#before crushes. before everything gets bogged down by expectations of love and you just get to be

[seaglassdinosaur]

Eternally grateful that Cressida Cowell didn’t involve a romantic subplot in the How To Train Your Dragon series.

[thewillofdeez]

50/50: A Shanks/OC (and Beckman/OC) Romance - Chapter 3: Old Friends and New

Summary: A twenty year journey of friendship, love, and heartache between Shanks and the woman he loves.

Chapter 3 word count: 3071

The next morning, Riley, Shanks, and Beckman gathered the last of the items they needed from Riley’s home into a bag, which Beckman slung across his chest.

“You guys ready?” she asked.

“We are if you are,” Shanks said with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

“And…and you’re sure you still –”

“Oh my God, Riley,” Beckman said, grabbing her face and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Yes. We want you with us.” Beckman pulled her to him and kissed her on the top of her head. “Stop it. Okay?” Riley was still a little teary and unsure from the night before, and must have asked the men a dozen times already if they were really sure. She didn’t think she’d be able to believe them until she was on the ship and thoroughly out to sea. But the reassurance certainly helped.

She smiled and nodded. “Okay. Let’s go. I promise I won’t ask again.”

Shanks and Beckman opened the front door and stepped out, and Riley followed, closing the door behind her and taking a moment to look up at the building that had been her home and workspace for the last time, bidding it a silent goodbye.

“Umm, Riley?” Shanks said. Riley turned around. What appeared to be a good chunk of Isha Island’s population was standing in front of her - her patients, her friends, people she did business with…easily over a hundred people had come to see her off. At the front of the crowd was her old teacher, Dr. Hikaru, now rather aged and bent and well into her retirement. She had been the one to help Riley become a doctor in the first place, and who passed her practice onto her. In a way, it was sort of because of her that Riley was now able to go on this adventure. Riley couldn’t hold back the tears as she went to the old doctor and engulfed her in a hug, allowing it to really sink in that she might never see these people again. It was a bittersweet realization.

Shanks and Beckman stood back and allowed Riley the time to say goodbye to everyone. Some people even came with gifts, and Shanks and Beckman’s arms quickly filled with items - a few bottles of sake and rum, crayon drawings from some of her younger patients, baskets of fruit and dried meat, and more. By the time she had worked her way through the crowd, the two were thoroughly bogged down.

“Bye everyone! I���ll miss you!” She turned and waved to her village one final time as she and her friends crested a hill, and the village slowly sunk out of sight, hundreds of hands waving back at her.

Riley took some items away from the men to lighten their load, and together they made their way to Bill’s house and the shipyard.

Bill greeted them as they approached, waving enthusiastically. He brought Riley in for a bone-crushing hug - the man sometimes forgot how big he was, but Riley couldn’t complain. This was going to be the last time she’d see him for some time, after all, if ever. Together, they loaded the last of the items onto the ship. On the deck, wind whipping through her hair, Riley couldn’t help but be a little nervous. Not only had she never been out to sea, but she didn’t really know much about sailing, her boat in town being quite simplistic compared to a full-sized ship. Bill, Shanks, and Beckman had walked her though how to handle the ropes and steer, and she’d been reading up on the subject as well, but this was going to be her first time actually putting what she’d learned into practice. Not only that, but this ship was far larger than she had ever expected, and it was, for the moment, just the three of them. It was doable, but it would be difficult.

“Bill, thank you for everything,” Shanks said, embracing the larger man.

“We could never repay you for this,” added Beckman.

“We can and we will,” Shanks responded with a sly grin, “When we get some treasure under our belts.”

Bill laughed. “No need, truly. It’s been a joy! I wish I had workers like you around here more often. You boys take care of Riley, you hear?”

“We will!” said Beckman with a smile and a fond look at their new crewmate. “We’ll keep her safe.”

Finally, it was Riley’s turn to say goodbye. Bill brought her into a hug, this one gentler. He then held her out in front of him at arm’s length. “Your family would be so proud of you,” he said softly, then tilted his head in thought. “Perhaps not for the piracy part, but in general.” Riley laughed, trying to hold back more tears - she’d done more than enough of that in the last 24 hours, thank you. “Everything you went through, everything you’ve accomplished as a doctor…and your journey is only just beginning. You’re gonna do great, kid.”

“Love you, Bill.” Riley said, rubbing an eye with her hand. “Thank you.” One more embrace and he released her, stepping down the gangplank and back onto land.

Shanks and Riley lifted the gangplank as Beckman worked on unfurling the sails, then made his way to the helm. They waved goodbye to Bill and his family and team one last time, and the ship was off. When the course was set and the sails filled with wind, Riley made her way to the stern and leaned on the railing, watching as Isha Island became nothing more than an ever-shrinking spot in the distance. Shanks joined her, resting his crossed arms on the railing. They shared a smile, before resuming their watch on the speck of land in the distance. 

When the island was no longer visible, Riley spoke. “So, Captain, what’s the plan?”

“Welp, Phase I is to find people for the rest of the senior officer roles. I’ve got a vice captain and a doctor, but we need at a minimum a navigator, a sniper, a cook, a musician, a shipwright, and a helmsman. After that, we flesh out the rest of the crew. You’ll have a medical team of your own, eventually. And from there, we’ll see where it goes. We’ll build up our reputations, get our names out there, get stronger, maybe cause some trouble for the World Government.” He shot her a wink. “You’re gonna look great on a wanted poster.”

“And the One Piece?” Riley asked, smirking.

Shanks barked out a laugh. “We’ll get there in time. Officers first.”

Over the next half a year, Shanks, along with Beckman and Riley, began to assemble their officers.

The first person they added to their crew was an enormous teenager named Lucky Roux. He’d helped the trio out of a scuffle elsewhere in the South Blue. He and Shanks got to talking, Shanks learned the man was a line cook by trade with dreams of being a chef, and suddenly Shanks was helping him make that dream a reality aboard their ship.

In the East Blue, along the Gecko Islands archipelago, they found Yasopp, a sniper. Riley was surprised to learn that Shanks had met the man before and he had previously turned down an invitation to join Shanks’s crew. But as she and Beckman knew, Shanks was, if nothing else, persistent. This time when Shanks asked, Yasopp said yes at the insistence of his wife. Riley watched as he bid her and his young son goodbye to join the crew. Yasopp was also the one to name Shanks’s crew the Red Hair Pirates, and created the first version of their jolly roger, painting it on the mainsail: a skull and crossbones with a mop of crimson red hair.

Elsewhere in the East Blue, they met a young man named Limejuice, an amateur shipwright who left his father’s company to join the crew.

In the North Blue they met Building Snake, a navigator who had washed ashore a rocky, deserted island when he was shipwrecked, his entire crew presumed dead. He had initially planned to come with them only until he could reach another island, but it was only a matter of time before he agreed to become a permanent fixture of the crew.

In the West Blue, the Red Hair Pirates came across a musician called Bonk Punch. It was because of Riley, actually, that he joined the crew. Bonk had a pet monkey named Monster, who was only a few weeks old at the time. In a village that had been ravaged by pirates, Riley had gotten to work doing damage control, tending to the injured while the rest of the crew drove the other pirates out.

“Please,” Riley heard a voice as a tall figure emerged from the settling dust. “I know you’re not a veterinarian, but…please help him.” In his large hands was a tiny monkey with a gash across its chest bleeding profusely.

Riley nodded at the man, taking the monkey from him. Logically there were humans who might have needed her immediate assistance more, but she couldn’t say no to the big man and his small companion. She patched up Monster, and when he was back to full health, it took no convincing from her and Shanks to have them join the crew. When Monster grew up, Shanks was very insistent on him being considered an officer of the ship in his own right, and not just Bonk’s pet. He was, after all, a very smart monkey.

And on the Grand Line, the crew met Gab, their helmsman, an enormous man with intimidating looks but the kindest heart of perhaps all of them. Gab had been working under duress for a much crueler pirate crew, and when the Red Hair Pirates encountered them, engaging them in battle and eventually sinking their ship, Gab was quick to escape and join them.

What Shanks had said to Riley when they first met remained true - Shanks wanted kind people on his team, and all of the assembled officers met that description. Which wasn’t to say they weren’t capable of fighting, or even killing - they were, and they did when they had to. But as a crew, their goal wasn’t to cause chaos, instill fear in the average person, or get copious amounts of gold at the expense of others. It was to live freely, and to help where they could.

With the senior officers assembled, Phase II began. The Red Hair Pirates had already begun climbing the ranks of formidable pirate crews, with each member having a wanted poster boasting a decently-sized bounty (except for Riley's – as the sole non-combatant member of the crew, she was only worth 20,000, but she was determined to get that number up). Riley proudly displayed them in the mess hall every time a new one came out. They had been written about in the papers numerous times, taken on Marines both on land and at sea, and had a unique reputation: The World Government hated them, of course. Many other pirate crews hated them. But on average, while they were initially met with fear and loathing on every new island they visited, they always seemed to befriend the average person along the way. 

It took another year after that, but eventually they were able to say that the Red Hair Pirates were complete, with ten senior officers (including Monster) and 49 pirates working under them, plus Shanks, totaling 60 pirates. Shanks and Beckman had no trouble recruiting crew members - by this point, they’d developed enough of a reputation that they were worried they’d eventually have to start turning good people away.

True to his word, Shanks did provide Riley with her own medical team - working under her were a pair of brothers from Fishman Island named Dirk and Dane. They were young, but had good hearts and were eager to learn.

Shanks, Riley found herself musing one day, was an excellent captain. He was a natural for the role - brave, charismatic, a strategic thinker, and he cared deeply about every member of his crew. He kept a list in his quarters of everyone’s birthdays and insisted on celebrating every single one, was always happy to spend time with even the lowest-ranked people on the crew, treating them as if they were a member of his inner circle, and was very good at making sure everyone knew how much he appreciated them. It was the kind of family-building on a pirate ship that, as far as Riley knew, only people like Whitebeard had ever really achieved.

For her part, Riley was happy. Though it wasn't always easy being the only woman amongst fifty-nine men (and oh how she longed for the day when another girl was willing to join the crew), not a single man aboard ever gave her any hassle, and she had a friendly, playful relationship with most of them. She had their respect both as a senior officer, and as a doctor. Which wasn’t to say they couldn’t be kind of crude, boisterous, and gross - they were still men, and pirates at that - but she never once felt intimidated or endangered around them, which was more than she could say about some men she’d met at bars. If anything, the rest of the crew had a tendency to be annoyingly overprotective of her - her job was to be the crew’s doctor, and in order for her to be able to do her job in the midst of battle, the rest of the crew would act as her protector so she could work on the injured. In doing so, however, her protectors often ended up being injured themselves.

And that was the only thing Riley didn’t like about life on the Gold Dragon. Every other member of the crew was a fighter in some respect. Shanks with his sword, Beckman with his rifle, and both of them with their growing Haki. Axes, guns, staffs, slingshots, knives, and even just feet and fists - every other member of the Red Hair Pirates knew how to fight in some way, and they all worked together to help each other get stronger and share their knowledge. Hell, even Dirk and Dane knew a good bit of Fishman Karate and were able to hold their own in battle when they weren’t assisting Riley. None of them needed Devil Fruits to be a formidable crew, they were powerful on their own merits.

And that just left Riley, the weakest, the one who didn’t know how to fight, whose strength was limited, and who felt powerless about it. The one who had to rely on everyone else for her own safety. In the early days with the crew it was a minor annoyance to her, but as more and more years passed it increasingly became something she hated.

After a difficult and almost devastating battle with a fleet of Marines led by a Vice Admiral, Riley and her team had just finished fixing up the crew. In the process of defending her, Beckman had gotten a bullet to the back, just barely missing a kidney, Yassop got a minor concussion, and Gab had been stabbed. As she treated their wounds, the men still carried smiles on their faces, despite the pain. She knew that they didn’t mind looking out for her and getting hurt or killed in the process, but she minded.

When the last patient left her office, Riley made her way to the upper deck to get some fresh air. Looking out over the sea and lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice when Shanks came up beside her.

"Berry for your thoughts?" He said, grabbing her attention. Riley looked at him, then back to the sea.

"The guys got their asses kicked today," she said quietly.

"Eh, we win some, we lose some," Shanks replied with a shrug. "There were no casualties, and I consider that a win in itself. Just means we gotta get stronger."

"Shanks…” Riley began, unsure of how to continue. How would he react? She had known Shanks for several years at this point, but a request like this, from subordinate to captain, was uncharted territory. And she knew that of all the people on the crew, Shanks felt perhaps the most protective of her. She looked up to meet his gaze. “I want to get stronger too. I want to learn how to fight."

Shanks almost let out a laugh, but the look on her face stopped him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” she replied, echoing the words he had spoken to her a long time ago.

Shanks sighed. "Riley, you don't need to learn how to fight. You have fifty-nine men who would die for you without question."

"See, that's the thing," she shot back, "I don't want anyone to die for me. Beck got shot defending me, Shanks, the bullet missed his kidney by less than an inch. If it had been any worse I don't know if I could save him without getting him to a hospital. I hate seeing you guys get beaten up taking care of me."

"None of us mind, Riley, we–"

"It doesn't matter if you don't mind. I mind. I want to be able to defend myself, and you, and everyone else on this ship. I want to be able to hold my own with the rest of the crew. Please."

Shanks looked at her, and could see the desperation in her eyes. She'd make a good fighter, sure. She was lithe, and fast, and with some work he was positive she could effectively wield any number of weapons. But allowing her to fight meant allowing her to be in danger, more so than she already was, anyway. He couldn't risk that.

"The answer is no, Riley. I'm sorry, I won’t sign off on this."

"Shanks…"

"Your safety is my priority, Rye. I'm not gonna allow you to be in any more danger than you already are." With that, he turned and walked away, hoping it would be the last he'd hear of the matter.

For Riley's part, she could be as stubborn and persistent as her captain. She didn't stop bringing it up every so often, careful not to push him, but making sure he knew how she felt. If she had to out-stubborn Shanks, it would be hard, but she'd have to try.

Previous - Chapter 2: Conditions and Compromise

Next - Chapter 4: Rescue and Reconciliation

[sour--disposition]

Damage Control

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

This is Part 2 to Bad Girlfriend, which you can find here

You looked down to your phone, rolling your eyes at the name and photo popping up on the screen. “Hello”, you sighed, answering the call and sitting back down on the sofa.

“Y/N…”, Ethan trailed off. “We really need to talk to you. Harry’s really not doing well and we don’t know what else we can do to try and help him”, he told you.

You let your head fall back against the back of the sofa, letting out a deep breath. “I know you hate me and the rest of the boys and Harry, but he needs you”, Ethan begged.

“Where are you?”, you asked heavily.

“We’re all at Harry’s”, Ethan told you. “Thank you”.

Within half an hour, you’d managed to navigate the London traffic that separated both yours and Harry’s apartments. You were still pulling the hoodie over your head when you walked into the lift and hit the button for Harry’s floor. Ethan was waiting for you outside of the front door, arms crossed over his chest as he paced around a small section of the corridor.

“Hey”, he sighed, a small ounce of relief seeming to wash over him.

“Where is he?”, you asked instead of a greeting. Ethan nodded, and motioned for you to follow him into the apartment. As you expected, he led you down to Harry’s room. You passed the living room, where a multitude of shoes and coats had been discarded, and straight into the bedroom where the rest of the Sidemen and Cal congregated.

You got a few looks from some of the boys as you walked through the group and made a beeline for Harry’s bed. “Hey”, you whispered, perching yourself on the side of his bed.

Harry looked up at you, tears immediately filling his eyes. He pulled the duvet up and around his face more, trying to hide his blotchy skin and the dried tear tracks that you’d already noticed. “What’s this about?”, you asked him quietly.

“He won’t speak to us”, Josh said, voice laced with frustration and worry. You nodded at him before turning back to face Harry.

“I can’t help if you don’t speak to me”, you told him. 

As much as Harry had hurt you, nothing hurt more than walking away from his front door after returning the cardboard box with his stuff in it. Seeing him like this, as a shell of the person you thought you were going to spend forever with, was crushing.

You rested your palm on the side of Harry’s face, feeling the rough facial hair that had been building up on his cheeks since you’d last left his apartment. “Harry”, you whispered. You left your spot on the side of the bed in favour of kneeling on the floor so you could come face to face with him, chin propped on his mattress. You let a hand rest on his hair, scratching his scalp gently. “Please”.

“I’m so sorry”, he choked suddenly. “I’m so sorry”, he repeated, just as brokenly.

Fresh tears were running down Harry’s cheeks, dampening the pillowcase under his face. “Is that what’s caused this?”, you asked him gently, swooping your thumb down to wipe away a few of his tears. Harry’s nod was barely noticeable. “Will you talk to me about it?”, you asked, voice still just as soft.

Harry’s eyes met yours before darting around the room. You could see when he’d made his decision, recoiling back in on himself. “Tell you what, I’ll bring you a brew and give you a bit and then see how you’re doing”, you suggested, standing up from your spot and turning around to make your way out of the room.

You turned back to the boys, silently urging them out of the room before pulling Harry’s bedroom door shut and walking towards the kitchen to make him the promised cup of tea.

“Shouldn’t someone be in there with him?”, Vik asked.

“No”, you told him simply. “He’s not the best with people anyway but he’ll just be overwhelmed with this many people if he’s this upset”, you explained. As you waited for the kettle to boil, back rested against the kitchen counter, you turned to Cal. “How long has he been like this?”, you asked him.

“I mean, he’s been bad since you left him”, Cal said with a slight edge to his voice. “But he’s been bad since you brought his stuff round”, he sighed.

“Are you saying that this is my fault?”, you asked, voice turning defensive. The six other men in the room stiffened. Cal hadn’t been there for the blowout between you and Harry and you doubted that he’d been informed about anything that was said.

“Maybe this is a conversation for later”, Josh tried to mediate, voice hesitant and wary.

“No, she needs to hear that this is her fault”, Cal defended. “Bog’s in there on his arse because she’s a selfish cow”, he spat.

You scoffed, turning around to busy yourself with making Harry a cup of tea. “Look”, you said, before anyone could step in and cause any arguments. “You can think what you want about me, but I’m just trying to help Harry. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave”, you told him simply.

Cal was silent after that and stayed out of the way. He refused to look at the others who kept sending him funny looks and he stepped out of your way when you went to take Harry’s drink down to him. Your murmured ‘thank you’ when unacknowledged, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

Harry was in the same position that you’d left him in, bundled up in the duvet staring blankly ahead at the wall. “Here you go”, you said, placing the cup down on the side table, perching on the side of the bed as you did so. Your hand returned to his hair, stroking through the messy, knotty pile of dirty blond. “I’ll come back in a bit, yeah? Drink that and see if you come ‘round a bit”, you told him, letting your hand have one more smooth over his hair before you got up and left.

You paused in the hallway after you’d shut Harry’s door. You let your head lean back against the wall as you tried and failed to fight the tears that had been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since you’d arrived at Harry’s. Seeing him in the state he was in seemed to reopen all the wounds that you’d managed to emergency triage over the last week or so and it ached so deeply that you didn’t know how to cope.

“Y/N?”, a voice asked from down the hallway. You stood up straight as quick as you could, scrubbing the tears off of your face and sniffing unattractively. “Are you okay?”, Josh asked you, coming closer.

“Yeah”, you told him, but your blotchy face and broken voice gave you away instantly.

“Freya told me how hard this has been for you”, Josh whispered, standing in front of you. “I tried to get Ethan to not call you but…”, he trailed off. “I’m so sorry”, he said.

“What for?”, you asked him, running the sleeves of your jumper under your eyes once again.

“Harry told us everything… I hope”, Josh started. “We were all awful to you and we thought we were protecting Harry. You don’t deserve any of that”, he told you.

“Cal clearly doesn’t have that idea”, you laughed sadly. “Me and Harry both kept secrets, we thought it was the best thing for the both of us. If I knew he was this bad…”, you trailed off.

“Come on, there’s a tea for you in here”, Josh said, guiding you towards the living room. He handed you a cup of tea that had been left on the side for you and went to sit down with the rest of the boys. You sat down in the free corner of the sofa, putting your cup down so you could wipe your tears once again.

“Why did you never tell us?”, Simon asked. “How bad he’d got? Why did you let us hate you?”.

“I don’t know”, you told him truthfully. “It was easier, I guess”, you shrugged.

“If we’d have known…”, Tobi started, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know, we’d have done something, though”. Each of the boys looked distressed, seeing Harry the way he was was taking a toll on everyone, but so was finding out the truth after 6 years worth of lies.

“I know that, but I don’t think he did. Or does”, you said sadly. “He’s terrified of disappointing any of you. I was terrified of disappointing him”, you shrugged weakly. “So I did everything I could to make sure that I didn’t”, you admitted.

Talking about it felt like pouring salt in the reopened wounds. “I guess that didn’t work”, you whispered to yourself, but the room was so deathly quiet that you may as well have shouted it.

“What do you mean?”, Ethan asked. “What didn’t work?”.

“Harry’s always deserved better than me, I guess he finally figured that out”, you said, as though it was obvious. 6 of the 7 faces in front of you wore incredulous expressions. “What?”.

“Harry said that he’s always thought you deserved better than him”, Josh told you sadly. “That that’s why he tried to push you away”.

You looked down to the cup in your hands, fingers tapping relentlessly as you tried to process what Josh had just told you without breaking down into floods of tears once again. “I never knew that”, you said, voice cracking around your tears. “I never thought it would end up like this”.

Nobody knew what to say to you. Josh and Simon had an idea from Freya and Talia about how hard this had hit you and you still dropped everything and came running when Ethan told you that Harry needed your help.

“I know I don’t know everything and I probably have no right to even say anything, but it’s painfully obvious that the two of you still love each other”, Josh told you. “You’re the only person he’s interacted with, let alone spoken to, in the last week”, he reminded you.

“What if loving each other isn’t enough?”, you asked brokenly. You could see the pity written across everyone’s face, even Cal’s, but that did nothing to ease the pain that was hacking away at your insides. 

It was clear that no one had an answer, so you sat up straight, took a deep breath and wiped your face. “I’ll be back in a bit”, you told them. “I’ll text someone if we need anything”, you promised.

You knocked on Harry’s bedroom door, but didn’t wait for a response before walking in and pushing the door half shut behind you. The mug on his side table was empty but Harry had curled himself back under the covers. He looked to you when you came in, before letting his eyes drift closed. He looked exhausted, but you weren’t surprised if he hadn’t been looking after himself.

“What can I do?”, you asked, sitting down next to Harry. He only shrugged in response, still not opening his eyes. “Harry, this isn’t safe, baby”, you whispered, letting your hand rest on his face again. You watched as Harry leaned into your touch, moving his head slightly so that as much of your skin as possible was touching his.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered again, voice a little less hoarse than before. “I don’t deserve this”.

“That’s not your choice”, you told him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to”, you promised him.

“Don’t”, Harry said, voice as harsh as it could be given how weak he was. “I don’t deserve you looking after me again. Don’t lie and tell me you want to be here”, he whispered.

“Okay”, you said. “Sitting here hurts more than walking out the other week”, you admitted. “Because I still love you and seeing you like this is breaking my heart even more than it already is”.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut again, stray tears leaking out of the corners. In a change of plan, you stood up and went to the bathroom, grabbing the comb off of the side of the sink. “Let me know if it hurts”, you told him, before taking a small section of his hair and started working the comb through the very ends, working your way down to the roots.

You sat in the same position, slowly working your way through Harry’s hair, for 20 minutes. You did your best to cause him as little pain as possible, but some of the knots kept snagging on the comb because of how big they were. “Beautiful”, you smiled, putting the comb down on the side before turning back to him.

“Thank you, feels better”, he mumbled.

“I’m glad”, you told him, running your fingers through his, albeit greasy, knot-free hair. “Feel like taking a shower?”, you asked him, knowing Harry would find it hard to resist, especially if he hadn’t showered in a good few days.

“Wanna, but I’m too tired”, Harry murmured.

“Bath?”, you asked him. “I’ll get it running so all you need to do is go sit in there once it’s full”, you offered. You watched as the idea ran through Harry’s mind for a few moments, before he smiled up at you weakly and nodded.

Once you’d set the water running, you wandered back through to Harry’s room, sitting down next to him again. “Things aren’t right without you here”, Harry admitted. “Feels wrong”.

“I know”, you said.

“I wish I didn’t ruin everything”, he whispered.

“Josh said you always thought I deserved better than you, that that’s why you pushed me away”, you told him.

Harry looked confused. “Yeah”, he said, like it was obvious. “You’ve always deserved so much better than I can give you”.

“I always thought you deserved better than me”, you admitted. “How were we together for 6 years and didn’t even cover the basics?”, you scoffed.

“You thought you weren’t enough?”, Harry asked, and you could practically hear his heart breaking even more in his chest.

“You tried to push me away, I did everything I could to make sure I never disappointed you… I guess it was a cycle that just needed breaking”, you said sadly. “Your bath will be ready, go on”, you instructed.

While Harry was in the bath, you dug him out some clothes and a few towels and left them folded up on the sink before returning to his bedroom and finding out a fresh set of bedding.

By the time Harry had dried himself off from the bath and gotten dressed, you’d stripped and remade the bed and shoved the bedding into a laundry basket. “You didn’t have to do this”, Harry told you as soon as he spotted the fresh bedding.

“I know, but I need you to be okay and looking after you is the only way I know to make sure that you’re okay”, you told him honestly.

“Are you okay?”, Harry asked you bluntly, coming to sit on his bed. “Tell me the truth”, he whispered, taking your fingers in his.

“No”, you admitted quietly, eyes trained on your fingers.

“Talk to me”, he said quietly.

“I’m not ready to stop loving you yet but I’m scared that it’s not enough to try and make this work”, you said, eyes burning with brewing tears. “I don’t think I can ever stop loving you”, you croaked, tears finally spilling over and dropping onto your conjoined fingers.

Harry wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you between his legs, tucking your head beneath his chin. He squeezed you tightly as you sobbed unabashedly into his chest. Harry kept his head rested on yours, keeping you cocooned in his frame. It also meant that you wouldn’t be able to see the tears flooding his eyes at the sight of you so broken.

“I know I’ll never be able to stop loving you”, he admitted quietly, lips catching on your hair as he spoke. “I know the second tries have never worked before, but we never actually spoke about what was wrong”, Harry told you.

“Maybe breaking up and getting the whole truth out to everyone was the best thing that could happen for us”, you said weakly. “Well, I say that like you’ve not just had your first shower in a week and I’m not holding things together by a thread”, you snorted.

“I meant what I said”, Harry said suddenly after a few moments of silence. “Things aren’t right when you aren’t in my life. And it’s not just because we’ve been together for 6 years”, he told you. “I mean, like, I’ll see something on twitter and my first thought is that you’d find it funny, and how I nearly started crying in M & S because they were out of your favourite pasta shapes and then I remembered how much you hate M & S so I had to leave before I had a breakdown in the pasta aisle”, Harry said.

“I cried in Asda because I walked past a couple bickering about sushi and whether or not it was nice”, you admitted before laughing through the remnants of your tears as you sat up. “We’ve spoken more today than we have in the last 2 years”, you reminded him.

“Maybe another shot is worth it. You make me too happy to not try”, Harry whispered, resting a hand on your cheek and smiling softly when you leaned into it. “I love you too much not to try”.

Instead of replying, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to Harry’s. “I love you, too”, you whispered against his lips. You kissed him once more before pulling back and smiling at him.

You and Harry walked back out into the living room a few moments later, both still with blotchy faces and drying tear tracks and a few fingers hooked together. Harry ducked his head, a shy smile crossing his face when he saw that everyone was staring at the two of you.

Harry smushed himself into the corner of the sofa and quickly pulled you down to sit in the small space beside him. His arm rested over the back of the sofa, fingers twiddling your hair absentmindedly as you let your head drop to his shoulder tiredly.

“So... you all good, Bog?”, Ethan asked warily.

Harry turned to you briefly, an unmistakable look of bliss settling onto his features when your eyes darted up to meet his. The smile that you gave him pulled all the broken pieces back to the centre and the way you rubbed your cheek sleepily against his shoulder glued them all back together again.

Harry looked back up to Ethan, letting his arm behind your head drop down to cradle your shoulder and hold you to his body.

“Never better, mate”

[sarunohadaki]

DQXI/Great British Bake-Off Crossover

Crossover week: Home | 1 | 2 | 3| 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

This story idea in particular is very near and dear to my heart because when I first arrived in the SOS discord server, I mentioned it, and I got to talk with a lot of cool people for a long time about it. A lot of people seemed to love the idea, and Cicada even made art for it! 😭

It’s my favorite crossover idea and would be the most intricate to write. More under the cut because it’s another long post. (very long. With graphics. What is this, an essay?)

Spoilers for a potential future Saru fic.

Funny-but-I’m-not-using-these fic title ideas: Baking Bananaza, Fluff — and not just Meringue

Relationships: Gen or M/M (depending on how heavy the luminerik will come out)

Premise: Erik is a graduate student studying biogeochemistry with a particular interest in peat bogs in the UK. He interviews and gets on the show after Mia nags him to do it in the hopes that it’ll have a monetary reward, but as they soon find out, there’s no money involved. Erik participates anyway, figuring it’ll be a fun thing to do and help him hone his skills for the next time his sister randomly begs him to make éclairs at two in the afternoon.

He doesn’t really know what to expect, having never watched the show before, and is initially a little overwhelmed when he meets other amateur bakers from all over the country.

Twelve contestants enter the tent, but only one will come out on top. Who will it be?

Initial plan is to have none of the characters be related or know each other aside from the twins and Hendrik/Jasper. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have Rab related to El and so on and so forth, but I think it would be funner to have all the characters meet for the first time and develop friendships from there.

Everyone’s occupations are picked directly from my self-indulgent wants, haha.

And then here are some epithets, since the show uses things like this sometimes:

The structure of the fic

I initially thought it would be fun to do it sort of like a screenplay, but I am most comfortable writing in third person limited. BUT when you do it that way, you lose out on all the other disasters that are happening around the tent because you are only seeing what Erik’s seeing. And it would get boring after one episode to tell the reader, “I am now making this cake and following these directions.”

To combat this, I think it would be cool to do the omniscient POV for most of it, with the intention of writing it like an episode on TV. This would be interspersed with Erik’s director cut of events because he and Mia are watching the events play out while watching TV on the couch.

This would give us a chance to have Erik say, “Huh I didn’t realize the workstation behind me was almost literally on fire because I was too distracted trying to not over-mix my batter.” (Or staring distractedly into the back of ur crush’s head in front of you)

Plot

The short of it is you get to see a bunch of characters hang out and bake stuff semi-competitively! The long of it is, well… let me show you.

Each chapter is an episode

The Great British Bake Off usually has about 10 episodes, each with three challenges: the signature, technical, and showstopper. Whoever performs the worst holistically in each episode is eliminated. I have already roughly determined how that will play out based on some things I saw on a wiki. So, here’s the progression as it stands (don’t worry if it looks complicated at first — I can explain!):

To read this chart, each number refers to the episode. So, to see how people performed in episode 1, go to 1 and read down the column. From episode 1, you can see Erik, El, and Hendrik did well, while Ronnie and Faris did not. Vince got booted. Doing things this way, you can see Sylv had a few rough patches before they were eliminated, while El — the sweet boy — was never on the judges’ “least favourite bakers” list (alongside Jade, Rab, or Serena!)

This isn’t the final thing, and maybe there are patches that don’t make sense, but for a skeleton, it’s pretty useful for thinking up interesting plot points.

For example, Vince gets eliminated after baking an unchewable cake, and Sylv keeps pushing the envelope on how flamboyant their bakes can be in showstopper challenges, which lands them in trouble. Veronica really messes up in one episode and makes the food way too spicy.

Recipes

Okay. So you thought that chart was complicated, then behold this! Charts detailing any and every challenge from the Great British Bake Off from series 1-10, including signature, technical, and showstopper challenges with hour constraints where I could find them. Compiled from various wiki pages into one Google doc.

Potential problem: I don’t know if it would be plagiarizing to take various challenges and put them in a fic, and even more worrisome, if I could include recipes or just rip off what former contestants made. To create everything from scratch (pun intended) would take a lot of work. Based on the elimination chart, there are 225 instances of something being baked. Do you know how much work that is. (It goes down to 160 unique dishes when you take into account technical challenges all being the same recipe.)

In recent series (the gbbo say “series” and not “season”), they have had a few episodes such as “the ’80s,” “vegan,” and “forgotten bakes,” along with such classics as cakes, biscuits, etc. Pretty much every season includes the following episodes: Cakes (episode 1), biscuits (2), bread (3), desserts (~4), pastry (~6), patisserie (9), and a final challenge (episode 10). That leaves you with about 3 or 4 unique challenges each series unless you cut out one of those staple weeks, such as pastry. (Also, for anyone wondering the difference between pastry and patisserie: Pastry is a type of dough with fat and patisserie is a style of baking.)

This is where I said things were going to get intricate. Sometimes the details are what really sell a fic for me. Remember the five senses or that random thing that no one cares about but helps fill in the setting or make the story feel more alive. Having a masterful grasp of which characters are cooking what without overwhelming the reader would be difficult. Unlike TV, the reader is keeping track of all of this in their head!

I am no stranger to plopping some HTML into my fics from time to time and maybe that could help? To include graphics of what each person is baking, kind of like those… idk, “recipe blueprints” the narrator talks over where they tell you what the contestant is making and then they give you an illustrated piece of what the dish is supposed to look like.

Anyway, that’s a lot of work and I think just telling the reader, “he’s making this and I’m making this” would prolly suffice.

Why does any of this matter?

Because it’s fun. Because all of the characters will exchange jokes and poke at each other and I had plans to make Jasper and Hendrik have past beef and maybe Jasper throws food at Hennie or something. And also the pining for Elian would be very persistent. Erik and El have some stuff in common and their stations are right next to each other, maximizing the potential for banter and small talk about trying to manage school and this baking show thing at the same time.

In my heart, Erik wins because he’s the one who gets to date El at the end, but El is the hero so I know he’s the one who wins the show. And Hendrik has a secret baking sweet tooth so of course he comes in close third. (That is to prepare Hendrik for baking cakes for Jasper later.)

Unlike 80% of my fic ideas that are fusions, I think this one might be a legitimate crossover with people like Paul Hollywood, Merry Berry, and Noel Fielding. Sylv might slot into being a host, too.

[emrysofealdor]

The List of Merlin/Merthur Fic Prompts and Ideas That I’ll Probably Never Get Around to Writing Myself

This post is an absolute mess, lmao. Some of them are prompts, some of them are summaries, and some of them are just little story notions. If you want to write/draw/edit one of these, then go for it! All I ask is that you tag me or shoot me a quick message if you post it. 

1) Prince!Merlin

In order to stop the feud between their two kingdoms, Prince Arthur of Camelot is betrothed to Prince Merlin of Escetir. When they meet, they are undeniably drawn to each other, but any hopes of affection are crushed when they open their mouths. Prince Merlin and Prince Arthur butt heads even more than King Balinor and King Uther, but the one thing they can agree on is that the feud has gone on for far enough, and if dealing with each other is the price to pay for peace, then so be it.

The biggest strain in their nonexistent relationship comes from magic. Merlin, or Emrys, has always believed in the prophecies, but his marriage to Arthur throws a wrench in things. Either a) Arthur, the biggest prat in all of Albion, is the Once and Future King, or b) Merlin will have to help his true King from the sidelines, possibly breaking the truce in the process, and all the while being trapped in a loveless marriage. Neither are particularly appealing to him.

Of course, Arthur discovers that magic isn’t inherently evil. And of course, Merlin discovers that Arthur is the Once and Future King. And of course, the two fall madly in love.

2) 4x06 Divergence

After he destroys the Fomorrah, Merlin returns to Camelot to find an anxious Gwen, a furious Gwaine, and most concerning of all, an Arthur who is trapped in a pit of despair and refuses to speak to anyone about it, especially Merlin. Now, Merlin has to figure out what the hell happened when he was under the Fomorrah’s control.

Spoiler alert: when Arthur found Merlin in the bog, instead of hugging him, he kissed him. Merlin pushed Arthur away, saying that he doesn’t think of him that way. Of course, this is all happening in front of Gwaine, who’s been dealing with both Merlin and Arthur’s pining, and who finally convinced Arthur to go for it, only for Merlin to shut him down.

3) another Prince/Nobleman!Merlin

Arthur meets Lord/Prince Merlin, and he’s immediately besotted. Merlin plays hard to get and is just in general a sarcastic, sassy prince.

I picture their dynamic in this to be like Hercules and Meg, with Merlin just roasting the shit out of Arthur while Arthur sits there like 😍

Arthur’s constantly like “Isn’t he just amazing?” and Sir Leon the Long Suffering is just sitting there like “...are you fucking kidding me”

4) The Toast

Arthur gets crowned King. At the feast, he gives a toast - to his knights, to Guinevere - but most shockingly, the final toast is to Merlin.

5) Modern!AU

When Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon meet, it’s love at first sight. Unfortunately, neither of them know how to handle their feelings like regular adults, so instead, they resort to witty banter, pigtail pulling, and worst of all, pining.

Featuring a group of friends who just want to be put out of their misery.

6) The Lowkey Magic Reveal

“You have magic,” Arthur stated.

“Yes.”

Arthur paused for a long moment, glancing between Merlin and the armor that was now strewn across the floor.

“...And you use it to do your chores?”

“Occasionally, among other things. Saving your life, for example.”

Arthur’s face was completely blank. The pair stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, and Merlin felt his panic rising, before Arthur finally responded.

“Alright. Well, carry on, then, I suppose.”

He waved his hand and shut the door, and Merlin heard his footsteps walking out of Gaius’ chambers, leaving Merlin alone to wonder what the hell had just happened.

Or: Arthur finds out about Merlin’s magic. It goes better than expected. Too much better than expected, if you ask Merlin.

7) High School Theatre AU

Arthur Pendragon, jock extraordinaire, is cornered by the drama teacher, Mr. Kilgharrah, in the halls and is begged to audition for the school play/musical. He’s always been one to help wherever he could, so even though he’s never acted/sung in his life, he agrees.

Merlin Emrys is seen as the theatre gay boy stereotype - outgoing, bold, and confident. Most of the student body adores him, along with the teachers and generally everyone he meets. He hates Arthur Pendragon on principle, considering that he’s simply waltzing into theatre and getting a lead role his first time simply because he’s a man.

You know the drill. Enemies to lovers, slow burn. Bonus points if the roles that Merlin and Arthur are cast in have gay subtext. Even more bonus points if the roles are openly gay.

8) Immortal!Merlin Accidentally Becomes Famous

In which Merlin gets bored of hating his immortality and decides to express his bottled-up emotions from Camelot and from over the years of waiting through song, but his music blows up, and he becomes a musical sensation. And in which Arthur is tumblr famous for his fan blog of the world-famous music artist Emrys, and keeps wondering why the hell Emrys’ work feels so familiar.

9) Hero!Merlin/Villain!Arthur

Arthur’s working for his father, the CEO of Pendragon Sciences, when day, Uther pulls him into his office and reveals how he’s begun developing biology altering drugs to make superpowers, something to directly counter magic. He uses magical human test subjects and tortures them to the brink of death. Furthermore, he plans to give someone close to him the first test of these drugs and essentially become his personal hitman. Arthur is absolutely horrified, and he realizes that he has to do something about this. He knows just how powerful his father has become - now that he understands the scope of his work, he realizes that no one will be able to stop him. No one... except for maybe, just maybe, someone on the inside of his corporation, and someone who he trusts unconditionally... like Arthur.

So, Arthur convinces Uther to use him as the test subject, and everything goes perfectly. Arthur gains powers, and he plays the part of the perfect, magic-hating villain, all while trying to undermine Uther’s operations. The media gets wind of this new villain, and so naturally, there needs to be a hero to combat it. Enter Merlin Ambrose, AKA Emrys, the most powerful magic user to ever walk the earth.

Merlin has been working with Morgana, Arthur’s magical half-sister who ran away once she discovered her magic combined with all of Uther’s shit, and they suspect that Uther is behind the creation of this villain. Merlin applies for a job at Pendragon Sciences as Arthur Pendragon’s personal assistant. You’ve probably got a pretty good idea of how it goes from there.

If you want to talk about any of these ideas, either share your thoughts on this post or message me! I haven’t even gotten into everything I have for some of these ideas, and I would be overjoyed to talk about them to someone or for someone to end up creating them!!!

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟖)

previous part

note: hey y’all it has been a hot minuteee! maybe ab 2 weeks i wanna say? but i’m back wittt a lovely new chapter i hope y’all love it 🤧

i thinkkk i know how to fix the tags now, but if there’s any difficulties i might make a separate post to reassure that everything is just peachy. anyway i hope y’all love this chapter and i hope everyone gets tagged properly!!! adding tags in reblogs :)

playlist

warnings: smut, the cursed d word (daddy!)

word count: 9.7k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

      All while Steve was spilling out his heart to you, for some reason you weren't expecting that to be the result of what he was saying. He was talking so much, making you a little nervous, and you weren't paying much attention to what he was really getting down to saying because of your nerves. But you realized it was so painstakingly obvious what he was getting down to, and because of that realization you couldn't help but let out a huff of a girlish, dumbfounded titter. You weren't able to wipe the smile off of your face after that, questioning silently if this was really happening.

     Just like Steve, you knew the potential your friendship had to be something more, but you had never expected anything to actually come of it. You figured you would both stay floating in the awareness, only ever drawing attention to it through flirty remarks and cute selfies. As much as you had been through with Steve, you felt that he had made it clear that he was taking everything very slow and still being careful when it came to you.

     You had felt that he was loosening up with you and becoming more comfortable, but you definitely didn't think that this was even on his mind. He was good at hiding his feelings, this came as a bit of a shock to you, even though the attraction you had for each other made sense and wasn't nonexistent.

     And you definitely weren't thinking of it nearly as much as Steve was, because you weren't expecting anything from him. You were staying grounded and realistic when it came to this outlandish situation. And when it came to your own mindset, you weren't really looking for anything right now. You were just enjoying your life and the feeling of being alone. Not being bothered to look for relationships or being in anything serious felt essential for your growth and understanding of the world.

You were single and yet unavailable, a choice you made for yourself. But when it came to Steve, you were willing to listen. You didn't know how far you would go, but you knew you'd be crazy not to at least listen to him. You were a mixture of shocked, nerve wracked, and anticipatory.

      Now back to earth. Steve was looking at your face, a smile glued to your lips, your eyes widened in surprise and amusement like he'd just popped the question. One side of his lip quirked up into a smile, hope glinting in his sweet blue eyes as he waited for your verbal response. You found it cute, the way he tried to appear as nonchalant as possible, but those ocean eyes gave it all away. And even more was beginning to shock you, the bud of a little crush that had been planted in the pit of your stomach beginning to sprout and grow upwards, because you were realizing you could see him in that way too.

     You were surprised to see that you were finding him cute instead of strong and buff at the moment, that he was pouring his feelings out to you, instead of the other way around. In this moment, he was the vulnerable one. You had been vulnerable for him before, but it wouldn't end up the same way it had.

That was why you finally spoke and said,

     "Steve... I think I like you too."

Steve, although he had been confident in your reaction and confident in himself in this moment, let out a relieved chuckle. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, clearing the skies which were so full, erratic with colors that he didn't understand. But as he told you how he felt, he knew that he was making the right decision.

    All his life had been full of confusion, this feeling of dissonance, the knowledge that he didn't truly fit in, and this trickled into his understanding of relationships. He had a certain capacity when it came to connecting with people on a level that was more than platonic. When it came to you, the platonic connection you had was undeniable, you shared a connection that was non-romantic as well as romantic. Why not explore beyond the platonic?

You laughed gently, covering your mouth with your hand, your brows furrowed up, less because you were confused and more because you were so bemused by the whole situation. It was real, but it seemed so far-fetched to assume that something like this could happen to you. It was so casual, a man expressing his feelings for a woman. But he wasn't just any man, and you weren't just any woman- and these feelings weren't for the light at heart.

    "This is... weird," you blurted out, for lack of a better word. You felt a little ditzy, responding this way, but you hadn't been expecting this, it came so suddenly that you hadn't even processed all your emotions yet. For now, you could only afford to be shocked and excited. You weren't fully thinking it out, but that didn't seem like it would be a problem. Once again, Steve had caught you off guard, but this time in the best of ways. "Did you draft this out? I feel like you practiced this."

Steve practically blushed, and it felt good to know you had that effect on him. He peeked through squinted eyes while he replied, like he was shy to reveal the answer,

    "A little bit."

    "Oh my god," you laughed, shaking your head.

For some reason, the natural light in your apartment seemed so much brighter now, filling you up and awakening your senses. You felt full with it, light and a feeling of certainty, that as strange as things were, this was how it was supposed to be. Sometimes you felt like the universe was laughing at you. Now you felt like the universe was laughing with you.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you weren't expecting this and that you didn't think anything legitimate would come of this. It all circled back to the fact that you were set just being by yourself, with no lover and no one to expect anything of, no one who would expect anything from you either. So to hear Steve saying something like this, while it was exciting, was also something you weren't prepared for. You enjoyed being alone in your post healing space, and you weren't sure how much you'd be able to handle from here on out. You didn't know how ready you were.

But you were staying calm, not letting that bog you down. The confession itself felt monumental. Your excitement and giddiness washed out the slightly halting feeling of omniscience regarding yourself, your relationship habits and where you were in your life.

    "Uhm," you chuckled, breathing a puff of air out from your nose. You subconsciously played with your hair as a way to cope with your nerves. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting this at all, I really don't even know what to say." You face palmed, chuckling at yourself. "I'm sorry, I'm usually less... this."

By this, you meant scrambled up and unable to communicate efficiently. You felt like you should have more words than what you were giving, but Steve had truly caught you off guard. You were trying not to get too giddy, trying to retain some sense of logic like you always did. This was one of those rare blissful moments where you forgot yourself in the presence of another.

    "Think you've said all you needed to say. It would've been a bit awkward if you had said anything else."

Your mind flashed back to the dreaded session with Steve where he'd left so abruptly, and you barked out a laugh.  

     "You're telling me." As you settled more into the realization - not that it was a situation you could get used to very quickly (you had just gotten accustomed to Steve's Avenger status, and now this) - you realized there was something you wanted to know. "So... what prompted you to tell me this?"

You noticed the way Steve started blushing when you asked him the question. You were simply curious, and now that some of your awareness was returning, it was something you felt might help you understand the situation more. You wanted to make sure you were interpreting everything correctly, that you weren't misunderstanding his intentions. You felt secure enough with Steve, but it was in your nature to want to know everything, to grasp around for a true understanding. You wanted to know what you were dealing with, especially because it was something you weren't even expecting.

Steve took in a deep breath in order to absorb everything that he wanted to say.

     "I think I knew for a while that there was this potential for more. I knew there was something there, that I was having those thoughts. But I never really fully gave in to those thoughts. I was just sort of letting them float there, you know. Because I didn't think it was serious, because it wasn't hurting me. But I think I sort of realized that it doesn't necessarily have to hurt in order to be something that should be addressed. I realized that the way I feel for you wasn't just something I should keep to myself, that I needed to tell you. I was thinking about you so much every day, and I... liked it. It didn't scare me."

     Your chest began to feel warm and full as Steve explained himself, and you couldn't help the heat that rushed to your cheeks. To hear him actually confessing his feelings to you, telling you why he had to tell you, was something so unexpected, something that made you feel so full. It had been a while since you'd been romantically involved with anyone, and that was specifically because of the toxic relationships you had been in before. You didn't involve yourself with just any person, not when it came to serious feelings. 

     It was why with Steve you weren't head over heels, among plenty of other reasons that you had already addressed. And while you didn't necessarily give in to the same feelings that Steve gave into, it didn't mean that you were going to push him away. You had been so focused on yourself. But in this moment? You could see yourself with Steve Rogers.

The corner of your lip twitched upward in a jolly smile,

      "Steve, I can't tell you what it means to hear this from you. I mean, it's definitely something I wasn't expecting, and I can say I was thinking about the way I feel for you too. I wasn't giving in either, because I'm just not in that mindset right now, and I thought it would be better to keep my head, and not to expect anything. But I have feelings for you, too. And I'd love to explore what that means with you," you admitted, a small smile on your face as you spoke your truth.

     Steve nodded. All this time he'd been talking to you, it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Not that his feelings were weighing him down in a bad way, but he had to fulfill this urge to tell you, especially after what he'd done. And he felt that what he had done was necessary to confess, no matter how embarrassing it might feel to admit. He didn't want you to be in the dark about the things he had done to himself as a result of you.

Even with all you'd been through, all the explicit things you had shared with each other, he felt embarrassed to say this aloud. He felt like any way he tried to construe it would sound weird, so in his head he was telling himself to just say it outright, but his mouth was far quicker than his brain. He stuttered as he tried and failed to explain himself,

     "Well, there- there was something specific that happened. It- well, it was a weirddd, it was a moment of... I-I can't really pinpoint-"

You raised your brows playfully, very amused by his stuttering speech, and you nodded as if he were making sense.

      "Yes, I understand," you teased him, and he laughed, shaking his head.

      "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "It's just, this feels so odd of me to say. But you sent a picture of yourself on Snapchat, I don't even think you were thinking of it, honestly. But it made me think. I um..."

You smirked as you realized the point that he was getting to. He didn't even have to say it explicitly. With all your experience as a cam girl, you knew what he was implying. Your voice became saccharine sweet, and your head assumed a teasing tilt as you cooed at him,

     "Stevie, did you get off to my picture?"

     Judging by the way he went red yet again and nodded with an embarrassed smile on his face, you were right. You couldn't help but laugh, not to spite him, but because it was almost surprising to you. You saw Steve as pretty disciplined, and he had made a point of establishing that he wanted to communicate with you as simply friends. That was why he didn't add you on your more explicit private snapchat nor did he watch your cam shows for the past few weeks. You found it surprisingly cute that a simple selfie could send him over the edge - then again, it made sense that this would be something that he'd want to tell you, and that it would relate to admitting his feelings for you.

     Your sugary sweet, teasing voice brought him back to his days of watching you on your cam shows, how you would coo at him and help him get off. The reminder only made him more bashful. You couldn't help but go on, smiling in satisfaction. You couldn't lie - it made you feel a bit cocky that you could get him to that point. Sure, men did a lot of things because of you, but those were men online who you didn't care for as much as you cared for Stevie. You figured he was embarrassed because he thought it was creepy, but you honestly didn't mind. Men had done worse. And besides, it was Steve after all. You had a history.

     "Steve! That's so romantic!" you chirped, watching as he seemed to sink shyly into his seat. It was like you were there with him, the way you could feel his awkward energy through your screen. "Which one was it?"

     "The one you sent on the way to the beach," Steve murmured, peeking out from the hand he had over his eyes.

You hummed,

     "Hmm, I don't remember that. Honestly, though, Steve, I think that's really cute. And really hot. Don't be embarrassed."

Steve chuckled, shrugging,

     "I dunno, I wasn't expecting it. It was what made me feel like I should tell you, because I wasn't just thinking about your picture. I was thinking about you. You know? It was more like... it wasn't just sexual. And I realized afterwards that it brought me to that point because I was so frustrated because I wasn't letting myself give in to the feelings I had for you. And... it was a really nice picture."

You giggled, but past your amusement, you were glad he was telling you these things, no matter how much it might have embarrassed him.

     "Steve..." was all you could say, a smile lingering on your face. "You're real sweet."

He scratched the nape of his neck and looked down. For everything you'd been through, you still made him nervous, in the best way possible. And now that the mutual feelings were out there, he could relish each moment just the way it was meant to be.

     "I'm glad you feel the same way. It's weird, I was trying to figure out if I was just too excited because this is so new to me. But now I know it's not."

     "Same," you nodded. "I mean, I haven't really been attached to one person in a really long time. I was off that. But if there's going to be one person, I want it to be you."

Steve swallowed hard. There was no doubt these feelings were real. And hearing this from you just confirmed that.

     "Me too. Just you."

You smiled for a moment, but you couldn't help your true demeanor, the part of you that needed logic and assortment. This was lovely, but you felt like there just had to be more. Although you thought, how much more could there be? You were miles away, in such different situations in your lives. You didn't want to just go on the same way you had been, not after he told you this. There had to be something more after this, even if neither of you knew what it would be. So you asked,

     "So... what next?"

Steve couldn't say he didn't expect this question from you. He knew you'd want to know where you'd go from this point. And he didn't want to leave you blindsided the way he had when he revealed himself. He wanted to have a plan. He was the grown person in the relationship, he was supposed to have an idea of what was next. But he hadn't fully thought that out yet.

    There was only one thing he thought of that could be solid, but he wasn't sure how that would work. And he wasn't sure if he felt secure enough in himself to let it happen. He had mixed feelings about it. So he didn't bring it up just yet. Despite how stupid he felt shrugging, he did so anyway, and replied,

     "Honestly, I'm not sure. There's not much that we can do, is there?"

You squinted, doubtful of his response. Just like him, you had been thinking of the options, and only one thing seemed solid to you. One thing to do after you realized you both had feelings for each other, to sort of seal the deal, to close the gap. And by the curious look on your face, Steve had no doubts that you were thinking the same thing as him.

     "Isn't there?" you inquired with a suggestive cock of your head.

For all his mixed feelings, Steve felt an overwhelming wave of positivity rush over him when he saw that you were on the same page. You were sharp, there was no doubt about that. He didn't have to question if you were suggesting the same thing he was thinking about. It was bemusing to him, the way that you were quick to clock.

     "You wanna meet me," Steve stated, as if it were a simple fact - and honestly, it was.

     You both had clicked without having to communicate. And neither of you thought it was far fetched. It made sense. It felt pointless to have this confession without there being some way to seal these feelings in in person. That had to be what was up next. You already talked online, texted each other. Doing anything else in order to define these feelings would feel trivial.

     And Steve couldn't deny that lately he had been feeling like he wanted to meet you in person. Before, it was hardly even a thought. But once he realized how he felt for you, it was something that he was fantasizing about just a bit. But it was merely a fantasy of his, not something he was gearing up to actualize.

You nodded slowly, though your heart was pounding at the mere thought of actually breaking the distance. Knowing him, talking to him was so surreal to begin with. You didn't ever expect things to get to this point, or to be talking about meeting him. Not in this circumstance, not at all.

     "If that's something that you are... okay with. I'm not rushing anything."

And it was true, you weren't just making excuses. You weren't rushing anything. You just figured it was the only logical thing to do. After all, you had your own life. It wasn't life or death if you met him, but it just made sense. You'd have to sort things out, as you were sure he'd have to. You weren't aiming too high. You figured this was something that the two of you could possibly achieve in the future, just as a "next step." 

      You also wanted to make sure Steve was serious about this, that you wouldn't just be left hanging by a thread, not after you had had this talk together. Not after you were preparing to commit yourself to someone, something that wasn't even in your mind beforehand.

      And even though Steve had mixed feelings for all the right reasons, he wanted to respect what you wanted. He knew you, and he knew you weren't just dying to meet him, that it wasn't something that would just drive you crazy. You were level headed enough, you had enough going for yourself. Still, if you were on the same page, he wanted to actualize your wishes. And he agreed that it was the logical thing to do - there was just so much that would go into making this actually work. Both you and Steve knew you couldn't just jump into it, but that it had to at least be a possibility.

     So he didn't let this scare him, didn't let these mixed feelings send him overboard like he might have before. He was long past that. He just took everything in calmly, because it was what he owed you. Direction, logic, and peace. Hell, it was what he owed himself.

    He nodded,

    "You're not rushing anything. I understand, it makes sense."

     You nodded, glad you and Steve were on the same page. You didn't intend on letting your guard down completely- just because you were comfortable with Steve didn't mean that you were just going to act head over heels for him and lose all sense of reality. You were still YN, a sensible, strong woman who had boundaries and standards for those who pursued you romantically. Steve was special, but he wasn't an exception. You needed a plan. Needed security.

     And Steve definitely expected that from you, it was why he knew that he needed to have a plan. He sometimes felt like you were too good for him- that he didn't have a clue when it came to these things sometimes, and that he'd do something foolish and lose you. He knew he had to get a clue, and quick. All he cared about was treating you right, especially considering the age difference - you were a grown woman, but he was even older. He had a certain responsibility. It didn't mean he had to be the leader in the relationship, whatever it came to be, because you showed enough leader qualities yourself. But it meant that he couldn't leave things open ended all the time, that he had to show you he was serious.

     When it came to meeting you in person, there were so many things giving Steve mixed feelings. It would be no greater delight than to see you in person. He already enjoyed you so much over the screen. He had no worries that the connection you had over the internet wouldn't translate in real life, as long as he didn't overthink it. It was more a question of time, of his own leadership role in his team.

    Would it get in the way of his job if he was with a woman he had never seen in real life? Would that interfere with his team dynamic in some way? And how could he do so in a way that would keep you safe, from media, from threats, from anything that would get in the way of you and him. There were just so many things that could go wrong, and all for one delicious prize: seeing you face to face without a screen cutting through.

      So, like you, he wasn't jumping into it. But it was on your mind, so he knew he would have to consider it seriously. If this was what the next step would be, he couldn't fuck around too long. He had no intention of stringing you along, of putting this idea out there and then leaving you unsatisfied when he couldn't commit to that next step. So in his mind, there was a distant knowledge that he would have to commit, that this would have to happen at some point. But he didn't want to think about it too much just yet. He wanted to enjoy this moment.

     Your voice interrupted his thoughts,

     "Right. It makes sense. I mean, considering your... life, for lack of a better word, and my life as well, I don't suppose it's something that can just be done. But I'd like to meet you, Steve. Now that I know this, I think it's the only way to be sure that this can be true. To be sure that this is something feasible. And, past all the deep stuff... it sure would be nice to meet Captain America."

      Your smile was so genuine and warm, it almost brought tears to Steve's eyes. He knew he had made no mistake, looking at you. Your glow was so radiant it seemed to touch Steve through the screen, like a friendly sprite fluttering around him, with some iridescent aura. He liked you so much, it made his head swim in a way he just hadn't felt before.

     "Yeah. And I'm sure you've got people lining up to meet the famous Moonrose," Steve smirked playfully, and you laughed, shaking your head.

      "He has a sense of humor. How cute."

Steve wanted to stay on the phone with you for so much longer, talk to you and lose himself in your words and his own thoughts, but he had responsibilities to tend to. He sighed, his hand pressing up against his cheek,

     "Would you kill me if I said I had to go?"

     "Consider yourself a dead man, Steve Rogers," you pouted playfully, and the corner of his lip twitched up in amusement.

     "I wish I could stay longer, I really do. But I'm glad we had this talk, I think we're both on the same page, here."

      You felt calm, secure in this moment. You bit down on your lip and nodded,

     "Yeah, me too. See you, Steve."

     "See you."

✺ ✺ ✺

    Ever since that day, Steve had been in an extraordinarily good mood. Even while he had specifics to think about, as in how exactly he'd make meeting you work, he wasn't bogged down by those thoughts. He knew it would take some time, some mindfulness. He couldn't just bring you here carelessly.

    So, it was a sort of strange buzz that he was in - he was simultaneously giddy and serious, plotting and planning things out, and leaving space in his mind for you. And when he thought of you, just you, any stress threatening to build up just dissipated.

     "You're in a good mood," Bucky commented in passing, taking notice of the small smile that seemed to be constantly engraved on Steve's face these days.

Once again, everyone took notice of Steve's mood - he'd been happy recently, but now it was almost odd. They were beginning to think there was something they were missing. Tony had been the first to really pry and ask if Steve was thinking about a girl. He'd assumed that Steve wanted to talk to someone special when he asked him about the private numbers, and that was entirely true. But Steve didn't let on, not quite yet.

     “Am I?" Steve quipped back, a strange response to Bucky's comment.

    Bucky raised his eyebrow, squinting inquisitively at Steve.

    "Seriously, what's been going on? You hopped up on a little extra serum?"

Steve shook his head slowly with a laugh,

   "Can't a guy just be happy that it's springtime? It's finally nice out. Harsh winter."

    "I've never known you to be a giddy person," Bucky pressed, and Steve just shrugged.

    "Seasons change, people change too," Steve started to walk much faster than Bucky. "Gotta go, Buck. Got some paperwork to take care of."

     Steve practically left Bucky in the dust. He stood there, trying to put the pieces together. He was beginning to think he had an idea of what was going on, but, no. He'd be crazy to think that. It wasn't something Steve would get himself into. But if he was right, then damn it, he wanted to know. Like everyone else, he wouldn't pry too much. But he was beginning to think that they should all be a bit more invested in what was going on. Was he happy his friend was happy? Of course. Was it still a bit strange? Hell yeah.

    And even though he had settled things with you, Steve still had no intentions of putting his business out there. It was his own thing, and for good reason.

✺ ✺ ✺

    Your last day of classes came quicker than you had been expecting. A week flew by so quickly, and even in that week you still hadn't fully processed that day you talked to Steve, the things that he had to say to you. From this point on, you would have so much free time on your hands, maybe you would use it to settle in to your new reality. Just a week ago, Steve Rogers had told you he had feelings for you. He had told you that there was a possibility that you could meet each other. What was your life, honestly?

     If anything, right now it was just a swarm of good. You almost expected something bad to happen to snap you out of this blissed out, full mood that you were in. Everything felt perfect right now. Your brand was swinging into action, you were about to graduate, your cam business was going well as usual. And on top of that, you were in the beginnings of a new relationship. Neither of you were sure what it would actually become, but you hardly even wanted to think about that. You were just enjoying the present, though you knew the future would be so unpredictable and so full of new things.

     To celebrate the end of your classes, and more importantly, the end of senior year, you were having a few friends over at your apartment. One plus of having your own place was that you didn't have to move out of dorms, which was a process most of your friends were going through prior to graduation. And being able to have friends over in a place that you could call your own was so special to you.

       "We're really fucking done!" Aaliyah exclaimed, reaching over the counter to pour herself another drink, then shaking her head and deciding it was best to drink from the bottle.

      "I'll drink to that," Cameron agreed, and clinked her glass to Aaliyah's entire bottle.

       "YN, get off your phone. We gotta celebrate!" Luke nudged you harshly, and you chuckled, rubbing your arm in the spot where he'd impacted you.

     As present as you liked to be when you were with your friends, you couldn't help but be on your phone in this moment. You and Steve texted casually beforehand, but ever since that Facetime call last week, you communicated much more frequently. You anticipated texts and snapchats from him, even the occasional call. Often times you just wanted to hear from each other, wanted to update each other on the smallest of things.

     It wasn't obnoxious or overbearing, it felt just right for the situation that you were in with each other. You wanted to feel closer, or at least the illusion of feeling closer. You were trying to talk to each other the way that people with feelings for each other would. But it didn't feel forced. Your banter came naturally, conversation flowed easily, just as it had before. But now, there was an even brighter spark in each and every text message, every silly Snapchat selfie you sent each other.

    Right now, you were texting Steve about the gathering, sliding in sneaky flirts every now and then, like "wish you were here!" You knew how to get to Steve- even the littlest things did him in.

      "Okay, okay, I'm here! Just, lemme make this call real quick. Really, really quick. Promise," you pleaded with your friends, who were jeering at you playfully as you slinked away quickly.

     You were having fun already, but there was something on your mind, something you hadn't done in a while that you wanted to fulfill. Now that you and Steve had established your feelings for each other, it was only appropriate, right?

You texted Steve, telling him to have his laptop ready, because you wanted to Facetime him.

     You had slinked away to your room, and locked the door behind you, setting up your mirror in front of you and sitting criss cross on the floor. You pulled up Steve's name on your laptop, and Facetimed him. You figured he'd be available to video chat, considering you had just been texting quite voraciously. To your pleasure, he picked up, and you were looking at him on the screen again, a feeling that filled you both up each time. 

      Texting was nice, but actually seeing each other on the screen live felt so much more personal. You felt a surge of pride in you, that you had this ability to just call him up like this, to be able to see him like this. You liked knowing you were the only one that could bring this out of him. And you were about to bring a lot more out of him right now.

     "Hey, how's the party?" Steve asked when he picked up, a grin on his features.

     "Compared to talking to you? Ahh, I can't be that mean to my friends," you joked, and it was really only a joke. But it got the reaction you were hoping for- he blushed and started smiling profusely.

      "You're too sweet," he leaned in. "Why'd you wanna call on my laptop instead of my phone, though?"

      You shrugged, not giving anything away just yet,

       "Just wanna see you better. And I have something for you. It'll be easier to multitask."

Steve nodded,

      "I see you've abandoned your friends."

      "Ding ding ding. Just for a minute though. Or an hour. However long it takes you," you shrugged nonchalantly, as if you were saying anything.

     But Steve felt his senses kicking in. You were alone, obviously because you couldn't just talk to him around your friends, but it was more than that. His stomach dropped from nerves, in the best way possible, but also because this was unexpected.

      "However... long it takes me?" he practically gulped, and watched as you pushed back the laptop and started to pull down the sleeves of your blouse just enough to show the pink bra straps.

       "I missed this, Stevie," you pouted, leaning in very intentionally, so that the curves of your boobs would show from over your blouse.

       Steve's jaw ticked as he watched. He was in his room, and it wasn't as late in New York as it was in California. But his door was locked anyway, and time wasn't an issue when it came to you.

     "We talk a lot," Steve blurted awkwardly in response, immediately feeling stupid.

He didn't mean to be so tongue tied, but it had just been a long time since he had interacted with you like this. Sure, he had his moment with the picture of you, but it wasn't the same as being onscreen with you while you did all the things you did to drive him crazy, right in front of his eyes. He had chosen not to view your cam shows or anything that would get in the way of your budding friendship. Now, you were giving it to him. And he wouldn't have resisted before, because he hardly could - but now, it felt much more appropriate, now that your feelings for each other were out there.

     "I know, but not like this. We talk about my day, your missions. Our feelings. Cute shit like that. But I get so bored, Stevie. No one on my cam site can do it like you."

      "Really?" Steve swallowed, licking his lips slowly and taking in every word you said like it was a mixture of milk and honey.

      "Really. You think anyone can make me scream their name the same way you can? And really mean it? You must know I always meant it, Steve," you drawled slightly, continuing to pull down the sleeves of your blouse and your bra straps along with it, so that now your sleeves were down to your chest.

Steve sighed deeply, as if he were trying to contain himself, breathing through his nose. It had been so long, too long, since the two of you had been intimate like this. It was bringing out this feral nature in him that only you could satisfy. And for you, it was exciting to actually have a person to be intimate with just because. Sure, it wasn't the same as physical touch - which, besides Alex, you hadn't had legitimately in far too long - but it was intimate.

    And this time around, it wasn't just for a customer. It was for someone you could genuinely say you had feelings for. And that felt so fulfilling. It was why you were so quick to give it to Steve, because you were craving that excitement, that full feeling. Being with your friends was lovely, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on to escape them for something like this.

     "Do I get to hear you scream my name tonight?" Steve asked, trying to be confident in his responses, but there was a genuine glint of hope in his question.

You laughed, biting down on your lip, and shrugged,

      "If you play your cards right, sure."

      "How do I... play my cards right?" Steve chewed on his bottom lip, anticipatory and a bit anxious.

    "Just do what feels right," you sighed, and took off your blouse completely, the bra falling off in accordance.

Steve's spit caught in his throat at the sight - he'd seen you in every position, but it never got old. Especially since he hadn't seen you like this in so long. He was already palming himself through his sweats, looking hard into the screen of his laptop - he understood now, using a laptop would be much more convenient for this. It was just like his days with you on the site.

      "Can I see?" you asked, a smile growing on your lips as you watched the way his face contorted, the motions his hands made.

He pushed the laptop further down the bed so that you could see all of him, from his growing erection in his black sweats to his reddening face.

    You practically whimpered when you saw it. It was no surprise that you hadn't actually seen him like this, you'd only ever heard his reactions. All those times, you'd been facing a blank screen. You never got to actually see the expressions that he made, never got to see how big he was, never got to see him finish. He'd gotten to see all of that from you, and now it was finally your turn. Regardless of how things were going to go down right now, you wouldn't be able to control yourself.

     Steve watched as you slipped out of your shorts and started to run your fingers along your clit through your underwear, teasing the warm, wet skin that was underneath. His motions matched yours, grazing his cock with his palm through his clothes. He could usually stand teasing himself, but he was harder than he'd ever been, it had been so long. He was still full of so much pent up desire for you.

    He blushed when he realized that you could actually see him too. Sure, you'd heard him before, but that felt different. He hadn't done something like this, ever. Was it risky to show his face as he did something like this? Sure. But did he honestly expect that risk to have consequences? Not anymore. Still, it made him blush because he'd never actually done this before, at least not when you could see him.

    You moaned, choking out your words,

    "You look nervous, Stevie."

    He chuckled, shaking his head,

    "I don't know, I've just... I know we've done this countless times, but you've never been able to see me. Guess I'm feeling a little rusty."

     "You?  Rusty? Never. I think you forget who you are, Steve," you reminded him, and he smirked- of course you would gas him up a bit, how could he forget how cocky you could make him feel sometimes?

    "Force of habit," he shrugged, and you took your bottom lip under your teeth.

    "Steve?" you asked between pleasured sighs.

    "Yeah?"

     "I really wanna see you. Can you do that for me?" you cooed, putting on your best puppy dog eyes - you wanted to see him for real, not just through the outline of his sweats. You knew he was big, you had known that even before he revealed who he was. But now it was like some sudden kink, to want to see just how big your superhero was.

    He knew exactly what you meant, and the pleading in your voice only made him want to show you even more. He was almost eager as he pulled his sweats down, his cock already springing upwards in his boxers, forming a tent. He watched as your two fingers spun slow circles around your clit once you pushed your panties to the side. Seeing your bare flesh again made him grunt, made his cock twitch in his boxers.

    "Please, Stevie," you groaned, wanting to see all of him.

    "I got you, doll, don't worry," he replied — it was cute to see you get all worked up, but he wouldn't hold out on you for too long. He respected the fact that you were even doing this right now — for that, he decided you got whatever you wanted.

You kept whining until he finally pulled down his boxers and his cock sprung loose. It was hard and heavy, it nearly made you drool just to look at it. You knew he was big, but he was big. Bigger than anyone you'd seen or even had. Just the sight of it, veiny, standing in the air, and throbbing for you made you moan uncontrollably. You were unbelievably wet already, and couldn't help but sink two fingers inside of you - they slid in too easily.

     Your fingers felt the warm and gushy flesh inside of you and you sucked in a breath, just watching his cock on the screen. It was something so deliciously overdue, so much overdue that it felt like a sweet release just to see it. You rolled your head back, and Steve gripped the base of his cock, watching your fingers dip in and out of you while you pleasured yourself.

    "Mmh," you mewled, biting your lip. You looked back on the screen, a needy pout plastered all over your glossy lips, a desperate crease in your brows as you focused in on his cock. You groaned gutturally, just looking at him, imagining what it would be like to take him inside of you, inside any part of you. Your voice was whiny, desperate with amazement. "You're so big."

       Steve's chest pounded at the sound of your voice - so needy and raw, like the sight of him was too much for you. He watched the way your fingers rubbed vigorously at your clit, which was wet and slick with your juices. His hand worked tirelessly at himself, jerking up and down his shaft, his fingers toying with the head, glowing with his precum.

    "You like my cock?" he asked in response, just so he could hear the edge in your voice.  

You sighed in pleasure, scooching your hips forward so Steve could see you better,

    "Yes, baby, I want you so bad."

    "You want it?" Steve gave in to his desire to tease you back, which really became stronger when he saw how needy you were for him. You watched his face, which was a mix of derisive and focused, focused on getting you both to orgasm, his brows furrowed in pleasure, mouth partially open at all times. The groan that came out of Steve was deep and animalistic, reflective of how much he needed this with you after not having it for so long. "Does it turn you on? Begging for my cock?"

       You whimpered - the more dominant side of Steve was coming out, and you hardly had to coax him into it. He was assuming such a daddy role, you couldn't help it when the pet name slipped out of your mouth,

     "God, yes, daddy."

Steve's eyes were blown with lust, his eyelids heavy, but they widened just a bit when he heard what you called him. You hadn't even thought much about it, but Steve was hanging onto it desperately.

       "Daddy? Is that what I am?" he repeated with a low chuckle, slowing his strokes so he could focus on your response.

You wriggled around and mewled out in response, scrunching your eyes shut as you tried to avoid having to answer him.

      "I'm not hearing an answer, doll," Steve pressed, and you clenched around your fingers, an orgasm sure to arrive shortly - his tone was so authoritative and cocky - you shouldn't have let that slip, but then again, you loved it.

      "Fuck!" you shouted, thrusting your fingers deeper inside of you, your knuckles hitting your clit. "Yes, daddy, that's what you are."

    "Hmm, yeah, that's it," Steve breathed out of his nose, relaxing back into his pillow and letting the careless motions of his hand take over. He was so far gone, any tension from the day so far removed that his head felt clear, and a wave of pleasure rushed over him. So much so that he wasn't even really thinking when he next spoke, his eyes shut and his hands closed around his throbbing cock. "Mm, I can't wait to fuck you."

     A sound you didn't expect came out of you then, and you clenched hard around your fingers as you came, gasping for air and rocking your hips against your fingers deliriously, sweat just starting to drip down your forehead. Steve's orgasm came soon after that, like it was chasing after yours. You both took your time to recover, reveling in the moment. It felt like a sense of peace had flooded your room, and it felt the same for Steve. You both knew it had been too long since you got each other off. And everytime it happened, it was explosive. Just now, it had been on a whim, as a result of your own spontaneity - and you were a bit horny as well. Man, were you glad for those last minute decisions of yours.

     You wiped sweat off your forehead, still breathing hard, and pulled up your underwear - which was no help, you were still soaking through them. But you got dressed accordingly and so did Steve, and you stayed on the call until one of you spoke.

    "Your friends are looking for you, I bet," Steve commented, and you smirked, shrugging.

     "Don't worry, they'll be fine," you grinned, licking your lips.

Steve's eyes were still bleared over, but he was looking right at you,

      "Think they heard us?"

Even after all that, your pussy throbbed at his words, at the thought. If only Steve could see.

    "Dunno."

    "I get the feeling you don't care," Steve grinned, eyes sparkling - he too was glad for your spontaneity.

As you sat recovering, rocking gently back and forth with your knees pulled up to your chest, a small smile appeared on your lips as you recalled the words that had triggered you to come. It was mindless to Steve, a subconscious thought of his that had slipped out of his lips in that moment of pure bliss, as casual and thoughtless as asking "how was your day?"

     "You said you can't wait to fuck me," you hummed, tilting your head to the side, a devious but satisfied smile on your lips.

    You liked, no loved, the way it sounded coming from his lips this time around. Before, you had always shared your fantasies aloud, telling the other that you wished you could be there. But that was before - before you even knew him, before you knew each other the way that you knew each other now. There was no depth to the words. But now, it felt like a prompt to put things into motion, like Steve knew that his wish would become a reality, like he really was serious about meeting you. He didn't just wish he could fuck you, he couldn't wait to. That, to you, sounded like there was already a plan set where something like that could be possible. Like Steve had been thinking about it, a thought that dually excited you and made you wet.

     Steve blushed at the reminder - he had hardly recognized that he had let that slip. Again, it was more of a subconscious thought of his, one that hadn't yet come to the surface. Although he had plans to meet you, knew that it had to happen at some point, he hadn't yet thought of the specifics. It just sort of came out of him, something that he didn't realize he'd been thinking about - that he'd one day have the chance to meet you, that he really could fuck you when the time came. He supposed that the excitement of the moment got him thinking that this prominent physical, sexual gap could be closed once you met. It wasn't the only reason he wanted to meet you, but in the moment, it was what was most on his mind. And the only difference in what he said this time around was that it insinuated driving fantasies into reality.

    "I did, huh?" Steve questioned, smirking slightly.

    He knew what you were getting to, and it got you both excited and nervous all at once. You both knew it was going to happen, but once he said that, it felt like things were becoming much realer.

     "Mhm. That true?" you batted your lashes playfully, making him laugh - he missed this feeling, the friendly interactions after getting each other off, how humorous and organic it felt.

    "Yeah, it's true," Steve nodded, settling into the reality himself. He knew what had to be done, and he knew it had to be set in motion quickly. "Guess we better meet sooner than later, huh?"

     "Just so you can fuck me," you said decidedly, making the both of you laugh.

    "It's not as wholesome as I was expecting," Steve cleared his throat. "But really, you and I both know it's not just because of that. And it very well could be, but we both have so much to offer."

     "Mhm, but you really wanna fuck me," you continued, and Steve knew he had to let you bask in this moment, had to let you shine in all your glory.

He laughed at how big headed you were acting, shaking his head,

      "There's that, too."

     "Hey, really though, if it takes time, I understand," you nodded, making it clear once again that you weren't rushing anything.

    "It takes time, but I can make time," Steve replied quickly.

    He wanted you to feel secure, didn't want you to feel like you had to backtrack from what you both wanted. It would take a lot of work from him to make things work out, would take a lot of self reflection, but he knew that for you, he could handle it. Neither of you were rushing things, but you both realized that you couldn't hold off for too long, that you needed each other soon- physically and emotionally. There was only so much you could do through a screen. The more you talked about it, the more the days passed by, the stronger the urge became. You'd both commit to not allowing it to drive you up the wall - but you could only resist so much. You had to see each other, soon.

    You smiled, impressed by Steve's words. He would make time. That was all you ever really wanted to hear.

    "Yeah?"

    "Yeah. It's a lot, but it can be done. We'll have to be careful, because there's so much... stuff that goes into this. And I have to get myself together first, when it comes to my team and how this will all go down in a way that won't impact my work, or your work, for that thought. But I care about you. And... and I know that this is the next step, and we don't have to rush it, but it's better to see you sooner than later," Steve explained, the gears already churning in his mind- lots of work to be done.

     He didn't want to keep you a secret, but he didn't want to mess up the consistency in his relationships with his team and his relationship with his work. That was one thing that he'd have to figure out. And besides, he liked having you all to himself. When the time was right to be open about it, he'd know. That was just one of the elements he'd have to think of when it came to getting you to him.

     "I care about you too," you pouted slightly, and then smiled again. "And I really do want to see you. When it's right, it's right. You know?"

     "Yeah," Steve took his bottom lip under his teeth. "So... when is it right for you?"

You raised your brows - was he asking for your schedule? Was this really going to happen? You knew that was the focus of your conversation, but actually progressing was something so jarring to think of.

     "For me?" you repeated, gawking slightly at the camera.

     "Yeah, like... I don't know. When's a good time for you?" he asked, as if he were scheduling a simple lunch date.

      Your head started to swarm with thoughts, mainly thoughts surrounding your own availability. Once you graduated, you'd have all the time in the world. Sure, you'd have to start working and continue handling your clothing brand, but you would have plenty of free time on your hands. You wanted to settle into the real world without education first, but you figured that you'd be ready for this adventure soon after graduation.

    "Ah, well... I'm- I'm graduating... this week. And, um, after that I'm pretty much free. I'll need like a week or two to decompress, but after that, I guess-"

      "You can see me," Steve completed your sentence for you, because you were having a hard time spitting the words out of your mouth.

     For all your logic and need for stability, you were floored by the idea of actually planning something like this out. For the umpteenth time that week you were asking yourself: "what is my life?" And for Steve, it was jarring too. It was odd for him to think that he would ever be going through with something like this, something that he had resisted so adamantly beforehand. He couldn't say that he couldn't picture himself in this position with you beforehand, because a small part of him could. 

      It seemed so unfeasible and far fetched to him back then, but it was part of the reason why he pushed back. Now, here he was, in this unbelievable position. But it didn't deter him, it just served as a reminder of how much he had grown since he met you, the same way you had grown.

    "Yeah," you chuckled out nervously, a beam breaking out on your face. You huffed, as if you couldn't believe it, but you were so glad it was true. "Yeah... then I can meet you."

A beat of silence passed as you both just looked at each other over the screen, settling into this moment together. It was like there was a bubble that enclosed just you and him. A circumstance so exclusive that it was as if only the two of you could understand it. And the way you were looking at each other now, you couldn't wait to look into each other's eyes for real.

    "Well," Steve chuckled, raising his brows. "I guess I'll have to make arrangements."

    "Yeah, me too," you refrained from snorting out of excitement, and just sat back.

    "You should get back to your friends, before they start suspecting anything."

    "I assure you, they are not worried about me," a loud garble of laughter sounded through your walls, loud enough for Steve to hear. "See?"

     You both laughed, but you took in a breath, nodding,

     "Ah, you're right though. I should go."

    "Got it. Hey, I'll see you. Soon," said Steve, but the farewell felt so much deeper now.

You winked, leaning forward to hang up,

     "See you, Steve."

You hung up, still giddy and buzzing with exhilaration. You still didn't know what to expect, but you kind of knew when to expect it. And it was coming soon. You had to resist from counting down the days. As Steve suggested, you returned to your friends. You had no trouble focusing on them and your celebration for the rest of the night. But the warmth you felt in your cheeks, the wetness between your thighs, and the smile etched on your face all reminded you of what was to come.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Protea (Part 13)

She avoids Mohi’s if only to avoid distressing Kaz any further. She pretends like she is busy and overwhelmed by her very first job. That she needs to focus on it so she doesn’t mess it up lie the last few jobs she’s had. Mohi and Zenyul trust her whole heartedly. It hurts terribly. She doesn’t deserve that kind of trust.

She knows it. Kaz knows it.

And so she spends most of her time at the palace and with Mai, hoping that Mohi doesn’t resent her fro growing distant. She thinks that maybe it is some sort of defense. To create that distance. To show herself out before they can show her out.

Working with Mai and tending to the flowers is a welcome distraction. Mostly she doesn't think too much about Kaz.

Mostly she doesn't think about him until he enters the shop. She is at the back of the shop, poking seeds into soil when Mai calls, "your brother is here."

For one small moment she thinks that Mai is referring to Zuko and her heart gives an anxious leap. She finishes patting the soil over the seed and wanders up to the front.

"Oh. Hi Kaz." She can't even manage to feel slightly enthusiastic to see him.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?" Mai asks in a whisper.

"I think."

"How can you not tell? Either you had a fight or you didn't."

But she isn't good with feelings, isn't good at understanding them. "I'm not mad at him." She replies.

"But he's mad at you?"

Snapdragon nods.

"I can finish planting the seeds if you two need a minute or you can step outside."

Snapdragon nods again.

Mai finishes handing her last customer his flowers and disappears into the back of the shop. Snapdragon brushes her fingers over nearby petals. "I made a bouquet for Mohi's birthday.” “And?”

"I want to come home for Mohi's birthday."

"Is that a demand or a question, princess." He sneers.

"A...request?" Snapdragon replies. "I made an arrangement with her favorite flowers." She holds up a bouquet of fake jasmine, daisy, clover, and yarrow. She will replace those with genuine flowers on Mohi's birthday. Around the boy she has tied a few yellow and white painted beads and brown and white bird feathers that she had found in her hoard. "Can you give it to her?"

"Give it to her yourself when you visit on her birthday." The way that he extends the invitation is anything but kind. It makes her think that, maybe, a silly bouquet might not be good enough. That maybe a pouch of gold coins would be a better gift. Mohi could start reclaiming the life she had sacrificed for Snapdragon. For the woman that shouldn't exist.

She watches Kaz sulk away. She never finds out what he had come there to tell her.

.oOo.

With the passing of several days, her mind has mostly sorted itself out. Snapdragon and Azula coexist well enough with Azula--as per usual--taking dominance. She attributes this mostly to the stresses and sorrows that Azula is prone to coming back in full force. They stir about in her mind until Snapdragon’s joy and enthusiasm is swept away.

But Azula finds that she rather enjoys the freedoms that Snapdragon has found for her. The ability to speak as she will and do what she will without the fear of tarnishing an immaculate reputation. She still very much enjoys being around Mohi. Mohi who ruffles her hair and gives her the affection she wishes that her own mother would afford her. Her own mother who she has seen about the palace several times now. Her own mother who loves Snapdragon more than she could ever love Azula. She is just one more reason to feign ignorance and keep up her facade.

Really, it isn’t too hard. She thinks that Snapdragon is everything and all of the freedom that she had yearned for. And now she has it. Maybe all along Snapdragon, minus eating flowers and rolling in dirt, has been the real her. The real her that she has buried so deeply. The real her that has been hindered and bogged down by crushing expectations and loneliness.

She is terrified that this loneliness will come creeping back in. Kaz hasn’t warmed up to her any and Zenyul always sides with his brother.

She is more desperate to keep their affection that she would like to admit. Desperate to keep the family she has found and the little joys. She supposes that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Had she been thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have gotten caught. Had her mind not been so fixated on salvaging her relationship with Kaz. Fixated on keeping everything from falling apart completely.

.oOo.

It is Kaz who opens the door and he tries to shut it in her face. But she didn’t walk all of that distance just to be shut out. “I said you can come for Mohi’s birthday, no other day.” Kaz grumbles, he gives the door another heave. Azula holds her ground.

“Just let ‘er in, Kaz.” Zenyul sighs.

He releases his hold so suddenly that she nearly loses her footing.

“What’s goin’ on ‘tween you two anyways?”

Azula shrugs while Kaz grumbles, “don’t worry about it.”

Mohi makes her way into the foyer, apron tied tightly around her waist, face smeared with flour and dough. Azula mood lifts if only slightly. “Where ya be at chil’.” She frowns. “Ya git yerself a job ‘n we don’t never see ya.”

“Kaz doesn’t want me here anymore.” She doesn’t particularly want to cause problems for him but she also doesn’t want Mohi to think that she has forgotten about her. “He was here first so I’ve been staying with Mai.”

Zenyul scoffs, “you’re talkin’ like one’a them nobles.”

Her tummy flutters, how is it that he can manage to make the extravagance of palace life sound so ugly and foul? “I brought a souvenir.”  She slips her hand into her pocket and draws out a small coin pouch. She holds it out to Mohi. “It’s enough to buy a place in the…uh, in the less rough area of Caldera.”  

Mohi’s eyes go wide and she clamps her hand around Azula’s wrist.

“Oh chil’ no. Ya didn’t steal this did ya?”

Technically she didn’t. It belongs to her whether or not the palace guard recognizes her. But it doesn’t belong to Snapdragon and right now she is Snapdragon. “They won’t know.” She thinks that they have so much wealth anyways that a couple of coins would go completely unnoticed.

“Chil’ ya swiping hands is gon’ git ya in trouble.” She looks terrified. “Why ya go ‘n do this?”

She shrugs. “You were supposed to live well. You were doing fine until I got here.”  She notices Kaz grimace.

Mohi cuffs Kaz on the back of the head. Kaz and Zenyul both. “I oughtta give ya a good swat too, girl! Ya should know betta then takin’ from the royal family!” She slaps the coins back into Azula’s palm. “Ya go ‘n take this back.”

“But you need it.”

“Not as much as we need ya here ‘n safe.”

Azula’s lower lip quivers. Even when she tries to do something good, she hurts people. She is beginning to recall more vividly why she had sought out the Mother of Faces to extract her memories, her face, her essence--everything that made her Azula.

“Kaz!”

The boy goes rigid.

“Why’d ya go ‘n say them thin’s to ‘er? Don’ tell me ya don’ wan’ ‘er around?”

Kaz seems to chew on his lips. “I were mad, okay?”

The imperial firebenders don’t knock. They just enter. Just as they have been trained to do. Azula feels absolutely sick. She thinks that one of the servants, likely Ami, had seen her slip out of the treasury. She wasn’t careful. She was foolish and impulsive. She has made things worse.

“I don’ think it’s okay.” Mohi shakes her head. She squeezes Azula’s hand. “Oh chil’, ya didn’t have ta do that.”

.oOo.

They handle her roughly. More roughly than even Snapdragon is used to. Snapdragon may have been lower class filth but she was never a criminal. She is a criminal now though and they have very little regard for her comfort. Her wrists are bruised from their grip and her knees are bruised and scraped from having been shoved to the floor of her new cell.

“I’ll admit, it takes nerves, a certain fire, to steal from the royal family.” One of the guards sneers.

“Never liked that one.” Says the other. “Never liked the glum one either.”

And she is left in darkness, with metal clamped around her hands and feet. It weighs them down so heavily that she thinks they may break. She lays with her cheek pressed against the chilly dirty floor.

She can tell them who she is, but she can’t imagine that they would believe her. They won’t let her show them her fire.

She believes that two or three days pass before she sees anyone aside from the guard delivering her sorry excuse for a meal.  It is so terribly lonely and so dreadfully cold. She misses her freedom. At night she dreams of her factory, of making it to the very top.

She misses the wind in her hair as she leaps from building to building. It dawns on her that she hasn’t done parkour in a good long while. She had taken the simple life for granted. And now she is more restricted than she has ever been. She feels horrible for thinking so, but she wishes that she had never run into Mai again.

At one point she hears Mai arguing for them to let her see her girlfriend and she feels guilty twice over. “Wait until Zuko gets back, wait until he hears about this!” She had vowed. Azula can’t name another instance where Mai had been this passionate. It earns her no prize. No prize save for, “oh I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that you brought a thief into the palace.”

Her stomach is rumbling softly by day five. They have neglected to feed her for the past few days. She begins to wonder if they plan on leaving her to die. She doesn’t remember any laws that punish thieves so steeply, but then she hadn’t really paid attention to exactly what penalties thieves, traitors, and murderers received.

The door to her cell opens. She doesn’t move. Even if she wanted to, the shackles keep her tethered to the floor. The light that spills onto her face is blinding after nearly a week without any light at all.

She doesn’t try to get up, even when the shackles clunk to the floor and away from her wrists and ankles. When she doesn’t move at all, the figure comes closer. She flinches as hands pull her to her feet. These hands are very gentle. Very caring. Those hands pull her into a little hug. “The coins were returned, I don’t see the point in keeping you in here.” Speaks a very familiar voice. “And treating you like this.” She detects a scowl in the woman’s voice. The same sternness that she usually addresses Azula with. But Snapdragon, as far as Ursa knows, is not Azula. And so her voice becomes light again, “let’s get you cleaned up and something to eat.”

Azula winces with each step. But she is very intent on simply walking it off. Walking it off, at least until her ankle twist and she buckles to the floor.

Her mother catches her and gives a wince of her own. “We’ll get you to the infirmary and then get you something to eat. We can get you cleaned up later.”

She scoops Azula up and Azula shakes her head. “I’m fine, I can walk myself.” She insists.

Ursa purses her lips. “Your ankles are very swollen, I shouldn’t have let you walk so soon.”

“I can walk, I’m not weak. I can…”

“Maybe you can.” Ursa smiles. “But you don’t have to. The sooner we get you to the infirmary, the sooner you will get to see Mai and--what was her name--Mohi?”

Azula nods, “Mohi isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“Mohi and her sons are safe.” Ursa replies as she lays Azula upon a vacant infirmary bed. She beckons for a doctor. “Why did you steal from the treasury, Snapdragon?”

“Mohi needed the coins.” She replies.

“Zuko is a generous Fire Lord, you could have asked him. You could have asked me.”

Maybe if Azula hadn’t resurfaced, she would have considered those to be options. Maybe if she didn’t forget that Zuko doesn’t have anything against Snapdragon… Maybe if Azula didn’t exist at all.

She closes her eyes.

Ursa sighs, “you like your independence, don’t you?”

She nods, supposing that, that is a part of it. Even if it is a small part.

And Ursa gives a small laugh. “I guess that, that’s a firebender’s curse. We can never just ask for help or talk about how we feel.”  She takes Azula’s hand.

“I don’t know how to ask for help.” Azula admits. She knows that she needs it so badly and for so many reasons. But she doesn’t know how to request it. Even Snapdragon didn’t really know how to reach out…

Ursa gives her head a sad and small shake. “You’re quite different than her, but you remind me of my daughter.”

[joon-ipersgirl]

O3 - “don’t leave me”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin. 

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own. 

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 10.6k.. lmao

warnings: mentions of anxiety, cursing

a/n: wow it’s been some weeks. school and work are kicking my ass but thank you to that anon who asked if i was still writing. i am. i’m doing my best to balance everything but your comment seriously motivated me to find some time to post this and it is a hell of a long part so i hope that makes up for the semi-hiatus. the next part is my fave part to date and i hope to have that up soon. seriously, all your comments mean the world to me so send them in, even if you think it’s something super small! you could be the difference between something be posted or not lol. anywhooo. thank you again for reading and vi for being my editor in chief. enjoy! :)

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

It was the additional warmth that alerted you that something was wrong. The fogginess of sleep wrestled with your consciousness as your body slowly woke up, the former forcing sleep to tap out. Your legs were cramped beneath you in the seat as you’d curled into yourself, the thin blanket tucked up under your chin like a butterfly in a cocoon. All of these were quite normal, except for the soft material underneath your cheek instead of the scratchy cover of the airline seat. Lifting your head from your makeshift pillow, your eyes focused on the smooth skin of Jimin’s neck. You jerked away, smacking your head against the curve of the airplane. Jimin groaned and turned to face you, his eyes still closed but his eyebrows furrowed.

“Jimin!” you hissed, shoving his shoulder away from you. His upper body was still pressed against your knees. “Get up!”

He finally opened his eyes, confusion was written on his face as he squinted from the soft lights filtering into the plane. Jimin shifted back over to his seat and you sighed in relief, still rubbing the back of your head in an attempt to soothe the sore spot. He shoved his hood from his head and ran his fingers through the soft waves of his hair, a few tufts sticking up out of place.

“Why are you yelling?” he groaned, holding his hands in his head. “It’s early as fuck.”

“I wasn’t yelling. And you were crushing me,” you huffed, attempting to stretch your legs out.

“You weren’t complaining a few moments ago,” he countered, his usual grin looking more adorable as he struggled to fully wake up.

You pursed your lips in irritation. It didn’t seem to take Jimin long to be back on his bullshit, even if he had just woken up. He stretched beside you, toned arms coming up above his head, the hem of his hoodie rising along with them. You turned your head back to the window, not wanting to be caught staring again. So much for avoiding cuddling into his nice, warm body. If he asked, you’d just blame it on the cold air of the plane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent to Hong Kong International Airport. Please secure your tray tables and return your seats to their full upright position. We will be coming through to collect any trash you may still have. Thank you.”

You gasped as you realized you’d overslept and missed the opportunity to have your morning coffee. You rubbed your forehead, already feeling the symptoms of withdrawal hitting you. The in-flight monitor showed that it was almost 10 am in New York, meaning you were already one cup of coffee behind schedule. You could only pray that it wouldn’t take long for the next set of passengers to board and the in-flight services could begin again before your impatience truly reared its ugly head.

Shoving open the little plane window cover, you watched as the cityscape of Hong Kong came into view. The bright lights of the tall skyscrapers looked like lighthouses perched on the corner of cliffs and you awed at its modern beauty. It was almost as breathtaking as flying into New York City. You pulled your phone from your sweatpants’ pocket and took a video as the plane banked left, your brain not too bogged down to recognize a money-making shot when you saw one.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jimin whispered over your shoulder, his voice rough from sleep. You nodded, not turning to look at him, not trusting yourself to face him in your coffee-deprived state and question exactly who or what he was referring to.

With a gentle shudder, the aircraft landed on the tarmac and headed to its destination, the passengers on the flight applauding for your safe arrival. The pilot welcomed you to Hong Kong International Airport, telling you the current local time and temperature, and thanking you for flying with Cathay Airlines. At the ding! of the seatbelt sign disappearing, a few passengers rushed to secure their carry ons, no doubt antsy to make it to their connecting flight. You sank back into your seat, silently urging them on so you could be back in the air and on your way to Indonesia.

“One flight down, only one more to go!” Jimin exclaimed and stepped into the aisle, fully stretching his lean body after double checking no one else was coming behind him. You nodded and combed your fingers through your hair, trying to tame your own bed hair.

After a few idle minutes, you realized that no one else had gotten on the plane. Confused, you propped yourself up to see the front of the plane better. Aside from a few passengers stretching their legs like Jimin, no clean-up crew had boarded to clear the empty seats and restock the plane with food. The rest of the passengers seemed to notice the lack of activity as well.

“Excuse me?” a man a few rows ahead called to a passing stewardess. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes sir. We’re just having a few maintenance issues, but everything should be sorted quickly. No need to worry,” she said with a gentle smile. Maintenance issues? That didn’t sound good.

Jimin slipped back into his seat to let the stewardess pass. “Don’t look so worried, Shutterfly. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

You nodded slowly and chewed on your lip. It was already bad that you hadn’t been able to see the changes Michael had sent, but now it seemed like your arrival in Bali would be delayed, thwarting your plans even further. Would it be wrong to assume Adele’s phone call was to blame for your entire trip taking every possible delay and detour? Maybe Michael’s words had come true and you hadn’t planned well enough, your gifts truly leaving you in your time of need.

You busied myself with folding the airplane blanket and tucking it into the back of the seat in an effort to remain calm. It would eventually all be sorted and you could contact Micahel when you finally landed, possibly even convincing him that you deserved an extension because of circumstances out of your control.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. It seems as though our aircraft is having some slight maintenance problems and we will no longer be able to fly to our final destination on this particular plane. Our crew is working diligently to rectify the issue, but we’re going to have to ask you to please leave the aircraft. If you could make your way to the information desk right outside the gate, our associates would be happy to answer any questions you may have about getting you to your final destination. Thank you,” the announcement came over the speakers. An audible groan echoed from the remaining passengers.

“Well, fuck,” Jimin commented, shoving his book and hoodie into his backpack. “What a great surprise,” he mumbled.

You didn’t move. It was as though her words hadn’t truly registered and you blinked a few more times before you honestly understood what was happening. You were going to be late to Bali, your entire itinerary thrown off, not to mention whatever else you needed to add to the video. Your accommodations there would be gone and your deposits with it. Fuck. The familiar tug of anxiety filled your chest as you watched it rise and fall, your breaths coming much easier than you expected, though you felt you’d been submerged underwater for a few minutes. Tears pricked the back of your eyelids as you tried not to cry from frustration.

“Shutterfly! Are you coming?” Jimin was already halfway up the aisle, his old backpack slung low on his shoulders as he checked for your whereabouts, holding up the small line that formed behind him.

You grabbed your backpack and shoved your feet back into your sneakers, double-checking the time on your phone. As soon as you got off the plane, you needed to call Michael and update him on the situation. Though you knew he wouldn’t be upset with you, the gnawing feeling of guilt hung around your shoulders as you shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers.

Hong Kong International Airport would have stolen your breath away had you been paying proper attention. You took a sharp left after entering the actual terminal, looking for an empty seat in a quiet space where you would be able to hear Michael over the protests of irritated passengers. Dialing his number, you waited for the call to go through but it didn’t. You tried again, the same “call failed” message popping up on the screen. Checking the number of bars on your phone showed you that you didn’t have any service. You stared at your phone, baffled. It wouldn’t even connect to the wifi. What in the good Lord’s name were you supposed to do now?

You slumped against the sleek metal column until your body hit the floor in defeat, your brain too frazzled to come up with any bright ideas. Unease wrapped her familiar fingers around your shoulders again. Her gentle whispers echoed in your mind as the uncertainty of the situation before you gripped you tightly. You felt stranded with her on a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and she was your only company. You drew your knees into your chest, trying to disappear as if that would make anything better. Frustration grew into anger and tears welled up in your eyes as you pushed up from the ground, backpack secured firmly in your grip, and marched over to the nearest Cathay employee.

“Excuse me?” he turned to face you with a warm smile.

“Yes, ma’am. How may I help you?” he asked.

“Hi. I was on the flight from JFK with the final destination to Bali. They said the plane has some maintenance issues? What’s going to happen now? How soon can I get on a flight out of here?” You tried your best to keep your tone neutral as he continued smiling at you.

“First, I’d like to apologize for the inconvenience. Second, we’re not actually sure -” your eyes widened, “- but we’re doing everything we can to fix things,” he finished.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked. “So am I just supposed to stay in the airport until you guys fix this?”

“Well, we currently have no flights leaving for Bali that have available seats on them -”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me that I might have to stay in Hong Kong overnight?” You did nothing to try to hide the panic in your voice, forgetting that you were in a public place.

“It’s quite possible, Miss. Again, I’m very sorry -”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then? I can’t sleep here!” you wailed, cutting him off again. His eyebrows turned down in annoyance. You were probably being rude, but at this moment in time, you couldn’t give a fuck. You were in an unfamiliar country, where they spoke an unfamiliar language, under extremely unfamiliar circumstances. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“If you could follow me, I can see if we have any complimentary hotel rooms available as this cancellation was not your fault,” he said, the cheerful customer service tone gone.

You followed him to the Cathay Airlines desk in front of the gate and wrapped your arms around yourself as he spoke with his colleague. It offered no comfort and you bounced with nervous energy as you waited for his verdict. You started to count the number of passengers you recognized from your flight when someone brushed against you and you jumped, your body hyper-aware of any small movement.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Jimin. You sighed and relaxed your shoulders slightly. “You disappeared on me. Is everything okay? You look kind of ill,” he trailed off. You scowled at him and crossed your arms tightly.

“Thank you, Jimin. That’s just what anyone wants to hear during a time like this,” you said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and mumbled a small apology. “How are you not upset about this?” you asked, gesturing to the rest of the people.

He shrugged. “Things change, life happens. Nothing we can really do about it. Just have to figure out the next step. Have you gotten any updates about a new flight leaving?” you nodded.

“He’s supposed to let me know, but it doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good news,” you replied, chewing on your lip again.

“So we could be stuck here overnight?”

“It’s quite possible,” you told him bitterly, repeating the same words said to you. Jimin hummed in thought and excused himself, promising he would be right back. It was at this moment that the employee returned, his colleague in tow.

“Well, Miss -”

“Y/L/N,” you filled in.

“Miss. Y/L/N, my name is Joy and I am a manager at Cathay Airlines. Again, I would like to apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. Unfortunately, all of our complimentary rooms have been given away at this moment in time and it seems as though our next departing flight to Bali, Indonesia with available seats will not be leaving until tomorrow afternoon. As of right now, I can only offer you a discount on your next flight with us and a free upgrade to business class,” she finished, her smile almost as sorry as the deal she was offering you.

You inhaled deeply and tried to swallow the bitterness threatening to spill from your lips. The combination of anxiety, anger, and coffee withdrawal had left you with nothing kind to say and Adele had been around enough to teach you good manners.

“Well Jennie, that fucking sucks. Are there any places you could recommend that have available spaces? Or a partner airline that could - I don’t know - actually have working planes and could get me to my final destination?” you asked, some of the bitterness slipping in there somehow. Jennie’s smile tightened just as Jimin returned.

“Sorry, she’s not really a morning person,” he said apologizing and tucking you tightly under his arm. “You said there were no flights available until tomorrow afternoon, correct?”

“Yes, sir. We’re doing our best to get everyone on their way as soon as we can,” she answered, her smile brightening at his presence.

“I’m sure you are -” he leaned down slightly to read her name tag, “- Joy. If you could be so kind as to make sure that we’re sitting together whenever you sort those arrangements out, I would seriously appreciate it.” You opened your mouth to protest but Joy was already agreeing.

“Of course Mr. -“

“Park,”

“Park?” She stared at him puzzled before her eyes lit up. “That’s Korean, isn’t it? Do you speak Korean?” she asked excitedly. “I’ve been trying to practice.” You stared at her incredulously, but Jimin entertained the conversation to your dismay.

“As a matter of fact, I do. How long have you -“

“Jimin,” you butted in, twisting in his grip. “Joy is a busy woman. In fact, she was about to go and get some information about places to stay since there are no flights leaving today. I’m sure you could have this conversation -“

“Oh, no need to worry about that, Shutterfly. I’ve already got that taken care of, but you’re right. Joy is a busy woman so we should let her get back to work,” Jimin said, beaming down at you, his smile easing some of your pent up frustration.

“David,” Joy turned to the man who had originally tried to help me, “please add Miss. Y/L/N under Mr. Park’s reservation for tomorrow’s flight.”

“I’ll need your first name, Miss. Y/L/N,” David told you. “For security purposes,” he added after you continued to stare at him without giving an answer.

“Can’t you just look it up under the old reservation?”

“Oh come on, Shutterfly. Don’t be difficult. Don’t you want to go grab some breakfast?” Jimin cooed while squeezing your shoulder. You’re sure you looked like any angry bull as your nostrils flared. Of course, the Universe would be on Jimin’s side to have it so that you couldn’t not give him your name if you wanted to secure a seat that Joy seemed so determined to give Jimin. Getting to Bali as soon as possible trumped holding out on Jimin. Unfortunately.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you grumbled, arms still crossed, and pouted at your game ending. Jimin’s smile widened and David nodded, heading back to the desk to input the information.

“Thank you so much, Joy. For everything,” Jimin emphasized and squeezed your shoulder again. “Good luck with your Korean!” he added and started to steer you away.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Park! Please enjoy your time in Hong Kong!” she called after you. Jimin pulled you away from the crowd and you struggled to keep up as one of his steps was almost two of yours.

“Jimin, slow down!” you yelled and finally tugged his arm from around you. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“To get breakfast. What do you mean? Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, confused as he stared down at you.

“Jimin, what about the rest of our luggage? Well, I don't know if you did, but I have a checked bag. I can’t just leave -”

“Y/N,” the way your name sounds coming from his mouth had you pausing, your own mouth open mid-sentence, “your luggage is fine. They hold it until you can get on the next flight. You still have the original tag they gave you, right?” You nodded. “Then you’re all set. Come on! You’ll think and feel better once you have some food in you. And some coffee.”

At the mention of your favorite beverage, you let Jimin lace his fingers through your own and lead you further through the international arrivals terminal in search of somewhere to eat. You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair again, dodging the occasional traveler in this unfamiliar airport, in an unfamiliar city, with a slightly less unfamiliar man for company.

Though Jimin was optimistic about finding breakfast at 2:30 am, you were not. After walking through the terminal for 25 minutes and trying to convince Jimin that no sane business would be open right now - to which he responded that there had to be at least one - he had finally given up after passing the same vending machine for the second time.

“Okay, maybe you were right,” he mumbled and set his bag on the floor as he plopped down into an empty seat at a vacated gate and you hummed in agreement. He pushed his hand through his hair and let his head fall over the edge of the seat. You checked your phone again to see if you had any service, and was disappointed to see that there still wasn’t. You sighed quietly and sat next to Jimin.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“You’re chewing your lip again,” he pointed out. Your cheeks warmed as you realized he was right and you released your lower lip. You were surprised he had noticed your unconscious behavior and you resisted the urge to do it again, instead settling on playing with the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I just - I have a really big project to complete in Bali and with this delay, I’m not sure if I can get it all done. I’ve been trying to get in touch with my manager, but my stupid fucking phone doesn’t have any stupid service right now so I -”

“Do you want to use mine?” he asked, cutting you off and offering you his phone. You stared at him. “Seriously, no worries. I have an international plan that automatically connects when I travel. Here,” he said while unlocking his phone and shoving it into your hands. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for you to say yes before he was already halfway down the hallway. You tapped the screen of his phone before it locked again and dialed Michael’s number, grateful for the privacy. Bouncing your leg, you prayed he would answer the unknown number.

“Michael Callahan. Who is this?”

“Oh, Michael!” You sobbed out in relief after finally hearing his voice.

“Y/N? Is everything okay? What happened to your phone?” he asked, the concern quite evident in his voice. “Were you robbed?! Oh my gosh, Y/N -”

“No, Michael!” you assured him. “For some reason, my phone plan isn’t working. I’m using someone else’s right now.”

“Oh, that blasted Phillip. I told him to make sure your phone plan was taken care of as I had to step into a meeting - you know I would have done it myself - and I guess he forgot. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ll get Elise on it right now. Elise!” he screamed away from the phone for his secretary. “You’re in Bali now, right?” he confirmed.

“Um, no. Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?”

“Well, the plane had some maintenance issues and they couldn’t fly us out tonight. I’m in Hong Kong instead. We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow,” you explained.

“By yourself?! Where are you going to sleep? Oh honey no! Let me see what -”

“I’m not technically by myself,” you mumbled, just as Jimin was making his way towards you.

“What do you mean by ‘technically’, Y/N?” Michael asked.

“Just another passenger. It’s his phone I’m using. He seems nice,” you trailed off as Jimin sat down next to you, not wanting to talk about him while he was sitting within earshot. He flashed you a thumbs up and you returned it awkwardly, trying to calm down Michael’s growing apprehension.

“Y/N, you can’t just walk around Hong Kong with a stranger! And a man that you barely know?! Honey, how are you going to survive?” you rolled your eyes as the dramatics started to roll in. “You don’t even know Cantonese. If we’re quite honest, you can barely speak Korean. I knew Adele should have -”

“Weren’t you the one who told me to live in the moment? I’ll be okay Michael, just please get my phone on as soon as possible and add an additional travel notice on the card for Hong Kong so I can get something to eat. I’ll text you every hour on the hour with updates. This is Jimin’s number. Save it if you need to call me and my phone isn’t working. Thank you, Michael. You’re the best! I love you!” you hung up before he could protest.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin asked warily.

“Yep!” you chirped. “Absolutely!” Jimin’s eyes widened at your quick change in demeanor. “What do we do now?” Though it was almost 3:30 am and your stomach had started to grumble; your body was still on Eastern Standard Time.

“Well, I have a friend who lives here. He owns a hostel maybe 35 minutes away? I know we need some place to stay and I called him, explained what happened, and he’s more than willing to put us up for the night. I’m not sure if you’re down, but I knew it would be a lot cheaper than whatever hotel Joy was going to offer,” he replied.

You hesitated. Jimin was very much so a stranger. You had only had, at most, three full conversations. You only knew his first and last name, no idea what his actual occupation was and didn’t even know where he was from. He could quite honestly be some maniac looking to lure a pure, innocent girl to her doom. That girl being you. You bit your lip. Then again, you were already here alone, and if you didn’t go with Jimin, you would be alone in the very large, very empty Hong Kong International Airport. Deciding to take Michael’s words to heart, you decided to enjoy the moment and sent up a silent prayer that God had not decided your life would end at the hands of a certain toned-thighed man in the middle of the night.

“No, that sounds great. Thank you for including me,” you told him. He nodded and smiled.

“Of course. I’ll tell him to come get us.”

45 minutes later, you and Jimin were seated in the back of William Xiao’s trusty pickup truck along with his trusty sidekick Rosaline, a golden retriever. You had pictured William to be a younger man around Jimin’s age, but he was actually older - around mid-fifties - with greying hair. He navigated the streets of the city of Victoria easily in the early morning, the traffic was light as most people were still asleep. It was your favorite time and you felt relaxed against the leather seats as the wind lifted your hair, a small smile on your face. The tall skyscrapers glided past as you zoomed down the highway.

“So how long are you staying in Hong Kong this time, Chim?” William asked as he took the next exit.

“Ah, not long actually. We leave tomorrow hopefully,” Jimin responded, glancing over at you.

“And you’re going where again?”

“Bali. In Indonesia,” he repeated. William seemed to be a little forgetful and you chuckled at the thought.

“Right, right. And how long are you two staying there for?” he asked again.

“I’m not sure about Y/N,” his leg bumped against yours as William turned left, “but I’ll be there for maybe 2 weeks? I haven’t decided yet,” Jimin replied.

“Um, I’m there for 10 days. Well, I guess 9 now,” you corrected. You tried not to think about the impromptu changes. William nodded and continued driving through the empty streets, the car silent until Rosaline started barking.

“Oh be quiet old girl. I know we are almost home,” he hushed her and patted her head, her tail wagging excitedly in the seat.

William slowed and pulled his truck over to the side of the street. You stared out the window confused as you could only see small eateries. The street was actually filled with them, with everything from noodles to dumplings and rice bowls. Your mouth watered at the sight, though they all seemed to be closed and you frowned.

“Where’s the hostel?” you asked Jimin, turning to face him as William hopped out of his truck.

“You’re looking at it,” Jimin said and pointed to a narrow doorway right in front of where the truck was parked. Your brows deepened further in confusion. He laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”

He exited the truck and you accepted his hand as you hopped down and shut the door, the distance much greater for you than Jimin. Rosaline greeted you on the sidewalk and you and Jimin showered her with love as she ran between you, clearly happy about the attention.

“Alright, Rosie. Calm down. You are going to wake the customers up,” William chided as he walked up the three steps of the narrow doorway and entered a passcode before ushering the three of you inside. He used a set of keys to open the second door and you entered the small lobby.

William’s hostel was airy and light, the pale grey walls with turquoise accents complementing each other well. A tiny front desk sat next to a glass door that read “Office” and a few turquoise chairs were positioned on the opposite side of the room. Different abstract paintings lined the wall above them, adding a touch of personality to the otherwise simple room. You were taken aback by how much space actually seemed to be available for use.

“This is lovely,” you complimented, walking over to get a better look. “I really like the artwork.” William beamed at you.

“Why thank you! They were a gift from Jimin,” he added. Jimin received the praise awkwardly and focused his attention on scratching Rosaline’s tummy.

Suddenly, the office door burst open and a petite woman stomped out while loudly whispering in what you assumed to be Cantonese. The two had a heated exchange while she angrily waved about a set of chopsticks and you worried she might poke poor William’s eyes out. It was only after William gestured behind him towards you that she peeked around William and spotted Jimin. Her face immediately brightened and she nearly ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and giving him a tight squeeze. Jimin laughed as the two of them exchanged words and you stared at him in wonder at his knowledge of the native language. It was then that she finally noticed you.

“Uh, hi,” you said shyly, your face heating up slightly. You waved at her. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She looked at Jimin expectantly. He translated and she nodded and waved back at you. You smiled.

“Y/N, this is Sonia, William’s wife. They run the hostel together,” Jimin explained.

“My wife only knows a little English. I am sorry,” William started to apologize.

“Oh no! Please don’t apologize. I’m sure we can communicate somehow,” you waved him off. Sonia said something to Jimin again and turned to you.

“Hungry?” she asked and made the motion to eat. You nodded furiously and she grinned. She beckoned you to follow her and took your hand, leading you to the office. Your eyes widened as you passed Jimin and he gave you an encouraging smile. He mouthed that he would be right there.

The office space was compact but functional. There was a little table and cushions as seats, a small refrigerator in the corner, and a few file cabinets tucked against the wall. Sonia gestured to the table for you to sit as she passed through another door, bringing three sets of chopsticks and bowls with her. You made to stand and help her, but she shooed you away so you sat quietly as she set the table. Jimin entered and you smiled at him, reassured at his presence.

“You didn’t tell me you could speak Cantonese!” you declared.

“You never asked,” he replied with a shrug as he sat across from you. “William’s gone to find us a room. I’m not sure if he has one with double occupancy, but he said he would check and see. I hope that’s okay.” You nodded as Sonia returned and placed a steaming plate of noodles in front of you.

“You eat, yes?” she asked. You nodded again and Sonia smiled as she served you and Jimin a large helping. You thanked her, grateful, and tucked in. Moaning in delight, you almost missed the way Jimin’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

“What?!” you giggled. “It’s really, really good.” Jimin only chuckled as he filled his mouth with food. Sonia set some drinks down in front of you before she sat down herself.

“How long have you and William been working at the hostel?” you asked after your stomach no longer felt like it was touching your spine.

“20 years,” Jimin translated around a mouth full of noodles.

“Wow! And you’ve been married that long too?”

“They’ve been married for 35 actually. Sonia used to work as a chef before she started helping William out,” Jimin answered.

You silently awed at her resilience and courage. Sonia was probably married at your age and starting a family while you were here wallowing in self-pity over a man who had proved to you time and time again that he didn’t want you. You shook the thoughts from your head so as to not ruin the end of a great night and instead focused on the flavor of Sonia’s cooking, the spiciness of the sauce welcomed.

The three of you made small talk as Jimin translated for Sonia and yourself. She was a remarkable woman who was headstrong and did as she pleased, much to the dismay of her husband. Her beauty did not leave her as she showed you some pictures from when she and William first got together; her face remained the same except for a few deep smile lines and the occasional silver streak through her shoulder-length hair. The two of them balanced each other out and you could only admire their love story as Jimin helped her with the dishes in the other room and Rosaline came to rest her head on your thighs.

“Well, it seems like I only have one room available for the two of you. I hope that is okay, Y/N,” William said as he poked his head around the door. He sniffed. “Was that black bean noodles?” You nodded and giggled as he called for Sonia, heading through the other open door. Jimin emerged with a key in his hand, snickering.

“William is quite upset Sonia didn’t save him some black bean noodles, though I’m sure I saw her set some aside for him in the fridge,” he laughed. “I told them I’d tell you goodnight. He told you about the room?”

“Yeah,” you replied, still petting Rosaline’s head and lost in your thoughts.

“Alright, I guess we can go then. It’s almost 5:45 am and we should definitely get some sleep to be on Hong Kong time.”

“What was it that you said? ‘Reset the Circadian rhythm before Bali’ was it?” you asked, mocking him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed your backpack.

“You’ll thank me one day, Shutterfly,” he warned as he held the office door open for you. “This way.”

You followed Jimin past the tiny desk and into the main common area with a little lounge and kitchen area set up for breakfast; you beamed when you saw the pots of coffee all cleaned and ready to go. Your body buzzed in anticipation and you couldn’t wait to smell the dark roast in the morning. You continued through to a set of stairs and climbed up to the fourth floor, your legs protesting another step as you realized how truly out of shape you were.

Room 408 was basically nonexistent. You had heard about the tiny rooms in Asia, but actually seeing one was astonishing. A thin wardrobe stood facing the bathroom door which was equally as boxy, but you were grateful that you didn’t have to share as you had heard other hostels do. The walls were painted the same grey color as downstairs but lacked the artwork. The full-sized bed took up the majority of the space in the room, a small nightstand table on its right side. You bit my lip as you thought about having to share the bed with Jimin, knowing how cramped we already were on the plane.

“Isn’t this cute?” Jimin murmured as he set your bags at the foot of the bed after shutting the door and held up the two small plush bears sitting on top of the towels. You laughed uncomfortably as you took the toy from him and set it on the dresser.

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” you asked quietly, standing in the middle of the room, tugging on the sleeves of your hoodie.

“Nope,” Jimin replied, popping the ‘p’. “Lady’s choice.” He gestured to the bed and you blushed.

“Cool, well do you mind if I take a shower first?” He shook his head as he pulled out his book and phone charger. “Cool, cool. I’ll be fast,” you told him and shut yourself in the bathroom quickly with your backpack and one of the towels.

You exhaled and massaged your scalp as you tried to channel tranquility. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only sleeping in a bed with a man. Something you’d done numerous times, both platonically and romantically throughout your life. This would be nothing different. Except it was Jimin. A man that knew how to adjust AF fine-tune on pricey cameras, read books for fun, and also spoke multiple languages. You groaned and turned on the hot water. You thought you had shut all thoughts of Jimin away in that tiny airplane stall, but you guess you’d missed a few stragglers.

The water pressure was weak when you stepped in but you were appreciative that the water was still hot at this time in the morning. You took a quick shower, wanting to save some of it for Jimin. It was steamy when you stepped out and you wiped the oval mirror clear with your hands. Your hair was slightly damp and your skin was flushed from the steam. You tugged on the sleep shirt you’d packed in your bag yesterday morning as well as a clean pair of panties that you always carried in your carry on in times of emergencies, glad you’d remembered to do so for this trip. Jimin turned his head towards you as you cracked the door open to peer around it, shielding your lower body from his gaze.

“All done?” he asked. You nodded. “I think Michael texted you? Oh, and the password for the wifi is written here, just in case you need it,” he said, holding up a piece of paper from the nightstand. You nodded again.

“Don’t look,” You told him quite seriously, pointing a warning finger towards him.

“Are you going to poke me with your finger if I don’t?” he teased, turning your words back on you and you were glad that your skin was already flushed so he couldn’t tell you were embarrassed again. “I’ll step out so you can sort out what you need. Shout when you’re done.” He padded out into the hallway and slowly closed the door behind him. You sighed in gratitude and slipped out of the bathroom, double-checking your cameras were still okay before plugging your phone charger into an outlet and diving under the covers.

“You can come in!” you yelled. Jimin double-checked that the coast was clear before he locked the door behind him and rummaged through his things. As he entered the bathroom, you set up the wifi on your phone and thumbed a quick message to Michael telling him you were safe and well-fed. His message came immediately after.

Michael: Thank God! I was so worried. What is this Jimin’s last name? You know we can never be too careful. [6:01].

Park. He seems alright. I took a shower and he didn’t try to kill me so I guess that’s a good sign. [6:02]

Michael: Y/N, this is no time to make jokes about your life; I’ve already asked for his social security number to give to police if anything seems suspicious. Please send me the address of where you are, just in case. Also, Elise said that your phone should be working now. What time are you supposed to leave Hong Kong? [6:04].

Michael you can’t just ask people that! Tell her I said thank you. And I will. I’ll get it from William in the morning. They’re supposed to put us on a flight tomorrow afternoon. I’ll update you as I find out more. It’s six in the morning here and I need to reset my Circadian rhythm apparently [6:06].

I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk about the video after I look at the suggestions [6:07].

Michael: If you’re alive by then… [6:07].

Michael: And who is this William?! Why are there so many men where you are and why was I not invited?! [6:08].

Michael! And William is the guy who owns the hostel. He’s like 55 and MARRIED. [6:08].

Michael: As if that’s ever stopped me ;) [6:09].

Michael: Kidding! Sort of. Please call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is. Be safe. Love you Y/N [6:09].

Even though you’re probably going to Hell, love you Michael [6:10].

You locked your phone just as Jimin exited the bathroom, steam wafting from behind him. Black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband of his Calvin Kleins peeking through as he finished towel drying his hair. His thin grey shirt clung to his chest from it not being completely dry and you sank further into the sheets. You covered your face and took a deep breath. It was just one night together in the same bed. It would all be fine.

“Did you get to talk to Michael?” he asked while sitting on the edge of the bed. You nodded. “Good. I didn’t want him to think I had kidnapped you and held you hostage before I murdered you.” You snorted as you sat up.

“He didn’t actually say that,” you laughed. “Right?” You stopped when Jimin didn’t correct you. “Oh my gosh, Jimin! I’m so sorry. Michael is almost as dramatic as he is protective and I’m sure he didn’t mean to -”

“Jimin?” Of course, he would focus on only one part of what you said.

“That’s your name isn’t it? What people call you?” you asked, fidgeting with the end of the sheet, now wondering if you’d missed something.

“Yes, but I like the way you say it more,” he said with a grin, his wavy hair falling into his eyes. You groaned and threw the other small plush bear at him. He caught it easily.

“Are you always like this?” you interrogated.

“Like what? Devilishly handsome?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you and you laughed again.

“No, extremely insufferable,” you replied. He laughed and the sound bounced off the walls, wrapping you up in its tone. He covered his mouth to try and stifle the sound. His grin cracked through him biting his lip, and you bit your own in response.

“For someone who finds me so insufferable, you sure do mirror my actions a lot,” he said with a chuckle. You released your lower lip and blushed.

“You are so cocky, Park Jimin!”

“I mean, once you Jim-in, you can’t Jim-out!” He shot you the finger guns before he realized what he had actually said. “I mean, not that I’m trying to fuck you -” your eyes widened “- I mean, if you’re down for that then I am too. 100%. Like seriously, fuck. I just meant that it wasn’t my intention to -” you hollered into the pillow as the words tumbled from his mouth. His smile was shy as he stood from the bed and set the bear on the nightstand with its partner. “We should go to sleep,” he mumbled and switched off the light. He cursed as he stubbed his toe on the corner of the wrought iron bed frame and you could only continue giggling at his misfortune.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” he said into the dark, his voice much closer than you expected. “Did you set an alarm?” You shook your head and he set one on his phone as he plugged both of your phones up to charge. He scooted back down and wiggled around like a dog circling their bed until he was comfortable, his back now facing you. “Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“Goodnight Jimin,” you breathed.

You laid still on your back, your arms crossed over your stomach as you listened to Jimin’s breathing slow. The space between you was microscopic and you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body as the air conditioning blasted from the unit in the window. You turned over onto your side gingerly, facing the wall. It had been a while since you were in bed with a man and Jimin’s flustered words echoed in your brain as you pressed my thighs together. Speculating that he was interested in you was one thing, but having him admit it - even if it was only sexually - was conflicting. You scrunched your eyes shut tight as you locked away any inappropriate thoughts of what it would be like to not “Jim-out”.

You sighed in content as you pressed your body closer to his chest. One of his strong arms wrapped around your torso, the other tucked under your head, and his breath tickled the back of your neck as he quietly snored behind you. Your fingers traced along the curve of his palm while your brain slowly came to. Your legs were tangled under the sheet, intertwined with one another as you ran your foot up the back of his calf, surprised by the lack of hair you felt; Tiago’s legs were never this smooth.

Squinting in the lazy haze of the sunlight that peeked from underneath the curtain above you, you turned over. Instead of seeing tight blond curls lying against the pillow, you were met with the faint traces of black bean noodles and soft black waves. Opening your eyes properly, your eyes focused on Jimin’s parted lips. You jolted as you realized his soft embrace had caused you to remember your moments with Tiago. You stiffened when Jimin’s hand tightened around your waist and he pressed his hand against the small of your back, your t-shirt having ridden up in the middle of the night. It was then that you realized his own t-shirt had been discarded and your arms were trapped against his chest, his gold chain pooled around his neck.

Shit. You didn’t want to wake him, but you needed to get out of his hold, the triggering memories of Tiago too much to handle in this state. You tried to gently press against his chest with your arms, but Jimin only shuffled closer. You watched his eyebrows furrow in discomfort as your legs bumped one another’s before he ran his hand over the curve of your ass, along the back of your thigh, and hooked your leg over his hip. Your hips were perfectly aligned. You held your breath as Jimin exhaled, his face neutral, at peace and he rested his head on top of yours.

You pushed against his chest again and he groaned softly in his sleep as he rolled onto his back, not forgetting to bring your leg with him. Your head was against his bare chest and you heard the soft thump! of his heart. You closed your eyes and listened to it, lost in its steady beat for a moment before you remembered that you were trying to get out of his grasp and not succumb to it.

Pressing up onto your elbow, you double-checked he was still sleeping before you shifted to hover over him. Your knees were over his hips taking all of your weight as you tried your best not to press into the pillow with your hands, but not letting your ass brush against his lower abdomen. His abdominal muscles were almost as tight as the ones in his thighs and just as defined. You remembered his comment suggesting you should have asked to sit in his lap and you bit back a smile at your current predicament. Jimin shifted beneath you again and you froze, your smile dropping. He settled again and you exhaled; your heart couldn’t handle the back and forth.

The vibration of your phone startled you and you stumbled out of the bed to silence the call, nearly dragging the rest of the sheets off Jimin.

“Hello?” you answered in a whisper. You adjusted the sheets around his sleeping frame as he rolled over onto this stomach, his arm stretching out into your vacated spot.

“Y/N, why haven’t you called me back?” Adele’s voice rang out over the line. Had you seen it was her, you would have ignored the call. You slipped into the bathroom after grabbing your toothbrush and prayed the door would muffle some of the conversation.

“I’ve been on a plane, Adele. I haven't exactly had service to call anyone,” you stated, matter-of-factly.

“Well, where are you now? And why are you speaking so quietly?” she questioned.

“A hostel in Hong Kong. I don’t want to -”

“Hostel?!” she shrieked. “Oh Y/N darling, I know I raised you better than to wallow in low-class establishments like hostels,” she continued. You could picture the look of disgust on her face. You did not have enough energy to deal with her in your coffee-withdrawn state. Your temper was short.

“It’s actually very clean. We all can’t afford to live in unnecessary luxury like you, Adele,” you said while brushing your teeth. You spat at the thought of her in her high-end clothes and brownstone home paid for by different men.

“Your brother didn’t seem to mind the high-end luxury when he was here,” she replied smugly. you paused.

“When he was where?” you asked.

“Home. With me.” Her shit-eating tone was quite evident. “But you wouldn’t have known that.”

“Milo came home?” you asked again in disbelief.

Your relationship with your younger brother wasn’t as strained as your mother’s, but you weren’t on the best of terms either. You hadn’t seen him in five years. You still remembered how peaceful he looked as he slept when you kissed him goodbye. His calls and messages eventually stopped after a few months of you not answering.

“Of course he came home,” Adele snapped. “Miles enjoys spending time with his mother.”

You ignored her dig towards me. “How long is he staying?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Maybe you should have told me you were in New York and not run off on the next available flight -”

“You know, at this point, I’m not convinced Milo even came by. You’re just gaslighting me to come home after all these years and it’s not going to happen, Adele. Stop wasting your time and stop calling my phone outside of emergencies,” your voice slightly raised as you rinsed your toothbrush off in the sink.

“You’ve become so bitter, Y/N. I never forced you to leave; you left on your own accord -”

“You didn’t want me!” you yelled into the phone.

“If that’s what you want to believe, then fine,” she said indifferently. “I’ll prove to you I wasn’t lying about Milo,” she sneered. She never liked the nickname you gave her son. Her prized possession.

“Don’t call him that,” you growled, the emotion welling up in your chest.

“I’ll call him whatever I want. You’re lucky I was in a good mood when I gave him your number and I hadn’t spoken to you before -”

“Goodbye, Adele.” You hung up the phone and braced yourself against the sink.

Your body shook as you tried to process what exactly had occurred. Milo was back in New York. Your precious baby brother was back home. Unless Adele was manipulating you again, Milo could be reaching back out after you had fucked your relationship up. She had given him your number. A sob wracked your shoulders and you covered your mouth to stifle the sound. Silent tears ran down your cheeks and you wiped them away furiously, upset that you were wasting tears on a situation so old.

“Shutterfly?” you gasped as you turned to face the door, a sleepy Jimin poking his head around it. “Hey, are you okay? You weren’t in bed - Wait, are you crying?” He pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

“No,” you lied and turned back to the sink, splashing your face with cold water. You pleaded with the Lord that he wouldn’t be able to see your shoulders shake as you tried to control your breathing. You shut off the water as Jimin turned you to face him.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He held your face in his hands, searching it for the answer to his question. You felt small under his gaze and extremely conscious of the little amount of clothes you were both wearing. You shook your head, trying to tell him it was nothing, that you were fine. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Can I give you a hug instead?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’d prefer if you didn’t right now.” He stroked his thumbs against your cheeks once more before he let go and stepped back. You didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment that flashed against his face as he nodded. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, finally feeling like you were back in control. “I would prefer if you brushed your teeth though. Your breath smells like noodles,” tiy said as you squeezed past him.

Jimin’s 10:30 am alarm went off as you were heading downstairs for breakfast, his teeth brushed and both of you dressed. You practically sprinted to the coffee machine and chose the biggest cup possible. There were a few other guests milling around the lounge area as breakfast was officially over, but Sonia had prepared something extra for you and Jimin knowing we were still extremely jetlagged, the 12 hour time difference taking a toll on your bodies.

Jimin was dressed casually again. A pair of olive green slim cargo shorts, an oversized black t-shirt, and the same black, white, and grey Jordans on his feet. His hair fell into his face as he helped himself to the instant noodles and fried egg Sonia served him, the two of them looking like mother and son as they chatted. It seemed as though Jimin also followed the same “pack additional clothes in your carry on” rule.

You sighed as you took your first sip of coffee, hugging the cup protectively between both hands. Closing your eyes in bliss, you let the hot drink soothe your nerves from last night and this morning, your conversation with Adele almost a distant memory. The energy flowed through you as you opened your laptop to read Julia’s updates, finally feeling prepared to handle whatever was thrown at you.

Hello Y/N!

Julia here. Thank you again for taking on our project. Michael was right to recommend you; your portfolio is absolutely stunning. As you know, we’re looking to promote our getaway package in Bali. Though we do want high-quality content, the company was wondering if you would be able to deliver a more “amateur” romantic feel. We’re marketing towards couples and would love to see some shots that represent that. You don’t have to be in any of the shots yourself, but it would be great if you could! I understand this is quite short notice, but I have complete faith in your ability to deliver.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions!

Best,

Julia.

She had attached a few photographs of smiling couples on the beach and at dinner for reference. You groaned and rubbed your temples. You didn’t think there was enough coffee in the world that would be able to address these minor inconveniences. Intimacy was not your thing. Romance was not your thing. Love was not your thing, and yet here Julia was telling you to make those things a thing. A reality. You gulped down another mouthful of coffee, burning your tongue in the process.

“Food?” Sonia asked, pushing a plate across the wooden bench table in front of you. You smiled in thanks and began eating though not really tasting the food. Jimin’s eyes watched you carefully and you sighed, already knowing he was going to ask you if you were okay.

“Just work stuff, Jimin, nothing to worry about,” you said.

“You make it hard to not worry about you though,” he murmured, avoiding your eyes. “Sonia said you shouldn’t be working while you’re here, that you need to enjoy the city before you go,” he added.

“Tell her I have a really big project to complete and I appreciate her concern, but I can’t just ignore work,” you replied, pushing your fried egg around your bowl. Jimin translated again and Sonia shook her head before walking away. You hoped you hadn’t offended her.

“Is this for your Saipan video?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I got contracted by a travel company to create a “vlog” type advertisement for a getaway package they’re selling to Bali. Julia, the contact, sent over some new additions while we were on the flight and I’m not sure how I’m going to get it done, but they expect me to deliver, especially since Michael recommended me,” you finished.

“What exactly do you have to do?”

“Basically be in love and capture it on film.” Your mouth turned down in disgust at the thought. Jimin laughed at you. You turned your laptop to face him so he could read the email to show him you weren't joking.

“That doesn’t seem so hard,” he commented after he was done.

“For you.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Love is a beautiful thing. It’s everywhere if you think about it. I mean, look at Sonia and William. Don’t you remember the first time you fell in love? The pleasure it brought you, the happiness. You can’t tell me you don’t want to experience love like that again,” he said seriously.

You faked thinking about it. “Nope. I think I’m good.” You stood and poured yourself a second cup of coffee, wishing you could pour all the memories of Tiago down the drain. Especially after this morning. You tugged on your ears, the blood rushing to them as usual.

“That’s what you think, but I’m sure I can change your mind,” he said with his shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Shutterfly. All you need is my true love and affection -” Jimin was interrupted by Sonia dragging William over to you, an envelope in her hands. She shoved it in his and waited for him to start speaking.

“Uh,” William scratched the back of his head, “Sonia wanted me to give these to you.” He handed the envelope to you. Sonia smacked his shoulder and gestured for him to continue before she turned her expectant gaze on you. “She said you should not worry about work and you should go and enjoy Hong Kong so she is gifting you with tickets to the Hong Kong Museum of Fine Art. It is a ten-minute walk and Jimin can show you his -”

“- favorite exhibits. Right. Thank you, William and Sonia,” Jimin interjected.

“You’ll go, right?” Sonia asked eagerly. You opened your mouth to protest but didn’t have the heart to say no to her in her bunny apron. Not when she had worked so hard to make sure you were comfortable and well-fed. But also because you didn’t want her to attack you with her wooden chopsticks. You nodded and she clapped in excitement before she started going off a mile a minute at William who cowered slightly away from her. Jimin chuckled at their interaction.

“Isn’t love amazing, Y/N?” he said wistfully as he cleared the table. You rolled your eyes and texted Michael that you’d seen the email, Julia was out of her mind, but you would do your best to complete the task so you wouldn’t disappoint along with the address of the hostel.

After returning your laptop to your shared room, you and Jimin set off for the museum in the sweltering sun. You were overjoyed that you’d chosen to wear your dark t-shirt from yesterday, though you were still conscious of your sweat stains being visible. Jimin looked elated as you walked through the busy streets and you struggled to keep up, your own Jordans way out of time with his own.

 “So you have favorite exhibits here?” you asked slightly out of breath. He slowed as if he just realized how far behind you were.

“Yeah, I was here a few months ago and stopped by. They have some pretty cool stuff here.”

You continued walking and you gasped as the museum came into view. Perched on the edge of the water, the building stretched along the harbor. Its walls were textured and stone grey. Clear blue windows peeked through the exterior and there was a steady stream of people loitering outside. You wished you’d brought your camera as you snapped a few photos of the impressive architecture on your phone.

Inside was just as magnificent with its low lights and marble flooring. The cool air conditioning was an additional plus as you and Jimin stood in the lobby. A large sign displayed all of the pertinent information about the exhibits available for view. You’d always been a sucker for museums and you felt lighter just being there.

“Aren’t you happy you came?”

“Very,” you whispered, looking around in awe. “Hey look!” You pointed to the exhibit directory, “Garland Sans has an exhibit showing.”

“Hmm?”

“Garland Sans. Michael said he’s having an exhibit in New York in a few weeks and wants to go. It’d be cool to see some of his work before then. I’m not too familiar with his stuff,” you explained. Jimin nodded.

“Yeah, sure. We can start with some selected works from the Chih Lo Lou Collection and work our way through?” he suggested. You nodded and followed him to the second floor, excitement thrumming in your veins.

You’d spent the better part of three hours roaming all of the floors in the museum with Jimin and spending most of your time at the Xubaizhai exhibit, the afternoon rolling in with ease. You were lost in the stories of the Ming and Qing dynasties, amazed at how detailed the small villages were depicted using ink and color. It was like reading the stories of their lives. It also didn’t hurt that Jimin was there to translate the calligraphy on some of the scrolls. He seemed to enjoy the Garland Sans exhibit less and you debated the motives behind each painting endlessly. Unsurprisingly, he was well-versed in the arts, more so than you and something he chalked up to hanging out with too many artsy folks, and you wondered what else you would learn about him.

“Don’t museums make you just want to fall in love?” Jimin nudged you with his elbow as you headed back to the lobby. You laughed loudly.

“Not at all.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in your cold, dead heart as we walked around the museum. You looked so content and at peace,” he added.

“I was. That was the effect of the artwork, not you.”

“So you don’t think I belong in the Greek statue exhibit at the MET Museum?” He flexed his arms behind his head as he winked at me. You did your best to ignore the flutter in your belly as you disagreed with him. “It’s okay. I’ll win you over. Even if it’s only for a really good video. I haven’t forgotten that I’m your muse.” You shook your head at his usual attempt to flirt when his phone rang in his pocket.

“Yes?” he answered, irritated. It sounded out of place from his usual casual tone. He excused himself and you sat on a bench in front of the museum to wait for him.

The view of the harbor was stunning and you welcomed the gentle breeze keeping you cool in the 84-degree heat. You took a short video of the boats drifting at the dock, a few of them further out bobbing along with the waves. Your own phone buzzing distracted you from the serene riverscape, Adele’s name appearing on the screen with a picture attachment. You opened it and nearly dropped your phone.

Adele: Told you so. [16:57].

Below it, a photo of her and your brother. He was smiling into the camera as the two of them posed. Milo’s face had lost its chubbiness, his jaw more angular and his cheekbones more pronounced. His dimples were just as deep and matched the same pair Adele sported. That particular gene had skipped you; you got stuck with the freckles. His hair was cut short, different from the long floppy locks he used to wear in high school. How he had managed to take this photo without Adele ripping that gold hoop out of his nose was beyond you and you smiled seeing that your rebellious little brother was still there. Milo really had come home.

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[mavspeed]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

1.

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon. 

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

2.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

3. 

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

4.

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

5. 

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

6. 

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

7. 

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

8. 

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

9.

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10. 

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11. 

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess 

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13. 

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14. 

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

[the-wintershade]

— never let me go

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: he doesn’t want to talk. he doesn’t even want to see you again. wc: 5.8k+ genre: angsty for sure, fluff, cuteness, flirting, sweet boi

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 05

Bucky’s eyes are bright and excitable. They are expecting and gracious, like he’s done the thing to finally get the girl, to win the prize, to secure the deal. And it makes you want to wipe the smile right off of his dumb face.

His arms are spread wide and empty, just like how they’ll stay.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He sees the anger contorting around your features. “Aren’t you glad? I chose you.”

There are many things wrong with what he just said, but the part that cuts the deepest is that he was well aware that you knew. He knew you knew and let it just sit there unsaid. Like you were worth nothing to him. Like you were just an accessory.

You didn’t want his love, you didn’t want him. You just thought you needed his approval, that somehow his opinion would solidify your standings and chances with other men. 

But you were wrong, so wrong.

And it desperately ached, ripped your soul to pieces, that it took you this long to figure it out. That you left Sam, beautiful, sweet, encouraging Sam, at his house, eyes hurt and broken as you took off, like he knew that you would choose Bucky over him. 

You weren’t racing over to choose Bucky. You were coming over to end things, to finally face this gaping hole in your chest.

“Why are you back now?” Your words drip with acid and the words push harshly against your closed teeth. You could feel your eyes darkening, morphing into something spiteful and fueled with hate. There’s no point in pretending like everything was fine and pleasant now. The truth was coming out soon enough.

“Doll…” His arms lowered slowly, dramatically, and it burned your skin to think that he was genuinely surprised at your reaction. What if it had been him on the other side of this? What if you had cheated on him? “What are you talking about?”

“What went wrong, Bucky. Why change now?”

He looked down and scoffed, fixing the collar of his jacket while watching you glower, unimpressed at his attempts to charm and welcoming you back to him like he was opening his eyes for the first time instead of realizing you were there the entire time.

“Because...she wasn’t understanding of our arrangement.” The words were about as hard to choke out as it was for you to hear them, but you kept a neutral expression. Arrangement. You were just a guise, something to keep the daring ones interested and the weak ones away. The respectful ones. The girls who knew better than to mess with a man already dating someone else.

“And I am? I’m just sort of business arrangement to you?” Your tone stayed dry and neutral the whole time, not betraying an ounce of the anger you felt.

“Well…” The scratching of the back of his neck was enough to tell you everything he couldn’t.

You folded your arms and gave a pitiful, “ha,” and looked away from those electrifying blue eyes that you fell into that day. The day, years ago, that you would come to regret for some time. They were still beautiful and he was still undeniably handsome, but that meant nothing to you now.

Now you had something lightyears better than before. Someone that was beautiful in more ways than one. Someone who’s internal heart and soul encompassed a mind far more delicate and compassionate than Bucky’s. Bucky was handsome externally, but was an internal bog of self-centered thoughts and actions. 

He wasn’t someone you wanted to stay with.

“Go away.” You ordered, stepping into his personal space to convey the depth of your command. You never broke eye contact; you wanted him to feel every bit of the rage he conveyed in you, every bit of the fury that raised itself in his name. “And don’t come back.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted incredulously, like he’d been honestly shocked at your reaction. “What? Why?” His blue eyes felt like ice after knowing the depth and warmth in Sam’s chocolate brown ones. “Come on, Doll.” He scoffed and walked closer to you only to be pushed back by your firm hand against his chest. The touch revolted you, but you stood firm, not allowing your hand to drop. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“I don’t want to be second place for you.” Your voice lowered so much, it sounded like a growl. He heeded the warning and took a step back as the weight of your dark, sharp eyes cut against his stunned gaze. Good. Let him recognize what he’s dealing with. “I deserve better. I found someone better.”

The words don’t truly register until after you’ve said it, because this means that you’re ready to admit it out loud. You’re ready to tell the world, and even the person you were almost dating, that you’re ready for things to work out with Sam. 

You’re ready to admit that Sam’s the one for you.

You didn’t school the shock on your face and Sam’s face angled in anger at your response. “It’s him isn’t it?”

“Leave.” 

“He’s just using you, you know.” Bucky stayed rooted in place, but as you walked towards him, his body language altered, changing into showing signs of running and fleeing.

As you come to a stop in front of him, you say one last dumb statement to his face. “Oh, I bet.” You stalk a little closer and he throws his hands up, turning around to leave. 

The buzz that started when he opened his mouth begins to fizzle out, draining your energy and focused concentration. You felt jittery and depleted, like you’d just run a 5k and crossed the tape. That would never happen, of course, you’d already witnessed the results of running with Sam. A running career or even running for leisure would never be for you, but the exaltation and exhaustion that would come with it you could sympathize with.

You opened and closed your apartment door with an extra umph as you tread over to your couch and plopped down, a face of surprise still plastered onto your face. You really said that. Those words were a reality, those words were real.

You scoffed in shock and then quickly reached for your phone, fingers trembling, hands shaking. You needed to call him, to tell him everything that happened, to let him know the truth and that things were over. He was the one. He was the person you wished to spend the rest of your days with.

Your teeth work the bottom of your lip as you pace your leg, waiting for a response, but a generic voicemail greets you, announcing his unavailability and patiently asking you to wait for the beep. You try again, but within seconds you get the same message.

What was he doing?

You try a third time, hoping he’ll pick up and you’ll hear the dazzling deepness of his rich, warm voice, but nothing, clicked right to voicemail. Like he intentionally turned his phone off.

A pit of despair grows in your core. 

You shouldn’t have left him. You should have ignored Bucky and stayed. But if you did that, you wouldn’t be free. Free to live without Bucky so firmly rooted in your side, agonising over your every move and breath. You wouldn’t be able to run to Sam without that chasm separating you two.

But now everything felt wrong.

Agony burrowed into your heart, fretting over the reasons behind dodging your calls. He never ignored you, why start now?

Maybe you should go over there, try to reason with him and make things right. But you knew. You wouldn’t have to reason with him if you didn’t already know the reason.

He thought he lost you. He thinks that you somehow chose jealous zealot Bucky over him. Over your gorgeous ray of light and warmth. That you would choose that horrible man over someone who makes you feel like the most important thing in the world.

You could never, would never. 

But Sam didn’t know how to separate your inability to kiss him out of respect and moral obligation to whatever was going on with Bucky and thinking that you weren’t interested that way. But he must have known; didn’t he see your eyes. Your orbs that pleaded with him for forgiveness and took on a tenderness that could only be attributed to him.

You set your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair, crushed. 

Oh Sam, please forgive me.

…

Sam doesn’t come to the next dance practice or the next. Your heart grows heavier and heavier each time, tears threatening spill from your closed lids. The others in the class are sympathetic and offer to switch with you in between dances, but you respectfully decline and leave.

On your way to the last practice, little hope flutters inside of your heart. You doubt he’s coming, but you’re not ready to give up on him. You’re not ready to throw in the towel just yet. 

Sam is nowhere in sight when you enter the room and Peggy smiles sympathetically at you, making her way over to give you a hug. “I’m so sorry, (name).” She whispers sweetly, and you return her hug, letting this small gesture wash away the horrible sinking feeling of guilt and regret that hits you like a tidal wave.

“Thanks, Peggy.” You manage to answer her and she steps away to look at you. “How is he?”

“He’s okay. He and Steve have been in contact.” She nods at you and you deflate at the look on her face. That’s all you’re going to get, all she can convey to you. 

“Okay…” You breathe and look down. Peggy rubs your shoulder soothingly and you nearly crumple under her gentle touch. “I just really want to speak to him. He hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts and there’s so much I want to explain to him. So much I need to talk to him about.”

“He just needs some time.” Peggy’s smile is sincere and hopeful, it lifts your spirits ever so slightly. “I know he’ll want to hear everything you have to say. Sam is a good man and he’ll listen; he just needs to be alone right now.”

You nod slightly, but feel better. Peggy was always good at encouragement and knowing the right thing to say. “Do you have a dress?”

“I’ll be there, Peggy. For you and Steve...and Sam.” You smile smugly at her and she gives you one of her signature grins back at you.

“I look forward to having you there on our big day. I know Sam will be happy to see you, whether he admits it or not.” Her happiness bleeds into yours and you begin to leave, feeling more optimistic that things will get better, no matter how hard the climb is right now.

“Thank you, Peggy.”

“You’re family to us now, (name). We’ll always be here for you.”

You nearly cry in your car.

...

You travel all the way to his house. It feels weird being there, after everything that’s happened in the last few days. Your dance together feels like it was just yesterday, like it was just a few hours ago that you were wrapped in his arms, listening to the calming sound of his heart. A heart that you knew and trusted. A heart that you unknowingly held and dropped.

You wanted to fix this. You needed him to see that this was just a misunderstanding. He was the one you chose. He was the one you wanted.

You just hoped that he would let you get the chance to explain.

Tentatively, you walk up the steps, trying to keep your breath even the whole time. Your heart beats erratically at the idea that this could be it, this could be the moment that could change everything. Your hands are already shaking by the time you knock and your breathing is ragged.

You tense, wringing your hands together to stop the nerves and calm the anxiety. It builds to a crescendo, the emotions threatening to burst, but it deflates quickly.

He doesn’t answer the door. 

You take a breath and knock again, but approach the door more closely, almost laying your whole ear against the door. You catch it then, a slight shuffling of feet, and then quiet again, stillness. A broken, quiet sigh escapes your lips and your head feels like it’s a hundred pounds.

He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t even want to see you again.

You deserve it. You should never have left the way you did without explaining; you should have told him what you were planning to do.

But you didn’t. 

And now you were sitting here with regret and heartbreak. He may never forgive you or want anything to do with you again. It hurts, it’s a hard pill to swallow, but if that’s what he wants then that’s what you’ll give him. You gulp down the tears and tread back to your car, pulling away in a quick fashion.

You just didn’t notice Sam peeking out the blinds to watch you go.

…

You write a letter. It’s not the greatest in the world, but it doesn’t have to be. Your apology is brief, but your explanation is very detailed. The piece of paper gives him time to ignore it and read it when he’s truly ready; you just hope he’ll come around.

…

The banquet hall is perfect. Its glowing chandeliers and sparkling glasses remind you of times long gone and memories uncovered. At the center of the table sit Steve and Peggy, Natasha and Clint sit near the edges, along with Wanda and Vis. 

The seat at Steve’s side remains stubbornly empty. 

You pace around to your seat next to your would-be date. He still refuses to answer any of your previous text messages or calls, but you haven’t tried to contact him in the last day or two. You want to give him the time and space he needs, but it still crushes your soul.

The pang only intensifies as you take your seat, see his name tag, Sam Wilson, and realize he’s not coming. It feels wrong, like a universe without a sun to warm it. It’s cold and empty without him there next to you. Where you’re used to him being.

But that’s the big word, used to. 

You took it all for granted. You made the biggest mistake of your life and with every place you feel his absence, you feel your error more clearly.

Peggy turns and mouths to you, flu, and you nod more out of trying to appease her than belief in that excuse. He’s healthy, you were just at his house and knew he was fine, but you were the source of his disappearance. You were the sickness that he fled so desperately from.

That made everything so much worse.

You buried your head in your hands, raking your fingers through your scalp. You bit your lip to prevent the tears from spilling over, to prevent your emotions to be read plainly on your face.

Taking a breath, you let your body lean back against the seat and pick up your utensils with shaking hands to prepare yourself for the rehearsal dinner you’ll have to sit through.

You spare one last glance at the empty seat beside you and refuse to let your eyes drag to that spot again. 

…

It’s every bit the nostalgic, traditional, retro inspired design that you imagined it would be. There’s a whole jazz quartet as you walk in, serenading everyone with their inspirational and emotional trumpet player. It’s a whole new world of white and wood and vintage and you love every part of it. It’s so fitting for them and they deserve every happiness in the world.

It took a lot of courage and pep talks before you even considered showing your face at the actual wedding, but you came this far. You wanted to congratulate them and support them on their big day. They’ve been nothing but warm and welcoming to you from the moment you met them, Peggy even considered you family.

Family doesn’t just give up because everything gets hard. They’re there no matter what they're going through. This is you showing up. This is you taking the initiative and hopefully showing them the same love and respect they gave you.

Your hands were sweaty and you palmed them off against the lavender gown you decided on. It was a safer color. The bridesmaids were wearing red and, although you would have preferred to wear something in a mahogany hue, this would be a good compromise. 

You couldn’t ignore the erratic beating of your heart or the way your eyes flashed off the object of your attention to look for your sun. How it was so easy to work through the boring small talk because you weren’t really paying attention at all, your heart was a million miles away and your mind racing through the clouds.

He was captivating your every thought, every breath, every movement. And you couldn’t find a trace of him.

You snuck back behind the bridal dressing room and lost your breath at the sight of Peggy. She was beautiful, as you expected, but she looked like the perfect angel in white. She wrapped you in a warm hug and flashed a dazzling smile as you pulled apart. 

“It’s good to see you here. I’d hoped you’d be here.” The words were just as sweet and sincere as you remembered her to be.

You smiled genuinely, the first time in days, and held her hands tightly in your own. “You look absolutely beautiful. Steve is going to be crying some big man tears when he sees you.”

She laughs and you chuckle with her. “He better. I spent the last three hours getting ready.”

Natasha steps through the door and nods to you, a smirk on her face. “She decides to come anyway. I’ll give it to you, (name), you’ve got tenacity.”

You shake your head and step out of the way as she places the veil right upon Peggy’s dark curls, making sure to weave it like it was a halo on her head. Peggy looks even more breathtaking now. Steve should be sobbing when he sees her.

“Thank you.” She adjusts the piece and for the first time since you’ve known her, you see her hands tremble, her nerves finally getting the better of her. 

“Peggy.” You crouch next to her, placing your hands on her shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze. Her open brown eyes stare at you in the mirror, slightly embarrassed and shaky. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re beautiful, intelligent, strong, and can do anything. Steve is going to be right there, ready to hold you up the moment you step into his arms. We all love you. No one is going to let you fall, especially not the man walking you down the aisle.”

She takes a couple steadying breaths and licks her lips quickly. A small, soft smile forms on her mouth and Natasha places a hand on her shoulder. “What she said. And if he drops you, I’m gonna pick you up, give you the walk you deserve, and then politely kick his ass.”

Peggy laughs. “Oh I don’t doubt it.” She sighs and gives both of your hands a tight squeeze. “Thank you.”

You answer her with smiles that convey much more than words could ever have.

…

Your leg bounces traitorously in your seat on the pew as you wait for the ceremony to start. Nerves from anticipating watching the most beautiful woman you’ve met leads to your hasty movement but a stronger sort of anxiety coils around your stomach and sends it churning uncontrollably. 

In the back of your mind, you really hope Sam is here to support Steve and Peggy of course, but it also gives you a chance to explain in person, where things can’t get muddle over text.

That’s when you see white suits travel down the aisle and your breath gets stuck in your chest. Your heart jolts and then speeds, racing uncontrollably while you pointedly avert your eyes. You can’t be caught staring; that wouldn’t be your proudest moment.

You pretend to be interested in the carpeting when you catch the hint of dark skin sticking out of a white suit and your eyes flash without warning towards its source. Sure enough, there he is, in all of his beautiful glory and you’re rendered speechless again at the sight of him. He’s handsome. That’s all your brain can compute at the moment.

To explain the source of its lapse in processing, he’s watching you, almost as if he’d been searching for you, discreetly in the crowd and spotted you by chance. You can’t break eye contact and your heart still beats incredibly hard and rapid, like you’ve been sprinting.

It feels like a lifetime has passed before you regain enough mental fortitude to look away, but your eyes are pulled back to him like a magnet. You manage to resist the pull as he walks to his place, but your gazes draw together like they were never meant to be apart.

He’s not mad, not in the way you thought he would be, but he seems relieved and upset at the same time, that slight furrow still set between his eyes. His stare probs yours intensely, searching for answers that you can’t give at the moment. 

You just admire him, glad to see him healthy and in-person. That’s all you needed. You’d be content with just this, even if you never got the chance to see him again. This was more than enough for you.

When Peggy began her walk (and Steve’s eyes were red after she took three steps down the aisle), it was incredibly hard to break eye contact, as if you were afraid that if you looked away now, you would never be able to see him again. Your breath returns for a moment; you are able to concentrate on your bodily functions again and the buzz starts wearing off.

You take an opportunity to share a smirk with Peggy, watching as her steps are perfect and precise, practiced and elegant. There’s no way she’s going to fall. She’s too confident to let anyone have to hold her up or support any of her weight. That’s the Peggy you knew, even in the short time you’ve known her.

You glance back at Sam and see him softly smiling in your direction. You sever the connection to avoid him from seeing your face turn an unseemly shade of red.

Peggy makes it up the steps and into Steve’s arms and now the blonde man is smiling through his tears, sniffing and blinking rapidly. You allow yourself a short laugh before you look back at Sam. He chuckles in their direction as well, but glances quickly towards you, eyes furrowed and searching for something?

He looks beside you, behind you, and even in the back of the chapel before he stares at you again. A question lingers in the air as he squints at the open seat next to you and then shifts his gaze back to yours. You tilt your head in a quizzical manner. What is he talking about?

He does it one more time, more dramatically, and you break eye contact to process what he’s trying to hint at. Seat open next to you, no one else here that you should have a connection to besides the bridal party and Sam, maybe waiting for someone? Or someone missing?

Bucky. 

He’s wondering where Bucky is.

You look back to show him that he’s not a part of your life any more, but now the ceremony has begun and the time for silent communication is over.

It’s gorgeous and you couldn’t be happier for them, but an intense feeling of obligation makes your movements more jerky as you sit to witness the wedding. Sam only spares one look at you, trying his best to appear the picture of concentration and focus.

You start counting your breaths until the kiss happens, which you cheer excitedly with everybody else, your enthusiasm overshadowing the intense will to speak to Sam.

Then, as the bridal party starts to exit, Sam spares another glance your way, making the same eye movements. You shake your head vigorously in denial. Bucky isn’t and won’t be with you today and that’s how desperately you wanted him to know that. You nearly got whiplash from how hard you shook your head, but you needed him to see that the Bucky thing was long gone.

He frowns. 

Then he turns and offers his arm to another bridesmaid to escort her down the aisle.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Was it not the answer he wanted? Did he read the note? Does he even believe me? Your confidence took a huge hit, but you stood to take your turn walking out of the building and tried to keep your head up. Your eyes would say a different story, but at least your walk wouldn’t give room for any questions.

The crowd guides you the building over, where the real events are happening, and you play the happy wedding goer. You don’t really know anyone in the crowd, but you take time to smile and look at the scenery, the luscious trees, the white flowers contrasting the deep brown wood, the way the white lengths of fabric catch and twirl in the air. 

It distracts you, at least long enough to make it to the building without wallowing in self-pity.

You’re just about to walk in (you’re determined to stay through the entire evening, no matter how bad the Sam situation might get), when a hand rests gently on your elbow. You’re about to turn around completely, but notice the deep brown hue of the hand’s skin tone and know immediately who’s got a hold of your arm.

He gently steers you just out of earshot of other people and releases you. You look at him, hoping to see some happiness or relief there, but find none. He pointedly avoids eye contact. His arms are folded tightly over his chest.

“What happened?” The words are coated in sour flavor; you can taste bitterness on your tongue. “I thought prince charming came running back.”

You see all of it, the hurt, the betrayal, the broken bond. Everything that helped create this amazing space between you two, thrown away in an instant. But, as much as it caused you intense agony to see him this way, you knew that you had made your choice. 

You were willing to fight for it and that meant standing your ground against his cold demeanor.

“I turned him down.” 

His eyes flash over to you and he leans in closer, as if he didn’t understand the words you said. A jolt lights up in your core, but you swallow it down, trying to stay focused.

“What?” It’s nearly a hiss, but the tension isn’t as overbearing as it used to be. It’s calmed down considerably and for the first time in your few minutes of interaction, you notice a subtle thawing.

“I turned him down.”

Deep creases cut his forehead, but his face is smoother in places that are tells for you. His eyes aren’t flat or pinched; they’re open, watchful, like when he’s analyzing something. “Why?”

You watch him, smirking ahead of your next words. His eyes grow larger with surprise and confusion. “Because, I already found someone better.”

You’re held in the suspension of time as he processes the emotions running through his system. Jolts still skirt through you as he continues to stare, but his eyes melt. Over time a small smile reaches his mouth. Slowly, he reaches for your hand and presses a warm kiss to the back of it.

Your knees feel like jello.

“Well,” His eyes dazzle you and you knew in that moment, you would do anything he asked, anything at all. “There’s hope for you yet Coffee Girl.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, but tugs you along with him, keeping you firmly rooted at his side. It’s not controlling or possessive, rather loving and protective. You’re happy to stay as close as he wants. 

Elation doesn’t even come close to the obvious relief you feel in your bones, in your soul. His warmth bleeds into your hands like it should; everything feels right.

But he accepted you so quickly. As good as it feels to be back by his side, you wonder why he would accept your explanation so swiftly. Something else must be going on here.

“Sam.” You gently call his name as you stand together, watching the first dance of the bride and groom. 

His face tilts in your direction, a lingering grin still on his features. “Hmm?”

Your core ignites at his deep hum and you blink a second to clear your head. “Did you read my letter?”

He sobers, his facial features evening out, but a small smile still holds his lips suspended. He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek to behind your ear, softly skimming your skin. It leaves a pleasant trail of warmth behind. 

He nods in response, a knowing smirk on his face. 

You pretend to be outraged and swat him playfully on the shoulder. “Sam! You read my letter and still did all this to me?”

“Well, a guy’s gotta be sure. I didn’t really know what was going on at the time and I didn’t know if you would eventually go back on what you said in the letter about breaking up with him. About me.” His grin sends a burst of heat rushing through your core. “So, I had to play it tough and safe, for me.”

Your face falls and you look away in shame. “I’m so sorry Sam. I didn’t mean to cause you so much pain over this whole thing.” You squeeze his hand and turn to him as he looks away. “I just realized how much I was worth. Being around you helped, you made me feel so special and seen and understood, and it helped, but when I looked around and saw what a beautiful example of what real love could look like, I recognized that I didn’t have anything to prove any more. I didn’t have to prove my worthiness, because there were people out there that saw it before I could.”

He’s smiling down at you now. 

Before he can say anything, it’s time to get out on the floor and do the job you were originally there for. You and Sam take your places, he pulls you close, and you hold on tight to his hand, like he’s a lifeline. “I’m wearing the wrong color.” You mention as you glance around and see the burgundy dresses around you.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers and your eyes lock, just like it did in the chapel, just like they were magnets. A shock buzzes through your hands, but you don’t have to fight it now. You let it wake you up, let it bring you two closer.

Your cheeks burn hot at his incessant eye contact, but you don’t look away.

You never look away once, even as he dips you and twirls you around like you practiced, even when you trade partners, even when your steps are so insync that you could close your arms and dance with him, you’re looking at him every second, every moment. 

Everytime.

…

The beach greets you with a gentle roaring as your footfalls line up perfectly. Your fingers are interlaced and the quiet wraps you together in a world of your own, just for you two.

Stars twinkle. The moon casts a soft glow on the water. The night brings its secretive but alluring energy. You’re here with Sam. 

He squeezes your hand. 

“How are the dreams?” You voice softly, so as not to disturb the storm of horrific images in his mind.

He sighs and tugs you closer so he can wrap an arm around you. “I don’t think they’ll ever leave for good, but they’re quieter now.”

You nod and bury into his side, breathing in his woodsy scent and his comforting touch. “I think it’s because of you.”

You feel Sam’s face look to yours, but you only smile and wrap your arms around him while you continue your pace down to the edge of the boardwalk.

His temperature warms.

The breeze is cooler here, still warm but carrying a bite at the end. Sam tries to give his jacket completely to you, but you lightly press his arm. “I’ll move closer. That way it’ll cover us both.” As you sit, you stay as close as you can to him while he drapes his jacket over you both.

He laughs as you smile like a little kid. “It’s only a jacket.”

“It’s your jacket.”

Your warm, soft eyes watch as he adjusts it, his harder angles and lines interplaying beautifully with his soft cheeks and smooth skin. He’s a masterpiece. Too gorgeous for the world. “You’re beautiful,” You murmur unconsciously.

A deep flush crosses his cheeks as he watches you skeptically. The contrast is hysterical. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

You curl your head into the crook of his neck. “Stop playing.” You giggle as you close your eyes and you feel him chuckle with you. It vibrates through your cheek and you smile in perfect content.

After you sit next to each other for a few hours, he helps you stand up, careful to watch your dress and get you on your feet without falling. You thank him with a small blush and move to go back to the car (you’ll get your own tomorrow) when Sam pulls you against his chest, his face serious.

“Hold on.” He whispers and slowly leans in. You move closer and only when he’s sure you want this too does he crash his lips against yours. His full lips are soft, but they roam and press into yours with fervour, a fiery jolt going all the way down to your toes. Your brush your fingers against his hair and his fingers splay against your cheek, pulling you closer with intensity. The last kiss feels like a feather and your closed eyes flutter open slowly.

Your lips are red and very puffy, as are his. “Finally,” He breathes and keeps your foreheads together for a moment, before pressing one last lingering kiss right behind your ear. Your breath hiccups.

He smirks deliberately and weaves your fingers together, pressing his lips against your hand again. “So, see you in class on Monday?”

You push him away playfully, but he makes sure to wrap an arm around you as you walk back, his lips pressing swiftly and warmly against your temple.

[ivebeenmade]

I wrote a S4 fix-it drabble, this is pt2

It both is, and isn’t, their first date. 

For Elliot, they’d *dated* quite a bit. They’d gone all over that when the former hacker had woken in the hospital. Their entire history wasn’t exactly perfect, except it was exactly what they had both always wanted. In that dreamworld, the company had been included. 

This real life, “afk” so to speak, first date, was also a celebration. Tyrell was nervous. He knew more about the Elliot he’d come to know in the past than he should’ve known, should’ve dared to know or investigate. Something about his persistence had given some of the alters a sense of trust with him and eventually the willingness (he thought- *hoped*) to allow their love to blossom inside the imaginary safe world ‘hoodie’ had created to keep the base personality safe from everyone elses’ big ideas.

After the big integration, which took plenty out of him and was bittersweet but *right* in all the ways, a determined (one of Tyrell’s favorite traits) Mr. Alderson reworked the broken pieces of E-Corp to their dream company. The dream world was becoming the real world.

The least the Swedish businessman with the intense crush could do was make their first real date perfect. Perfectly imperfect. 

He’d only recently been given the chance to apply to an entire human being (not just a bunch of confusing pieces he loved even when he hated) the real traits that made Elliot Alderson. All the best pieces were still there and so much more to figure out. 

Taking a wild guess- well, not really, not for another genius such as himself- the cuisine he’d provide was going to be a homerun. (Side note, there’s irony in that terminology and a lot of America’s favorite pastimes that Tyrell will have to learn, at least casually, because sports weren’t something that an Elliot Alderson alter enjoyed when he was high as a kite and trying to ignore reality in prison.) 

Burgers, loaded up with all the right fixings Tyrell knew were his favorites by watching and listening (maybe taking a peek into his workstation trash...maybe) and only purchased from a stand between trains on the commute to work. Needless to say, now that they were traveling together, this was slightly out of the way. Fortunately for him, something about *microwaving* greasy burgers or eating them at room temperature was ideal to his new boyfriend (yep, that had come up, along with the statement ‘like it or not’ which sounds like a patented Wellick move but it hadn’t been).

The french fries in their little folded paper napkins could be at any temperature but had a better bet of coming home warm considering Elliot’s favorite stand was literally right below his apartment building. Tyrell can’t help but think- now with more fondness than he might’ve in the past- that quite a lot of finesse must’ve gone into the process considering how well the package stayed together despite being totally saturated with more oil.

The best part of the evening is how ridiculously flattered the other is when he shows up at the apartment. They’re still in the process of moving all of his things. It’s a lot easier now with the paranoia and the reasons for it gone, but there’s still simply massive amounts of mysteriously labeled disks and spare computer bits to at least catalogue. They’ve agreed they must at least know what they’re throwing away before they do it, though most of it Elliot obviously *wants* to leave behind. 

He’d come in looking a little bogged down. Not in the usual sense, or at least not the way Tyrell remembers, so much as anyone after a long day. His passion for getting the company up and running, getting the two of them in order, so that he could move forward with both the professional and personal 5 & 10 years plans (yes there were versions for F-Corp and versions for domestic bliss and mostly Wellick was just along for the ride and strangely LOVING it). 

The only truly over the top part of the evening was an especially expensive bottle of champagne; which Elliot pours for each of them and when Tyrell doesn’t so much as take a drink he jumps the larger blonde and kisses him with a huge goofy grin. They both had a lot to work on. Elliot was fully ready to continue therapy (probably not with poor Krista) and had asked Tyrell to get with someone about his alcoholism and anger issues. 

After the smaller man is out of his lap, Tyrell plucks a card out of his suit jacket. A business card, with a handwritten series of appointments- one of which would’ve taken place earlier that very day. Elliot’s eyes go nearly crossed with adoration. 

“If it makes any difference, the decor is about as expensive.”

“The tablecloth and candles? Helluva feat babe, and I wouldn’t expect any less. But damn, that’s really impressive. And slightly insane. Wouldn’t have it any other way. You know I love you.”

“I’ve always loved you.”

Elliot had known, deep down, even when his memories were integrating of the ‘real world’ Tyrell, that this had to be there somewhere, and he already loved the man. And he knew that, even not complete just yet, the man falling in love with him out there, deserved the complete version of himself, was what he must have seen. They were both going to get everything they deserved, and moments like this kept not surprising him at all to prove that very thing. 

Pretty soon he planned to fix what little was left wrong with the world, especially his lover’s world. But they were all right. More than so. And only going up. 

(part 1 : https://ivebeenmade.tumblr.com/post/189980839835/tyrelliot-happy-new-year )

@clairebearhq‘s ask

[chershare]

Snippet from Discord 10

His hands were shaking.

This wasn’t unusual for Mo Xuanyu, to tremble from fear or pain or nerves because living in Lanling amongst the Jin was the worst thing to happen to him. It hadn’t even been this bad when he’d still lived under the thumb of his mother’s family, because there he had simply been scoffed at, not used as a pawn in a game he didn’t understand. They had always been straightforward in their disdain for him in the Mo household, and he’d been fooled by the Jin for a while.

No more.

Bogged down by projects and studies, Mo Xuanyu didn’t have much time to himself. Always watched by people who either belonged to his father or his half-brother, waiting for something he could give them to use against the other. After the death of his father, it was likely now that Jin Guangyao was simply waiting for a moment that he could be handedly dealt with.

As of now, because he’d amused Xue Yang, Mo Xuanyu was alone for the first time in over a year.

Chained deep in the bowels of the private section used to study resentful energy, the Ghost General stood eerily still.

In the back of his head was a thick nail that kept him not so much tame as insensate. The personality that he’d held before was restrained so that he could not make independent action, but he still wouldn’t follow orders.

To Jin Guangshan he had been a failed experiment.

To Mo Xuanyu, he was perhaps a strike back at the people who used him as a pawn and would soon throw him back to his mother’s family to rot.

Under no illusions that he’d be returning to the same circumstances he’d left, after having lived under the prestige of the Jin Sect for years, Mo Xuanyu was terrified. So he stepped further into the dank room full of near tangible resentful energy and looked up into the blank features of he who had been Wen Qionglin.

While pale, Mo Xuanyu was always startled by how pretty the man’s face was, how soft yet defined those cheekbones were.

In life, with those he’d loved, Xuanyu believed that he’d probably been lovely.

He hoped that he’d be able to find freedom outside of the Jin cells, that Jin Guangyao could no longer use him to study the forbidden arts.

Mo Xuanyu’s golden core wasn’t much to speak of because he barely had time to work on his cultivational studies to grow it. In contrast, his ability to wield resentful energy was on par with Xue Yang’s even if he didn’t quite have the taste for it in the same way.

So it was simple to reach up with his thin trembling hands, tears in his eyes because he was hopelessly afraid of everything and grasp the nail. His heart pounded hard in his throat as surprisingly soft hair shifted under his touch and he curled resentful energy between his fingers to ease the pull.

Smoothly, the nail slid out of the man’s skull, and Mo Xuanyu could feel the resentful energy that powered the Ghost General curl to heal the damage. That so very powerful energy bestowed by the Yiling Patriarch roiled in the larger frame, chains clinking slightly as a too still body regained motion. Whole body shivering, Xuanyu braced a hand carefully on a cool but not cold shoulder clothed in thick robes and swathed in chains to reach for the next nail.

It felt like his heart was beating in his throat as tears of stress and fear finally slid from where they pooled in his eyes and over burning cheeks.

The metal slid out just as easily as the last, and Mo Xuanyu swallowed thickly as lifeless eyes blinked slowly and then –

Soft dark eyes looked down at him where he was still braced on his toes to reach up, and Mo Xuanyu’s suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the metal he’d grasped. It pinged sharply against the stone floor as he stared wide eyed up into a confused but gentle face and waited to be pulled apart.

Wen Qionglin shifted an arm and chains clinked together, drawing the Ghost General’s attention even as Mo Xuanyu found himself stumbling back, feeling numb but still shaking.

In the distance, he could hear voices over the sound of his own heartbeat and a violent tremor ran over him as his terror renewed. Xue Yang would only cover for him so long as it amused him to do so, and it was more his style to make sure that Xuanyu was caught halfway through. So that he could get the maximum amount of fun out of another person’s misfortune to make up for the lot he’d been dealt in life.

“Gui Jiangjun,” stumbled out of his mouth. “You need to leave!”

Looking up from where he’d been studying the chains that held him curiously, the black-eyed Fierce Corpse furrowed his brows and ran his gaze over Mo Xuanyu.

“Why?”

His voice was soft, gentle, and somewhat deferential in ways that Mo Xuanyu didn’t know he’d be surprised by.

“If – if they find out you’re yourself again I –” squeezing his shaking fingers together, he felt the skin pale with pressure. “– I don’t know what they’ll do to you, but it won’t be good.”

“What about you?” was the next question asked.

“I – me?”

“Yes, what will happen to Jin-gongzi?”

Jin?

Ah. Mo Xuanyu was wearing the golden robes of the Jin Sect, and suddenly he felt nauseas at being mistaken for one of them when he used to want exactly that. To be one of these people, to be accepted and to be enough for them instead of something to be used and then tossed aside when the gain didn’t outweigh the imagined cost.

“I’m not,” fell nonsensically from his trembling lips, careless of his wide fearful eyes and wet cheeks. “I’m not a Jin. I’m Mo Xuanyu and – and it doesn’t matter.”

It didn’t, really. It wasn’t as if he had the power to stop anything that his half brother wanted to do with him. It wasn’t as if he’d have the influence to protect himself once he was back in the Mo house under his Aunt’s control, his mother dead for over a year.

Mo Xuanyu’s fate had never been in his own hands, and he was resigned enough to it now, despite the bitterness.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated in a small voice. “And Gui Jiangjun should leave.”

“Mo Xuanyu is afraid and that matters.”

Looking up from where his gaze and drifted down to the ground tiredly, Mo Xuanyu found his stomach twisting oddly at the gentle words. Wen Qionglin smiled at him a little nervously before turning to the chains and yanking them out of the wall with a shattering sound. Xuanyu jumped with surprise, mouth falling open at the casual display of strength from this gentle faced Fierce Corpse.

“So… so Mo Xuanyu should come with me,” the Ghost General shrugged out of the chains that remained draped across his shoulders. “And then you can tell me why you are afraid, and we can take care of it together!”

Those dark eyes were earnest in that pale face and Mo Xuanyu hadn’t expected this at all.

He’d simply wanted to take even one thing from Jin Guangyao, from this Sect which had been crushing him since he stepped foot into Lanling. Wanted to strike back a little from his low level of existence where he had never been anything like a threat.

Now, Wen Qionglin was holding out a pale hand to him and Mo Xuanyu didn’t know what to think.

“I…” upset voices were getting closer and Xuanyu glanced fearfully towards the door. “I don’t…”

“Mo Xuanyu shouldn’t worry,” the Ghost General assured. “I’ll protect you.”

Stepping forward and looking up into those dark eyes with his own wide ones, Mo Xuanyu lifted a hand before hesitating. If he did this, he didn’t know where they would end up, didn’t know what would happen to him if Wen Qionglin decided Mo Xuanyu wasn’t worth it.

“You promise?” in a small voice, feeling rather pathetic. “You’ll protect me?”

“I promise to protect Mo Xuanyu as best I can.”

“Okay.”

So he took his hand and hoped.

[capitainecorbeau]

K you know what I tried to write a steam review but it turned out way too long so here you go ! (the random italics/bold are here for readability, it’s LONG and I know wall of texts can be hard to digest)

I want to like this game, I really do. There was obviously a lot of love poured into it, and there ARE some stuff in it that are pretty cool and made me happy... but overall it just... not very good.

Buckle in, it's gonna be a long one. Also light spoiler warnings, I'll try to stay vague, but I am going to discuss some plot points. Also tw for mentions of mental illness and harmful tropes relating to it.

GAMEPLAY : this is, IMO, the worst part of the game. They tried to spruce up the ol' jRPG/tactical RPG formula, but the result dosn't work.

Reason 1 : The combat is extremly unsatisfying. Like, in every single rpg I've played, even the more lackluster ones, there was always a couple a ways to deal significantly more damage to the enemy. It could be a weakness/resistance system, critical hits, buffs, a gauge that when filled lets you unleash more powerful attacks, grouped attack, etc etc. Inkenfell doesn't really has that.

Ok so, when you time your attacks, there are three results : oops, when you mess up, nice and great. Except that great, the best you can get, feels like what bog-standard attacks do in other rpgs. There is no significant difference between nice and great. I ended up very quickly setting the timing on auto (every signle attack is "great") because it felt like they just added an extra tedious step to the usual menu-based combat. Also despite that, and skipping all fights save for the bosses, it STILL felt long and grueling.

There are attempts at more powerful damage but they all fall flat. Most buffs are single target, which I don't bother with because I could spend that turn attacking rather than applying a buff that most often a)makes little difference or b)wears off too quickly.

There are a couple attacks that deal effective damage against certain enemies but a)the difference is negligible b)one of those is against a type of enemies you barely ever fight against. There's also a "powerful" attack you can only do when your hp is below half ! It's less powerful than the single target spell you get at the very beginning of the game. All in all, it makes every thing long, grindy, and not very exciting.

Reason 2 : The utter lack of variety. Almost every single boss fight is exactly the same. Couple of phases, the boss attacks you and summons minions. SOMETIMES they also have status effects/debuffs. And that's it.The first couple bosses have this trick where their minions explose on death and deal bigger damage. But that quickly disappears. I can't really speak for the other battles because I skipped them but for what little I played it also felt very same-y. As for your characters, you have characters focusing on raw damage and other focusing on utility (healing, buffs, etc).

I basically benched every utility character because the general damage output is already low enough and the utility isn't really useful. Healing is fine, buffs would be fine if it didn't buff enemies caught in the range as well (I usually use them once at the start of the battle and then stop bothering). You can set traps if you want, and then tear your hair out as you watch the enemy repeatedly side-step them (though there are two character who can set traps, maybe you couyld make a strategy out of that). Most likely the trap will expire or you will kill the enemy before they step on it. You can steal items, but you find so many everywhere in game that if you don't use those skills you won't miss them. You can poison your enemies, for an amazing ONE DAMAGE A TURN. Or delay their turn, if you feel like eating two attacks in a row later. Nothing really feels worth it you know ?

It results in this long, drawn-out same-y battles where you just use the same couple of spells against the enemy, over and over until they die. Which, in terms of bosses, can take a very long time. My reaction to new phases was generally "are you kidding meeee ANOTHER one ?" which is not a good sign.

Reason 3 : The lack of juiciness and quality of life. Example : you can freely see enemy hp ! if you specifically go to the menu and hover over the enemy. Otherwise, it's hidden. Why ? Either make their hp easily and quickly visible, or keep it hidden ! When you factor in the fact that every attack has its own, sometimes awkward range, that you cannot walk on occupied tiles (apparently your allies will not deign step aside to let you through), the short walking range of the characters, AND the facts that many enemies love to pepper the battlefield with traps (high damage+lost turn), actually getting in a good position to hit the enemies can be rather tedious. Hitting the enemies doesn't feel satisfying. There aren't little things like shaking their sprites, shaking the screen, cool fx, satisfying sound effects, etc. Just the damage and a little "oops/nice/great". It's a little things, but it makes battles feel even more flat.

TL;DR : the fights are repetitive and unsatisfying, and none of the alternatives to "deal damage to enemy" feel interesting enough to explore.

STORY :  The story is... eh ? Well let's just say there are good things, bad things, and utterly confusing things.

Good : The characters are pretty endearing, for the most part. I'm not gonna be thinking about them for long after finishing the game, but they're nice, there were lots of funny quips and cute moments. That's mostly what kept me around despite the bad gameplay (and other issues I'll get to), I wanted to know what would happen to these people ! Also I loved that there are so many nonbinary characters !! With different presentations and pronouns !! AND who are all humans :D That made me really happy.

Bad : The pacing is bad. My god it's bad. Most of the first half of the game boils down to : we have to do x, but for that we have to go to y, but we can't so we have to ask w in z, and just when you think you can, finally, do x, another obstacle pops up and you have to go on the other side of the map to do something else. It really feels like you're making little to no progress, and it ended up being quite frustrating at times. The second half of the game is better, but sometimes, after an emotiolly intense moment, you would snap right back to "oh we have to go to q but there's a giant rock in the way !". Jarring. Also some scenes left me asking "wait that's it ? You're not gonna discuss things further ?" or "Why aren't the characters reacting to this ?". The story in itself was ok, but the pacing... yikes.

Also, this is more a personal gripe that anything, but... (spoilers warning) I really didn't like how the game handled trauma and ptsd. It fell into the ol' trope of "ptsd/delusions makes people dangerous and violent", and that's not really something I expected from a game that tries to be progressive about this stuff (The inclusion of content warnings is a very good thing !! more games should do that). And I'm not talking like "lashing out at people", no, we're talking kidnapping, assault, murder, potentially triggering the apocalypse. And like, the game deliberately puts these characters through some of the worst things that could happen to them, which made them very violent and dangerous as a result... I don't know, it feels pretty thoughtless and cruel. Not to mention that they then go down the "oh but it's not your fault it's the traumaaaaaa" which, ew, no. No, mental illness, ptsd, trauma etc don't make people inherently violent and dangerous. But when you harm people, it's serious, and you should make amends, regardless of what mental ilness(es) you may or may not have. I dunno, maybe it's just me but that whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth.

Confusing  : There's a character who is handled very weirdly ??? Like, at the beginning of the game they're pretty present, they get an arc, join you and then... barely do anything ???? They almost never interact with the others, or react to what's going on ? There are scene where they went to the trouble to show their sprite (characters who don't contribute to the conversations usually don't appear), but they don't say or do anything ??? At most they make a quip about fighting and stuff but that's it ??? There was a scene when the group argues and a few characters go off on their own, and other follow them and comfort them. I thought, well, since they have a huge crush on the protagonist, they're gonna go and talk to her, right ? They're the only one who hasn't left yet. But nope ! They don't even react ! And yet they're one of the few characters who gets a song ???? I feels like they were added as an afterthought what It's a shame, they're pretty fun.

TL;DR The characters are endearing but one is handled weirdly, the pacing is bad and some plot points felt unsavory.

And finally, some random stuff. In general, the world feel very bare and empty. I'm not just talking about the very low number of npc, there's a plot reason for that, but there is almost no flavor text ?? At first I tried to check out everything, to learn more about this setting and the people in it, but the only things you can interact with are plot important. Makes the whole world rather flat, and that's a shame ! I would've liked to learn more !

One good thing though, is the inclusion of accessibility features like different options for the timing gameplay, displaying content warnings and stuff (though I've seen someone say the game wasn't friendly to photosensitive people , there is an option to reduce flashing lights but I dunno how good it is). That's very nice, and I hope more games will include those features !

So here's my giant wall of text on Ikenfell. I'm sad I didn't end up liking it more, but the game has quite a few issues (ESPECIALLy gameplay-wise). I hope the developers will take that as an opportunity to leanr, because I'm sure they can make good games ! There's some good stuff in there, some good ideas that would've just needed to be imlplemented better !

[sicklyscribe]

y’all thought I forgot about this one

a good (3) of you really wanted this meta and well. It’s been like. Four years? Anyways. 

‘Stolen Dance’ was on the radio today and it makes me think of Klaus and Care, because I get it mixed up with ‘Dangerous’ and that’s my song for them. Also, Stolen Dance has a line that I THOUGHT was ‘Stolen Paradise’ and it’s ACTUALLY ‘stoned in paradise’ so I USED to get K/C vibes from that. Anyways. Whenever I think of that ship I think of @hairzier, and I remembered that I had given her a teaser of this meta a while back. Before I got home, I had FINALLY constructed a thesis (wow amy what a nerd) for this analysis that I’d tried to write FOREVER ago, but it didn’t have a central focus and it was way too bogged down with me trying to find one as I went along. 

Don’t know what the hell I’m talking about?

The meta is this: Klaus as an artist + Klaus’ relationships with three featured women in his life circa 2010′s. If you came to the fandom late or haven’t ever seen my username, hi, I used to write a ton of TO meta, I Don’t Do Ships Really At All For It. At least, not the ‘big’ ones. I digress. Just -- don’t expect me to bash or gush over any ship, I’m gonna compliment and critique them all. Please avoid or read on accordingly <3

Caroline: The Art

I tried to find my write-up for Sahar from ages ago, because it was clear and concise and exactly what I intended. Oh well. Once more. 

Shippers and Antis pretty much love it and hate it for the same reason: Klaus is so different around her. Well, that and it’s either empowering for Caroline or abusive. Depends on perspective. I am firmly in the camp that every relationship in Klaus’ life during this time period is abusive in some way. What he does to Caroline is particularly messed up, but also particularly kind, in turns. The lightness and puppy-love-ness of Klaus around her was so jarring, is so jarring, because he doesn’t display that behavior for anyone else. He allows himself to be foolishly partial to her, but he also seems to only have selective guilt for the horrors he subjects her to. As a viewer who will bend over backwards to create complexity rather than label something ‘bad writing’, I found that Klaus’ relationships, especially with women, especially with Caroline, are steeped in his relationship with art. 

To Klaus, Caroline is an exquisite work of living art. Pleasing to the eye, challenging to his thoughts, but benign -- safe, and static. More than wanting to ‘own’ her, though, I believe he wants to join her. Make himself into something that compliments her colors and her lines, because the experience of interacting with art is one of the purest joys Klaus knows. In this way, he intimately analyzes her life and feelings, he inserts himself into her narrative, he plays a part that he enjoys -- maybe one, at times, he truly wishes was not a performance. In this way, he adores her, he respects her, but not really as a person, and certainly not as an equal. He values every moment with her, treasures it; lets himself get drunk on it. She’s the Mona Lisa, living, breathing, and bold enough to insult him to his face. When she breaks the frame he makes for her -- when she really challenges him in ways only a person can -- he can only retreat, and lash out. 

And ask for forgiveness with acts of kindness, or material value (he even, incredibly, uses his art to soften her to him, on more than one occasion) -- trying to shift her attention as if she can forget his abuses.  In all: he wants her to enrich his life, not change it. 

Hayley: The Clay

(Or the canvas, or materials, or what have you.)

One of Hayley’s first scenes with Klaus sets her up as a direct foil to Caroline: 

Klaus: Painting is a metaphor for control. Every choice is mine-- the canvas, the color. As a child, I had neither a sense of the world nor my place in it, but art taught me that one's vision can be achieved with sheer force of will. The same is true of life, provided one refuses to let anything stand in one's way.

Hayley: So this is your thing-- show a girl a few mediocre paintings, whine about your childhood, and I swoon and spill all my dirty secrets?

Hayley doesn’t want to see him as a person. Klaus doesn’t really want to see her as a person, either. Eventually, he learns that he has to respect her as a mother, at least, or he will not deserve his daughter. Eventually, he learns to see her as family. But at the core, and I don’t think he ever loses this -- he sees Hayley as his work-in-progress. Potential. Not only to be a strong ally, but to be -- just maybe -- an equal.

Which is annoying for him, because she also happens to be the only person he cannot reliably control, or predict. His only choice is to try to shape her into someone that he can work with. That someone is himself, mostly, but with some key improvements. His tone with her is so often instructive, mentor-ly, a thin veneer above his need for her to be someone he doesn’t have to worry about, damn it! He can understand her so why can’t he control her! 

This kicks into gear, mostly, after Hayley’s transformation. She estranges herself from Elijah, somewhat, and Klaus does not interfere with her spiral into blood and rage because it’s part of the process. He sees himself in her, but not like he saw himself in Marcel. His perspective on Marcel was so tied to fatherhood that he was trying to raise a young Klaus, while in Hayley’s case, he is trying to sculpt her in his image. 

His advice on how to deal with rage, vengeance, and wildness is sincere and from personal experience. His advice on what to do about love? Well, certainly stay with Elijah while it’s convenient for me, but don’t let love blind you to what you need. What we need. What I need. Don’t tell Jackson you slept with my brother -- honesty won’t keep this vital political alliance strong. Don’t forget you’re one of us now. It’s what I would do. 

I guess you could even say that Hayley, while pregnant, was a very different kind of work-in-progress for Klaus that made it near-impossible for him to see her as anything but a thing meant to be changed or cause change. Art, unfinished, and his. 

Camille: The Critic

All of these relationships are unique and powerful in their own ways. I admit I’m partial to the poetry of this one, the radicalness of this one, but again, I don’t really ship it as a romance? Maybe I do, now that I’ve had time away from it, but I don’t ‘stan’ it as ‘otp’. 

This one is obvious. Their ‘art’ scene is straightforward, and kind of cliche. A woman watches a street artist fill a huge canvas. Another passerby notices, and stops to ask her what she thinks. She floors him with her response -- so insightful, so bold, and so compassionate. The clever bartender that Marcel has a crush on just so happens to be a psychologist -- and, he learns later, with a particular, personal empathy for violent and cruel offenders. 

He feels a unique desire to be seen by her, and to be considered by her, in his entirety. Not that he does not want to control what she knows -- obviously -- but that he does not want to put on a single, convenient mask with her to accomplish his ends. He wants to be known, and he wants to know what she thinks of him. 

Again, he does not want any of this to touch him, or change him, really. He begins his Gallery Of Self not by making a therapy appointment but by ‘hiring’ (forcing) her to transcribe his biography (and making her forget everything she knows the moment she leaves his sight). This is safe, and it lets him bring out the masks and the goals and the good and the ugly of him and air them for her reaction. Will he, too, be worthy of empathy? 

Yes. But he’s also worthy of critique. Eventually, he takes baby steps to allowing her to impact his life (to varying degrees throughout all seasons that, in my opinion, make for a shamefully circular set of arcs on the writers’ parts. The point is I saw where they were trying to go with it, and letting Drama of the Week get in the way). Eventually, he makes real appointments. Tells himself he needs to change, somewhat, for Hope’s sake. 

And Camille is the kind of strong, confident woman he can imagine Hope to someday resemble. He wants his daughter to be free from the cycles of Mikaelson abuse, and he wants her to know goodness and have no reason to be evil. And if he is to do that, and if he is to know that Hope, then someone like Camille should be able to look at him and deem him capable. Worthy. Warts and all. He’ll spend time with her because he likes her, because he’s attracted to the beauty in her heart (like Caroline!) -- but he opens himself to her scrutiny because for once in his life he knows he has to change for the better. He knows he has to get help, and, well, the clever bartender seemed to fall into his life at exactly the right time to take in all of his decades and all of his deeds -- piece by piece, movement by movement, style by style, and understand them. Critique them. Maybe with that in mind he can make himself into a work that he can one day show to Hope. 

With that in mind, I can’t help but have a soft spot for those cheesy lines from the very first episode.

Klaus: Do you paint?

Cami: No, but I admire. Every artist has a story, you know.

Klaus: And what do you suppose his story is?

Cami: He's...angry. Dark. Doesn't feel safe and doesn't know what to do about it. He wishes he could control his demons instead of having his demons control him. He's lost. Alone.

Cami: Or maybe he just drank too much tonight. Sorry. Overzealous Psych major.

Klaus: No. I think you were probably right the first time.

@florafaunaandeldritchhorrors @ptonkin @furrydolphin @jungshoook (DID YOU ABANDON THE KLEBEKAH URL REDIRECT????? MOM??????!?!!?!??!?!??!?!!?!!?!??! I JUST CHECKED AND IT’S NOT THERE ANYMORE???? I NEED TO *MOURN* AND YOU JUST DIDN’T *TELL* US??!)

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Sixteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The lake being frozen saves me a lot of time. I cross it without worrying of it crumpling under my steps, putting more trust in it than anything else since the last time I’ve been here. The last time I was here… I almost died. I should’ve died. If not for the tundra-esque waters underneath me, I would’ve. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t drown anyways. Probably would’ve saved me a lot of trouble if I had.

When I look up, I can see the mountain I jumped from. From this angle, I can’t see my old cabin, but I’m certain it’s still up there. I’m excited in my own way to see it again, even though I find it impossible not to imagine a Clone with his gun trained on me waiting. Because, despite the bad memories, I will always love this place. I will always love the system I consider my home. It offered me sanctuary when nothing and no one else would, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful, even if it did try to kill me. I suppose this is what love is- I suppose this is what devotion means. Complete loyalty, no matter the distance or the experience. So, I guess, in my own way, I do love something. I love Ilum. I missed Ilum. I want to stay with Ilum.

There! The cabin! Not twenty feet from where I stand. Just as wooden and strong as ever! And there, not ten feet from me, is the spot where the trooper with the yellow striped helmet shot at me. One of his shots grazed my arm, leaving me with a scar, but I was okay. I can almost still see him there now, just as I do in some of my nightmares, but he isn’t there. Just my cabin, and the stillness of the wind.

I push the door forward, listening to the creak I used to hear so often. I can see the dust in the air, feel the still tension, and smell the silence. It doesn’t feel as warm as it once did, but that must be because of how long it’s been. Three years. Nothing has changed.

The table is still knocked over, my fruit and cheese is just as moldy as when I left it. My bed is just as ruffled up from when I threw the covers off. My old hunting jacket is still crumpled up in the corner, spearheads surrounding it collecting dust.

It feels warmer than I remember. I’m taller now. I could probably reach up and touch the ceiling if I really wanted. Tentatively, I put my left foot forward. It scuffs against the ground, causing me to almost trip. Immediately after, I know I shouldn’t be here.

I’m not welcome anymore. I’ve outgrown the cabin somehow. It may look the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. There is nothing more I can do for it, and nothing more it can do for me. Maker, the thought alone makes me want to shrivel up into a ball and cry.

How could this have happened? How can I feel so unwelcomed in my own home? This shouldn’t be possible. I should be relaxing on the bed right now, a content smile on my face as the air takes me back into its arms. But there is nothing. The air inside shoos me away with malice, begging me to stop stretching it. This was… not what I was expecting.

I turn to the left quickly, my breath falling anxiously from my lips.

On the floor in front of me is a short, wrinkled, green… thing. A male, with long ears protruding off his head and white tufts spurting from it. He dawns cream colored robes that bring out his old, but wise, green eyes. I’ve never encountered his race before. He reminds me very much of a shriveled bean, slowly dehydrating in light of the hottest suns.

Immediately, I take a step back. My heel rolls on the floor and my ankle gives a great twist. I don’t react to it at all. Instead, my left hand dives to my hips, reaching for my lightsabers. They aren’t there.

“Missing something, are you?” the green thing smiles.

I furrow my eyebrows, taking a quick and defensive step forward.

“Make a new one, should you?” then he chuckles. I take another step forward, ready to pick the thing up and crush it against the wall and demand to know what it’s done, but he’s disappeared. Almost as if he hadn’t even been here to begin with.

Make a new one? A new lightsaber?

Yes, my cabin says. Go on. We could use this time away.

It’s not like I have anything to lose from a new lightsaber. And I did say I missed my green and red blades.

I storm out of my cabin then with a hot face. There was nothing better for me to do.

I start my climb to the temple. I already passed the main entrance, but there’s another, lesser known, side entrance that uses the path by my hut. Years ago, I recall attempting to enter the temple through that entrance, but there was a giant ice door in my way. Luckily, there was an abandoned lightsaber I could snag, but I never did find the trick with the door. I never bothered to watch any of the youngling groups for fear of discovery. Now, it seems I have to. Even if I find another abandoned lightsaber, I won’t steal it this time.

I climb the mountain for a while with ease, my body remembering all those primal, survival instincts. Then I slip into a little tunnel to my right and hike upward, eventually making my way back outside and to the side of the mountain. It’s not dark yet, meaning I’ve been making good time.

I wonder what Adamus is doing right now. Probably defending needing me to his little… sausage council. Man, those guys really did not want me with them. I don’t blame them. Lucky for them, they won’t have to worry about it anymore. I have no intention of going back. I won’t see Adamus again, nor Aheka. Admittedly, I feel a little guilty about leaving Aheka. She was trying her best to be kind, and it felt sincere.

There’s a story I heard once on Coruscant, about a bog frog and a scorpion. The scorpion asked the frog for help crossing a river, and the frog accepted. Once it was finished, the scorpion stung and ate the frog. I guess that makes me a scorpion, and Aheka the innocent frog. Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to eat or kill her, but I can abandon her. I can abandon anyone. I don’t need them.

Then, I’m thinking about Adamus gripping my arm in the middle of his meeting and leering close enough for me to stare deep into his pale eyes, and I have deny needing them all over again.        

I find the entrance in the form of a giant hole in the side of the next mountain. I can see the giant ice door I need to get to below, and the large ice crystal above. I drop down to the level below with ease, cracking the snow under my feet. I can see my breath come out in puffs and feel the iciness of my fingers. It’s much colder down here- more stale. Everything feels old and sacred and on the verge of trapping me.

The question now is: what to do? Last time I was here, I couldn’t figure out the trick with the door. I suspect I have to melt it using the crystal above somehow, but it may just be faster to break it myself with the force or lightning.

No, no. Then the crystal would break and hurt me, and I’d have no other way to get into the temple. I shouldn’t disturb the atmosphere more than I have to.  

The hole I leaped through… there’s sunlight seeping through it.

Tentatively, I raise my left hand to the air and towards the crystal. The air around me becomes tighter, more connected to it. I can feel the weight of it, the sharpness of the ice. Slowly, then all of a sudden- it lurches in front of the light with a crack! and I watch beams of yellow and white race across the room and meet the ice door.

Then, the door is melting away. It turns to ice and rushes down steps, chilling my feet through my boots and soaking my ankles.

I can see the darkness waiting for me, the whispers calling me inside. I can feel my crystal begging me to step forward, to enter. It tugs me and manipulates me. It wants me. It’s just as tantalizing as the Dark Side. And so, for the first time in my life, I step forward into the Jedi temple, looking for a new lifeline.

The caves are colder than I would prefer. My breath comes out in puffs of white mist, and my reflection dances across the walls of ice. The whole inside of this temple is built like a maze or a cave, forcing me to rely on nothing but instincts. I have no light but my conscience, no sense of direction but the turning in my stomach. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, despite my arms crossing to keep myself warm. How many younglings have died in these caves, I wonder, searching for their own kyber crystal? If I find my own, is it because the force wishes me to live, even after all I have done? No, if future Sith found their crystal here and the force did not stop them, then everything about this universe is deeply flawed.

I come to a fork in front of me. The path ahead is divided into three new roads.

The one on the left is quiet, with only the faint whistling of wind escaping. It feels lonely, abandoned, desolate.

The one on the right is warm, tropical, and deceiving. It feels like a party made to cover up something sinister and overly hot.

The one in the middle is nothing. It’s boring, and gray and unable to give me anything good or bad.

I take the left path. I am left-handed, I enjoy the silence, and I often feel abandoned. It was made for me.

Every so often, I hear whispers from the past. They echo through the cave walls and into my head, bouncing around softly. They feel intense, sad, distant.

“I don’t believe in chance, Commander.”

"Feel, don’t think. Use your instincts.”

“Don’t let this be the end of the Jedi.”

The whispers become darker.

“Anakin!”

“You were my brother!”

“I know him. Your vision is flawed.”

“Anakin, please!”

“Don’t underestimate my power.”

There is silence after the last whisper. Menacing, it lingers in the air. It chills me to the bone, sending vibrations down my spine like I’ve never felt.

What… what really happened that day? I only saw Order Sixty-Six from my view, but what else was there? Why do I feel so much pain?

A pang hits me in my stomach as something glinting catches my eye. A… dead end? No… I felt my crystal here. I know I should’ve gone this way! I jog towards it, disappointment settling in as I realize that of course it’s not that easy. Sure enough, there’s a thick sheet of ice blocking me from going any further.

… I can see something shining on the other side of wall. I can hear it. I can… I can feel it. It’s my crystal.

I’m not in the cave anymore all of a sudden. I’m alone and in the dark- this time literally. The air feels humid and warm in contrast to the cool cave I was previously in. I can hear the echo of my breathing throughout the area, which appears to be unending. I feel my braid hit my back as I whirl around, searching for an exit in the abyss.      

“Keres?”

I twirl around, and there she is.

“You’re really out of it today, aren’t you?” Talik coos. Her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she blinks. The light hitting her face makes her full lips shine perfectly. At this, I realize I’m not in the black void anymore. I’m back on our ship, right in the leather seats by our game table.

 “I’m just tired,” says a familiar voice from behind me. I turn around again, but this time I see myself. I realize I’m watching the scene play out from a distance, and I step closer with furrowed eyebrows. I know better than to question what the Force brings to me at this point.

I am younger. My shirt is loose and longed sleeved, effectively covering my skinny arms. My braid looks neater than it does now. The makeup under my eyes is cleaner, but also smudged as if I’ve been crying. I am similar, but different to as I am now.

Talik leans forward in her seat with a smirk. She puts her elbows on the table and crosses her arms. “Could’ve sworn I heard you making noises last night. You sure nothing was keeping you up?” She bites her lip and wiggles her eyebrows. I watch my own face go blank with apathy, but I can see the wheels of my mind turn as I try to understand her meaning.

“Not like that,” I finally say. “Must’ve been Kip.”

“Ew. Or Mur.”

I roll my eyes and look away casually. “Please, stop talking.”

Talik throws her head back and lets out a musical laugh. “If you insist.”

The air is quiet for a moment. Old Keres looks down to her lap and fumbles with her fingers (all ten of them), picking at her nails as she thinks. Talik watches me with scrutinizing eyes. She’s analyzing me.

And then the memory all comes back at once. I couldn’t place it at first. Now I can. And my brain feels cloudy as I try not to collapse in on myself with cringe.

“I have something for you,” Talik finally says. I pick my head up with attention, and she digs into her belt pocket and puts a small pouch on the table. “Glitteryll,” she smiles. “Two pounds of it.”

I look at the small pouch with something like lust. I can see my own pupils dilating in and out. My mouth falls open slightly, revealing my top row of teeth about to bite into my lower lip.

“Where’d you get all that, anyway?” I ask.

The Twi’Lek rolls her eyes. “You know what your problem is, Vagor? You’re paranoid. Always. All the time! It never stops!”

A snuff of air leaves my nose with a quick smile in an attempt to relax myself. “I think you’re just jealous I ask better questions than you do.”

“Ha. You wish,” she says with narrow eyes. “But for real. Look at this.”

“It’s impressive,” I shrug, eyeing the pouch with desire again. “But do you really think Mur would appreciate it?”

Talik rolls her eyes. “Paranoia. Again with the paranoia.”

My old self watches her. My eyes flicker between Talik’s. I can’t remember what I was thinking exactly, but I remember thinking very hard. I can see it in my face from the little details no one but me would notice.

“I guess,” I finally mutter. “I think I’m gonna take it easy today. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

I go to exit the booth. In my real body, my hands ball into fists as I watch myself. I already know what happens next. I remember it. I didn’t like it.

Talik swipes the pouch back into her hands and under the table. “You’re always at that desk, Vagor. Will you be working?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably, I guess. I can get around to that holster you asked for.”

My hands tighten into smaller balls.

“Well then you’ll need your energy,” Talik smiles. “Here. Wait right here.”

She didn’t give me a chance to respond. Talik sweeps her curvy body out of the booth and into the space we use as a kitchen. My old self watches her go, easing myself back into my seat slowly. I should’ve just gotten up anyway. That’s what makes this whole future my fault.

Talik clicks a button on our caf machine. I could’ve sworn I’d told her I’m not all a fan of the stuff, but I’d just figured she’d forgotten. Instead, my present body keeps my eyes glued to her, as the old me twiddles my thumbs in waiting.

I watch the Twi’Lek remove the pouch from her hands, open it, and set it on the counter. She fills a tall cup with the caf and sits it on the counter. Her slender fingers reach into the bag and pull out a pinch of shimmering dust. She lets it fall into the cup and swirls it around. Then she takes another pinch of the stuff and repeats. Talik does it a third time for good measure. Finally she brings the cup over to the table, steaming and the color of chocolate, setting it down in front of me.

“For you,” Talik smiles sweetly.

I remember having a bad feeling. It’s my fault.

I already know what happens next. I don’t need to see it,  though I do anyway. Because what I see now isn’t up to me. Because I know that I can’t be in control of everything.

Still, once it is done, I am somewhat on the verge of tears. It is enough to make me wonder if I am weak. If I deserved what had happened after I accepted the drink. But mostly I think I cry of frustration towards myself. Because even now, after I watched it all, I still make myself believe that Talik didn’t mean any of it.  

“Not your fault, it was,” calls a familiar voice from behind me.

Lowering my gaze under the weight of my shame, I turn. I’m no longer looking at the ship, but instead at a large, circular room. The wall is made of windows, revealing an orange sky behind a detailed city. I can see the ship traffic outside, whizzing and whirring as if anyone had anything important to do. The room is lined with dark red chairs. Only one of them is filled.

“Known, how could you?” says the little green one. His eyes narrow and widen as he speaks, as if he were desperately trying to get his point across.

My lips quiver as I search around the room quickly. I can feel the tears welling up again, blurring my vision somewhat. It feels like there’s no more air in the world.

“I should have been smarter,” I finally break. My head falls again. I can’t stop myself from sniffling like a child, but I can obscure his vision from seeing it at least.

“No,” he responds firmly. “No, no, no! Never the fault of the victim, it is. Only that of the perpetrator.”

“So I’m a victim then,” I wipe my nose with the cuff of my sleeve. Being a victim is the very last thing I wanted to be. “Who are you?” I snap suddenly.

The little green things mouth curves into a thin line. A smile. And for some reason, the smile puts me at ease. The creature is old and wise. If he smiles at me, it’s because he is certain things will go alright. If he smiles at me, it’s because he’s certain that the Force will carry my body safely to the shore, no matter how high the waves climb. And who am I to question the thing I believe to bind everything together?

“Right,” I mutter as I roll my puffy eyes. “Jedi.”

“Something clever about you, I knew there was.”

“You don’t need to be force sensitive to see that,” I explain. I can feel my nose drain, and I want to wipe it again.

The Jedi creakily extends his hand to me. His three claws gesture out to me, then to a chair on his right. I eye them suspiciously. They are the thrones of my enemy. I wouldn’t touch them unless it was to ruin it.

Though, now that I see them, I see how plush they are. They remind me of velvet. I haven’t touched velvet many times in my life. True to my nature, the longer I see the furniture, the more curious I become. Finally, I edge myself closer to the thing before I settle into it slowly.

It’s soft. I was right about the velvet. Still, I don’t feel comfortable enough to sink into it all the way. I keep myself poised and upright, and ready to stand at a moments notice.

“Against the Jedi Order what have you?” the old thing croaks.

My index finger twitches reflexively at the question, like a spasm. I don’t think about it too much, but then I miss my ring finger. I can’t seem to forget about it.

I breathe out through my nose slowly. I haven’t told anyone about my reasoning behind my opinion on the Jedi for as long as I’ve been alive. For so long, these opinions have just been bouncing around inside my own head. Am I ready to speak them into the air?

“You’re just not as good as you say you are,” I swallow bitterly. In reality, I want to scream out ‘you left me to die!’, but that doesn’t fit my constant need to be cool as a cucumber. “This whole thing is just ridiculous you know. Why would you even wear robes for a job like this? That doesn’t make any sense. You’ll trip on your own feet. Is that what you want?”

A touch of humor to hide my emotions. A defense mechanism.

“What about your big, fancy temples, huh? Why do I have to walk up so many stairs to meditate? I can just meditate in my own house.”

“Your name, I did not catch.”

“And what’s with all your kriffing diversity? We get it! You’re tolerant. Except when someone has a different world view than you. Then they’re evil and under speculation, right?”

The green thing frowns slightly, but I keep going.

I stand, heated from my tangent. “That’s your whole point, isn’t it? To stand against evil? Have you ever considered that there wouldn’t even be evil without whatever you call good? Everything depends on perspective. Nothing fancy and made up like your moralistic code. Which, by the way, is completely backwards. You really think no one in your order would fall in love?” My hands are practically waving around in the air now as I speak to emphasize my version of enthusiasm.  “Waste of time and energy.”

The green one looks at me kindly, for some reason. He doesn’t seem angry. Nor appalled. He is comfortable.

“Master Plo Koon’s chair, you sit in,” he croaks.

I raise an eyebrow at this. The fingers of my left hand run against the velvet, feeling all the pieces of fiber. “Master? As in-”

“Jedi Master,” the thing nods with a small smile. “A good master for you, Master Plo would have been.”

For a split second, I see someone like Jarvers being crushed under the weight of flames in a cockpit. Then he is gone.

But I can’t accept this. The Jedi want me now? After abandoning me? After failing to give me a proper chance? I’ve already shown I can survive on my own. I don’t have anything more to prove to this group of laser sword monks. And I won’t let them control me more than they already have. No one gets to control me but myself. Not even Talik.

My head shakes side to side slightly. I look the Jedi straight in his bright, emerald orbs, and I tell him the truth: “I’d never let anyone be my master. I…” don’t say it, Keres. Don’t say it.

“I don’t want to be good,” I admit. “But I know I’m not evil. I tell myself I am a lot, but I’m not. It’s just perception- view. The truth is I’m in the middle. Whatever you wanna call it- centrism, ambiguity, I don’t care. But if nobody else is going to do it, then I’ll be balanced. Just me. I don’t mind being alone.”

The green thing leans forward in his chair. A hand with three claws reaches out to me. I can see his nails are like thorns that are easy to scratch yourself on. “Master Yoda, I am. Your name?”

I blink once.

The Jedi is not phased by my confession of moral grayness. He is calm and collected. His wise eyes do not deceive me, and I see that he is honest.

I lean forward in the Jedi’s seat as well. My right hand extends to meet the green. “Keres,” I mutter. “Keres Vagor.”

The moment my hand touches his, he’s gone. The room is gone. The planet is gone. Everything is gone. I am standing in the void again. Just when I think I’m alone, two voices whisper nightmares from over both left and right sides of my shoulders.

“You’re a good girl, Keres.”

"Good soldiers follow orders.”

My eyes snap open immediately. There are black and yellow spots dancing across my vision, but other than that, I’m back in the ice caves. The back of my neck is flat against the snowy ground.

Slowly, reality sinks in weight in my right hand. I lift it up and peel back my four fingers. Inside, a small, sharp, faintly glowing rock reveals itself. My crystal.

I leave the temple with a limp, clutching my stomach. The hand is holding the crystal so tight it might be breaking the skin. I’m too exhausted to register it. When I come back to the circular room I initially entered in, I can see the sunlight streaming through still. It must still be the same day, meaning it didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.

When I reach the cabin, I feel as if I’m going to throw up. I do- twice. Luckily, there’s a bucket of cheese I was never going to eat anyways that I empty the contents of my stomach into. Then I wipe my sweaty palms and get ready to forge a saber.  

The design I come up with for my lightsaber is one I like. Simple, sleek, not overly extravagant.

It is made of onyx. The body has a pattern of silver and black horizontal stripes, and the emitter is tall and slanted. The pommels, when detached from each other, has a small, silver loop for me to clip onto my belt.  

With a slow exhale, I place my thumbs over one of the switches. I hold the lightsaber directly in front of me, trying to slow my heartbeat. It’s not easy, and I fail.

I’m about to find out what color my lightsaber is.

I push the switch down. The blade extends to life, tall and searing. It comes out in a shade of golden yellow, matching the one that the Clone marked his helmet with that day. It is not blue, nor red. Nor green, or purple. It is yellow. Amber.

My lightsaber, is yellow.

[possiblypeachy]

opportunities missed.

―; summary: there are plenty of times during which the Warden and Alistair could've kissed. of course, in that terrible fashion of theirs, they were far too stupid to take these chances and instead fumbled around with their emotions like the fools that they were. at least we get some good pining out of it, hey?

―; pairing: alistair x female warden

―; word count: 4.8k

―; warnings: n/a (i think! please tell me if you deem otherwise.”

―; A/N: i am a Great Big Fool for never having written for alistair before. this himbo was my first love in a game and i need more content where he’s being useless so i thought i’d just write some myself. i can’t guarantee everyone’s 100% in-character but please do enjoy the oncoming antics regardless!!

― ❊ ―

To say that Alistair and the Warden’s relationship had been simple would be the biggest lie of the ages. Granted, during the Blight was a complicated time to decide that you love somebody but, Maker’s balls, did they make it difficult for themselves. It was all flushed cheeks and shy gifts in amongst the ruthless fighting and bloodshed; one might think they’d have been pushed to confess sooner, considering the looming threat of death, but one would also be bypassing the fact that they are idiots and idiots stray wildly from what is expected from them.

There had been a myriad of near-kisses on their journey together, all more ridiculous than the last, before it finally happened (afterwards, Zevran had owed Oghren a coin purse, much to the assassin’s chagrin). It was certainly something of a personal battle for everyone involved and, as we all know, battles always come will glorious tales behind them. Well, perhaps ‘glorious’ isn’t a viable word to use here but the whole ordeal was… interesting, for sure.

The first instance of this recurring disaster was while traipsing through Redcliffe Castle in hopes of finding Arl Eamon safe and well and not finding his demon-possessed son. Now, by this point, Alistair and our dear Warden were becoming steadfast friends; she had the same wit as him, that same sense of shy heroism, and, luckily for him, she seemed to have little tolerance for Morrigan’s constant mocking-- at least, she had little tolerance when she could tell that the apostate had hurt the poor man’s feelings. Nothing special was blooming yet but there was certainly a strong potential for that tension-- that delicious pining that everyone wants to read about or experience if they’re lucky.

“Do these corridors ever stop?” Was Alistair’s second complaint of the past hour, following a long, dismal monologue about the sheer amount of stairs in the castle. It was almost like he’d forgotten about how huge this place was as a child and was just now rediscovering it all.

“Do your complaints ever stop?” It was Morrigan who bit back, of course, and the Warden closed her eyes in anticipation. Hearing Morrigan speak was sometimes like being stood in the eye of a storm and knowing that there’s no escape from the battering soon to arrive. “One might think you Grey Wardens have bigger problems to whine about.”

Half-hoping that there’d be yet more walking corpses in the next room if only to stop their argument before it began, the Warden pushed open a door to her left and swerved into it, hand lingering near her weapon. Her hopes were crushed, however, when she was met instead with a horrible damp smell and a few rats-- not even of the giant variety-- skittering behind barrels and crates.

The disagreement didn’t stop either, with Alistair biting back a: “Well, I am truly, deeply sorry that I’ve not had my mind fully focused on-- what?-- the possible end to everything.” Morrigan scoffed but he continued over the sound of the Warden’s mabari barking-- he, too, quite obviously irritated with the bickering. “I suppose it’s easy to assume that people can’t have more than one thing on their mind when you live in a quaint, little bog--”

“I likely have more on my mind now than you ever have--”

“Ladies!” The Warden put one hand up, the other digging through the depths of a barrel in hopes that there was something useful there. “Why don’t we stop with the back-and-forth and-- Andraste’s tits, what is that?” She pulled out an object that resembled a fruit, brown and green due to age. An insect leapt from the surface of the fruit back into the grubby heaven that was the pit of the barrel. The Warden, able to handle things such as walking corpses and maleficarum but apparently not a rotting apple, threw the dastardly thing against the nearby wall. The impact made a disgusting, wet noise before sliding down to the floor.

The quartette stared at it briefly, all sharing a similar frown, before the Warden let out a tired sigh. “Well, if you two have stopped fighting, I think I’d like to leave this room and try to forget about what just happened.” With that, she turned.

Straight into Alistair.

It was a strange and decidedly awkward bump of chests, during which their faces were suddenly closer than they’d yet been. There were mutters of “Oh, Maker, sorry” and “Sorry, I didn’t-- uh-- see you there” that made Morrigan smile like… well, a witch behind them; they likely weren’t going to hear the end of it.

Alistair’s cheeks flushed a reddish colour, ears tinged with embarrassment, and it was in that moment that the Warden had decided that he was, for a warrior meant to help her save the world, quite adorable. He decided that same thing in the same moment about her, what with her averted gaze and little, apologetic smile.

Wonderful.

It happened the second time when they were both acutely aware of these growing feelings for one another. Leliana had already begun to poke fun-- in the kindest way possible-- about how she’d always catch them staring at each other from across the camp, a light in their eyes that declared admiration-- not only borne from respect for each other as fighters. Of course, in that way of theirs, they denied anything to begin with, despite their flirtatious banter and their want to protect one another on the battlefield.

Everyone in their merry little band could agree-- to this day-- that the Deep Roads around Orzammar were just the worst place to be in Thedas. Even without the extra darkspawn hanging about thanks to the Blight, the tight tunnels and deepstalkers were enough to keep anyone away. This, unfortunately, would be the next setting in their series of near-kisses.

A particularly tough squadron of darkspawn had set upon them during their search for Paragon Branka and, as always, their duty as Grey Wardens meant that they were obliged to at least try to take them out. The Warden could already feel the onset of muscle fatigue and sweating so much down in these depths was just bad for everyone. Quite frankly, she’d had enough and was considering calling for a retreat and trying to find a side tunnel they could take to pass by this onslaught; who knows what other beasts would be further along in the tunnels? They needed to conserve energy and supplies.

“Everyone!” She had shouted against the clash of metal and the crackle of magic, slamming her weapon into an attacking darkspawn, after which Morrigan promptly blasted it off of the rocky archway they’d been fighting on. “Retreat!”

The line of fighting started to pull back to the entrance to the cavern, darkspawn unable to crowd themselves onto the thinning walkway without stumbling and falling to the rocks below. It was all going well-- perfect, in fact-- until there was the distant and distinct burning sound of a fireball careening through the air. The Warden made direct eye contact with an emissary, holding its staff in its hands like it had just attacked, before a shout of her name came from her right and Alistair launched himself at her. The explosion of magic was deafening and blasted the entire party off of the rock arch and straight into the darkness below.

Despite the fall not being particularly high, the Warden was certainly ready for a painful impact, her skin already tender and hurting from the blast. Her body slammed into the floor, a cloud of dust following her as she rolled down a small ravine. Upon feeling the instant aching in her shoulder, she decided that she’d allow herself a few moments of grace and just lay there for a while-- at least to alleviate the ringing in her ears.

However, another body rolled into hers, the weight of them barreling her along with them until they both came to a stop tangled together. There was the distant groaning of Zevran, still lying on the floor, nursing a bleeding cut on his forehead, and Morrigan was stood a few metres away patting dirt off of her skirt with a face contorted with inconvenienced disgust. Admittedly, the Warden might’ve blacked out for a few moments but when she came to the realisation that the floor below her wasn’t rock and was, indeed, a person she inhaled sharply and sat up.

Alistair was beneath her-- to which she was sure that Zevran had said something to disgrace the Maker but the ringing in her ears was still too loud to hear it properly-- with cheeks painted red and a crooked little smile. His mouth was moving so she could only assume that he was speaking but rather than making it clear that she couldn’t hear him she did as was expected of her and said: “What?”

Well, perhaps ‘said’ isn’t the right word to use here. ‘Shouted’ maybe? Or, more appropriately ‘bellowed’? Either way, Alistair flinched when she all but yelled at him. As was expected, he shouted back in hopes that she’d be able to hear him over it all. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

The ringing was slowly starting to subside so, luckily, she didn’t have to scream at him anymore. “Ah, yes, the stench of darkspawn and a painful shoulder really does get me going.” Zevran, now stood, chortled at her comment and, if you looked closely enough, Morrigan had given a little smile too.

Despite their joking, the hand on her lower back that helped her up made the Warden’s poor little heart flutter and the mere fact that they had landed like that made Alistair worried that the Maker would smite him, though he’d let it happen if only to see the gentle curl of her lips for the rest of his life. Love could always bloom in strange places-- in this case, the Deep Roads-- and their lingering looks and closeness during combat made that overbearingly obvious to everyone else. Sickeningly so, Morrigan might add.

To think this was the end of their everlasting pining would make you a great fool-- much like them, actually. After the Deep Roads and that dreaded encounter with the broodmother, Alistair had shyly offered up a rose to the Warden. He had said that he couldn’t allow such beauty to be tainted by the Blight and, in a certain way, he felt the same about her. She’d blushed, made a silly though overall on-brand joke, and took the rose from him, fiddling with petals with a fullness in her heart that made it hard to breathe. When he’d seen her setting it down beside her bedroll before she slept, staring at it for a little too long, he had to practice every bit of restraint he had to not smile like a madman.

She hated to leave it in that dismal little box as they travelled to the Brecilian Forest but had to so anyway, making a mental note to ask Wynne if it was possible to magically preserve the flower later on. During the trip, Alistair and the Warden would always walk just a little too closely, backs of hands brushing past one another with a desire to cave and finally entwine. They’d share the same night watches, staying up together until sunrise, pointing out strange shapes in the stars or trying to convince the other that there was a beast in the nearby bushes. It was horrendous to see such obvious adoration between two people without ever having seen either of them consolidate it-- like reading a book that never reaches its climax.

The forest was nice enough, what with all the greenery and rabbits, if you could just discount the overwhelming presence of werewolves and the trees-- the walking trees. In hopes that things might go more smoothly, the Warden had brought her mabari along for the ride, praying that maybe he and the werewolves could bark up some kind of deal. Admittedly, this wasn’t perhaps the best idea-- Morrigan made that very clear-- but the Warden wasn’t some kind of lycanthrope expert and was only doing what instinct told her. Besides, much like a pair of children who had decided on a stupid idea, herself and Alistair had declared that, as the two Grey Wardens of the group, no one could tell them not to bring the mabari along. Then, they mumbled some reasons that seemed to be good enough for Oghren at least and went on their merry way.

The Warden, her mabari, Alistair, and Wynne (who had come along if only to support Alistair in his belief that the mabari plan would work) had been traipsing through the forest, muttering curses at rocks hidden underneath leaves and felled trees that would block their path. The Warden was amazed at how many of those sylvan creatures there were in these woods and, Maker, did their long, twiggy arms hurt if you got slapped by them. However, they had yet to encounter any of these werewolves that Keeper Zathrian had mentioned and she was starting to wonder if this was some kind of ploy to get the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden killed or merely lost in the forest. Well, they could’ve done that themselves.

Her mabari barked a few times and looked at her, tension in his hindlegs that signalled agitation.

“What’s wrong, boy?” She bent down slightly to ask him, careful to not let her voice get too loud in case there were nearby enemies.

“Bark bark! Grrr!”

“What’s that? There are some other pooches on their way here that might not like us being on their territory?”

“Woof! Bark bark, woof!”

“Hiding would be advisable unless I’m willing to either fight them or be marked as territory--”

“Woof… woof, grrr.”

“-- and I’d never be able to wash that smell out of my clothes?” The Warden straightened herself again, her hands on her hips like she was considering what to put on her toast in the morning. “Well, you guys heard what the dog said; we should really find a spot to hide in.”

Wynne zoned out of what the Warden had said entirely and instead stared, open-mouthed, at her and the mabari. It’s difficult to describe the sheer level of confusion the wizened mage had painted across her features but, to put it into perspective, imagine that one of your friends had just had a full-blown conversation with a dog and-- oh, wait.

Alistair, on the other hand, had the kind of love in his eyes and curl to his lips that came from watching your partner do something altogether strange but genuinely quite skilful. This woman can talk to dogs-- how can she get any better? is what he probably thought upon watching this exchange.

The mabari barked again and it seemed to snap everyone out of their stupor and forced them to pay attention to what the Warden had just said, though Wynne would certainly be having words with the Warden about this later on. Did she understand him through tone of bark? Was it some kind of magic? How was he saying such long--

There was a crunch of fallen branches in the distance and snarl that even a war dog like her mabari couldn’t make. Wide eyes darted to Alistair, then Wynne, before she barrelled herself toward a gap between two nearby rocks, hoping that she didn’t smell too much of anything. The other two shared a look-- a panicked, helpless look. Wynne practically leapt behind a thick-trunked tree with surprising grace for a woman of her age and left Alistair to stiffen up in the middle of the path.

Her mabari barked at him once, a considerable amount of concern in his tone when one considers that he’s a dog, and Alistair plunged into a familiar state of panic-- one of the many reasons that he always insists on being a follower, not a leader. Maker, he was going to be eaten by one of these werewolves-- an oversized, probably stinking, mutt. What a way for one of the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden to die.

A hand yanked on his own and he suddenly had to suck in a breath to squeeze into this cold, slightly damp crack in the rock. The Warden was pushed a little further down the crack, one of her hands pressed against his shoulder to push him back against the wall a little, allowing her to peer out into the open. Alistair soon became acutely aware of how close they were and it got more and more difficult to keep any kind of attention on the task at hand. Instead, he’d let her do all the heavy-lifting while he decided if that smell of hers was more of a campfire aroma or some kind of lady product she might’ve picked up on the road. His brows furrowed. Were there such things to be picked up? And, surely she wouldn’t have the time to--

He fought back the need to heave out air when she wriggled herself closer to him, effectively squeezing her body right in front of his in this dastardly gap. Her hand pressed to his chest now instead of his shoulder in hopes of creating a little more breathing room for herself, though this, in turn, suffocated him a little bit. The curiosity in her eyes was quite sweet, however, so Alistair decided against saying anything yet.

Her mabari barked at the rustling on the outer edge of the clearing, that distinct threat in his eyes that marked him as a war dog. When a hulking foot crunched through the leaves and the guttural snarling became louder than ever before, he didn’t seem so eager to fight anymore and lowered his tail, flattening his ears to his head. He looked in the direction of the Warden, worried, and she did a strange kissy face as reassurance; he would be getting lots of hugs and treats after this, even if Morrigan complained about how the extra meat made him absurdly gassy.

From her position crushed between Alistair and the rock, she couldn’t crane her neck around to look at the source of the thumping footsteps. Alistair, on the other hand, could see the werewolf too well, breathing out a curse of “Maker’s breath” before the Warden slammed a hand over his mouth in a fit of sudden fear that the oversized pooch would hear him. Their gazes met and her eyes widened, silently asking him what he saw. Her hand stayed clamped over his mouth so he raised his hands awkwardly, careful not to jostle himself or her, and made a gesture that screamed ‘it’s huge!’. She swallowed down her nerves and poked her head out of the gap a little further, finally allowing Alistair to breathe through his mouth again.

The werewolf was alone, luckily, and sniffed at the air as it inched forward, poking its nose about before it landed its sight on the mabari. Beady eyes narrowed, its back hunched over more, and it padded toward the fellow dog. “What is this--” there was a little snort, “-- mutt doing alone?”

As the Warden had asked, the mabari barked a few times, though he was certainly less sure of himself now than he was before. She was proud of him, at least-- her little snookums, her tiny, baby boy; look at him, facing off against such a hardy foe! He’d come so far since he was a puppy. She did one of those strange, nostalgic smiles that made Alistair practically vibrate with the beginnings of laughter.

“Stupid dog. Thinks I can understand it’s tongue--”

The Warden had poked her head out a little too far and, filled with worry that she might stumble out of their spot, Alistair grabbed her shoulders and tugged her back toward him. A few pebbles slipped under her feet as she wobbled back into position which made the werewolf dart its head in their direction. Her mabari began to bark again, hopping about on the spot in hopes of drawing attention back to him.

Smart boy, is what Alistair thought as he eyed the situation, still holding the Warden in her spot; a bout of protector complex had come over him, it seemed. He wasn’t going to lose his partner in crime to some… ugly dog. They still had this whole Blight problem to sort out and, Maker, he would not be able to do that himself.

The Warden didn’t even get a chance to see if her dog’s distraction had worked since her mind had quite wonderfully latched onto the realisation that her face was mere inches from Alistair’s.

Welcome to the party, dearest Warden.

Her eyes began to study the little intricacies of his face: that stubble of his that he’d all too often cut himself trying to shave, the wound on his cheek that she’d have to remind him to clean later on, the crease that appeared between his eyebrows whenever he tried to concentrate a little too hard. It all made her want to bring a hand up to cup his cheek, to angle his face so that she might kiss his cheek or, even better, his--

“That bloody wolf is finally gone. I didn’t think--” Alistair turned to face her but words caught in his throat when he saw the way that she was looking at him, a sudden flush painting his cheeks. He swallowed once and finally croaked out the rest of his sentence, voice barely there, “-- I didn’t think your dog was going to-- to pull it off.”

The Warden paused for a moment, then her mouth curled into a grin, breathing out a laugh. He was so terribly awkward that it made her want to take his face in her hands and squish his stupid, idiot cheeks together. She’d want it no other way. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

At this, Alistair’s nerves eased somewhat and he followed her in chuckling, shaking his head at her remembrance of a decidedly terrible line he’d said while they were stuck in the pit of the world. “Arguably more so than last time. I would’ve liked some flowers or maybe some atmospheric music but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” The Warden replied through laughter, a hand pressed delicately against his chest plate. Their gazes met, expressions softening into something different-- something like love, and her eyes soon flickered down to his lips. His cheeks flushed a darker colour, pupils blown wide.

Just as either one of them were about to make the first move, a bark sounded just outside the gap in the rock above the gentle fullness of Wynne’s laughter. “Ah, to be young and in love.” She mused, looking at them with the same kind of amusement that would befit a grandmother who just found out her teenage grandchild had a crush on someone: hands clasped together and a knowing little smile painted across her lips. “Come on, lovebirds; we have the world to save.”

The Warden shuffled out first, with the help of Alistair who had begun to ramble on to Wynne about how Grey Wardens could “actually telepathically communicate, which is what we were just doing.” Wynne simply murmured back sarcastic agreements, smiling up at Alistair all while trying to stop herself from laughing. Admittedly, even the Warden herself didn’t think they could talk themselves out of that one, though she admired Alistair for trying.

When they finally ambled back to camp after resolving Keeper Zathrian’s werewolf problem, the Warden had gone to sit with Alistair beside the fire as usual. Each time they sat together, they seemed to inch closer, shoulders and hands touching by this point. Sometimes, on cold evenings, the Warden would even rest her head on his shoulder, telling stories of her childhood and tales about the scars that littered her body.

This particular evening, Alistair seemed occupied with something, however-- so much so that he didn’t even respond when the Warden had offered him the crunchy end of the bread that he always begged for. She plonked her chin down on his shoulder and hummed, the vibration catching him off-guard. He turned a little so he could look at her and she pulled away, holding the bread out to him again. “What’s on your mind?”

Alistair pursed his lips, taking the bread and picking at the crust around the outside. “All this time we’ve spent together… you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…” He dropped his hands into his lap and let his eyes wander back to her. “Will you miss it once it's over?”

She thought for a few moments, gaze boring into the fire like it might give her some kind of answer. “There’ll always be more battles to fight somewhere.” There was a pause before she turned to him, a gentle curiosity about the nature of his question swimming about in her eyes. Though, she said nothing more, allowing him to continue.

“But that doesn’t mean we would necessarily be fighting them together.” His hands were shaking a little more than he would’ve liked and the next breath he released sounded more akin to an owl than anything else. “I know it… might sound strange, considering we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve come to… care for you.” He stopped, a nervous little smile coming to his face. “A great deal.”

It was safe to say that the Warden knew where this conversation was leading and the pit of her stomach felt like a cauldron, holding an unusual mixture of anxiety and joy, love and fear. She shuffled slightly so that she might face him more, though Alistair, lost in this little confession of his, seemed to be staring off over her shoulder, scared that looking into her eyes would reveal some form of rejection.

“I think maybe it’s because we’ve gone through so much together, I don’t know. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.” His gaze finally met hers and there was such vulnerability in those depths of amber that it made her want to weep. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…” Maker, her heart was ready to burst, “...feel the same way about me?”

There wasn’t even room for her to think before her lips cracked into a wide grin and she did that little excited giggle of hers. “I already do, Alistair, you idiot.” It was her that pressed forward to kiss him, both hands coming up to cup his face like she’d wanted to ever since he’d donned that delightful blush of his at Redcliffe. The world became enveloped in him and, for a few moments, all thought of the Blight had been replaced with just this overwhelming desire to just… be with him. She wanted to be there whenever he tripped over little logs on their adventures, she wanted to help him choose tunics that compliment his hair colour, she wanted to feel that familiar rush of fighting alongside him-- she wanted him and all that he entails.

The kiss was short-lived but had enough feeling behind it that they pulled away feeling breathless-- as though the Maker Himself had crushed them both together. When they pulled away, Alistair had that pinkish tinge to his cheeks that made the Warden push them together with her hands. “Maker’s breath, you’re handsome.” She pecked his lips again. And, again. In fact, she looked a little bit like a duck.

She finally released his cheeks when his smile became too large to contain. With a laugh and a shake of his head, a hand coming up to try to cool his blush down, he finally lifted the bread she’d given him back up from his lap. “Right, well… that went far smoother than I expected.” He picked at the bread again, averting his gaze and dipping his head down slightly, trying to hide-- to not much avail-- the ever-growing smile upon his lips. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my bread and be off to sleep, lest I pass out entirely on the dirt here.”

The Warden huffed out a laugh, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, before hauling herself to her feet. “Well, I’ll be going to bed then. I’ll be sure to dream of you so…” She took a few steps towards her tent, pondering on her words. “... dream of me too so that we might meet in our sleep, eh? I couldn’t bear to wander the Fade without you.”

With that, she shuffled off to her bedroll, a smile on her face that just wouldn’t budge. Behind her, Alistair was the same, munching on the bread much like the cat who’d caught the canary.

They may have been idiots but at least they could be idiots together.