#at least i’m in the thousands range though—

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

A Lesson in Honesty - Josh Dun x Reader

Pairing: Josh Dun x fem!bandmember!Reader Era: Trench (2019) Genre: angst to fluff / hurt/comfort Word Count: 7 003 Warnings: no use of (y/n), descriptions of pain, misogyny, Tyler has a small crisis (nothing bad), jealous!Josh, Tyler not minding his own business, mentions of pregnancy (Jenna) and Tyler as a dad, Josh’s in a bad mood Summary: You haven’t had a good week on tour and to make matters worse, Josh is behaving weirdly Prompts: playing matchmaker, one-bed-trope A/N: Okay so. I started this account right after I had to drop out of university because of depression. Back then I left everything behind that I had built for myself and returned to my hometown. I haven’t been back to that city since, not even that country. Until last week. I went to see twenty one pilots, who I started listening to while living there, and being back there, seeing the familiar streets, how little had changed… it was surprisingly easier than I had expected. But I thought since I’m having top brainrot rn, might as well write something in honour of being brave enough to go back there. And to starting my (hopefully) last semester in the BA-degree at my hometown university. Coming full circle? Whatever. Enjoy reading.

“No! I will not continue playing!”

This had to be the finale of this disastrous week’s events. From a twisted ankle on Monday night, over strange interviews and an unusual amount of Tyler’s antics to tonight being the third evening in a row that you were playing with a broken in-ear, it had been a week.

“You’ve played the last two nights like this, you can do it,” the stage manager encouraged, trying to dismiss your pain.

“Maybe having played the last two night like this, and today’s soundcheck, and having said multiple times that I need my in-ears checked, is the reason why now it feels like my brain is leaking out!”

Your patience was running thin. You had made it through the first two songs before the pain had become unbearable. What was maybe worse, was that you had no real idea what exactly caused the pain. It was not just the loud noise and the anxiety of only hearing the dead mic instead of also the music. It almost felt like there was a tone in your earphones, outside your hearing range, that caused the pain. You had pointed it out close to a dozen times, to different people, asking them to help fix it, but the pain was still there, and you just couldn't take it anymore. You had signalled Tyler, who had been closer, that something was wrong, and gone backstage, hoping to get your set of back-up in-ears. Except that the new stage manager was apparently a real asshole.

“I either get my back-up, or I’m not going back out there,” you threatened, trying to establish some semblance of dominance towards the man, who was a head taller than you and at least twice as broad.

“Oh, come on,” the stage manager rolled his eyes. “You’re being a bit overdramatic right now, don’t you think. Just get back on stage and do your job.”

For a moment you just stared at him in disbelieve, before reaching for his dead mic without breaking eye contact.

“Tyler, Josh, I need one of you guys back here,” you spoke into the mic.

You hated doing this, asking your male band members to stand up for you, but even though the thousands of people in the arena were here for you as much as for Tyler and Josh, there were still crew members who thought it would be okay to pay you less respect than them.

It only took a few seconds for the familiar form of Josh to come jumping down the stairs.

“What’s up,” he shouted, while jogging to your side.

“I need my back-up in-ears,” you answered. “These ones are still hurting my ears.”

Josh turned to look at the stage manager with raised eyebrows.

On stage, Tyler seemed to try his best to keep the crowd entertained. 

"And there goes Josh, too," he commented. "Keep it PG13, guys! Why do I never get invited to these things…"

Any other day, Tyler's harmless jokes would have made you roll your eyes playfully, maybe even earned a chuckle. But these kinds of comments had been going on for the whole week already, and maybe, if there wasn't a seed of truth behind his words – you wishing it were actually true what he was teasing about – then it wouldn't have bothered you. Instead, now his words brought you close to blowing up, which definitely was not helped by the stage manager’s refusal to acknowledge your distress.

“So?��� It was subtle, the way Josh was pushing himself to stand between you and the stage manager, and for a moment you were not sure if you were flattered by him displaying his protective side, or annoyed. You decided on the former. “Where are her back-ups?”

“I’d take us a few minutes to set them up-”

“Then you better get going, people are waiting for us,” Josh offered his unapologetic demand, something he had learnt from Tyler over the years.

The stage manager stared at him for a moment, before gesturing to a technician, who stood by his side and quickly scrambled off, doubtlessly to search for what was needed.

“You okay?” Josh turned around to you, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His dark eyes were soft and full of worry, as he leant in a little closer.

The usual response threatened to make its way over your lips; a ‘yeah, I’m fine’ almost on the tip of your tongue. But you had made a promise, the three of you, never to lie when it was about your health, be it physical or mental.

“No,” you admitted, your throat suddenly closing up. “It fucking hurts.”

“Oh, baby,” Josh gently grabbed your chin, looking into your face before pulling you into his arms. He was warm, and already a little sweaty, but you didn’t mind. You had been hugged by both him and Tyler, when all of you were dripping with sweat; years of touring together had gotten you used to it. What you were not used to, was the nickname, that sent your heart racing, and you quickly buried your head against Josh’s neck to hide the embarrassment.

A few seconds later, the technician came back, and Josh had to step away, so he could work on you.

Less than a minute later, you were good to go, your ears not feeling like someone had thrust red-hot wires through them straight into your brain anymore, and the show continued.

From there on, things seemed to go smoothly. Tyler was his usual upbeat self, commanding the crowd effortlessly to sing along, use their phone-torches or sit quietly. Josh, behind his drums, seemed as confident as ever, matching his expression to the music, his eyes either on the crowd, Tyler, or you. Whenever you felt his gaze, you walked over, to interact with him, and each time he broke character, a bright grin on his face as he adjusted his pace and energy to whatever you were doing. Things were like always, things were good. Until ‘Neon Gravestones’ came on.

Maybe you should have seen it earlier, the way Tyler’s shoulders were a little too tense, but when you stood on his platform on B-Stage that night, you could see that something was troubling him. You loved sharing quiet glances with Josh, loved looking out over the crowd during the calm song, loved taking in the faces of the people who connected so deeply with the music.

But tonight, your attention was on Tyler. He was a professional, brilliant at letting the crowd see only what he wanted them to see. But you knew him too well to be fooled by his acting. It was the way his shoulders were a tiny bit too drawn up, the way his eyes skipped over the piano keys.

You shot Josh a look, who glanced between you and Tyler and back to you. He had noticed it, too. Since Josh was on his own platform, trapped behind his drums, there was little he could do. So, it was up to you.

Hoping you were not drawing too much attention to Tyler’s quiet turmoil, you stepped behind him, close enough to press your side against his back, careful not to hit him over the head with your instrument.

Standing like this, you could feel his shaky breath as he fought his way through the end of the song before the lights dimmed and the last accord rang out in the arena. As soon as the big spotlights were turned off, Tyler turned around on his seat and hugged you around the middle. Unaware of Josh’s furrowed brows at the sudden display of affection, your hugged him back, running your hands through his hair.

“What’s wrong,” you asked, hoping he heard you over the crowd.

“What if my baby ever feels this way?”

It wasn’t public yet, that Tyler and Jenna were expecting a baby, but obviously Josh and you were already in on the secret. You weren’t surprised that these kinds of thoughts were the ones plaguing Tyler during a show; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Then they’ll have the best parents in the world, who will make sure they get all the support and love they could ever possibly need and want, right?”

Tyler’s arms tightened around you for a moment, and you glanced over at Josh, who was watching closely, but with an unfamiliar tightness on his face. Just as the lights went back on, Tyler let go of you and turned back to the piano. A stolen moment of weakness in the middle of thousands of onlookers. Neither of you were oblivious to the smartphone cameras that had been pointed on you, but Tyler had developed a certain skill when it came to hiding his true vulnerability.

As he leant over the mic to announce the next song, you shot Josh another look. He was still watching, still tense. Cocking your head at him, you wordlessly asked what was wrong, but he just pressed his lips together and busied himself with a screw on his drums before you had to join Tyler for the next song.

That was the second incident of the night. The third one followed only a few minutes later, when all of you were supposed to head back to the main stage. Usually, you unplugged your instrument and carried it back to where you would plug it in again, but this time Tyler, who had semi-recovered from the emotions from earlier, stood up from the piano and just as you had made it off the platform, grabbed you by the wrist. A moment later, he had taken your instrument, and placed it down on the platform, before jumping down to join you.

Before you knew what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around you in a hug, lifting you up as if you weighted nothing, and begun walking. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like that, even though it was the first time in the middle of a show, but you didn’t pay it much mind, just let him drag you around, thinking he would place you back on your feet after a few meters.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he carried you all the way to the stage before he set you back down, laughing and flicking your nose before running up the steps to his piano.

Josh, who had been walking right behind Tyler and you, just walked past you, not looking at you, which made your heart sink. First, Tyler had been off, and now something was going on with Josh. Reaching out for him, you grazed your fingers over his arm, a short gesture you always used in the middle of concerts to assure him of your presence when you had the impression he needed some comfort. Normally, he leant into the contact, a short but defined moment of acknowledgment, sometimes he even reached out back, but today he drew away.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. And knowing Josh, he wouldn’t be as open about it to you as Tyler was, even if you had promised each other.

If Tyler had noticed, he had opted to ignore the tension, instead waiting for the two of you at the foot of the stage once the show was over, and throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Thanks for earlier,” he said, nudging his forehead against the side of yours, like a cat.

“Anytime,” you grinned, patting his back, while trying to subtly keep an eye on Josh. “Just next time, try not to squeeze me to death if you want to carry me around, okay?”

Tyler laughed. “Bridal style next time, roger that. Hey, Josh, you good?”

Josh shot the two of you a glance, his eyes lingering a moment too long on the way Tyler had his arm slung over your shoulder as if he weren’t used to the sight.

“Yeah,” he answered, and you didn’t have to look at Tyler to know you both didn’t believe the drummer.

“Good,” Tyler nodded, but he didn’t sound convinced as he stiffly drew his arm back.

“Guys, I’m so sorry-”

You were just accepting a bottle of water from a stagehand, when your incident number… three? Four? – you had lost count – begun developing in the form of your tour manager sprinting along. One might think the day was over and done for you once the music ended, but even though you were not responsible for clearing out the stage or loading the bus, there was always more happening. Some days it was interviews, other days it was meeting fans, and today it was whatever had your tour manager’s brows in a deep furrow. If there was one thing you had learnt over the years of being a member of Twenty One Pilots, it was that you didn’t want a situation where the tour manager had a furrow in their brow and you certainly didn't want to be the cause for that furrow.

“What’s wrong?” Tyler – a moment ago happy, goofy, cheerful post-show-Tyler – immediately turned serious and went straight into problem-solving-mode. You watched him for a moment longer. Oh yeah, you could see it. He was already working on his dad-mode, and the baby wasn’t even born yet. Good.

“The hotel messed up our rooms,” the tour manager admitted, running a hand through his sparce hair. “The rooms for the crew are all okay, but instead of three singles they gave us one single and one twin.”

“That’s three beds, where’s the problem,” you asked, quickly chugging down the contents of the water bottle you had been handed.

“I know you usually prefer your own rooms,” the tour manager said, glancing between Tyler, who was already relaxing as it was no world-ending problem you were facing, you, who screwed the empty bottle shut and handed it back to the stagehand, and Josh, who looked as brooding and dark as if he had just been told someone had stolen their equipment.

“That’s okay,” Tyler shrugged. “We’ll just pair up.” Encouragingly, he patted both yours and Josh’s back.

On the way to the bus, having made only a short stop at the changing rooms to grab your jackets, you agreed that Tyler and Josh would share the double room, so you got some quiet time, especially after the unlucky incident with the in-ears from the beginning of the show.

You had half-heartedly hoped Josh would find an excuse to let Tyler take the single room, so you and him could join, but he kept quiet, too quiet, throughout the whole conversation, and you knew better than to keep poking at him. He and Tyler were very different in that matter.

When something was wrong with Tyler and he didn’t tell you immediately, a safe way to get him to talk was to continue asking. Eventually he would blow up a little before confessing to what was on his mind. Josh, on the other hand, just shut you out. Either he talked because he wanted to, or not at all. Both Tyler and you had learnt that the hard way over the years, although you couldn’t remember the last time Josh had felt bad and not actively sought you out to share his thoughts.

The ride to the hotel took almost half an hour, and you desperately wished you would have taken a shower before leaving the venue. But Tyler seemed tired and with Josh being in that weird state he was in, you thought it was better to get both of them to bed quickly.

On the bus, you checked your phone, when suddenly a message by Tyler came in. He had sent a video from a fan account, and quickly putting on your headphones, you turned on the sound. It turned out that it was a video collage, cut together from an interview the three of you had given earlier that week. You still remembered a few of the questions, and the stupid stories you all had responded with to questions you hadn’t fancied answering honestly. What you also remembered were the comments Tyler had made, similar to the one he had shared with the crowd while Josh had helped you discuss with the stage manager. Almost every second sentence out of Tyler’s mouth had been something that implied that Josh and you were an item in the romantic sense.

The video was done in an admittedly funny way, cutting between Tyler’s shit-eating grin, Josh’s eyerolls and your embarrassed retorts.

While watching the video, you couldn’t help but notice the way Tyler’s comments that day hadn’t left Josh entirely unbothered either. You hadn’t seen it at the time, not having dared looking over to him too much, but on the video it was quite plain that he had blushed sometimes and – contrary to your assumption – looked over to you several times as if to check your reaction.

When you clicked back from the video, you saw the message Tyler had added.

“You’re sooo subtle”

You took off your headphones and selected the middle finger emoji as a response, earning a delighted giggle from deeper inside the bus before turning off your phone and glancing over to Josh who sat with folded legs on the sofa. He was typing around on his phone, the occasional pausing making it look like he was chatting with someone. Was he texting Tyler or maybe someone from his family? Or a woman?

Pushing the bitter thought out of your mind, you focused on the way the white light from his screen danced over his face, catching at his lips and lashes, painting long shadows on his skin. He was beautiful, you thought to yourself, with his dark curls, brown eyes, that soft smile that more often than not tucked on his lips.

Now it was replaced with varying stages of confusion, almost annoyance as if whoever he was communicating with was upsetting him. If he was texting a woman, maybe he should forget about her. No, that was a selfish though, driven only by the hope that he would pick up on your interest in him. Which in and of itself was weird enough. For years you had worked closely together with him, had shared the narrow backs of vans while driving through the country, had confessed secrets and crushes to each other, had teamed up against Tyler and given your heart and soul for the band. And for what? To fall in love with him after almost ten years? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“What the fuck, man,” Tyler poked his head out from the bunk bed area, shooting Josh a playful glare. “That’s so out of line.”

Josh seemed not as amused as Tyler. Apparently, it had been Tyler Josh had been texting with, and not some secret girlfriend.

“I told you to mind your own business,” Josh protested, still obviously in a bad mood.

“Alright, alright,” Tyler sighed, making his way over to sit next to you at the small table. “Change of topic: Jenna wants to call later and honestly I feel like I might need some alone time. You wouldn’t mind…”

He trailed off, expectantly looking at you.

“Change rooms,” you offered. ‘Alone time’ was pretty much the code word in the band for asking for a single room.

Tyler nodded, visibly relieved that you had caught on immediately. “That would be great-”

“Tyler-,” Josh sighed, sounding annoyed from where he was sitting on the sofa, as if Tyler had done exactly what Josh hadn’t wanted him to do.

“That is, if you’re willing to sleep next to Mr. Grumpy over there,” Tyler teased.

Looking over to Josh, you found he was already waiting for your reply. Something about him was different now from before, as if he were uncertain about our response or what he should hope you would answer. If it came down to you, you knew you would prefer sleeping next to Josh over your own room for the night. You still remembered all the nights you had spent more or less on top of one another on the backseats of vans or sharing sleeping bags on the living room floors of some family friends who happened to live in the city you were playing at. And sometimes you missed it, the way he had wrapped his arms around you casually, as if you were a plushie he needed to be able to sleep, or how you had watched his eyes flicker underneath his closed lids while sleep evaded you.

Raising your eyebrows at him, you signalled him wordlessly that it would be okay for you, and he shrugged back.

“Not like I get much of a choice,” he grumbled, averting his gaze.

His reply lodged a sting in your chest. Whatever had happened between him helping you to get your back-up in-ears and now seemed not to go away any time soon, and where you usually would have looked forward to sharing a room with him, you now wondered how much worse his mood could get.

The hotel was one of the big business hotels that looked the same in every city. Tyler got off the elevator a few floors before you, leaving Josh and you as the last ones in the enclosed space. He wore an oversized hoodie, night bag slung over his shoulder while avoiding your eyes.

“Did you have a fight with anyone,” you asked carefully. “You usually are only this quiet when you had a disagreement with Tyler…”

Josh exhaled loudly and shook his head. “No, we’re good. Just… some thoughts.”

“Wanna share?”

“Not now.”

“Fair enough,” you shrugged, watching the electronic numbers counting up the floors. “I’m here if you need me.”

Josh hummed and for a moment silence fell between you, before he spoke up again. “Were your ears okay for the rest of the show?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “The back-ups are never quite as good as the real ones, but at least I didn’t feel like my brain was seeping out through my ears.”

Josh scoffed. “That stage manager though- what’s his name?”

“Uhm…”

“Can’t wait until he’s gone. I hate that they just switched him in without any of us knowing who he is. And honestly, he should learn how to respect you more.”

“I agree with you there,” you sighed, completely understanding Josh’s frustration, both about not having been taken seriously and having been assigned a stage manager without ever meeting him before the first show.

“I was so close to blowing up in his face,” Josh admitted, a hint of shame swinging in his voice.

“You and me both, Josh, you and me both.”

Gently you boxed his arm, too late remembering that he hadn’t been in the best mood before. But instead of pulling away, he turned to look at you and sent you a tight smile; tight not because of you but because of the manager.

Your room was on the highest floor of the building, allowing you a nice view over the city through the huge window, before Josh turned on the lights. The moment of wonder at the lights glittering beyond the glass was only short lived though, when you saw the size of the bed.

“I thought they said it was a twin bedroom,” asked Josh, standing behind you in the door, glancing over your shoulder.

There were in fact not two beds, as the description of a ‘twin bed room’ would have suggested. Instead, it was a double bed, and not a big one at that.

“Should we- should we go ask for a different room,” you asked hesitantly. If you were being honest, the idea to share a bed with Josh made you giddy with excitement, but at the same time you hated the thought he might be uncomfortable.

“’s okay for me,” he offered, walking past you into the small room.

“Well, then.” You followed him, dropping your own bag off on one of the chairs, and hung your jacket up on a hanger.

“Do you want the door or the window side of the bed,” Josh asked, looking around the room. There was hardly any place to stand, the bed so close to the outside wall of the building that the window side was hardly accessible. Other than that, the room offered little more than a table with two chairs, a mini fridge and a small tv.

“Window,” you decided, and he nodded, throwing his own bag on the side of the bed closer to the door.

Sneaking a glance into the small bathroom you asked: “Do you wanna shower first?”

Josh looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes flickering momentarily to the bathroom door.

“If that’s alright with you,” he asked back, and when you just nodded, he quickly pulled some sleepwear from his bag and headed for the bathroom.

While you heard the shower being turned on, you began grabbing your own clothes from your bag, and sat down on one of the chairs, looking out of the window as good as the reflection allowed. For a moment you considered turning off the ceiling lights, but you felt too tired to move around much more.

Instead, you allowed the racing thoughts in your head for a moment to scream as much as they liked, drowning out even the sound of the shower and the air conditioning.

The week had been exhausting, and you were grateful that there was no show tomorrow, even if that meant you had no real outlet for the frustration in your system. After Tyler had sent you the video earlier, you couldn’t help but replay all the other comments in your head, which he had made throughout the week.

There were countless teases about Josh and you, about how you made a good team, about how cute you’d be together. Then he had suddenly removed himself from situations, leaving Josh and you alone over breakfast or in the lounge of the bus. You had enjoyed these times, the conversation between Josh and you always flowing smoothly, and the first two days you hadn’t thought much about Tyler’s sudden disappearances.

Until the interview where the video had been taken.

He had been bolder then, suggesting time and time again that something was going on between Josh and you. You had almost forgotten about these interviews, the one where the video had been taken not being the only one where Tyler had been in this mischievous mood. But the first evening with your broken in-ears had made things difficult to focus on much else. Then there was Josh’s strange behaviour ever since you had comforted Tyler after ‘Neon Gravestones’, and Tyler once again making sure Josh and you were spending time together by making you stay in the same room.

Was he setting you up?

The idea was ridiculous for so many reasons. First of all, you were bandmates. If something happened between Josh and you, and it ended badly, the integrity of the band was at risk. Secondly, he was doomed to fail from the beginning on, considering you were the only one interested.

Admittedly, you had no way to check if Josh might feel the same. God forbid, you would simply ask him ‘Hey Josh, are you interested in me romantically?’ Then again, you wouldn’t put it past Tyler to have asked that question for you.

Your thoughts got interrupted by Josh calling your name, and a moment later the bathroom door creaked open.

“Already done,” you asked, turning around after seeing him poke his head out.

“I forgot my shampoo,” he admitted. “Could I borrow yours?”

“Sure. Wait-” Getting up from your spot on the chair, you quickly grabbed the bag with shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and all the other small things you needed in the shower and walked over to the bathroom.

Josh stood half behind the door, towel wrapped around his hips, water dripping out of his dark curls and running over his bare chest. It was stupid, really stupid, just as stupid your little crush (haha, little, as if) on him was, but something about him coming from fresh under the shower was more attractive than it should have been.

You had seen him shirtless countless times. He made sure to remove it several times each show. You had seen him with nothing on but pyjama pants. You had seen him in the swimming pool, as wet as he was now, wearing only a pair of colourful swimming trunks. But now, seeing him standing in the bathroom, dripping wet like a puppy that had fallen into a pool, that was what made your heart skip a beat? You could only hope your thoughts weren’t displayed too openly on your face.

“Feel free to use whatever you need,” you offered him, holding out the bag, and he shot you a quick smile, taking the bag, but he didn’t close the bathroom door before you had turned around.

You tried going back to your thoughts, trying to sort them further, but their insistent screaming from before had dimmed to a consistent humming that now got overshadowed by the image of Josh, dripping wet, standing in the bathroom door. How pathetic could you be, getting thrown so out of your train of thoughts simply from seeing one of your best friends shirtless after having seen him shirtless the majority of nights for the past months? Then again, to your defence, objectively speaking: Josh was hot. That wasn’t just you. That was a fact.

Josh only took another few minutes before he was finished in the bathroom, leaving you to take your turn with the shower. You almost regretted a little that Josh had forgotten his shampoo, because now the bathroom smelled like your products instead of like his.

Just like Josh you quickly rinsed of, cleaning yourself enough to wash off tonight’s sweat and dust without taking too much time, before you dried off, brushed teeth, and joined Josh back in the room. He seemed to have rubbed his hair dry, because it was almost completely dry and very tousled by the time you packed your bathroom bag away.

Josh was sitting on the bed, legs folded, fiddling with a string from his pyjama pants. He had done you the favour of throwing on a t-shirt as well, one that was almost a little oversized, even for him, and made him look uncharacteristically lost. When he glanced up at you, there was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes, but you knew that he wanted to talk about whatever he hadn’t been ready to share before. One look at him was all it took for you to understand that.

“I know it’s late,” he began, as he watched you pack your bag to the degree that would allow you to quickly change your clothes tomorrow morning and leave without much more packing to do. “But… can we talk?”

That was what you had been waiting for.

Abandoning the bag, you joined Josh sitting on the bed, and for a few moments he just looked at you.

“Do you wanna turn off the lights,” you offered, knowing how sometimes it helped Josh when the lights weren’t quite as bright. He had told you once, dimmer lights made him feel less exposed.

Instead of answering you verbally, he leant over to his bedside table and turned on the small lamp there, before he switched off the main lights. Immediately the room got bathed in a soft orange hue, but Josh still seemed as tense as before.

“How’re your ears now,” he asked suddenly.

Distraction. Easing into it. You knew he’d ask something like that.

“Didn’t you ask me that already,” you reminded him, keeping the tone light, but not denying him an answer either way. “They were humming a little bit for the rest of the show, but I’m good now.”

Josh nodded, keeping his eyes on your face as if he were trying to memorise it down to the last detail. Without warning he suddenly reached out, cupping your chin the same way he had done earlier that night backstage, reminding you of the nickname he had given you then. His hands were warm, and a little rough, but his grip gentle as he slightly turned your head, first to the left, then to the right, as if he expected blood to seep from your ears.

“You sure you’re okay,” he asked again, and you nodded.

“Are you?”

Slowly his hand fell away from your face, leaving a rapidly cooling imprint of the feeling of his fingers on your skin, and his eyes fixed back on his hands.

“What was going on with Tyler today,” he asked, instead of an answer.

So, he did want to talk, you concluded, he just didn’t know how?

“He suddenly got worried about his little one,” you answered, closely watching Josh’s face.

His mouth twitched and he looked up to your eyes again.

“He’s so concerned already.”

“He loves the little one,” you told Josh, who only hummed. Again silence settled over you and again it was Josh who broke it.

“Tyler and I had a conversation recently.” There you were. This was what had been weighing down on Josh. Nervously he focused back on the string that he now twisted around his index finger. “We were talking about the band, and our future, and he said something I never thought about, but really agree with.”

Expectantly you watched Josh, noticing how shallow his breathing was. He was almost panicking, you realized, so you reached out a hand, leaving it hovering over his knee, not touching him until he nodded, even though he didn’t meet your eyes. Gently you placed your hand on his knee, his warmth immediately seeping through the soft fabric of his pyjama pants into your palm.

“What did you agree on,” you asked carefully, hoping your own nervousness was not audible in the way you were talking. But being able to provide an anchor for Josh, being able to help him in some tiny way helped you distract from yourself.

“We were talking about how we’ve always been a band that was honest. And if we couldn’t be honest as ourselves, we put on masks. Oscar Wilde style.”

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth,” you recalled the famous quote.

Josh nodded. “But some parts of ourselves, that stop us from being honest, can’t be hidden underneath masks, you know,” he continued. “I asked, how we should deal with these things, especially if they become a threat to the band.”

“What kind of threat?”

Josh thought for a moment, untwirling the yarn from his finger before wrapping it around another one. “Like breaking up. If there were a problem so big, we couldn’t keep going, wouldn’t it be our responsibility to avoid creating such a problem?”

“Generally, yes,” you agreed, “unless it goes against who we are as people. If avoiding this problem means, we’re no longer true to ourselves, wouldn’t it be the honest thing to do, to walk up to the problem, admit we can’t solve it and if the band breaks because of that, then at least we stayed true to ourselves and the fans.”

Josh inhaled shakily. “That’s what Tyler said, too. That’s what I think, too. He said, we as people can’t tell our fans to live life on their conditions, only to throw ours away to obey whatever expectations the world places on our shoulders as a band.”

“That wouldn’t be very honest, no,” you agreed.

“So, do you think, if there is something I feel I should do, even if it might risk the band, I should do it?”

Biting your lip you considered Josh’s question. He was still not looking at you, still playing with the string in his fingers. It almost sounded like he was trying to hand over the responsibility of the decision to you, although you were certain he had already made his choice.

“I think,” you said slowly, “that we’ve been playing together for almost ten years now, and I’ve known you for even longer than that. We’re not so easily torn apart, and if you think you should do it, then do it.”

Josh didn’t answer, just stared at his hands before suddenly looking up to you. The light from the bedside table hit him from behind, making his messy curls glow golden while casting a shadow over his face. But the intensity in his beautiful brown eyes was not lost on you, actually made you hold your breath. And then, as if the words were so easy to admit, he said: “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

You stared at him.

It would be a lie to claim you hadn’t secretly dreamt of hearing those words from his lips, but being faced with a wide-eyed Josh, who so obviously feared rejection, made things so much more difficult. You wished you could simply tell him you felt the same and that you wanted to try what being with him would be like, but after all the time, months, almost years, of keeping your growing affection locked away, it was impossible to find the right words now.

“I told Tyler about it,” Josh continued, averting his eyes once more, but now his fingers had ceased their fidgeting. “He said I needed to tell you.”

Deafening silence settled over you. The rushing of blood in your ears drowned out the humming of the air conditioning. You needed to say something, or do something, anything to signal Josh that you were not rejecting him, but all you could think about was that it didn’t make sense for someone as gentle and warm as him to fall in love with someone like you.

“You’re in love with me?”

His eyes snapped back to you. “Yes,” he confirmed. Simple. Clear. Leaving no doubt. “Is that so hard to believe?"

You blinked at him, your mind feeling like a car that had raced onto an ice patch at full speed: surprisingly quiet, and completely out of control.

“It is to me,” you admitted. “I’m not the kind of person people fall in love with.”

“I did,” Josh immediately disagreed. “I do.”

Slowly it began feeling like you were regaining control over your limbs, so you carefully lifted your hand and brought it up to Josh’s cheek. There was no hesitation in his expression as he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your palm. His skin was soft and warm, a little scratchy where he needed to shave tomorrow, but familiar and safe.

“I’m in love with you too,” you admitted quietly, leaning in closer until your forehead rested against his.

Josh’s breath hitched and he shifted, nudging his nose against yours sweetly.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked, sounding out of breath, his voice barely a whisper between you.

You couldn’t help the smile that tucked at your lips as you whispered back: “Yes, please.”

He didn’t hesitate to close the gap, pressing his lips to yours while bringing his hands to your waist, holding onto you. His kiss was demanding, but soft, and you could feel him shiver when you ran your hand along his jaw, down his neck and into his hair. It made you feel better about the way your heart was hammering in your throat, and the heat that crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

Kissing Josh felt exactly like you had imagined it to feel, safe and warm and like he actually cared for you, but at the same time it was nothing like you had imagined it either. He tasted of mint from his toothpaste, leaving the sweetness of his lips seem like a second layer, hidden by the first. You could smell your body wash on him, and a surge of possessiveness flashed through you, making you press closer to him, grabbing him a little tighter and earning you an appreciative hum that you swore would have almost made you faint.

When Josh pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and his pupils blown wide.

“I didn’t expect that to actually ever happen,” he admitted slightly breathless and with a fond grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to lay down next to him. On the narrow bed, you were grateful he held you this close, keeping both of you from falling off the edge on your respective sides. At least you could use the size of the bed as a valid excuse to stay in his arms.

“Tyler did,” you suddenly realized. “Tyler expected it to happen. You told him in the beginning of the week, didn’t you? He’s been weird ever since. And you’ve been jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Josh denied, burying his face into your neck. His warm breath made goosebumps raise on your skin.

“You definitely were jealous, when I checked up on Tyler today, and when he carried me back to stage,” you reminded him, unable to supress the teasing grin that pulled at your lips; lips on which you could still taste his. “And in that interview on Wednesday, when that guy complimented me.”

“Okay, maybe I was a bit jealous,” he admitted.

“No need to be,” you smiled, shifting to press a kiss against his hair. “I wasn’t really paying attention to anyone but you anyway.”

You could feel Josh smile against your skin, and his arms tightening around you a little more. And when you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but think that this development maybe made up for the week you had had. Perhaps you should thank Tyler for his obnoxious but eventually successful attempts to get you alone-time with Josh. How soon he would get to hear that thank-you depended entirely on how smug he’d be about the news though.

[zombiefiilm]

Fell in Love

spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: you hadn't expected your friend spencer to be home from his most recent case yet, let alone passed out on your couch

warnings: confessions, kissing, fluff, no use of y/n

word count: 1.5k

The moment the key hit the lock of your front door, you practically felt a weight fall off your shoulders. You had been working all day and there was nothing you wanted more than to change into your pyjamas and watch tv for the rest of the night.

Once inside your apartment, you shut the door, instantly dropping your bag to the floor and your keys onto the table. Your shoes were kicked off and your jacket was strewn across a random chair in a matter of seconds and you were ready to run into your bedroom.

But, as you passed by the living room, you caught a glimpse of someone sleeping on your couch, shoes and coat still on.

Really, you should have been a bit more startled by the sight of someone in your home, considering you lived alone, but you were all too familiar with Spencer's habit of dropping by unannounced.

You stopped in your tracks, walking around to the front of the couch and called his name.

"Spencer" you were met with an annoyed groan as he flipped onto his other side.

"Spencer" you called again, louder, shoving his shoulder slightly. No response.

"Dr. Spencer Reid" you practically yelled right into his ear and you watched him jump this time, turning to face you again.

"I gave you a key for emergencies" you scolded, watching as he sat up and groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry" he sounded overly sincere "I didn't want to go home."

Then you realised that this wasn't just his regular habit of dropping in whenever he was bored, he needed comfort. You knew all to well the toll his job took on him, with everything that’s happened to him you were surprised he was able to hold up as well as he did.

“Oh Spencer” you half-whispered, sitting down on the couch right beside him, shoulder practically pressed against his. “Do you wanna talk about it?”.

“Not really, I just need to get my mind off everything” he sat up a bit straighter, facing you now.

You nodded in response.

“Is that new?” his gaze was suddenly fixated on your wrist as he reached down to your new watch.

“It is” you told him, lifting up your arm to show off the item adorned with a silver band.

“Did you get it in a pawn shop?” he seemed to be doing a pretty good job at distracting himself now, taking interest in random things like he always did.

“How did you know?” you laughed slightly, bringing your arm back down to your side.

“It’s Cartier” he explained “I know you wouldn’t be able to afford a new one, they range from four thousand to hundreds of thousands of dollars”.

“Wow” you feigned offence.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just know you wouldn’t spend that kind of money, even when you treat yourself” he almost panickingly explained himself but you still felt a little proud at him knowing things about you. You hated spending a lot of money on yourself and you wanted to treat yourself, hence the new item in your collection.

“Did you know that Cartier was the first healer to use platinum in jewellery making? And they popularised the wristwatch in 1904, it’s really quite interesting”

“I didn’t, Reid” you joked. “Do you want some food? I got groceries yesterday so I could make you anything you want”.

“I’m okay” he sighed slightly “I’m just tired”

“You can sleep in my bed, no reason you should be hurting your back on the couch"

"No its okay, I don't want to put you out. I'm fine out here, really."

"I'm not going planning on going to bed for a while, at least go in there and get some rest, okay?"

He simply nodded his head and got up to go to your bedroom, calling out a goodnight as he approached the door.

You spent a few hours lounging about, mindlessly watching Friends reruns to procrastinate anything that actually needed to be done. Eventually though, the tiredness caught up to you and you decided to camp out on the couch for the night.

You cracked open your bedroom door and the small amount of light that flooded in from the hall presented Spencer completely out of it in your bed, his white shirt half unbuttoned and his trousers twisted around him while the rest of his clothes were piled on the floor beside him.

You smiled to yourself as you went to grab a spare pillow and blanket from your wardrobe, preparing to set yourself up on the couch for the night.

As you went to leave the room once again, you heard him sleepily call your name.

"Yeah?" you turned around to him again, seeing him adjust himself slightly.

“Do you want the your bed back?” He began to sit up, the rustling sound of the duvet filling the air.

“You can stay there, don’t worry about it” there was a silence then, you could tell he was about to say something, but he was struggling to get it to slip past his lips.

"Could you stay with me, please" he looked away bashfully "just for a bit”. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was giving you a puppy-dog look, eyes wide and lip practically quivering.

“Of course” you dumped everything that was in your hands onto the end of the bed and crawled up beside Spencer.

Without another word, you pressed yourself up right against him, grabbing his hand with yours and smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand. Just the few moments of silence with you sitting there had done Spencer some good, he had already felt himself calming down, and some of his recent anxieties melting away.

The quiet didn’t last long though before Spencer was saying your name again. “Can I tell you something?”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes finally adjusting to the dark so you could see all of his emotions bleeding through his expressions. You nodded your head, humming slightly to urge him on.

“I really appreciate you, a lot” he hesitated slightly, searching for the words to use next.

“I appreciate you too Spence” you requited.

“No, I’m thankful for everything you do. You have always been there when I need you, you always know exactly what to say to me, you care about me. And I truly hope you can say the same about me”

“Of course I can”

“I need you in my life more than you could ever know” he continued “you’re the most important person to me in the whole world, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You looked at him, almost flabbergasted, not knowing what to say that would truly encapsulate how much you cared about him, how happy you were that he appreciated you.

“I like you” he paused “I love you, so much” his words were powerful, they rung in the air as they travelled towards your ears.

“Love?” you repeated, questioning his use of the word. You were no stranger to platonic love but his previous confessions had you questioning the intention of his last sentence.

“I love you, I want to be able to call you mine. I want to come home to you every day, to spend every minute I can with you, to have a future where you’re the centre of all my plans.”

You were practically stumped, the emotions you were feeling rendering your mouth useless.

“If you don’t feel the same way-“ he suddenly became incredibly panicked, spitting out as many words as he could to explain himself before you could cut him off.

“Spencer” you took a deep breathe “I love you too” it was a much shorter confession than his, but you didn’t need to say anything more to him, the confirmation was all he needed.

In the time it took you to blink, your faces were centimetres apart. And then his lips were on yours.

Your body felt like it lit up on that moment, the feeling of his lips on yours waking the butterflies in your stomach. You wasted no time tangling your fingers into his hair and lightly tugging at the roots as his hands slid around your waist, softly massaging your flesh.

It was gentle, his tongue softly slipping into your mouth as you let him do what he wanted, let him take the control.

The kiss was short though, as sleep had began to take over both of you. You mutually pulled away, silently agreeing to lie down, cuddling into one another.

With one more peck on the lips, you rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

There was plenty of time to talk it out, to figure out everything between each other, but for now all you needed was the feeling of one another pressed together and the feeling of mutual admiration.

[rcvcgers]

A Thousand Miles

this is how i would imagine the boys would react to "a thousand miles" by vanessa carlton while in the car!

word count: 1.4k words

warnings: none!

author's note: my sister turned this song on in the car today so of course i had to make a post about it!

Sylus

Sylus knows how much you love listening to music. He couldn’t stand to see you disappointed whenever you couldn’t listen to your playlist whenever you went on joyrides together.

So when he picked you up from your apartment with brand new helmets with bluetooth audio, Sylus knew he was the best boyfriend ever by your squeals and the way you peppered kisses all over his face.

He made sure your helmet had cat ears on it too because you’re his kitten.

Sylus chuckled as you jumped for joy, struggling to tighten the straps of your helmet as you swipe through your endless list of playlists.

Sylus helped you onto the bike, absolutely loving the way your body molded to his. He guided your arms around his torso, placing your hands on his abdomen just the way he likes it.

Ten minutes into your joyride is when the song comes on.

Sylus’s body goes frigid for a moment, having to listen closely as the piano notes rang through his ears. He didn’t even notice as your hands moved up his chest, gripping his pecs.

You sang along to the song and very innocently squeezed his pecs along to the beat of the chorus. You even alternated between the right and the left because you were in a silly goofy mood.

A smirk formed on his lips when he heard you singing the lyrics, “cause I need you, and I miss you!”

You need him? Well, who is he to say no to his kitten?

His grip on the throttle tightened, his fist turning it as his motorcycle lunged forward, weaving through traffic so he can show you just how much he needs and misses you too.

Zayne

Zayne is arguably one of the best drivers on the road. He doesn’t speed and he always makes sure to use his blinker when changing lanes.

He knows how much you hate it when he goes the speed limit, knowing that everyone in the world goes at least 5 miles over it.

That’s how you two settled into a fun routine of you putting on music and trying to get Zayne to break and sing with you. It hasn’t happened yet, though, but it doesn’t make you any less determined to make him crack!

“Alright, Zayne,” you smiled as you landed on the perfect song, “gird your loins because I’m going to get you to break!”

Zayne raised an eyebrow and looked at you out of the corner of his eye. His face remained stoic as the beginning piano notes flowed through the car’s speakers.

Really? This is your song? He shook his head and knew that this was the easiest challenge you’ve brought to him. He listened as you belted out the lyrics, matching the dramatics and tone of the song.

At one point, you even held your fist to his mouth as if it were a microphone. Zayne didn’t give in, though, and remained stoic as he weaved through the Linkon traffic.

What got him to break, though, was the beat of the song. It was…appealing to him. He liked the beat and how they repeated in a predictive order. He didn’t even realize that his finger was tapping against the steering wheel.

You gasped and pointed at him. You passed the music as he rolled his eyes, looking away.

“Did I manage to break the Dr. Zayne?”

“It seems like you have, my love.”

Xavier

Xavier was knocked out in the passenger seat of your shared car. After a long day of fighting Wanderers and arguing with Tara about who gets the honor of dealing with all the paperwork (which Xavier has admitted to never doing during his time at the Association), he was slumped to say the least.

You quietly played music to pass the time, opting to drive around just a bit longer so Xavier can get as much sleep as he can before, well, falling asleep yet again in your bed.

You held back an excited squeal when the song came on. You haven’t heard it in years! It brought back so many happy memories for you.

You gently turned the volume knob to the side, the volume increasing ever so slightly, as the singer’s voice sang the lyrics. You hummed along, popping your shoulders up and down, containing your giggles. When the chorus kicked in, you couldn’t help but sing along!

“And now I wonder…if I could fall, into the sky, do you think time, would pass me by?”

You turned your head and looked over at Xavier, who stared at you with those big blue eyes of his. It shocked you, though, and the car swerved before you quickly gained control of it.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said, looking out the window and at the moon, crossing his arms over his chest as he gets comfortable in his seat.

“What doesn’t make sense?” You followed up, glancing his way as you drove the car back to your apartment.

“How does one ‘fall’ into the sky? That’s not how gravity works.” Your snort earned a half-glare from him. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think she meant it literally, baby!”

“Oh…well that’s just lazy songwriting.”

Rafayel

Rafayel wanted to be the only one in charge of your weekend plans. He needed it to be perfect for you! Rafayel had the very bright idea of renting a convertible, since the city was known for its coastal views along the highway.

So he put you in charge of the weekend playlist!

Rafayel helped you into the passenger seat of the convertible, quickly making his way to the driver side. The two of you decided to buy silly sunglasses for each other from a local store for your scenic car trip along the coast.

Rafayel got you a pair with obscenely large lenses and the frames were bedazzled with red and purple stones. You got him a pair of children’s sunglasses that were way too small for his face with shark fins that poked from the lenses.

“This is an insult to sharks,” he grumbled, the car speeding towards the highway.

You flicked through the songs on your playlist, trying to find the perfect song to start off the drive. You clicked it when you found it, a smile growing on your face when Rafayel gasped, looking over at you.

It was your song. Cheesy, yes, but it’s oh so good.

You and Rafayel belted out the lyrics and put the volume on full blast, your hair flying with the wind. He pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, soaring to top speeds.

It wasn’t long until sirens rang from behind you. The encounter ended with Rafayel getting a hefty speeding ticket. He looked over at you, shark sunglasses still on his face when he said, “sharks are always at the scene of the crime. Never forget that, cutie.”

Caleb

Your local movie theater was doing a weekend romcom extravaganza and Caleb decided to buy you tickets for a showing of your favorite movie. He showed up at your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and another bouquet of your favorite candy.

Were your jacket pockets and purse going to be filled with said candy? Yes. Absolutely. But Caleb was going to help you shove his box of MilkDuds into an empty crevice! So it was worth it.

He parked in a spot far away from the entrance and walked to your side of the car. You sat with the candy bouquet in your lap, beaming at him. The radio played in the background and he rested his forearm the open car door, leaning down.

“You ready, pip-squeak?” Caleb mused with a smile. You nodded and handed the bouquet to him.

“Stuff me!”

The two of you spent the next five minutes shoving bags and small boxes of candy into every pocket you had. M&Ms went in your jean pockets while mini Reeses were tucked inside the sleeve of your jacket. You stood in a t-pose while Caleb slipped more and more candy into your clothing.

The song on the radio was catchy and the two of you found yourself singing along, the lyrics echoing off the parking garage walls. You swayed your hips, dodging as he tried to slip red licorice into your pants.

“Stay still for me, pip-squeak!” He laughed. You rolled your eyes and obeyed, glancing at the clock in his car.

“Shit! Caleb, we’re late!” You gasped and he popped right up, scooping you into his arms as he ran towards the movie theater doors.

masterlist of works

[senpazzi]

A MacBook Love Story

pairing: nonidol!jeong jaehyun x afab!reader

synopsis: you got stood up on a faulty tinder date. you decided to cure your boredom/frustration by logging onto Ome.TV and rant to strangers about your problems. one thing leads to another when you stumble across jaehyun, a hot lonely guy who’s conveniently thousands of miles away.

genre: fluff/drabble

warnings: reader is hinted to be from the states, mentions of boobs, cussing, that’s kinda it.

ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .*

You stared at your computer screen with a stern look on your face. Contemplating whether or not you were really going to do this. Your stupid Tinder date stood you up, so here you were at home dolled up expecting to go meet a hot guy at a bar, just for a text to ring your phone 10 minutes ago saying, “Sorry, have to cancel, maybe another time?” as fucking if.

Your computer screen reads the title Ome.TV , a site where you can rant to random strangers online. Better than telling your friends that a pathetic loser who was probably a catfish stood you up instead.

You sat at your desk, clicking to join a random video chat hoping to meet anyone who wasn’t a creep or just plain hideous. It was vain, but if you were going to chat with a random person about your horrible dating life, they could at the very least be conventionally attractive.

After a few refreshes, a boy with long thick dark hair flowing over his eyes, soft pale skin, and a nervous smile paired with dimples appeared on your screen. You both were caught in awe. He looked like a fucking greek statute. His jaw was beautiful, his eyes were a deep brown, and let’s not even get started on his lips.

But God, weren’t you a sight for him as well? His ears flamed red the longer he stared at you.

“Sorry, I guess I should say something shouldn’t I?” his deep voice rang through your device.

You were caught off guard by how his voice coated your eardrums. “Oh, God, my bad no,” you stammered blinking out of habit before you cleared your throat finally. “Hi, I’m Y/n,” you kindly introduced yourself, returning a kind smile to the stranger.

He nodded his head, replaying how to pronounce your name to himself. “That’s pretty, I’m Jaehyun. Nice to meet you,” he reciprocated. “Uhm, you’re dressed up to be on Ome tonight?” he questioned with a small chuckle, pointing out your skintight dress and styled appearance.

You scoffed rolling your eyes knowing now you had to explain to him why you really were online tonight. “No, I’m not that fucking insufferable,” you giggled in response, earning a small chuckle from the man. “I just got stood up, didn’t want the outfit to go to waste. Couldn’t complain to my friends about this either. The guy was from Tinder, it’s too embarrassing really,” you tried to conceal your frustration a bit with some self-depriving humor.

Jaehyun hummed as you explained what was going on. His eyes peered more into your background subconsciously. “It does look late where you’re from, I’ve been bored all morning. My work plans got canceled so I decided to try and come on here and troll,” he explained.

That’s when you notice the contrast in time of where he was. His room was lit with sunlight, windows wide open with white sheer curtains being the only protection from him and the bright rays. “Wait, where are you from?” you asked curiously cocking your head to the side.

He fiddled with his fingers as his dimples sparked across his face. “I’m from Korea, I’m assuming you’re from the States?” he inquired. You nodded along assuring he was correct once you told him what city you lived in. “Yeah, I lived in Connecticut when I was younger. My parents hated the States though, moved back when I was 10,” he informed you.

“I don’t blame them, Korea seems amazing. Would love to come and visit,” you remarked as your elbow leaned on your desk. You invested your full body into the conversation with the handsome stranger.

“Really? I could show you around, let me know whenever you want to come,” Jaehyun insisted as his body language was now fully invested in you. Leaning into his desk, eyes locked on the screen that portrayed your stunning face. Your neck. A peak of your cleavage in which he mindlessly stared at.

The next few hours went by quicker than you thought. The conversation shifted multiple times, telling Jaehyun about your sucky dating history. He even opened up to you about his, his toxic ex. Your toxic ex. Just getting along really well.

You made time to change out of your dress off camera into a comfortable matching crop top and pajama shorts set. (Which he was shamelessly intrigued in), and comfortably continued ranting to him.

He was all ears. He could listen to you for hours, thankfully today he was able to.

It was becoming mid-afternoon for Jaehyun, while for Tou it was well over midnight. You yawned timidly, covering your face to conceal it from the hot guy you shamelessly poured your heart into for the past 4 hours.

“You should rest shouldn’t you?” his honey voice rang through the screen. You protested immediately. “And hang up on you? As if,” you chuckled in resistance.

A small grin tugged from his lips. “I’ll send you my Instagram, let’s talk more there,” he spoke as he typed the handle @_jeongjaehyun into the chat box.

Your cheeks flushed crimson, shamelessly reaching for your phone to type in the handle. “I can’t believe you want to keep talking to little ol’ me,” you teasingly mentioned. You found his page and immediately began stalking him. This guy was made from heaven, he was the closest thing to perfect if it didn’t already exist through him.

“How could I not? Seriously, look at you Y/n, whoever stood you up was missing out. Not to mention you’re beautiful, but you’re easy to talk to. Girls like you are hard to find,” he wholeheartedly complimented. He noticed a notification ring on his phone, opened up to see you following him.

He immediately followed back and stalked your page as you simultaneously did the same with his. He discreetly took a scroll through your following, not in a possessive way but just in a curious manner. He wanted to see what artists you liked, what shows you watched, celebs you kept up with.

While you emerged in his highlights. He didn’t follow many people, just about 30 random guys, Cigarettes After Sex, and some RnB artists you both mutually liked.

He was a gym freak who could play piano and sing. “Oh my god, you can play piano?” you questioned as you held up the phone to the webcam, showing him you were fascinated with his hobbies.

Jaehyun scoffed rolling his eyes before looking back to respond. “I think you should get to sleep now darling,” he calmly yet sternly instructed. He managed to portray such an authority with the sweetest smile. You could fold immediately, and that would be bad. So bad.

You sheepishly smiled back and turned your phone off. You gave a fuck dragging sigh as you rolled your eyes. “Fine,” you dragged out succumbing to his orders. “I hope you’re still up by the time I wake,” you wished as you leaned into the webcam to wave at him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go to bed without texting you beforehand,” he assured you as he waved as well to the webcam. “Goodnight darling,” he whispered.

“Goodnight Jae,” you wished back before disconnecting from the site.

Shutting your laptop and heading to bed immediately, you fell asleep constantly thinking about this man. How could such an attraction pool so suddenly? And with him being thousands of miles away, you knew this could only go so far if you let it.

Meanwhile for Jaehyun, he logged off the site the second you disconnected. He knew from day forward that he wanted you. He craved you.

And he would do whatever it took to get you.

ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .* ♡̩͙ ✧˖*° ꕀ .*

authors note: a drabble nobody asked for! i had this idea in my head this weekend and could not shake it out! felt like i HAD to write it. i’ve been going through a lot these last few weeks and really had to get back into writing for my own sanity. ily all, pls continue to support my work and i will continue to write! thank u!

If you’re feeling generous, you should buy me a coffee☕️.

love, mei!

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift

Summary: Saiki is forced to go to a New Year's party and Valentine's Day arrives, but at least he has (Y/N). (Honestly just a sappy chapter).

            How did I get roped into this? thought Saiki. Kaidou called my mom, so I had no choice but to go. My brother is home, so I don’t really want to be there, anyway, but being forced out is annoying. I’ll leave once everyone falls asleep. Saiki rang Kaidou’s doorbell.��At least (Y/N) will be here.

            “Hey, Saiki,” yawned Kaidou as he opened the door.

            “You look tired.”

            “Come in. Nendou and (L/N) are already here,” said Kaidou, yawning again as he let Saiki in. “Sorry I’m yawning so much. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

            “I see,” said Saiki, following Kaidou.

            “Yesterday, I went to a secret meeting, the ‘Dark Committee.’ It’s held at the end of the year among the sixteen chosen ones,” said Kaidou. “It’s members are—”

            “You’re putting me to sleep.”

            The truth is, I was so excited about today I couldn’t sleep, thought Kaidou.

            What a child.

            “But don’t worry. I’ll stay up until midnight for the New Year’s celebration,” said Kaidou, opening the door to his room. “Come in. Nendou, (L/N), Saiki is here.”

            “You’re late, pal,” said Nendou. He also looked tired. He yawned.

            “Don’t sleep in my bed!” said Kaidou.

            “Sorry, I was up late playing games,” said Nendou. “Don’t worry, I can stay up New Year’s Eve.”

            You, too?

            “Hey, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling and waving. “Welcome to the party.” They laughed at the tired faces of Kaidou and Nendou.

            “At least someone isn’t tired,” said Saiki.

            The doorbell rang, and Kaidou went out to grab the next person. It was Kuboyasu, who was, like the other boys, very tired.

            “Sorry, I stayed up late. Since I was coming here, I had to take care of some things beforehand,” explained Kuboyasu, yawning and sitting down.

            “Take care of what?” exclaimed Kaidou.

            “New Year Biker Gang Brawl,” said Kuboyasu.

            “It’s not the new year yet,” said Saiki, deadpanning.

            “Can you schedule that type of thing?” said (Y/N) curiously.

            “Don’t worry, I can stay up for New Year’s,” said Kuboyasu, though the circles under his eyes didn’t inspire much faith.

            “All that’s left is Hairo,” said Kaidou. “Pretty unusual for him to be late.”

            As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang, and a tired Hairo was let in.

            “Sorry, I suddenly passed out,” said Hairo, bowing apologetically. He yawned.

            “You stayed up late, too?” said Kaidou.

            “No, I slept for eight hours,” said Hairo.

            “Then don’t complain! I haven’t slept at all!” said Kuboyasu.

            “Sorry,” said Hairo. “All I did was run fifty kilometers, practice swings three thousand times, and do five hundred push-ups and sit-ups each. I’m so out of shape!”

            “Go home and rest.”

            “Just considering that makes me tired,” said (Y/N).

            “But I will make it to midnight!” said Hairo.

            “Come on you guys, it’s New Year’s Eve!” said Kaidou. “And we still have five hours left.”

            “Don’t worry, this is important to us,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Yes,” said Nendou.

            “A piece of cake,” said Hairo.

            “We’ll keep each other awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Someone should keep Kaidou awake,” said (Y/N), watching his eyes slide closed even as he stood straight up.

            “Shun?” said Kuboyasu.

            Kaidou blinked and jerked awake.

            “You too?!” exclaimed the other boys.

            (Y/N) sat down next to Saiki, who sighed as he realized some ridiculous things were coming—hijinks always ensued with this group.

            “I fell asleep?” said Kaidou groggily.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all pass out,” said Kuboyasu grimly.

            “I might be able to leave pretty early,” said Saiki. He looked at (Y/N). “Do you want celebrate the two of us?”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Saiki and (L/N) seem pretty awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “No, I’m sleepy, too,” lied Saiki. He glanced at (Y/N). They shrugged.

            “That’s almost all of us!” said Kuboyasu.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all fall asleep and miss New Year’s,” said Kaidou.

            “Yeah, but we’ll have had fun together, and I think that’s what matters,” said (Y/N), unconcerned.

            “I think I’d just sleep through an alarm,” said Kuboyasu.

            “My parents are away on a trip to Hawaii, so they can’t help,” said Kaidou.

            “Three more hours,” said Hairo.

            “We can play cards to pass the time!” said Nendou, holding up a deck. “Let’s play old maid.” He handed out the cards. However, as soon as he began his turn and reached for a card, his eyes began to close, and he nearly dropped off.

            “Wake up! Not you too!” said Hairo. His head dropped next, even as Nendou opened his eyes.

            “I’m just resting my eyes,” he lied. “I’m up.”

            “Snoring while you’re awake is interesting,” chuckled (Y/N), leaning against the bed with Saiki.

            “I’m up!” said Hairo, head jerking up.

            “I’m going to splash my face with water! That’ll keep me up!” said Kuboyasu. A couple steps to the sink and he was nearly collapsing, though, the effort too much.

            “Wake up!” shouted everyone.

            This isn’t going well.

            “Two more hours,” groaned Kaidou as everyone struggled to keep their eyes open. “It’s almost the New Year.” He glanced at his friends and blinked tiredly. “Wake up, Nendou.”

            “Huh?” said Nendou, trying to open his eyes.

            “This coffee woke me up.” His words were confident, but Kuboyasu was staring at nothing with empty eyes. His coffee drippled down his shirt

            “I’ve overcome the worst now,” said Hairo, blinking furiously. “Hey, Kuboyasu!”

            “I passed out again,” groaned Kuboyasu.

            “I’m kind of impressed by how easily they fall asleep,” giggled (Y/N).

            “It’s entertaining at least,” agreed Saiki.

            “Time for some exercise! This will wake me out!” Hairo did push-ups, going up and down at breakneck speed.

            “That’s why you were tired to begin with,” pointed out Saiki, but he wasn’t going to stop him.

            “Look, it’s 10:30. Hairo’s bedtime,” said Kuboyasu, noticing the clock.

            “It’s definitely bedtime for him,” said (Y/N), watching the pushups stop abruptly as Hairo collapsed and began snoring.

            “Hairo, wake up!” said Kaidou, alarmed.

            “He isn’t waking up! Hairo!” shouted Kuboyasu.

            Nendou grabbed a bucket of water while Kaido and Kuboyasu shook Hairo, but nothing was waking him. Even being soaked in cold water didn’t change a thing.

            “I’m a little jealous of how well he’s sleeping,” said (Y/N).

            “We can’t wake him up at all,” said Kaidou incredulously.

            “You can’t break a habit, I guess,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Hairo is done for,” said Kaidou grimly. “At this rate, we’ll end up like that. I have an idea. One hours until midnight. What if we take turns sleeping? We’ll have fifteen minutes each.”

            “I guess with four people we don’t all need to stay awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Okay, let’s nap!” said Nendou.

            “Wake me up when it’s time,” said Kaidou, climbing into his bed.

            “Hold on!” said Nendou. “Why do you get to go first?”

            “Then we’ll decide by rock-paper-scissors! The winner goes first!” said Kaidou.

            “One, two, three…”

            Saiki—who played because he was being “tired”—won, of course. He lay down in the bed, and the others trudged dejectedly away.

            “Are you really going to nap?” asked (Y/N) curiously.

            “No.” Saiki sat back up pretty much immediately. “Check the other room.”

            (Y/N) peeked in and laughed. “They’re all asleep on their feet. They really need it.”

            “Let’s go and enjoy New Year’s,” said Saiki, putting on his coat.

            “I feel a bit bad that they’ll miss New Year’s, but we got to hang out, so I think it’s alright to leave them. Right?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes.” Saiki wanted to hang out alone with (Y/N) anyways. He took their hand and teleported them out. They ended up in a park that he knew would be empty.

            (Y/N) checked their watch. “It’s almost midnight. I wonder if there will be fireworks.”

            “Probably,” said Saiki.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to head back to your house? What about your parents?” said (Y/N).

            “What about yours?” said Saiki.

            “What do you think my answer will be?” said (Y/N) sheepishly.

            Saiki sighed. There was a reason his parents were bringing (Y/N) into their family (besides being his partner). “Kusuke is back for the day.”

            “Ah, that explains avoiding your family,” said (Y/N), chuckling. They watched the clock at the edge of the park click towards midnight. “But we’re with each other, so it’s not too bad.”

            “Not too bad?” repeated Saiki.

            “Don’t worry, it’ll be good soon.”

            “How?”

            The clock rang midnight, and fireworks exploded above in the air.

            “Like this.” (Y/N) smiled, held Saiki’s collar, and pulled him in for a kiss.

            Saiki could have sworn the fireworks were going off in his heart as he closed his eyes and kissed back.

            Okay. This is a good New Year’s.

            The clock continued to ring. It grew louder and shriller, and he furrowed his brow.

l

            Saiki sat up in confusion, his blankets falling off of him. He was still in his own room, and as he looked around himself, trying to establish his whereabouts, he noticed his alarm going off. It was still New Year’s.

            Was that a dream? he thought, confused. Phew. I’m not stuck at Kaidou’s for New Year’s Eve—

            He paused as a headache began.

            Oh, no. That wasn’t a…premonition. Was it?

            “Kuu!” called his mom from down the hall. “You have a call from Kaidou.”

            Saiki groaned, then he paused. He lifted his hand to his lips and smiled slightly. “Tell him I’m coming.”

            He wasn’t going to give up the chance for such a moment with (Y/N). He loved them, after all.

l

            “You were pretty eager to leave school today,” said (Y/N). They chuckled. “Does Café Mami have a sale going on or something?”

            “No, I have something to show you,” said Saiki, leading them towards his house.

            (Y/N) tilted their head curiously but smiled. “Alright!”

            They arrived at his house, and he led them inside and up to his room. He opened his desk drawer, cleared his throat, and turned back around. He held a small package wrapped in pink paper and a white bow.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N)’s face lit up. They had given Saiki chocolate earlier, but they hadn’t expected anything. Saiki showed affection in other ways, not gifts typically, so this was a pleasant surprise.

            “Kusuo, thank you so much!” (Y/N) threw their arms around his neck, and he caught them while levitating the gift.

            “You haven’t even seen what it is,” said Saiki, confused.

            “I know, but it’s from you, so I’ll like,” said (Y/N), letting go with a grin.

            Saiki stared as (Y/N) said the best words he could possibly hear while they just turned away and opened the gift. They took the top off the box and smiled.

            “Oh my god!” They pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a little white cat with green glasses and a familiar collar with pink barrettes on it. It was Saiki as a cat. “So cute!”

            Saiki smiled slightly as (Y/N) hugged the cat stuffed animal. He had transformed into his cat from once in front of them, and he had never gotten so many cuddles from them. Obviously, they liked cats, so, Saiki had decided to surprise them.

            “Thank you, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling again.

            “Anything for you.” Saiki watched (Y/N) with a soft smile. Wow, he really did love them.

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[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

For Game Informer’s July 17th DA:TV article, "BioWare On Returning To The Dragon Age Series, 10 Years After Inquisition", the article is still titled as such on its own page, but it looks like on the GI DA:TV Hub page its listing was updated to "Dragon Age: The Veilguard Is 'Respectful And Referential' To Previous Games Without Making Them Mandatory"

[previous comment for context - Brenon: "we do have "decision saves" before big choice moments, but there are still a bunch that depend on a whole mess of stuff you've done earler...so yeah...RIP"]. Derek on this: "Choice and consequence, baby." [source]

[context: DA official Twitter's news about what's coming in August] Derek: "Buckle up!" [source]

Bryony Corrigan (Rook) on the strike: "I care a lot about this game! @/dragonage. Gutted we are unable to speak more about the game for now but absolutely in solidarity with actors in the US. I hope @/EquityUK are also fighting for better protection against AI clauses in the UK too…!" [source]

Matt Rhodes recently wrote to his mailing list that "The project I’ve been working on for many years is nearing completion. In my rare free moments, I’ve been starting to organize concept art to start posting after the game ships." [source] So it sounds like DA:TV is nearing completion and that he will be posting DA:TV concept art that he created after release. [This] is the link to his website where you can view his art, including some existing DA:TV and previous DA game concept art. If you click the envelope symbol on this page, that's how you can subscribe to the mailing list

from Community Councilmember Ladyinsanity - Lucanis x Rook apparently might be an "angst pairing" and there's maybe another one of these in the game also...? 👀 [source]

A user mentioned that they aren't keen on the word "roadmap". Michael Gamble explained: "all it means is a list of cool things you can expect to see us showing." [source]

Bellara's family name Lutare wasn't recently changed as some users wondered, it was Lutare at least a year ago during development. It seems it was just mis-printed or mis-reported in the GI coverage [source]

This article describes DA:TV as the most beautiful game the writer saw at SGF. It says the prologue is dated 9 years after DA:I. "Varric isn’t a ginger so much as a grizzled gray fox now". On Solas, he "wants to tear down the Veil that separates Thedas from the world of demons, restoring his people’s immortality and glory and sacrificing thousands in the process. But when his ritual goes awry, two of his most ancient and powerful adversaries are released. They seek only to finish what they started millennia ago – the complete and utter domination of our world." The game moves quite seamlessly from action to cutscene, and in the prologue "every cutscene is clearly building toward something larger". Position matters in combat. There is an accessibility option which involves the path-tracing of enemies' ranged attacks. At the beginning of the demo, the devs mentioned that they thought about the way different lighting affects your character. " The animations associated with combat are complex for one reason: responsive character features." CC has "inclusion of thick curly hair and capturing the tightly curled texture of Black hairstyles and natural hair", customizable shoulder-width and "a much-welcomed broad spectrum of skin tones—capturing both cool and warm undertones of both white and brown skin". The article highlighted the fluid movement of cloth. The writer also said, "I’m sure other Summer Game Fest previews will have a lot to say on the evolving relationship between Varric and Solas". [source] ((I don't remember seeing this article til now, it's from June though so I either missed it or have seen it and forgotten. also I don't know how accurate it is but the writer was one of the attendees of the DA:TV demo at SGF))

[character limit text break!]

Malcolm: "When I joined DA:Ve I was really hoping there'd be a romanceable dwarf companion and boy howdy did that come true. Harding is ☀️delightful☀️" [source]

[context: this Tumblr post of some neat art] Malcolm: "This is amazing and I fully went "oh wow that really sounds like Emmrich" before remembering that Nick Boraine is in fact a entire human person." [source]

User: "Speaking of Stalker, as a player the description of Bellara and Veil Jumper i've heard so far, alongside their exploration of Arlathan, somehow reminds me of Clear Sky and Chornobyl in Stalker series..." John Epler: "great eye! roadside picnic, Annihilation and STALKER were all absolutely inspirations" [source]

John Epler: "time to slowly make my way home after an awesome 4 days. thanks for an amazing experience to everyone who was a part of it. back to work." [source]

User: "We know there are returning characters in The Veilguard, so my question is: How would you and the rest of the writers go about writing a returning character who was originally primarily written by a writer who is no longer at the studio? What is the process?" Trick Weekes: "1. Watch videos to get the performance, how the character speaks. 2. Don’t try to replicate the character exactly. Allow them to have grown. Morrigan in DAI wasn’t Morrigan in DAO. She’d grown up. 3. Trust Character Art and Performance/VO. As soon as Morrigan walks in and talks in DAI, it works." [source]

Ali Hillis (Harding) on Twitter: "@dragonage @/bioware @/BioWarePulse @/ea #/DragonAge #/SDCC #/SDCC2024 FOLLOW ON INSTA FOR MORE!" [source]

Alex Jordan (Rook): "To all the D&D loving Dragon Age fans out there, let me tell you about my D&D group, made up of faces from the games industry! Including the voices of Geralt from The Witcher, Clive from Final Fantasy XVI, and Noah from Xenoblade! We are ⁦@/NaturalSix ⁩#/DragonAge" [source]

Erika Ishii (Rook): "Grateful I got to spend SDCC celebrating my roles in 2 games I love. Thank you to the devs (including laid-off workers who deserve full credit!), my friends, and the community. This is the last you’ll hear from me about my games from struck companies until they sign an interim agreement or the strike is won. Keep playing games, but share info from the union and let people know we’re taking a stand for all creatives. See you on the other side! ✊🏼🎮" [source]

Jeff Berg (Rook): "Damn, I love making video games. It’s like the perfect blending of theatre on film, where an actor is encouraged to collaborate and let their imaginations soar. And damn, do I ever love the incredible support from the fans of this incredible medium. Unfortunately, we’re in a time of upheaval in the industry. So let me make it perfectly clear: Video game performers deserve fair wages, safe working conditions and A.I. protections. I call on the employers to #/LevelUpTheContract. Guys, this is no single player game. We need you on our team. #/SagAftraStrong #/VideoGameStrike". Text in the accompanying video reads “Video game performers are stuck in a grind. AI is stealing voices, and companies are hoarding profits. The future of voiceover and performance capture artists is at stake. But out fight isn’t single-player. Whether you’re a gamer, a fan, a performer, a labor ally, or just someone believes in fairness. Keep video games people powered. We need you on our team. Video game companies must offer AI protections to ALL video game performers. Join me and show your support for those who bring our favorite games to life.” [source]

Jessica Clark (Neve): "Aaah a true bucket list moment!! Thrilled to play Neve Gallus a Private Investigator & one of the companions in the upcoming DragonAge The Veilguard Video Game!! We are appearing at the San Diego Comic Con as we speak!! With so much thanks & appreciation for the most fantastic team @/bioware & inspiring fellow cast members including (not limited to) @/missalihillis @/nickboraine @/zach.mendez @/jeffberg1 & more 🙏🏽 Draon Age The Veilguard releases this Fall 2024 & from what I've seen... It's truly epic!! You will love it & yes, it's worth the wait. (SAG-AFTRA issued us a specific window to promote & celebrate at Comic Con & from Sunday night onwards we will all be joining our fellow actors in the picket line for the Video Game Strike)." Text in the accompanying video reads "I’ve wanted to share this for so long! Thrilled to reveal that I play Neve Gallus in the upcoming Dragon Age The Veilguard!! Appearing at Comic Con San Diego as we speak” [source]

[source]

Jessica: "Last night's Comic Con San Diego's Fandom red carpet celebrating Dragon Age The Veilguard! Releasing this Fall 2024!!" [source]

Zach Mendez (Lucanis): "A truly amazing first day of SD Comic Con at the @/dragonagegame poster signing at @/darkhorsecomics booth. Thank you to the fans who made my first con unforgettable #/sdcc /#sdcomiccon #/dragonage #/darkhorsecomics #/lucanisdellamorte #/voiceacting #/bioware #/eagames #/theveilguard #/babysfirstcon" [source]

Zach: "Dragon Age. Dancing. Derulo. Thanks @/fandom for a killer party" [source]

Nick Boraine (Emmrich): "Thank you @/bioware @/ea and @/comic_con - had an incredible time! #/dragonage #/theveilgaurd #/emmrichvolkarin @/zach.mendez @/missalihillis @/thejessicaroseclark - can’t wait for the fall release date." [source]

Ali: "Honored and thrilled to have been a part of another epic @/bioware story w @/ea . Thanks from the bottom of my heart to the whole team! We worked hard, and put our all into this one. Can’t wait to see you all at #/sdcc2024 this week to celebrate @/dragonagegame #/dragonageveilguard" [source]

Ali: "1st day of San Diego Comic Con 2024 !! The lines were long and the signings so much fun! Met some really nice fans, hung out w dragon age performance director @/ashley___barlow , companions @/thejessicaroseclark @/zach.mendez & Nick Boraine . So SO grateful for this #/dragonageveilguard family!" [source]

Ali: "I love every one of these people. There, I said it! What a warm welcome we received! Thanks to ALL! For EVERYTHING!" [source]

Ali on SDCC: "Gooooooood times. ❤️" [source]

Here is a 'behind the scenes at the DA:TV SDCC panel' photo -

[source]

Here is a photo of Erika Ishii with Rook's blue knife -

[source]

Here is an excerpt from Brianne Battye's website:

Text reads: "Dragon Age: The Veilguard Defy the gods. Rise as Rook, Dragon Age’s newest hero. Be who you want to be and play how you want to play as you fight back and lead your team of seven companions, each with their own rich story. Together, you will become the Veilguard. Coming soon From EA/BioWare. I was responsible for a companion story arc, significant side characters, faction content, exploration content, and helping develop and expand worldbuilding lore."

[source]

Also, last year Zach Mendez (Lucanis) made a prior podcast appearance:

Zach: "I was lucky enough over the pandemic to have just hit a really nice commercial, and then I got this beautiful job on a video game where I was doing motion capture. Motion capture? Okay, so you put on this leotard, this black suit, and those little dots on, and you do all the motion for a video game, and you get to do the voice, and they put all these black lines on your face, so they capture your performance and whatnot. And so I was doing that and had some commercial money, so throughout the pandemic, for the past few years, I’ve just been getting to live off acting, which is great." -- Zach: "[Voiceover is] what I'm working on right now." -- Zach: "My father's from Spain." -- Zach: "I'm currently working on a video game, I can't say which video game." "It is a big one, it's not a big deal, it's a big one, I'm one of the main characters, it's not that big a deal." The interviewer asked about how acting in video games works. "Somebody's giving some performance that of course, they layer on imaging afterwards, like in graphics, right? But you're giving facial expressions, that's what gives it the reality, that's what I find so fascinating about motion capture, is that, you get to give big performances, because you're playing these crazy characters in crazy situations, and a lot of your performance is coming through in the final product which is, just gets me excited about the future of things about all the different ways. It's my voice, a lot of my facial features, I voice, I think, one or two characters in this game."

[source (dated ~a year ago. source link isn’t work-appropriate. I don’t recommend the podcast)]

[updownlately]

as long as i’m here (no one can hurt you)

| alessia x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.1k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety & self loathing -this gets dark so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: based of this req! initially was supposed to be really fluffy but then somehow it just became 2/3 angst soooo welp. honestly it started off really strong imo but idk what happened towards the end, but oh well. not proofread as usual. anyways, take care amigos, happy reading!

~~~ 

Your heart’s in your throat and you don’t know how it got there. 

Your heart’s in your throat and the world around you’s dark.

Your heart’s in your throat and you don’t know where you are.

All you know is you’ve gotta go- you’ve gotta go fast- because if you stay any longer, the voices are going to catch up.

They’re going to catch up and they’re going to tell you- no scratch that- they’re going to remind- they’re going to remind you that aren’t good enough.

They’re going to remind you that there’s better, that there always will be someone smarter, more athletic, more confident, more outgoing, more fun.

They’re going to remind you that none of this is real- convince you that everything is just fake. That you’ve lost your mind enough to devise your own reality, where nothing exists yet everything is perfect. 

They’re going to remind you that you aren’t worthy. That you’ve fluked your way through life- everything gifted to you, everything undeserved. 

It’s the way it always goes. You running and running and running, only stopping either when the voices catch up or when you wake up, and if you were honest, you don’t know which one you prefer.

It’s not that you’d be dead, nor is it that you didn’t want to be alive.

It’s that you don’t know how you could explain to the sleeping girl beside you that even with every second you lay asleep, the voices in your head don’t cease. 

That each time she comforts you as you wake, shirt damp with sweat, shuddering breath escaping your lips, the words get louder in your mind.

And with each circle rubbed into your back, or reassuring word mumbled against your tangled hair, you think about how she could do better, better than you, better than this mess of troubling dreams, this mess of tangled voices, nonexistent but real to you, shouting, screaming, yelling, reminding you, telling you, letting you know.

You aren’t good enough, nor will you ever be. 

She deserves better, better than you.

You’re a fraud, a fake, a phony. 

The words repeat and repeat and repeat. 

~~~

It’s the third time this week, and it’s only Wednesday, that you wake up, heart racing, palms sweating as you try and regulate your uneven breaths.

It’s new to you, this whole nightmare thing.

You’d even go as far as to call yourself a lucky child, able to count on one hand how many nightmares you had when you were younger.

Now? Now though, it’s a miracle if you sleep through the night. 

You don’t know when it started- maybe sometime between the middle of last season and its end- when all you saw attached to your name was negative chatter. 

Flooding comments on social media calling you unreliable, unworthy, unneeded for your team. 

Offhand remarks of how you could’ve played better, could’ve done more, didn’t deserve a starting position, maybe would be better as a late sub, for the sake of the team. 

Maybe it was when you spent countless hours post practices perfecting your free kicks and running shots, only to be told to not take them as much, the dismissing tone in your coach’s voice clear, disapproval clear in their eyes. 

Words said and said and said, their intent to hurt, to prick, to wound successful.

It was those words that rang out in your dreams, among the thousands of other outcries you were used to having directed your way.

You thought you could take it, firmly believed so. 

You were a professional athlete for fuck’s sake, a little bit of verbal battering was nothing you couldn’t handle, right?

At least that’s what you told yourself each time you woke up in cold sweat, mind exhausted, heart tired as you tried to remind yourself those opinions weren’t facts. 

As usual, it led you to now. 

Now being you stiffly lying on your side of the bed, the room bathed in darkness, only the sound of Alessia’s soft snores to be heard.

Swallowing hard, you shuddered as fragments of your latest nightmare floated through your mind.

This one was different from the usual. 

This one might have even been the worst. 

The nightmare had started off as they typically do, the realistic image of the team’s pitch clear in your mind.

It seemed to be a replay of a normal game day. 

Arsenal dressed in their bright red jerseys, your opponents in a shade of blur, all the same but unidentifiable- not like it mattered much anyways- you didn’t need much convincing to feel how real it seemed.

It felt like a normal game day, but you saw yourself in third person, following yourself on the pitch like a drone, able to see each mistake you made so sharply, so distinctly.

You watched in horror as you tripped over your feet. Your heart dropped as you passed the ball directly to the other team. You’re nearly in tears watching as each tackle you made either did nothing or nearly took out the opposing player. 

You looked on in fear as the crowd begged for you to be subbed off. 

Your own home crowd, cheering any time you lost the ball, any time you slipped and fell, any time you erred. 

As much as it hurt each time the dream played out, this was normal to you. 

You were used to this. 

Used to the sinking feeling in your stomach. The flips it would do as you felt your heart break, the realization that maybe you just didn’t matter, the thought that you didn’t need to exist floating through your mind as your throat closed up. 

The sinking feeling as you realized you were unwanted was nothing new. 

The knowledge that you just weren’t good enough was basically a mantra ingrained in your mind.

So even though it hurt as if it was new each time, you were used to it. 

This was normal, no matter how many times it occurred, night in night out, it had become a part of you.

What wasn’t normal though, was how the game faded away slowly for once, a new environment blurring into your vision, the once typical dream changing drastically. 

You tried to shake your head in your mind, very much disoriented at the unfamiliar setting. 

You weren’t at the field anymore. The green grass you were always so used to seeing, the one that haunted you now in real life, gone within seconds. 

Instead, in its place, was a dark atmosphere, bright lights flashing occasionally as you felt vibrations hum through you rhythmically. 

Hearing laughter coming from your left, you whipped your head to the side.

Mere metres away from you stood the rest of your team, all dressed to enjoy a night out, drinks cradled in their hands.

You were at a club.

Chest constricting as you watched the girls peer over at you, then laugh, you felt your face flush, embarrassment seizing your ability to breathe. 

Quickly turning around, you searched for Alessia. 

Alessia usually made the anxiety go away.

Alessia was safe.

Alessia. 

You needed to find her.

Pushing your way through the mass of crowded, faceless bodies crammed in front of you, you tried to look for the blonde. 

The further you went though, the smaller you seemed to get.

With each step you were taking, the room seemed to grow in size, the people around you taller, peering judgmentally at you as you pushed through, the faceless partygoers somehow displaying a clear emotion of distaste at your presence.

You could feel your heart beat faster with each second.

Too many people.

You needed to find Alessia.

Too many people. 

You couldn’t breathe.

Too many people.

Alessia.

Continuing to push through the mass, air getting harder and harder to breathe, you closed your eyes, blindly moving forward.

Squeezing your way past the final few bodies, you felt yourself stumble as you came across a hallway, the door at the end of it bathed in a dim glow.

Maybe she was there?

Unable to stop yourself, your mind pleading for you to do so but frozen, your feet carried you towards the light.

You wanted to find Alessia. 

You needed her right now, and you’d do whatever it took. 

Hands shaking at the uneasy feeling in your stomach, you approached the door, fingers reaching out to rest on the door. 

Surely Alessia had to be here, right? 

You’d soon get your comfort…

Letting out a shaky breath at the thought of finally being okay soon, in the presence of Alessia, you pushed the door open, ready to feel okay, only for your eyes to widen as you felt a lump form in your throat. 

No, surely not. No…no…no…

Frozen in your spot, you stared, white as ghost, at the sight in front of you.

There, in the dark room ahead, was Alessia.

Except she wasn’t alone.

Eyes flitting between the blonde and the faceless body in her arms, you felt your world crash.

There she was, your girlfriend, your Alessia, arms wrapped around another person that wasn’t you. 

Another person that had their body pressed against hers in a way that was most definitely not friendly, not platonic in the least.

In front of you stood the two, hair dishevelled, their eyes as wide as yours, mouths agape as they realized they’d been caught. 

In front of you stood your Alessia, in the arms of another, as you finally felt the ground slip away from beneath you.

~~~

You knew it was just a dream.

You knew she wouldn’t cheat on you.

You knew it.

You believed it.

You felt it, each and every day that she loved you.

Yet, in this moment, darkness bathing you as the silence stretched on, the sinking feeling in your stomach and the way your heart still hadn’t stopped aching since you’d woken up told you otherwise.

Furiously wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes, you tried to do your best not to sniffle, lest you wake your girlfriend up.

You already had a dream about her cheating- you didn’t want to go and make your night worse by waking her when she so desperately needed her rest. 

Doing your best to take deep breaths, you tried to regulate your shaky breathing.

Slowly inhaling and exhaling, you paid keen attention to how much noise you were making with each gasp. 

You needed to be quiet- had to be quiet. 

She couldn’t see you like this.

No, you wouldn’t let her. 

Taking a chance, you slowly turned your head to the side, eyes tracing the faint outline of the striker’s face as you wiped another round of tears on your hands.

Every single fibre in you wanted so desperately to reach out, to be in her hold, to let her soft murmur comfort you like countless times before. 

But you couldn’t.

You’d get through this night eventually.

Closing your eyes in frustration at the impending headache you knew was coming, you pressed the heel of your palms harshly to your eyes. 

You’d be okay. You’d be okay. You’d be okay.

Repeating the words to yourself, you whined in frustration, unable to find yourself to believe the words.

It was only when your eyes stung due to brute force did you realize what you had just done, freezing as you heard shuffling beside you.

Holding your breath, you felt Alessia’s arm reach out blindly towards you, sleepily patting around, trying to find your body, her even in her sleep ready to take care of you. 

You couldn’t have her wake up for you, not again. Not when it’s been multiple nights of her waking up, holding you till the dawn breaks, treating you ever so carefully, so delicately,

Letting go of the breath you were holding as you heard the movement stop, you closed your eyes as more tears of frustration escaped. 

How many times- how many fucking times were you going to wake up each night?  Why, why for the love of god, could your mind not be normal? 

Flexing your jaw as you tried to force your emotions away, you didn’t see the way Alessia sleepily awoke from beside you.

Mind preoccupied by not waking up the Gunner, you didn’t realize that she had long since been awake, trying to give you the time to collect yourself like she knew you wanted. 

In all honesty, the blonde had been up before you had been.

Recent days had oddly trained her to sleep a bit lighter. The combined with hearing your mumbling during your dreams had easily woken her up. 

She’d let you be though, well aware that you hated that she woke up each time. 

So she laid in silence, doing her best to continue her sleepy state, hoping that the night didn’t get too horrible, that she didn’t have to step in, for your sake. 

She stayed awake though, lethargically alert, ready to jump in if needed. 

Throat tightening up when she heard your sniffles, the furious movement of your hands as you wiped your tears away quietly pulling at her heart strings, the blonde quietly laid there as you dealt with the storm in your mind. 

A stalemate of sorts, an inevitable cycle of hurt. 

Slowly but surely though, your sniffles died down, movement slowing as you calmed, initial stabbing pain at the nightmare slowing until it became a dull ache.

It’s then that Alessia chose to take her chances, knowing you were easier to talk to after you had ridden your wave of emotions. 

“You think you’re hurting me each time you wake me up, but I don’t think you realize how much it pains me to see you like this…”

The words a near whisper into the darkness, Alessia waited a beat before slowly turning to face you, head resting on her arm as she faced you.

Please let me help you. 

The plea went unsaid.

Continuing, the whispered words brought on another round of damp eyes.

“You think you’re protecting me, but if it’s just hurting you more and I care for you, are you really succeeding?”

Let me be there to comfort you. 

Feeling her heart start to pound at your silence, Alessia wondered if you’d fallen asleep. 

Raising her head to try and decipher whether you were awake, she waited as a beat passed, and then another, both without an inch of movement from you. 

Shaking her head at the cruel timing between her speaking and your presumably sleeping state, the blonde opened her mouth to sigh, only to be cut off by your timid voice.

“I hate it enough that I have to go through this…it’s not fair to make you go through it too…”

The shaky admission had the blonde’s breath catching in her throat.

She never once felt forced to be there for you. Never. 

The fact that being a burden to her had you holding back so significantly pained her to hear. 

If the constricting of her heart at your quiet sobs had hurt, then the admission nearly felt like being stabbed. 

You weren’t a burden- not to her. Not now, not ever. She just needed to make sure you knew that. Believed it. 

“You’re not making me go through anything. I want to be there for you. I want to be able to hold you through the good nights and the bad. Especially the bad. You aren’t a burden to me…”

Swallowing lightly at the prolonged silence that followed her words, Alessia continued, shuffling closer to you until she was nearly pressed up against your side, only a sliver of space between the two of you.

“You make it seem like me loving you is a burden. That I can love you only when you’re perfect...when you’ve got it all together and don’t need a shoulder to cry on.

I don’t want that though. I don’t want to love you when you’re pristine. I want to love you when the days are dark and it’s raining so hard that you’re confined inside. I want to love you when it’s four pm and you didn’t sleep the night before and you’re grumpy because your coffee’s too cold. I want to love you when you can’t remember what it’s like to be loved. When it’s nearly three am and you’re having a nightmare and you don’t know who to turn to. That��s when I want to love you- when you need it most.”

A silence blanketed the room at the end of Alessia’s admission, only the quiet hum of the electrical wiring to be heard.

Feeling her cheeks heat up but not finding it in herself to care- to be embarrassed- the blonde took her chances.

Slowly letting her arm come to wrap around your midsection, she pulled you close.

With you still laid on your back, the side of your torso pressed up against the striker’s front, your hands gently intertwined as she found where it rested under the sheets, she continued. 

“Not waking me won’t do either of us good. Yes, you could deal with it on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I want to be there for you. I want to hold you when things get tough. I want to love you. You just need to let me do that…”

Feeling you nod in response, she moved to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Moving to lay on her back as she felt you turn towards her, the Gunner opened her arms in an easy welcome, gathering you in her embrace as you sank into her comfort. 

Whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ at your understanding, she wondered out loud if you wanted to talk about it.

A quiet but firm ‘no’ escaping your lips, she nodded her head in understanding as ran her hand through your hair.

If you didn’t want to talk, so be it- as long as you let her love you, take care of you, hold you, it didn’t matter. 

As long as you felt loved, because you very much were if Alessia had anything to say about it.

Hands coming to wrap strongly around you, you sighing contently at the warmth as you felt the tiredness of the past hour catch up with you, the pair of you drifted off into a dreamless sleep, Alessia’s last tiredly whispered sentence ringing reassuringly, protectively in your mind as the tension in your shoulder eased.

"It's easy to love you on your good days, but I want to love you on your worst. On the days you don't believe in love and don't think you deserve it, it's when I want to love you most. 'Cause I'll love you through all of them, now and forever, if you let me."

'If I could change the way that you see yourself, you wouldn’t wonder why you hear ‘they don’t deserve you'"

[generalllimaginesss]

Here’s a little piece based on Megan Moroney’s song Reasons to Stay.

Warnings: angsty bf! Jack, toxic relationship (you can usually tell if I’m depressed or not based on what I post lmao), but like this is really really toxic so don’t read if that’s a trigger for you. I think I made myself go crazy while rereading it.

Reasons to Stay

I asked Jesus for a sign

And today I haven’t cried

It’s only 2 p.m. but that beats yesterday

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

The status of having an NHL boyfriend was alluring to a lot of girls. The fame was something that always felt new, thousands of people, strangers, screaming the name that you hold near and dear to your heart. The money eased the fear of bills and gave a freedom the average person would never experience in their lifetime. The influence that you hold as a WAG always playing in the back of your mind anytime your finger hovered over a button to post a picture, wondering if the caption was classy enough to hold your status.

The truth is that looks can be deceiving. The girls that threw themselves at Jack made for a constant state of insecurities to pool in your brain, sloshing around anytime Jack was home late or turned his location off. The money bought things that made you smile, a Louis Vuitton here, a Mercedes there, but the feeling of being in debt to the man that let hate spew from his mouth anytime you accidentally stepped out of line pulled at your being, anxiety grasping at the freedom, one not capable of being present without the other.

Was it really freedom?

Was it the price of freedom?

Maybe.

Maybe the price was the amount of tears that flowed when he rejected an outfit for you to wear.

“You’re not leaving in that. I don’t date sluts and that makes you look like one,” his reasoning rang, slicing through your ears and bouncing around anytime you bought clothes.

Today was a good day, though.

He had kissed you goodbye, asking if you would be making dinner tonight.

He’d be home tonight, you thought, willing yourself to think positive and fighting against the urge to dwell on the fact that he had come home with a hickey the night prior. He insisted it was a hickey, but you weren’t too sure about that.

But he’s yours tonight, that’s all that matters. That keeps you going; the possibility that tomorrow he will be yours is your driving thought. So you went about your day as if the life you were living were a dream and that you were living the life as the girlfriend of a famous hockey player who made millions.

Maybe it’s normal to have to be small. Maybe you just have to compensate for the huge platform that he had. He had earned it after all.

Seriously, what did you do other than keep the house tidy and go to his games? That’s normal….right?

You just had to tell yourself that it would be ok. It would be harder and messier to leave than try to push through.

And when you’re drunk at 3 a.m.

You don’t call your ex-girlfriend

It’s been a couple months since you

Brought up her name.

So I guess that’s a reason to stay.

The guys had gone out after a win, guys only. No girlfriends or wives. That’s what Jack said, at least. They were celebrating the guys achievements, some records broken, and it was just for them.

That was fine with you. He had an amazing game: his second hatty of his career. He needed a night to let off some steam and just be a boy.

The picture of him and Nico with Jack’s ex looming in the background was just a coincidence, yeah? Jack said she was a puck bunny, so she’s probably just going from guy to guy.

As soon as he walked through the door, the smell of bourbon wafted through the air, attaching itself to every air molecule in the apartment and meeting you like a familiar friend. This wasn’t the first time he had come home in this state. It wasn’t even the 5th or 6th.

“You’re up,” Jack’s words were slower than normal, the effort to produce the words coherently proving to be more tasking than normal. He took in the view of you curled up in an Ugg blanket on the plush cushions of the couch, noticing the lines that the tears had been drawing for the past hour. He took note, but not responsibility. He told you where he was and what he was doing, no harm no foul.

“Just couldn’t go to sleep,” Your voice was weakened, something you despised about yourself. You used to view yourself as strong and independent. Sticking up for what was right was was something you took pride in, but being in a relationship with Jack had slowly chipped away at that, so nonchalantly that you were the skeleton of who you once were before you could do anything about it.

Jack’s balance teetered from the left to the right, making a ship at sea during a storm look like a walk through the park. He stumbled as he tried to take his shoes off, a cue that you learned meant you needed to help him.

He did so much for you, so would it really be awful to just help him out?

As you slipped one AirForce off, you took notice of the bruises that feathered his legs, probably from the intense game tonight.

You could feel courage bubble, coming to a boil before you made your next statement, “I noticed your ex in a picture that Nico posted…what’s that about?”

“Baby,” He slurred, attempting to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear but pulling it instead, kissing your forehead after you winced at the tension. “You’re the only one that matters,” And with that he sucked you right back into his intoxicating blue eyes. They held a secret confession of his love for you. One that only you could see and he could feel.

But you don’t try like you used to

You don’t look at me the same

You used to say you’re sorry, now

Whiskey’s what you blame

How much can a heart take

‘Til it’s really your last chance

I’m a giver, but I’ve given all I can

We both know that I ain’t one to walk away

But I’m runnin’ out of reasons to stay

Things hadn’t always been like this.

Jack hadn’t always been like this.

He used to surprise you at work with two dozen roses, or wrote sweet love notes on sticky notes and stuck them to your vanity. He used to put in effort.

He used to want you.

What were you thinking, of course he still wanted you. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you for the whole world to see if he didn’t want you, right?

He hadn’t bought flowers in a long time, though, and the sticky notes had slowly made their way to a drawer for safekeeping, none there to replace them. The vanity was bare, loneliness radiating from it every time you passed it, the feeling resonating in your soul.

It was as lonely as you.

Jack had come home drunk again last night, the smell of the liquor laced the words he shot at you with a poison that made them burn when they hit you. Everything that came out of his mouth felt like lashes against your skin.

“You’re so fucking boring, Y/N! You think you’re so perfect and you’re not! You think you’re better than everybody around you, but you’re not! You’re a fucking bitch, you cunt!”

He went on like that for at least an hour, going on and on about how he deserved better, how he could have anybody he wanted but settled for you.

It hurt even worse because it was so untrue. You battled with yourself for years because you compared yourself to those around you constantly. Jack knew this. He had been there for your breakdowns when your family had made you feel like a disappointment, or when you never thought you would be as pretty or talented as the other girls in the hockey scene.

Did he just forget this?

How were you going to smooth this over with him?

It felt like all you did was make excuses for him just to be able to live with him.

Why?

How did he completely change you? Wreck you? He had gutted out who you once were and left the bare beams that held you up. He had conditioned you to allow him chance after chance, no matter how bad he had fucked up.

And you just let him.

As the sun played a game of peekaboo through the curtains, you had made up your mind that you couldn’t justify the way he was treating you anymore. It was wrong.

The smell of bacon and eggs lured you into the kitchen to see him shirtless, standing over the stove as he busied himself with making breakfast. His back muscles flexed as he maneuvered about the stove. He looked perfect, as if he hadn’t verbally assaulted you and your character last night.

Before you could say anything, he had sensed that he was being watched, catching a glimpse of you as he turned his head slightly to the left.

“Morning. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” His voice was raspy, probably from partying for most of the night, but it sounded like he cared. It was refreshing.

“N-no. Um, I just felt like I should get up,” Reassuring him felt like an attempt to just keep the peace. Don’t say anything to set him off, don’t be combative. He’s cooking breakfast for you, so everything’s ok.

“Good. Hey, about last night…I’ll be honest I don’t remember what I said, but if it was bad it was just from me drinking too much. The boys may have gotten me to drink more than I normally do…” he trailed off as he plated the breakfast he had made for you, placing it on a placemat at the bar and pouring a cup of coffee for you, 3 creams and 2 sugars.

He remembered.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You walked to the bar taking a seat.

The morning consisted of the two of you genuinely enjoying the presence of the other, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives and promising to not let it get this way anymore.

Before Jack left for practice, he had placed a kiss to your lips ever so gently, “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet.

How was this the same Jack from last night?

You were sure that you had to be going crazy.

If I go find somebody new

I’d lose your mom and sister too

You know me and how much I hate change

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

And I ain’t perfect either, we all make mistakes

But that don’t change

The Michigan sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The orange and purple hues painting a picture so perfect that it could never be replicated on a canvas. The distant sounds of the guys on the lake could be heard in the distance, the chill of the wind carrying the hoots and hollers from the water to you and Ellen, sitting on the deck attached to the back of the house.

The smell of the deck and the sound of the hundreds of frogs from the water felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from.

“Jack would probably kill me if he heard me say this, but I really hope you two get married soon. I’d love to have you as my daughter, you know? These boys are a lot sometimes…” Ellen chuckled as she nodded to the boys in the distance.

The comment caught you off guard, a response in favor felt forced, but how were you supposed to tell her that her son was making your life a living hell?

“You’d have to take that up with him,” You smiled at her, not revealing the relationship that was slowly eating away at you.

“I promised to never pressure them to do something that they weren’t ready for, so I’ll let him choose the right time. I just know we all love you. Anytime the other two call home they always ask how you’re doing. I know they talk to Jack about you, too. We didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down with a girlfriend, much less one as amazing as you,” She went on, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the absence of the sun left goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s getting cold out here, let’s head inside and you can help me make dinner. I believe we have some wine if you’d like some,” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, waiting for you to follow suite, you smiled.

It was almost a sad smile, grateful that even though Jack wasn’t the man he should’ve been for you, his family loved you. They made you feel safe and loved. They were a safe haven from the toxic tendencies that Jack had taken up when the two of you were in New Jersey.

“I’d love that, Ellen.”

The sound of bare feet padding rapidly against the blades of grass that ran from the dock to the deck made you and Ellen turn your heads towards the window, watching on as Quinn, Luke, and Jack were racing towards the house.

Luke won, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage against his shorter counterparts. Quinn came in second as Jack has tripped over himself.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke panted, reaching for a water bottle out of the fridge and attempting to sit on the couch.

“You’ll find out after you change out of your wet swim trunks,” Ellen gave him a stern look, him raising his arms in defense as he left to go to his room for dry clothes.

You felt an arm snake around your waist, the smell of lake water and sunscreen following behind it. At first you jumped, worried that you had done something wrong.

He chuckled at the sudden movement, not realizing that he was the problem.

“Jumpy, are we?”

You smiled, trying to not cause an issue with him.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you to be so cold,” You felt nasty as you lied through your teeth.

After a few minutes, he finally decided to retreat to the shower to wash the day off of him. You took in your surroundings while he was away.

Quinn and Luke played the Xbox while Ellen prepared the vegetables for dinner and Jim smoked the meat outside. You had been loving this family for years now. You and Ellen had become so close, easily somebody you loved as if she were your own mother.

Jack wouldn’t be the only person that you would have to let go of if you were to leave. As much as you loved his family, it was only natural for them to take his side, something that you understood and admired. You could only wish somebody would take up for you no matter what, and he had 4 people willing to do that for him.

You couldn’t imagine the thought of having to start over with somebody new, having to meet their parents for the first time and being disappointed that they weren’t Ellen and Jim. Being disappointed that their siblings wouldn’t pay the extra money when they accidentally forgot to keep your Snapchat streak going since it was almost 4 years long. Quinn and Luke texted you almost as often as they texted Jack. You were like their sister.

The thought of starting over was enough to have tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Whatever Jack had done, you couldn’t expect him to be perfect. He’s human, after all. You’d stay if it meant you could keep the Hughes in your life.

I'm runnin' out of patience

Damn, I hate to say it

I'm runnin' out of patience and grace and at the end of the day

Findin' last resort reasons we're okay

Ain't a good reason to stay

“Jack you have purple bruises all on your fucking neck! How stupid do you think I am?!” You barked at him as he sat on the couch facing you.

“Stupid enough to think this is the first time this has happened,” His smug smirk and body language made you want to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt you for so long now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Jack Hughes. You are the most disgusting person I have ever met and I hope your life becomes a living hell that you can never get out of,” The words came out calmly despite their harsh meaning. It was eerie, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going,” He watched as you made your way to the shared bedroom, hearing the sound of a suitcase zipper open.

He jumped up, heading straight for you, but froze as he watched you throw clothes into the suitcase. When that one became full you found another one to shove your clothes into, until the only things left were things you didn’t normally wear.

“What are you doing?” He spat, realizing that the grip he had on you was being relinquished.

“What does it fucking look like? I’m done. I’ve gone crazy trying to love you and I want out. I can’t do this anymore!” You tried to yell, but your throat constricted as it tried its best to sob. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that, though. He had put you in this state of survival long enough.

“You’re going to regret this…” He trailed off, following you as you threw everything into your car.

“Maybe so, Jack. But I will never regret it as much as I regret falling in love with you. You are an awful person, and I hope everybody will see that one day,” You slammed the door shut and put the car in reverse.

As you made your way down the driveway and street, Jack’s figure became smaller and smaller. Nobody would ever make you feel this way ever again, and you felt sorry for whoever fell into the trap that is Jack Hughes after you.

*

*

*

*

HAHA IM SO SORRY!! Also this in no way reflects who Jack is in real life because I, obviously, don’t know him personally. This was so bad though, so I’m actually really sorry.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion with a s/o who comes from a noble family of mages? S/o's family is super laid-back and chill with everyone, though.

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Astarion was nervous. He couldn't believe it. Him. Nervous.

He genuinely couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been nervous before. Terrified, depressed, manipulated, scorned, disgusted, mutilated to the core. But he’d never been nervous.

Astarion supposed this came with the territory of ‘meeting the family’. He wondered if they had felt nervous when they met his family? Probably not. Since they ambushed them in the middle of the night and then scurried off into the dark, with not so much as a goodbye. Besides, he genuinely doesn’t think that [Y/N] could be nervous. Nervous in meeting people came from a subconscious thought that people wouldn’t like them. Who wouldn’t like [Y/N]?

“You look like you’re going to the gallows.” They comment as they cross the threshold of the estate and head towards an equally ornate door.

Astarion had walked past this gate a thousand times in his years. Skulking in the shadows. Looking for victims. Such grand homes were off limits to him before, because of his condition. Cazador had been very clear that he was only to take wretches and low born when he went hunting. He told Astarion that that would be who he was best suited to go after, as it was similar to his station. Plus, when noble people start disappearing people tend to care. Cazador didn’t need that kind of attention. So he walked past the house, looking at it’s bright pillars and shining light from the windows, with envy and distaste. Now he was being welcomed in.

“What? I’m the picture of excitement, my love.” He told them. Not letting them get a glimpse of his internal monologue. “It’s just…been a while, since I’ve been invited to a social setting. Cazador…before…he would host events at the palace to cull more sheep, but we were only their for a moment before sent back to the kennels. No opportunity to socialize when you’re on the rack. So you lot were the only real conversation I’ve had in decades. Not that I didn’t appreciate everyone’s company, now that it’s over, but they all go leave something to be desired on the wit & banter scale.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Sensing that his jabs were in good fun, and perhaps sensing that they were also made out of nerves. He paused them then, just before ringing the bell for the door. "I want to make a good impression. Not a....pretend one. Like I'm used to. I can put on a good show for a few hours and have people eating out of the palm of my hand. But long term?" Astarion may have just gulped then. "I appreciate that I'm perhaps not the best choice for the only child of a noble family."

[Y/N]'s cheery disposition fell, and they calm close to cup their hand to his cheek. "Don't say that. You're wonderful. And, you're the one I choose." If he had a beating heart it would be singing like a hummingbird's. "Besides," they added as they rang the bell, "who wouldn't be swayed by your charms?"

"Hmm....that is true...”

They are greeted by a maid and then almost instantly by their mother. Who seemed to be waiting in the wings. Clearly over the moon to see them. It surprised Astarion.

When he thought of noble houses, he thought of starched shirts and stiff upper lips. Preening complexions looking down their noses at others with cool indifference. But this woman seemed so….warm.

“You must be Astarion! It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She greeted him with her hand to shake his.

It was like her greetings flipped a switch in his mind, and Astarion instantly went into his ‘charming self’. “The pleasure his all mine, your grace.” He gave a little bow and scooped up her hand to kiss it. Which made their mother giggle.

“Oh my! They are the charmer, aren’t they.”

“I certainly think so.” [Y/N] quipped.

The rest of the evening went….well. Or at least he thought it had.

Astarion was a little lost on the mark on how to charm people platonically. It just didn’t feel as natural as what he was doing before (although nothing was ‘natural’ about it. only routine). Their mother kept the conversation going with her light chatter and bubbly personality. While their father provided stoic, but congenial remarks throughout the evening. He was a good man. An honorable man. It was so rare to find them these days, particularly amongst nobility.

Very late into the evening, almost getting too close to dawn for his comfort, Astarion and [Y/N] bid goodbye to their parents. With an open invitation to come back any time, and a few notes on upcoming social events they were welcome to.

“That was…interesting…”

“What? You don’t like my parents?” [Y/N] asked as they walked home.

“No, no. I do. It’s just….I always pictured noblemen & women to be more…formal.” He doesn’t remember much of his former life, save for his death, but Astarion always assumed that his attitude came from his breeding as a young man of the nobility back in his time. He would be devastated to find out that he was really just an ass of his own doing.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve only ever met nobles in a formal setting.” Astarion shrugged. He supposed that was true. “Who we are for the public and who we are in life if very different. My family ‘can put on a good show’, to use your phrasing, but typically find it exhausting. Neither one of them is the best at politic, but our line is so old that it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“So they had you to be their political cat?” Astarion remarked with a grin. Thinking back on all those poor souls they persuaded into giving up their purse or letting them pass without incident.

[Y/N] returned his grin. “They like you, though. Mother made several mentions of it when we were alone. Father too.”

“He mentioned that he liked me?” That was a surprise.

[Y/N] pondered the question for a moment. “Hmm…it’s more that he didn’t make mention of it. If he hated you, he would have let me know. You too, in fact.”

Astarion let out a heavy sigh from a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He had done it. He had made a good impression. They liked him.

His chest suddenly felt tight. Swelling with…pride?

Astarion couldn’t think of a time when someone generally liked him before; save their adventuring camp. Lusted after him. Wanted to be ‘friendly’ with him. But just plain liked him? That was a new feeling.

They walk home in relative silence after meeting the relatives. [Y/N] seeming to enjoy the night air. While Astarion tried to process these new feelings of nervousness, pride, and platonic affection.

[saphronethaleph]

Outside the Throne Room

RK-T glanced over at GD-S.

“So…” RK began.

“Ssh!” GD replied, sharply. “Keep your mouth shut! You know the boss doesn’t like us to, you know, appear human in any way.”

“Boss isn’t here,” RK replied. “Well, he’s here, but he’s not here here. He’s on the other side of that door.”

“He could come out of that door at any time, you know that,” GD said. “We’re supposed to be silent and intimidating. And red.”

“Dude does like red,” RK mused.

He frowned, behind his mask. “Though… I actually wanted to ask. Why exactly do we exist?”

“What are you getting at, man?” GD replied. “We’re… imperial guards. We guard… the Emperor. Literally our only job. It’s in the description.”

“That’s what I’m getting at,” RK said. “We’re imperial guards, and in there right now with the boss is a Jedi. Like… the first one there’s been in decades.”

“Nah, there’s loads,” GD shrugged. “There were like twenty thousand Jedi, you’d never catch all of them.”

“Still, you get my point, right?” RK asked. “Vader goes in there with a Jedi, and the boss tells us to leave.”

GD shifted slightly, his force pike humming. “He’s the boss,” he pointed out. “His word is law. In fact I think his word is imperial dictat which is even more certain than a law, you know.”

“Not what I’m getting at,” RK replied. “He told us to leave. Literally. That’s the biggest threat possible, a rebel Jedi, and he’s told us to leave. And, what’s more… you’ve got to have thought about this yourself, but the boss is also… the boss. Most of the time he doesn’t need bodyguards… it’s not like he’s going to need us to stop him from being beaten to death by a mob, he could just electrocute them all.”

“That… is true,” GD admitted. “Now you’ve got me wondering why we exist at all. Thanks.”

“Sorry,” RK said. “I thought you’d have an answer.”

“Well, I don’t,” GD said, a bit snippishly.

The two red-clad guards stood in silence for a long moment.

“Maybe I should check on him,” RK suggested, and flicked on his comlink.

Then, a few seconds later, flicked it firmly off again.

“Well?” GD asked.

“Boss told the Jedi to kill him,” RK reported. “Then I heard the sound of a lightsaber and the boss laughing. So… I’m going to assume that any kind of, fighting noises or whatever, are his plan.”

GD sighed.

“It would be so much easier to do our jobs if the boss told us about this sort of thing,” he said.

Another pause resulted, this one longer and more awkward.

“Ever wonder if maybe our purpose is just eye candy?” RK suggested. “Looking good while the boss is doing something?”

“That’s depressing,” GD muttered. “But, yeah, that checks out.”

He looked at his force pike. “It’s not like these weapons are going to be much good for actual bodyguarding…”

“They can do the stun thing,” RK pointed out. “There is that.”

“Yeah, which is short ranged and really awkward,” GD answered. “I think I’m coming around to your point of view. If we were supposed to be proper bodyguards we’d have blasters.”

Silence returned, curling around and around like a cat preparing to settle in for a nice nap.

“...seen any good movies lately?” RK asked, eventually.

“This is doing great at maintaining the mystique,” GD groused.

“Do you see anyone to care?” RK replied. “Myself I actually thought the latest Starflare holodrama was good.”

“Isn’t her husband Baron Fel?” GD said, then shook his head. “Great, turns out my weakness is gossip.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check in on the boss again,” RK offered, reaching up to flick on his comlink, then turned it off again. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Fine?” GD repeated. “Is that a proper report?”

“All right, all right, I heard several seconds of someone screaming, then the boss said ‘and now, young Skywalker, you will die,’” RK informed his coworker, copying the Emperor’s voice as best he could. “Is that enough of a report for you?”

“Yeah, whatever,” GD said. “Sounds like he’s having fun, at least… sounds like he might nearly be finished, though. So no time for gossip.”

“Whatever,” RK sighed.

Silence came back for the encore, and the two Red Guards stood either side of the door, defending someone who didn’t need defending from the absolutely nothing that might threaten him.

Then the door hissed open, and Darth Vader came through.

So did the Jedi, supporting Vader on his shoulder, and RK and GD both stared.

“...um,” RK began. “...halt?”

“He’s with me,” Vader replied, his voice strained.

“Where’s the nearest shuttle bay?” the Jedi asked.

RK and GD both pointed, completely unsure what to do, and the Jedi and Vader hobbled off down the corridor.

“Wonder what that was about,” GD said, eventually.

“Attention all decks!” a panicked voice said. “Attention all decks! Rebel fighters have entered the Death Star, they’re headed for the reactor, we can’t stop them!”

Two blank red masks gazed at one another for several seconds, then RK and GD bolted for the shuttle bay.

[peachdues]

THE SWEET FAR THING — PROLOGUE

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader AU

A/N: did I say prologue tomorrow? I meant now. I’m on an angst kick y’all, and I can’t be tamed. Plus, I’m very excited about this one. So enjoy the opening scene to The Sweet Far Thing.

Read the first teasers here and here.

The prologue is a flash-forward to later events in the story. The fic will then pick up in the past, and show how the prologue itself comes to be.

CW: MDNI • mentions of violence/murder • vague reference to non-con • Douma (y’all already KNOW) • this fic will contain heavy explicit content

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that lived on the edge of ruin.

It was once a grand Empire; a shining beacon of light and prosperity. Its citizens had flourished thanks to the kingdom’s unique position between a lush, mountainous range rife with resources to the north and a vast, shining sea to the south, which gave birth to a booming trade industry. At its head sat the royal family which sired generation after generation of benevolent rulers, beloved by all.

But greed and power are vices that even the most noble of kingdoms cannot evade forever, and soon, the spoils of war came for it.

For a while, the kingdom managed; its isolation meant it could ward off enemy invaders, for a time, and the King did his best to assure his citizenry that there was nothing to fear. And because the Royal Family had always been open and honest with its people, there was no reason to doubt him; life continued on without impediment, as though sons and daughters weren’t being recruited in the dark of night to to die in a field fighting a faceless enemy with an army in the tens of thousands.

But beneath the thin veneer of golden prosperity , the kingdom slowly rotted away until only its bones remained. To save it, a sacrificial lamb had been offered to appease the unbeatable and unrelenting enemy at its doorstep; the Kingdom’s beloved Princess.

You.

And now, you were being offered up once more, only this time it was to the gods or whatever it was that awaited you in the afterworld, which surely better than anything you’d endured here, in the land of the living.

At least it was you who was doing the offering; you supposed there had to be some comfort in your own dignity, no matter how little of it remained.

So there, perched atop the thin circle of stone wall that created an outer barrier around the tallest tower of your toppled castle that separated you from the edge of the world, you paused.

The wind howled and swirled around you, slicing clean through the thin linen of your nightgown, whipping its hem sharply against your shins. You should have felt cold; you should have been trembling, clinging desperately to the crumbling stone ledge against which you now stood, body bowed away from the turret as gravity beckoned you to follow it down.

All that separated you from the rocky ravine hundreds of feet below, were your fingers, loosely curled around the tower’s low wall. There was nothing — no one — to stop you, save yourself, and you had no intention of doing so.

The sudden image of heated ochre eyes narrowed accusingly at you and flame-tinged hair flashed through your mind, a searing comet across your impending night.

Kyojuro.

He would be angry, your Knight. Furious that you’d broken your oath to him — to stay alive.

But that was before; before the gilded paint coating your kingdom peeled back to reveal the rust and ruin below. Before your people had been starved and beaten into submission, pillaged by the forces that marched through the rubbled and ruined halls of the once magnificent castle you’d called home, and impaled your father through his heart with his own flagstaff. Before his body had been left to rot on his family’s ancestral throne, as a reminder of the new order.

Before Prince Douma had plucked the crown from the King’s decaying head and plopped it on his own, declaring himself your kingdom’s savior though it had been his Empire which caused its fall.

Before he’d humiliated and violated you again and again in front of your sworn shields — including the knight who’d held your heart since you were children and unaware of the war raging just beyond your doors.

Besides, you’d endured a dozen and a half of your beloved Knight’s broken promises and half-truths; clung to the hopes he’d sown, like summer dew on grass, only for him to break every single one of them and leave you to reap the consequences.

But you? You’d kept your vows; every single one of them, right up until that very moment.

Behind you there was an urgent scrape of metal against stone, a pounding against the tower door that you’d barricaded to keep your wretched husband’s men at bay, at least long enough for you to clamber awkwardly over the stony bannisters surrounding the turret, as you scrambled toward your last chance at freedom.

You closed your eyes.

Just this once, Kyojuro would have to accept your failure. You’d endured far too many of his.

The image of his eyes — pools of amber ore, warm and safe, flashed through your mind.

You smiled; even here, at the end, he was your greatest source of comfort. And it was because you had the solace of his eyes, the memory of his skin, warm against yours, and of his lips, that you found the courage to answer the wind’s sweet howl of your name.

For all of Kyojuro’s failures, you could never find it in your heart to resent him; not when he’d shown you his love, as conditional as it apparently had been, you’d known it all the same.

To know love and to be loved in return; it was enough, no matter how fleeting it had been.

Your lungs expanded, greedily drawing in as much of the icy air of the early morning dawn as possible, knowing that there would be nothing more to come. If you strained hard enough, you swore you could hear a whisper of your name in the wind, in the precise cadence of his voice.

Lungs stretched to capacity, you paused, reveling in the temporary silence as you rose up high on your toes.

And with a soft exhale, you let your hands fall away from the turret’s ledge.

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 10: Waste of Lime

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: Everything you know has turned upside down, so why not try something new for yourself?

Word count: 2,928

Content/warnings: use of weaponry (knives) in a training environment, poor eating habits, monitoring of an individual without their knowledge, heavy alcohol consumption, swears, negative self-talk, character jump-scare!

Author’s Note: she’s baaaaaaack! You…might scream at me for this one. And honestly, that’s alright with me. Can’t wait to hear what you think about it. Any reblog, ask or comment to do so is appreciated more than pasta. That’s a lot.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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You stood between the dark cinder block walls, turning the small throwing knife between your fingertips, examining the sharp edge and pristine condition. You’d had it in your hands for weeks and from all that time of close examination, you could tell he took care of it in almost a militant manner, which you hated to think about how much you respected.

Pulling yourself out of your brief reverie, though, you steadied your stance and threw it at the target on the wall, the point sticking just outside the concentric circles on the small pine backboard downrange.

You groaned, brushing the hair back out of your face with both hands and turning around to the instructor behind you. She laughed and shrugged.

“Might not be a bullseye, but you’re getting there. Your technique is much better. Now that you know what you’re doing, why don’t I get you a few more of those so you don’t have to keep walking to get it? And don’t worry, we’ll make sure to mark which knives are which so you don’t lose yours.”

You blew out a breath and put your hands on your hips, nodding while you paced in the narrow, yet long private room. One of a 24-hour shooting range you’d found not too far from your work that some of the cops would visit often to keep up on their skills.

“Yeah, that’s good. Thanks, Becca.”

She smiled. “No problem.”

Steve stood behind his office chair staring at the surveillance footage that played on his laptop screen as he continued to button his black dress shirt, fingers nimbly moving as they had thousands of times to help him get dressed. He slung the silk tie around his neck, expertly knotting it without even looking, his gaze avoiding the two penetrating ones from his friends perched on either side of the mahogany work surface, watching the scene with him.

“You know, she’s getting pretty good at that. Can at least hit near the target on purpose now.”

Steve finally tore his eyes from the screen to scowl at Sam but was quickly redirected by Bucky.

“Yeah, she is. She’s also draining our buddy’s pockets. You’re gonna go broke, punk.”

Steve met Bucky’s amused face with a stern look. “Good. I deserve to after all that I did to her. All the money in the world couldn’t properly fix it, but I hope she knows I’m sorry and will come around. I can wait.”

Bucky snorted, “Yeah, but your wallet can’t.”

Steve sighed, shrugging on his suit jacket and straightening out the lapels. “Bucky, she hasn’t purposely used any of my money. As far as she knows, she’s on a free trial at the range, and she’ll get billed at the end of the month. I can deal with it all then, and even so, I can afford to take that hit financially. Plus, she hasn’t used my card or been in one of the restaurants or shops a single time. But even if she had been draining my funds, would you not do the same for Bee?”

Steve’s best friend straightened up at that, his hand brushing contemplatively over the stubble on his face.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Just….don’t beat yourself up too much on this, alright?”

Steve gave no response as he adjusted his cufflinks.

Your arms shot up in the air in a silent cheer, commemorating a DNA match for the nearly unsolvable case that you and Scott had been working. As you spun around, finally lifting your eyes from your workbench, you caught a glimpse of the precinct through the cracks of the blinds in your window. The natural light that usually bounced across the white walls was long gone, meaning the sun had set. And you’d gotten in today before the sunrise. And now that you thought about it, you hadn’t eaten, either. As if on cue, your stomach grumbled and suddenly all you could think about was your next meal.

Not having eaten all day wasn’t entirely true. There was that one candy bar you had grabbed off Scott’s desk, but that was at the beginning of his shift, and he was long gone by now.

In fact, most of the detectives were gone, leaving a skeleton night crew and the other new forensic scientist sitting at his desk, passing time with a game of Tetris. No one worth asking to join you for a celebratory meal was left, so you guessed that meant dinner alone, yet again. Which was….fine. Everything was fine right now, because it needed to be, you needed to be. But perhaps you could get some good food in your system that was a little more than fine. You deserved it. Your work maintained quality and it was almost like your personal life hadn’t affected it at all.

You’d never been to this restaurant before, despite its proximity to your apartment, but you’d heard good reviews. It was only a short walk away, too, which was nice, because there was no way you were going to be fit to drive home after the way you needed to decompress.

As you came up to the glass doors and reached for the large wooden handle, the first thing you noticed was just how sharp and modern everything looked, yet somehow homey. Familiarity floated through the space just like the glow of the soft yellow lighting from strands of bulb lights that bounced off of the dark wood detailing and painted brick walls. The place was buzzing already, filled with a happy hour crowd, picking at tapas and upscale drinks, which sounded and smelled so good to your borderline hangry mind.

The bar was only about half full, luckily, giving you plenty of room to separate yourself from others as you slid onto one of the tall stools, arms reaching across the cool marble counter to grab the menu that a redhead was handing you. She gave a small smile, telling you she’d be back in a second as she served a couple of drinks to a waitress at the other end.

She made her way back over to you, eyes sparkling as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lip.

“Can I get you started with something?”

You clicked your tongue looking over the menu, seeing so many different wines, none of which strong enough for what you were feeling right now.

“What’s good? And….celebratory?”

She shrugged, tilting her head to look at the menu with you.

“Well, we’re known for our wines…” she looked up and met your eyes, “but you look like you need something better than that.”

She pushed her way back from the bar, turning around and reaching under the counter to pull out a stool.

“Now, the chef doesn’t love that I do this. Says it ‘doesn’t match with the Spanish theme,’ but no one can really argue….”

She reached for a bottle on the top shelf, climbed back down and set a glass in front of you, pouring the clear, yellow-tinted liquid while sliding a lime onto the rim.

“When it’s just so luxurious. Double shot of tequila. This one’s on the house, but I suggest you order something to eat with it. It’s gonna hit harder than you expect.”

You nodded, grabbing the glass and pulling it towards yourself. The volatile liquid pleasantly tickled your nose hairs. Whew.

“Good idea. Thanks…” you looked for a name tag, met with a blank, black shirt. She returned to you from setting the bottle back behind the bar and fished your sentence. “Nat.”

“Nat. Thank you, Nat.”

Four drinks in and six small dish plates piled to the side of you, your words were starting to slur together. The empty pit that had been chipping at your insides was almost fully filled again, from warm food and the action of the tequila. Almost.

With a final bite waving around in your hand, you caught the bartender’s attention as she switched your short-rimmed drink glass with a tall one of water.

Your lips inched themselves over the straw and you took a big sip before popping the final bite in your mouth.

The cold water running down your throat had you blinking into a little alertness when you swallowed, Nat’s bright eyes locking in on you.

“Everything okay?”

You rolled your eyes and blew out a breath that morphed into a dry chuckle, not wanting to directly answer her inquiry.

“You ever been in love, Nat? Or…. I guess… in… like?”

She shrugged with a light laugh, her smirk tugging the corner of her lip upwards once again. “Yeah, I’ve got a guy.”

“What’s his name?” You passed the glass back and forth between your fingertips, eyes not straying too far from the fancy bar top.

“Depends. We talking best friend type of love or romantic? Because I’d give you two different names.”

You nodded, taking another sip before you looked at yourself in the mirror that sat behind the liquor shelves over her shoulder. You looked tired. “Yeah, I get that. I feel like I was almost getting somewhere with the second one, but now sometimes I feel like I have neither. Everything has changed. Both were liars. But is it wrong if I still care? That I don’t want them to just…be out of my life even though I’m actively distancing myself?”

She set the glass she was drying down on the counter and looked you in the eyes. “I’d say it would be wrong if you didn’t care. Lying sucks, but sometimes it’s necessary to protect the ones we love the most. And I’m sure they still love you. Some part of you deep, deep down knows that. Everyone’s got their reasons.”

You grumbled a little at that. “Sounds like something a liar would say….” She shrugged, then urged you to continue. “But yeah, they’ve been reaching out a little, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to crumble so easily. I can handle this by myself, ya know? But somehow, everything that I’m putting so much focus on right now is still unsteady. I’m feeling like the opposite of Midas with all of this. I’m…ssssidam.”

She laughed. “Well, Sidam. Sometimes we know what we want, even when we try to fight it by putting focus somewhere else. Sometimes it’s right in front of our face, and sometimes we have to search for it. But what I’ll say is that anything that falls in our laps is a blessing. Shouldn’t be taken lightly if it works that well. The core of a relationship is the biggest thing. How you are with that person when it’s just the two of you. Away from the rest of the world. All those other bits are secondary. They can be ironed out later.”

You heeded her words, but honestly, they were just too truthful for you right now. Sure, you’d thought of ideas similar to those, but never dared to say them out loud. Before you could gather your thoughts enough to respond, though, you heard a commotion behind you. Someone had walked through the restaurant door, garnering some attention. You heard requests for autographs and pictures. Only a few, though, before it quickly died down and the there was a presence next to you. Directly next to you. In a bar with several empty seats. Weird.

You looked up, straight ahead at the mirror that backed the shelves of liquor of the bar. Who was right at your side? Someone it seemed everyone you grew up around was trying to shove you towards for as long as you could remember, even your own parents: Lucas Bell.

He turned his head and smiled at you as you continued to glare at his reflection, remaining silent. With a sigh, you finally turned your body to face his.

His overly white smile gleamed at you as he said your name.

“Fancy meeting you here! I wasn’t sure if you got my flowers. You didn’t say anything. I’ve been hoping we could meet up.”

You unsuccessfully fought the urge to roll your eyes as you took another sip of your water.

“Listen, Lucas. That was nice and all, but I’m going through a time, okay? I really don’t have the patience for you, for this, right now.”

His lips closed, hiding his teeth, but he continued to grin, nonetheless.

“I have the patience for you, though. That’s gotta count for something. Misery loves company, right?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at his relentlessness. Was your face not as aversive as it used to be? The tequila must’ve been messing with your rbf muscles.

“I don’t think this is what the saying meant.”

You pointed between the two of you, and he just shrugged.

Before you could open your mouth to further tell him off, though, he held up a finger as he knocked on the bar for Nat’s attention. She turned around, looking at him with a raised brow, but not saying anything.

“I’ve got an order for Bell. I called ahead.”

He turned back to you and sighed.

“Anyway, what I wanted to do was ask you to dinner. You and I have known each other so long. Don’t you think that we would look great together, too? Both of us, taking care of the city in our own ways. A power couple!”

For a second, bile began to rise up in your throat, and you weren’t sure if it was from the sight of his fake tan that was really popping to you now, the offer, his floral cologne, or the several double shots you’d consumed. But everything was so screwed up, that you didn’t think it could get any worse. Maybe your mom really was right, and this was worth a shot. So before that idea could even get vetted by any hint of higher-level functioning, the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“You know what? Sure. Yeah, whatever. When do you want, this weekend?”

He winced, yet his face still seemed like it was trying to be performatively handsome. One shouldn’t have to try that hard. “No can do. I anchor the evening news on the weekends. I’ve got availability Monday evening, though. I can pick you up after work. It’ll be nice, yeah?”

You opened your mouth to answer but before you even got a word out, Nat was returning with his to-go bag and his phone was ringing. He scrambled to answer it.

In seconds, he was already walking backwards towards the door, phone pressed up to his ear. “Duty calls. Gotta go catch this story. But I’ll see you then!”

You rolled your eyes at the whole thing before resting them on the heels of your palms. When you finally sat up again, you signaled Nat to bring another drink.

As soon as you downed the last shot of what likely should’ve been a sipping tequila, you checked your watch, and groaned, dreading the next day that you’d have to go into work. When you looked up to ask for the bill, it was like Nat apparated before you.

“So what was that about? Hot date?”

You scoffed while opening up your wallet and setting your card down on the receipt. “I don’t know about hot, but yeah. It would seem like a date.”

She looked down at where you placed the plastic and shook her head. “We can’t accept that card, got another?”

You sighed, sifting through to find another, but before you could pull it out, she piped up again, “Nope. Not that one, either. One more try. What’s that black one?”

You looked up at her through your eyelashes, questioning how keen her sight was and if that really was the only option. She urged you on, holding out her hand as you tentatively handed over Steve’s black card and watched her go back to the billing station where a waitress, a blonde who had been passing through all night, was leaning.

You watched as they exchanged words before the blond began strutting over to you. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, the occasional strand framing her face that held a similar smirk to Nat’s. She began shuffling and organizing the well of the bar before she spoke to you.

“Heard you’ve got a date. Does this mean Steve finally got the courage to make an actual move?”

At that, your eyes went wide, and so did Nat’s. You had never mentioned Steve this whole night. You made sure of it. She rushed over to you, shoving the blond out of the way with a deadly side eye. “You’ll have to excuse my sister. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

You laughed dryly, grabbing the check from her hands. “Sure she does. It all makes a lot of sense now. The atmosphere, your constant checking in on me.”

She nodded. “And we’ve been instructed to not take your money.”

“Yup. That, too,” you breathed out as you signed the check and slid it back to her. “Well, thanks for at least a few hours away from everything.”

Without lifting your head, you slipped your wallet away and slid off the stool, heading straight for the door to go back to your apartment. Nat stood there watching you with the intent to later ensure that you got home safely. She looked at the check in her hands and the black ink scrawled on it: your attempt at Steve’s signature and a 300% tip.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Meet Number Four (and Yelena)

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @stellar-solar-flare @otterlycanadian @kbear8863 @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[trans-axolotl]

" “In the year 2024….” read the headline of an editor’s message in a 1970 issue of The Presidio, a publication out of the Iowa State Penitentiary. Even for people in prison, whose primary currency is time itself, the date felt far-fetched. Something so distant, it was more the setting of a science fiction novel than of a real-life possibility. Al Ware, the paper’s incarcerated editor, had just experienced the solar eclipse of the century, though Iowa was outside the range of the total eclipse. He whimsically mused on whether he’d be around for the next one—if he meant alive or still in prison is up for interpretation.

People travel for hundreds and thousands of miles to view total eclipses and consistently have difficulty describing the experience fully with just words. But even a partial eclipse can be a stunning spectacle. For those in prison, whose lives are often drudgery punctuated by fleeting moments of fear, being able to experience something collectively with people beyond the walls is the type of reprieve that buoys the psyche for quite some time.

I sat in prison for the partial eclipse of 2017. A far cry from how Florida prisons handled a total eclipse in 1970, the Federal Bureau of Prisons decided a dusk-like darkening of the sky was a security threat that warranted a total lock-down. Never mind that for half the year the sun set at dinner time, and we were allowed to continue going about our business, jogging on the rec yard, grabbing a book from the library, and just generally moving about the compound. Perhaps some nefarious actors would use the few minutes of diminished daylight in the middle of the day to orchestrate a prison break, or perhaps the reverse, introduce contraband.

It felt like my life came to a screeching halt the moment I was arrested. No longer did I feel like I was living, an active verb, I was merely existing. If I vanished off the face of the Earth, not a single thing would change in the world, so minimal was my presence, so isolated was my life. Headlines flashed across the television screens, one of my only tethers to the outside world. Floods in Houston, fires in California, a mass shooting in Miami. It was as if these events were happening in some other world, one to which I only had the narrowest window...

...And with that, she led us outside. She didn’t ask where the colander had come from, and I did not tell. Its round holes somehow cast crescent shadows, illuminating the laws of physics. The sky darkened but nothing like dusk, a bizarre energy filling the air—or perhaps it was the abject fear that I was risking time in the hole to watch odd-shaped shadows dance on the ground, unable to even look at the eclipse directly.

For days to come, we tried to explain to our friends what it felt like, what those colander hole shadows looked like. It was simply too difficult to describe.

Whether Al Ware is still around to see this eclipse—he would be eighty-two—is unknown. What is known is that at least a few hundred people that experienced the total solar eclipse from prison in the United States in 1970 are still in prison. The next total solar eclipse that can be seen from the contiguous US won’t be until 2044—and unless that’s your release date, I’m sure it feels just as abstract as 2024 felt to the men at the Iowa State Penitentiary back in 1970."

- Watching an Eclipse from Prison, by Morgan Godvin

[eos-aurora-rise]

This'll Do

This is a post epilogue, check out the full fic at This'll Do on AO3 (ezra bridger/luke skywalker, forced proximity, smut, angst, happy ending, 12k)

“Well, I can only say that I’m truly glad to see you safe, Master Skywalker.” 

Luke had no idea who this man was. He could see Leia from the corner of his eye, her smile only slightly less brittle than his own. She knew that Luke had lost track of all of his well-wishers somewhere between his first and fourth flute of champagne. 

He could only nod and bow his head. “Thank you. I’m only fortunate to continue with my duties.”

“Oho!” The stranger cheered, raising his glass above his scaled head. “A Jedi indeed, thinking only about others! Well, this one is old enough to remember the days where the Jedi travelled the galaxy in their thousands, protecting the weak and fighting the strong.”

He could feel his left eye twitching. 

It wasn’t that Luke didn’t like hearing about the old Jedi Order, because he always did. It was just that he was both drunk and exhausted, and the formal robes that he’d bought for fetes like this were becoming increasingly constricting and stiff. 

They were beautiful, of course. Fancy, decorative, with the smoothest, softest material and lovingly hand-sewn beading and stitching. He’d felt so regal when he first tried them on that he’d had to sit in a dark room and take deep breaths when he took them off again. 

What was a farm boy from the Outer Rim doing in things such as those? He still found himself trying to scrape non-existent sand from his fingernails when he forgot that it had been years since he was last on Tatooine. The money he’d earned from the Rebellion on top of the wages which were generously afforded by the New Republic was foreign to him, the numbers so large that they barely seemed real. 

Leia always seemed to look at him a little pityingly when he got like that. It’s not even that much, Luke. It’s barely over the galactic median income. Well, it was far more than the Lars Farm median income had ever been. Far more than Luke needed. 

Unless he was buying stupid robes. Beautiful, uncomfortable, stuffy robes for pointless parties full of people he didn’t know. What had the man said again?

Luke really had had too much to drink. 

A hand pressed to the small of his back. Ezra. He didn’t need to look. He was familiar enough with the man in the Force that he didn’t even need to think about it. He’d developed the skill at first to avoid him more easily, but now…

“Sorry to steal away the man of the hour.” Ezra announced, as though this party wasn’t as much for him as it was for Luke. Though, he hadn’t seen him for a while; had he managed to slip out without Luke noticing? How rude. He could have at least smuggled Luke out with him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Luke glanced back at him, trying to seem both sober and casual about the fact that the lack of space between them was bothering him, just a little bit. Ezra now looked far less formal than he had before. He’d lost his jacket somewhere along the way, and the button on his shirt was popped open, revealing a flush along his collarbones. 

Luke was not looking. He made a pointed expression, and injected plenty of sarcasm into his tone. “Nice.” Ezra glanced down at his slightly dishevelled appearance and winced, then forced a grin. 

“Can’t all look as pretty as you all the time, Skywalker.”

He said it quietly, enough that those he’d been talking to couldn’t hear, but Leia had. She choked on her champagne, pressing a long bell sleeve to her mouth as she struggled to collect herself. Someone patted her back, asking if she was alright, so Luke planted a hand on Ezra’s shoulder and all but shoved him back a few steps, firmly out of range of anyone who might overhear. 

“Tell me you’re here for a reason other than embarrassing me in front of our esteemed guests.”

“You’re embarrassed?” Ezra asked, tangling a hand into Luke’s sleeve as he guided him through the crowd. “Nothing embarrassing about being pretty. In fact, I rather like that about you.”

Force, Luke hoped no one was listening. Ezra seemed incapable of lowering his voice, and Luke was just on the wrong side of drunk to be able to keep his facial expressions under control. He was certain he was bright red, and worse, itching to yank that stupid shirt off and test how warm Ezra’s skin was with his lips.

Never drinking again, no matter the occasion. Especially if this idiot is here. 

The corridor was a little bit cooler, which gave Luke the chance to at least catch his breath for a second before he was yanked into the next room down the hall. It was a little bit smaller than the room the party was being held in, and the lights were off–soft music and chatter filtered through, muffled but present. He opened his mouth to ask what Ezra wanted, but didn’t get the chance. 

He reached out to the table tucked against the wall and tapped something. There was a flicker of blue as a hologram was projected into the darkness, two similar and unfamiliar faces snapping into clarity. 

It took Luke a moment to realise that these were the people he and Ezra had been flying out to mediate between. They glanced at each other for a moment, then turned forwards again. 

“Dear Jedi Masters, we would like to send a message of gladness that the two of you are safe and well. When we heard the news of the misfortune which had befallen you, we were deeply concerned.”

“It is our people’s belief that life belongs to the ground, be it the sand, the soil, the rock, or the water. To die in space is to be left untethered. The soul cannot find peace among stars.”

“We chose to come together to pray. We felt some responsibility for your being out there in the first place. And in the meanwhile, we have found some common ground between us.”

“That is not to say that we agree on everything, but rather…” The figure paused, turning back to their new friend. “Rather that we are prepared to put the effort into figuring something out which will benefit us both. We hope that this event will mark a new period of peace between us.”

“And so, while things did not unfurl as planned, we thank you. You have fulfilled your mission, and lived to tell the tale.” They smiled playfully. “Thank you.”

The message flickered and died. Luke blinked at it stupidly for a few moments, then turned to Ezra, who was grinning and watching Luke already. He tipped his head, pursing his lips. “We didn’t even get there, and still got everything sorted. We’re just that good.”

His pride was infectious. Luke was tempted to scold him for it, but he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. He’d been cynically waiting for the warning that their delays in making out there had marked the announcement of a new war. This was… really good news. 

Ezra swept forwards, gathering Luke’s hands in his own. “We make a good team.”

Luke cocked an eyebrow at him. “We didn’t actually do anything.” He reminded, earning himself a very unnecessarily overexaggerated eye roll. 

Rather than grace him with an answer, Ezra just tipped Luke’s chin up with one knuckle and kissed him, soft and chaste and as casual as anything. Luke felt his face warm embarrassingly quickly and decided to blame it on the alcohol. 

“What now?” Ezra queried, bumping his forehead against Luke’s playfully. “Any plans?”

“Hm. Nope.”

“Really? None at all?” Ezra pouted. Cute, Luke thought, then shook himself. 

“If there’s something you’re trying to get me to say, you can just ask.”

Ezra sighed, letting go of Luke’s hands so he could wrap himself around Luke’s body instead, swaying with him to the beat of the music from next door. Luke slid his hands onto Ezra’s shoulders, fingers finding the collar of his shirt and teasing just beneath it. 

“Mmm, okay, I guess I was asking… about us.” He sounded a little nervous, which made Luke feel guilty. Guilty, because he knew what he was going to say and he knew that it wasn’t what Ezra wanted to hear at all. 

“I don’t know, Ez.” 

Ezra frowned, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “You don’t know if… you want to be with me? Or-”

“How many times would I have to suck your dick to convince you that I might actually like you?”

Ezra’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, then he smiled. “At least a few more. We can get started now, if you-”

Luke muffled a laugh against Ezra’s lips. “We’re just… still Jedi, okay? There’s a few thousand years worth of philosophy on why this is a bad idea.”

With a sigh, Ezra wedged a hand up between them just to flick Luke’s nose. “You’re so pessimistic. Last I checked, making the rules had been left up to you. So, you get to decide.”

Luke supposed that was true. He rubbed at his nose as he glared, then returned his hands to the curve of Ezra’s neck. Beneath his fingers, he could feel Ezra’s quickened pulse. It matched Luke’s. He tapped his thumb against it a few times, watching the bob of Ezra’s throat so he wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. 

It was a bad idea, he knew that. They would stop making a good team very quickly if they got into the habit of prioritising each other instead of others. But, against his better judgement, Luke really did like Ezra. He certainly kept things exciting, and maybe he made Luke feel a little bit alive again in a way that he hadn’t since the day his father died. 

If they could see him now, he was fairly sure Yoda and Obi-Wan would keel over in horror. Luke had really tested them beyond their limits, and this was surely the icing on the cake. His fingertips found the curls of hair at the nape of Ezra’s neck and stilled. 

His father would be proud, he imagined. Proud that he’d managed to find love among it all, like Anakin had found with Padme. For once, the idea didn’t make him nauseous with fear. That would probably make Yoda and Obi-Wan keel over, too. 

He laughed aloud, amused by the image. Well, they could at least be glad to know that Luke was happy, and if they weren’t… well, it was none of Luke’s business any more. If they had a problem, they knew where to find him. 

Ezra was frowning at him like he was crazy, so Luke kissed him again. “Okay.” He mumbled against Ezra’s lips. “Okay, we’re making some new rules.”

“Okay?” Ezra repeated, apparently a little stunned. It took him a few seconds to catch on, then his eyes widened and his grip tightened around Luke’s waist–he just about squeezed the breath out of him, kissing it away as it escaped, grasping desperately at the back of Luke’s gown. “Okay, so, are you going to start doing that proving thing now? Because that would be-”

The door banged open. Luke startled so suddenly that he would have fallen flat on his ass if Ezra hadn’t been clinging on to him. In the open doorway was Sabine Wren, out of her armour for the first time he could ever remember. She was wearing a brightly coloured suit and a devilish grin, undoubtedly having come from the party, and was rosy-cheeked enough to suggest she was more intoxicated than Luke. 

They stood in silence for a moment, then she popped her hip and laughed. “Hera owes me thirty credits. Have fun, lovebirds!”

Then she was gone. Luke blinked at the closed door for a moment. 

Ezra hummed. “Are we predictable?”

With a huff, Luke planted his face into Ezra’s shoulder and muffled a groan into his shirt. 

It would be embarrassing when it all got out, undoubtedly, but there was a little flame of joy burning in his chest which seemed to blind whatever mote of discomfort may have arisen. Instead, Luke decided only that he was, after all, rather glad that everything had gone so catastrophically wrong.

[arlequinelunaire]

Verthandi in the Middle Ch. 1.1

SV Next>

CW: The first couple of chapters involve a serial killer.

_ _ _

Because I’m the one who gets stuck with the serial killer, aren’t I?

…Okay, guess I should back up. Long story short, short-ish anyway, I go by Vera Norin, well down here I do. I’m one of the three owners, okay, one of the only three employees of the Wyrd Sisters Agency in Stockholm. Says a lot that my older sister Ruth told us we’d all have equal say, but then named the agency after herself. Er, after one of her alternate names.

Put simply, we control fate. No, we don’t just see your fate like a fortune teller, and unlike them we’re the real thing. Control it. Wanna go from rags to riches with us as your fairy godmothers, send someone you don’t like from riches to rags, or avoid your appointed death? Arranged all that and more thousands of times, and big sister Ruth even gets to control the past. Because of course she gets everything.

Er, guess I’m not being much of a saleswoman here, am I? Hey, I’m still the best of my sisters in that department, probably. Like Ruth would just tell you a bunch of flowery mythic-mystic bullshit before getting to anything important, while my little sister Svea would just prefix everything with ‘SUPER-’, ‘AWESOME-’, and ‘EPIC-’ and add a whole bunch of exclamation marks and a digi-cyber-guitar solo. Wait no, not epic, nobody says epic that way anymore, unless they start doing that again in the future when it’s retro. Huh, you’d think Svea of all people would know the actual meaning of the word ‘epic’, given we were there when the old sagas were being written. Then again, the past is Ruth’s domain- oh shit, I’m giving too much away, aren’t I?

Right, I take it you’re thinking if we’ve got power over fate itself, why are we letting mere humans have a say with this agency? Er, fellow mere humans, I mean. Simple, come the 21st century, someone as stuck in the past as Ruth has finally learned about democracy, and not just the barely-counts Ancient Greek kind. If we’re gonna hold this much power over people’s lives, the least we can do is actually give those people a say in things. That’s part of why I’m sharing this with all of you. Not that there aren’t conditions and restrictions of course, we’re still judge and jury, been doing this for millennia- ah, for years after all. Though I assure you, Ruth’s just as strict with us as she is with you, way more so. She’s had thousands of years to hammer into us “You can’t do that”, “Such is unbefitting of us”, “No using your power for your own gain” and on and on.

Okay, what’s this about me getting assigned a serial killer then? It started when a bunch of teens, you know the type, pimply, dour-faced, arms perpetually crossed, would’ve worn baseball caps backwards in past decades, lurched their way right into our office. “Wait, this is the place? Thought a ‘fate-writing’ place would be all dark and spooky, y’know all haunted castle. But this looks like where my parents work,” one of them whined.

“Fate-weaving, kid,” I muttered. Actually, we were still renting this basic white walled, brown carpeted office, and this kid reminding me of that got him on my nerves even more. Granted, freedom to decorate would give Ruth full reign to make everything all lacey and doily-draped and Svea to put spikes everywhere and drown it all in black paint. I shuddered at the thought. But speaking of her, “Svea, you know these guys?” I called out, since they were about high school age. Not that there’s only one high school in Stockholm, but eh, no harm in asking.

“Awesome, you guys saw my flyers!” Svea’s voice rang out all through the room. Which at least showed I was right, even if my ears throbbed. She ran up to them dressed in the exact opposite attire your standard office would demand. With her black hair uneven, leather coat clearly too big for her, knee-high combat boots ringed with spikes, it showed restraint that she didn’t enter the room to a guitar riff. Of course, I showed up to work in my usual anorak and jeans, and Ruth normally arrives in full Victorian garb, so we’re hardly any better. “Alright, so what can Verth and I do for you guys? Anything fate-related, that’s us!” Svea said with an ear-to-ear smile and both thumbs up.

“…Yeah, knew the loudmouth to be behind this. The handwriting on that ad was so bad, couldn’t be anyone but her,” one teen said, rolling his eyes. Huh, since when did stroppy teens care so much about handwriting? Oh yeah, as an excuse to bully Svea they do, though it looked like that remark only got a twitch out of her, on the surface anyway.

“So, if you people really can control fate,” another of the teens began as a smirk crept across his face, with me facepalming at what he said next, “Prove it by making the hottest girl in class fall desperately in love with me.”

“Not happening,” I wasted zero time in telling him. There was no way I’d risk Ruth coming into the room and hearing that one of her biggest rules was in danger of breaking. “We can weave what a person does or what happens to them into their fate, but not how they feel about it. Emotions are a person’s own domain.” It’s a testament to how much Ruth drilled those words into us that I could repeat them on the spot.

“Pfft, sounds to me like you can’t ‘weave fates’ after all,” that teen had to say, his smirk somehow even wider. “Or that hearing about hot girls reminds you how plain and drab you are, anorak,” he snickered like he thought I couldn’t hear, I then winced as Svea snickered with him. The little shit was so lucky that I was in a professional service environment right now and so couldn’t just deck him. Though any more talk like that, and he may find fate has decreed for him quite a few fists to the face. Or worse, decreed for him a life in retail.

“Hey, we can still do a whole bunch of stuff. Like with my domain, I get to decide who lives and who dies-” Svea began, before I put my hand right over her mouth.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that power in these losers’ hands,” I hissed in her ear. And on top of… the obvious, did she have to use the term ‘domain’? I then turned to the brats and told them, “How about sticking to your own fates, okay?”

But then one of them, an even more morbid type who’d been slinking in the shadows so far, had to ask, “What if you fated someone who really deserved it to die? Like a serial killer.”

Now that had me thinking. Obviously there’s been debate after debate on if killing someone can ever be justified, even the oh so brutal Viking Age still had Althing meetings over this sort of thing. On the other hand, like I’d shed the slightest tear over the death of a serial killer. On the other other hand, I was in no mood to become a bunch of snotty teens’ own assassin for hire, let alone foist that on Svea.

So I wussed out and went the rehabilitation route, how Scandinavian-justice-system of me. “How about we just fate it so that they never succeed in killing anyone again?” I offered. Naturally, I said that before knowing who and how bad this serial killer even was. Of course, Svea promptly frowned right at me.

“Fine. Just as long as, y’know, you actually do something involving fate already,” the first teen said. “Oh right, and that you don’t charge too much, we’ve been here long enough.”

Long enough? Since when’s a few minutes ‘long enough’? Not that I can’t sympathise with being strapped for cash, as Ruth won’t let us fate-weave ourselves rich since we ‘can’t use fate-weaving for own advantage’. But at the same time, who the Hel’s this kid to tell us how to run our business? Still, a compromise came to mind as I smirked back at him, “Our price is the satisfaction we get when you all concede that we really do control fate. How’s that?”

“Deal,” the teens said in unison, their faces still sour. Hey, I’d be happy to get this whole thing over with too. The one in the shadows then kept scrolling on their phone until they went, “Yeah, this guy looks like the right candidate.”

“Wait, you mean you didn’t have an actual killer in mind till just now?” I asked them, mouth agape. Just when I thought these teens couldn’t annoy me more. And they flat out ignored what I just said and held the phone up to my face. “Anastasios, surname unknown, the ‘Scarecrow’ killer,” I read. So named for his scrawny, nigh skeletal looks and the way he ties up his victims. Main stalking ground is… all the way down in Athens? These kids were absolutely sure they didn’t pick this guy at random? Then again, a serial killer’s a serial killer, and I like to think I’m more principled about death than Svea. “You got it, this guy’s killing days are done for. Check the news for any more reports on him if you don’t believe us,” I said with a smirk of my own. “Oh, and when that happens, make sure you tell all your friends just how wrong you were about us. Now scram.” Not the best thing to tell your customers, but Ruth wasn’t around, so as if I cared at this point.

“You mean you’re not gonna let us see your actual fate-writing, weaving, whatever process?” one of them had to blurt out.

This again. “Look, a nuclear plant isn’t gonna let you hang around radiation, we’re not gonna let clients hang around the destiny threads. They’re the whole of a person’s time on this Earth, maximum caution required. Now scram,” I said as I shoved them one by one out the door. Hel, ‘scram’ was me holding back, my first instinct was to tell them ‘Fuck off’. Then again, scram is what you say to kids, too Sesame Street reminiscent, while fuck off is what you say to adults, and I didn’t fancy treating them like that.

Then the second I’d dusted my hands of them, I turned around to see Ruth as prim and proper as a 19th century nanny staring right back me into my soul. Oh come on, I didn’t even hear her come in. Well, that’s typical for her, why announce your presence when you could make your sisters fear you’re always watching? “Vera,” she said looking down at me, like that word was all she needed to say.

“Hey, it’s just us three now, you do know you can use my real name?” I said first, then actually replied to what she’d implied with, “And I’m doing my job. I kept putting up with those kids till we reached an agreement, and now we’re gonna change fate per their request. What more do you want?”

“For you to start treating our customers with respect, to begin with. It would not do for our business to be saddled with a bad reputation,” Ruth said as she loomed closer over me. She then placed a hand on Svea’s shoulder as she kept chewing me out, “And in addition, you insulted the very customers your little sister invited. Think about how she must feel, after she put in all the hard work of advertising.”

I was about to point out to Ruth that, had she not shown up at the last minute, she would’ve heard these kids insulting Svea too. But as the future’s not my domain, I’d failed to foresee that Svea would betray me. “Oh yes, Verth was really mean, and to me too. She kept telling me no when I had any idea about how to give our clients what they wanted,” Svea said as she ‘cried’ at Ruth.

“Because Svea wanted to let teenagers order a guy’s death,” I hissed. Don’t know why I did, because if Ruth didn’t ignore me, she probably would’ve manufactured some excuse to defend Svea. Anything for the ‘baby’ of the family. So I then said, “Hey, we’re the only fate-weaving business on Midgard, in all the Realms even,” …as far as I knew, “We’re the last people who need to be worried about customers leaving for the competition.”

Ruth sighed down at me. “We know that, but they do not. To those more superstitious, any charlatan with cards and a crystal ball could be just as valid as we. To those more skeptical, we could be yet more quacks. We cannot afford to drive away clients, Vera. And even if we could, such behaviour would still be utterly unprofessional,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she softened her voice and used my real name, “Verthandi, as the past is not your domain, I don’t know how well you remember this. But in the Eddas, in all the Sagas too, any time our names were said, it was in fear or hatred, and that was when they chose to acknowledge us at all. The last thing I want is for that same fear and hatred to follow us into the 21st century. And that is why manners matter,” she huffed as her voice shot back up to its normal volume.

“…I know,” is all I said to her about our, well, past infamy. I seethed at her thinking all those things said about us didn’t still hurt me. I mean I get it, if you hear someone else controls your fate, it makes sense you’d be resentful of them. But I never asked to be shat on just for doing my job.

Though now she mentions it, if restoring our rep’s so important, doesn’t us using aliases defeat the whole point? Especially when they’re so paper-thin anyway, though I was at least grateful not to get stuck with the proposed ‘Bertha’.

Oh, and since Ruth had just ‘wrecked’ me, Svea of course had to stick her tongue out and pull down an eyelid at me. Yeah, that’s ‘manners’. And how is Svea going ‘killing is totally awesome’ not as harmful to our reputation as me saying a swear word to some kids? “Let’s just weave this fate already,” I settled on.

Guess it’s no use still trying to hide who we are, huh? Even Ruth’s gone and used my real name. Right, I’m Verthandi, Norn of Present Time. And if you’ve so much as squinted at a Norse mythology book, I take it you’ve figured out Ruth’s Urth of the Past and Svea’s Skuld of the Future. Told you our aliases were flimsy. We’re the Nornir and we’re, er, hard to describe, and that’s coming from one of them. We’re not goddesses, let’s make that clear, even if we do have to hang out with them. Urth tells us we’re Jotnar, which gets translated as ‘giants’ despite her only being six foot four, Skuld being a shrimp, and me being average as always. Yeah, you can argue the exact difference between Jotnar and Gods is pretty flimsy, but trust me, you really don’t want to compare the two to their faces.

Of course, my domain being the Present and not the Past means my memory’s kinda hazy, so I only have Urth’s word for it that I even am a Jotun. Hel, I don’t even know my own parents, think I heard Dad’s someone called Mogthrasir? He’s a real deadbeat, whoever he is. But I guess Urth’s telling the truth, like what would she have to gain from saying we’re Jotnar specifically?

Anyway, the fate-weaving. The three of us walked over to a corridor as bland and unfurnished as the foyer, till we came to a door no mortals could see. Or at least, they better not see, if all the runes we scribbled on it are working right. Our local fate-weaving room… how to even describe it? Have you heard of a tesseract, you know, a four-dimensional cube? Picture a whole cavern of four-dimensional spiderwebs, where each dewdrop reflects a moment from someone’s life, from big things like birth, graduation, and death, to the smaller stuff like that one time traffic was real bad, or it rained when the forecast said it’d be sunny. These webs of fate are also this room’s sole light source, with a person’s past shining white, their future shrouded in hazy black, and their present a smushed pallet. Or so it looks like to me anyway, if my sisters see their domains differently they’ve told me squat. Though I think Skuld wouldn’t want her domain to be any other colour than black, like her soul~.

While we didn’t have any super strong leads, knowing some basic information on this killer did help in tracking down his specific thread of fate. As Skuld and I approached the threads, our hands as usual morphed themselves into instruments akin to a spider’s pincers. Yet another reason we don’t humans watch us fate-weave, they’d be sent screaming seeing us turn semi-arachnid. Still, it’d help a lot if I could actually use an opposable thumb for all the tricky, obnoxiously precise bits.

I got to plucking out all the murders the Scarecrow killer ever would’ve committed from this point; I suppose I should’ve felt disturbed seeing them but well, I’m thousands of years old. I may not have the best memory, but the seriously bleak things from the past are all too good at sticking in the mind. Meanwhile, Skuld got the even more laborious job of lengthening all the threads of his future victims, now their fated deaths had changed. And all the while, Urth just… stood in the corner. Watching us do all the work.

“We are tampering with the web of fate enough,” Urth told me as soon as I glared at her, “Were I to get involved and rewrite the fates of his past victims, we don’t know how drastically we would complicate the web.” Which yeah, was exactly the response I expected. Again, alive for thousands upon thousands of years, I can’t fathom how many times she’s told me that. Although, makes sense we couldn’t show those kids we’re the real thing if the killer never even got to kill in the first place. “Not to mention-”

“The gods of the dead don’t like us taking those who’ve already died back from them, I know,” I said. Though it wasn’t like those three could afford to lose a soul or two, especially Odin. I then dusted my hands and said, “Anyway, we’ve got all these fates sorted. Let’s hope our next client asks us for something more pleasant.” And has more money to throw around.

“Oh no, we are not done yet,” Urth said as she looked right at me again. “You’re to watch over this Scarecrow to see how he reacts to having his capacity to kill taken away.”

“What? Why?” I asked, as I instantly assumed she was having me do this out of spite. “We know he’s not gonna kill any more, so what’s the point?”

“Yeah, and how come Verth gets to meet a serial killer and not me?” Skuld had to ask.

“Because Verthandi, you should know by now that the consequences for reweaving fate are nothing you should ignore. And seeing the reweaved in person is to remind you that these are fates of people we deal with, not dolls,” Urth told me, then turned to Skuld and said, “Skuld dear, I will absolutely not let you meet a serial killer. It simply isn’t healthy for you.”

“Why isn’t it?” I actually found myself coming to Skuld’s defence for once. “We can’t weave ourselves into his or anyone’s fate, but even then he still can’t kill her. Can’t kill the future after all. Not to mention some gods she’s met are way worse than serial killers,” I felt the need to keep my voice low for that line.

“Yeah, so lemme meet the killer. Why does Verth get all the fun?” Skuld kept whining.

“Verthandi, this is your little sister you are talking about!” Urth snapped at me. She then steadied herself with a deep breath and said, “Besides, while he may not be able to kill her, there are still plenty of awful things, physical and mental, he could still try on her.” Then she turned around and went, “Skuld, why don’t you and I go out for ice-cream instead? Maybe we can bring your hoverboard to the park?”

Oh, so suddenly those ‘awful things’ are okay when I’m the one in the crosshairs, are they? Yeah, Skuld’s stuck in permanent adolescence, but she’s still been in existence since, like, forever. Though I could immediately imagine Urth replying to that with ‘as have you’.

But if I said all that, it turned out Skuld wouldn’t have my back anyway, as she instantly said, “Ooh, ice cream!”

By the way, if you wonder why we make Skuld go to school even though she’s an immortal, well, one part that permanent adolescence, her being future potential embodied, but also Urth’s whole ‘gotta know the people’ thing. Everything I’d heard about school just made me glad Skuld got stuck with the Future and not me.

With me left with nothing but to groan, I followed Urth out into the scrubby patch that passed for our backyard. There, she picked up a rune-adorned old clay jug of water and held it aloft in the air. Everything shook as a massive, twisting root came down from out of the sky to drink from it. That’s our other job, attending the World Tree Yggdrasill. Well, ‘Yggdrasill’ is just what it’s called now, after Odin hanged himself from it. Its real name is… huh, I don’t think I even know. Maybe Urth does, but if she did she’d probably find some excuse not to tell me.

Anyway, even a root this size was still a minor root for Yggdrasill, nowhere near the three big ones, but it’d do for my assignment. “Ah, the Norns, what can I do for you today?” the tree’s personal squirrel chirped as he scurried his way down the branch, his alien green eyes letting you know this wasn’t your standard red squirrel. Well, that and the little reporter's hat and jacket he was wearing. And the voice thing.

“Nornir,” Urth had to correct, as if the fuzzball at all cared.

“I just need a lift to Athens, Ratatosk. That’s all,” I told him quick. I was about to tell him not to dump me on the outskirts, but knowing my luck that would probably be where the killer’s hiding.

“Why, you three already bombing in Stockholm?” he had to say. Him being the only one amused, and then having to dodge a can thrown by Skuld, he followed with, “Okay okay, your ride to Athens is ready. All aboard.”

I then took hold of the end of the root, and with that was pulled through creation all the way from Europe’s north to its south. Nothing I hadn’t done a bunch before, but I could only imagine how terrifying the experience would be for a regular human, especially for their arm.

And now you know all about how I got assigned to babysit a former serial killer. Here’s hoping he won’t be too much of a headache to deal with in person, I could use less of those in my life.

[birthdaycakeplate]

@fluffythecthulhu said they wanted a fic in a comment under my Mother’s Day Megop art. I’m not sure how serious you were, but I still made one! It’s short for once, but it got embarrassing fast.

Thank you for the sweet comment, btw 💕🦑

TFA Carrier Optimus Megop

Warning in the tags✨

-/——————-

Optimus hadn’t touched his rations all cycle- more concerning still, he hadn’t fueled properly in a deca-cycle. He complained more about feeling nauseous or on the constant brink of downright purging than he ever did use that snarky mouth of his to consume his Energon.

Megatron had grown used to him neglecting himself in ways he formerly thought him too sensible to make the mistake of. Choosing to ignore fueling in lieu of finishing a communication relay at least a thousand lightyears out of range to reconnect a straying ship- which could take hours, where every precious minute counted.

Strika had ordered him not to work so hard to salvage the fodder that either purposely veered off their course, or were too stupid to read a set of coordinates correctly. She would insist that it was what they deserved for acting so foolishly.

And every time, Optimus would argue that that was no reason to leave them there to suffer both the chilling isolation of lost space or such a flippant branding from their superior. There was always some reason, he insisted, for their severed connection. There was always some argument he would make that Strika and the other high command -or any average Decepticon in close range willing to insert their opinion upon hearing the conversation- were being too harsh.

She’d leave in a huff, Optimus would resume working himself to death, and his rations would go untouched for another hour straight.

Megatron regretted assigning a brat with such an unprejudiced, smart little mouth a position in communications.

Unfortunately, Optimus’ abhorrent lack of charisma was unexplainably magnetizing…somehow. And he was by the book and strict in regulations, making him a fantastic -brainwashed- soldier to trust to carry out an order. His dedication to everything he was tasked with, as well as that odd charm, assured Megatron near immediately that he was the best choice for the job.

Optimus would always do what he was told and do it to a fault, so long as no one else suffered unfairly for it. It was perfect for Megatron who was looking for a mech willing to communicate with both halves of the reunited factions. Especially since no one else could be convinced to take the job. Those that were willing were sorely lacking the skills to delegate, and so it went to Optimus not a mere three cycles after his reassignment to the Nemesis exploration crew.

That meant having to deal with the sassy bot more than Megatron would have liked to- at least once a cycle, in fact.

Things…. Only developed from there.

It wasn’t Megatron’s fault- contrary to what Starscream insisted otherwise regarding fragile little civil frames, and their easily overwhelmed, shy nature. Never daring to make the first move and take up so much space in the affairs of their large counterparts.

As Decepticons, thus far, hadn’t the single most qualm with inserting themselves into the matters of their new, tiny crew mates.

But truly, it wasn’t Megatron’s fault. He was not the instigator.

It was the fault of limited worthwhile conversation for so many millennia and the equally refreshing opportunity to have an unbiased presence in his life once more. One, unlike Strika, who wasn’t adverse to talking about subjects unrelated to warfare and maneuvers. One that was keen to show Megatron respect as his newly appointed commander, though not to defer to his every whim and judgement and roll over for him in niceties.

It made their time together less like the chore of keeping basic communication with his personnel, and more a thing of thrill and fancy.

Megatron was having fun again.

More fun than he’d ever had attempting to destroy the mud ball planet his new officer so loved. Who knew?

Of course, it…. Quickly turned into something else….

Which was more or less ignorable for a time, since both parties knew best that they would benefit from an aloofness and detachment while resuming their duties. Keeping to formalities anyplace outside the berth.

It helped that Megatron had deluded himself into thinking he actually meant it.

But their coupling had admittedly lead to this new current issue Megatron was having. The matter of his once dependable -brainwashed- soldier refusing to feed himself, and Megatron caring a lot about it…

None of that was to say how unsettling Optimus’ sudden bouts of stasis were.

Whether the mech was walking peacefully on his way to deliver his reports, or merely sitting in on a barely mandatory -but damned if Optimus wasn’t going to be there with bells on- conference Shockwave routinely made Civil bots sit through on cross-build interactivity regulations, the little mech was always seen falling into recharge. Cheekplate propped up in one palm or with pedes propped against the table.

It was horribly unsettling… Horribly. Had Megatron mentioned that?

Strika said he was paying too much attention to the colorful thing (and chalking it up to that). Somehow oblivious to the scents still faintly permeating Megatron’s armor where little servos had held on to him tight the night prior.

He knew it was true all the same, that something was wrong with his former Prime.

Megatron blamed it on his extended workload, combined with the appalling lack of Energon he was consuming. But that theory only lasted for so long.

When even Ratchet was petitioning him on Optimus’ behalf to allow the firetruck to take a temporary leave, Megatron was certain this strange new behavior was something far more sinister than an overworked Officer.

This was… stressful. Worrying.

The space between them had grown much smaller over the vorns. Their relationship had significantly changed- whether Optimus shared that opinion with him or not.

Staying over in Megatron’s berth had become a much more frequent occurrence. As of a few cycles ago, a proper nest -normally a construction reserved for two settled mechs- had appeared, and was drenched in their combined scents to the point they left Megatron’s quarters each morning practically wearing the other out.

That was comforting, smelling the irritating aft everywhere he went throughout the day. Megatron didn’t want to lose that.

Was Optimus’ condition dire?

Was their time soon to be limited?

Would their bond nest come to unravel with the eventual loss of its imperative second occupant? Their time, was it to be cut so short so soon, fated by Primus as punishment for all his wrong doings?

They’d only just started sitting together in the command center when Megatron ushered him forward to give his report- finding him a place by his throne. On the armrest…

Was there to be no more late night rendezvous where Megatron graced him rare glimpses of his poetry and Optimus laughed at the absurdity of the writings?

Was he doomed to spend his entire functioning a solemn, bondless mech, now that he’d had a surprising and unforeseen taste of a partner worth sharing one with?

Was he to give up his dignity and dilute all their ship’s resources into traversing the galaxy for some impossible cure to safe his sickly lover?

Was he going to have to replace his only willing Communications Officer?

Optimus approached him in the middle of another one of these fantastical spirals on the bridge one evening, while Blitzwing stood awkwardly at his side, waiting patiently to be given his dismissal post debriefing.

To Megatron’s surprise, he looked more alert and awake, frankly, than he had in nearly two Earth months.

When he looked down at wide, frightened optics peering up at him with so much uncertainty and fear, Megatron dropped to one knee in an instant. Uncaring who was seeing such a display, when insanity had muddled his processor so throughly into thinking the worst of his last moments with this precious mech.

“Optimus, what ails you?” He crooned, trying to pacify the quivering thing. Barely able to resist grabbing ahold of him.

Optimus said nothing- could say nothing, as his throat tubing began to tighten.

Megatron looked at him so earnestly, so despairingly…. When had this change occurred? When had they begun to care so deeply for one another? So openly.

Optimus assumed the answer to that was sometime around the creation of the tiny passenger he was carrying that they had both been oblivious to- or else the little one couldn’t have ever come to be…

Megatron blinked worried, narrowed optics at him, just as that thought seemed to fully integrate itself into Optimus’ logic unit.

He…began to smile up at the towering mech. Though it vanished in the next instant with the realization that Optimus would need to explain his… ‘ailment’.

“Megatron, sir. I need to discuss… This isn’t about my reports…. Actually, I… It’s….”

“What is it?” His new commander urged him on. No longer able to keep large palms from encompassing his shoulders in a caress for every pair of curious optics on the bridge to see.

“No need for formalities, even here, Optimus. Just tell me what’s wrong- you haven’t been fueling.”

Optimus lost his courage -or ability- to speak then. As his mouth clamped shut again and his optics grew wet, pointed finials began to droop down his helm. Clearly still frightened by something.

But whatever it was, he could always tell Megatron.

They were lovers now, destined to share a nest and a sparkbeat- Megatron would have it no other way. Regardless of what it was going to cost him to lead the excursion for Optimus’ sickness’s cure.

“You can tell me anything, beloved. Anything at all. Speak to your spark’s content, I shall listen-“

“Should I leave for zhis?” Blitzwing murmured cautiously from behind, still waiting to be released after the last time he’d been punished for breaking formation early.

“No matter what it is, speak it to me now, Optimus, and I shall tend to the matter however is necessary.” Megatron continued to soothe his little Sweetspark.

“I will not fail you- I will not leave you behind-“

“Even if it’s really bad…?” Optimus burst out.

“…And pretty permanent?”

Megatron blinked. Optimus swallowed, maintaining optic contact through sheer force of will and…. Hope?

There was a strange glimmer in his eye, and Megatron, no matter how keenly he tried to chase it as it bounced around the other mech’s shimmering optics, he couldn’t discern its meaning.

The smaller mech’s question, however, was easily answerable.

“Nothing at all could stand in the way of my devotion to you, Optimus.” Clawed digits carefully curled around strong, scarlet servos.

“Now that I have you, I shall not release you to any unkind fate or the malevolent will of gods.”

Besides an ever present amusement for his mate’s dramatics, Optimus looked much more settled and ready to spill everything then and there. His optics losing a great deal of the uncertain edge to them.

But still….

“Can’t stress enough how bad this is…”

“I should leave, right? I von’t be thrown in ze sparring room vith Sixshot again for failure to be properly discharged if I do, ja?”

“You encompass my entire being, little Autobot. You fill me with meaning and faith, dare I say it! Faith that there is a life far better than one fighting for a meager home on Cybertron once more… You promise me a home with spirit and life. You are my home, Optimus.”

Optimus, for his part, had lost much of the color to his derma that made it blue. Shades of searing red painted high above the arch of each cheek, filling out his round face nicely with a sweet dusting that faded seamlessly where it began to spread.

Megatron was enraptured. In love.

Optimus was enraptured, too, with the severity of his words. Megatron’s promises to him.

No mech had ever promised themselves to Optimus like this- he hadn’t even bothered to entertain the thought he’d see such a thing in his lifetime. And if that was how Megatron felt, it made much more sense how their extra passenger had came to be.

“Ratchet told me to triple my fuel rations… He put me on mineral additives and a stasis increase.”

Megatron blinked slowly. Thinking that didn’t sound anything like a debilitating disease he was about to have to fight god for. That sounded like he was treating Optimus for something else, actually… but….

“Why would he do that?” Megatron asked with his barely functional glossa.

“Ah- I really zhink I should leave for zhis!”

Optimus cheeks managed to burn brighter as, finally, he lost the battle to keep Megatron’s gaze. Blushing faceplate turning into the hollow between Megatron’s shoulder and collar.

The bigger mech didn’t fight him, finding himself in something of a daze as well.

“Um…. Well…. Ah….” Optimus attempted to explain. Poorly.

Megatron tried to focus back on the blushing bot when he lifted watchful…. glittering optics back up at him.

“Sorry, I’m still here!?”

“I’m carrying.” Optimus murmured. Cheeks pleasantly warming for reasons other than horrific embarrassment under Megatron’s powerful gaze.

“Carrying?” Megatron echoed back in something less like a whisper, and more like a string of broken syllables being carried off by the nonexistent wind.

“Wow…” said Blitzwing.

And also,

~Whirr~

“Straight shootin’, Tex!”

Optimus watched the emotions morph across his new Sire’s faceplate. Watched his utter confusion change into absolute delight, then pride. A pride himself to have been able to provide, a pride to have found himself such a perfect mate- with whom he had made such a perfect sparkling with.

And finally awe- no… Reverence. Like Optimus was a god amongst mortals, complete with a glow and this holy essence about him, as Megatron stared in blissful silence at the place in Optimus’ gestation tank where it would soon fill with a sizable bitlet, likely to take after his or her’s sire.

Now Megatron understood. That ‘hope’ he’d seen in his love before, it was an instinctual faith in his new carrier that Megatron would be proud. That he would be loyal and strong and provide.

Well, his hope was not misplaced- Megatron would surpass all others as sire!

Megatron reached down and settled a hand over the ridges of Optimus’ otherwise perfectly flattened grill. Soon, his body would change, quite drastically, in fact.

Hard edges would soften, the heavy duty armor making up most of his abdominal plating would part and reconstruct to allow for room for the protoform to grow. Strong, healthy pleats in his armor below his eventual ‘bump’ would aid in the support of his growing frame.

And inside, the sparkling would turn about happily at the thrum of their Sire’s sparkbeat close by- as there was no doubt in Optimus’ mind after Megatron’s words that they would never be parted again.

Which would only become an issue anytime his doctor attempted to check on the sparkling’s progress and Megatron’s (more than adequate) donations of raw materials.

The ex-warlord, and frankly feral gladiator, would not stand for another to touch his expectant mate.

Which made Blitzwing’s right as the new Sire’s witness -some strange, apparently credible Decepticon law- to survive a hand to the carrier’s belly to feel for the sparkling’s pulse every now and again all the more surprising.

Optimus couldn’t even be angry with the big brute when he condemned his lover with child to their nest for the foreseeable future- not even on Ratchet’s order.

It was the first time any bot had felt so passionately about him before… and primitive coding in Optimus’ core couldn’t help but encourage him to defer to the Sire. Orbit, kicking and bouncing away the cycle inside his gestation tank, didn’t seem to mind either.

——————

I could not proof read this the way you deserved me to- every day is like a rush to survive, now that summer’s here.

You’re always so kind when you comment, though, @fluffythecthulhu 💕✨thank you!!