#another word for inconsistencies in english

[kirbyddd]

barkbarkbark Riichi Book I's writing is like screeching chalkboard to my game designer's, translator's, and writer's ears all at once

it's got great concepts buried in there but it's in like the most anti-comprehension packaging conceivable

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[ghstyles]

Protocol | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 4K

Summary: You’ve been ignoring Harry’s safety protocols. This comes back to bite you in the ass

Requested

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

The sun beats down on the university parking lot, the asphalt radiating heat in visible waves as students hurry between their vehicles and the air-conditioned buildings. It's late afternoon on a Friday, and the lot is beginning to empty as weekend plans take precedence over academics.

You emerge from the English Literature building, hair piled in a messy bun atop your head, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You’re dressed for the summer heat in high-waisted shorts and a light blouse, your bag heavy with books slung over one shoulder. Your phone chimes as you approach your car—a modest but reliable model that Harry had insisted on having his mechanic thoroughly inspect when he first got you the car.

Checking the notification, you see a text from Harry: Heading home?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you type back a quick Just leaving campus now. Should be home in 20.

Home. The word still feels strange sometimes. This idea that Harry's penthouse has become as much your space as your own small student apartment. Over the past year, the transition had been so gradual you hardly noticed until suddenly most of your belongings had migrated to his place, and you also found yourself spending five or six nights a week there.

Another text arrives as you reach your car: Check everything?

You roll your eyes, though there's no one around to see your exasperation. A year into your relationship, and Harry's security protocols have become a familiar routing. Sometimes comforting, sometimes frustrating, but always non-negotiable.

You send back a thumbs-up emoji, knowing it will irritate him. Harry prefers explicit confirmation, not ambiguous symbols. Sure enough, three dots appear immediately, indicating he's typing what you assume will be a slightly annoyed response.

Before he can send it, you sigh and begin the routine you’ve grudgingly incorporated into your daily life. First, you verify that your location sharing is active, which is easy enough, and you understand the logic behind it, given the enemies Harry has accumulated over the years. Next, you do a quick walk around the car, checking that it appears undisturbed.

The third rule is the one you’re most inconsistent about: checking beneath the vehicle for explosive devices. It had seemed absurdly paranoid when Harry first insisted on it, like something from a spy film rather than a precaution needed in real life. Most days, you give the undercarriage a cursory glance at best, sometimes skipping it entirely when you’re running late or the weather is bad.

Today, though, as you stand in the sweltering heat with sweat beginning to bead along your hairline, you decide to humor him properly. Maybe it's the way his text seemed more insistent than usual, or maybe it's just that the anniversary of your first meeting is approaching, making you more indulgent of his protective instincts.

"Fine, Harry," you mutter to yourself, crouching down to peer beneath the car with exaggerated thoroughness. "Let's check for the imaginary bomb that's definitely not—"

The words die in your throat as your eyes land on something that absolutely should not be there. A small device attached to the underside of the chassis, a red light blinking steadily in the shadows.

For a moment, you simply stare, your brain refusing to process what you see. Then panic surges through your system, heart rate spiking as you scramble backward, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between yourself and the car.

With shaking hands, you pull out your phone, hitting Harry's contact without conscious thought. He answers on the first ring.

"Angel?" His voice is alert, no trace of the casual tone from your texts just minutes ago.

"Harry," you gasp, your voice higher than normal, words tumbling out in a rush. "There's—under my car—there's a device with a blinking light. I swear to God, Harry, it looks like a bomb. I'm not joking. It's really there!"

There's a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then, to your complete disbelief, Harry chuckles. It's a low, dark sound that makes you freeze in confusion.

"Well, well," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "You finally decided to take me seriously, did you?"

"What?" you blink, confusion momentarily overriding your fear. "Harry, I'm not kidding around. There is literally a device attached to my car right now!"

"I know," he replies, sounding infuriatingly calm. "I put it there."

The words take a moment to register, and when they do, you feel a surge of emotions: relief, quickly followed by disbelief, and then indignation.

"You...what?" you splutter, straightening up from your crouched position. "You put a fake bomb under my car? What the actual fuck, Harry?"

"Yeah, and by the way," he continues, ignoring your outburst, "it's been there for two weeks, angel. Took you long enough to fucking notice."

You stand in the middle of the parking lot, mouth open in shock, as the implications sink in. Two weeks. The device has been attached to your car for two weeks, and you’ve been driving around completely oblivious, skipping the safety check Harry had insisted was non-negotiable.

"You..." you start, then stop, not even sure where to begin with your indignation. "You could have given me a heart attack! I thought I was about to be blown up!"

"Better scared than dead," Harry replies, his tone shifting to something harder, more serious. "If it had been real, your pretty little eyes would be scattered across the parking lot right now."

The graphic image makes your stomach turn, but before you can respond, he continues:

"Not that I actually rely on you to check properly. I'm not a fucking idiot."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, still trying to process the fact that your boyfriend—the dangerous, powerful man you’ve been sharing a bed with for the past year—planted a fake explosive on your vehicle as some kind of test.

"It means," Harry says, his voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "that while you've been prancing around campus thinking safety protocols are optional, I've had Zayn checking your car daily. You think I'd leave your security up to someone who considers looking under a vehicle for two seconds 'good enough'?"

The revelation that one of Harry's most trusted men has been secretly monitoring your car every day should probably disturb you more than it does. Instead, you find yourself torn between lingering anger at the deception and a reluctant appreciation for the thoroughness of Harry's protection.

"So what was the point of this little exercise?" you demand, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Just to prove I'm not taking your rules seriously enough?"

"The point," Harry says, and you can picture him perfectly. He’s most likely lounging in his office chair, one hand holding the phone while the other fiddles with something on his desk, his expression that maddening combination of arrogant and concerned that you’ve come to recognize as his default when it comes to your safety, "was to make you understand that these precautions aren't arbitrary. They're the difference between you walking through the door to me tonight and me identifying your body at the morgue."

The bluntness of his statement hits you like a physical blow, making you shiver despite the heat.

"That's not fair," you protest, though with less conviction than before. "You can't just put fake bombs on people's cars to teach them lessons."

"I didn't put it on 'people's' cars," Harry corrects you. "I put it on yours. Because unlike most people, you're connected to me, which makes you a target."

There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has that dangerous softness that never fails to make your pulse quicken. The tone he uses when he's deadly serious about something.

"I have enemies, angel. Men who would hurt you without hesitation to get to me. The rules aren't suggestions. They're what keep you breathing."

You sigh, your initial anger fading as the reality of his words sinks in. It's easy to forget sometimes, in the comfort of your domestic routine, just how dangerous Harry's world really is. Yes, you’ve seen glimpses of it, the meetings that end with bruised knuckles and terse phone calls, the nights he comes home with blood on his shirt that isn't his own, the way his men snap to attention when he enters a room. But most of the time, you’re sheltered from the worst of it, protected by Harry's influence and reputation.

"Okay," you finally concede. "I get it. I'll be more careful. But don't ever do something like this again without warning me, or I swear to God, Harry—"

"You'll what?" he interrupts, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. That dangerous curve of his lips that still makes your stomach flip after a year together. "Punish me?"

The suggestion sends an inappropriate heat through your body despite your lingering irritation.

"I'll think of something," you promise, trying to keep your voice stern even as a reluctant smile tugs at your own lips. "So, what now? Do I just...leave this fake bomb on my car?"

"Zayn's on his way to remove it," Harry informs you. "He should be there in about five minutes. And then you're coming straight home."

It's not a request, but you don't bother arguing. The adrenaline from your initial panic is wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and, if you're honest, a little shaken by how easily you could have been in real danger without ever knowing it.

"Fine," you agree. "I'll see you soon."

"Oh, and angel?" Harry adds before you can hang up. "When you get here, we're going to have a very thorough discussion about the importance of following security protocols. Preferably with you on your knees."

The crude implication sends another inappropriate wave of heat through your body, and you find yourself biting your lip to suppress a smile despite everything.

"You're impossible," you tell him, but there's no real heat in the accusation.

"I'm effective," he corrects you. "And now you'll check under your car properly, won't you?"

"Yes," you admit grudgingly. "I will."

"Good girl," Harry says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "See you soon."

As you end the call, you spot a black SUV pulling into the parking lot. It's Zayn arriving to remove the fake device from your car. You shake your head, still not entirely sure whether to be furious with Harry for his extreme methods or grateful for the protection he provides, even when you’re too stubborn to accept its necessity.

One thing is certain, though, you'll be checking under your car properly from now on, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Because while Harry's methods may be extreme, his concern is genuine. And in his dangerous world, sometimes the difference between life and death really is as simple as taking an extra thirty seconds to be thorough.

As Zayn approaches with a nod of greeting, his dark eyes sweep the area with professional vigilance, and you make a mental note to start paying more attention to all of Harry's security rules. Not just because you finally understand their importance, but because the alternative is living with whatever creative "lesson" he might dream up next. And while this one ended with nothing more than a scare and a bruised ego, you have a feeling Harry’s patience for repeated carelessness is far more limited than he lets on.

"He made his point, then?" Zayn asks as he crouches to remove the device, his tone dry, like he already knows exactly what this little exercise was about.

"Oh, he made it," you reply, watching as he efficiently detaches the fake bomb from beneath your car. "Loudly and clearly."

Zayn’s lips quirk in what might be the closest thing to a smile you’ve ever seen from him. "He worries," he says simply, like that explains and justifies everything: the lie, the scare, the constant surveillance.

And the thing is, as you wait for him to finish so you can head back to the penthouse where Harry is waiting, you realize it does explain it. Because in Harry’s world, worry doesn’t show up as gentle reminders or heart-to-hearts. It shows up in through precautions, in backup plans for backup plans, in men like Zayn checking your car every day without your knowledge.

It’s love, expressed in the only language Harry truly understands: protection, control, and the absolute refusal to lose what he considers his. It’s not conventional, and it’s certainly not always easy to live with, but as you slide into your now-cleared car and drive toward the man who planted a fake bomb just to teach you a lesson, you find yourself smiling despite it all.

Because while normal boyfriends show they care with flowers and chocolate, Harry Styles does it with security protocols and staged explosions. And somehow, in the twisted logic of your relationship, that makes perfect sense.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's a little past midnight, the kind of autumn night where the air carries a crisp bite that hints at the coming winter. Your student apartment sits nestled in a row of similar buildings, most windows dark as their occupants sleep or study in the quiet hours.

Inside your modest second-floor apartment, you move around in the soft glow of a reading lamp, preparing for bed. Your hair is damp from a recent shower, hanging in loose waves down your back as you pad barefoot across the worn wooden floors. You’re dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt stolen from Harry's drawer. It’s a habit you've developed early in the relationship, claiming his shirts were more comfortable than any pajamas you owned.

The space feels emptier without Harry's commanding presence, though he'd only left a few hours ago, called away by a business matter he refused to elaborate on. At this point in your relationship, you know better than to ask for details. Some aspects of Harry's work remain firmly separated from your life, a boundary you’ve learned to respect even as other lines between you have blurred beyond recognition.

Checking your phone, you see a text from him sent twenty minutes ago: Done for the night. Everything locked up there?

You roll your eyes affectionately at the familiar question. 

Doors locked, alarm set, you type back, deliberately omitting any mention of the windows, particularly the one in your bedroom that you habitually leave unlocked despite Harry's repeated warnings. It's a small act of rebellion, one you justify with the logic that you live on the second floor, and no one is scaling the building to break in through your window.

Besides, you like the fresh air that circulates when you crack it open at night, especially now in the cooler months. Harry's paranoia about security is understandable given his lifestyle, but sometimes it feels excessive in the context of your ordinary student existence.

Your phone chimes with his response: Good. Get some sleep, angel. Early morning tomorrow.

You smile at the message, hearing it in his deep voice with that hint of command that never quite leaves his tone, even in the most mundane exchanges. Tomorrow you’re meant to drive out to meet Louis, one of Harry's associates who's opening a legitimate restaurant as a front for something you have deliberately not asked about.

Night x, you send back, then set your phone on the charger and move to the bathroom to finish your skincare routine.

Ten minutes later, you're sliding between the covers of your bed, the window cracked open just enough to let in a gentle breeze that stirs the curtains. The sound of occasional cars passing on the street below creates a soothing white noise as you reach for your book, intending to read a few pages before sleep.

Two chapters in, your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the day's activities catching up with you. Setting the book aside, you switch off the lamp and snuggle deeper into the covers, your breathing gradually slowing as you drift toward sleep.

You're in that hazy space between wakefulness and dreams when a subtle sound registers. A soft scraping from the direction of your window. Your eyes flutter open, squinting into the darkness as your sleep-fogged brain tries to identify the noise.

Probably just the wind, you think drowsily, about to close your eyes again when another sound comes, more distinct this time, the unmistakable creak of the window frame being pulled wider. Suddenly fully alert, Your heart leaps into your throat as adrenaline floods your system.

There's someone at your window.

Frozen in fear, you watch as a dark silhouette appears against the night sky, a large figure maneuvering with surprising grace through the opening. Your mind races wildly. The baseball bat you keep by your door is too far away and your phone is charging on the nightstand, out of immediate reach.

The intruder slips inside with practiced ease, landing on the floor with barely a sound. Tall and broad-shouldered, the figure straightens to its full height, casting a long shadow across your bedroom floor in the faint light filtering in from the street lamps outside.

Your fight-or-flight response kicks in, and you scramble to reach for your phone, a scream building in your throat only to have it die there as the intruder speaks in a low, familiar voice that sends a different kind of shiver down your spine.

"Doors locked, alarm set," Harry quotes your text back to you, his tone deceptively casual as he stands in the middle of your bedroom, having just climbed in through the very window you'd insisted was secure enough left unlocked. "But you forgot to mention the fucking windows, didn't you, angel?"

Relief courses through you, quickly followed by indignation as you fumble to switch on the bedside lamp. Light floods the room, revealing Harry in all his intimidating glory. He is dressed entirely in black, his hair slightly windswept, a dangerous glint in his eyes that suggests he's not at all pleased despite the calm delivery of his words.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" you gasp, heart still hammering in your chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry doesn't immediately respond. Instead, he moves methodically around the room, checking the locks on your other windows and drawing the curtains closed before returning to stand at the foot of your bed. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

"Teaching you a lesson," he finally says, voice low and controlled in a way that raises goosebumps along your arms. "One you seem determined not to learn through conventional methods."

 You sit up straighter against your headboard, pulling the covers up as if they might offer some protection against the intensity of his stare.

"By breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night?" you demand, your initial fear giving way to anger. "That's completely insane, Harry! You could have just talked to me about the window again if it bothers you so much."

"Talk to you?" Harry repeats, a bitter laugh escaping him as he plants his hands on the foot of your bed, leaning forward. "We've had this conversation six times in the past month alone. Clearly, talking isn't effective."

He straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixes you with a hard stare.

"So tell me, angel. What would you have done if I'd been someone else? Someone who'd been watching you, learning your habits, waiting for the perfect opportunity?"

The question lands like a slap, forcing you to confront the reality of your vulnerability. You'd been so confident in your assessment that no one could or would climb up to your second-floor window, yet Harry had managed it with disturbing ease.

"That's different," you argue, though with less conviction than before. "You're...athletic. And you knew the window would be unlocked."

"You think my enemies are recruiting out-of-shape amateurs?" Harry counters, his voice taking on an edge of frustration. "The men who would come for you because of me are professionals. They'd make what I just did look like child's play."

He runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of agitation that betrays how deeply this concerns him.

"And yes, I knew your window would be unlocked because you're fucking predictable, angel. You say the same thing every time. 'It's fine, Harry, I'm on the second floor', as if height is some magical deterrent to someone determined enough."

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the cooler night air still clinging to his clothes. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped to that dangerous softness that never fails to make your stomach tighten.

"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you because you were too stubborn to take basic precautions?" he asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the gentle gesture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "The men I've hurt for far less significant offenses than harming you?"

The question doesn't require an answer. They both know what Harry is capable of when provoked. The violence that simmers beneath his controlled exterior, usually kept carefully leashed but devastating when unleashed.

"I'm sorry," you finally say, the genuine concern beneath his anger finally penetrating your defenses. "I didn't think it was that serious."

"That's the problem," Harry replies, his fingers trailing down to your neck, resting lightly over your pulse point. "You don't think about these things because you've never had to. I have."

His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip in a caress that makes your breath catch despite the tension still lingering between them.

"I don't expect you to live in fear," he continues, his tone softening slightly. "But I do expect you to take reasonable precautions that might keep you alive if the worst happens."

You lean into his touch, the last of your indignation fading as you acknowledge the legitimate concern behind his extreme methods.

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll keep the windows locked from now on." A small smile tugs at your lips despite everything. "Though I have to say, your teaching methods are rather dramatic."

Harry's expression remains serious, though something in his eyes shifts at your attempt at lightness.

"Would you rather I'd send someone else to prove my point?" he asks, and there's no humor in the question. "One of my men could have climbed through just as easily."

The suggestion sends a chill through you, the image of a stranger entering your bedroom while you slept is far more terrifying than finding Harry there, even when he was angry.

"God, no," you answer honestly, shuddering at the thought.

"Then consider yourself lucky it was me," Harry says, his hand moving from your face to your throat, fingers wrapping loosely around it, not threatening, but a reminder of your vulnerability. "Next time, I might not be so merciful with my teaching methods."

There's a promise in those words that makes you swallow hard, uncertain whether the flutter in your stomach is fear or anticipation or some complex mixture of both. This is the duality of loving Harry Styles. The protection and the danger are so intricately intertwined that sometimes you can't distinguish between them.

"There won't be a next time," you assure him, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "Message received, loud and clear."

Harry studies you for a long moment, as if assessing the sincerity of your words. Whatever he sees in your expression must satisfy him, because some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

"Good," he says simply, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of your neck. Then a different kind of darkness enters his eyes as his gaze drops to take in your sleep attire. Specifically, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, revealing more than it conceals. "Now that we've settled that issue, we need to address another matter."

"What's that?" you ask, your voice catching slightly as you recognize the shift in his demeanor. 

"The fact that you're wearing my clothes without permission," Harry says, his voice dropping to a lower register that never fails to send heat pooling low in your belly. "That's my favorite shirt."

The accusation is clearly a pretense, given how many of his shirts have migrated to your wardrobe over the months, but you decide to play along, grateful for the change in mood.

"Oh?" you reply innocently, shifting so that the shirt slips further off your shoulder. "I didn't realize. Should I take it off?"

Harry's eyes darken further, his hand tightening slightly around your throat.

"I think you should," he agrees, his voice a low growl that makes your shiver for entirely different reasons than fear. "Slowly."

As you reach for the hem of the borrowed shirt, the earlier tension of the night transforms into a different kind of intensity  that's become as familiar as breathing in your relationship. By morning, the lesson about window locks will have been reinforced in ways far more pleasurable than Harry's initial break-in, but no less effective in ensuring you remember.

And remember you will, because if there's one thing you have learned in your time with Harry Styles, it's that his protective instincts are not to be dismissed. Especially not if you want to avoid discovering what other creative "teaching methods" he might devise to keep you safe in his dangerous world.

When you wake the next morning to find every window in your apartment not just locked but reinforced with additional security measures installed while you slept, you don't protest. Instead, you simply send Harry a text: Message received. Windows locked. Lesson learned.

His response comes seconds later: Good girl. Let's keep it that way.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

a/n: I mean…Harry's got a point. Safety protocols are not a joke but he was a bit extra hahah. Hope ya'll enjoyed

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009 @caynonmoondreams @mellamolayla @maddiesalvatore1839

[brokenpinballmachine]

✶ moon rising at 12 o'clock

yan batfam x gn neglected reader

masterlist ch1 ch2(coming....)

a/n: hiii so like,, obviously I havent been on tumblr for like YEARS so excuse if anything looks bad. 2nd thing to get off: I am in now way like PRO EXPERT level, or whatever and this is mostly just for fun so expect like,,, shitty writing/characterization maybe, wonky time schedules etc. This is like my first post in like, what, 5 years?? maybe more?? Im quite new to the fandom so sorry for like any inconsistencies LMAO

TW: mentions of death, GN reader, slightly a crack fic (pov: my excuse to everything i write), neglect (OBV), english is NOT my first language... sorry yall... im not as american as you think..... sentence structure might be a little funky

word count: 3,662 words

summary: basically every batfam x neglected reader plot ever /w like multiverses or whatever,, inspired by a lot of authors + into the spiderverse

chapter 0: finding yourself

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

How many years has it been since you've last seen your mother?

You remember showing up at the door of the Gothic-styled manor, so excited, out of your mind, livid that you were the child of Bruce Wayne. What would you do? What would you say? Would you finally have the regular life that you've always dreamed of? To say you were ecstatic would be an understatement.

The butler next to you, who you soon found out was named Alfred Pennyworth, could only chuckle at your antics, holding your suitcases filled with clothes from your old house.

You were the child of Bruce Wayne and a prostitute who you knew as your mom. She wasn't home often, but that never wiped the smile off your face.

That stupid smile on your face.

Whenever something went wrong, you somehow managed to keep positive, to keep being optimistic. It was one of the traits that your friends always remembered, despite your upbringing.

When your mom did return home, though, she would place a few items of food on the table and leave once again. You never knew where she would run off to.

A vivid memory of your childhood is your mom coming home with another man, both of them turning in your direction when you decided to make yourself known.

It was strange. Why were they holding each other like that? Questions popped up in your mind, but they were shooed away with the flick of your mother's hand, telling you to go to bed. So you did.

You convinced yourself that night that maybe your mother was trying to make a change; perhaps she was finding you a dad? Yeah! That's it! She was just finding you a new dad so the three of you could finally live a normal, happy life. The stories of your classmates also filled your mind, and how their fathers would take them to the zoo, play baseball with them, and even allow them to put makeup on him. You wanted that. You just wanted a father.

When you woke up, you couldn't find either of them anywhere. Maybe they were planning a party for you?

Then a week passed by. Then another. And before you knew it, you had run low on the food supply your mother would always bring you, not knowing it was going to be your last.

You expected your mother to show up in the nick of time to save you from starvation, but it never happened. She never showed up.

Maybe… they were playing hide and seek?

You stopped showing up to school a week before your food supply finally ran out. You had portioned every last bit of food for each day, not allowing yourself to eat even an extra breadcrumb. Even if you never felt full, it was enough to keep you alive, even if you felt numb and more tired than usual.

Occasionally you would fall asleep on the couch, and you wouldn't even realize how long you had slept until you checked the time again.

That was until the day after your supply of food ran out; someone knocked on the door.

Opening it, you peeked your eyes out until they fell upon a tall police officer who seemed shocked at the sight of a small, malnourished child looking up at him, with heavy eye bags despite the constant rest you were getting. He asked you where your parents were. You shrugged.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in the police station as they questioned you endlessly about your parents and their whereabouts.

Your teacher had gotten worried about you not showing up to school or about your parents not answering any of their calls, so as a last resort, she called the police to make sure you weren't dead or anything.

Well, you might not have been dead, but you looked like you were about to pass out at any second.

Of course, when they found you in a dirty, broken-down home that almost looked abandoned, they started searching for your biological father immediately to see if he could house you. At the same time, they were also searching for your mother, but she seemed to either be missing or dead.

And you could still remember your own shocked face when they told you that the Bruce Wayne, multimillionaire, was your damn father. Even if your mom was missing, perhaps you could still have that life you always dreamed of with your dad?

As both Alfred and you went inside the manor, you followed him around like a little duckling as he gave you a tour of every room, and your wide-eyed face was plastered with a big smile as you ran around each room and explored every detail with your eyes.

It was bigger, better, and fancier than you could have ever imagined.

"Master Y/n, would you like to visit your father?" A voice snaps you out of your haze. You see Alfred standing near a door.

With a nod, your little legs run up to him, and the sound of pitter-patter comes from your shoes hitting the recently swept floors, echoing throughout the mansion.

"Master Wayne, your child has arrived."

Bruce didn't bother looking at you. His eyes remained on the many stacks of papers that cluttered his desk. A small cough from Alfred's mouth as he speaks up once more, repeating his sentence. This time, with a tired sigh, Bruce Wayne opens his mouth, each word coming out snappy and tired.

"Not now, Alfred; I'm busy."

And that was it. Those were the only words you heard him speak, and it wouldn't be until a few months later that you would hear him speak again—not towards you, of course, but that never swept off the smile on your face.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Richard "Dick" Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake.

The names of your three other siblings.

When you had first met Dick, you stared at him in awe. Your cheerful attitude clashed well with his own, and he would ruffle your hair whenever he talked to you. Well, at least for the first week you were in the manor.

Afterward, he would always give you an excuse, as if the free trial of him being a brother to you had ended. As if he was being held at gunpoint to be the "nice" brother.

"Sorry, Y/n! I'm going out tonight, but I think Tim isn't busy!"

"Sorry, Y/n, I'm feeling a little too tired today!"

Sorry for this, sorry for that. Excuses seemed to be the only thing that ever came out of his mouth nowadays. Whenever he saw you, he would rush out of the house as soon as you came in—like he didn't want to hurt your feelings with the expected answer he would always give you.

The warm light of the manor seemed to make you chillier every time he rejected you, but it was fine. You still had two other brothers, right?

Who were you kidding?

Jason seemed to always ignore you, no matter the situation. The times he did acknowledge you were to give you short answers—a simple "yes" or "no." It wasn't like you saw him a lot, anyway.

For Tim, it seemed to be the same thing, but he did actually live in the house. He pushed you away every second he got, not bothering to even make up an excuse.

It's fine. You had Alfred, you had his cooking, and you had the manor. You had a roof over your head, so you still smiled even if it was foolish of you to do so.

You were extremely grateful for Alfred, of course, being the only one who bothered to check in on you. In your spare time, he would even let you help him cook! Maybe it was something as simple as icing a few cookies or rolling some cookie dough, but you still appreciated his effort to make you feel acknowledged.

Then came Damian.

Oh dear, not Damian.

You were immediately intimidated by him from the moment he entered the house. Maybe it was the threat that came out of his mouth when he first laid his eyes on you, or the small cut he left on your collarbone—spoiler alert: it was both—you decided not to even try to socialize with him. It wasn't worth the risk.

So why was he more beloved in the house than you?

Was it because you decided not to become a vigilante?

Why did Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim all seem more fond of him than they ever had been of you, even though you had "known them" for longer? You were jealous, to say the least, but you didn't make your voice heard. It would just cause a mess, and you knew they were often busy, so you brushed it off as you usually would.

You held a small hope that they would eventually notice you, and that was enough for you to keep a childish smile on your face. The innocent smile remained, despite being aware of everything that was happening around you. Your twelfth birthday was just around the corner, and you planned to celebrate it as you usually did: alone with Alfred.

Of course, that didn't mean you wouldn't hand out little invitations. You slipped them underneath each of your brothers' doors, pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into every detail of the handwritten notes before moving on to the next sibling. They never came to your birthdays, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

"Master Y/n, where would you like me to hang the balloons?" Alfred's voice rang in your ears. When you looked in the direction of his voice, you noticed your favorite colored balloon in both of his hands, making the smile on your face grow wider. This might be the best birthday you had decorated, like, ever!

"You can hang them up in the corners of the room!" you giggled. "Or maybe we could scatter them on the ground!"

"I'm afraid that might be a safety hazard, Master Y/n," he replied.

You could only shrug. "Hey, it's not as bad as you think!" You gave him a lopsided grin. "I'm sure no one would slip on them!"

Right, quite literally 'no one,' because you knew none of your family members were actually going to show up. Both of you continued to set up as Alfred checked on the birthday cake, the scent of which wafted toward you.

Aw, he shouldn’t have! You could recognize the aroma of your favorite flavor anywhere, and the sight of it made the corners of your mouth drool too. You inconspicuously wiped it from the edges of your mouth, blushing a bit and hoping Alfred hadn’t noticed.

He lit the candle on the cake, and you both sang together.

Despite Bruce never being there for you, you could always count on Alfred. The cool wind blew against the faces of the rest of the family; each one wore a frown as they made their way toward Wayne Manor.

The moonlight illuminated the pathway ahead and shone against their suits, almost mockingly, as if highlighting the mistakes they had made that night.

You know when people say, “Well, it can’t get any worse, right?”

Unfortunately for them, everything went terribly wrong.

They even forgot it was your birthday, Alfred noticing the glitter you used from one of your cards shining in the trash can when he went to throw something away. He didn't have the confidence to tell you; he didn't want to ruin your special night.

So when they suddenly appeared in the dining room, yelling and arguing about whose fault it was, they stopped at the sight of the decorations scattered throughout the room.

Who would be celebrating at such a time? Was this a prank? Bruce had the birthdays of all his kids (minus you) memorized, so what were these balloons and party streamers for?

Then they saw you. They saw the cake next to you; they saw the smoke coming out of the candles, they saw the multiple plates placed on the table and how only two plates actually had silverware next to them, and they saw the childish smile on your face.

You couldn't believe it; your wishes came true! They actually came.

They couldn't believe it. Awkwardness filled the room, and they each fell silent. They hadn't meant to intrude.

Of course, it wasn't your fault that the night went wrong, but Damian couldn't handle it. Your birthday—why did it have to be today of all nights? It was as if you were mocking him for the failure that occurred in battle.

He scoffs, storming out of the kitchen and stomping on one of the balloons while exiting, effectively popping it on his way out.

The sound made you flinch, and it finally brought you out of your daze. You look at Alfred, and he looks back at you, giving you a reassuring nod. You had one chance, and you weren't going to mess this up.

"Oh—sorry! I can get a few more forks if you want some cake; Alfred worked really hard on—"

You were interrupted by Bruce, who raised a hand when you were about to scramble into the kitchen to get more forks.

"No need," he says, "I'll go check on Damian."

He leaves the room, and Jason quietly follows him, leaving you alone with Tim, Dick, and Alfred.

Dick gives you a guilty smile. "Sorry, Y/n, I need to go recharge my battery!" And with that, he leaves.

Tim said something similar to Dick, and soon enough, you were alone again with Alfred. You didn't understand why they seemed to avoid you like the plague, why they ignored you at every opportunity.

The cake tasted more bitter than usual when you took a bite, and for once, the smile faded from your face.

And somewhere out in the multiverse, tonight was the night that made you "snap."

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Turning 18 was more uneventful than you would think it would be. You finally graduated high school, had a job at a local mart, and your family was still ignoring you. Yet your smile was still there; it was strained at times, but it still lay on your face unmoving, unchanging.

Alfred didn't know how you do it. If he were in your position, that smile would have been gone by the time he was age 10.

You hadn't thought much of moving out, but it was wavering in your head. You would mention it to the butler sometimes when the two of you conversed, much to his dismay.

You were also planning on going to college next year, maybe after you saved up a bit. You hadn't applied for a scholarship yet.

You should probably do that soon.

Your room was still your room despite everything. The colors of the walls seemed to be fading out, and the posters attached to them seemed to be in need of new tape.

What the hell do you do now that you have all the time in the world in your hands?

Well, you decided it would be eating.

You were hungry. That was literally the only reason you went downstairs, but instead, you instinctively started eavesdropping on the conversation between your family.

"—one of them had powers!" You heard a voice that sounded familiar to Dicks.

"What would they—doing here?" You weren't sure, but the tone of this one sounded familiar to Jason.

"Im not sure—careful, they—look out,"

A new voice seemed to join in. "Not—database, I think—the three of them—our side?"

"It doesn't matter—destroy them—" You were sure that voice was Damians.

"Dont trust—need to be careful." This voice sounded older than all of them; it had to be Bruce's. "Who were they? —only appeared today."

Damn, look at you! You were such a great detective. You were able to figure out each person based on the voices. At least you got your detectiveness (you're not sure if this is a word, but you don't care either way) from your dad.

Oh well, they could worry about that themselves. You needed to worry about what to do next.

You make your way through the manor, but an unease seems to be creeping up and into you. Maybe you were just hungry again? Something just felt...off.

You scratched it off as just being worried about deciding what you would be in the future, but the unease never seemed to leave.

When you approached your room, you realized what was wrong. 3 new figures were located in your room. One was sitting on the window, one was standing next to the window, and one seemed to be crouching near the floor.

Each one of them looked familiar, like you.

And you screamed—or were about to until a hand rudely interrupted you and slammed against your mouth.

"Don't fucking try it." The person standing next to the window was gone and instead appeared behind you with their hand over your mouth.

"Vg/n! Don't be rude!" The one sitting on the window cries out expressively as their fancy, almost magical-like, white clothing with f/c accents seemed to bounce. They had a ginormous bow on their chest that seemed quite inefficient to wear.

The person behind you, whom you assumed was Vg/n, only sighed. "We can't let them alert the others," The person sitting on the floor cackles, "As if the family would actually come up to check on them, you think they fuckin' care?"

"No, but Alfred might," Vg/n retorts.

You were confused as hell, but your questions were soon answered when the Vg/n spoke up. "Look, it may not seem like it, but we're all you. Or rather, alternate versions of you."

They remove the hand from your mouth, and you voice out your confusion. "What?"

"Im the version of you where you become a vigilante,"

"Im the one where you become awesome and cute!—" The one sitting on the floor is cut off by the one sitting on the window who is suddenly next to you. "Ignore them, they're V/n, it's you when you become a villain," They have a hand on the side of their mouth as they whisper to you, giggling as V/n throws out a little 'hey!' from the rude interruption.

"Im M/n! I'm the version of you where you become... magical!" M/n strikes a pose with a wand they have in their hand.

It's a lot for you to take in, and you stand there, quiet.

"Ya think we broke 'em?" V/n interrupts you from your train of thought.

You shake your head as they speak. "No, no, sorry, I just... how—why are you here?"

"Well, that's what we're trying to figure out too!" M/n tries to smile reassuringly at you. "We were just doing our business in our universes, and BOOM! we're suddenly together in an alleyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Vg/n staring at V/n with an analytical look, and you had to hold in your laughter.

It must've been like whiplash to them when they found their opposite counterpart.

"Wait—so if you're all alternate versions of me, then... what version am I?"

"Well, you're like the past!" M/n's bow bounces freely on their chest. "Or you can also be the 'true' Y/n if you'd like, but that's debated,"

"Past...? How old are you guys??"

"It depends on who you're asking, but we're all around the age of 23-24!"

You stare at them in shock. Were you going to grow up into one of them? Vg/n... they looked cold, hard, almost like a mini-Bruce. They seemed to always have a frown on your face, opposed to you, who always had a smile. Scars were littered all over their body, both on the inside and outside, and you could tell with a single glance they had been through a lot.

V/n. They seemed to look much better than Vg/n, but at the same time, they seemed more cruel. As if their sense of justice was blurred between the fence of good and evil, as if they had lost themselves.

M/n was different as a whole from the other two. They appeared more 'innocent,' more 'playful,' but the smile on their face seemed to be more forced at the same time.

"So, you guys are trying to get home?"

"That's the gist of it," V/n commented.

"Well, we could ask—"

Suddenly, the three of them spoke up, yelling at you with a big fat no. Jeez, their bat families couldn't have been as bad as yours, right?

Vg/n only sighed at your puzzled face, answering the question that lingered in your mind without you having to speak up. "Basically, our lives were changed on our twelfth birthday. I decided to become a vigilante; V/n wanted revenge, and M/n found a ring that made them, well… magical. Our lives were basically the same up to that point, maybe aside from a few personality differences."

So they were just as bad. Even alternate versions of you couldn't catch a break.

"Well, we should at least discuss this somewhere else; I'm getting sick of this manor," V/n scoffed.

Vg/n didn't say anything, but you could tell they agreed with V/n too, even if they didn't want to side with a villain.

"Off we go!!!" With their wand pointed high, M/n ran out of the room with a cheer, alerting both V/n and Vg/n to chase after your other alternate self, with you following in pursuit. You couldn't even make it to the exit of the manor until you ran into your family.

Your whole big-ass family.

Not even one member—your WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY—OH MY GOD. At the WORST time ever too.

"It's you!" Tim exclaimed.

"It's me!" M/n exclaimed with glee. Vg/n and V/n got into their positions, and so did the rest of the Batfamily.

You knew this was going to turn into a mess.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

a/n 2: hii ok so for vg/n and v/n you can think of whatever outfit you want, but for m/n, im thinking of like, a madoka type outfit if your going for feminine, or a suit /w a cape (and the inside is the f/c accent) if ur going for masculine!! both masc and fem outfits have a bow on the chest area!

here are the theme songs!!

(M/n = Magical name, V/n = Villain name, Vg/n = Vigilante Name)

M/n: Magnetic - Illit, and fight theme would be Right Now - Newjeans (instrumental)

V/n: Demons - Doja Cat, and fight theme would be Yummy - Ayesha Erotica

Vg/n: Homesick - Wave to Earth

[housewiththelemontree]

I love that the Prince that was Promised prophecy involves a mistranslation. Of course it could also be a princess--gender is only of the most inconsistent grammatical rules across language boundaries.

It seems all gruff and barbaric likewise that the Dothraki language has no word for 'thank you,' but why would it? The major plot point involving Dothraki culture is that gifts are given and repaid in their own time. If you pass someone horsemeat around the campfire, the action is not complete until they hand you fermented mare's milk a week later. Perhaps then you then say some polite phrase which we do not see and which does not translate into English, indicating the debt has been resolved. Language both forms and is formed by the society in which it lives.

Here's a question: when the characters in Westeros see 'lion lizards' and 'spicy peppers stuffed with cheese,' what are they describing? Unsurprisingly lion-lizards, the predatory, reptilian, swamp-dwelling sigil of house Reed, seem to be alligators, which get their English name from the Spanish for 'the lizard.' Peppers stuffed with cheese are just what they sound like, though in English we call them chiles rellenos, a name borrowed from Spanish. As the Spanish language has no presence and no analogue in ASoIaF, Westeros has to describe these concept using its own words and its own concepts.

Now imagine we have a character whose name is a common noun, being discussed with someone who does not speak the language that noun exists in. The name might be shared phonetically, or it might be translated to the new language--especially if, say, the communication happens more on the level of concepts than on the level of words. For a name like Bloodraven this is easy enough. All languages have a word for blood, and all have a word for shiny black corvids, although they may or may not distinguish them from crows. But what about a name that's a little more specific? A culture that's extremely tree-focused have a word for every part of a tree, for example, and they may have a name for every part of every type of tree. But when translating a name meaning 'two month old bud on the upper branch of a weirwood' into the Common Tongue, for example, perhaps the best translation they could come up with would just be Leaf.

Bran is another example. Someone from the North would know it's a nickname of Brandon. Someone without that context might assume it refers to the edible husk removed from grain. And finally, someone whose culture eats a grain without a husk that needs removing might understand Bran's name as simply "Corn! Corn! Corn!"

[justchillgurl]

Chapter 2: Smoking Mirrors.

Summary: Geum Seong-je isn’t one to care about school politics, but something about her—the girl with the chessboard smile and debt-tracked hands—gets under his skin. From hallway glimpses to quiet observation, he begins to unthread her method. Not to expose her. Just to see if she ever slips.

He doesn’t think she will. That’s what makes it interesting.

Warnings: none (not yet at least.) just seongje smoking.

Author's note: I'm not really confident about those chapters, feel free to give your feedback. English is not my first language, please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. Thank you🫶🏼

Check this out!@

The lighter clicked once. Twice. Flame hissed, flickered, and died against the afternoon wind.

Seong-je exhaled through his teeth, dug the lighter deeper into his palm, and tried again. On the third attempt, it caught. The tip of the cigarette burned soft orange as he leaned back against the cracked brick wall outside the east stairwell, smoke curling lazily around his face.

He wasn’t supposed to be out here. Not technically.

But that was the whole point.

Classes were still in session. The school felt hollow in this part of the building—too far from the teachers’ offices, too quiet for anyone to bother checking. A graveyard for rusted lockers and long-forgotten announcements. Seong-je liked it here. It was predictable in its neglect.

His phone buzzed.

Seong-Mok: u gonna show up today or what?

He locked the screen without answering.

Seong-je didn’t skip class because he had better things to do. He skipped because nothing in that building made him feel awake. He’d already figured out which teachers didn’t bother calling names, which students kept their heads down, and which staff gave up trying to correct him.

He existed at the edge of Kanghak High’s awareness. Not low enough to worry about. Not loud enough to deal with.

Except now there was her.

He’d been watching her longer than he liked to admit.

It started in the convenience store. The way she measured every action, every word, like she was scoring a game only she understood. She didn’t seek attention, but it followed her anyway—hovering around her sharp shoulders and immovable stare.

He didn’t care about rumors, but even he’d heard things.

She was the one with the notes. The blog. The connections. She never raised her voice. Never smiled for no reason. And never helped without a trade.

A few days after their non-meeting, he saw her again.

She was sitting in the back corner of the library, laptop open, typing fast and without pause. Her phone buzzed three times—she ignored it. Her bag sat on the floor, half unzipped, with a folder of printed sheets sticking out like pressed wings.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched.

The next day, she was walking across the courtyard, head tilted as someone tried desperately to gain her approval. Seong-je could tell. The body language was all there—hands fidgeting, voice too eager, laugh a little too loud. She listened with that same neutral expression, nodding only once before slipping a folded note into the person’s hand.

Transaction complete.

He lit another cigarette.

He didn’t want to interact. Not yet. That wasn’t how you watched people like her. You didn’t start by talking. You started by observing—finding the cracks. The inconsistencies. The rules she followed and when she bent them.

He already knew some of them.

She refused requests that weren’t worth her time. She wore earbuds in crowded spaces—not because she liked music, but because it gave her an excuse not to engage.

She smiled differently depending on who was talking.

To teachers: soft, respectful.

To classmates: polite, measured.

To those beneath her ranking system: almost invisible.

There was a system. He was sure of it.

And it intrigued the hell out of him.

One afternoon, he caught a sliver of her voice near the back staircase. Someone was begging—literally—for help on a scholarship essay. She didn’t yell. She didn’t even sound annoyed.

“Do you really think my notes are free?” she said calmly.

“No, no—I’ll pay. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“I don’t want desperation. I want results. I want return.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“Make me a deal that makes sense. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

She walked off. Her steps echoed sharp and fast.

She didn’t glance at Seong-je as she passed.

But he noticed her thumb flick across her phone screen the moment she turned the corner. Probably logging the encounter. Updating a name. Moving pieces.

He tossed the cigarette butt into a gutter and kicked the edge of a bench.

The weird thing was, he didn’t want anything from her. Not really. He wasn’t looking for help, or notes, or connections. He wasn’t even looking for a fight.

He just wanted to know if she ever messed up.

If the game she was playing was as perfect as she made it look.

Because people like her didn’t run without cracks. No matter how polished. No matter how precise.

And Geum Seong-je had time. He had silence. And he had an unsettling talent for noticing what others ignored.

He could wait.

This is gonna be fucking fun.

So I decided to drop the chapter tonight, felt like it.

Hope you enjoy reading it🫂.

[loveanton]

melting point | lee anton

ꕤ DESCRIPTION: after spending the last few months as anton’s hidden secret you finally reach your limit with his inconsistency.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: situationship!anton x f!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.8k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: desperate anton, some jealousy, kissing, and brief mentions of sex and alcohol

⏤ 𝑎/n: first riize post ^-^

You’re at your limit.

The bass pounds in sync with the rapid thump of your heart. The club is a kaleidoscope of pulsating lights and swirling laughter, but your focus narrows on one person: Anton. He's across the room, surrounded by a cluster of people, his magnetic charm drawing them in like moths to a flame. And there she is, Minji, hanging on his every word, her laughter tinkling like glass wind chimes.

You clutch your drink, the ice cubes clinking against the red solo cup in a rhythm that matches the turmoil in your mind. This isn't the first time you've found yourself in this position — watching Anton flirt effortlessly, his attention a fleeting commodity you crave but can never fully grasp. 

You take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. It's a familiar battle, one you've fought countless times before. But tonight feels different, heavier somehow, as if the weight of your unspoken desires has become too much to bear. The two of you aren't exclusive, you remind yourself. You’re just...something. 

Yet, seeing him engrossed in conversation with another girl ignites a flurry of emotions within you.

As you stand there, grappling with your emotions, the thumping bass seems to echo the rhythm of your racing heart. A familiar voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. "You okay?"

Turning, you see Heejin, your closest friend and roommate, her concern etched into the lines of her face. She knows you better than anyone, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm facade.

You offer her a small smile, though it feels feeble against the weight of your emotions. "I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Heejin studies you for a moment, her gaze searching and knowing. "No you're not. I can see it written all over your face."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you meet her gaze, the floodgates of your emotions threatening to burst open. "It's just... Anton," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Understanding flashes in Heejin's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you're feeling. "I know," she murmurs, her voice soft but steady. "I've seen how much he means to you."

As you stand there, with Heejin's comforting presence beside you, memories flood your mind, tracing back to the moment when you first met Anton.

It was a late summer night in Seoul, and you were still adjusting to the bustling city, the unfamiliar sights and sounds overwhelming your senses. A craving for a midnight snack led you to the nearest convenience store, where you stumbled through the aisles in search of something familiar amidst the sea of unfamiliar products.

Lost in your own thoughts, you barely noticed the figure standing nearby until he spoke, his soft voice breaking through the fog of your confusion. "Need help finding something?"

You turned to see Anton, a friendly smile on his face, his easy demeanor putting you at ease. Relief washed over you as you realized he spoke English, a rare find in a country where you struggled to navigate the language barrier.

With his guidance, you found the sweet treat you were looking for, and as you parted ways, a sense of gratitude swelled within you. Little did you know, that chance encounter would become the start of something more.

Every Friday night after a long week of lectures, like clockwork, you found yourself drawn back to the same convenience store, hoping to catch another glimpse of the stranger who had shown you kindness in a foreign land. And without fail, there he would be, waiting for you in the back near the ramen section, a knowing smile on his lips as he greeted you with a simple "Hey."

In those moments, surrounded by the hum of refrigerators and the soft glow of fluorescent lights, you found solace in Anton's company.

You shared stories and laughter over steaming bowls of ramen, forging a bond that grew stronger with each passing week. And as you navigated the complexities of life in a new country, Anton became your anchor, a constant presence amidst the chaos of change. Eventually though the late night ramen runs shifted into late night hookups at his dorm.

You never intended to fall so hard and so fast for Anton but something about his soft spoken nature and charming smile rendered you a fool and now, as you stand here, grappling with the ache in your chest, you can't help but wonder if your bond with Anton was nothing more than a fleeting moment in time. The uncertainty of your situationship weighs heavily on your heart, overshadowing the warmth of those Friday night encounters.

You take a shaky breath, the weight of your unspoken feelings heavy on your chest. "What should I do?" you ask, your voice tinged with desperation.

Heejin listens to your question, her gaze softening with empathy as she considers her response. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before speaking. "You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, not just a fleeting lay in the dead of night," she says gently, her words carrying the weight of truth.

You bristle at her words, a surge of defensiveness rising within you. "But maybe he just... he's busy, you know? Maybe he's just not good at showing his feelings," you protest, the familiar excuses falling from your lips like a well-rehearsed script.

Heejin's expression remains unchanged, her gaze unwavering as she meets your eyes. "You've been holding onto this hope for so long, but deep down, you know it's not enough," she says firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. "Anton's status as an idol may complicate things, but that doesn't excuse his lack of effort outside of those late-night meetups."

You falter under her scrutiny, the weight of her words sinking in with each passing moment. She's right, of course. Anton's gestures, while comforting in the moment, were little more than crumbs of affection scattered at your feet, never enough to sustain the hunger in your heart.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin continues, "But look around you. Do you see him anywhere near you? Or is he off, charming someone who's 'socially acceptable' to be seen with?"

A bitter taste rises in your mouth as you glance around the room, taking in the sight of Anton across the crowded space, his attention focused on Minji, someone who fits seamlessly into his world of fame and glamor. And suddenly, the illusion shatters, leaving behind nothing but the harsh reality of your situation.

You take a shaky breath, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. "You're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the noise of the party. "I've been fooling myself, thinking there was something more between us."

Heejin squeezes your shoulder in silent solidarity, her presence a source of comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "It's okay to let go," she says softly, her words a gentle reminder that sometimes, the hardest part is acknowledging when it's time to move on.

Tears sting your eyes as you feel the weight of regret settle upon your shoulders. "I feel so stupid," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. "I wasted half my summer on a boy who wasn't worth it."

Heejin pulls you into a comforting embrace, her arms a shelter from the storm raging within you. "You're not stupid," she reassures you, her voice soft but firm. "You took a chance on something that felt real, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Despite her comforting words, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You had allowed yourself to be swept away by the allure of Anton's charm, only to realize too late that it was nothing more than a facade.

"But hey," Heejin continues, her tone brightening with a hint of optimism, "at least you made some fun memories to last you through the upcoming semester, right?"

You manage a small smile through your tears, grateful for Heejin's unwavering support. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you concede, the weight on your heart easing ever so slightly at the reminder of the good times you shared.

Just as you and Heejin decide to leave the club, your resolve wavering but firm, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. As you navigate through the crowded space towards the restroom, a familiar voice calls out to you, stopping you in your tracks. "Hey, can we talk?"

You turn to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he pulls you aside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. Despite the ache in your chest, you can't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at his sudden appearance.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin's words echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the reality you had tried so hard to ignore.

Anton's voice interrupts your thoughts, his words cutting through the noise of the club like a beacon in the darkness. "I missed you, angel," he confesses, his arms encircling your waist in a familiar embrace.

You freeze at his touch, the conflicting emotions raging within you like a storm. His warmth against your skin, once a source of comfort, now feels suffocating in its familiarity. You remain silent, unable to form coherent words amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

Unfazed by your lack of response, Anton leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers softly, "Do you want to head home with me tonight?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications. But before you can consider his offer, a surge of frustration and indignation rises within you, breaking through the haze of confusion and growing horniness.

"No," you reply firmly, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "I need to know, Anton. What are we? What do you want from me?" You pause, your gaze searching his face for any sign of sincerity. "Because this... this isn't fair to me."

Anton's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by a mask of indifference. "What do you mean?" he asks, his tone casual, as if your question holds no weight.

But you refuse to back down, the fire burning within you fueling your resolve. "You know exactly what I mean," you insist, your voice rising with each word. "You reel me in with compliments and empty promises, but you never follow through. You only ever want to see me at night, where no one else can see us. I deserve more than that, Anton. We both do."

Anton's grip tightens slightly around your waist, his brows furrowing in frustration. "It's not that simple, okay?" he retorts, his voice tinged with defensiveness. "You know how hectic my schedule is with my job. I can't always be there when you want me to be."

You shake your head, the bitterness of his words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "It's not about being there all the time, Anton," you counter, your voice tinged with disappointment. "It's about making an effort, about showing me that I actually mean something to you."

He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it. "I'm tired of the excuses, Anton," you continue, your tone weary but resolute. "I need more than empty promises and late-night hookups. I need someone who's willing to put in the effort, someone who's not afraid to show me off to the world."

Anton's jaw tightens, his frustration palpable as he struggles to find the right words. "You think I don't want that too?" he finally blurts out, his voice edged with exasperation. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live under the constant scrutiny of the public eye? To have every move you make dissected and judged?"

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of his own insecurities. You understand the pressures of his career, the sacrifices he's had to make to maintain his image in the spotlight. But it's hard to reconcile his struggles with the hurt you've endured in silence.

"I know it's not easy," you concede, your voice softening with empathy. "But that doesn't excuse the way you've treated me, Anton. I've been patient, I've been understanding, but I can't keep pretending like everything's okay when it's not."

Anton's gaze flickers with a mixture of regret and resignation as he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice laced with sincerity. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I don't know how to do this."

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty of his confession stirring something within you. But before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving behind only the heat of his touch and the softness of his lips against yours. And in that fleeting moment of intimacy, you're tempted to forget all the pain and uncertainty, to lose yourself in the familiarity of his embrace.

As Anton pulls away from the kiss, desperation flashes in his eyes, pleading with you not to leave him. "Please, don't go," he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can't lose you, not like this."

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips trailing soft kisses across your cheeks, each touch a silent plea for forgiveness. "I'll do better, I promise," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm against your ear. "I'll put a label on what we have, I'll make it official. Just give me another chance."

You feel a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you, torn between the pain of the past and the hope of a future where things could be different.

"I don't know, Anton," you murmur, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "I want to believe you, but... how can I be sure this time will be different?"

Anton's expression softens, a flicker of determination crossing his features. "I'll show you," he vows, his words laced with conviction. "I'll make it up to you, every single day. Just tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to believe in him and the fear of being hurt again. But as you meet his gaze, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there's still a chance for redemption.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the chaos of the club. "But this is your last chance, Anton. No more empty promises, no more excuses. Show me that you mean it this time."

Anton leans in once again and captures your lips in another kiss, this time with a depth of emotion that leaves you reeling. It's as if he's pouring all of his love and regret into the fervent press of his mouth against yours, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for everything."

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you listen to him speak.

"Can I make it up to you?" Anton asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come home with me, let me show you how sorry I am, angel.”

You take a step back to look into his eyes but Anton quickly scoops you back towards his body. His other hand is on the side of your face, pulling you in. He dips his head and crashes his soft lips against your waiting lips. You let out a moan at the force behind the kiss but don’t object. He turns his head to deepen the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss only gets hotter and hotter as you continue, Anton tilts his head to the side and you move yours in the opposite direction. Parting from your lips, he moves down gently to the corner of your lips, the tip of his nose buried in the junction of your jaw to take deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

The male lays more open mouthed kisses down your neck, making you feel nothing but pure bliss. Your eyes shut as you moan into the air.

His hands move from your waist downwards, sliding over your jeans to caress your ass and thighs. He places one more love bite on your neck before bending a bit and lifting the back of your thighs as if you weigh nothing. You gasp in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck tightly so as to not fall.

You tug at his hair before responding to his previous question. “Take me home, Chanie.”

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 5

Part 5 - Translating humor and wordplay

Translating jokes from one language to another can be difficult, especially when the humor revolves around wordplay that's only apparent in the original language. Luckily for a comedy series like SxF, most of the humor relies on concepts that are universal to all languages, but there are the occasional jokes that require creative translation in order to get the same effect in English. What I think is the most well-known example of this kind of joke in SxF is from chapter 26, where Yuri tells Anya that "knowledge is power" during their tutoring session.

The Japanese phrase for this is 知は力 ("chi wa chikara"). Anya mishears this as ちわわぢから ("chiwawa jikara"), which means "chihuahua power," which is why we see the image of a muscular chihuahua in her thoughts. This results in Yuri calling her チワワ娘 ("chihuahua girl") from then on. Obviously this joke would be lost if translated directly, so Casey Loe, the official English translator for the SxF manga, got creative with making it work in English. He cleverly utilizes the English expression, "the whole enchilada," which sounds enough like "swole chihuahua" for Anya to believably mistake the two. This translation also makes it so that Yuri calling Anya "chihuahua girl" later on makes sense.

But unfortunately, because a series can have different companies working on the localization of its anime versus its manga, inconsistencies between the two often come up. In this case, the anime team translated this joke completely differently, and less effectively in my opinion. You can see from the below screenshots that they had Yuri use the word "unleash," which then led to Anya associating a (muscular) dog without a leash as powerful (?) Again, this translation was a stretch in my opinion and not as good as the manga version. This also makes it so that translating Yuri's nickname for Anya as "chihuahua girl" won't make sense.

But what's interesting is that, many months and episodes later in season 2, they stayed consistent with that translation and had Yuri call Anya "stupid leash girl" in episode 28.

Despite my dislike for this translation, I have to give them kudos for remembering it all that time later and not just directly translating it as "chihuahua girl." Though it makes me wonder if they'll stay consistent in season 3 where Yuri will be referring to Anya as "chihuahua girl" once again.

A further complication is that, not only do these kinds of inconsistencies exist between the anime and manga translations, but they also exist between the different streaming services that stream SxF with English subtitles throughout the world. I only have access to the subtitled version from Hulu, which is where my screenshots are from, and I think other streaming services in the US like Crunchyroll, Amazon, Netflix, etc, use the exact same subtitles. So when I refer to "the Hulu subtitles" throughout this post, I mean other major US streaming services too. However, I'm not totally sure if they all do share the same subtitle script, so if anyone who has these services could confirm, that would be great! However, @tare-anime informed me that Muse Asia's English subtitles for SxF are completely different! For example, they translated the above joke more closely to the original, by using the phrase "puppy power" and keeping Yuri's nickname for Anya as "chihuahua girl."

There are further differences with Muse Asia's translation as well, for example, they directly translate Anya's names for Loid and Yor, "chichi" and "haha," as "Father" and "Mother" instead of "Papa" and "Mama."

(thanks again to Tare for the Muse Asia screenshots!) This is different, not only compared to the Hulu subtitles, but also the official English manga as well, both of which have Anya consistently use "Papa" and "Mama."

Tare also let me know that Disney Plus in Asia, another service that streams SxF, has yet another version of the English subtitles! And these are only the subtitled versions for the US and Asia - if SxF is streamed with English subtitles in other countries, I wonder if those are different as well. That means there's at least 3-4 different English subtitle scripts for SxF, with different ways of translating certain things, like what I described above. This could make things confusing for someone without any knowledge of Japanese who reads the English version of the manga and watches the subtitled version of the anime on one or more streaming services...if they read the first few volumes of the manga with the "swole chihuahua" translation, then watch season 2 of the anime, they're gonna be confused about why Yuri calls Anya "stupid leash girl." There's other more minor inconsistencies too, like how the Hulu subtitles have Yor call Anya "Miss Anya" all the time, but the manga doesn't.

I'm sure there's some licensing reasons why there isn't one official English subtitle script that all the streaming services can use, and why they don't consult the manga translations, especially for the more difficult-to-translate parts. It seems like wasted effort for so many official English translations to exist for the same thing.

But anyway, back to the translations of jokes in SxF, another one that stood out to me occurred in chapter 23. During the scene where Loid is asking Anya about a name for Bond, he explains how dogs have trouble discerning the sounds of consonants. The phrase he uses for this is 子音の聞き分け("shiin no kiki wake"), which means "distinguishing consonants," with "shiin" meaning "consonant." However, there's another word "shiin" with the kanji 死因 that means "cause of death." This is what Yor thinks he means - 死因の聞き分け ("shiin no kiki wake"), which means "determining the cause of death." So in her thoughts, she imagines asking Bond if he prefers death by blood loss (失血死) or by being crushed (圧死), and when he shakes his head at both, she says "you're not good at these distinctions, are you?"

This is a difficult joke to translate, so Casey got a bit loose by having Loid use the word "plosives" instead of "consonants," and then having Yor mishear it as "explosives." He then changed up Yor's dialogue by having her say that Bond prefers C-4 explosions over other methods of death.

While I don't think the translation of this joke worked as well as the previous one (I feel like Yor wouldn't know about C-4 explosions?) I couldn't come up with anything better myself, lol. It just goes to show how translating things as closely to the original as possible isn't always the best choice…but oddly, that's what the Hulu subtitles did! For some reason they opted not to even attempt to rework this joke for English, and kept both Loid and Yor's dialogue as exact translations. This results in an exchange that makes no sense and will leave people wondering how Yor could mistake Loid's "can't tell consonants apart" as "can't tell causes of death apart."

However, there are some cases where the wordplay works similar enough in both Japanese and English that the joke can be translated without too much modification. An example of this is in chapter 59 where Becky asks Yor how she was able to "get" Loid…"pierce his heart" as she puts it. Yor thinks she means this literally, to which she replies that she wouldn't hurt Loid.

The Japanese version is very similar, with Becky using the verb 射止める("itomeru") which means "to shoot down" (with an arrow). However, it has a figurative meaning too, which is "to win" as in "win someone's heart." Yor thinks Becky means the literal meaning of shooting down, so she says that she wouldn't shoot Loid and that she doesn't even use a bow and arrows.

The Hulu subtitles translate it more or less directly, having Becky say "shoot an arrow through his heart" and keeping Yor's "I don't use a bow and arrows" that the manga omitted. Rare case where I think the anime translation worked better than the manga!

In the case of this joke, the concept of "shooting someone's heart" to mean "winning someone's heart" is universal in both English and Japanese, so little reworking was needed. This also helped keep consistency with Yor's tendency to associate otherwise benign concepts with violence due to the nature of her work.

I'll wrap up this post with what I think is the most commendable translation of a joke so far in the manga: how Casey translated the names of the guest characters at the ski resort in chapter 94.

Their names are puns in Japanese as well, and Annie over on Twitter already did a great breakdown of how each of the wordplay in their names was translated, so definitely check out that thread here. Since this chapter has yet to be animated, I'm really curious how the anime translators will handle this…since it seems like they don't reference the manga, they'll probably either translate the names literally or come up with their own pun names, and either will unfortunately lead to the same kind of inconsistencies between the anime and manga translations that I touched on earlier.

To summarize, humor can be a very culture/language specific thing, so it's up to the translator to make sure the same feeling is conveyed in their translation even if they have to essentially make up their own jokes. With that said, it's a shame that there isn't collaboration between the translators of the anime and manga to ensure consistent translations across the franchise. So I hope this post helped shed light, not just on how some of the jokes in SxF were conveyed in Japanese, but also on why some things in the English version of SxF seem inconsistent between the anime and manga.

Continue to Part 6 ->

<- Return to Part 4

[bear-remn]

Girl, I’m addicted to your blog! It’s so creative and captivating; I can feel the vibrant energy between the characters. It’s truly rewarding to have so many brilliant artists in the fandom <3

I can’t wait to see a headcanon about Subaru; I think I’m going to die when that moment arrives.

(I'm sorry for any inconsistencies; my english isn't the best yet, and I sometimes need help :T)

— subaru headcanons!

omg ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ ty so much for your kind words! i felt appreciated reading it so thanks for making my day! youre such a sweetheart, ty again for support my blog and my art (๑´>᎑<)~*

here i bring subaru, and it was a little more difficult than with the rest of the sakamakis, maybe bc i dont get most of subarus actions, i think he is the one with more inconcistencias in his development so i hope i dont dissapoint with it, he is so difficult but so easy at the same time im going crazy.

tw: this post contains nsfw (+18)!!! if you dont like that content dont read it!

i spent so much time drawing this and it was so worth it, and i really was a little off with drawing him angry or neutral so i draw him with two cute little smiles, i also hated his hair during sketching this, fk desing, but i love it so much ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

his looks and selfcare

i think subaru is very handsome, like his brothers, but he dont know it, he dont realize how good looking he is. i can imagine subaru being constantly approached by his classmates, both woman and men, but since he ghe way he is, his appearance got overpowered by his personality.

i also think, maybe a little too out of the clue but, i think subaru face most of the time is like a little angry, without realizing it, his eyebrows furrow giving an angry image, even if he is not, it is like his face of rest. angry rest face.

i think subaru is very similar to his mother, but with the structure of his father, i imagine subaru with slanted eyes, a straight nose, and his strong jaw makes his face come together so well. i like to think subaru has a gentle gaze, not a killer one like ayato, maybe bc he is constantly on his past and feels pity for another living being, something in between.

i think subaru has one of the most hipnotizing eyes, not like his brothers tho. i like to think he is has more the kind of eyes shu has, like a deep color and with a fixed expression. i like to think they, shu and subaru, are very alike even if they have different mothers.

i belive subaru is the kind of man that don't sweat much, even so, i do think subaru likes to shower often, i think he is more into long hot boiling baths, and if he is more stress than normal, he totally is gonna ask for ayatos bath bombs or so, dont like candles tho. and i also think sometimes he fell asleep during some baths.

i think subaru might like sweet scents even if he deny it, he loves sweet smells. maybe a good vanilla or a coconut one, but i do see him liking sweet fruits, such as strawberries, peaches, and apples. specially peaches. he likes it on his shampoo, his conditiones, his bar soap and even the liquid soap for hands. but not on perfume.

i think subaru likes more mint, lemon or so when it comes to perfume.

oh, i think subaru also has more of straight hair than curly hair, you know when a part of your is more curly or has more volume than another part? thats subarus hair for sure, so he tends to make it even by brushing it.

i think subaru's body is... very very... like... hot you know? like he is tall and more thick than his brothers, with a wide back and shoulders. i also love imagine subaru with big arms and his forearms?? his hands?? just thick. very strong and definetly has veins in his arms without making an effort. and as shu, he also as a thick waist and a very strong and gooooood looking v line. and also has a happy trail. i mean. do you imagine him shaving often? his beautiful silver hair? no, he doesnt shave too much.

i think subaru, as rare as it might sound, gets hair on his chest, that hair he shaves it, but the hair of the rest of his body not too much, and its not visible either. like, white hair on his pale skin? not on easy sight.

oh, and he also has thick fingers and his nails are pretty avegare, but for some reason the nail of his pinky grows faster than the others, so he thens to bite that one.

and about his style, i do belive subaru only likes basics and neutrals clothes, but don't like to feel things around his neck, it get on his nerves, dont like oversize clothes either.

and to finish, subaru is like his two olders brothers and can't grow a hole beard, subaru shaves it right away when he sees a little bit of hair, makes him feel old too.

random stuff

to start off with this man. i have some thought on his behavior. like have you guys seen how jelaous he is? he is maybe the most childish one out the sakamakis when it comes to jealousy. and thats canon for me.

but i do see him being very passive aggressive with the people he enjoys to hang out, like if you are with him and you ask him for a pencil, he will just say no and then pass it to you. and with a dead ass angry face. no reason for it. or if you ask him a favor he will say "fuck off" and then do it.

i hate the fact of subaru not having not one single fucking hobby, wtf?? i dont belive it. i do think he might have tried stuff and just dont get too into it. but not every hobby, like maybe reading existencial poetry or even drawing or painting, i do see him as a artist kind of guy lol. i imagine subaru in his teen years, some time has passed since his mother died, and he always tries to paint in oil white roses, just to keep her mother in his mind but he hates it so much he destroys every stencil he makes.

i also think he might have tried to draw animals in the woods close to the manor but the animals moved so much he got frustrated and never tried again.

and maybe, a little sad, but he hates to cry, so he just let his tears fall from his eyes and bites on his lips to not make a sound, he will hate his brotheres to see him cry.

i think, subaru used to bite his nails, thinking and trying to understand his mother but at his age it was so confusing for him. and the hate just for seeing his father will make him bites on his fingers as well. he was very anxious in his childhood and no one, even when he tried to get close to the triples bc he wanted to play with them, he was left apart, so he never felt a part of anything, but i do belive subaru still want to be a real brother even if he dont know how to.

i think, even if subaru says otherwise, subaru likes spicy food, like hot flaming food, likes how it feels in his troat.

i also think he is more into weight lifting, thats why his body is more thick than his brothers that does another kind of excersize.

and as ayato, always feels anxious when is close to something religios, just feels weird and ridiculous for him. church's specially.

and i like to think, i know he will do it, when subaru can't sleep he taps the wood of his coffin whith his fingers on the beat on songs, like really soft and just for him to hear. eventually his fingers will stop bc he fall asleep.

or if he is bored he definetly play with his knife, like when the moonlight is bright on his window room. subaru will take his knife out and reflect the light on the silver, playing a little with it. sometimes he does this with his brothers when they are in the garden just minding their bussiness, making the little light come into their eyes and then hiding behind the curtains in his room. can't laugh, either way his brothers will know he was the one messing with them.

nsfw

ok, so.... his dick....

i belive, on my knees, that he always have the same size, like, you know meat team? yea... that. i see him as a good 18 cm, its thick and heavy, his balls too, the man is just a little too big for his own good. also has two prominent veins coming from his crocht to the tip, wich is a pretty soft salmon color. he keeps some hair but not too long, just enough to have a slight happy trail of his silver hair.

i think subaru is definetly a dominant, but not a harsh one, something like a service dom, he don't mind if you are on top or start things, but do likes to have most control of situations. but he don't seek a too submissive partner either, he wants you to desire it as much as he does. bc he does.

i think subaru is not good at flirting so much... i mean, i have to say it, subaru is rather shy when it comes to romance, basically bc he thinks he does'nt deserve any kind of love or affection, so yea, kinda difficult. so i think his way to show you he cares for you or is interested in you is quality time, like, i imagine subaru hanging out with you and just listening to whatever you're saying, and talking for him really makes him more interested for you, he is not the kind of guy that will see first your looks, it has not a single one bit of appeal for your body at first. and definetly he will not make the firts move, and im not talking about kissing, i am talking about fucking holding hands. yes.

and when he is feeling more confortable with you, subaru will start to checking you out, like watching your legs when you cross them, even if you have pants, the man is intriged. or if you have your hair up he cannot take his eyes off your neck, he really craves your physical touch. and if you catch him looking at you he will simply mess with you "what? im not watching you, just a fly pass by" yea he's that.

in other ocasions if he smells a change of scent due your perfume, he will get close to you but not enought to touch your skin "peaches? uh... not bad i suppose" but the man is obsessed.

and when the times come, when you kiss him subaru is a little taken aback but will hold you close and look into your eyes "are you sure? if you get involved with me, you will never go back to your old life, think wise or else you'll end up like me" but ofc, you choose him.

since that moment, he will bite you more often, but more gentle and hold you more close to his body, i imagine him biting your neck and drinking a little of you blood to then lick the wounds and kiss them so they can heal better, his kisses go up until his lips reach yours.

oh and his kisses? omg.

but before talking of subaru kisses, i have to say this.

i think subaru is very... like, into physical touch but in a more intimate way of, like very sutile and mature. idk but. i imagine subaru hanging out with you, maybe watching a movie and if the pose while sitting fit. subaru will have one of his hands caressing you back under your shirt. like not sexually intended, just likes to feel your skin every chance he gets. and don't put his nails againts your back bc he know you may get ghostbumps. he definetly is more of a back guy than a boob or ass man.

and if the moment pops out, and you're sitting in subaru's lap, he will touch your belly gently while resting his head on your shoulder. he loves that kind of contact with you, it means a lot to him.

and if youre using a loose shirt he have more freedom to touch as he wish, and... im losing it.

subaru in some moment will get heated by your body, since vampires can't produce body heat like humans, and will mess with you for that, but in a different way you may think "lean more againts me... your back is more hot when you're on my lap huh... don't you dare to get up" his lips are in your nape, gently kissing it while touching your belly. and if youre moving too much on top of him he might get a little bit worked up. so he will take you by your jaw and make you face him for a wet kiss.

he is'nt much of words in those moments, for him, your eyes say everything he needs to know. so... his kisses.

little detail about subaru, i dont think he will do anything with someone he is'nt truly interested, i mean, really into you, so he is'nt dry or something like that, he is very much passionate about everything he does to you and with you.

so now, his kisses, finally.

subaru likes soft and tender smooches, i see him always trying to kiss you or give you a little peck, ofc when you two are alone, dont like to make things in front of people. don't put on a show. so when the kiss gets hotter, subaru will gently bite on your lip and explore with his tongue your mouth, slowly and with no rush. feeling how hot your tongue is really makes him moan a little into your mouth, can't control his hands when your body is so hot compared to his. loves it.

so, back to the lap situation. subaru will go straight into a wet kiss, sucking on your tongue and pressiong his croch into your ass while squeezing your thigh. his breath in your lips as you hold on his strong arms, feeling how he control himself. subaru will bite your little tongue on his mouth as his hands go to hold gently your tits "ya want it? wanna go to bed or..?" and yes... he tries to be as gentle with you as he can.

i think subaru likes to carry you to bed or his coffin, likes to get your scent into it so he can sleep better later, but can't deny the bed is more confortable.

but sometimes, when the situation is more desesperate, like after a walk or a public event, he will pin you down on the floor and start kissing and biting your neck and chest "you wanted this huh? dont act dumb on me, you know what you do to me" and his hungry eyes for you will melt you completly, subaru with needy eyes is dangerous.

i think subaru don't really likes to put nicknames on you, for him the pretty name of yours feels like sweet honey on his mouth to say, so he definetly calls you by your name always. but sometimes he feels freaky and likes to call you his good girl.

and sometimes while taking off your clothes he rips them apart but not intencionally "fuck, sorry hun, this stupid fabric always gets on the way... i'll buy you a new one, a better one... or maybe you should stay like this in bed forever hehe... " and since subaru is good and nice, he is a service dom.

i think subaru enjoys to make you suffer for his mouth every chance he gets, and he got to know your body so well that he knows how to make you tremble.

subaru loves eating you out, feeling your thighs trembles and holding around his head is everything for him. subaru will lick, suck and kiss your clit, not giving attention to any other part of you body, your climax will be more late but more intense. subaru moans while eating it, hold one of you legs with one hand while the other is holding your hand, feeling how you grip his big fingers and thick knucles. after you cum he don't stop, he will lick clean every part that is wet around your pussy. his chin and lips shiny from your liquids "what? want a taste? hehe" oh, and his eyes? omg his beautiful eyes look hipnotized by your body, watching into your eyes with a gentle yet intense gaze of desire. omfg.

and if you suck him off i imagine him seated and you in your knees, taking his dick in your mouth is kinda of a challenge, bc the man in a little too thick for your little mouth, and he tries not to push you but everything about you is so hot, literally, he sometimes is afraid you may burn him with you body "dont push yourself too much... yes... that's good... youre being such a good girl" but don't like to cum on your face, he has another plans for that.

i think subaru likes to make you cum on his fingers as well, and since his fingers are thick and long enough he easily abuse your g-spot so many times until you cum again, will lick his fingers to then start touching himself as you position yourself for him.

and about positions, i think he is rather simple sometimes but if hes feeling it, might do the pose where he is standing and you're holding in the air with your legs around his waist and your hands in his shoulders. ofc he has the strenght and the size so... yea. in that position subaru is the one in full control, holding you by your butt cheeks making you move up and down on his trobing dick, and your pussy feels so good in that positions, tight and so fucking wet for him. some of your liquids fall to his legs but he can't care less, he is too inmerse in how your jaw drop in every thrust, how your eyes look into his with a needy look and your pink cheeks shine under the soft moonlight "who's my good girl huh?... yes you are... fuck... ya' better milk me good ah.." and feeling how you tighten around him makes his hands hold you more rough and fuck you hard. the wet noises with your moans and his horny grunts makes the air hot to breath, almost like a sauna, your only body heat was enough to make everything around burn in desire.

another position can be reverse coswgirl, but again, he is the one moving your body, not completly tho. i imagine subaru gasping hard while watching how you move your hips and back to have a better access to a deep conection. oh and subaru? he has to bite his bottom lip for how good you look from behind, your back is everything to him and his abs contract at the mere sight of the curvature of your back. his pace become erratic for it. he goes hard and his voice grunts a little over how fast and hard he is pushing into you, eventually subaru push your face into the matress in all four and fuck you until he cums in your back, to then put it in again and slap your ass "wanna rematch? haha" he jokes, not entirely tho.

i also think if you two got into a second round, he will let you have more control than before, will let you ride him as much as you wanted to, but facing you. and he is all into your face expressions. loves to see how your jaw drops and your eyes go blank for some seconds. his hands will squeeze your tits that bounce a little and play with your nipples, loves to make them hard. subaru's eyes sometimes will look how you move your hips, in circles or from back to front or even bouncing a little. he finds your body cute in a sexy way, its little compared by his size, and your little efforts really put a smile in his face.

oh, i also belive subaru likes when you dig your nails into his skin, any part of it, his back, his arms, his abs or his chest, he likes that a lot.

and when you both cums he will do it inside you, feeling how you milk him makes subaru not to pull out never, he is so in love of how your body heat burns every part of him.

"you did good... c'me here... my good girl did so good..."

finally, the aftercare is nice and calm, sweet too. subaru will cuddle you hiding his face in your chest, while he hugs you and tap on your back gently, like he does to his coffin before going to sleep, he wants you to relax as much as he does with that little finger tap he does.

"i love you..."

── more of my content here!

[gyummigon]

like when we first met, i hate you and i love you | beomgyu

beomgyu x fem!reader | playlist

୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: angst, slight smut ୨୧ warning: non-explicit sex (or so i think), unspecified mental disorders and illnesses, depressive thoughts, thoughts of death, thoughts of loneliness, verbal incitement to suicide, very mild violence (not dating violence), unstable and unhealthy relationship, emotional dependency, mild family strife, and lots and lots of anguish. i don't suggest reading to anyone under 18, in fact don't read it if you are under 18. ୨୧ a/n: writing this was a challenge, but i consider it to be one of the writings i put more of myself into. thank you in advance to the people who are encouraged to read, and i hope i will not disappoint you. my native language is not english, so i apologize for any errors or inconsistencies in the text. have a nice weekend!

It was easy for Beomgyu to feel trapped in his own mind, to mourn the days that were more than just lost; he swore that he remembered nothing of them, and yet they could bring him down at any moment.

He had spent nearly a quarter of his life living in hospital rooms, moving from one to another, but in the end remaining within the same four plain, pale walls. No matter how many times the morning came to him, or how long the night before, they meant nothing when all he could see was a ceiling that could only be distorted in the recesses of his mind. 

On this particular morning, the ceiling he saw as he lay sprawled on his bed was not the usual one. The sun's rays struck him from a different direction, the comfort of the mattress was not what his body was accustomed to, and the gentle puff of your breath beside him sent his mind wandering to alternatives that would save him from his growing need to flee your uncomfortable presence. 

Your situation was not entirely unfamiliar to you. You knew him too well to have any idea what was going through his mind. The guilt overflowed from the brown of his eyes and hit you almost as hard as the reality of waking up in the same situation again. As you felt the warmth of his body next to yours, you wished bitterly that he was a stranger, that way you could let him go without claiming the warmth you lost the moment nakedness stopped meaning anything.

"Beomgyu," you called him with an uncertain tone. You slid your head from the pillow to his chest and let his heartbeat against your ear flood your mind with fear. You wished you could control it and make it keep beating even if it wasn't for you. "Promise you won't let this happen again."

Beomgyu closed his eyes. The yellow color of your walls was too cheerful and always made him feel depressed. 

"I'll visit you tomorrow," was his answer. He gently put your head back on the pillow and started to get up.

A lump in your throat kept you silent as the raw fragility of his nakedness escaped the sheets. Even as he finished dressing and turned to look at you, you kept your attention on the place farthest from her eyes, afraid to get too close and discover that there were demons lurking there.

You and Beomgyu met in seventh grade, in the fall of 2016, under the rays of a bright sun and the orange hue of the leaves of an old oak tree. He had just transferred to the same school as you, but with his bright and enthusiastic personality, he had no shortage of friends, attention, or the furtive glances your curiosity encouraged you to give him. The first time you spoke to each other was after an embarrassing skateboard fall at school, but a handshake and a few awkward smiles sparked a bond that made you inseparable.

Aside from similar musical tastes and an interest in hiking, you didn't have much in common and were constantly having not-so-serious discussions about your differences. It was this contrast that made Beomgyu so eager to spend time with you. You were the respite from his usual routine, the color that was missing from the memories in his mind; the shade that waited to protect him from the sun, even though you were completely unaware of his difficulties. And things should have stayed there, in an innocent and uncomplicated friendship, but your childish need for romance and his urge for compression turned you from friends to lovers in a matter of months.

It was an inevitable fact from the beginning. He was a young man full of life carrying a heavy secret, and you were a naive young woman who didn't know what she was getting into when he opened the doors of his heart and you walked right in. By now, after six years of relationship, both of your hearts were worn out and the constant barriers that Beomgyu's unstable mental health put between you widened a distance that even monotony could not close. Beomgyu felt his soul heavy and dirty even when he was near you, the color of your life itself made him feel like a gray stain, and the shadow that once comforted him now burned him every time he tried to cling to its coolness.

"If I don't come tomorrow, don't go to the hospital until you've finished your homework, okay?"

The pain hidden in your silence made Beomgyu feel miserable and almost made him give in to your earlier request. Promising you was the right thing to do, but with him being meaningless, purposeless and pretending, how could he control himself not to come back here?

"You'll be all right, won't you?" he heard you say in a weak, languid voice.

He couldn't do anything but look at your grieving body under the sheets. He felt terrible, like a piece of trash. Every time he looked at you, he realized how disgusting he was for coming here and making you do all those things. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and at the same time berate you for letting him do it, for giving him your body even though it made you both feel dirty.

"I love you."

He wasn't sure if those words came out of his mouth and reached you, maybe he had buried them, forgetting their meaning and now they were just a broken compass. What day was it, could he go on or back? Was this the end of the story or had it just begun?

He hated himself so much.

A small smile that didn't reach your eyes spread across your face, you pressed the sheet to your body and propped your knees up on the bed so you could touch him. "Will you be okay?" you repeated as you traced the softness of his cheek with your fingers.

In a losing battle against despair, Beomgyu leaned his face into your touch and closed his eyes. He could not stop pretending that you were not the vessel into which he poured his misery. Every word out of his mouth seemed to weigh tons and lying was the only way to be with you more than just physically. 

"I'm trying."

"How long will you keep running away?"

Hearing you, Beomgyu opened his eyes and you sighed as the familiar feeling of fear and uncertainty washed over you as you looked into them. There was a heartbreaking fragility and desperation in them, the same one that was present every time he touched you and made love to you; the same one that remained when his lips moved slightly upward, giving you a faint glimpse of the hidden dimple on his cheek.

"I'm not running away, the hospital doors are always open."

"Beomgyu." You tried to sound stern, but the quiver in your voice at the mention of his name was noticeable.

"Don't worry," he murmured, putting his hands over yours to pull them away from his face. "You have enough burden with school, so avoid distractions and study hard, okay?"

"Then don't come back here, please."

"I'm so sorry." Beomgyu, with his eyes closed and a lump in his throat, placed a hand on your head and pulled you close to him to plant a kiss on your forehead. "Get some sleep before you go to school."

A helpless expression appeared on your face as Beomgyu gently stroked your hair before pulling away. You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip to stifle any more pathetic pleas from your mouth, listening to his every footstep taking him away from you.

An impulse made Beomgyu turn on his heels and look at you again. For some reason, when he saw the way you hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly, a deep urge to die washed over him from head to toe. He thought he owed it to you after all he had put you through, that there was no other way to give you a chance to escape him.

With a sigh, he took one last look at you and turned his feet toward the exit of your room, offering you the only comfort of his absence and his silence.

And as every time you watched him leave, you felt that he took a piece of your soul with him.

"You have to stop for a moment." You heard Hanna say as you both walked to your next class.

Walking across campus carried a weight that felt thicker in that moment. The weight of the morning was reflected in every step you took, shuffling your feet with the characteristic reluctance of one who has crossed an already too long college day. 

Your path to your next class is a routine one, but you have never been able to get used to the distance between one classroom and the next. As you made your way along the path of worn bricks and open spaces where the bustle of students mixed with the sound of car engines, you felt overwhelmed and anxious to get home as soon as possible.

"Take a break." Despite the weight of her guitar on her back and the art portfolio occupying her hands, Hanna moved forward beside you with lighter steps, keeping a calm tone in her voice. "You're starting to rub off on me with your negativity, if you're too tired to study then rest."

You sighed and looked at the time on your watch, your class had started five minutes ago and you still had a long way to go to get to the building where the class was. 

"You just don't get it, I rest every day even when I shouldn't," you said as you picked up your pace and Hanna mimicked you without any difficulty. 

"Procrastination is not rest, you have to really relax."

If your breathing hadn't been so fast due to the intensity of the walk, you would have sighed. From your perspective, the situation was more complicated. Your current emotional state was beginning to affect your academic performance, and you hated it. As a student of letters and a lover of reading, you had never fallen so far behind in your academic reading and homework. You were used to reading for school as much as for yourself, but in the last few weeks, it was impossible to even hold a book without being a matter of time or will. You couldn't find the concentration to be yourself anywhere, and you feared that if you didn't overcome the block and regain some focus, you would have to drop out of your classes before you failed. 

  The thought of doing poorly in school made you feel absolutely worthless and nervous.

"I'll try to change, just... don't tell Beomgyu. He's been a little intense lately about the idea that I'm doing well here."

"Why, is he pressuring you or something?"

You paused and thought about all the times Beomgyu told you to stay focused in school, to study hard and get the best grades. It always seemed to you that he said it in a sad rather than a demanding way.

"No, but the situation has been difficult since his relapse," you replied.

Hanna looked at you for a moment with her big, thoughtful eyes before she let out a sigh. "Y/n, since I met you your relationship has been difficult." 

"As long as he was under observation he would study online, but he became an irregular student. I guess that's thwarted his plans a lot and knowing my current situation will probably make him sensitive..." you tried to explain in a hurry, but stopped yourself when you couldn't ignore the little conviction in your words. Hanna gave you a reassuring smile and maneuvered her hands to free one of her arms for a few seconds and wrap it around yours. Both your legs slowed in unison and your body relaxed as you tilted your head and rested it on her shoulder.  "Do you love him?" 

Her question didn't surprise you, but you let a few minutes of silence pass between you before answering. For some reason, it was always difficult to talk about your relationship with Beomgyu; either they didn't understand it at all, or they understood it too much that you started to get the pity treatment. 

"Of course."

"As a boyfriend? I mean, do you love him romantically, not as a person you've known since puberty?"

You turned your head away from Hanna's shoulder and brought your gaze to an imprecise point in front of you. It wasn't always up and down with Beomgyu, the stability you both once had and kept you both so alive was as tentative as the current instability, the love manifested was as strong as the doubts. What did it matter how you loved him now, there was no way to know that it would make a difference. The two of you were bound together by more than love, you had a history with too many loose ends to tie up, words whispered in silence that needed to be heard and answered, wounds deep enough to choose to bleed without trying to close them. Yes, the distance was frightening, but you weren't defeated, you could take what you needed from each other to survive, and that wasn't necessarily wrong.

Except for the fact that neither of you were alive. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Hanna's voice broke through your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You let out a sigh, each question weighing you down with exhaustion. "I just... I want to understand you."

"Does he seem bad to you?" you replied without a hint of anger or concern. 

"No, I like Beomgyu, I just... since I know him, he's kind of scary to me." 

"No, gosh... He's... the nicest, most sensitive guy I've ever met."

"Not that type of scary." 

When you heard these words, you felt frustrated. You didn't understand, even though you were also scared, you didn't understand what it was that Beomgyu reflected when he was with you that you couldn't see; because you were also absolutely terrified and couldn't identify the cause. 

"He's fine, Hanna." 

"And I'm so glad, but what about you?

You wished you could answer that question without your heart trembling with hesitation, but you were at a point where you doubted even your own words. What your mouth was saying and what Hanna could surely read in your eyes were contradictory things. If only you could have at least known which was true...

"I'm fine, okay?"

Your eyes glided over each word on the page with an almost exaggerated slowness, you had read the same paragraph over and over again in the last few minutes, your head was throbbing and fatigue irritated your eyes, but they were not the reason for your lack of concentration, at least not the main one. 

Beomgyu sat a meter away from your desk, and you could feel his attention on every twitch of your facial muscles, on the movements of your hands, on the restless tapping of your foot on the floor. Those silences were the ones you hated the most to share with him, they made you insecure and any chance to approach him in a way that didn't make you feel suffocated slipped through your fingers. 

You closed the book with a sigh and turned in your chair to look at him. The dark circles under his eyes hardly surprised you, they seemed as dull as the last times you saw him, barely a spark to show they were still screaming inside.

"Are you done?" he asked, slurring his words, but you were sure he already knew the answer.

"I'm tired," you replied instead as you stood up and sought a safer position on your bed, away from his eyes.

"Me too..."

You sighed as you saw him shrink back into the chair and averted your eyes to the floor. You couldn't shake the desire to be silent that came over you every time you saw him, even you couldn't describe the feeling, it made you sick, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push down the hopes he could barely hold in his hands. You were so afraid of breaking him. Despite your caution, you admitted that you were one of those guilty of endangering the stability of the thin rope he was walking, because as long as you were together, you would be the person Beomgyu held his hand and led him to discover the worst ways to sabotage him. It was as if he was testing your criminal mind and inviting you to watch from the front row as he murdered his own dreams and hopes for life.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you felt the weight of his body sink into the mattress. You turned your face in his direction, slightly dazed as you watched him kick off his shoes and curl up into a ball under your sheets. You sighed, not resisting the urge to bring a hand up to his face and caress his cheek, the way you knew he liked it. 

"Lie down," he asked you in his little whisper. 

There he was, like a ghost in the darkness, looking at you with a longing that made your body tremble. Though he was overflowing with an inexhaustible weariness, and his features bore the nostalgia of the stars that once shone, he was heartbreakingly beautiful. His smooth skin had the feel of a misunderstood canvas, his eyes, deep and enigmatic, carried unreadable pleas. It was sadness embodied in the skin of an ethereal being, unable to be torn away. 

Your eyes closed unconsciously as Beomgyu leaned towards you after you obeyed his words, hiding his face in the curve between your neck and shoulder. The warmth of his body was always overwhelming, but his words had the power to slip between the trembling crevices of your heart and freeze its beating at will. 

"I miss you..." he murmured against your skin, the roughness of his fingers clinging to your hips and his nose sliding along your collarbone, enveloping your skin with his breath and stealing layers of your scent. "I miss you so much."

How many times had he said those words to you? You wanted to scream at him that you were here, that you hadn't gone anywhere, that he had you, that nothing would tear you from his side, but even you weren't sure of that anymore. 

"Me too, babe," you replied, lowering your face to his as his eyes sought yours. Damn it, you thought, it will happen again. 

Within minutes, Beomgyu's lips left your neck and traced a path down your belly. Silently, you gave his hands permission to roam beneath your clothes, to trace the curves of your breasts and massage your soft flesh. More than one sigh was stolen from your mouth as his fingers slid to the pointy centre of your breasts, sending a stream of emotion through the gentle pressure. You couldn't explain the emotion that was marked by the trace of his touch on your skin, it wasn't lust, it wasn't need, it wasn't passion, but it was soft and comfortable, just enough to seem like love, just enough to reduce the agony and inappetence of longing to something subtle. 

You whispered his name and cupped his face in your hands to draw him to you. Despite the suffocating emotion in the air, your bodies met in an anxious embrace, seeking solace and a cure for the raw hopelessness they could only express through gestures and silent caresses. The weight of his lips against your forehead made you close your eyes, almost begging him to never let go. Your lips ached with the need that filled them as the cold enveloped your body and replaced your clothes. But he did not kiss your lips, though they cried out in supplication, nor did you kiss his, knowing you would find the bitter taste of apology in them. 

You also helped him get rid of his clothes. You imitated his lack of shame and suppressed any negative emotions that would make you believe that seeing and touching him as you did was wrong. How could it be so wrong when you had Beomgyu in your hands, gentle, vulnerable and intense? Trembling sounds escaped his throat and bound your hands, begging for more. His hands tightened around you, his fingers sliding down each side of your neck and his thumbs pressing against the softest, most vulnerable part of your shoulders. You leaned into his direction, letting his warm breath brush against your ear. 

"My sweet Y/n..." Despite your skepticism that such a thing was possible, the sweetness in his voice made you believe that he really could feel the lost, that your body and voice could soothe his pain.

You kissed his hips with your fingertips, touching the roughness of his bones, holding him close as he wriggled against your touch. He responded just as sharply and slid one hand over your belly and the other between your legs where he pressed his fingers to your most sensitive spot, where pain and pleasure intertwined and sent a tightening sensation to your chest. "Beomgyu..."

"Shhh... it's okay."  He took hold of your knees and, as if he had forgotten his own frailty, he exposed you and adjusted your position for him. Your eyes sought his, eager to hold on to something, to reassure you that it wasn't a stranger touching you; to remind you that all was well, that you were safe. You wanted to find security and familiarity away from this quiet, reserved, sleepy version of himself, you wanted a smile of encouragement, one that would light up the night but not set the moon on fire. 

Beomgyu held your waist, preventing the involuntary, violent jerks of your pelvis. You swallowed saliva, dizzy and anticipating the raw invasion of his being inside you. 

"What's wrong?" you asked as you watched him look at you motionlessly. 

"You're not wet enough."

"It's okay, just do it."

 Beomgyu's lips brushed your cheek, his voice a whisper in your ear as he leaned closer. "I just want you to relax," he said. "Let me take care of everything." 

With a gentle tug around your waist, he sank you deeper into the bed, your head back against the softness of the pillow as he parted his body from yours to give him an open path for his hand to the shy, sensitive place between your legs. His fingers traced the inside of your thighs and slid down to the slit of your crotch, where he made circular motions with his fingertips for a few seconds before penetrating you.  

You closed your eyes and gasped for air. It was as if he was lulling you and slapping you at the same time. Part of you wanted to take it with or without pain because you didn't think you could take it much longer; another part of you, the more disillusioned part of you, wished it was him who gave up and ran away. You tried, you really hoped it would work. For a while, sex had been the relief for this raw ache, but nothing really cured it. No matter how many nights you devoted your body to Beomgyu's desires, there would always be a night when you would lock yourself in your room and cry for all that he lacked, for all that you couldn't give him, for all that you didn't want to give him. And he would know, he always noticed these things, the tears burning under the flesh of your cheeks. But he would not caress your heart as you cried, nor would his hands wrap around you as your mind and soul had done a thousand times with him. For Beomgyu would still be miserable, and neither you nor he was ready for him not to drag you down with him. 

Your body responded to the demands of Beomgyu's fingers and gave him what they were looking for. He clung to you as if he didn't want you to escape. You could feel his muscles tense and tremble, his breath in your ears, his heartbeat and breath on your skin. It was the only thing you could hold on to so that you wouldn't collapse right there. 

Beomgyu slid back, his fingers suddenly far away from the spot between your legs. The feeling of his emptiness inside you was such a familiar pain that you almost reached out for him for a moment, but the caress of his lips on your shoulder and that voice you missed so much brought your focus back to him.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked as he slid slowly and carefully inside you.

You didn't answer, you both already knew the answer.

The silence in the room was overwhelming. You were lying on the bed, minutes had passed since your breathing had returned to normal, and now the only sound in the room was the pattering of the rain against the glass of your window. The sweat had dried on your skin and the sheets; your muscles, now relaxed, felt a slight sense of fatigue that made you want to stay in bed. 

You looked at Beomgyu's back and traced the curve of his posture with the pad of your index finger. The delicate contours of his vertebrae were illuminated under the dim light of your desk lamp, lacking muscular strength, with a fragility palpable in every stroke your finger outlined. 

"Don't come back tomorrow."

"Y/n..." he said in a vague form of protest, but you cut him off before he could say anything else. "I have an exam and I really need to study.

I'll visit you on Friday." There was a minute of silence in which you thought he would try to protest, but he just nodded.

"Well, uhm... Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"You're thinner."

"Maybe."

"Have they been feeding you well?" He gave you a sideways glance and raised his shoulders reluctantly. "It's hard, I have no appetite."

"Hospital food is terrible, isn't it?"

"I guess."

You sighed and looked at the back of his head as if you could see through it. 

"It's not the kind of food we were made for," you replied, trying to lighten the mood. Beomgyu finally moved, turned around and his head landed right on your chest. You could feel his hands touching your ribs, his lips in your hair, your feet on his. "I could make you some fried rice," you continued. "So you can eat something."

"It's okay, just stay with you. I don't need any-"

Your eyebrows furrowed as he interrupted himself. He had raised his gaze and was now staring at you. 

"What's wrong?"

"You look pretty."

Pretty.

The mood in the room changed when he said those words. You held your breath. Everything around you seemed weaker, as if it would fall apart at the wrong sound. You wanted to speak, but you dared not, out of weakness, your absurd cowardice, to show what you were thinking inside. You didn't feel beautiful. You didn't feel loved. Oh, what a relief it would have been to be able to express it to him at that moment, what a different and less complicated way it would have been not to wait for your surroundings to collapse in order to tell him all that you were hiding inside. Maybe if habit did not keep you silent when misery hovers around you, maybe if darkness was not the only stimulus urging you to seek the light, maybe you would have said it. 

I feel lonely. 

"Let's cook something, you know, like old times, but this time without burning anything. Let's make gimbap, but not just any gimbap. We can look up my grandmother's recipe, remember? I made it once for your birthday, haven't made it since, but I don't think I've lost the touch. The recipe has to be out there somewhere. My mother..."

"Okay," he interrupted, surprising you with a kiss on the cheek. "Forget the gimbap, fried rice is fine."

"Do you... do you want to join me or would you rather stay here and rest?"

"It's okay, your sister could meet me any minute."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

With an overwhelming hope growing in your chest, you left your room and went to the kitchen. The house was plunged into a terrible silence and you had to fight the urge to return to the room, knowing that you would not find a warmer atmosphere inside. But the silence didn't last long, just as Beomgyu had predicted, Leah, your older sister, closed the front door as you finished descending the last flight of stairs. You were wearing only a plus size t-shirt and your panties, so you weren't surprised by the annoyed look she gave you.

"Looks like the rain caught up with you after work." 

"He's here, isn't it?"

You weren't even surprised that she ignored your attempts to start a conversation away from Beomgyu. You rolled your eyes and headed for the kitchen without looking at her. "Oh, not again, Leah."

"That bastard," you heard her curse as she nipped at your heels. "He thinks he can do whatever he wants to you because of his illness?" 

"He didn't do anything to me."

"That's the problem, y/n. In your opinion, he never does anything."

"Mind your own business, Leah." You told her as you tried your best to look busy, moving your hands around the closet, but the truth was your hands couldn't even remember what they were looking for. You opened one of the cabinets, then another. By the third, you felt a little discouraged, so you opened the fourth. Your hands began to despair, until finally a small package of rice wrapped in plastic caught your eye. You gently picked it up and placed it in your lap as you pulled a wooden stool closer to the side of the counter and sat down.

"I'm minding my own business." She replied, standing behind you for a few moments, a tense silence settling between the two of you, and you didn't dare look her in the eye. You felt a pang of embarrassment.

"Leave me alone."

Leah took one of your hands and forced you to face her. "You know I don't like to keep quiet when it comes to this, I didn't before, I won't now. Even if my words are in vain, even if I don't have the right to tell you what to do, I won't swallow my disapproval of you continuing this story in which you are clearly not a heroine. You are a fool, just like mom, don't you see? You witnessed her long years of misery for what? To repeat history? What is broken only hurts."

"Stop." You pulled her hand hard. "This is between Beomgyu and me, no one else has any part in this. How many times do I have to explain myself to you?

Leah let out a frustrated sigh, she seemed to be debating your words and your back stiffened as you waited for her next attack, but the tension in your body turned to surprise when you felt her hand tugging at the collar of your shirt.

"Leah!" you screamed, but your attempts to push her away faltered as you became aware of what she was looking at with such displeasure. You didn't even remember the purple marks on your collarbone, they were old and therefore barely noticeable, but her sharp eyes hadn't missed them and her expression made it clear that he knew who the culprit was; which was just one more reason to increase her displeasure.

"I'm going to... God, that idiot..." After a few seconds of silence, you heard her sigh and turn away. You felt your stomach sink. "Is he upstairs?" 

"Leah, don't..."

Your reflexes were fast, but not fast enough to catch her before she came out of the kitchen. Less than a meter from the stairs, your fingers clutched at her clothes, perhaps too tightly, perhaps so desperately that it left your sister and you in disbelief. 

You thought of Beomgyu waiting for you in your room, vulnerable and feeble with his own thoughts. Maybe he agreed to let you cook for him because he wanted to be alone, maybe he called you pretty because it was easier than saying anything else. Maybe you loved him and it wasn't right. Maybe you hated him and he knew it. Maybe you took his sadness for granted, or maybe you should have understood that he wasn't worth it. But there was more, something darker than all possible answers, something you suspected but were afraid to admit to yourself, afraid to face it. 

Beomgyu didn't need you, it was you who needed him.

Your hand loosened its grip on Leah's clothes and you stepped back. A tremor went through your body as you looked down at your hands, suddenly afraid of yourself, your own demons. "I'm sorry, just... leave him alone."

For a few seconds you thought she would say something, argue, scream, or just try to move on as if she didn't hear you. She did none of these things, instead she turned back to the stairs and said those words that hit every sensitive nerve in your body. 

"If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself."

At first, her words were like an attack that you couldn't digest for the first few seconds. They hurt, they stole your breath, and you heard the crackling of something weak, something sensitive breaking; but it was only when you saw where the attack was directed that fear and a searing anxiety invaded your body and made your knees fight against a wrenching weakness.

"Leah!" the scream tore at your throat. 

Beomgyu was standing on the stairs when he met your sister's gaze. His jaw was clenched, but his tired expression made him look almost expressionless. But he wasn't. He was shaking, more than you. He was suffering, more than you. He had never looked so small, so fragile, so far away. And you had never felt so helpless, so frightened, so unaware of your impulses.

"How... how can you say such a thing?" Your palms slapped Leah's back, once, twice, three times, as if to force her to spit out an answer. You were distraught, desperate, about to burst into tears. "How can you be a human being and say such a thing? How can you be my sister and..."

"'Whoa, whoa, take it easy... Just calm down..." Beomgyu's arms, who seemed to have rushed down the stairs at full speed at the first of your attacks, wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. You tried to pull him away, even though you had no intention of returning to your sister, but he clung to you tightly. "Come on, outside." 

You didn't resist as he led you outside your house. His hands released you only when he closed the door behind him and you turned to him with a pleading expression. Beomgyu said nothing but shook his head in a gesture you could not decipher and the fear that shook every part of your body could not have been worse.

Silence.

You parted your lips, desperately wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Beomgyu gave you a dejected smile and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he always made when he wanted to play things down and cheer you up. You had to look away to keep from collapsing. 

The raindrops on the pavement were bright white under the streetlights. The streets were empty, the only sounds being your accelerated breathing, the pattering of the rain, and the rustle of the trees in the wind. The air was tinged with damp bark and earthy moss, a smell that for the first time you found more devastating than comforting. 

"I'm going home, back inside." 

Your breath caught in your lungs and you made an incredible effort to get the words out of your mouth. 'If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself'. These words kept going over and over and over in your mind. How could your sister tell him that, how could she even think about it? Beomgyu, who had lived in a body full of anxiety, instability, impulsiveness, confusion, and paranoia since he was sixteen. Beomgyu, who had to live with an incurable diagnosis and inexhaustible medication. Beomgyu, in whose confused mind, behind a thick layer of emotions, there was only a genuine desire to be loved, accepted and valued by himself and others. Beomgyu, insecure, bright, dull, happy, depressed, who started a new war against himself every day. If your sister had known all this, would she have said those cruel words? If your sister had seen the sharp, cutting impact that melted into Beomgyu like a heavy anchor that prevented any hope from floating, would she really have stayed at home so calmly?

"She doesn't know what she said," you whispered, lifting your gaze from the floor to look deep into his eyes. "She's... selfish, arrogant, completely irrational. She thinks she knows you. They think they know you. But they don't know anything about you! They don't know you like I do, no one...no one..."

"It's okay."

"Nobody does."

"I know." Beomgyu took your face in his hands, his intense eyes never leaving yours. "You know me better than anyone."

"Stay."

Beomgyu shook his head sadly.

"No, I..."

"I love you."

Your interruption seemed to shake the ground beneath Beomgyu's feet. The boy sighed shakily and leaned his forehead against yours. His eyes, now wet and shiny like the concrete of the long avenue, were hidden under his eyelids and closed with the force of something burning to be seen. 

"Do you sometimes... do you sometimes not have the urge to die together? To throw us in a lake and drown? Something like that?"

A sob escaped your throat and your hands cupped his cheeks, almost as if you were holding his heavy soul with the edge of your fingernails to keep him from slipping from your grasp. Nothing was ever more frustrating. "No, God, of course not, how can you say such a thing? I want nothing more than to live by your side, to synchronize your heart with mine, to hear you breathe, to see you smile... I want to calm you down and for you to calm me down. I want to survive with you.

Beomgyu let out a soft snort that resembled an attempt at laughter. "Always giving me the cold shoulder. Go back inside, you'll catch a cold."

Your hands grabbed his clothes. You didn't want to let go, your whole being told you not to, not to let him go, not like that, not with those words still echoing in his head. Beomgyu gently pushed your hands away and you trembled. You were afraid for everything, for him, for yourself, for the future. You feared his departure and that he would become unreachable. For the first time, you feared that you didn't love him. 

Beomgyu's breathing was steady now, only the faint, clear outline of his body pressed against your chest told you that he was still there, still present. "I'm scared," you whispered. 

"Me too."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Friday, I'll see you Friday." 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Finally, you stepped back, still wanting to say many things, but lacking the right repository of words to get them out. Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, his mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to speak. But he didn't. You took a deep breath and stepped back again, your face blank and your hands hanging limply at your sides. Your lips trembled, but then, almost out of nowhere, you smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, nothing like that, given the situation. It was desperation eating away at your life, the wind hitting your body and telling you how empty your hands were now. It was Beomgyu, tired and in pain, making his way into the distance.  

You smiled even more when the sky began to rain.

masterlist - txt

© gyummigon | all rights reserved. copying or adaptation prohibited

[yuurei20]

I've got a question if you wouldn't mind answering!

I saw that the voice actor for Grim commented that Grim always ends his phrases with the word "zo", I was wondering if it had any meaning? Or if maybe it's just something to make his character more unique? Similarly, I've noticed Ruggie tend to use a lot of "su" at the end of his phrases, and I was wondering the same thing, if it had any meaning at all or if it's just supposed to be a character quirk!

Ty for your hard work and don't feel pressured to answer this if you don't want to! 🫶🏻

Hello hello! Thank you very much, you are so kind! ^^

Yes yes, Grim's Sugiyama comments on how difficult Grim's "zo" was for him in his interview (published in vol. 1 of the fanbook).

"Zo" can have a meaning of its own (I liked this explanation on jlptsensei.com, for those who may be curious), but it is generally not used in the way that Grim is using it 🐱 He adds it just to everything!

And verbal ticks like this come up a lot in all kinds of Japanese-language media! Videos games, manga, anime, TV dramas, comedians, etc.

Ruggie's "su" is also kind of a verbal tic, and also has its own meaning:

Discussed in more detail in another post (ref: Idia's "degozaru"), the Japanese language has the word "desu," which has different forms depending on how polite you want to be!

Grim and Jade use the word in two of its more normal (least slang-like) ways, casual for Grim (da) and more polite for Jade (desu).

Ruggie is also using it in a casual way, dropping the "de" part and only using the "su," but it all means the same thing ^^

A verbal tic is even the catalyst of Spectral Soiree!

While not as often as Grim, Malleus is also known to end his sentences in "zo."

He keeps this speaking pattern even during Spectral Soiree, when he is pretending to be possessed by the ghost of an emperor.

But he then slips mid-conversation, saying "zo yo."

Leona noticing this inconsistency starts a domino effect that ultimately compromises Malleus' charade, leading to Malleus' confession (more here).

So verbal tics can be very important! ^^

Crowley's "since I am kind" might also be considered a verbal tic, as it is generally repeated in the exact same way throughout the original game (original-game-to-EN comparison here!).

I think I will add a deep dive into the various speech patterns there are to my TODO list because this post keeps getting longer ww But here are a few pick-ups for right now:

・Idia's use of "degozaru," "-shi," otaku-/net-slang and his stutter are unique to his character.

・Ace will often say "papatto," for getting something done quickly.

・Epel has many things going on with his various forms of speech, and his "kana" might count as a verbal tic?

・Vil will often say "choudai" (apologies for the twitter link)

・Lilia will often use the adjective "rippa," which is similar to admirable/splendid/impressive/respectable/etc. in English!

・Riddle will often end questions with "dai"

・A line that Riddle also says before battles, Riddle will often say "ii dokyo ga oari dane," which is something like "to have some nerve." Other characters will say variations on "ii dokyo" (usually Vil and Leona), but this full phrase is unique to Riddle.

・Riddle will also often say "owakari dane," usually to mean "You understand?," as in, "if you don't do as I say, you understand what is going to happen to you, yes?" (re: he is going to behead someone).

・Maybe my favorite, Rollo will often end his sentences with "kane."

In the way Rollo is using it, it is just another verbal tic, but then there is the Bell of Salvation from the event or 救いの鐘 in Japanese:

Sukui no Kane. "Kane" means bell!

Rollo is ending so many of his sentences with the word "bell" ^^ It is wordplay!

Language is personalized to each and every character in the game, to the point that most of the time (on JP) you can tell which character is speaking before they even enter the room based upon verbal tics and honorifics ^^ It is all very interesting, but unfortunately all very impossible to put across on EN!

[maukiki1-but-cringefail]

Do yall ever think about. What the hell happened to these two

G revolution obviously did not give a flying fuck about borg (( now called neo-borg, i mean yes they brought them back but the team was obviously a tool for Kai. Yuriy has a part in the story obv but the other two have nothing.

they barely get any dialogue, characterization, screentime whatever theyre just... there

they were more of a team in the manga but i guess anime wanted to spend all its screentime on kai. so boris and sergei are just cardboard cutouts.

I mean this is very obvious is the G rev debut scene of neo-borg.

Yuriy is battling Sergei and Yuriy says his yabadabadoodoo about his team or whatever but everytime it cuts to sergei.....😭😭😭😭

close up of his face with no dialogue. these screenshots are seconds apart and like. okay this is HILARIOUS the way it just cuts to his face and he says NOTHING. couldnt yall make him say like... one word? just one? you wont die.

also the animation inconsistency is so funny. what the hell happened between those two scenes please😭 looks like they made him lick a lemon or something im dead😭😭😭

honestly wouldve preferred it if they used the exact same shot since he didnt move an inch EITHERRRRR

i could talk about this more but i want to go back to the beginning

so obviously this season dont give a single fuck about these two and back to that eariler picture of them knocked out: wtf happened.

So they get their asses kicked by garland, faint (im guessing , thats literally all i can do), cuts back to Yuriy, episode ends. next episode theyre gone.

Yuriy and garland are in a different location in the next episode. so obviously some time has passed off-screen. so them dissapearing there isnt really a "omg did they forgeeet??😱😱😱😱😱" they couldve been taken to another location

this is where i need to start making shit up.

Yuriy got hospitalized after Garland kicked his ass. But that fight was purposefully dragged out, you could see him literally beating him up in the battle. For sergei and boris, the radiant thunder came quicker. not to mention look at the picture again, their clothes arent torn, no visible injury. i think they simply fainted and woke up not too long after.

and now where the fuck are they...... i mean again g rev doesnt care about these two so obviously it tossed them aside immediately after it had a reason to: they fainted

but where are they in the following episodes? when Yuriy is in the hospital? wouldnt they have visited? i mean i headcannon they did theres nothing in the way of thinking they could have off-screen but the show couldve given us SOMETHING... but no these two are just a tool to them not characters.

this is why i like neo-borg in the manga (i still dont like manga yuriy) because theyre not treated as such

and as for the ending

firstly, this was cut from the english dub. or should i say midglish dub because the english dub SUUUUUUCKS but this being taken out is hilarious. if my native language was english, and i had watched the english dub as a kid, i wouldve 100% assumed they died LOOOOOOL because after they faint you never see them again

anyway for the actual show aka the sub this is there and theyre fine yay everything is happy ivan is there. im surprised they even put this in like wow i thought the writers forgot about these two entirely.

Also Ivan got done dirty the most. didnt even mention the mofo. atleast he was back in russia but😭poor guy. replaced by that stupid gay fuck

[thecomfywriter]

✨👾 thecomfywriter’s guide to self-publishing 👾✨

navigation post get my book, Throne of Vengeance! TNV anthologies ToV community!

hi, fools! this was long overdue. forgive me—i got distracted. anyhow! welcome to the official guide to self-publishing, as requested by satoh (@@satohqbanana). i’m going to give you tips based on my own process, but by all means, feel free to deviate and add/remove steps for your own process. some steps are mandatory though. no skipping 😤

okay i’m not going to yamble too much, lets get into it.

1.0 finishing the draft

2.0 the editing process (copyediting vs line editing vs beta reading)

3.0 the latent period (!!!)

4.0 pre-publication marketing

5.0 the cover + blurb

6.0 the final read-through

7.0 pre-orders and marketing

8.0 publish!

1.0 finishing the draft:

stop procrastinating and write, dodohead. words on the page. it doesn’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to agonize over that one line for an entire afternoon. stick to the vision and get the words on the page.

if you’re wondering why i’m saying it doesn’t have to be perfect when we’re talking about publishing a (hopefully good) book, it’s because there’s still the editing process later down the line to worry about typos, grammar issues, beta reader feedback, and all that jazzy good stuff. right now, you need to have your vision and get it down. this isn’t your polished copy. but you need to have your draft completed before you go anyways. so stop moping over whether “elucidate” is the word you want to use in that sentence and finish the sentence.

lol. with love <333

2.0 the editing process:

now you can worry about elucidate and its purpose in the sentence. the editing stage has many sub phases. copy-editing and the line editing. you can hire someone to do this for you or do it yourself. maybe get a friend to help. doesn’t matter. you just have to be critical and thorough. no sugarcoating. no, “oh ill just let this slide” or “i don’t wanna be mean so i won’t give real helpful feedback” editors. proper editors who will say it as it is.

copy-editing (as i understand it) is big book concept editing:

are there plot holes? is the lore consistent? does it make sense? is it unclear? is the story even interesting? how’s the pacing? what about the characters? too many? not enough? the voices aren’t distinct? the style is inconsistent? none of the characters feel like separate or fully formed people?

this is the phase where all those questions are addressed. once the overall concepts and structure of the book has been editing, constructively analyzed, and you’ve gotten feedback for it, go back to step one and revise your draft based on the critique. you don’t move on until those big concept issues are addressed.

done? okay, now it’s time for line editing.

exactly as the name implies, you’re going line per line, word per word, and catching any typos, grammar errors, punctuation—all that jazzy good stuff. REALLY BE THOROUGH. get a fresh pair of eyes on it. hire someone. put it through an editing software like grammarly. but be THOROUGH.

do the words you use make sense? are you using british or american english? slang? are you writing too much purple prose? do the sentences flow? are you using too many commas (stop that. don’t be afraid of periods).

you really need to understand the grammar and syntax rules of the english language to do this step on your own. otherwise, get help. or learn. whatever works with your budget lol.

done line editing? great! send it to a beta reader/ a friend, a writeblr mutual, someone you hired—just make sure they aren’t dancing around feedback and they give it to you as it is. i had a friend straight up tell me one of my drafts was ass LOL because the characters voices were too blurry and she never knew who was talking. there were some slow pointless chapters and the pacing was inconsistent. thus, i went back to step 1 and revised based off her feedback and came back with another draft.

don’t be afraid of critique. you need it to grow.

3.0 the latent period:

this is where you take a step back from the draft, preferably for months, and avoid interacting with it to give your mind a break and reset your eyes. this is a huge stage because this is where i want you fools to get your copyright and isbns in order.

GET. YOUR. BOOK. COPYRIGHTED.

do not share it until it is copyrighted. you can copyright unpublished materials. technically it is your intellectual property even before you copyright it, but that little ©️ is your legal shield. COPYRIGHT YOUR BOOK.

it costs ~$60 to make sure no one can steal your shit. this is nonnegotiable. do this.

i also got an isbn for my book so i could publish it with other services apart from KDP and expand the market. hence why some people were able to buy it off barnes and noble, for example. i highly recommend.

this is also the phase i started looking at platforms i wanted to publish on/with and reading the contracts. i’m being serious. read the contracts. make sure it aligns with what you want and what you’re comfortable with. don’t skim. don’t just accept. you’re putting your signature on that, bro. read it properly.

the publishing platforms i used were ingramspark and KDP. you’re gonna need to know your book dimensions too. so have an idea so you can estimate the printing costs.

the settings i did for mine were off white, 6x9 paper with the recommended gutter margins (used KDPs excel calculator to determine) and black and white ink (no colour) to get the lowest printing cost per book. ingram spark was similar. only thing with ingram spark is you need your page number to be even (no 575–it has to be 576) and KDP has a 600 page limit. so bear that in mind.

4.0 pre-publishing marketing:

you have to generate hype for your book. now that its copyrighted, its safe to share excerpts, little quotes, make edits for your characters or oc profiles to generate an audience. i did this mainly on tumblr vis tag games and whatnot, but honestly? that's the BARE MINIMUM lol.

don't be like me. i hate social media so i honestly did not market my book the way i know i should have (and still should). i still don't market my book because lol... i dont wanna 🥲

BUT! like it said--dont be like me. make an author website (a proper one. pay for the domain if you can, otherwise use the free domain, but make a professional author platform for yourself and your biography. you'll need this to set up a goodreads author account and claim your book on there). use instagram and make an author instagram profile (i technially have one here, but i never use it lol womp womp i just hate instagram sue me) and promote your book with the teasers. go on pinterest and make moodboards or "book trailers" through a carousel of images. USE TIKTOK. i know it's a plague platform (i dont like it, clearly), but it is where you will find the most fruits for your marketing.

this stage is all about generating hype for your book. why? so when you set your book up for preorder (and, yes, you will be doing that so you have a general idea of market demand and interest), you have people who are genuinely invested and want to buy your book.

marketing ideas because apparently i'm your free publicist:

oc edits

character moodboards

quotes and excerpts

that one trend on tiktok where you give the vibe of the book and a soundtrack // song to it

oc / book soundtracks

"would you read a book about..." [list the themes / enticing tagline elements of your story] -- it's a trend on tiktok

platforms to promote your book:

tiktok (#booktok)

instagram (#books, #readers, #bookstagram)

tumblr (#readers, #bookblr, #writers of tumblr, #reading, #writers, #book reccs; don't just use writer hashtags, is what i'm saying)

wix or the like to make your website

twitter (a lot of authors have official twitter accounts. once again, i never bothered OOPS)

youtube (making videos talking about your book--the ogs of this blog know LOL-- compiling playlists, etc)

also, don't be afraid to make or commission art for your ocs. speaking of which...

5.0 the cover and the blurb

you can't avoid it anymore. you need to make a cover and write a back of the book blurb // synopsis for your book.

YES i know its hard to describe your book in a non-spoilery, enticing way. work on it. struggle through it. get help. but get it done. you can't finish your cover until it is done.

NOTE! if you are making your own cover, the dimensions are only going to be .25" longer than your page dimensions if it is hardcover. ALSO you gotta make it a pdf file. one pdf file that contains the back of the book, the spine, and the front of the book laid out as one page. this is why you need to get the blurb down.

if you're making it by yourself: play around with fonts, use canva + photopea // photoshop. add chrome, but not too much chrome. use references and easter eggs of important plot elements for your visual pieces. current book trend is text-dominant covers with interesting font and stylistic elements. i.e. tov has the title "throne of vengeance" as the main eye-catcher, in a metallic, legible but stylistic font, BUT there is the dragon ouroborous ring and the iron-rose dagger on the cover as well. the colours are intentional. the entire cover is an easter egg for the book, almost like a spoiler for those who know. make it engaging. enticing. you wanna draw readers in, but also make fans hyperanalyze and interpret the elements you chose.

another thing--you'll need to know your page count to know how thick the spine should be. so bear that in mind.

commissioning an artist may be expensive. i actually did commission someone for tov. i probably wont for the remainder of the series since this was the most expensive part for me. depending on who you get, it can range from $300 - >$1000. so just keep that in mind. i queried a lot before i commissioned the artist for my cover. and she was very in tune with the books themes, the symbolic motifs, and the general aura of the story when she created the cover. that is a good cover artist. don't pay someone if they dont take the time to learn about your book before making the cover.

resources to use:

photoshop/photopea

canva

reedsy (for finding artists to commission)

i can't think of anymore on the top of my head oops. ALSO if you're gonna use images, pay attention to copyright. you can't use copyrighted pinterest images for your covers. just saying.

6.0 the final read-through:

it should have been some months by now. time to read through your own book, start to finish, and see how you like it. catch any last minute errors, see whether you're satisfied with the end product, make any final revisions. this is the draft you're going to submit for preorder. the pdf cover will be your cover. the blurb will be your blurb.

also, in this phase, add your dedications, your acknowledgements, and your author blurb. oh yeah babes you need a headshot. i just used a picture from vacation LOL oops i dont like taking headshot pictures i got lazy womp womp.

anyways, your author blurb should describe you in a tag line (G.K> Multani, otherwise known as Naveena Khedar, is a pre-med student with a passion for writing... or something like that). then describe your credentials. have you written before? doesn't have to be same genre, but you want to represent your portfolio. list other books, articles, or journals you've written. then you as a person--hobbies, interest, etc outside of writing. finally, list your socials or where people can find you.

7.0 preorders and marketing:

publish the draft on KDP and ingram spark for preorder. announce that your book is available for preorder. it should take about a week for it to be approved and the preorder link to go live. and then repeat the marketing steps from step 4, but this time with your cover and a link to shove down people's throats :)

8.0 publish!

the date it goes live, make it an event! host a live-publish session! do something fun! have a party! do a book signing! go buckwild go crazy!

i did a live-vc session and unboxing.

oh yeah, also... while we're here. go buy/read my book.

Throne of Vengeance Official Synopsis

Buy my book, Throne of Vengeance: Volume One

Read Throne of Vengeance: Volume One PDF

lol :)

--

okay i have to go back to studying for exams. let me know if i missed anything.

COPYRIGHT YOUR BOOKS.

okay cheerios bye!

[cherry-holmes]

Happy birthday, Javi | Javier Peña x F!reader❤️‍🔥

‘Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña'

Chapter 8

MASTERLIST

Summary: It’s Javi’s birthday and you want to gift him something he has been wishing for a while: you.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female reader

Word count: +4k

Warnings: Established relationship. SMUT. Soft porn with a lot of plot😅 – Loss of virginity. P in V sex. Protected sex. Soft sex. Nipple play, oral sex (fem received), fingering. A brief mention of breeding kink. Praise kink.

A/N: It’s me, hi! I’m gonna be honest, I am so nervous for this! This is my first English work ever! And I’m not an English native speaker, but I am a student translator so I hope there’s no so much problem🥲 I’m sorry if you find some errors, please let me know if there’s any and I’ll fix it asap!

A/N 2: IMPORTANT BEFORE READE! As you know, this was the first work I published and, to be honest, at the time I didn't plan to turn it into a whole series. However, upon seeing the good response to this first writing, I was inspired to create an entire universe between our Reader and Javi. Therefore, this part now contains INCONSISTENCIES and INACCURACIES regarding the current timeline of the story. I decided not to modify it so as not to affect those who have already read it, but I hope that if you are readers of the original series, you can adapt it and understand the space-time in which our couple finds themselves.

I hope you like it!❤️✨

•

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, especially when it came to matters of sex. He believed that women had the same rights as men to explore themselves and have numerous experiences with their sexuality. There's nothing quite like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it.

But there was something about the fact that the only woman he had truly fallen in love with, his girlfriend, was still a virgin. It turned him on immensely. The mere thought of your innocence and the opportunity he had to make you feel truly good for the first time made him feel incredibly lucky. And also it made his cock throb.

The thought of you every night, and the things he could teach you in his bed, consumed him. His only desired was to lead you astray, turning you into a temptress. However, he never rushed you into anything you didn't want.

Of course, he felt disappointed the first time you both came so close to consummating your love on his couch, after a session of tender kisses here and there. He was already aroused, and he sensed that you were ready too. However, when you expressed uncertainty, he immediately stopped. He held you and reassured you that it was okay. He genuinely meant it, even though he had to take a cold shower by himself to cool off.

You had been with him for almost five months now, which really made you reflect on how quickly time flies. What's more, it was hard for you to believe that Javier had gone all those weeks without sex. He had a reputation, and you were well aware of it. He used to go from woman to woman; some of them you even knew from work, and others were his informants from the streets of Bogotá.

Initially, you were intimidated by his reputation as a heartthrob, a man afraid of commitment, as you had heard from office gossip. You didn't want to be just another one-night stand for him. You were the boyfriend-girlfriend kind of person. The dates, flowers and late night dancing kind of woman, someone who valued commitment, loyalty, and meaningful relationships. Plus, he was older than you, and you thought the age gap could be a problem when it came to establishing priorities in life. He was in his late 30s, and yet he didn't show any signs of wanting to settle down. It's not like you were desperate to get married; you were barely 26. But you needed to know if what you had could potentially lead to something more meaningful someday. You had a big crush on him and you wanted to make it last.

That's why you made him chase you for three months, wanting to see if he was trustworthy and if you were truly worth it to him. And then, after you said yes, he spent another fifteen weeks waiting for you, because he had fallen deeply in love with you. Your smile or even just a glance from you made his heart race every time. He felt like he didn't deserve the world because of all the sins he had committed, yet there was a piece of heaven in the shape of you right in front of him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was the middle of June, to be more specific, Javi's birthday. You had spent the entire week asking him about any plans he might have for his special day, but he had insisted that he didn't want anything specific, just to spend the day with you. But you wanted him to have a great day to show him how much he was loved and important for you. And one of the things you planned was something he had been waiting patiently for quite a long time: you.

You were ready for him now. You had been dreaming about him all over you, his hands on your body, and the things he would let you do to him, and vice versa.

You two didn't live together yet, but you used to spend most days and some nights at his apartment, just like that morning when you woke up earlier than usual. He was still sleeping by your side, his bare chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He looked younger in that moment, with his messy hair, his face at rest, and his always furrowed brow now relaxed. He looked so innocent.

You didn't know it, but before you, he barely slept. He used to have sex with women but always slept alone, or at least, tried to. He spent endless cold nights tossing and turning in his bed, attempting to forget all the blood and violence he had witnessed during the day. But then there he was sleeping like a child, knowing you were right there and you would never left.

You got out of bed as quietly as possible to avoid waking him up. You retrieved the small shopping bag you had hidden in the closet and tiptoed to the bathroom. You had bought lingerie—a beautiful red lace babydoll that resembled a princess gown but with much less fabric, of course. The color matched your freshly painted nails, and your hair appeared even brighter with that color palette. You completed your look by applying a touch of color to your cheeks, lip gloss, and his favorite perfume of yours.

As you gazed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your cheeks flushed at the sight of yourself in that lingerie. You looked beautiful, and you had never felt more sexy. You returned to the bed where he was still in the arms of Morpheus. You lay down next to him, admiring his handsome features, and then placed a gentle peck on his cheek, hoping it would wake him up. But it didn't. So, you decided to gently turn his face toward you, using a finger on his chin to guide his lips to yours. It worked like a charm. He responded to your soft touch, kissing you back passionately. He purred with satisfaction and pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. Then, his groggy eyes widened as they roamed over your delicate figure. Confusion flickered across his face for just a fraction of a second before he realized. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes darkened, and he swallowed hard at the sight.

"You like it?" Your voice was a whisper, and in that very moment, he was the only one in the world who could hear your words. "Feliz cumpleaños."

He looked up at you, grinning with eyes full of desire, and appeared so alluring, almost like the devil himself. He hadn't said a word yet, and you were apprehensive about what his voice would do to you when he used it. With just the way he looked at you, he had you wrapped around his finger. You began to feel aroused, and now you knew that there was no force in the world that could stop you from doing what you were intended to do. Your lips met his once more, and your hands found their way to his broad chest, feeling his smooth, tanned skin melting beneath your fingertips.

He broke the kiss again, this time to take your hand and guide you out of the bed. He sat down at the corner of the mattress, placing you standing between his legs. You couldn't help but notice the bulge forming in his sleeping pants, causing you to blush.

"C'mere, baby, I need to see you," he whispered. His hands roamed all over your body, exploring every ribbon and every spaghetti strap, caressing the parts where the lace were too transparent. "You look gorgeous," he praised and you felt the heat travel from your cheeks to your core.

You felt a little ashamed tho, not used to being so exposed to anyone before. On the other hand, Javi was mesmerized by how you looked, every one of your curves, and how the babydoll suited you so well. He couldn't believe that it was happening; he was over the moon. But he needed you to know something.

"Are you sure, amor?" he asked, finding your eyes. He did his best to be serious, not wanting to appear too eager and pressure you. "There's no rush. It doesn't have to happen just because it's my birthday," he continued, but you silenced him with another kiss, feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax even more.

"I am ready, Javi," you promised. "I've been thinking about this for like two weeks," you confessed, and he chuckled.

"You have?" he asked, and you nodded. He left a gentle kiss on your lips and seated you on his knee. "Look at me, baby," he said. "You tell me if you want to stop, anytime, okay?" You nodded. "As I told you, there's no rush. We'll just have fun as long as you feel comfortable. We're taking things slow."

You knew it! You knew he was the one. His words meant everything to you. You couldn't feel more comfortable and protected with him. Sex was one of the most vulnerable and exposed scenarios for a person, yet you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed, not worrying about anything else in the world as long as it was Javi touching and caressing you.

"I'm gonna take good care of you, mi amor. Do you trust me?"

"With my entire life, Javi," you answered.

He smiled again, proudly, and took you by the waist. Without wasting any time, he placed you in the center of his bed. You opened your legs, inviting him to take his place between them. He admired you from the top, your body so sexy in that garment, your flushed cheeks, and your shining eyes. That image used to be in his dreams, but now there you were, right in front of him, on the verge of being completely his. And only God knows how much he wanted to be entirely yours.

Javi bent over you, his hands caressing every inch of your body, worshipping you. His lips left wet kisses on the delicate skin of your neck, jawline, and collarbone. Your hands roamed his arms, where his prominent muscles bulged from supporting his weight to avoid crushing you.

And then you felt his hardened cock against your core, making everything feel more real. You moaned in the middle of a kiss, overcome by the sensation and anticipation of what was about to happen. Javi began to press his bulge against the delicate fabric of your panties, leaving a wet spot on his pants.

His hand reached for one of your breasts, gently caressing your hardened nipple, causing a moan to escape into his mouth. The touch sent electric shocks through your core, making you grow increasingly wet.

"Javi, Javi..." you cried out, moving your pelvis to meet him halfway, trying to alleviate the building urgency stemming from your clit.

"You're so needy," he whispered into your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine and painting your skin with goosebumps. "Tell me what you want, preciosa, I want to hear you."

"Touch me, please," you begged as he moved against you. "Please, I need you."

"Fuck," he growled. His hands went to your back, undoing your bra, and he paid careful attention to the way your breasts were revealed for him.

His lips began on yours but then trailed down your jaw, finding their way to your neck. Wet kisses on your chest made you sigh, and then you lost all coherent thought the moment he captured one of your nipples with his mouth. Your back arched, and your fingers tightly gripped his arm. He moved to the other nipple, teasing with his tongue and teeth. Your whimpers filled the room, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, as you surrendered all control over your own body. You didn't want him to stop; you wanted more, so much more.

As if he were a mind-reader, his hand slipped into your panties. His thick fingers parted your wet folds, caressing you up and down, collecting your honey as they found your clit. A gasp escaped your lips due to the sudden and new sensation, feeling your arousal dripping from your sensitive pussy. You couldn't help but moan louder, your toes curling between the covers at the foot of the bed.

"You're so wet already, baby. That's so fuckin' good" He traced soft circles, bringing you relief. He teased your entrance with his fingers, but he didn't penetrate deeply. His thumb continued to stimulate your throbbing clit, while his middle finger attempted to enter you. You could feel the pressure between your folds, and due to your inexperience, it left you feeling overwhelmed.

Now it was your turn to slip your hand inside his pants, something Javi hadn't seen coming. He had been so concentrated on your pleasure that he didn't notice until you wrapped your trembling hand around his hard, warm cock. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. You began moving up and down, a little clumsy and uncertain if you were doing it correctly, but your desire was for him to feel as good as he was making you feel. In response, Javi let out a deep moan, his hips instinctively moving to find your touch, and he started whispering your name like a prayer.

"Yeah, baby, you're such a good girl," he praised, making you moan and became wetter. A few seconds passed, until he moved, ceasing his touch and forcing yourself to let him go. "I need to taste you," he said, slowly tracing a path with his kisses down your body, starting with the exposed skin of your breasts, then moving to your stomach and bellybutton, until he reached your panties. You watched as he positioned his head between your thighs, leaving gentle kisses on each side and slowly making his way toward your core.

"I think you don't need these anymore, sweetheart," he whispered as his fingers gripped the tiny straps on each side of your panties, slowly removing them. A gentle breeze caressed your wetness, and you let out a shivery sigh. He created a trail of soft kisses that led to your center until he finally began kissing your core. The sensation was unexpectedly delicious. You let out a cry and felt the impulse to close your legs, but he prevented it by grabbing you and making you stay still. You lost yourself in a whirlwind of sensations, where only you and Javi existed.

You were a virgin, but you weren't a saint. Of course, you had pleasured yourself before, often thinking of Javier Peña, but the way he was making you feel with his mouth was something else entirely. He was real, devouring you with the hunger of a starved man. His hands caressed your hips, your belly, and reached for your breasts. You couldn't help but whimper and praise him.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. Unconsciously, Javi began to thrust his hips against the mattress, feeling the moist spot of precum staining his pants and boxers. His balls had become heavier, desperate for attention after several weeks without a woman's touch. Of course, he had taken care of himself, jerking himself off in the shower or during the nights he spent alone in his apartment. He always thought of you, reminiscing about your kisses, the warmth of your body against his, and even the way your pencil skirt hugged your heart-shaped butt around the Colombian Embassy.

"Javi... I... I want to come," you whimpered, feeling a knot growing steadily in your belly, signaling your impending climax. Meanwhile, Javi tasted your sweet honey pouring on his tongue. He intensified his attentions, fastening his sucks on your swollen clit, alternately licking your vulva and your entrance. Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, seeking something to hold onto as you approached your powerful orgasm.

You shattered into a million little pieces, melting all over his mouth, your essence dripping from his chin. He admired your body as it trembled and unraveled in front of him.

"There you go, baby, let it go," he encouraged.

You lost track of time, caring about nothing else; the entire world had disappeared beneath you, and you couldn't care less. As you descended from your peak of pleasure, Javi traced a trail of tender kisses from the curve of your hips to your belly and up to your neck. Until you felt his lips on your mouth again, and you moaned when you tasted yourself on him. You wanted so much more of him, to spend your entire life tangled with him in his bed.

Javier felt your heart beating rapidly against his chest, and for a moment, he thought that you might be tired and overwhelmed. But you proved him wrong by starting to pull his pants down, freeing his dick. You felt his weighty member against your belly, so you looked down. It was the first time you saw it. You found yourself even more aroused, if that was possible, and at the same time, you felt a touch of shyness. By this point, you had allowed him to kiss your entire naked body, bringing you to climax with his skillful mouth, and yet, your cheeks burned at the sight of his cock above you. He couldn't help but notice the pearl-white drops of his pre-cum that painted your lower belly.

"Baby, if you're tired, we can save it for another time," he managed told you, even though he didn't stop you from helping him remove his pants and boxers.

"I want you inside of me, Javi," you begged, your voice carrying more desperation than you had realized. "I want to make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

"You're such a naughty girl, who would've known?" he chuckled.

"Only for you, Javi," you assured him.

His eyes darkened further, drawing nearer to your lips again. "I can't believe no one has ever touched you before," he said, "You're every man's dream."

"Many had tried," you confessed. He felt a wave of jealousy, because he knew it was true and he couldn't bear the thought of another man touching you, kissing you... It made him feel selfish, but he couldn't help it. "But no one but you was worthy. I waited for the right moment; I always knew it would be the right man. And I knew it was you the very first moment I saw you."

"I swear I'll spend the rest of my life being worthy of you," he said, dead serious, and you could tell from the look in his eyes.

After placing a peck on his lips, you said, "You can start by fucking me," with a shy smile on your face. You were attempting some dirty talk, but he could tell from the way you whispered and tried to hold back a laugh that it made you feel a bit awkward. He also promised himself that he would help you get used to it, taking charge of teaching you.

"Your wish is my command, bonita" he answered. Javi reached for the first drawer of his nightstand and, without searching too much, took out a condom.

He knelt between your legs, and you watched him put it on. He was bigger and thicker than you had imagined. For the first time that night, you felt a wave of nervousness coursing through your body, anticipating the pain you had always heard about the first time.

Would it hurt? Would he be gentle enough with you? Would there be any bleed? These thoughts raced through your mind as he positioned himself at your entrance, collecting your wetness with the head of his dick. He had been so focused on this moment that he hadn't noticed your worried expression until he looked up at you for a kiss. In that very moment, he stopped, his heart skipping a beat. He didn't want you to feel unsure or uncomfortable. His only desire in that moment was for you to have the best experience, feeling loved and well taken care of by him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. You shook your head to indicate that everything was okay. "Words, baby, I need you to use your pretty mouth," he added, his voice gentle.

"Everything's fine," you assured him, trying not to sound too nervous. "I'm just a little nervous."

"That's normal, mi amor, just relax," he replied. His lips met yours, and then he whispered in your ear, "You tell me if you need anything, preciosa. Are you ready?"

"Yes," you sounded more confident this time, and you could hear a smirk forming on his lips as he buried his face in your neck, and you held onto his strong arms.

Javi's hand traveled between your bodies, and you could feel him positioning at your entrance. The sensation made you gasp. Then he began to push inside slowly. At first, you felt pleasure, followed by a slight burning, as if something inside you were stretching. You couldn't help but wince and feel yourself growing pale. Javier didn't move, and you were grateful for that because you needed a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a whisper, his voice tense.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him – and yourself – that everything was fine. But it wasn't; it hurt a bit, it felt invasive. You wanted him to continue, but at the same time, you needed a break. So you decided, "Could you... could you pull out?"

He immediately complied, carefully withdrawing, his forehead creased in concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No, it just felt awkward"

"Do you want to try again?" he asked. You couldn't tell because he didn't show any hints, but he was almost praying for you to give him an affirmative answer. He was as hard as a rock, and it was almost painful. However, he wouldn't push you to do something that might hurt you, so he remained patient and reminded himself that he had a whole lifetime to wait for you to be ready.

"I do," you murmured. He nodded, kissed you again, and continued. He left soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. You smell so good, like a mix of fresh flowers and fruits, he thought. It drove him completely insane.

"Relax, bonita. You're doing so fuckin' well," he praised. This time, when you felt him inside, it didn't hurt as much as before. On the contrary, it became a pleasant sensation.

Then you realized that he wasn't fully inside yet. As he continued to push, stretching you further, any discomfort faded away.

"You feel so good," Javier took his time to start moving slowly. His chest touch your nipples, stimulating them, making you increased your soft cries of pure pleasure. That was when all uncertainty disappeared. You began to feel incredible. Moan built up in your chest and escaped your throat. Javier was captivated by your gaze as you saw him directly in his eyes, and the way your lips parted to release cute moans and sighs.  Nose, cheeks, and chest turned red, the frown on your brow, and the way you scrunch your nose. He wouldn't last long. You looked so cute and sexy at the same time. You were a completely goddess, so pure and gorgeous.

His face disappeared between your hair and neck, leaving soft kisses and tasting your essence, whispering your name right into your ear amidst his own moans and pleasure-filled grunts.

"¿Te gusta, mi amor?" he wanted to hear you, although your mouth emitted the most sensual sounds he had ever heard.

"Si...," you could barely speak; the bliss was too intense, rendering you almost speechless. He was fucking you completely dumb. "Si, Javi, así me gusta."

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned. He rose to his knees again, his hands firmly gripping your hips to raise them and thrust harder. He was captivated by the way your beautiful breasts bounced, your face lost in pleasure, goosebumps covering your body. The morning sun illuminated your skin and hair.

He knew he wouldn't last, but he needed to make you cum again. Using his thumb, he began tracing circles on your swollen clit, sending you into an intense spiral of raw pleasure. Your back arched of its own accord, and your hand clutched his wrist just to have something to hold onto.

"¡No pares, Javi!" you whimper, so ecstasy-filled, begging him to keep fucking you like that. "Oh, you feel so good, Javi. I... I'm..."

"Cum for me, baby," he encouraged, "I wanna see you fucking cumming on my cock."

And then another wave of pure chaos consumed you. You threw your head back against the pillow, digging your nails into the muscles of his beautiful, strong arms. You felt your world crumbling beside you, and imploring again.

Javier had never cum as hard as he did the very moment he felt your pussy clenching around his cock. His balls throbbed as he cum inside of you. He was so deep on you, filling the condom with his thick, warm load and he couldn't help but imagine your pussy filled with his cum. Carrying his baby...

A couple of seconds passed until you both came down from the clouds. Javi pull out before went completely soft. He reach again for his night table and looked for a box of Kleenex and started cleaning the mess he made. And then he cleaned you, so gentle and caring. Then, he lay next to you, pulling your naked and warm body to his, kissing the top of your head.

"How do you feel, bonita?" he wanted to know. With one hand he traced soft circles on your arm, and with the other he massaged your head, making you feel sleepy.

"Amazing," you mumbled.

"Sleep, baby, you sound tired," he spoke in a soothing tone.

"But I've plan an entire birthday for you..." you tried to say, but your body felt so relaxed and exhausted.

"We have an entire life to do whatever you want, mi vida hermosa," he placed a soft kiss on your forehead and thighed his embrace around your body. "Now sleep, baby."

"Happy birthday, Javi," those were your last word before fell asleep on his arms, bodies tangled and hearts still racing.

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, but he wanted you to be his for as long as he may live.

NEXT CHAPTER

[starmahgalaxies]

Yeah! Very rude of them to abduct you in you pjs 😠

Another one where I just giggle softly at the expressions.

A fairly subdued reaction, all things considered. "Thing" could be avoided though.

...Jou, you've guys been here for years. How did you not realize your brother slept in the closet?! lmao. (looks comfortable enough, all things considered. And the door will help avoid too much light)

I love how Pukamon gets defensive on Jou's behalf, and then once what he means is clarified (no, I just know it's a big job to commit to and Jou doesn't like the sight of blood) and he switches to oh, okay, yeah that makes sense.

Van's consistent job in Digimon: Get wrecked.

Stating again: it's good to tell kids they are adopted XD

You should keep with them because you're really good at it and more importantly you enjoy it.

^^ 😁

The sweetest.

Fun fact: Despite Digimon's English dub inconsistent religious censorship, it was the first time I heard the number 666 was the number of the beast. And I grew up in a moderately religious household, so I would have had the opportunity to come across it before. But nope, Digimon. I think the dub may have cut out it being from Book of Revelations (not that it would help much), but it has been a long time so I couldn't be sure.

6m 6s

That's immortal. Undead I would describe as a an unliving, reanimated corpse creature.

Didn't show PicoDevimon's getting eating after cataloging the abuse the poor guy put up with. Ah well. Probably better not to show vore XD /lighthearted

😎

Nooo, you boys are not ready to do that yet.

You grew up along and were forced to take take care of yourself that your adult stage has become your normal. I do like how plainly and matter-of-fact Tailmon says it. No real pride or authority, just "yeah, I can."

No, transform is reasonably accurate. Evolving is what happens to a species over generations. One creature by itself does not change drastically to something new as evolution. That's metamorphosis. 🐛-> 🦋 (This has always been a nitpick for me. I think it may be a translation and cultural difference on understanding the words because I don't just say this for Digimon.)

Japanese Child -> Adult -> Perfect -> Ultimate

English Rookie -> Champion -> Ultimate -> Mega

That's not confusing at all.

Tentomon sounds incredibly happy to not be involved in this equation lol.

Poor boys. They're just worried for their partners. Taichi's response of yeah, I'm always reckless. I mean... correct. I'm sorry Agumon. You did kind of walk into that one.

*headdesk* *sigh*

AHHHHH

YEEEEEE.....!!!

[fioiswriting]

The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Silk Street

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect. 

Unlike King's Landing. 

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore. 

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle. 

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable. 

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up. 

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before. 

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.  

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage. 

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again. 

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.  

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked. 

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you. 

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman. 

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder. 

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring. 

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head." 

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs? 

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before. 

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought. 

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak. 

"So? What do you say, girl?" 

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it. 

You hated yourself for being so weak. 

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist. 

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!" 

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted. 

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free. 

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled. 

Your blood ran cold. 

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you. 

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile. 

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious. 

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him. 

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become. 

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee. 

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you. 

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back. 

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened. 

Not when he kept harassing your brothers. 

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here."  He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince. 

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed. 

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them. 

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders. 

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it. 

 But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow. 

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that. 

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family. 

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say. 

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you. 

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you. 

You weren't easy. 

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue. 

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter. 

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed. 

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

Jealousy. 

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening. 

Both the eternal seconds of your families. 

Both the pride of your mothers. 

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself. 

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression. 

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it. 

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce. 

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced. 

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction. 

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart. 

You wanted him raw. 

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw. 

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.