth on display. "That's not an issue, sir. Just let me know when you're ready and I'll take your order."

With that she bows and leaves.

"Take this," he hands you a menu book while he opens another copy of the same. "I have never been to this place before but I have heard that the food is good."

Your eyes scan the list of food items on the menu book and the prices next to them. Everything is overpriced but it does not surprise you. As long as the preparations are good, you think.

After much thinking, you choose to order lasagne while Jungkook orders risotto.

When the waitress is done taking the orders, she asks if there's anything else the two of you would like. You can't help but notice how despite the question involving both of your choices, her question is directed at Jungkook. Her eyes remain fixed on his and she totally ignores your presence.

It's only when Jungkook asks if you'd like some red wine that she is forced to acknowledge you.

"Yeah, sure." You could really do with some wine now.

You exhale a sigh when the waitress leaves. To not overthink what her behaviour could possibly mean—although you already have some idea—you try to make a conversation with Jungkook.

"This place is really nice," you look around, appreciating the little details that make this place such a calm and soothing one. "You have good taste."

"To be honest, I just googled the costliest Italian place near me and this came up."

You quirk a brow, finding his thought process to be somewhat funny. "So you just wanted to show off how rich you are?"

He finds your question amusing. What he finds even more entertaining is how directly you ask him about it. "Well, being rich is supposed to be attractive."

"I mean I guess everyone has their preferences," you nod, not giving his words much thought.

However, your casual tone has Jungkook suddenly curious about whether you find it attractive or not.

"What are your preferences? Do you find rich guys attractive?"

"I won't necessarily say so. I mean sure, it's ideal if a person is well off. But it's not like being rich is a character trait or something."

Jungkook finds himself feeling confused by your words as it doesn't make it clear to him. You said you don't really find it attractive but then you also mentioned how it's ideal if it's someone who's well off.

You notice the look of confusion on his face and elaborate your point a little. "If you were to imagine the perfect case scenario, you'd obviously imagine there to be no lack. Why would you daydream and imagine a person having any sort of struggle, be it financial or of any other form?"

Jungkook kind of gets your point. Perfect case scenario; the person is well off. But it still doesn't satisfy him as not everyone can afford that lifestyle. "Not everyone's rich, though. There's only a small part of society that can be classified as rich and well-off. Does it not make the rich ones more attractive and more desirable?"

You hum, finding the conversation interesting. "Again, like I said it's about individual preference–"

"What do you prefer?" He cuts you off, reminding you how his initial query was about your preferences. He couldn't care less about other people's choices if he were, to be honest.

"For me, I don't think I have considered a person's bank balance before going out with them," you muse, thoughtfully. "So no, I don't think being rich makes someone attractive."

"How come?" He prods finding your response simply absurd.

"For one, it's their parents'. No one becomes rich at the age we are unless you're in the entertainment industry or you own a startup that took off really well," you hum and pause for a moment or two, trying to figure out how to put your thoughts into words.

"Second, money is never stable. You can be a billionaire one day, a millionaire the next and broke the day after. It could go vice versa as well, you could become a billionaire from being broke," you add, your words spilling out one after the other. "Wealth will come and go but if my attraction is based on that, then it's bound to be fickle."

When you had initially said that a guy's wealth is not necessarily attractive to you, Jungkook presumed that you were lying. But as you speak he can sense the amount of thought you're giving into your words and realises that you were speaking the truth.

"Being wealthy is advantageous though."

"Never said it wasn't–" you agree, "–and trust me no one knows that better than the people who come from a humble background."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He tilts his head, trying to understand where you're taking this conversation.

"Some like to assert their superiority by displaying the advantages they enjoy. They believe that others need to be reminded of the luxury the rich can afford. Which is kind of stupid because, people who aren't well off, are aware of it already."

"Do you think I consider myself to be superior just because I'm rich?" A challenging look enters his gaze as he asks the question that comes to his mind immediately after hearing your words.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if you didn't," you reply, not faltering under his gaze and perhaps for the first time, it's you who smirks in satisfaction.

Jungkook, who had been leaning forward and had one of his elbows on the table, now reclines such that his back touches the chair. He looks at you for a few moments and then suddenly breaks into a fit of chuckles. Something that causes you to giggle as well.

Jungkook has never been shy about the wealth his family has acquired over the years. Be it in the way he throws luxurious parties every once in a while or be it in the way he chooses different cars to arrive at college, he always makes a statement about his wealth. It is also one of the many reasons why he has never had to put much effort into getting the girls he has been interested in.

He does not know how many of them have found his habit of displaying his money attractive and how many have found it the opposite, but one thing's for sure; no one has ever called him out for it right on his face. And he just can't help but find amusement and humour in it.

He doesn't even know how the conversation came to this, because to be honest, it's a very weird topic of discussion for a first date. But he won't lie, he enjoyed it nevertheless. It was refreshing.

The rest of the evening goes by just fine. Once the wine gets in your system, you loosen up and giggle at the smallest of things. The dishes, although overpriced, are delicious and are a great treat for both of your tastebuds.

Perhaps, the only thing that makes you uncomfortable is the waitress. Every time she comes to your table, she somehow manages to intentionally ignore you without making it obvious. Her total disregard for you and the unnecessarily wide grins she gives Jungkook, makes you squirm in your seat.

However, you try your best to ignore it. You succeed at it even. But once you two are done with your food, she comes with the bill and what you have been trying to ignore, becomes unavoidable.

You take the bill, intending to split it in two when you notice that she has left a small note at the bottom.

Call me when you get bored with her ;)

And right below it, is her number.

Your mood deflates dramatically when you read it. Is it that obvious to others, that you aren't exactly what someone would prefer? That sooner or later, someone would get bored of you?

Believing the answer to these questions to be yes, you pretend to not have noticed the little note and pass the bill to Jungkook.

After one month, when you remove the ring and when Jungkook ultimately stops seeing you as his dream partner, who knows maybe he will end up using her number. Yes, you can totally see that happening. She's also his type. Unlike you.

Jungkook opens the menu book, inside which lies the bill and notices what the waitress has written for him. It makes him chuckle. "She left her number for me."

Your left eye twitches a little. "I know."

He shakes his head at the waitress's silly behaviour, not paying it any mind.

You won't ever say it out loud but maybe you expected a little more reaction from Jungkook. Anything to defend you and recognize how disrespectful her words were.

But you try pushing those thoughts away. It's only for a month and Jungkook is most likely more than used to girls giving him their numbers. Moreover, it's not like Jungkook would be here sitting in front of you on a date, had it not been for the ring. Who are you to expect things from him when you're doing something so low? Beggars can't be choosers.

"I am gonna pay my share of the bill using card," you inform him, unzipping your purse.

Jungkook frowns at you. "You do realise that I'm the one who's paying right?"

"Nope, we are gonna split the bill in half," you vehemently disagree.

He is baffled at your weird behaviour. He's the one who asked you out on a date, he's the one who chose this place and hence, shouldn't it be a given that he's the one who's going to pay?

"There's no way I'm letting you pay," he states, leaving no room for argument.

Splitting the bill in two, is simply what has always seemed right to you. You have always been the kind of person who would offer and prefer to pay for their share. You believe that to be morally right.

But maybe, if it were someone else, you wouldn't be so hellbent on paying. You would have understood that it's only a first date and that they are more than comfortable paying. If it were someone else, you'd most likely accept their generosity and later take them out on a date to make things equal.

But it's Jungkook. The same Jungkook who thinks lowly of the real you. If you were to let him pay, you doubt you'd be able to sleep peacefully at night.

You see how determined he is to not let you pay but you refuse to back down. You gnaw on your lower lip as you come up with something that might just be a little childish and silly.

Before Jungkook can comprehend a thing, you're getting up from your seat and quite literally start running. Jungkook sits there with his eyes wide in surprise as he fails to understand what just happened. It's only after a few moments that he realises that you're headed towards the reception, to pay.

This makes him get up from his seat at the speed of light and he too starts sprinting like a man on a mission.

However, and much to his dismay, when he approaches the reception, your card is in the process of being swiped.

Jungkook heaves, not prepared to be running right after having a meal. "My goodness, you're something."

"For someone who looks this fit, you really shouldn't be running out of breath after sprinting a few steps," you tease playfully, trying to steer away the conversation from the topic of paying the bill.

He immediately tries to take deep slow breaths to give the impression that he isn't having a tough time getting air in his lungs. "I can breathe just fine. I was just caught off guard by you suddenly taking off."

"You left me with no other choice," you shrug as you collect your card back.

Having finally accepted defeat, Jungkook swipes his card and proceeds with his payment.

When the both of you are done, you two head out after thanking the man at the reception for their services. Once out, you take a deep inhale of the fresh air, feeling glad that you're out of the restaurant and of the fact that you'll most likely never see that waitress again. You think you're finally done with all the uncomfortable situations for today and find yourself looking forward to returning to the dorms.

You're proven wrong when Jungkook asks a question you didn't even know had the potential of making you feel distressed.

"Let's take a picture."

He takes his phone out and opens the camera application. The moment he turns the camera towards you, you bring your palms up to cover your face.

"Ah, no I look so tired. Don't click my pictures."

Jungkook frowns but complies and brings his phone down. At least, for the time being.

"You weren't this shy when we met the first time," he wonders out loud. You feeling uncomfortable modelling in front of Jimin and Taehyung was understandable, after all, you were meeting them for the first time and you don't have much experience with modelling. The fear of embarrassing yourself is natural. However, the more time he spends with you, the more he realises how shy and skittish you are. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just different from the first impression he had of you.

Your eyes snap to him when you register his words. Your mind reminds you of the things you did before the ring and it immediately makes you cringe.

"Please don't remind me of that," you mumble in a small voice, suddenly finding your heels very interesting.

"Hey," he whispers upon realising that he might have said the wrong thing. He places his index finger below your chin and makes you look at him. "I meant it when I said that you're always the prettiest in the room."

It's all because of the ring. You know Jungkook would never say this, otherwise. Despite that, the insecure voice in your head quietens downs a little.

"Even though your hair is a little messy," he adds light-heartedly and pats the top of your head to smooth out the frizziness. "You still look unearthly."

His eyes hold a certain warmth and gentleness to them, that you haven't seen from him before. It makes the rest of the world fade away and makes you whisper, "Thank you."

Had it been anyone else, Jungkook would be making his move and would be kissing them right now. But you're not just anyone else. You're, you.

Jungkook has always had a certain formula for dates. Ask them out, book a table in an expensive hotel, take them to the destination in one of his luxurious cars, flirt around a little to make them feel flustered and once the date is coming to an end, kiss them. It's always been that simple.

However, the date with you was different. Except for a few particular moments, he didn't feel like he had the upper hand at all. It was like going on a pre-planned journey but then you took over the driver seat and took him along with you on a ride.

"Do you want to take a picture?" This time, he asks in a gentle tone, instead of just stating it like he did the previous time.

Although you still feel unsure, you nod.

Jungkook, happy that you finally agreed to take a picture, brings his phone up and positions it such that the both of you are in frame. He tilts his head so that it's touching yours and clicks the picture.

He looks at the photo and grins, satisfied with the result. "Look at the picture, it is cute."

You fail to find anything cute about yourself but hum, nevertheless.

When you reach your dorms, it's around eight in the evening. Thanks to Jungkook who wanted to go around the city a little and took the long way back.

Nevertheless, you are glad to be back in the comfort of your dorms. Thankfully your roommate isn't here, which saves you from the grilling questions she would be throwing at you, otherwise.

You complete your assignments, clean up your room and make yourself a packet of ramen before going to bed.

With your cheek pressed against the pillow and your arms tightly hugging the plush toy you got recently, you recall the events from today's date.

It was one of a kind, that's for sure.

At first, it didn't feel quite right. But gradually, you just went with the flow.

The more you spend time with Jungkook, the more you get comfortable saying the things you usually would. Of course, it's not all rainbows and sunshine but it's still enough. If the Y/N from two weeks ago were to learn about the way you talk to him now, she would most likely never believe you.

Most importantly, you don't dread spending time with him as much.

Ignoring the waitress incident, you'd say that the date was enjoyable even.

One moment, which stands out to you, however, is the little moment you shared with him towards the end of the date. You weren't surprised by the words he said but the seriousness with which he said them almost had you breathless.

A small smile appears involuntary on your lips as you recall the look in his eyes and it almost makes you feel….shy?

But the moment you realise what you're doing, you shake away the feeling. It's all because of the ring, you remind yourself repeatedly until the little warmth that you were feeling is completely gone.

Pledging to not think about the date and Jungkook anymore, you tightly shut your eyes and wait for sleep to take over you.

When your eyes open, you're in a whole different place.

You don't know where you are but it feels comfortable, familiar and safe. You look around a little in hopes that maybe you will recognise the place but you fail to find any clues.

After some time, you notice a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

But wait, is this a tunnel?

You don't know. It might as well be a cave. You can't tell, really. Whatever it might be, you don't feel the urge to figure out the exact answer as it feels so familiar. As if you have known this place forever.

However, the light has you curious. What is it? Where is it coming from? What lies out there?

You hesitate for a split second if you should leave this place of comfort but in the end, curiosity gets the best of you.

You take tiny steps and head outside. The bright light makes you wince in discomfort. A look of irritation appears on your features as your pupils try to adjust to the brightness. You squint your eyes hard and try to look for the source of the light. However, you look away immediately, finding it impossible to stare at the object.

Giving up, you allow your pupils the time it needs to adapt. When you feel comfortable enough to look around, your eyes take in everything about the environment you currently find yourself in.

It's new, somewhere you have never been before which makes you feel nervous. Who knows what you're going to encounter here? What kind of people you'll meet? What experiences will you have?

A sudden cheer coming from a distance catches your attention and without giving it a second thought, you start walking in that direction. Anything is better than being alone in an unknown place.

However, after a few steps, what you see, dissipates your fears.

You see swings, seesaws, slides and a variety of other rides that look incredibly fun. Birds chirp away, colourful butterflies fly from one flower to another and fishes swim in the pond.

It's a playground, you realise.

You look down at your feet and only then do you happen to notice that you're barefoot and that you have been walking on soft grass all along. Excitement blooms in your chest when you see how beautiful everything around you is. You have never felt anything like this before. There's so much to do, so much to enjoy and so much to see.

Deciding that it's the fishes you want to see first, you rush to the pond side and crouch down.

You stare in awe as you see a variety of fishes, varying vastly in size and colour, swim around in the water. Some occasionally come to the surface which causes small bubbles to come out of their mouths. Then, your eyes land on the water lilies and you gasp at how beautiful they are. You look at the water droplets that rest on the petals and you feel awe at how perfectly round they are; like little pearls. You dip your hand in the pond and the cold water brings contrast to the warmth you have been feeling on your skin since stepping out.

Warmth. Light. Too much light.

Suddenly something clicks in your mind and you realise that the source of light you were trying to figure out a few moments ago, was the Sun.

You giggle at the thought that it took you so much time to realise that.

You're so silly.

Shrill excited screams greet your ears and your eyes snap in the direction the noise came from. Your smile widens even further when you realise it's a group of children playing together. They look so happy and ecstatic chasing each other that it immediately makes you want to join.

You get up and run in their direction. "Can I join?" A bright grin plays on your lips as you look at them expectantly.

The children stop playing and look at you. Their bright smiles fade slowly and something cruel, and menacing takes over their features. The sky turns grey, thunder roars and owls start to screech.

You immediately know that there is something wrong. You turn around and start running with all that you have got.

But you only make it so far.

A tall, dark, hooded figure appears in front of you and out of nowhere, you lose your mobility. You try your best to move your feet and run but to no avail.

The mystery figure starts laughing loudly and you start feeling this crushing pain in your chest that's somehow both physical and emotional. You wail and cry for mercy but no one shows sympathy.

God, you should have just stayed where you were. Why did you choose to come out?

Your eyes snap open and the first thing you do is turn on the lights. Looking around you realise that you are in your dorm and that it was just a dream.

However, that realisation doesn't soothe you. You find yourself still being in flight or fight mode and the crushing pain in your chest refuses to leave.

You get up and grab a glass of water. With a displeased scowl on your face, you replay the dream you just had.

You have never had a dream like this before. You may have dreamt of monsters and magical places but never have you felt the emotions so vividly. And for some reason, the dream was scarier than any dream you have ever had.

You go to the washroom and splash your face with water. Taking a few deep breaths, you place your hand on your chest and try to calm yourself down.

After five minutes or so, you feel a bit steady. You splash your face a few more times before looking into the mirror.

It's only a dream, you tell yourself.

There's no point in trying to look into it or in trying to find some deeper meaning behind it. It may take a few minutes more for the remnant emotions to fade but there's no point in getting so worked up over it.

You sit on your bed and scroll through Instagram, hoping that it will act as a distraction and once again, find yourself waiting for sleep to take over.

The next day, you go to class looking like a zombie because sleep wasn't your friend last night. After that dream, it just simply refused to visit and as a result of which you were forced to stare at the ceiling like a fool.

You would have honestly preferred to miss the first few classes but then you refused to do so as you owe an apology to Brie. Talking to her and letting her know that you didn't mean to react that way comes way before getting an early morning nap.

With a practised speech (because you can't risk letting anything about the ring out) that you hope conveys your emotions, you walk into your class and look if Brie's here already. When you notice that she isn't, you find an empty seat and put your bag on the seat next to you, to save a seat for Brie.

You take out the storybook you started reading only a week ago and start reading it. However, after a few moments, you feel as if people are looking at you. You try to ignore it, thinking that it's just your mind playing games. But it soon becomes so uncomfortable that you are forced to look up from your book.

As it turns out, it wasn't just your mind playing games. People really are looking at you and are murmuring among themselves.

Before you can even come up with assumptions as to what this is about, someone taps on your shoulders, aggressively.

And of course, it's Brie.

"Explain this," she demands and shoves her phone at your face and looks at you, expecting an answer.

"Geez, calm down," you say with a light awkward chuckle.

"Sorry, can't," she clicks her tongue in annoyance and urges you to take a look at her phone.

You do so and look at the screen and you suddenly understand why people are looking at you weirdly. It's the same picture you and Jungkook clicked yesterday using his phone. The only difference is, it's now on Jungkook's instagram available for everyone to see.

"Shit," you whisper as your face pales.

You didn't for once consider the possibility that he will upload the picture on his Instagram.

There's nothing you can do now, you realise. It's already out and by the looks of it, is a topic of discussion among your peers.

Your eyes fall on the ring and a feeling of annoyance sparks within you. You thought this ring would make things easier for you. You just wanted one month of peace and happiness.

Why then, do you find yourself unable to feel those very emotions?

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Much love ❤️

#Jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook smut #Jungkook au #Jungkook series #College au #Strangers to lovers #Fantasy au-ish?#Jungkook x oc #Fic: gohd #Fuckboy jungkook

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teecupangel · 1 year

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Hear me out:

Soulmate au where soulmarks were created by the Isu to ensure that the right matches would be made in order to get to the chosen one.

They appear the moment two soulmates see each other for the first time, and they start itching after a few days of separation. After a week or so, they start burning.

By the time Desmond is born soulmarks are exceptionally rare, so he does not expect to get one himself, (and by all means he shouldn't get one, since we know that he is the chosen one) but he does, and it's right after he wakes up in Abstergo's Rome facility.

He's really hoping that his soulmate is the cute blonde lady, and not the crazy old guy.

(Ideally this would start as a Desmond/Lucy story only to then switch to a deconstruction of the soulmate trope as they both fall in love with different people instead. Time travel might be involved, for AltDes purpuses.)

(It's up to you whether Desmond and Lucy's soulmarks are a mistake on the Isu's part or something more sinister, maybe Juno's plan to get a new body by being reborn as Lucy's daughter after Desmond dies to save the world? Of course this would imply that in this timeline she doesn't kill her in Brotherhood...)

Or…

It’s a man-made created soulmark?

Like Abstergo managed to get the device that had been used to add the soulmark into humans and they tried to reverse engineer it?

It’s not perfect but they managed to make it work and all they have to do is inject a person with the ‘solution’ from the device that makes use of other chemical components that would trigger the ‘soulmate symptoms’ plus a secret ingredient.

The blood of the intended ‘partner’.

This isn’t how the device actually worked. The device itself used the DNA as seen in the calculations to set up the solutions which would be added to the humans’ genes using another device but Abstergo can’t find the device itself (the device is actually the Eye in the Grand Temple as that’s the one which has the capabilities to see into the future and thus can connect with the Calculations stable enough for the Capitoline Triad to add in the solutions into the Calculations) without the need of any injections to the targets.

So, Abstergo make do with creating an injection, calling it ‘YN-001’ and they injected it to both Desmond and Lucy while Desmond was unconscious so it only triggered when he first got out of the Animus and his eyes met Lucy’s.

Why?

Because by making Desmond believe that Lucy is his soulmate, he’d be easier to control for Project Siren.

But it all come crashing down when Juno controlled Desmond in the Colosseum vault, calling Lucy an abomination and showing everyone using the golden holograms that Lucy and Vidic had injected Desmond with YN-001 to make him believe Lucy is his soulmate.

If you want Lucy to live, Desmond’s feelings for her (which he believed to be love because he did believe he and Lucy were soulmates) makes him able to control his body before he stabs Lucy and he managed to strike a little to the right, missing her vital organs instead.

He still falls in a coma and Clay tells him the truth of Juno’s words. How the soulmate system had been created to ensure that Desmond was born. It was never about fated love or true happiness, it had always been to ensure the birth of the chosen one.

So… AC Revelations happen with Desmond jaded because of Lucy’s betrayal and the truth about the entire soulmate system.

When AC3 rolls around, Desmond actually confronts Bill and asked if he ever loved Desmond’s mother.

The hesitation in Bill’s voice as he tells him that he cared for his wife and she cared for him as well was all Desmond needed to know that they might have been soulmates but his parents didn’t even love one another.

So what did that mean for Ezio?

For Altaïr?

Ezio got the courage to leave the Brotherhood because he believed that Sofia was his soulmate and that they were meant to be together.

Altaïr married Maria and raised a family with her for decades because of the soulmark they shared.

Did that invalidate their feelings?

Did that invalidate their love for one another?

Desmond didn’t want to believe it.

Because if that was true…

If the whole soulmate system was meant to ensure that people would give birth to individuals that would later end up becoming part of Desmond Miles’ genes…

Then… didn’t that meant the feelings soulmates held for one another were their chains?

That they were unable to break from?

Unorganized Notes (AltDes because I was given an option and I will take it XD):

Desmond is under the impression that the soulmate system can influence feelings. It does not. The soulmate system relies on humans believing they are meant to fall in love with their soulmate to work. It can only trigger hormones and the burning sensation if they’re not with their soulmate but, other than that, the feelings are their own.

Desmond doesn’t believe this as he did fell in love with Lucy but her betrayal and the truth about the soulmate system made him believe that his own feelings were 'created' beyond his control and the only way to finally stop the feelings is after their ‘part’ of the calculations is done (which is true as Bill and his wife have been separated since the attack on the Farm and Bill doesn’t show any pain that should have come from the ‘burning’).

Desmond gets sent back in time a few months before the start of AC1 (late June 1191). From there, Altaïr and Desmond meet and they fall in love.

Desmond’s love for Altaïr is real for him because it’s not the soulmate system. However, he also knows that Altaïr would fall in love with his soulmate once they met. Altaïr doesn’t believe he has a soulmate and his feelings for Desmond are real for him as well. He also knows that Desmond hates the very concept of soulmates while Altaïr actually holds it in a high regard because his own parents were soulmates and he lost both of them at such an early age that he wished to believe they had been happy.

Desmond knows that and that’s why he could never tell Altaïr the truth about the soulmate system. It would be cruel and… Desmond loves Altaïr too much to tell him that his parents had him to ensure that Desmond Miles would be born.

Desmond is also jaded enough to tell Altaïr that once he meets his soulmate, he will ‘forget’ about Desmond so… Desmond doesn’t care how fast they were moving. He only had a few months with Altaïr and he was greedy enough to take and take as much as he could until Altaïr would no longer be by his side.

Altaïr wants to show Desmond that he won’t go anywhere even if his soulmate were to appear so he indulges all of Desmond’s wishes.

Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship is a secret… with only Kadar knowing about it because he saw the both of them together once and he promised not to say anything.

Then… June 1191 came and it’s up to you if Kadar survived or not.

Throughout Altaïr’s hunt for the Seven, Desmond is the only person who stayed by his side, not judging him for his failures. Some of the Assassins and informants try to help Altaïr because they wanted to but their actions are tainted by Al Mualim’s orders to make Altaïr work for their support. Because of this, Altaïr feels isolated with Desmond being the only one who stayed by his side. Desmond doesn’t stop him from thinking that because he knows their time together was slowly coming to a close so he holds Altaïr as tightly as he could for the few remaining weeks they have left.

Until…

September 1191 rolled around and Altaïr meets Maria Thorpe. His soulmark appears at the same time hers did and they both stared at each other with wide eyes before Altaïr runs away.

Instead of going to Malik like in canon, he goes to Desmond and Desmond knows just by looking at the rattled expression on Altaïr’s face that he had met Maria. He unclasped Altaïr’s hidden blade and stares at his soulmark, marking Altaïr’s left arm, before saying goodbye. Altaïr tries to stop him but Desmond tells him that the soulmark cannot be erased and Altaïr is ‘destined’ to be with Maria.

“Maybe… maybe in six years… you will remember that you loved me. Maybe…”

Altaïr promises never to forget his love for Desmond but Desmond believes he will forget it. Instead of saying that though, Desmond just smiles at him and tells him he has to go to Malik and save the Brotherhood.

The rest of the plot happens and Altaïr returns to Jerusalem as soon as he could even as he took the mantle of mentor. Instead, he finds Desmond’s home empty and… Maria there, holding a letter that Desmond had given her when she had been looking for Altaïr.

So, more angst happen here and there, Altaïr refuses to fall in love with Maria, Maria is torn between wanting to hate Altaïr and pitying him because she can see how much Altaïr was in pain, and…

Well, we can go for various endings for this one…

Possible Endings:

Downer-ish ending: Altaïr and Maria do fall in love in the end but Maria will always know that Altaïr’s feelings for her paled in comparison to how he feels for Desmond. When Sef is born, their soulmark stop trying to burn them if they try to leave each other’s side but, at that point, Altaïr loved his sons too much to abandon them. (If you want to turn this into a bittersweet complicated ending: Desmond visits after Sef’s birth and he asks Altaïr if he remembers how he loved him, Altaïr replies he never forgot and Desmond would have to live with the guilt of hurting Altaïr needlessly but still remaining by his side and becoming Altaïr’s lover who has a strained relationship with Maria)

Good-ish ending: Kadar stops Desmond from actually leaving and Altaïr manages to catch up, begging Desmond to stay by his side. His soulmark with Maria forces Maria and Altaïr to be near with one another every few days but Maria knows Altaïr’s heart belongs to Desmond. Desmond feels guilty for hurting Maria but Maria just waves it off as she has no reason to fall in love with a man in love with someone else. Maria and Altaïr’s chains finally break when Sef is born and Maria leaves Masyaf as she had always felt like a stranger in the Brotherhood (happy ending for Maria and our KadMar agenda: she goes stay with Kadar in Jerusalem instead and this could end up as romantic or platonic).

‘Golden’ ending: Altaïr uses the Apple to find a way to erase his and Maria’s soulmark with Maria being his ally as she doesn’t want to have a soulmark of a man who is obviously in love with another person. The Apple brings them to an Isu temple and Desmond is also there because, the truth was, he couldn’t bury his feelings for Altaïr and he wanted to be selfish for once so he was looking for a way to erase Altaïr’s soulmark so he can ‘remember’ Desmond. They end up using the device in that Isu temple after Altaïr tells Desmond that he never stopped loving him and the reason why they’re there is to erase his soulmark as well. Maria’s just there, feeling pity for the pain the two had gone through but also annoyed because a lot of the drama wouldn’t have happened if. They. Had. Talked. To. Each. Other. Instead. Of. Desmond. Running. Away. In. The. First. Place. Anyway, happy ending with Altaïr finally erasing his and Maria’s soulmark and Maria goes her own merry way with her dreams of wanting to find her own path.

(sidebar: if you want a soulmate AU AltDes, then may I suggest Zero Eclipse? The soulmate mark is an Isu invention in that one too (by the Isu Inanna) with a similar premise of ‘you will earn your soulmark if you do what we want you to do and follow the Calculation we chose’)

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karenandhenwillson · 4 months

Text

The enthusiasm about Bucktommy has brought out some conversations about the family Eddie, Chris, and Buck have built that leave me honestly a little speechless. Mostly because it's all so focused on this idealized idea of a nuclear family despite fandom usually being all for found family.

I've seen discussions in the past about some people bemoaning the fact that others seemingly put the traditional roles of a nuclear family on the members of the 118. I honestly never got that impression at all, but maybe I'm just really good in avoiding the really strange fanfiction by studying the tags. So I feel a little startled to now be in the position of this person saying "Why do you press everything into this nuclear family dynamic?"

There are many people who claim that any serious LI for Buck or Eddie (of course mostly focused on Buck right now) would utterly destroy the dynamic most of us have come to love in the Buckley-Diaz family. I call utter bullshit to that. They claim that either Buck or Eddie finding a serious LI would force them to break away from their friendship.

The funny thing is that we already have seen in this show how there can be very successfully built a family around two parents who aren't in a relationship (anymore in this case) whit both finding new partners. They did a beautiful job of showing how the friendship between Athena and Michael developed during and after their separation. They also created a wonderful friendship between the existing adults in the family and the new partners, and to show how these new partner stepped into the role of additional parents without replacing either Athena or Michael.

Oh, I already see people rising to argue against this comparison. "But they were married!"; "But they are the children’s biological parents!" (or worse: "But they are both actually the parents and not playing pretend!"); "But that was a hetero couple!" (Yeah, not getting into the semantics here.); "But Michael has legal obligations!".

So what? Do you really think biological relationships or legal relationships trump emotional relationships? I'd argue that any emotional relationship is ten times more important than any biological or legal relationship. There are people out there who don't give a fuck about their biological children because they don't have a emotional relationship with them. And others who don't give a fuck about any legal responsibilities.

We have seen numerous times how deep the connection between Buck, Eddie, and Chris is. We have seen Eddie fight to give his son a good life, to find him the best possible support. We have seen Buck relentlessly search for Chris after they got separated in the tsunami and have seen him take care of Chris when he was on the brink of breaking apart himself over watching Eddie getting shot right in front of him. We have seen Chris seek out Buck for support and council, and plotting pranks with Buck to play on his father.

There is no need for those emotional bonds to go away to find romantic partners who might have the potential to become life partners. And in Chris' case, I'm pretty sure there is no force at all that could break his emotional attachment to Buck or Eddie as long as neither of them does something to utterly break his trust.

Sure, there are a lot of people out in the world who wouldn't stand for stepping into that kind of dynamic without changing it. (And I have no doubt that everyone crying over how Eddie and Buck's friendship would need to break to make room for a LI are exactly that kind of people who expect their partner to be only friends with them.) But there are equally as many people out there who'd embrace the family Buck, Eddie, and Chris have built and who'd work hard to become part of that family instead of replacing anyone in it.

I think the biggest stumbling block for the Buckley-Diaz family is everyone pressuring Eddie into finding a woman to share his life with. He didn't even want to date until his aunt pressured him into it. And that's the only reason Marisol is even in the picture! Because his family and even Bobby are actively enforcing this idea in his head that for a family to exist, for a father to be happy, there needs to be a mother in the family's life.

It's coming back to this same bullshit idea that the only viable family model is a nuclear family with two parents and 2.5 children. Single parents are bad because a child needs a mother and a father otherwise the child will be utterly ruined. (And to remind all of you, people coming up with that line usually also claim: Queer parents are doubly bad because there needs to be a mother and a father!)

Buck, Eddie, and Chris could be perfectly fine to add to their family with LIs for Buck and Eddie. They just need to ignore these voices (from Eddie's family and from the fandom) that try to dictate to them how their family should work. They just need to find people who are open minded and willing to step into their existing family. And we have seen with Bobby and David that there are some great people out there who are very willing to do something like that!

#911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #bobby nash #athena grant #michael grant #david hale #buck and eddie and chris are a family #buck and eddie are platonic soulmates

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atom-writings · 1 year

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Hi if its ok to ask for a hc with the hetalia guys

What if they have a s/o whos a fashion student/designer who dose elegant, modern and femenine looks and also likes sketching to stress relif . Hope its not confusing ^^' and love the hc and stories you make with the hetalia characters

Whenever reading luds its fun

(Allies + Italy X Reader) Fashionista, artistic S/O!

(Feminine) Headcanons ~ A/N didnt do germany n japan bcs they would be like ok 👍love u. Do ur thing and thats it jskhkjj. req that seperately ig

Trigger Warning: None, just fluff!

Thank god you’re around because otherwise, Alfred would walk outside in neon shorts, a novelty t-shirt, and sandals with socks. Luckily he has deep pockets, so the two of you can go on shopping sprees together all the time. He’ll wear whatever you tell him to, just make sure he doesn’t buy another pair of pizza pants.

He does love how feminine you are though. As much as he hates to admit it, he internalized a lot of 50s ideals. It’s always been his fantasy to have a ladylike wife, someone who can smooth his rough edges, someone graceful and caring. Once he realised you exemplify those traits, he had to have you.

Your hobbies are the exact opposite of his, but he’s always happy to listen and support your interests. Any art you do, regardless of how much you like it, is ending up framed on the wall, too.

Arthur cares quite a lot about fashion, too! Although his tastes are a bit vintage and very conservative. He’d be very interested in your studies, every time you get home, he’ll ask you a million and one questions about the newest developments. And if you make your own clothes, he’ll pull some strings to get you your own studio. After all, what kind of idiot wouldn’t support the future head of the fashion industry?

He loves how elegant you are, too. He’s always been attracted to ultra-femininity, so your indulgences in that part of yourself always excite him. It’s nearly impossible for him to keep his hands off you when you wear those cute dresses…

He’s also always had a thing for femme fatales, but you didn’t hear it from me…

Oh, mon Dieu! You’re the perfect partner for Francis! He’s absolutely over the moon about having an artistic S/O! He wants to see all of your work, everything you’re studying, and everything you want to make! All your thoughts, your ideas, your aspirations, he wants to know all of it. There’s nothing better for creativity than in-depth discussions, right?

One annoying thing though, is just that… he really loves your work. So he is constantly requesting that you make more. It’s very motivating when you’re going through art block, but… it’s not like you can design all of his clothes! Of course, since he’s also very skilled in that area, he’s very willing to help you whenever possible though. You need fabric? Your machine broke? Just need a second pair of eyes? He’s there. (And his advice is usually pretty good!)

Definitely gonna take you on a lot of dates to art museums and the like.

Well, Yao has never been that big into fashion… but nowadays his people are really getting into it. Now that he has you, you can make sure no one calls him lame and outdated! (And then he gets to spoil you with clothes you love along the way. Win-win!) With your guidance, everyone will finally envy him and his beautiful wife again. Wait- Sorry, he constantly forgets you two aren’t married yet.

He’d love to work side by side with you. He has very different artistic pursuits, but spending that kind of time together is always nice. Both of you lost in your own little worlds with the only words being exchanged being occasional compliments. He’s really latched onto your own ways to relieve stress…

Also, because of how graceful and elegant you are, he’s like… obsessed with you. He thinks of you as some kind of goddess, and he’s always trying to please you to make up for how lucky he feels.

Oh, how cute! He absolutely adores your work! While you’re busy designing and sewing, he loves bringing you little snacks and drinks while you're busy- he doesn’t wanna interrupt, really… he just can’t resist getting a little peak at whatever you’re working on. Whatever it is, he’s proud of you!

Since you like sketching to relax, he often takes you out to beautiful places. Whenever you’re stressed, or upset, or scared, he’s throwing you over his shoulder with your sketchbook and bringing you to a flower field. Maybe he’ll even start drawing himself! Although, you’re basically the only thing that inspires him.

Although he isn’t usually very attracted to ultra femininity, there’s something so pure about you that constantly makes him fall more and more in love. You’re like his sister, but not unstable and homicidal. And not his sister.

A fashion student? Well, you’ve come to the best! Not him, exactly, he dresses like someone you’d see on r/peopleofwalmart, but his country at least. He could probably even get government loans for you to buy as much fabric as you need. And if you need a model, he’s been told he’s very average.

He would be able to help with your sketching, though. His classical training isn’t usually something that can be easily passed on, but he’s very willing to sit down and teach you anything you want. If you’re not as serious though, he respects that. Leaves more opportunity for him to be the one sketching you.

Your femininity is what drew him to you in the first place. He’s never been able to resist pretty people, and seeing how you carried yourself… and what you wore… it’s a wonder you two are dating now considering his accidentally creepy introduction.

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theyanderespecialist · 2 years

Text

Cain's Dollmaker (Headcanons/Scenarios) SCP 073 X Dollmaker Reader

[Hello My Sexy Muffins, this one was requested off of youtube. I hope that you all enjoy this!]

(Disclaimer: Cain aka SCP 073 is not a yandere in canon this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all. Simping for SCPS, Fictional yanderes, and fictional characters are fine in fiction. Just remember to separate fiction from reality. Yanderes and things like SCPS are not ideal partners to have in real life.)

-Yandere Headcanons With Cain X Dollmaker Reader-

.Cain knew you were a strong SCP, that was able to manipulate the world around you.

.Every single bit of it.

.He played it safe because he did not want to risk angering you.

.But he was sort of immune to you, doing like an uno reverse card on you.

.In which you would try to control him but it would just end up you forcing yourself to do what you wanted cain to do.

.So since he is immune to you and you know you cannot use him as a doll he feels this is a sign.

.In which you and he are meant to be.

.Cain is very much the jealous type of yandere.

.In which he would hate you spending time getting close to anyone else.

.Why is he the one you are not spending time with or focusing on?

.Would also be very possessive in that he loves to leave love bites and have you wear his clothing so that everyone knows that you are his.

.Would not be afraid to get rid of rivals.

.He does not even have to hurt them.

.All he has to do is make them angry enough to hurt him and then he can get rid of them without them lashing out at him.

.He would confess to you in a romantic way and if you say yes everything will be okay and he will be tamed a bit.

.Say no and well he is going to become even more possessive and jealous.

.Someone else must have your attention and he is not going to let that stand.

.Very unlikely to use violence to get rid of rivals.

(Now onto the Scenario) (This is NOT Going to be a Mini series it is a one-off thank you very much please enjoy!)

(No One's POV)

Cain watched his darling as they are being tested with a D Class. They moved the d class around making them do as the doctors say. Cain or SCP 073 is helping the doctor with notes. It also made it a bit safer for the doctor. As (Your name) could not use their anomaly on him. He smiles at them. They are so beautiful and stunning. He never knew a person as wonderful as them in all of the thousands of years on this planet.

"Okay, we will take a break now." The Doctor says and leaves (Your Name) and Cain alone to get his coffee.

(Your Name) looks away from Cain and Cain took this chance to get to know his darling better.

"So, (Your name) how have you been?" He asks them.

"Fine, Just barely able to stand the foundation." They snap a bit they hated being stuck with the foundation and were almost considered a Keter level with how hard they were to contain.

"I am sorry about that, maybe if I talk to the doctor I will be able to have lunch with you." Cain says. "Like a date."

"Cain I told you time and time again I am not interested." They snapped at the SCP that had so much puppy dog adoration for them.

"Heh, I am sure you will be happy with me." Cain says. "I can make you happy I can give you love as no one else can!"

They rolled their eyes. "I do not need your love." They say.

Cain looked at them and felt a bit of his heart clench. His darling, the love of his life. The one he was meant to be with. They could not mean that!

"I am sure you just need my hel-"

Suddenly they slapped Cain. They had wanted to test something. If They made Cain slap them could that work to prove their point?

They had slapped Cain so hard from trying to make him slap them. That they fell to the ground as any act done to him would only happen to do it.

Cain knelt down in a panic his cheeks a bright red. He could still feel the pain. "SEE" They shout their cheek already bruising this. "THIS IS WHY WE WILL NEVER WORK."

They shove him away and left the room. Control the guard. They did not want anything to do with him. Cain of course followed after them. He was not going to give up on the love of his life he would make them love him. If it is the last thing he does.

#yandere #yandere scp #yandere cain #yandere scp 073 #yandere scp foundation #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarious #scenarios #headcanons #scp foundation #scp #scp 073 #scp 073 x reader #reader #scp reader #cain x reader #cain

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ask--eggman · 6 months

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Hey eggman, im curious. In a previouse post you talked about marriage and your distaste for it, and i have a couple of questions.

First, is settling down all you hate about marriage? Or are there some other things you dont like about it.

Secondly, you mentioned no one being up to par with you. Too which I agree, but in a hypothetical world, if someone could be up to your standards, what would those standerds be? What qualitys are you looking for in an ideal partner essentially?

And third, if somehow, someone matches all these requirements, however unlikely that is, would you concider a relationship? Even if your not capable of truely loving them, or fully loving them at least. I mean you do get tax benifits from it after all.

Hoping you might still have a chance with me, eh? Understandable with how incredibly desirable I am and all, heheh.

Well, I also don't like the idea of being "tied down" or "belonging to" a spouse. Absolutely not! There's not a single person deserving of me like that. I also wouldn't want to limit myself to just one person when I could have and deserve as many as I want. And it all being so serious and committed is just no fun. The vows and traditions of marriage are the far opposites of all my beliefs and there's not a single part of the typical structure of marriage that appeals to me.

Hrm, I don't know, I don't think about it... Well, it would have to be someone who:

Knows their place and accepts that marriage doesn't make them my equal or a co-ruler because I will always be superior and the only one worthy of being emperor.

Accepts that it doesn't grant them any ownership over myself, any of my stuff and especially not the world.

Is loyal, obedient, useful and willing to worship me, support me in my goals and assist me in my plans adequately when ordered.

Serves all my needs well, doesn't disrespect me and what I do or seek to change me and will let me keep my freedom without hassle.

Understand it's not something I'd structure my life around and perform commitment to.

Accepts that I'm not the soft mushy lover boy type and not complain about me not giving them the same attention that they're obligated to give me as the emperor of the Eggman Empire, just like everyone else.

If they're good at cooking that's a bonus, though it's hard to beat the expertise of my specially engineered cooking robots.

So really just the same set of rules for any of my lackeys, servants, members of the empire and anyone else. If they're going to be graced by my superior presence, they have to work for it and prove that they can give me what I deserve.

These aren't high standards in the sense that I don't deserve them because I'm the greatest scientific genius and brilliant future ruler of the world, of course. But they're high standards in the sense that I believe it's almost impossible to fulfill in a way that I'm truly most satisfied with.

I want to be treated the way I know I deserve and nothing less and I don't think anyone is equipped enough to be worthy of any of my time and my hand in marriage. Even if they do meet enough of my standards to pique interest, it doesn't last for one reason or another.

That's another reason why I've never been interested in anything long term. I like being able to hit the breaks the second someone has served their purpose or fails to please me anymore, in all types of partnerships. I'm not letting someone tie me down and act like they can remove all ability to do so.

In the very rare cases that they do meet enough of these standards well enough for me to see potential then yes, I will give it a shot. I'm an opportunist when it comes to anything that could possibly benefit and be useful to me in any way, I'd be a fool to let it slip.

Though I can never see it lasting long, especially not long enough to consider marriage. They would have to be very dedicated and continuously prove themself to me. I won't waste my time with anyone who can't prioritize me and give me what I deserve at all times.

Sure there would be the tax benefits too if I decided we could take it to the next level but it's not like I'm strapped for cash or anything, I'm a very successful self-made and business smart man! There are more important ways they could benefit me and if they can't, they're out.

#ask #roleplay ask blog #doctor eggman #ask blog #dr eggman #sonic #dr robotnik #rp #doctor robotnik #sonic the hedgehog #sth #eggman #Dr Eggman #Dr robotnik #roleplay #doctor Eggman

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the-trinket-witch · 8 months

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Yandere!OC Headcanons (TWST Edition)

So I may be not finding it in my orbit, but for a thought exercise I wanted to explore the toxic sides of my OCs. Thought it would be an interesting character exploration. So I figured I’d try to write headcanons for if any of my OCs went off the Yandere Deep End. (NOTE: I shouldn’t have to but apparently need to preface that writing this is not me condoning said behavior or idealizing it. If you recognize patterns like this in people in your real life, I cannot advise one way or another what you do with that information.) (divider by @/saradika)

Eugenio Hernandez (Yuu):

To preface, Yuu is Ace, but not Aro. Most likely they would be the Toxic bud ya keep around cause their life sounds awful. Nobody wants to be somebody’s 13th reason; you don't wanna add to the pile of 'shit going wrong in their life'/'be another one of those people that leaves'. But when they blow their top, it’s explosive. But even then, they’d still have a ways to go before ever attempting to lay a hand on you. No, they’d rather rant and rave and exhaust themselves with how shit of a hand the world has dealt them. Once they’ve let off steam, they’re all mumbled apologies and cooking dinner to make up for it.

Tidus Rhin:

His yandere extreme would turn him into The Love-B52. His size would be enough to intimidate any into not leaving his smothering, even if he never gives any indication he'd act with it. He'd prefer acting like a kicked puppy at the prospect of you needing space. Don’t you see, though? He’s utterly fascinated with you, adores you, it’s almost fetishistic. The more you pull away, the more he’s going to try lavishing you in any ways he can think of. If that doesn’t dissuade you, maybe if you just take this potion to come under the sea with him and meet his family…Just check first if the potion is permanent or temporary.

Lázaro Muertinez:

This man loves to talk. He loves to serenade you and talk you up just as you do for his music career. But you’d need to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice-fame is something to chase and it doesn’t wait. What are your reservations against coming with him? It doesn’t matter, he’ll find a way around it, for you of course. If you stick to your guns, though, Laz is the yandere that knows how to orchestrate an oh so convenient health scare. If that doesn't dissuade from leaving his side, then comes the silent treatment. He'll completely drop off the planet. No posts on social media, not returning calls, nothing. For a second the idea he might have done something drastic is exactly what he'd be counting on.

Aadesh Sona:

This snake’s AroAce, but he isn’t above doing most anything to advance his goals. Gaslight, gatekeep, ghost-mode. He’s a psych major, so he knows how to twist his words and drop tidbits of info to confuse and trap you. He’s not being manipulative, you are for daring to get away. But he’ll be able to see the writing on the wall. He’ll back off. Prey is more difficult to catch when it struggles, anyway. And like an actual python, he will have everything poised for when you are in the prime position to strike. What will he do when he gets you back? Well, you and he will just have to sleep on it.

Rajesh Khan:

As far as yanderes go, He’s the only TWST OC of mine who isn’t above using physical means of keeping a potential partner in line. It’s only reserved, though, for when money can’t buy your happiness and obedience. It’s with that same money that makes him nigh untouchable in court, should you try bringing his aggression to light. It’s both money, and the friends in equally high places that make escape from the tiger’s jaws almost impossible.

Albert Eastwind:

Can one blame him for being the controlling type? Similar to how people headcanon Yan!Jade and Azul, He'll provide everything you need or want. Why would you want to leave? Oh don't say he's smothering, he'll pick up more work to 'offer space' but also stifle the idea of you needing or wanting your own financial independence. But while he may work himself tirelessly to keep your cage gilded and shining, he will have your schedule down to the minute. Any deviation will be met with smiles and polite inquiries, but don’t lie to him. And don’t promise you won’t try escaping again if you’re planning on it; he hates pie crust promises.

#Trinket's Rattlin' Bones #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere drabble #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #albert eastwind #tidus rhin #eugenio hernandez #aadesh sona #lazaro muertinez #rajesh khan

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findyourrp · 7 months

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💋 hello ! i'm looking for new longterm writing partners for a wlw / sapphic plot on discord. i’m slowly getting back into writing and i need more partners. now for a quick intro: i'm female, 20+, she/her and i only write with writers aged 20 and over. i would prefer to write with people in their 20s, i feel like i don’t mesh well with anyone older than 30. sorry! men & minors dni.

i currently only rp on discord, 1x1 in a private server using tupperbox. it’s optional but preferred. i consider myself to be a literate writer, and my replies range from para to multi-para. i love nuanced characters, developing said characters, dramatic storylines and dark undertones. while i do love darker plots and enjoy nsfw, i’m not a fan of salaciousness. i want to deal with topics such as r*pe, for example, in a respectful manner and do not want to write with writers who romanticize it.

so, now to the plot itself. i have a plot in mind loosely based off of daphne du maurier’s rebecca, specifically the dynamic between mrs. danvers and rebecca, before her death, BUT with a twist. you do not need to have read the book or watched any of the adaptations to write this with me. muse a (rebecca) is this wealthy, beautiful woman, on the surface a devoted wife and perfect hostess, but manipulative, cunning and selfish on the inside. she uses her charm to get what she wants, men fall at her feet. she is a closeted lesbian. muse b (mrs. danvers) is the head housekeeper, obsessively in love with muse a and the only one who can see through her façade. muse a is her whole world, and she is everything muse b is not. she would do everything for muse a. they are both a little bit .. insane but !!! they are insane together.

i would absolutely love to expand on this with a writing partner. i just want something dark and deliciously smutty. i heavily prefer writing muse a for this! the ideal age of the muses is between 26-45. perhaps even a lil bit of an age gap if we want to make it spicier? 10 years or so? optional, of course! sjhdjssk please i’m begging.

#rp finder #18+ rp #fandomless rp #oc x oc rp #wlw rp #oc rp #roleplay

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edwinspaynes · 1 year

Note

All right, you asked me a question and now I have one for you, in a very similar vein: where do you see Matthew Fairchild post-canon? What are your hopes for him? If you were the writer, what would you do?

Sorry this took me a couple of days to respond to! I'm here(ish) now.

I actually am extremely happy with the direction Matthew's story has taken in the canon thus far. Even if I was dissatisfied with some other arcs/writing choices (see: Grace's, Christopher's, Cordelia's in many ways), Matthew's storyline was handled in a sensitive, realistic, and character-driven way that I loved. And, of course, I'm excited to see him going forward. I think that Cassie is going to continue to do an amazing job with his story because she has not dropped the ball on him yet.

This is probably a cop-out, and I'll give more of an answer in a minute, but I just want Matthew to be happy and healthy. That's my only real hope for him in the future. Think that song My Wish : "My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to / your dreams stay big / your worries stay small", yadda yadda. But that's my real answer. I just want a happy Matthew and don't care what form that takes. I am going to therefore be unequivocally satisfied with any story direction in his bindup since Cassie already basically said at a signing that he would get a happy ending.

But if I were Cassie, here's what I would do.

I'm excited that Matthew has chosen to travel, because it's something that's also important to me. It's yet another way that Matthew's values and life goals mirror mine. I think that travel is freedom, and I am happy that Matthew is going to experience that freedom.

I think that in the bindup, I would take him to visit a ton of places all across the world. I don't want him to confine himself to Europe. I'd like to see him in South America, Asia, Africa - everywhere! I think this seems likely to happen, and am glad of it.

However, within the confines of "Matthew gets a partner abroad," I would like to see him not being with said partner 100% of the time. A big part of Matthew's travel should be finding himself. I'd like something where he travels alone most of the time, sees his love interest like once a month or so, and spends a couple of days with them. This would be the short story we see, and they would split up again until the next month, which would be the next story. This would give him ample time for solo travel, meeting interesting people, and taking the reins on his own adventure.

In my ideal world in canon, I probably would not have him meet his partner while traveling. I think he should meet someone in about 5 years, so he can get a grip on his newfound sobriety and freedom. Just, like from a realistic perspective. I think this would be the best thing for him in a realistic scenario.

HOWEVER, I am all for him getting a love interest now since it's something I'm really excited to see in the bindup. As a reader, I'm 1000% here for Matthew's adventure romance whirlwind. And I know that it will be totally fine in Cassie-Clare-Bookland, even if it's not what I think would be best for Matthew in a real life case.

For Matthew's love interest, I actually actively want him to end up with a woman. It's important to me as a bisexual to see a bi person wind up with someone of a different gender for once, and unlike a lot of people, I really trust Cassie to deliver with it. She hasn't disappointed me regarding Matthew before, and I don't see why she'd start now. I also would like to see an absolutely chaotic scapegrace of a girl who rejects Edwardian social conventions and embraces the bohemian lifestyle alongside Matthew.

Regardless of love interest gender, I want the person to be kind of a batshit bonkerballs sort that matches Matthew's chaotic energy. I want them to be comfortable in their freedom and their chaos; I want them to have scandalous fun together. I think Matthew needs someone who loves and embraces the crazier sides of himself, the mercurial moods, the fact that "feelings flow from him like blood from a cut." The fact that he's a little impulsive. This is what I deeply want for Matthew, and it's another reason that I'm chill with the idea of him meeting someone on his travels. It'll be another adventurer.

In my ideal world, Matthew would not have children. This is wish fulfillment because I am childfree. But I know he is going to have them and be Clary's ancestor. Though I'm not enthralled about that, I still don't think it will be harmful to his character. I think that he and the love interest will continue to be unabashedly themselves and raise their kids in a rabble-rousing bohemian way. But, if I'm taking creative license, I ain't giving him kids. I'm making one of the twins Clary's ancestor. I don't give a fuck about bloodlines, sorry.

I actually do have a controversial take regarding Matthew. If I were given full creative license over the character, I would give him a lot of distance from James and Cordelia. I hope that he goes no-contact with Cordelia while traveling so that he has time to heal from her and get over her, and I hope that he keeps his communication with James to periodic letters. I know he'll be close with them in the future, which is fine.

But if it were up to me, he wouldn't be. He'd still talk to them, be James's parabatai, but the emotional proximity would decrease.

I always viewed TMT very much as James/Matthew + Thomas/Christopher, but I'd want to bend the shape of this. I think James should become closer with Jesse, and Matthew should become closer with Thomas and Alastair. Not just because I like Thomastair better than others, but because I think that James and Matthew have so much hurt between them. And because, I cannot stress this enough, Matthew needs distance from Cordelia.

I think that Thomas's disposition complements Matthew's well, and I think that he could provide him and the chaotic love interest with a calming presence. I also think that Matthew and Alastair should become really, really close because they can understand each other in ways that other people cannot. Adding Grace to this BFF mix would also make me really happy, though I understand that it's unlikely.

That's where I currently am!

#matthew fairchild #tlh #the last hours #matthew bindup

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karinamay · 29 days

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Writing interview tag game

Thank you @cinnamontails-ff for the taaaag now I get to ramble about writing hell yes

When did you start writing?

I've been writing stories basically as long as I can remember, and I was a very avid journal keeper between ages like 7 and 21. First time I decided I was going to "write a book" I was 10, and me and my best friend at the time got permission to spend 2 hours or so every week at school to work on it because it was a "good creative persuit", whic was pretty cool. I have been writing fiction ever since, and I think I started writing fanfic around when I was 16 or so, so about 14 yearsish ago.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I write (urban) fantasy/romance pretty much exclusively, but I read all sorts. I do enjoy me some good dystopian, and some scifi here and there, and from time to time I 180 into reading less fantastical literary fiction that borders on nihilistic-satire-black comedy ish (I've read Bret Easton Ellis' entire bibliography, to give an idea). In the end most of what I read is in the fantasy with either romance or found family (or, ideally, both) realm though, I love escaping to magical worlds.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I try not to compare my work actively to other writers'. Of course there are writers I admire and look up to, but there isn't a writer that I want to "write like" really. I write very much like me. And with that, I don't think I've ever specifically been compared to another author? Not that I can remember anyway.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My current writing setup is in my living room, which is not ideal, it's just because my wifi doesn't reach into my office well enough. I am in the process of moving my shit over there though, so I'm excited to turn that into a bit more of an inspiring space. The only nice thing that I currently have in my writing space is my recently spruced up "bookcase" (I'll put a picture under the cut.)

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Work for it. Nine out of ten times when I sit down to write I don't already have the spark or whatever that I need. (The tenth time is a great day, but it just doesn't happen very often, and it also doesn't actually necessarily mean your writing will be better that day.) When I have sat down on the days when it's not immediately there, and I start writing, it will usually come. It's kind of a stupid writing will come from writing loop that feeds itself, if that makes sense.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Healthy communication is a big one, whether that's between romantic partners or any other kind of relationships. I write a lot about power and corruption and I'm big on found family. None of this is surprising at all. What is surprising to me is that I've started leaning more into creepy/eerie/horrory realms over the past year or so, which isn't really a theme, but definitely a genre I never thought I would enjoy so much.

What is your reason for writing?

Because it's the closest we can get to magic in this world. I get to dream up worlds and people and watch them try and fail and succeed and evolve, give them life, give them reason, fear, doubt, love, everything. It's fucking brilliant, and even though I get stuck and it's frustrating, I will never be able to not do it, because I don't know how not to.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

"I felt like I was there" is something that will always get me, that motivates me to no end. And I love when people start theorising, trying to figure out what's going to happen next. I weirdly get drawn into the theories, even though I know what happens next. I love it.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Huh, I don't know. As someone who really cares deeply about the story I'm writing, I think. And hopefully as someone who captures the voices of the characters they love and who does them justice.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Dialogue. My stories are very dialogue driven, and I take a lot of pride in how the dialogue runs. And hand in hand with that dialogue, knowing when to throw in a bit of humour, especially in a dark story, without it feeling cheap.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Depends on the day, although I'm starting to get to a place where I'm generally pretty happy with it. There are many things I know I can improve on a lot still, but in the end, I do like what I'm writing, and I do think other people do/would like to read it.

It's a work in progress but the vibes are vibing imo.

#tag game #writing #long post

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anythingforourmoonysstuff · 2 years

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I just saw a Tiktok complaining about the fact that Sirius is ableist in atyd and I usually just *shakes fist around aggressively* but I’m having a moment and this one made me so mad because it was accompanied by so many other incredibly bad takes about the fic.

Atyd, at its heart, is a story about ableism. The story is about remus and his struggle with his identities in the context of the time and society he is living in. Remus is a werewolf in a context where werewolves (which is is an allegory for disability) are an oppressed minority. If you are not reading atyd through a disability lens you are reading it wrong. Or I mean see it however you want but if you are going to have takes on it regarding real thinks such as ableism and share those takes you cannot do that without reading it from that very clearly intended lens. His whole life is about him living with the ableism he faces from literally everyone in his life. That includes his parents, his professors and yes, that also includes his friends. That also included Sirius.

And like, I’m just trying to understand what the criticism is here. Because by saying that it is a flaw of the fic that Sirius is depicted as being ableist do you mean to say that ableism just isn’t a thing between friends/partners? So what, it’s not realistic for Sirius to be ableist towards Remus whilst also loving him? If it’s that then that is just so obviously wrong and honestly in what world are you living in that you would think this?

Also, let’s not forget that Sirius is a purebloood wizard who was raised in the equivalent of a white supremacist (and obviously incredibly ableist)household. Like, the death eaters are an allegory for nazis (I swear if someone comments on this trying to deny that I will fight you) and nazis also persecuted disabled people. And as much as people seem to want him to be flawless (I mean he is still flawless in my eyes and could do no wrong. Ok now that I got that out of my system-) let’s be real here, he would have definitely internalised a lot of the views that were drilled into him throughout his life. The same goes for people that say they are not racist. While it may be true that they don’t actively go out committing hate crimes, it is still the case that because of the system we live in that has white supremacy deeply imbedded in it, there is no escaping racism. All you can do about it is try your best to analyse your opinions and think before you speak or act to ensure you are doing all you can to work against these ideals. Going back to Sirius, this is exactly the position he is in. Not only has he grown up in a society where werewolves are to be seen as other and to be feared and hated, but he has grown up in a house where these opinions are held to the extreme. To say that he can rid himself of these opinions just because he wants to is ignorant. Is just isn’t that simple. There is no button you can press and immediately be rid of any harmful ideology you have been exposed to.

In atyd, Sirius thinks that he understands Remus and accepts him fully. He thinks this because to him, the fact that he loves Remus and tries his best to help him (for example becoming an animagus) is enough. This of course isn’t true because someone who is not disabled cannot fully understand the experience of someone who is. The same goes for any experience that is specific to a group of people. You can be accepting and listen to their experience but if you haven’t lived it you cannot fully understand what it is like. This is a common mistake people make and so it is not surprising that Sirius makes it. Especially considering the context he is in (70s, system in which these ideals are shoved at him from every direction). This of course does not excuse his behaviour but it does provide the background we need that eventually explains the choices he makes with regards to Remus.

Now that I have (hopefully) explained why it is crucial that Sirius is ableist in a story that intends to capture the complexities that arise in a context such as that of the wizarding world, let’s take a look at Sirius’s actions in this fic. There are many instances where Sirius’s ableism is apparent in atyd. One of these and one that imo brilliantly captures his views is his attitude when it comes to werewolves that aren’t Remus. Literally any time that Remus brings them up or interacts with them, Sirius becomes very uncomfortable and hostile. This is such a perfect example of how ableism can manifest in loved ones. Sirius does love Remus but Remus is the exception. He does not feel the same about other werewolves. Those are still evil. Which like, with all that he insists that he accepts Remus and the “you were beautiful” moment, he doesn’t inherently accept werewolves. He accepts Remus. And what is remus supposed to think about this? this just demonstrates what he already thinks, that at the end of the day, he is a monster. Also, one of the main problems is exactly the fact that Sirius (and the other marauders) dismiss the fact that Remus is disabled because that makes it easier for them to accept him. They just chose to ignore the fact that he is a werewolf other than on full moons. in their minds they are protecting him but this attitude actually makes it worse.

Let’s also not forget that Sirius literally suspects Remus as the spy! “Was it the werewolf thing?” YES! It was the werewolf thing. Because at the end of the day, Sirius does see werewolves as monsters and no matter how much he cares for Remus, he is a werewolf. Sirius suspecting Remus is canon (not that we give a fuck about canon but alas), and other that Remus being a werewolf we are given no reason as to why this would happen. So how exactly are you going to argue that Sirius being ableist is anything other than a realistic portrayal of his character?

To summarise- if you cannot see why Sirius would be ableist or think that him being ableist is problematic, I urge you to go back and read the story through a disability lens or even just start to engage with it in that way . If after doing that you still think atyd is problematic because Sirius is ableist I am very concerned about your perception of the world. If you cannot accept that he would hold these views due to the context he was living in then you probably think you are 100% not racist and not ableist, and if you can’t accept that it is built into us by the system, how are you going to work on deconstructing it within yourself, let alone in the system itself?

I’m also gonna link this Tiktok here because it addresses this issue really eloquently:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYDLan3q/

#ok rant over #I did just write this instead of all the essays I’ve got #I did not mean for this to get so long but it just made me so mad #anyway hope this made sense #atyd #fandom stuff #to remember

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retrieve-the-kraken · 1 year

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Heartstopper season 2 play-by-play analysis

We’re in Paris! I can’t believe the Paris trip takes up so much of the time of the season. I do love the pacing of the season, and how they distributed events and moments throughout it, making the most of the locations and situations. I know that most interior scenes were filmed back in the UK, but they really squeezed as much as they could from their stay in Paris (and I need all the bts content from that, what we’ve gotten so far is not enough!). Like Trixie Mattel and Katyana said, only two things can shut down the Louvre: Beyonce and Hearstopper, apparently, who would have thought? It felt like such a nice change of scenery, and really gave the show and the characters a whole new dimension.

On with the episode!

EPISODE 4 - CHALLENGE

- The coach is Blue and Yellow™. And of course a lot of green, especially in the form of Charlie’s iconic green Fjällräven backpack and Nick’s hoodie.

- Nick being super sad about not sitting with Charlie, and Charlie trying to be all upbeat about it, and challenging him to not kiss him for two days. I love their banter.

- Tao’s miserable face as he realizes that, not only is Nick sitting with him for the trip, but Elle doesn’t want to sit with him either. And Nick is oblivious to the fact that the date didn’t go well…

- Ben clearly doesn’t realize how indiscreet he is about his fixation with Charlie. Even Isaac notices something strange is up.

- Ugh, I loooove how much we’re slowly inching our way to finding out more about Isaac. I love that he asks Charlie how he knew he liked Nick, and how he’s trying to figure out how this compares to how he feels about James. God, if that hasn’t been my entire life before I realized too…

- If nobody had told me that Kit Connor didn’t speak French before, I would have simply thought “wow, how lucky that they found the perfect Nick Nelson AND he happens to speak French already.” (I really don’t know if it sounds good or not, but it convinced me…) Also Nick’s little excited face when he’s talking to his dad, because he’s still excited about the possibility of seeing his dad, he hasn’t come to the realization that the effort should come from both parts.

- Also Tao’s face when he realizes that Nick is speaking fluent French and he’s not hearing things. And their cute little bonding moment talking about it. Even when Elle looks over at them, they seem to be looking at something (on a phone?) and talking and laughing. Bonding!

- Mr Farouk actually having a little smile on his face when they’re finally in Paris.

- Ugh, seriously, what is up with Ben??? He doesn’t care about even playing it off for Imogen, and she very quickly catches on.

- “I thought you’d find it awkward sharing with Nick. Just standing next to Elle makes me feel like I’m being electrocuted.” I don’t think I’m quite on board with this completely, seeing as in the show Tao already knows about Nick and Charlie… I thought it would have made more sense if he’d been more like “I just want to make sure that there’s no hanky-panky whilst we’re all in the same room,” and then Charlie could get all flustered and go “ugh you sound like my dad, and no, we’re not doing any of that, not yet…”

- But I love that we got the handholding scene across the space between the beds.

- The teachers being so awkward and adorable. Now kyth!

- Tao should have apologized to Elle for what he said, but at least he extended an olive branch in the form of a bottle of apple juice. And she accepted.

- The dynamic between Nick and Charlie has seriously become so perfect and in tune, the way that Joe and Kit riff off each other whilst being perfectly in character is just chef’s kiss.

- Darcy interrupting the kiss made me think of an ideal world in which Darcy gets adopted by Sara, and the Golden Retriever siblings fight about stupid things all the time, like who’s more in love with their respective partner, and who do they think Nellie loves more, and she continuously barges into Nick’s room when Nick and Charlie are making out and goes “sorry for interrupting the gayness, but I can’t find my phone charger, can I borrow yours? Thank you, my twin. You may proceed with the gayness.”

- “I need a drink. An alcoholic drink.” “We probably shouldn’t drink.” “I need a croissant then”. Number one on the quotes that I’m glad made it right off the comic page.

- “Mischief maker. I’ve influenced you.”

- The I heart Paris hoodie, and Darcy touching the bust’s boobs. Peak Darcy.

- James saying that it’s nice to be with other gay people, and Isaac looking a bit uncomfortable… honey, just because doesn’t seem to respond to people of the opposite sex doesn’t automatically make them gay. Unless he’s using gay as an umbrella term…? Instead of queer…? James knows about Darcy and Tara, and about Charlie, but he doesn’t know about Nick, or presumably Sahar. He’s making assumptions about Isaac.

- Nick not getting why people continue to be fascinated by the fact that he speaks French, or the fact that his dad is French. He’s such an oblivious little pumpkin.

- And that heart to heart between Charlie and Tara. “Me and her were all that mattered.” And Tara being jealous about how Charlie and Nick talk about their feelings.

- The Tao and Elle conversation and whole cutesy montage. And Tao making the French tourists crouch for the photo and everything, figuring out how to talk to them without actually speaking French.

- Peak Ben Hope, seeing Nick waving at Imogen and immediately pulling her toward him, in this horribly possessive manner. Glad that Imogen got fed up with him and bolted. Poor thing has been miserable since arriving at Paris because of Ben, and she at least approaches Nick’s group to ask if she can hang out, which could not have been easy (especially to Nick, with whom she had a disagreement).

- By the way, Imogen in her Paris outfit is giving off major Margot Robbie in Barbie vibes.

- Elle asking Imogen if she even likes Ben, which you can tell that Nick so badly wanted to ask (Elle and Nick even exchange knowing glances), but he didn’t because he knew that he had already tried to warn Imogen about Ben, and maybe she won’t listen to him, but she’ll probably listen to another girl.

- Imogen jumping on the TaoElle ship. “Maybe I don’t have the best track record in relationships (looks knowingly at Nick and he laughs), but I think being honest is better than living with regret”. Yes, Imogen. Like when she took a chance and told Nick that she liked him and then asked him out, and even though he didn’t reciprocate, they still ended up as friends, and he’s so protective of her, and he’s probably the best friend she didn’t know she needed.

- Nick internalizing what Imogen just said too.

- Will Gao is so histrionic, I adore him.

- The whole montage of Mr Farouk arguing (is he arguing? Sorry, but to me French men always sound like their arguing) with the waiter without any subtitles, and then going something about no onions and something else and “I’m serious, big man, I get bloated, it’s not funny, cheers”, made me think for a moment that I want to learn French just so that I can know what he was saying. (The moment has passed).

- The whole Nick and Charlie trying not to sit together all the time majorly backfiring when Ben ends up next to Charlie. The horror. Charlie turns his body toward Tao as much as he can without actually sitting sideways, and Nick is about to throw his whole body across the table.

- Detective Imogen is fully on it now, she’s about to blow this whole case wide open.

- I’ve had escargot and I’m never doing that again. It was fun to try, but yeah, I also felt bad for my terrible decision.

- I may never completely understand the magnitude of Charlie’s eating disorders, because I can’t imagine what that’s like (I used to think that I might have an ED because I’m often so particular about food, because of my anxiety, and at times textures and strong flavors can be overwhelming, but I’ve learned to deal with it, the way I managed to overcome it on my own was kind of similar to the way that Noora from SKAM did, but it was never of the magnitude of Charlie or Noora), but I understand the pressure of “oh shit I ordered this and now I have to eat it because people are watching but I really don’t want to” and fearing making myself sick because of the pressure and the shame and the anxiety of feeling trapped in that situation. Made worse, in Charlie’s case, by Ben sitting next to him and actively looking at him.

- “I haven’t spoken to you in ages”. Sir, that is not a coincidence, there’s a reason for it. Don’t pretend like you don’t know it, SIR.

- I love the panicked look on Nick’s face as Ben starts talking to Charlie. He had seen the seating arrangement and panicked, but then he relaxed for a bit, probably thinking “nah, this asshole wouldn’t dare try to say anything to Charlie in front of everyone, he wouldn’t be so bold”, but then Ben is inexplicable… So Nick nearly rushes off his seat to Charlie’s side to do what? Ask Ben to switch seats with him? Just wedge himself in there until the meal is over? He probably has not a clue what he’ll do but by GOD he will stop this interaction before his boyfriend has to endure it any longer.

- Imagine being Ben (just for a painful second), being so self-centered, being so preoccupied with the paranoia of people watching you all the time and watching your every move and trying to figure you out, that you’d go around being an asshole, especially to the boy that you “like”, to the point where those actions and shitty attitude lose you said boy, only for you to lose all self-awareness when in proximity to said boy, and you’re suddenly staring at him openly, trying to strike up a conversation, and not getting the fucking hint that said boy doesn’t want to talk to you, doesn’t even want to look at you. Imagine those walls crumbling down but you’re absolutely convinced they are still up. Imagine that now people can see right through you and call you out, and you get defensive and start calling them names… Imagine being down so bad for someone (or whatever feelings that you might think you have for said boy) that you’re not even making sense anymore, even later boldly telling said boy’s boyfriend that you want said boy back (even though said boy’s boyfriend is basically twice your size and hates your guts and could probably knock you out with a single punch). Imagine…

- But then imagine being Charlie, a curly-haired human embodiment of sunshine and rainbows, and having to sit next to your ex/assaulter. Period.

- Imogen going off on Ben like we all love to see it, but let’s face it, she was kinder than I expected her to be, by telling him he has issues that he needs to resolve. Go to therapy, Ben! Your energy’s off, Ben! She’s basically telling him what Charlie will repeat in other words later, about him working on himself to be better before he hurts somebody else.

- She calls out Ben for being obsessed with Charlie twice very loudly. Ben would rather chew off his own hand before admitting it, but Imogen hit the nail right in the head. ( kinda want to be given a reason why not one of Charlie's friends jumped up at that, like "wait, what is this about Ben Hope being obsessed with you?" unless they're waiting for Charlie to bring it up himself it at all. But seeing Charlie's reaction, and Nick's horrified face, you'd think they'd be a little curious as to what that is about...)

- And Elle smiling when Imogen says that it’s time she focuses on herself. Yes, Imogen, stop thinking about boys for a while, and focus on what you want.

- I have rewatched everyone’s faces so many times: from the guy over Imogen’s shoulder laughing and trying to look over, to James catching all the tea, to all of Ben’s mates sniggering, but my favorite is that boy between Ben and Harry with the super-expressive eyebrows very dramatically questioning Ben’s whole attitude.

- As everyone’s been saying, when even Harry Greene calls you out, you know you’ve hit a low point.

- Nick and Charlie coming to comfort Imogen, and her questioning if she should have done that so publicly (the answer is Yes, because he very publicly treated you very badly too, so… tit for tat). And her wanted to make sure if maybe something happened between Ben and Charlie, but then saying it doesn’t matter as soon as she sees how uncomfortable it makes him.

- And her saying that it would be easier if she liked girls, which… how many times do women in general say that? Relationships aren’t easy, no matter who you love, but there’s a preoccupying trend if the consensus is that ‘if sexuality was really a choice, the number of women who would choose to be lesbians is very very high’. What does that say about straight cis men, in general?

- Tao finally getting his head out of his own ass long enough to realize that Nick is really trying to bond with him.

- Tao about Elle “she’s everything, I’m just Ken”.

- Nick being adorable telling him that he thinks Tao is also all those things, and telling him that he does like him.

- I thought that Tao’s whole plan was giving Nick and Charlie privacy by dragging Isaac to the vending machin (And Charlie and Nick making the most of that little privacy). But it’s so sad when you realize that it was because Nick said the word “loudly” to describe him, and it made him remember that it was his loudness that outed Charlie last year. Poor baby.

- Seriously, the chemistry this season is off the charts, the intimacy between Nick and Charlie is so beautiful and warm and Kit and Joe are magical. And the way that they’re always checking with each other. “Is this okay?” A very enthusiastic "YEAH”, “we should stop”, “okay.” Love them.

- Isaac falling asleep with the book on his face is so relatable. How many times have I woken up because I fell asleep reading and the book just smacked me in the face? Too many to count.

- Charlie’s little “oh f—” cut to music.

Ceci episode é brought pour vous by CROISSANTS™. (Je n'e parlez pas français).

#heartstopper #heartstopper season 2 #heartstopper analysis #hearststopper netflix #heartstopper in paris #heartstopper play-by-play analysis #nick and charlie #tao and elle #tara and darcy

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