#but she would have had to be gone for at least 3 days now

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

���Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 7

Jazz had been against the Teen Villain Alliance. 

As proud as she felt for Danny creating a safe place for meta teens to go, it… it was still villainy. These were still kids, broken, strong, powerful kids, and the fact that so many of them fall into lives of crime was a tragedy. So the fact that Danny was explicitly allowing and even teaching these children to commit crimes… Words had been said. Loud, angry words that shook the walls with their rage.

Words that their parents didn’t hear all the way in the basement. As always too busy with their work to pay attention to their children–

Well. At the very least she made her feelings known. 

Armed with her best psychology textbooks and two years of Stanford classes, Jazz prepared for her greatest challenge yet: infiltrating a criminal organization. Run by her baby brother. 

It hadn’t been easy. After their argument, Danny had been keen to keep her away from his “project.” And Jazz couldn’t just suddenly pretend to be onboard with crime. Despite his low self-esteem, Danny was smart and definitely would figure out that she was faking. With Danny gray-rocking her and the mental health of all the children he could help at stake, Jazz did something drastic, something no one would ever expect of her and something that would horrify Danny. 

She transferred to Amity Park Community College and moved back home. 

Stanford hadn’t understood. Her new friends didn’t understand. Danny, spitting mad and accusing her of spying on him, didn’t understand. But with her less strenuous classes, and extra income from online counseling sessions, Jazz was able to track down their meeting places and help set up the Teen Villain Alliance. 

It had taken a long time to convince Danny that she wasn’t going to turn them in to the Justice League. That was her fault; she’d reacted viscerally to Danny’s pitch for the TVA and broken his trust. For someone already as untrusting as Danny, the fact that she even had it was the result of years of being there for him instead of their parents. 

Now, she was older. She’d gone back to Stanford after the TVA took off and started making a profit and gotten her degree. She spent days in the Ghost Zone looking after the kids that ran through the halls of her brother’s haunt. She held regular individual and group therapy session and was in charge of a whole slew of children who didn’t want to commit crimes–there weren’t many, but kids often took long breaks in between missions and she chose to count them among her number. 

It wasn’t an ideal life, nor was it one she could have prepared for, but it was hers. 

Returning to her warm and inviting office in Phantom’s Haunt, Jazz checked her itinerary. She had an interview with a new teacher: Red Hood, set to teach riflery. She checked his file; there hadn’t been many interactions between the Alliance and the rogue, but most of them were neutral, and his open desire to protect children made him a shoo in for the position. Damian had brought him to her attention when discussing potential allies with Danny, and Danny had handed the list off to her without a second thought. 

Her office, designed to look like the old-timey library of her dreams, lit up red as the clock struck 3 (in the afternoon, she wasn’t a heathen) and the automatic summoning circle flared to life. A rush of light spun around the interior of the circle, spinning and flickering until it fell back down, revealing… a normal man holding groceries. He promptly dropped them and pulled a gun on her, pointing it at Jazz’s head as he demanded to know where he was.

Jazz frowned. She suppose it made sense that Red Hood wouldn’t be in uniform 24/7, but she’d hoped to catch him while ‘on the clock.’ Oh well. “You’re in my office, Mr. Red Hood. Please don’t try to shoot me; the ecto-barrier will hold, and I’d rather not replace the carpet again.”

“The fuck are you talking about!?” Red Hood barked. He didn’t lower his weapon. Jazz made a note of it on her chart. “Who are you? How did you kidnap me!?”

“I’m Jasmine, human resources director of the Teen Villain Alliance. I’ve summoned you for an interview today.”

He looked out of his depth. Jazz could understand; most of the human instructors she hired  were (and one had been enraged by the idea that a villain organization had a human resources department). “Summoned? I’m not a fucking demon! What the hell are you even interviewing me for?”

“Field teacher on projectile weapons and pyrotechnics, Mr. Al Ghul. We need more teachers who can take the kids out to the human world, and–”

“What did you just call me?” Now he looked disturbed. 

“Mr. Al Ghul? Your name?” Jazz checked her documentation again. Jason Al Ghul was listed at the top under Name. “Your younger brother, Damian Al Ghul has recently joined our organization and recommended you… Are you not the Red Hood?” She reached under her desk where she kept an ectogun charged. 

The man tucked away his gun and held up his hands, eyes locked where Jazz’s hand held her pistol. “...Yeah, that’s me. So this is where Damian ran off to?” Jazz relaxed and let go of the ectogun. Red Hood tried to walk out of the summoning circle, only to bounce off an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but I’ve had interviewees try to attack me before. It’s safer to keep you in the circle until an agreement has been reached.” Jazz turned to her interview questions. “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions for me? I’m sure this has been very confusing for you.”

“Yeah. What does a villain organization need teachers for anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought all of your kids were already villains.”

“Most are, but most teens… well, they end up caught quickly unless an older villain teaches them. And those villains aren’t exactly someone we’d trust not to hurt them in a training environment. Our school–”

“You have a school? Why the fuck do you have a school!?”

She sighed. “Mr. Al Ghul. If you label a child a villain and give them no way to prove otherwise, no way to grow or change, what do you think they’ll become?”

“Lady, you’re literally trying to recruit me to teach kids to shoot people. Don’t you fucking try to convince me you’re trying to help them.”

“I learned to shoot when I was 4, long before anyone called me a villain.” Admittingly, she wasn’t, and still wasn’t, a good shot, but he didn’t need to know that. “Most of our students didn’t wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to be a villain.’ They were labeled that way by society, their families, even the heroes they tried to stand up to. Here, at least, they have a place to belong.”

“Where they’re committing crimes on Phantom’s orders!”

“Less than 10% of the Alliance actively commits crimes at any given moment.” Red Hood paused. “Of those, we only take volunteers, and only those who are physically and mentally capable end up in the field. Most of the teens just live here, go to school here, recover here. It’s a safe place.”

“...Kids shouldn’t be committing crimes.”

“Kids also shouldn’t be stopping them.” His fist clenched. “Labels like 'villain' and 'hero' are meaningless when you’re dealing with teenagers who’ve already been written off by society. The TVA isn’t about teaching kids to rob banks or take over the world. It’s about giving them a place where they can survive—and maybe even thrive—without being hunted or killed for the circumstances they were born into.”

“And you’re putting ‘em in school.” He huffed a laugh. “You really think algebra and english class are gonna help them? Fix them? Put ‘em back together after the heroes shat all over ‘em?”

She shook her head. “It’s not about fixing them. It’s about giving them a second chance, and, for many? The first safe home they’ve ever had. Now–” She straightened her papers. “If you’ll content to an interview, we can get started. But if you’ve already decided to reject our job offer…”

He studied her with his narrowed green eyes and scoffed. He sounded just like Damian. “Ask your questions,” he spat. “Get ‘em over with quick, I got perishables over here.”

Jazz smiled, fangs peeking out past her lower lip.

[agirlandherquill]

the twenty-fourth day of writemas

day 24, christmas eve, our final day of the game has arrived! words cannot explain how much i have enjoyed seeing you all participate, be inspired and come up with such incredible pieces of writing! and seeing as today marks the final set of prompts, i thought i'd include some extra - and a little note, keep your eyes out dear writers because a writemas surprise will be on its way later today! (later for me at least, because this'll be going live at midnight-ish like usual, and goodness knows i need sleep to prepare for the final push of the holiday rush (cough, conclude my evening as i always do on christmas eve and watch arthur christmas, cough)) but for the meantime i simply cannot wait to see what you all come up with!

the rules, for those of you that are new or simply need a refresher: choose a prompt from the list, write something and share your creation with the rest of writeblr, and share the game with others, because as we all know writing is a gift and it deserves to be shared! and of course, tag me in your responses because i cannot wait to see them!

p.s - the game is open to all, as discussed in the invitation post - which, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, is still being monitored for newcomers and late additions - all are welcome to the game!

now for the part you're all here to see - the prompts!

Prompt List:

Dialogue Prompts:

"One day, everything we know will be gone. Until that time, you owe it to history to enjoy it."

"Stand with me. Stand for as long as it takes."

"What do you mean you don't know how to dance?"

"Look at that... It's hope."

Setting Prompts:

A choir

A road

A castle

A stable

Narration Prompts:

She gave chase, laughter echoing louder than her footsteps on the ancient floors.

He sighed his heart out and plastered on a smile, the smile would be his armour, for a time.

The heart was the heaviest burden they had, their minds were strong, their bodies never weak, but the heart was the fragilest thing of all.

The bards struck a gentle chord, one that broke the hearts of everyone in the room, everyone but the two who danced alone.

Feeling Prompts:

The chill of rain

The beauty of tears

The scent of dew

The heaviness of lies

(because i'm insanely overeager, this post like its predecessor will be going live at 00:01 UK Time, apologies to those of you that receive it early but hey, early presents are still pretty good presents :) )

eagerly awaiting your creations, and as always, happy holidays!

~ A Girl And Her Quill

the invitations have been received so here you all are, i bestow upon you the gift of writemas! p.s if you want to be added to the tag list, interact with this post <3

@365runesofthesystem @glasshouses-and-stones @tildeathiwillwrite @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings

@willtheweaver @theverumproject @phoenixradiant @thatuselesshuman @melpomenelamusa

@loverboyxbutch @i-hate-happy-endings @corinneglass @whatwewrotepodcast @aalinaaaaaa

@aseriesofsmallthings @kelseyjade @lauravanarendonkbaugh @i-do-anything-but-write @nuclearr-wessels

@95angeltears @sunflowerrosy @thebadphilosopher @ellowynthenotking @xarrixii

@the-ellia-west @myniceisniceblogbloglog @kitty-is-writing @girl-with-bones @crimsonlyinglilly

@fantasy-things-and-such @shiningstars-world @purplehandshumanfeelings @mxxnlightwriting @aquadestinyswriting

@17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @seastarblue @sacratos @afyerarchive

@sabba-tumbling @aurumni-writes @burntblanc @angelfevr @lead-to-code

@inkoherentbabeler @selfemployedmess @theeccentricraven @sarandipitywrites

@kaylinalexanderbooks @rickie-the-storyteller @grace-thomas @wonda-ch @nyoxy-ghostie

@calliecwrites @happypup-kitcat24 @woodnymphdancinginmoonshine @storycraftcafe

@rhikasa @buffythevampirelover @moltenwrites @vesanal @foyle-writes-things

@thesorcerersapprentice @diabolical-blue @elsie-writes @pepsiwriteswords @sharkblizzardblogs

@zmwrites @satohqbanana @avian-king @wordwizards @theimperiumchronicles

@ryns-ramblings @thewritingcoroner @the960writers @m-r-levine @writingsfromspace

@detective-bird @k--havok @saharasunset @the-letterbox-archives @katwritesshit

@thebookishkiwi @that-expat-girl @lyssthewriter @elligatorrex @fablesandfragments

[marauder-misprint]

Tension

Post-Regulus Black x fem!Slytherin!reader, Pre-Sirius Black x reader is endgame

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Not happy with how this part went but it's filler to get the story where it needs to be. Sorry not sorry

3.2k words

cw: swearing, fluff, Y/N

The common room isn’t deserted when you get back from Hogsmeade. There’s enough younger students milling around, not allowed to go to Hogsmeade yet, and older students opting to suffer through homework that your return wasn't a break in the monotony of the room. Therefore, you didn’t garner attention as you slipped into the boys’ dormitories. It wasn’t like girls never went into the boys’ dorms to hang out, but it was better you went unnoticed. 

You found the fifth year dorms and creeped into the room. You look around the thankfully empty room. You were glad that Regulus was a Black for once; their family crest is branded onto everything he owns, including his trunk. You approached his bed and then his desk, looking for something but you weren’t quite sure what yet. Nothing was jumping out at you. Then you moved to his trunk. It was unlocked. You gently moved things aside until you saw it. A fairly ornate silver ring with tiny emeralds. It was beautiful. It was most definitely expensive. And best of all, it didn’t scream House of Black. You slid it on your finger, put everything back in its place and left the dorm. 

No one noticed you cross the common room to the girls’ dorms. Once back in your own dorm, you put the ring on a small jewelry tray on your desk. With your new treasure, you could be bitter. How had Regulus not known you weren’t a pureblood? Why did he have to hold enough of his parents’ beliefs? Why couldn’t he be his own person and see reason? How had he known you thought blood status was stupid and still let that ruin what had potential to be a solid relationship? 

You shook your head as if to get the thoughts to fall out of your head. You knew you were scowling, but you were less concerned about your face right now. You had your thoughts and anger to worry about. If you listened to your impulses, you would have trashed his room a little bit, or taken more than a singular expensive ring, or maybe you wouldn’t have left the Hog’s Head as calmly as you did. If you listened to every heinous thought you had during the walk back, you would likely be expelled, or at least serving detention from now until you graduated. Maintaining your composure was the most important thing.

Over the next few days, there was a palpable tension and awkwardness between you and Regulus. You started putting distance between the two of you at meals and in the common room. You stopped studying together in the library. Regulus seemed more than content to spend time with his less amicable friends, Mulciber, Wilkes, Snape, Avery. Evan and Barty watched as Regulus still couldn’t take his eyes off you, although they could tell it was for a different reason. His expression wasn’t the same anymore. They enjoyed teasing him when he enamoured with you; now, that was gone, replaced with something they didn’t quite understand. The Slytherins weren’t exactly aware of why you and Regulus couldn’t be in the vicinity of each other anymore.   

You successfully evaded discussing it for a while. At least until the girls cornered you in your dorm where you are holed up to do homework in peace. 

“Alright, that’s not due for a few days and we need answers,” Dorcas said, looking at the assignment you’re working on on your bed. She slowly closed the book.

“Answers for what? The Herbology assignment?” 

Dorcas laughed as she sat behind you on your bed and leaned back against your headboard. 

“Black, actually,” Beatrice said. 

“I don’t talk to Sirius,” you replied, adjusting your position so you were sitting, rather than laying down.

“Once again, wrong Black,” Beatrice said. “Why would we be talking about that one?”

You shrugged. 

“Okay, so I asked if you and Regulus were a thing on the train and you said no. You got really close. And now you won’t look at him at all. Care to explain?”

“No.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cora said, leaning against your bed. 

Beatrice and Pandora were sitting on Pandora’s bed which is right next to yours. 

“Be like what?”

“Y/N, just tell us what happened. We know something happened,” Dorcas said firmly, although her voice was gentle. 

“Of course something happened. You’d have to be blind to not see that something happened between the two of ‘em. We just need to know what,” Pandora piped up. She gave you a kind look, as if trying to say that it didn’t matter what happened, the girls were just extremely curious and wouldn’t drop it until you gave them something to satiate them. 

“We, uh, may have gone on a few dates,” you mumbled, not making eye contact with any of them. Your hands were much more interesting than seeing what your friends thought of this revelation. 

“I knew there was something! A spark!” Beatrice exclaimed. She sounded far too pleased with herself for your liking. 

“The easiest spark to snuff,” you retorted as you gave her a scathing look. “There won’t be any more dates. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Cora asked.

“Do you think we’d be avoiding each other if there were going to be more?”

“Was he a bad kisser or something?” Dorcas asked. 

“Can’t be his status or financials,” Beatrice stated. 

Pandora gave her a warning jab in the side. Pandora knew you well enough to know that neither of those were a concern to you, and frankly, all of the girls should have known that. You rolled your eyes before twisting your head to crack your neck. 

“He didn’t know that I’m not a pureblood,” you said monotonously. 

Cora snorted. “How did he not?”

“As far as I’m aware, it’s not a hot topic,” you said almost coldly. “Unless you lot talk about my parents when I’m not around. And it’s not like the rest of the purity fanatics disrespect me.”

“You don’t exile your supplier,” Dorcas smirked, nudging you playfully with her foot.

“Exactly.” You turned to give her a smile. 

“Still feels weird that he didn’t know,” Cora said. 

“Okay, but isn’t Snape half, too?” Pandora asked. “Not every Slytherin is pureblood.”

“He makes up for it with curses and knowledge of the dark arts,” you sighed. “If half bloods want to survive in Slytherin, we have to make up for it somehow. Or you accept that your common room is going to be tense when you’re around and you make friends in other houses, if they’ll have you.”

“Hufflepuffs take anyone, even Slytherin rejects,” Beatrice said. 

“Guess that means I should start looking at the Hufflepuff boys. Maybe one of them will take a fancy to this rejected Slytherin,” you said, keeping your tone light and joking. 

Judging by the look on Pandora’s face, it didn’t come across as unbothered as you had intended. It wasn’t like you were going to actively search for a rebound or a new boy to drool over in general. You still wanted time to be bitter before you fully moved on. And a new boy would catch your eye whenever he did. It wasn’t something you were too concerned with. 

---

It didn’t take Sirius long to notice that something had changed between you and Regulus. You acted about the same in the classes you shared, but outside of them, your demeanor had shifted. After a few meals of observing you sit on the other end of the table than Regulus, Sirius came to the conclusion that Regulus’ advances were over. He waited a few days before bringing it up to the rest of the Marauders. He wanted to be more than certain that he was right. “Regulus’ little crush has gone south,” he said out of the blue. 

“What does that have to do with the Transfiguration test?” Remus asked, already knowing that the answer was nothing and Sirius hadn’t been listening to the rest of their conversation since they sat down for lunch.

Sirius made a face. “Nothing.” As Remus predicted. “Just look though!” 

Peter and Remus turned around to find Regulus sitting between Snape and Wilkes with you at the absolute end of your friends, sitting closer to a group of second years rather than the boys. 

“Okay?” Remus said slowly and confused as he turned back around. “Do we care?”

“Means his dating advice isn’t as good as he thinks,” James laughed. 

“Oi! My advice is rock solid,” Sirius defended. “So, where do we think he went wrong?”

“Have you considered that maybe she isn’t interested?” Remus asked.

“Oh please, Moony,” Sirius sighed with a smirk. “Blacks don’t get turned down. We turn people down.”

“No, Padfoot, Moony has a point,” Peter said. “Some girls are very against dating younger blokes.”

Sirius frowned. “What do we know about Y/N? Is she the kind of girl to be like that?”

The boys shrugged. They didn’t know much about you. You were well liked and known by a lot of people, but you kept details about yourself close to your chest. You weren’t the kind of girl to go around dating every boy with curly hair or brilliant blue eyes. You didn’t date enough to have a hint of a type. While it wasn’t a secret that you were a half blood, you didn’t share too much about your home life with just anyone. You didn’t have anything to hide. You believed it was simply better to not be an open book. 

Remus started talking about the Transfiguration test again. While James and Peter listened to him list off topics they should review more diligently, Sirius continued to stare at you. Every so often, he’d glance toward Regulus. It would only last for a moment before he looked back at you. He still stood by what he said at that first party of the year: you’re pretty and he’d like to be in your personal space. 

---

The tension between you and Regulus doesn’t go away over the rest of the term. It lessens, but it doesn’t go away. Part of you wonders if it just feels less tense because you don’t spend any amount of time with him, unless you can’t avoid it. The most time you spent near him was at the quidditch matches, and even then, you surrounded yourself with the girls. He wasn’t even within an arm’s reach of you. The games were oddly quiet in your opinion. You had grown used to Regulus’ commentary, even if it was unnecessary. 

You both knew that things couldn’t go back to the way it was before. There wasn’t any friendship left. But, you were moving forward. Tension dispersed. It eased. You had your time to be bitter. You eventually reached the point where you could sit on opposite ends of the common room and not care if you heard his voice carry from where he was talking with Barty and Evan. You could sit only tables apart in the library. You could sit with less people between you at meals. 

Sirius found Regulus alone in the library. Regulus’ face was stoney as he studied the book in front of him. Sirius slammed his hands down on the table to get his attention. The younger boy didn’t lift his gaze nor said a word. 

“Regulus…” Sirius sighed, his voice quieter than how he usually spoke in the library.

“Go away.”

“What happened with Y/N?” Sirius asked, leaning down so his head was closer to his brother. “You don’t seem so close.”

Regulus looked up to glare at Sirius. Sirius returned his gaze with an intense one. Sirius needed to read his brother, but being Blacks, they had been taught from early on to hide their feelings. Being an open book wasn’t an option for them. 

“I said, go away,” Regulus repeated with his voice low. 

“And I asked a question, dear Reggie.”

“There’s nothing between me and her,” he grumbled. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. 

“But there was.”

Regulus nodded slowly. 

“And?” Sirius pried. 

It was quiet for a moment. The sounds of the library seemed to amplify for that moment. The scratching of quills, turning of pages and low murmurs filled the air with a new thickness. 

“I was wrong about her,” Regulus finally said.

“Oh.”

Sirius knew exactly what his brother meant. Disappointment swelled in his chest. Regulus hadn’t been able to look past something so miniscule, so unimportant, so frivolous as blood status. If it had been something else, anything, Sirius might have tried to understand. But this? This was their parents’ doing. It was their parents’ beliefs that they had instilled in him. As far as Sirius actually knew, you could’ve been the most perfect girl for Regulus, but because you weren’t pure blood, it wouldn’t be. 

“Shame. Seemed like you really liked her,” Sirius said as he stood up straight. 

He got his answer and that’s all he needed. Regulus watched as Sirius walked away from his table. Regulus wanted to say that it was just a crush or that you were just a girl. Neither felt right to say and Sirius had been right. Regulus had really liked you, but he knew what was expected of him as a Black. With Sirius already being the disappointment that he was to their parents, Regulus had to be a proper heir, and the proper heir couldn’t be with anyone less than. He knew his parents would see you as less than. 

 Sirius didn’t see you anywhere in the library. If he had, he might’ve stopped by and dropped a compliment. Maybe you would warm up to him now that his brother made a fool of himself. Sirius only felt a little guilty that his brother’s actions would put him in a better light. He thought about it the entire way back to Gryffindor Tower. 

---

You weren’t sure what made you put it on, but you wore Regulus’ ring to class. As you tried to pay attention to your professors, you found yourself spinning it around your finger and tracing over the design. A fair amount of your classes were reviewing old spells and topics so you were more than bored. 

You didn’t notice Sirius staring at you. The shine of the silver ring caught his eyes and he frowned when he recognized it. It caught him off guard; why were you wearing Regulus’ ring when you weren’t seeing each other? If he remembered correctly, it was a gift from one of their uncles. He wore it every once in a while, but it wasn’t in his regular repertoire like the family crest ring or his Slytherin house ring. Sirius even had one that was similar to the one you were wearing. His had tiny rubies rather than emeralds. This uncle believed that Sirius could still be a proper Black, even if he wasn’t in Slytherin. Now, however, the uncle didn’t talk to Sirius; he had taken his rebellion too far for him. 

Dorcas leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder in History of Magic. Professor Binns droned on about some goblin rebellion and the notable giants who participated. 

“What do you think of a Christmas party?” Dorcas whispered.

“When the ministry hosts them, they are rather dry,” you replied just as quietly. 

Dorcas scoffed quietly. “No, Y/N. One here before we leave for the semester.”

“Like the start of term?”

She nodded. You hummed in contemplation. The party had been fun before Williams threw a fit. But then you remembered that Slughorn’s holiday party was coming up.

“Not sure how many parties I have in me.”

You felt her frown into your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Slug Club’s party is this week.”

She groaned quietly. Then she lifted her head and gave you a curious look.

“So who are you going with?”

You shrugged. 

“Haven’t really thought about it. I’ll probably just go alone.”

“You can’t go alone!”

“And why not?”

“Isn’t Sluggy like super uptight about it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Who would I even invite? Avery? Wilkes? Mulciber?” You shook your head. “No, I’d rather just go alone.”

“What if you invited Black?” Dorcas asked with a small smile on her face. 

You gasped and tried to turn it into a cough. Professor Binns gave the two of you a concerned look before continuing his lecture. You knew your face was bright red.

“We still aren’t talking,” you hissed back to Dorcas.

“Not that one. Again.” She looked like she was ready to start laughing. “I’m talking about the one who’s been staring at you all day. Sirius.”

You held in another gasp that became a choked noise. You turned to look toward the Gryffindors. Remus appeared to be paying attention, Peter was definitely asleep and James looked like he was trying to stay awake but failing. And then there was Sirius. You made eye contact with him before immediately turning back to Dorcas.

“Did you say all day?” 

She nodded with a wide grin on her face. 

“Invite him. It’d piss off Regulus too.”

“No. I’ll just go alone.”

“Fine. Be alone forever.”

“I won’t be alone forever,” you defended yourself quietly. “I just don’t want to bring him. If you had someone better in mind, preferably someone I actually know, I’d consider it.”

Dorcas hummed and slumped into her chair. You ran a hand through your hair. Had Sirius really been watching you all day? How had you not noticed? Either too focused on the consistent reviews or too zoned out to care about it… The latter. You knew it was the latter. 

You ended up going to the party alone. Dorcas and Pandora fretted about it all week, practically insisting that you needed a date. You didn’t. It wasn’t required. You dressed up enough as required, so a black skirt and nice top. You weren’t going to waste money on a new dress, even if your mum would’ve paid for it, and you didn’t feel like finding one to take. 

You did get some looks as you walked in without a date, but Professor Slughorn didn’t mention your lack of date. He greeted you as he did for everyone. After a brief talk with him, you found your way to the drink table. You could mingle easier with a cup in your hand. You tried to ignore Regulus on the other side of the room. Instead, you listened to a seventh year Ravenclaw tell you about the interview at the ministry that she was going to have over the break. 

 Regulus, like his brother, couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was wondering if sharing his parents’ beliefs was the right thing, but it had to be. He had to be the right heir for the House of Black. But you looked beautiful. He nodded at whatever Snape was saying from next to him. You just captivated him way more than any conversation could. He noticed a glint of silver and green on your finger. He felt curious about it, but he wasn’t going to talk to you. The tension between you was still there and he wasn’t going to make it worse by accusing you of stealing a ring from the bottom of his trunk. 

By the time you were boarding the train to go home, you were more than ready to leave Hogwarts for a few weeks. You didn’t really want to be at home, but it was better than seeing Regulus every day.

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid

[rainaer]

okay update I’ve been Instagram stalking and I think I can put pieces together. This is such a long deep dive so bear with me.

January: "I have two that I've written the first draft of and will go into revision soon. I have one that I'm writing now and I'm about halfway through. I have another that I'm planning." (source)

I will label these four books, in order, Mystery Book, Big Book, Paper Model Book, and Little Graceling Book. We'll follow them over the course of the year, and you'll see where the names come from.

The one that she was writing at the time, we're going to call Paper Model Book, because she said this about it: "My WIP includes a character who’s building a paper model of a castle and does other paper art too. Butterflies and moths are also an important part of the book." (source)

This draft was started many months earlier, pre-brain surgery, and went on pause for obvious reasons. From earlier notes, it appears the main character may have an M name. (source) I believe the draft was started all the way back in September 2023, and just took a while due to the aforementioned brain surgery, as well as copyediting for There Is a Door in this Darkness. (source)

She continued working on Paper Model Book for several months. She finished and submitted the manuscript around late April/early May. Several of the notebooks for this book have fox stickers on them, and she also had fox socks and fox art on her desk, which could mean there are foxes in it, but could also mean that she was just in a fox mood.

May: "With this draft done, I now have three entire books in revision, plus There Is a Door in This Darkness releasing on June 11." (source)

In May, she was on a bit of a vacation, but mentioned at one point that she was "listening to a lot of math podcasts and books to help me with a character I’m brainstorming." (source) Guessing this was for Little Graceling Book, the book she started writing in September; it's the only one she would have been planning/brainstorming for.

In June, she began revising a 430-page book. She described this revision as "so complicated" and the novel as "pretty complex". (source) The first draft of that book was written, in part, summer 2023. (source) This should be the one we have called Big Book. She continued revising Big Book for several months, while also doing release stuff for There Is A Door in this Darkness.

Peeks from that revision:

(source 1, source 2)

In September, she started plotting a new book, which we will call Little Graceling Book. Two posts about it have been tagged #gracelingrealm, implying that it's the next Graceling book.

Words I have caught in her notes for this book include: “fox” “castle” “heartless world” “the reader has guessed what A is up to and so has O; move on to other mysteries” (who’s A?? could it be adventure the fox??). Stickers include at least two foxes and a very Graceling-feeling castle.

On November 10, she mentioned writing “a bunch of pages, in a book about a world where things can change for the better (as they can in our world).” <3 (source)

A few days ago (December 21), she posted that she will be setting aside the partial first draft of Little Graceling Book to return to Big Book, her next book to come out. This book has gone through two drafts, and she’s about to get editorial letters back that will allow her to start on the third draft. There appears to be a grandfather clock and a horse sticker on the cover of its notebook, but we don't know anything else about it as far as I can tell. (source)

She also shared that two other books (Mystery Book and Paper Model Book, as far as I can tell) are in progress and hanging out on a shelf. They appear to be printouts with sticky notes in them, which indicates that they're further along in the revision process.

So. That's what I have. Hopefully this is of interest to someone besides me that will justify the several hours I spent back-scrolling Kristin Cashore's Instagram lol

hi excuse me kristin cashore is working on FOUR books rn ??

what do we think they are 👀

[sunshineandlyrics]

Anyone else heard this rumour before? (tweeted 13 September 2023) x x

It would explain why the caps at Lodz and Vienna. Maybe Krystle had to return home for some reason?

[lokh]

oughh i wanted to do a cute laishuro take on the blu ray extras (what if laios had been eaten instead) but lets be honest. they absolutely would not have made it as far without laios

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[wheneverfeasible]

Bullshit (part 3/3)

Third and final part of my angsty Steddie “Bullshit” story where Steve changes himself to try to keep Eddie’s love. I swear the happy ending is finally here everyone! Please put the pitchforks and torches away!

I hope it lives up to expectations and thank you everyone for showing such a keen interest in my story. This final part is LONG and dialogue heavy but hey, at least you finally get the fluff.

Part 1 || Part 2

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It had been two weeks.

Which, sure, wasn’t the longest they’d gone without seeing each other before due to their lives being hectic, but it had been the longest they’d gone without even so much as a quick goodnight phone call since they finally got together. Steve’s hand had hovered over the phone every night, wanting to call Eddie and apologize and promise to do better, but he was too much of a coward.

Because, you see, as long as they weren’t talking, Steve could still pretend that they were together. He knew though that the moment his resolve crumbled and he called Eddie, or Eddie finally had enough and called him, that it would be over. Eddie would officially break up with him and this time Steve didn’t know how he was going to pick up the pieces.

He loved too much, too quickly, too earnestly. But it was never enough. It was always just bullshit and he didn’t know how to stop it from being bullshit. The first time he hadn’t taken Nancy’s own needs into account, had been too caught up in his own trauma to realize that she needed more than just to pretend that nothing had happened and move on from what couldn’t be changed.

Neither had been in the wrong, of course, both dealing with trauma and guilt in their own way, but in the end they had simply been too incompatible. He hadn’t been what she needed and she hadn’t been what he needed. They couldn’t change that, not even back when that spark between them still burned in an ember. But who they were simply couldn’t change to be what the other needed, or deserved.

So then he tried to change, for Eddie. Once Eddie and he got together, it was obvious they were too different. Their friends had commented on it enough, and then when Steve changed to be worthy of Eddie, they commented on that too. But Steve was fine with changing. He loved Eddie enough to become what would make Eddie happy. He’d do anything to make Eddie happy.

Except he failed. He failed and now he had gone two weeks without speaking to his boyfriend who probably hated him now.

Their friends wouldn’t tell him anything either, not that he really wanted them to know of his failure. Only Robin knew because she had been the first person he had called when Eddie had ran away from him when it became obvious Steve wasn’t good enough.

Robin, who had threatened to make Eddie’s balls into earrings, had muttered about how she’d always known he was trouble, but Steve also remembered how happy Robin had been when she discovered she wasn’t alone. She and Eddie had gotten on like a house on fire, bickering like they’d been siblings all along, and it had been so nice to have both his soulmates so close to him and each other.

He couldn’t let Robin hate Eddie because of Steve’s own failings. So he talked to her, told her it was fine, told her not to hate Eddie just because Steve couldn’t be what he wanted, though that only seemed to make Robin worse.

Until a few days ago.

She had suddenly returned with a smile on her face, and though she seemed impatient at times, she had at least stopped threatening bodily harm towards Eddie. She stopped bringing Eddie up entirely, actually, though she looked like she wanted to say something more than once.

Normally, Steve would have pried it out of her. It would have been easy too. A flash of wide eyes, downturned lips, tilted head, a soft whine to her name, and she’d be spilling state secrets to him…though he already knew all the state secrets that she knew. But she couldn’t hide from her soulmate. Ever since that first bathroom confessional, they were never very good at keeping secrets from each other.

Steve was too tired for that now. He just wanted Eddie. But Eddie didn’t want him.

Because he was bullshit.

Steve was curled on his couch, Dio blasting from the music system, the fancy new CD player rotating the shiny disc over and over again on repeat. Eddie had said he preferred vinyls, so Steve tried to only listen to vinyls when he was around, but Steve enjoyed the way he could set the new CD technology on repeat without having to get up. It let him wallow for longer.

Robin had been by earlier, though she seemed jumpier than normal, constantly looking at her watch. She’d finally jumped out of Steve’s bed they were lounging in and said she had to go about an hour ago, stuttering excuses and refusing to meet his eyes.

He wondered if Robin was beginning to realize he was bullshit too.

He couldn’t blame her. They didn’t really have much in common either. It was only trauma bonding that tied them together, or at least that’s what she had called it a few nights after everything to do with Starcourt, when she’d biked all the way to Loch Nora and pounded on the door until a bewildered Steve had answered.

She’d thrown her arms around Steve then, and he’d realized she’d been crying, and she kept whispering over and over “you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe” as though she needed to reassure herself. Steve had at first thought she was talking about herself, but then he realized she was talking about him.

That particular realization had been electrifying. No one had ever really checked up on him before. But apparently Robin had been unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares of what the Russians had done to Steve, plagued by the what-if’s of Steve not making it out of the underground bunker. It was the first night they slept in the same bed together, but it wasn’t the last.

She’d told him that they were trauma bonded, them and the rest of the group, that no matter how different they were, they would always have each other’s back. That was also the first night she’d called him her soulmate though, making certain he knew she meant it Platonic with a capital ‘P’ and nothing else. Steve realized that it didn’t make it any less important.

But maybe that had been a lie too.

Maybe Robin was beginning to realize that they were too different. That Steve would never be good enough for anyone. Not good enough for his family, not good enough for Dustin, not good enough for Nancy, not good enough for Eddie, and not good enough for Robin. Always wanting, always worthless. Always bullshit.

It was during this spiral that a very polite, though loud, knocking came from the front door. He supposed they had to be loud to be heard over the sounds of Dio, which he had cranked up to try to drown out the thoughts in his head.

Steve rubbed at his eyes, which felt crusty from dried tears, sitting up from where he had collapsed after showing Robin out the door. He’d think that it was Robin returning for something she forgot, a regular occurrence, but she rarely knocked anymore. She typically just let herself in with the spare key he’d given her. He’d given one to Eddie too.

Pushing thoughts of his maybe-still-his-boyfriend away as he hit pause on the music, Steve shuffled towards the front door. He gave a brief tug of his Iron Maiden shirt, which was actually one of Eddie’s, to attempt to make his rumpled appearance look a little more presentable, and then he was swinging the door open to reveal…

Eddie???

Except…it wasn’t an Eddie he recognized. No, this Eddie was wearing an orchid pink polo and light khakis, and…were those Oxford shoes he was wearing?? With a matching belt??? His hair was smoothed fully back and clasped into a professional looking bun and not a single ring adorned his fingers, made obvious by the way Eddie held up a bouquet of roses. Even the ever present pick necklace from absent from Eddie’s neck.

Steve gaped.

“Hello, Steve,” Eddie said, even his voice seemed softer, less wild, and his smile was the sort Steve had seen his father’s business associates give to each other when a good deal had gone through. Happy, pleased, but restrained. Nothing like the manic grins he was used to from Eddie.

“E-Eddie?” he croaked out, absolutely in disbelief. Behind Eddie, Steve could see a station wagon parked where Eddie’s van should be. “What’s going on?”

Eddie held the flowers out towards Steve, who automatically took them. He couldn’t help but give a bemused smile even as he brought them up to smell. Eddie took a deep breath, indicating the foyer with a small motion of his hand.

“Sorry, but may we talk inside?”

This strangely polite version of Eddie was making Steve feel weirdly uncomfortable, so used to the exuberance that normally surrounded the other man. He took a step back, however, because it was Eddie. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest at seeing Eddie again, even if he looked different.

Steve closed the door behind Eddie after the other man stepped forward, though not before wiping his shoes off on the doormat, which Steve could not recall Eddie ever doing before. He felt like he had somehow fallen into an alternate dimension, and not of the Upside Down variety. Maybe that would have been better; he knew how to handle that kind.

“Um…let me put these in water?” Steve said, though it sounded more like a question, at a loss for what was happening right now.

“Of course, sweetheart. Do you mind if I put on the game?”

Sweetheart.

Steve felt a hopeful flutter in his chest and gut at the use of an endearment. Sure, Eddie was no stranger to using such terms in retaliation to bullies or anyone else he disliked, but that was not the tone Eddie used just now. No, he used the tone he always used with Steve, making Steve hopeful towards the idea that he hadn’t actually ruined everything yet.

He was so caught up with that fact that it took him a moment to process the second part of what Eddie said. “Uh…yeah, sure?” he answered with a question again, brows furrowing, as he wondered if he had somehow forgotten that he was supposed to host Eddie’s campaign night that night.

He hurried quickly to the kitchen to find something to put the flowers in, suddenly worried about how his home looked. He hadn’t been expecting to host Dungeons and Dragons, didn’t have the snacking station set up or anything. Did he have enough beverages? Who all was coming tonight? He felt his hosting anxiety start climbing at these questions, as well as the worry that this was a test.

If he failed tonight, would Eddie finally be done with him?

Steve was just settling the vase full of roses on the counter when he heard…was that…?

“Oh come on, Coach! Take him out!” Eddie’s voice filtered through to him as Steve slowly made his way towards the living room. “That asshole is making Gochnaur look like a capable shortstop!”

Was Eddie…watching baseball?

Did Eddie know about John Gochnaur?

What was happening right now?

Steve stood in the doorway leading into the living room, watching with a completely gobsmacked expression as, yes, Eddie was currently watching baseball and giving correct commentary. Steve hadn’t even known Eddie knew what a shortstop did.

Eddie glanced over at Steve and his annoyed expression smoothed into one of happiness. He pat the couch next to him invitingly and Steve could do nothing but walk forward and take his place at Eddie’s side. His furrowed brows shot up into his hairline when Eddie pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he started rattling off statistics of the players on screen like he did monsters during his DnD campaigns as he indicated the probability of home runs and errors.

“What the hell is going on right now?” he mumbled mostly to himself. This was…this was weird. He wasn’t sure he liked this. No, he knew he didn’t like this. Whatever this was, it felt wrong. He turned his head to frown at Eddie who still looked caught up in the game. In sports.

“Eddie, what…” Steve shook his head slightly, wetting his lips. “Why are you watching baseball? Why are you wearing those clothes? You just left the other days and now you look like a completely different person. What is going on?”

Eddie glanced over at Steve, his own brows high into his bangs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Steve. I’m wearing perfectly normal clothing. And sure, it’s only baseball, but it’s not like it’s basketball season yet.”

Eddie paused then, his expression settling into a neutral look for only a moment before slowly morphing to one of pained regret. He sight and hung his head for a moment before grabbing the remote and muting the screen. He then released Steve just enough to turn slightly on the couch to better face him.

“I’m sorry for leaving though, baby. There’s no excuse for just running out on you like that. I didn’t want to hurt you, I just…I had a lot on my mind and I needed to figure some things out. But don’t worry, Stevie. I have it all figured out now and now I can be an even better boyfriend to you,” he finished with a wide grin that looked nothing like his typical crazed charming smile. It looked more like the grins he used to make before he felt comfortable around Steve and the others.

Charming, yes, but not right. Not Eddie.

But Eddie was leaning forwards, brushing one of the limp pieces of his hair that he hadn’t even bothered to style these past two weeks—hell, had barely had the energy to even wash—back behind his ear. He then pressed forward to lightly kiss the tip of Steve’s nose with a smile, and Steve could only smile back. Eddie was here, with him, and that was all that mattered.

Except…

Except.

Eddie’s pink polo was still in his line of vision. It was Eddie, but it wasn’t Eddie at the same time. He looked nothing like the metalhead he loved. Not that there was anything wrong with what he wore now, of course, and honestly seeing Eddie in a polo was kind of hot, but…it wasn’t him.

Steve pulled back, his smile turning back into a small frown. His eyes tracked over Eddie’s outfit. Sure, Eddie looked nice in it, but it was incredibly wrong. The khakis even looked pressed. “But seriously, Eddie, what the hell are you wearing?”

Eddie looked down at his own clothing with a look of not understanding before looking back up at Steve. “I honestly don’t know what you mean. I’m wearing clothing. A shirt and pants I’ve even got underwear on underneath. Though I can wear a lot less of it if you prefer, baby,” he added in that sultry voice that never failed to get Steve going. He’d once accidentally slipped into it while DMing when he narrated a succubus type NPC and Steve had popped a boner right then and there at the table.

And Steve’s dick made a valiant effort to respond now actually, but everything was wrong and Steve didn’t like that. He continued frowning at Eddie.

“Why are you wearing a polo?” he asked more directly, because he knew from experience with Dustin and Robin and even Eddie himself that sometimes you just have to ask directly if you wanted a proper answer. And seriously. A polo?? “Where are your regular clothes. And why are you watching baseball?”

“I like baseball,” Eddie replied easily with a shrug. “It’s not as bad as I thought. I like that the players can have their little music intro. And I wear polos now, they’re surprisingly comfortable.” He gave Steve a gentle smile. “If you don’t want to watch baseball, we can do something else. You wanna put on some music? Have you heard Debbie Gibson’s new song? Truly heartbreaking. I bet it’s on the radio right now.”

Steve just gaped. It was like Eddie was speaking an alien language even though he knew that all that was English and he understood each word separately. All together though, coming from Eddie’s mouth? Yeah, nothing made sense.

“Eddie,” he breathed, slowly reaching out for Eddie’s left hand and feeling another swoop of wrongness at the lack of rings there. “When you said you wanted to put on the game, I thought you meant a campaign. And Debbie Gibson? Babe, you’re in a metal band. Debbie Gibson isn’t cool.”

“Hey! You treat Deb with respect. Girl’s got an excellent voice,” Eddie said with indignation. Steve could only roll his eyes because yeah, he knew that, but Eddie saying something like that? Unreal. It was Eddie’s next words that made him freeze solid, however.

“Besides, I quit the band. Dungeons and Dragons too. Figured I’m too old for that nerd shit. I’m thinking about getting a real job now anyways, so I don’t have time for all that anymore. Actually, do you want to go through the classifieds together with me later? Gareth said he’d try to get me an in with his dad’s company, but it’s better to be prepared.”

Eddie quit the band? Quit Dungeons and Dragons? Was talking about a corporate job? What. The. Fuck.

Steve scrambled up from the couch, his fingers moving up to squeeze the bridge of his nose before both hands settled on his hips as he stared at Eddie in disbelief. “You love Corroded Coffin. And Dungeons and Dragons! Why the hell would you stop doing something you love?”

Something flashed across Eddie’s expression then, something pleased like Steve had said exactly what Eddie had hoped he would, but it was gone the very next instant leaving Eddie simply staring up Steve with wide and imploring eyes.

“But Steve,” he said, and his tone was too earnest that it made Steve pause. “I love you more, and you don’t like those things. So I’ll change, for you.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown back in his face. He couldn’t move, couldn’t react. Couldn’t resist when Eddie reached out and grasped his hand to pull him back to the couch he’d just vacated, pulling him against his side once more.

“You changed for me, so now I’ll change for you,” Eddie said like the solution was obvious. Steve mutely shook his head, but Eddie’s smile was toothy and sharp and so much like the smile he was used to that he couldn’t speak. Which was just as well, since Eddie wasn’t done. “You changed who you were because you loved me so much and didn’t want to lose me. Is it so preposterous to imagine that I love you so much that I’m willing to do the same?”

Yes! Steve wanted to exclaim, wanted to shout and shake Eddie, because of course Eddie didn’t love Steve the same way that Steve loved Eddie; no one ever did.

Well, except maybe Robin. They were Platonic soulmates after all. He knew that he had started doubting her earlier, which made him a little nauseous to do actually, but she had been the only one so far who had never abandoned him. Who seemingly cared for him the same way he cared for her.

But to think he could possibly be blessed with someone who loved him, romantically, that same way? To think that he might be lucky enough to have that sort of fabled love twice? Impossible! Because…because he knew. He knew he wasn’t good enough. He wouldn’t ever be good enough. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t—

“Do you know why I love you, Stevie?” Eddie murmured, cutting off Steve’s thoughts and causing him to stiffen beside him. It wasn’t like he was unused to these declarations; Eddie never really shied away from telling Steve he loved him, though Steve had to fight back the inane temptation to make a bitchy little joke about it like he’d had before, teasingly crediting his ass or how pretty he looked on his knees. Eddie had given them as reasons enough for his love when they’d joked around before, just as Steven had teasingly cited his love as being because of how skilled Eddie’s fingers were, or the talent of his mouth.

He could sense, however, that trying to trivialize the moment would not go well this time. No, Eddie was looking at him earnestly once more, was reaching out again for Steve’s hand to hold and clutch between both of his against his chest. He thankfully did not seem like he was expecting an answer from Steve.

“It’s because you thought about my safety first, back then, at Skull Rock, even after I’d shoved a broken bottle at your neck. Even though we ran in two totally different circles, you immediately put me as a priority. It’s because you didn’t hesitate to jump into the water, not in belittlement of Wheeler and Buckley for being girls, or me for being…well, me…but simply because you were aware of your own qualifications and knew you were best for the job.

“It’s because, at the first real opportunity of being relatively alone with me, you immediately thanked me for coming to help you after you’d been pulled under, like there had been any other option. As if it wasn’t a given that you deserved to be made a priority too.”

Eddie paused then, thickly swallowed as his eyes closed momentarily. “Though you totally saved your own ass there, tearing that bitch apart with your bare hands. You’re a total badass, sweetheart,” he rumbled, the heat of hungry appreciation in his voice. “Wrapped up in soft yellow sweaters and ridiculously styled hair.”

Opening his eyes to look at Steve again, Steve could see some of that (still surprising) hunger lingering. Because yeah, he knew now that Eddie had near creamed his pants when he’d pulled an Ozzy with the demobat, and even though he questioned his boyfriend’s tastes at time, he was also always so gleeful to know that Eddie thought him sexy as hell.

But it was more than just that, and Steve felt his heart hammering away beneath his ribcage as Eddie kept going on, singing his praises as if Steve was truly something to be admired.

“It’s because,” Eddie continued saying, bringing Steve’s hand up to lightly nuzzle against his knuckles, “you always put everyone else first, even if you hide it behind your bitchy little snide words. Because you care about everyone else and would throw yourself directly into the path of danger to protect them. Protect us. And more than that, you take care of everyone around you, whether they show their gratitude or not. Dustin wasn’t wrong when he talked about how great you are.

“It’s because…” Eddie drew in another shuddering breath, his eyes wide and deep with emotion. “It’s because, when you look at me, you see me, not just another trailer trash failure who couldn’t even properly graduate high school. You see someone worth loving.”

“Eddie,” Steve broke in then with a cracked voice, his guilt unable to keep him quiet. “You were right about me, though. I was a douchebag. Even about you I was an asshole until everything went down. I called you a freak, and I didn’t try hard enough to stop Tommy from attacking you or the others, and I only cared about myself back then. I’m not the person you think I am.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “I won’t deny past dickishness, but I’m not so innocent either,” he pointed out. “I held my own prejudices, my own selfishness. I ostracized Lucas for daring to like sports, I nearly abandoned my bandmates the first time I thought I could make it solo, and I continually ran away when things got tough or hard, try as hard as I did to pretend otherwise.”

Eddie released Steve’s hand from one of his own so that he could snake it behind Steve’s neck to pull him in for a gentle kiss. Steve melted into it, terrified Eddie would eventually leave him still, while also taking great comfort in the kiss. It wasn’t a goodbye kiss, that much he was certain.

“You love with your whole heart, Stevie,” Eddie whispered when he finally pulled away. “I will never be able to apologize enough for taking advantage of that, for not realizing what was going on.” He dropped his gaze to the Iron Maiden shirt Steve was wearing, sliding his hand from Steve’s neck to his chest. “The fact that I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough exactly as you are will always haunt me.”

Steve didn’t want Eddie sad. He didn’t want Eddie to blame himself for Steve not being enough. He couldn’t get the words out though, not when Eddie looked so utterly heartbroken.

“I’m so sorry, baby. And I’m so sorry for leaving. I just…I realized what I did to you and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

Steve was horrified by the tears that began flooding Eddie’s eyes, causing him to reach out with his own freed hand pull Eddie in by his polo for another kiss. He didn’t understand what was going on, but…but…

Was Eddie truly not upset with him?

“Christ, baby,” Eddie murmured against his lips. “I love you in your polos. I love you listening to your own music in the car, the way your hair flops about as you jam out to Queen and Wham! and even Cydni fucking Lauper. I love how passionate you get about sports, the way you fuss over Henderson and the others, the way you call out other people’s shit. I love all of you, not in spite of you.”

Eddie pulled back to look properly at Steve, and this time it was Steve with tears brimming in his eyes. Everything Eddie said was like a revelation because the tone of Eddie’s voice, the look in Eddie’s eyes…he meant them.

“But…we’re so different,” he protested, because how was he supposed to accept that when they were nothing alike? Certainly Eddie had to have some regrets, or wish for some changes.

“Steve,” Eddie said on a near whine. “Of course we’re different. We’re different people.” He shook his head suddenly, taking a deep breath. He then reached out and caught Steve’s chin to force him to look at him, catching his eyes with his own. “Do you love me any less for being different than you?”

“No!” Steve yelled aghast. How could Eddie ever think that?

“Then why do you think I would ever love you less for the same?”

Steve opened his mouth, ready to protest again, except…except he didn’t really have an answer to that. Not beyond the fact that he would always be less than. Less than Eddie, less than the kids, less than everyone else he ever cared about.

Except…

Except.

The way Eddie was staring at him now, the way Eddie’s own pain reflected in his dark brown eyes, didn’t make Steve feel like he was lesser. Eddie had never made him feel lesser, actually. Eddie had instead made him feel like…like he mattered. Like he was something worth cherishing. Like…like he was loved.

“I…I don’t know,” Steve admitted, voice cracking, and the tears he’d been keeping at bay slowly spilled over and slid down his cheeks.

Eddie cupped his jaw with both hands then, and though his tears didn’t fall, he sniffled in a way that revealed that it was a very near thing. “I love you so much, baby. I was so ecstatic that you loved me too, that you seemed to be willing to take interest in the things I loved, that I didn’t realize I never did the same. I thought you were trying to figure out who you were, I never noticed that you stopped being you.

“I don’t want you to be just another metalhead who likes everything I like. I want you to be your own person, to like the things you like even if I don’t like them. I want to meet you in the middle of who we are, not a compromise, but as a sign of our love. I’ll take you to metal concerts and you can take me to sports games, even the ones with laundry baskets,” he gently teased. “Any of them, I don’t care. As long as I’m with you doing things you love, I’ll be happy. Because you make me happy, sweetheart.”

Steve’s eyes darted away, eyes catching on the screen where one of the players just stole a base and made themselves that much closer to winning the game, before looking back at Eddie. He didn’t see anything false in his expression, only genuine, hopeful sincerity. Like he truly meant his words.

“I’m fine doing whatever you want,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to sacrifice anything.”

“Baby,” Eddie implored. “It’s not a sacrifice to be with you. You’re so perfect for me, just like you are. Like you truly are. I fell in love with you not because of what you can give me, but because of who you are. I never thought you were actually trying to change to be who you thought I wanted you to be. Because I just want you, baby. If you still want me.”

“Of course I want you,” Steve murmured immediately, his hands moving to claps at Eddie’s forearms. “I’ll always want you.”

Eddie grinned at him, though it was still emotional. He at least managed to keep his tears at bay, blinking rapidly until there wasn’t fear of them falling anymore. He leaned in then to press a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead, his thumbs lightly stroking over Steve’s cheeks. “And I’ll always want you. Hell, baby, I’d marry you right now if it were legal.”

That got Steve’s attention.

He pulled back again, pulling Eddie’s hands from his face to stare at his boyfriend with wide eyes. Again there was only sincerity in Eddie’s gaze, and patience, as he let Steve process and work through his words. To understand just how much Eddie meant it.

Eddie loved him. He knew this of course, but…hell, they hadn’t been dating all that long, all things considered, and he’d once heard Eddie denounce marriage as just another conformist expectation used to take your individuality away, but here was Eddie saying he would marry him if given the chance. He knew Eddie wouldn’t say something like that unless he truly meant it too. Eddie loved him.

“But…we’re so different, Eddie,” he repeated in barely more than a whisper. “A-and I don’t want you to quit your band or Dungeons and Dragons or anything like that for me. I don’t want you conforming for me.”

Eddie just grinned again, his expression so full of love for Steve that it made Steve almost physically ache. “And I don’t want you changing for me,” he simply said, and…and maybe Steve was starting to get that, but…

“But you were so happy when I started listening to metal, and not all of it is bad,” Steve admitted. “I actually liked some of it. More than I thought I would.”

“I was happy,” Eddie admitted right back, letting out a soft sigh. “I was happy to share something with you, happy to help you develop your interest since I thought it was something you wanted. I didn’t mean to push it on you. I was just…I thought that if we had a shared interest like that, you wouldn’t decide I was too much. When you started dressing like this…”

Eddie moved to lightly tug at the hem of Steve’s shirt. “I had been so terrified that you would realize you could do better than someone like me,” he whispered. “Having you not be put off by the way I dressed, by the music I liked, by anything I liked made me happy because it calmed my fears that I’d scare you off or something, that you’d move on to greener and better pastures.”

And that was just not right. Better than Eddie? Someone like that simply didn’t exist. And all because Eddie liked a certain kind of music, or dressed a certain way? Absolutely not.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, and this time it was him reaching out to cup Eddie’s cheek to make him look at him properly again. “You’re so amazing, Eddie. How in the world could someone better than you exist? You’re a fucking hero, man. And don’t say you’re not,” he said firmly when Eddie opened his mouth to say just that, like he always did when it got brought up. “You are. You’re brave and selfless and literally out your life in the line to protect others. You’re badass, baby. Just like me,” he grinned in tease.

Eddie softly snorted, placing his hand over Steve’s on his cheek so he could hold it as he turned his head slightly to kiss the palm. “You are a badass,” Eddie agreed. “And you’re sweet too, even though you deny that too. I love you so much, and I should have paid more attention to why you were suddenly into all the same things I was instead of just being happy to share them with you.”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand, placing another soft kiss to his palm before trailing his lips into gentle kisses against his fingertips. “And I should have done more to meet you halfway. I should have been doing this from the start,” he admitted, indicating the muted TV. “You were always willing to join my hobbies but I never even offered to join yours. I’m truly very sorry, baby.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Steve complained. “I forgive you, okay? It’s just…you’re…” Steve swallowed, making himself actually stop and consider Eddie’s words, their meaning, their truth. “I’d love you even if you always hated sports,” he said softly, a small light of understanding settling over him. Because if he could love Eddie without needing Eddie to like everything he liked…

“Then can’t I love you even if you hate the things I like?” Eddie murmured, as if finishing his thought for him. “I don’t need you to be a carbon copy of my interests, baby. I love you for you, Steve. I’ve missed your polos and your preppy look,” he grinned. “It’s hot.”

Steve flushed slightly at that, Eddie’s eyes telling him again just how truthful those words were. He hadn’t ever once considered that Eddie actually liked that part of him, not when Eddie always wore dark clothing and looked the way he did. They were so different…

His eyes moved once more over Eddie, taking in that ridiculously pink polo and khaki pants, so unlike the things Eddie would wear but so similar to something Steve would. And…yeah, okay, that was hot, but he didn’t want Eddie to wear it all the time because it just wasn’t him. If Eddie wanted to then of course he’d never say anything about it, but he would miss the way his metalhead usually looked. Like…the way Steve looked now, while Eddie…Eddie looked like how he would have normally dressed.

Because Eddie said he would change for Steve, would give up the things he loved, just to keep Steve happy. But Steve didn’t need that to be happy. He was happy just to have Eddie, exactly the way he was, without Eddie pretending to be something he wasn’t. He didn’t want Eddie to change for him, even though…yeah he would like to be able to share his own interests with Eddie sometimes. And maybe…

Maybe, if Eddie had started dressing like that gradually, started expressing interest in Steve’s hobbies slowly, he wouldn’t notice how much Eddie had been changing to try to fit in with him. Maybe he would have just assumed Eddie was genuinely branching out his own interests because he felt safe enough to do so without being ridiculed, like…like Steve had slowly done.

But Eddie had appeared so drastically changed that Steve couldn’t help but rebel against it, couldn’t help but clock it as wrong, could only see it for what it was:

Bullshit.

Steve grinned suddenly at that revelation. A bright happiness began filling him until he felt like he was full of fizzy soda and Pop Rocks. He realized that it was bullshit, but he wasn’t. What was bullshit wasn’t his love, or his inability to be exactly like Eddie, but the fact that he tried to be someone he wasn’t. Him trying to change who he was was bullshit. Because Eddie?

Eddie loved him anyways. Eddie loved him even if he was an ex-jock prep who cared about his appearance maybe a little too much, who cared about keeping his home and car clean, who listened to popular catchy music on the radio simply because it was fun. Eddie had fallen in love with Steve because of who he was, not who he could change himself into becoming.

Eddie loved him. And love like that could never be bullshit.

When Steve finally looked Eddie in the eyes again, truly looked and saw and heard everything Eddie had been trying to tell him, he felt tears escape down his cheeks again but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because he got it now. He understood. Eddie hadn’t wanted him to change, he had just been supporting Steve in what he thought Steve wanted.

“I’m such an idiot,” Steve wetly laughed, throwing his arms around Eddie to bury his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Hey now, don’t insult my husband like that,” Eddie admonished, but his words sounded wet too as his own arms moved to wrap around Steve’s back and hold him close.

“We’re not married yet, asshole. You didn’t even ask me,” he pointed out with a giddy roll of his eyes.

“Right, right, silly me,” Eddie said, and Steve could hear the grin in his voice. “Guess I better go buy a ring first. And ask Buckley for her blessing.” Eddie drew in a shaky breath before huffing it out in a laugh. “Maybe she’ll let me keep my balls now.”

Steve pulled back with a confused furrow to his brows. He hadn’t told Eddie that his balls were in any danger.

When Eddie caught his expression, Eddie rolled his eyes next. “After I left, I spent probably a week trying to process everything, trying to figure out where I went wrong and horrified with myself for unknowingly encouraging you into changing for me, going over every little thing I fucked up. Then Buckley showed up and read me the fucking riot act.” He shuddered. “She’s terrifying.”

“I told her not to do that,” Steve frowned, though his lips twitched at his boyfriend’s dramatics. Christ, he loved him so much. And Eddie, somehow, apparently loved him just as much.

“Well I’m glad she did,” Eddie said with a small chuckle and shake of his head. “We came up with all this together,” he added with an indication of his clothing and the TV. “She heard my side of things and realized that if there’s an idiot in our relationship, it’s me. And then we came up with this plan to show you why I’d never want you to be someone you weren’t. Figured if I showed up completely changed too, you’d realize why it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Anxiety hit Steve suddenly and he stared at Eddie with wide eyes. “Wait, you didn’t actually quit the band, did you? Eddie!”

“No, no, not really.” Eddie paused. “Mostly.” He gave a little wincing smile at Steve’s fierce glare. “I told them what I was going to do, as well as saying that I may end up actually quitting if that’s what you needed of me. Because I meant it, Stevie,” he added with his own fierceness. “I love you more than I love being in the band or anything else. You’re it for me, hot stuff.”

“You are an idiot,” Steve groaned, and he didn’t know if he should be upset with Eddie, relieved, or insanely happy. He somehow felt all three at once, giving Eddie’s arm a small slap. “But I am absolutely determined to have a hot and talented famous rockstar boyfriend, Munson, so you better not quit. Or I’m dumping your ass for Jeff,” he said with a wicked little grin.

“Betrayal!” Eddie gasped, his hand moving to clutch at his shirt over his heart, falling back against the couch cushions dramatically.

Steve merely rolled his eyes again, though he couldn’t keep the deliriously happy smile off his face because this was his boyfriend. This dramatic, goofy, absolute loser of a man. He was so fucking lucky.

“And that station wagon out front?” he asked, eyebrow arching.

“Borrowed,” Eddie grinned, propping himself up with an elbow to look at Steve. “Jeff’s mom’s. Really had to make it authentic, ya know?”

“And the baseball knowledge?”

Eddie laughed at that. “Wayne gave me some pointers. I think he was ecstatic to finally be able to talk to me about sports knowing I would listen. He also says we’re all watching the season finale together.”

Steve just rolled his eyes. “It’s called the World Series, asshole.”

“Kind of pretentious to call it that, don’tcha think, seeing as how it’s only America playing?”

Letting out a huff, Steve crawled over Eddie to look down at him, straddling a thigh as both his brows raised high over his forehead. “You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. But…” Steve’s expression softened into a small, almost shy smile. “Thank you. For loving me.”

Eddie smiled back up at Steve, settling back against the couch cushions and bringing his arms up to lightly hook over his shoulders and crossing them behind Steve’s neck. “Thank you for letting me,” he replied simply. “Now, will you please go back to my preppy sexy boyfriend who listens to ABBA and complains about bad hair days? I miss him dreadfully.”

Steve felt his happiness bubbling up inside him again, grinning down at Eddie before leaning in to take his lips in a giddy kiss. “Maybe you should take your Iron Maiden shirt back then, right now,” he murmured meaningfully against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie grinned beneath him. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed. “And get this pink monstrosity off too.”

Steve pulled back at that, planting his hand flat on Eddie’s chest to stop him from moving to do just that, causing Eddie to still beneath him. Steve slid his gaze over said pink monstrosity, wetting his lips with darkening eyes.

“No,” he murmured, voice roughened as he slid his gaze back up to Eddie’s widening eyes, a soft pink flush entering pale cheeks. “Keep it on.”

And he did.

At least until it was too ruined to be saved. But they could always buy Eddie another polo later.

Steve’s insecurities weren’t magically gone from one conversation, of course, but it proved to be a great start. There were still moments when Steve felt like he wasn’t good enough, but it helped to know that Eddie felt the same way at times too, that they were both so in love and would do anything for the other person.

After that day, the two worked together to find a new middle ground. Steve still supported Corroded Coffin at all their shows, wearing their shirts and other merch frequently, and even kept his studded leather bracelet that matched Eddie’s own. He went back to wearing his polos in his day-to-day life, however, and styling his hair with near ridiculous amounts of hairspray.

They talked about their hobbies, with Eddie making a mix tape of the metal songs that Steve actually ended up liking, and Eddie even found enjoyment in playing the occasional game of ball with Steve and even Lucas and the others sometimes joined in. (Sure, he mostly liked the way Steve looked all sweaty and flushed with exertion, but he had some genuine fun shooting balls into “laundry baskets” all the same too.)

They made compromises in the movies they watched, the foods they ate, and Steve took on a more passive role during DnD nights. His character decided to strike out on his own, in story, though he would occasionally rejoin the adventurers when their paths crossed, allowing Steve to play when he felt in the mood and sit out when he wasn’t. Steve had even cajoled Nancy into rejoining the game with him sometimes, much to the Party’s (especially Dustin’s) delight.

Eddie never really took to polos for regular wear, though he did wear the occasional Henley and Steve had convinced Eddie to take better care of his hair, helping his boyfriend set up a couple different routines based on the time frame he had to work with before events or daily life, earning numerous compliments on the healthy curls he now regularly sported. Steve loved the mornings where they got to primp together, and even Eddie flushed with happiness when they caught each other’s eyes in the mirror or helped each other fluff their hair.

Eddie also summoned the Party and acted like a drill sergeant as he commanded each of them to give Steve’s car a deep cleaning and detailing, shampooing and vacuuming and waxing the inside and outside until the BMW gleamed like practically new. He also helped enforce the rules about leaving no mess behind, either by forbidding open food containers or by picking up after themselves. Steve was so impressed by it that he couldn’t help dirtying the car a little again by taking Eddie into the backseat after everything.

They took down the posters and flyers and random crap that covered Steve’s walls, though Steve kept up the Black Sabbath and Dio posters, even if he made Eddie straighten them up. He also kept up the Corroded Coffin flag Eddie had made him, though he began adding his own decorations as well through encouragement from Eddie. Eddie even got him a banner for his favorite sports team, hanging it up right next to the Corroded Coffin flag. (Later, when Steve eventually moved out of his parents’ abandoned house, Eddie would cut a swatch of the wallpaper from the wall, framing the bit of plaid for Steve to carrying with them to their eventual shared home.)

Robin was a menace, of course, and continually made passing comments about needing earrings. The threat was not lost on Eddie and he always made certain he showered Steve in praise and confirmed his love for him whenever Robin gave him the stink eye. Steve may or may not sometimes signal when he wanted the threat made, especially around important dates like holidays and anniversaries.

And Eddie did make good on his comment about asking Robin’s permission for a certain question, though in his nervousness and excitement he fumbled actually asking Steve for forever and instead accidentally threw the ring at Steve one night after a dinner he’d tried to make but inevitably burned. They ordered take out and laughed about it, then Steve made certain Eddie never had to doubt his ‘yes’ right there in the kitchen. And living room. And bedroom. And then for good measure in the shower.

Steve always remained a prep, and Eddie always remained a metalhead, but over the years they slowly adopted and adapted bits and pieces of each other’s style, though Eddie couldn’t ever wear a polo to tease Steve without Steve immediately dragging him into bed. Or to the nearest flat surface.

There were days that the insecurities would crop up still, of course, for both of them. These days grew less over the years, the commitment Steve and Eddie felt for each other reflected in the matching rings they wore, exchanged during a small ceremony that, though not legal in the eyes of the law, was no less absolute in their hearts.

Because Steve knew now what those insecurities were, what the voice was that whispered that he would never be good enough for anyone, and he knew what to say when they tried to tear him down. And he would smile when he said it, safe, content, and secure in his and Eddie’s love.

“Bullshit.”

-

As I said before, I am tagging everyone who asked to be tagged, so if I’ve accidentally missed you or tagged the wrong person, I apologize. It’s a lot of people. Heh.

Tagged: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @petalsandpixels @coolgirldad @xxbottlecapx @yesdangerpls @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @miss-wright

@brainsteddielyrotted @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ohimamarigold @sofadofax @moss-g0blin @secretly-kait @blossomingblueberries @my-love-of-books @blounette @p0lybl4nkk

@sapphicsforsteve @wearespacedust @mae-liz @stripey82 @tinyplanet95 @0mochiia0 @sunnycycle @jaytriesstrangerthings @hotluncheddie @dragonmama76

@stevieschrodinger @townseleven @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @novacorpsrecruit @mugloversonly @imaginary-maggie-waggie @pointlessmosswitch @fatiguedclown @prazinos

@thedragonsaunt @bookworm0690 @brazenliar @samsoble @wrenisflying @queenie-ofthe-void @breealtair @highqueenhalalie @steddieassheg0es @theintrovertedintrovert

(rest of tags will be in a reblog, did not realize how many I had agreed to lol my bad)

[moonstruckme]

Are you going to continue the roomate James series? I’m actually in love with it😍

Yes! Thank you for reading <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 804 words

“Honey, I’m home!” 

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you roll your eyes to yourself. James has become more and more fond of these pet names, and of announcing his comings and goings like he’s worried you’ll miss him. (He’s never gone long enough for that, though you might actually miss him if he were.) If you don’t respond in some way or another, he’ll—

“Hey.” He pokes his head through your cracked door. “You alive in here?” 

You pause in folding your laundry to give him a deadpan look. “I could have been in my underwear.” 

He looks mildly horrified. “I’d hope if you were, you’d close the door all the way.” 

“You know, I did manage to stay alive even before you moved in.” 

James leans on your doorframe, giving you the sort of lazy grin you have to pretend doesn’t scare butterflies into flight in your stomach. You really hope that wears off soon. “See, but now I’m convinced if I don’t check on you, you really will die and it’ll be my fault.” 

“How would it be your fault?” 

“Classic case of roommate neglect. I smell the rotting coming from inside your room, the police come, they ask How did you not know your roommate was dead for a month? I reply, Well, officer, she said she could be galavanting in her underwear at any moment. They put me in handcuffs and I spend the next five to fifteen years having Sirius bring me cigarettes I don’t want so that I can trade them for ramen noodles in the yard.” 

You scoff, fighting a smile. “As if you would ever eat ramen.” 

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. You’d be forcing me upon desperate times. But hey,” he raises his hands in a show of surrender, “I didn’t come in here to discuss prison currency. Would it be alright with you if I had friends over tonight?” 

“Of course,” you say, looking back down to match a pair of socks. “You don’t need to ask every time, it’s always alright.” 

“Thanks,” he says warmly, “but it makes me feel better to ask. What do you want on your pizza?” 

You blink. “Me?” 

“Yes, you.” He smiles. Butterflies all over again. “You don’t have to hang out with us to eat it—though we’d love to have you—but I’m not just going to order pizza to your own apartment without having any for you.” 

“It’s your apartment, too,” you remind him. “That’d be a very normal thing to do.” 

“Irregardless.” James waves you off. You wrinkle your nose at the word choice. “What do you want?” 

You swallow a sigh. There are some things, you’ve found, James is nearly impossible to argue with about. If you really dig your heels in, sometimes you can make him move first, but you don’t feel like it right now. 

You do the next best thing you can think of: choosing the least obtrusive option. “Cheese is good with me, thanks.” 

His eyes narrow like he knows what you’re doing, but he says, “Got it. I’ll let you know when it’s here.” 

“Thanks.” You turn your attention back to your laundry. James lingers in the doorway. 

A month ago, you would have kept ignoring him, working on the (unfounded) hope that he’d go away. Now, you look up. 

“Do you think you might come downstairs and hang out?” he asks. He has a strange look on his face, one you can’t quite decipher. “You know you’re always invited.” 

You give James a terse sort of smile. He’s not stopped inviting you to do things since the day he moved in. Your open invitation has been made very clear, and you’ve been accepting it more often lately. James is someone who makes it easy to feel close to him. He tosses pet names at you like they’re nothing, comes to check on you when he gets home, pretends he needs to go grocery shopping just because you need a ride to the store. Last week, you’d sat down to watch a movie with him and woken up to a black screen, your cheek smushed into his shoulder and his head resting atop yours. 

Somehow, you’ve let him spill into your life without meaning to, and now you have these childish, crush-like reactions whenever he smiles a certain way or calls you pet names with that familiar bent to his voice. You know you just need time to sort these feelings out. It’d probably be ideal to keep yourself from spilling into his life as much as possible in the meantime. 

But it’s hard to deny James anything when he’s so sweet to you. And he’s nice. His friends seem nice. 

“I might,” you say. 

“I’ll take the win,” James replies, smiling. These butterflies are seriously inconvenient.

[loriache]

Butch up that Elf: my Marcille manifesto

TBQH, this came into being because the Falin "dragoness" fanart rewired my brain completely. It's sillytimes, but we're going to make a serious argument: trying out being a little butch would Fix Her.

1. Marcille Gender Discomfort

Now, Marcille LOVES feminity. She loves playing dressup, she loves elaborate gowns, she spends her free time going to the spa - the absolute last thing I want is to deny that. However, there's also a definite vibe that this isn't just a preference. Specifically, the way that she pushes Falin towards femininity suggests that she isn't comfortable with gender nonconformity in the people around her.

If this was something she was 100% confident about ("I'm doing this for myself and nobody else!") surely what other people do wouldn't be a big deal? Of course, you can read this as a little bit of solipsism; "what works for me must work for you too! I think this is so cute and would suit you - wouldn't you agree?"

But for the sake of this argument, all I'm trying to suggest is that gender nonconformity (and probably sexual nonconformity... well, frankly, any kind of sexuality at all) is unlikely to be something that's on Marcille's "radar". She hasn't tried out other ways of presenting and decided she doesn't like them. I do think she'd be a very flamboyant butch - "ouji lolita" vibes, you know? It's a whole new set of wardrobe options she could play dress-up in, even.

After the story ends, she starts dressing like her mother in all black, which makes sense - her mother was also a court magician, so she's probably emulating her in order to project confidence and authority. But I can't say I think she should stick with this. Break away and be your own person, Marcille! Try a fancy waistcoat and frilled jacket!

2. Haircut

This is another potential hard sell, I'm sure. The people she loves doing her hair is a cute symbol of their care for her, and her hair is key to her magic - so there's plenty of reason for her to keep it long. But like... think practically. Having someone do your hair every morning, for the whole of her long life, while it gets messier over the day (because she can't remember to keep it neat)... That's got to be such a pain. My hair gets messy when I put a hoodie on. And I have short hair.

It would require her to go through a change of mind, and probably a little more growth in how secure she feels in her relationships, but - the hairdo's a symbol. The more important thing is the relationships themselves. Eventually I think there might be something liberating about cutting it off, even if she might eventually decide to grow it out again.

The lion, her trauma, took something away from her which was really important to her. The people around her are able to make that easier, and make up for it, and soften that loss, but... Mithrun isn't the person he was before, you know? He's a new person. The relationship he has with his brother is new, and I don't know if it's one that the person he was before could have had. If Falin hadn't died, they wouldn't have gone on that wonderful adventure! They wouldn't have met Senshi or saved Izutsumi and Laios and Marcille wouldn't have gotten so close. So I think it's totally congruent with the themes of the story that the burning away of this part of Marcille's self might eventually create the potential for new growth in a new direction, not clinging onto the parts that are gone.

This also isn't totally out of the norm for elven mages - both Otta and Flamela have short hair. Otta is canonically butch, and potentially Flamela reads that way to elves too, but the point is it clearly is possible to be an accomplished mage without long hair.

3. Desiring (to be) a chivalrous prince

Marcille's succubus is clearly General Halleus from her favourite book series, the Daltian Clan. The fact that this is her ideal man.... it certainly plays into readings of her as Not Straight. But at least, this conveys the way her conception of sex and romance is strongly idealised, dissociated from the bodily and from physical desire.

There are many ways to interpret that, including thinking about what types of desire this fixation is obstructing because she is not comfortable with it, but I am going to focus here on what this desire does signify. She likes the trappings of courtly romance, and is clearly comfortable putting herself in the role of the princess, being taken away on a white horse by a noble (but tormented; eyepatch has "death" on it lmao) prince. (Though I think he's actually the token male lead who isn't royalty; he's a General. There's always one in Romfan, lmao. IYKYK)

A kiss on the hand - this is so chaste, I think it's clear it's more about desire to play a role in a dynamic than it is about desire in a physical sense. There is undoubtedly a big part of Marcille that wants to be a beloved and chased-after princess, but I think it isn't at all impossible that she'd also enjoy being the powerful, cool, and chivalrous "prince" to someone (a pretty girl, perhaps) who needs her protection.

This is a little silly, because it's clearly just aping the shoujo artstyle that articulates basically the same idea as her succubus, that Marcille is attached to highly abstracted and idealised romantic (and Romantic) tropes and ideas. But the imaginary "successful" Marcille from chapter 4 looks quite similar to her succubus. (Another thing I noticed is that in the fantasy she has sharp ears... like full elves have. Despite what she says, I think the cultural messaging that this trait is "attractive" and hers are inferior got to her at least a bit. 😥)

Also, the way that she treats Falin, scolding her indulgently, trying to look after her and wanting to be looked up to and respected by her... that aligns more with the "masculine" role in the trope that her succubus is referencing. "What are we going to do with you...?" I can imagine her saying this to Falin, word for word. Whereas, if anyone real started talking down to her, even affectionately, I don't think she'd like it, given the negative way she reacts when people don't respect her or her skills. Especially after canon, given the way the Winged Lion was treating her.

Her attitude to Falin is partially down to her reluctance to acknowledge Falin as an adult, who is independent and can grow beyond her and leave her behind. But I think even as they move on from that unhealthy dynamic, Marcille is still going to get pleasure from feeling capable, reliable, able to look after and protect Falin. She'd like to pull the chair out for her in a restaurant on a date, you know?

4. Conclusion

Even after the growth she goes through during the story, there are parts of Marcille's character that are very much obstructed. Romance, sexuality, and gender, feel like one of those to me. The way that her discomfort with the messy origins of food betrayed a deeper, more significant discomfort with the cycles of life and death.

Much in the same way, I'd argue that the simplified, idealistic, and safely fantastical way that she views romance, as well as her very "safe" gender presentation and tendency to push it onto others as well, suggest an underlying discomfort in her own gender and sexuality. The character growth she goes through leaves her in a place where it may be possible to safely re-evaluate her relationship with Falin, as well as her choice of clothing and hairstyle, both things that go through a change at the end of the manga. Neither, I think, reach a sustainable stopping point that we see - there will be a point when it's more servants doing her hair than friends, just out of practicality, because they're all going to be so, so busy. The black clothing to copy her mum is cute, but once she gets some more self-confidence in her own skills as a court magician, I think she'll move on from it. And... who knows what direction her relationship with Falin will develop, over the years? I'm rooting for them, anyway.

In all those cases, I think moving outside of the things she's done before, into something really different from the things that are "safe" and expected, will be the most rewarding path for her. Like in the dungeon, things that she would initially reject were actually able to sustain her and broaden her tastes. She loves dressing up, looking after people, and "princely romance". So I say: Butch Marcille! It'll be good for her!!

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister)?

Part 2,

Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

AN: I’ve had this idea for a while but after hearing “The Prophecy” on The Tortured Poets Department I was finally feeling inspired to write it. You guys have no idea how much that album is about to influence my writing. Also I have no idea how this is gonna end lol.

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right? 

Warnings: smut, unrequited love, situationship, fluff, Lucien is literally and angel I love him sm, did not edit (I am tired)

Word count: 3734

“Please, I've been on my knees. Change the prophecy. Don't want money just someone who wants my company…”

I had known the youngest Vanserra for a while now. I can recall the first time I met him on a lovely day  in the spring court when I was visiting with my brother. The man was more than charming, his words nearly had me buckling at the knees. It was around the same time that I had found out that my brother's close friend Azriel was my mate.

I remember the bond snapping like it was yesterday. We were celebrating solstice in the Hewn City and my feet were nearly black and blue from the amount of drunk men stepping on them while dancing. I was about to ask my brother to take me home when Azriel stepped in and quite literally swept me off my feet. He let me stand on his toes and waltz around the room with him all night to ensure that he himself wouldn’t hurt my feet. At some point in the night the bond snapped and I had never been so happy. 

Azriel and I had been friends for over 100 years and I had secretly harbored feelings for him for at least 75 of them. To have my brother's best friend as my mate felt like fate. I didn’t tell him that night, something I have regretted for the last 400 years. 

Not long after that he rescued Mor and any sparks I thought he felt with me that night were long gone. From that day on all he did was pine for her. I couldn’t blame him, Mor was astonishingly beautiful. For a long time after he saved her I resented her, I felt like she had taken my mate from me. It wasn’t until I realized that she wanted nothing to do with the shadowsinger that my hatred for my cousin dissipated. It wasn’t her fault that Azriel was so smitten with her. It was my fault for not telling him, but now it had been so long since the bond snapped that it seemed weird to bring it up.  

So I sat dutifully by his side whenever  he needed someone to rant to about Mor. It practically ripped out my heart to  hear him talk about how in love with her he was. I was the only person he would open up to like that.  He would spend hours asking me for advice on how to woo her, and I grinned and bore it because, at the end of the day, I got to spend time with him.

I had been playing the girl best friend for hundreds of years. The moment I started to feel like he might be losing feelings for Mor in walked Elain. The beautiful sister of my brother's mate. What's worse? She seemed interested in Azriel as well. 

Elain was easy to hate. Not just for her flirtations with Azriel but for the way she treated Lucien, her mate. Lucien had so much love for the Archeron, and she waved him off without another thought. I might be able to understand her reluctance to accept the bond if Lucien was a brute of a male, but he wasn’t. He was soft, kind and easy on the eyes.

I found him tossing rocks into the Sidra one day, no doubt pining over how Elain had barley even acknowledged the flowers he picked for her. That’s when I told him about Azriel and I’s bond. From that moment on we spent a great deal of time together, ranting about our unaccepted mating bonds. Even though we spent most of the time bitching, there was happiness. More than I had felt in a while. 

Then starfall came…and everything changed. 

“You look far too stunning not to be walking in with a date,” Lucien drawled to me from the outside of the townhouse. 

I had spent all day getting ready for the annual party tonight. My dress was chosen specifically to catch Azriel’s attention, not that I felt like I would succeed. 

“Well finding a date is harder than you think, especially at this hour,” I laugh as I walk through the gate he opened for me. 

“Then indulge me,” he said. I turned to find him offering me an arm. 

“You want to be my date?” I laugh light heartedly, admittedly smitten by the autumn court male. 

“It’s a little last minute but I would be honored to walk into that room with you on my arm,” he said fondly. 

I smiled and shook my head at the male before looping my  arm in his and allowing him to lead me up the steps to the front door. 

“You know, you clean up pretty well Lu,” I cock an eyebrow bumping into him. 

“Thanks, your brother sets a pretty high standard as far as attire for this thing. Who knew he was such a fashionista?” Lucien grins before walking in the door arm and arm with me. I don’t even bother stifling the laugh I let out. 

The room nearly fell silent at our entrance. Sure Lucien and I were close and everyone knew, but they had never seen us like this. Even Az and Elain stopped their oh so intriguing conversation to ogle. I swore I saw anger flit across Elain’s eyes, like she was dead set on owning both Az and Lucien. 

Lucien and I spent the evening as wallflowers, doing our best to stay away from all the happy couples. We had even gotten to the point where we grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and brought it over to our couch, both of us tired of constantly getting up and down for refills. 

It wasn’t until Az and Elain not so subtly got up and walked onto the balcony that we decided we had tortured ourselves enough. We promptly grabbed the bottle of wine and waltzed out of the townhouse not even bothering to say goodbye. I supposed it was that exact bottle that did us in. 

I placed my hand on my apartment door, swaying slightly from the alcohol rushing to my head. Lucein’s hand found my hip, steadying me. While I assured him I would be fine to walk home alone, he insisted he came with me. 

“Thanks,” I laughed unlocking the door. 

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles, wobbling himself. 

“I had a really good time with you tonight,” I say, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself.

“I had a good time too,” he smiled. 

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how close we were. Lucien looked down at me, the moonlight illuminating his face perfectly. The sudden tension between us was broken when he crashed his lips on mine. 

One thing led to another and the next thing I knew I was lying bare beneath him as he fucked me like his life depended on it. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to get laid until he was buried inside me. Needless to say I understood why people said the Autumn Court males have fire in their blood. 

That was a year ago and since then Lucien and I had decided to continue seeing each other in secret, both of us needing a way to release built up tension so to say. He often stayed the night and we would spend long hours talking about everything from the books we were reading to politics. The sex was amazing, for both of us, but it was the intimacy that came after that I think we both craved the most. An intimacy I would be seeking out shortly given the current topic of conversation between Azriel and I. 

“Gods the other day she was weaning a light blue dress in the garden and I nearly fell to my knees before her,” Azriel ranted to me. 

He had been going on and on about whether or not he wanted to finally make a move on Elain or not. And as his best friend I had to hear about every word of it.

“I saw it, it was a very pretty dress,” I acknowledge, turning the page of the book I was reading. 

“I swear she blushed when I complimented it too, I think I’m making progress with her,” he went on to say. 

“Maybe you should just put yourself out of your misery and talk to her Az,” I suggested for probably the tenth time. 

“You know I can’t just barrel in there. She’s scared and I’m not going to freak her out even more. She will come to me when she’s ready. If she’s ready. Gods that’s assuming she even likes me,” he rambled. 

I roll my eyes and shut my book so loudly it pulls the shadow singers attention. I give him a pointed look that has him startling back just a bit. 

“I know that she likes you Az,” I deadpan. 

“How can you be sure though?” he asks, throwing his head back on the arm of the couch. 

“Because she would be an idiot not to,” I say with a hint of sadness. 

Azriel looked to be at a loss for words, and I realized my words were much bolder than I had wanted them to be. 

Clearing my throat I set my book down on the side table, knowing it will be waiting for me when I come back to my brother’s tomorrow. I stand and subtly adjust my dress.  

“I have to go, but seriously Az, just tell her,” I say walking over to press a kiss to his forehead. 

As I got to walk away I feel him grab my hand, placing a kiss to my open palm, “Thank you for listening y/n, really.” he says earnestly . 

“Don’t worry  about it Az, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say with a fake smile before setting off towards my modest home. 

When Feyre moved into the townhouse I took it as my queue to move out, knowing my brother and his new mate would want privacy. Of course Rhysand offered me mansions and villas but I was content with a townhouse of my own in the middle of town. Big enough to have my own home library, and small enough to not feel so lonely. 

I make my way down the cobblestone streets, the faelights casting a warm glow on the ground before me. It was late, and many couples were turning in for the night. I could see some cuddled up on their sofa’s through their windows, others were having a nightcap together outside Rita’s. I saw a couple rocking their newborn baby to sleep on the second floor of their home, and for some reason, that was the one that hurt the most to me.

I sighed as I walked up a few steps to my townhouse door. I unlocked the door and was greeted to the smell of jasmine and vanilla and the sound of a cracking fire. I walk up my steps to find Lucien sitting shirtless on my large bed, his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck. The male was the image of relaxation. 

I had given him a key months ago. With the males many jobs, emissary to the night court, ally to Jurian and Vassa,  and liaison to Tamlin, he needed a place to truly call home. For the past 9 months that had been here, with me. I never once objected to his subtle moving in, it was nice to come home to someone waiting for me, sometimes even a homemade meal. For him it was nice to have a  place where he didn’t always have to put on a front. It was a win for both of us. 

“When did you get in?” I ask kicking off my shoes. 

“Just a couple hours ago. How was Azriel duty?” he asked, setting his book down as I began to strip off my cloak and dress leaving me only in my lingerie. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be so casual with one another. 

“Exhausting, did you know that Elain wore a pretty blue dress the other day?” I mocked tossing my clothes into a dirty clothes bin, I noticed his missing shirt was there too.

“Unfortunately yes I did,” he chuckled. “You know what always makes me feel better though?” he smirks. 

“I crawl up the bed towards him, “What?” I smile knowing what the answer will be. 

“You,” he smirks, grabbing my hips and pinning me to the mattress beneath him, his lips pressing to mine. 

“How funny I was about to say the same thing,” I laugh, feeling his lips tickle my neck as he makes his way further down my body. 

His mouth trails the inside of my thighs before sliding my panties down my legs, each brush of his fingers from my hips to my ankles feeling like heaven. The male had been gone for a week, and I was desperate for release. He licks a long stripe up my center, flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves at the top. My back arches off the bed and his hands find my waist to pin me down. I feel his tongue begin to lap at my clit as his fingers slide into me, no doubt finding the pool of wetness waiting there. 

This is what me and Lu had always been good at, reading each other. When he had a stressful day  I always made sure to make him feel good, and when I came back to the house upset he never hesitated to get on his knees for me. There was this unsaid rule that we would always take care of eachother. 

Lucien’s tongue continues lapping my clit as his fingers curl to hit that spot inside of me that had me gasping for air. As I started to feel myself getting closer and closer he removed his mouth from me, drawing his fingers out slowly. One thing about hooking up for a year? You learn to read each other's bodies, and lord did the seventh son of Autumn know how to read mine. 

“Lu!” I cry out frustrated. 

“Shhh my darling,” he coos crawling up my body. “I simply want to cum with you tonight.” he smirked, seething himself inside of me. 

“Oh gods!” I cry feeling him fill me thoroughly. 

He pulls out and thrusts back in causing me to whimper once more. Mor was right about one thing, the autumn court males have fire in their blood and they fuck like it too. 

“I missed you, missed this,” Lucien groans, his face contorted in pleasure as he builds a steady pace. 

“I missed you too Lu,” I say through ragged breaths as he fucks into me like his life depends on it. Apparently the time apart made him needy as well. 

I could hardly speak as he thrust deeper into me, his hands on my waist holding me steady so tha he could hit me as deep as possible. When I felt myself start to clench around him he doubled over, burying his head in my neck as his hips continued to snap into me.

My hands found his back clinging to the flesh there for an anchor, my walls fluttering around him one last time before I fell apart.The sudden sensation had Lucien biting my neck as he came with a low groan. 

We spent a few moments catching our breaths, he pushed up on his arms and moved a stray hair from my face, assessing to see if he had hurt me, just like he always did.  When he found no traces of pain in my face he rolled over, taking me with him so that I was lying on his chest. 

This was always the part I think we both craved the most. The sex was great, amazing even. But I longed for a pair of arms to fall asleep in, and he longed for someone to hold. Meaningless pillowtalk just for fun.

“I mean it, I did miss you,” I sigh circling my arms around his waist. 

“I missed you too, I hate sleeping in the spring court, it’s so cold and dark there now.” Lucien said, staring at the ceiling. 

“How is Tamlin?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Terrible,” he muttered. “I had to talk him into letting me stay.”  He continues playing with the ends of my hair. 

“You’re a good friend for checking in on him though,” I say matter of factly. 

“I still wish I could do more,” he sighs, pulling the covers up on the two of us.

“I understand,” I mutter keeping my head on his chest, staring at the fire that roars next to us. 

A long beat of comfortable silence passes, normally I would fall asleep like this. I would sometimes wake to him being gone, sometimes he would wake to me being gone. Only on weekends would both be able to wake up and go to breakfast together. This was one of those weekends, but instead of falling asleep, Lucien spoke up. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, not taking his gaze from the ceiling. 

“Sure,” I reply, waiting for a nonchalant inquiry. It wasn’t the first time he and I had played 20 questions to get to know each other more, though I thought that after a year of it we knew just about everything there was to know about the other. 

“Would you agree that Azriel and Elain are never going to give us a chance?” he asked. 

My heart twinges hearing his name, “Well Az doesn’t know, but even if he did I don’t think he would care. I’m not damsel in distress enough for him.” I snort recalling the unconscious type he has.

“I feel the same about Elain, and there’s something I’ve been thinking about, especially this past week,” he continues still facing the ceiling. 

I prop my head up on his chest wanting to read his face and his eyes flit to me, “Cryptic Vanserra, but go on,” I laugh trying to break the tension. 

“I’ve always been fond of you y/n ever since you visited the spring court all those years ago. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, that admiration has only grown, not to mention you’re a very beautiful female y/n,” he laughs at his own words, a tint of pink dusting his cheek and I can’t help but blush as well. “From the amount of time we’ve been spending together it seems you like me enough, and well…I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he says seemingly avoiding his main point. 

I sit up more, intrigued by his words, “What do you mean Lu?” I inquire. 

“I was wondering if you would like to be Mrs. Lucien Vanserra?” he finally says and my heart nearly stops at the shocking words. “I know I’m not Azriel, but consider me an alternative. I think we could make eachother genuinely happy, maybe help each other enjoy whatever we have left of this miserable life?” he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty. 

I let his words sink in as I stare at the bit of wall behind him. As I consider all that he’s said I realize that he’s right, we do get along. I had spent years trying to find a male to fill the hole Azriel put in my  life, but it always felt wrong. It was as if I was taking someone else’s mate, even when the males didn’t have mates.  It didn’t feel wrong being with Lucien because I knew that his mate also didn’t want anything to do with him. 

I was tired of not always having someone to come home to. Not having someone to go to events with. Not having someone to spend holidays with. Not having someone to call my own. I was tired of being alone, especially since I had been alone for about 400 years, but no longer. 

I smile down at Lucien’s nervous face, “I would be honored to be your wife,” I say. 

“You would?” he beams. 

“I would,” I repeated back to him. “You’re right, we do get along, and I’m tired of being alone too.” 

He presses his lips to mine, both of us smiling into the kiss. We would never fill the sadness of a rejected mating bond, but we would be there for one another. I lay my  head down on his chest again, feeling the sleep come into my eyes. 

“How should we do it?” he asked, tracing shapes on my bare back.

“Hmm,” I thought for a moment. A big wedding seemed odd considering we weren’t mates or anything close to it. Eloping seemed more proper. “I think we should keep it small.”

“Do we tell them?” He ponders the most awkward question.

“We can tell them, but we don’t need to invite them. It can be a modified elopement, they will all know but we can just invite my brother and Feyre, that way we both have family there.” I answer snuggling into his warmth more. 

“By the Cauldron I have to tell your brother I’ve been sleeping with you for over a year,” Lucien said anxiously, running a hand down his face. 

I can’t help but laugh at his stress, “He might be a little mad, but I’m sure Feyre will be so excited about it that he won’t care.” I giggle. 

I feel his body relax under my cheek, no doubt realizing that whatever the High Lady says will be law. He slides a red and gold ring off his pinky finger and slips it onto my left hand. 

“Here, it’s a family ring,” he explains looking at the gaudy ring on  my hand. While it fits on my finger well the jewel on it takes up my whole hand and looks unnatural. “I know I’m not part of the Autumn Court anymore but it’s all I have.” he continues.

“It’s perfect,” I laugh, inspecting the ill-fitting thing, “it’s an outcast just like us.”

Lucien's soft chuckle escapes him as he plants a gentle kiss atop my head. Tomorrow promises its usual dose of chaos, but that's a concern for another day. Tonight, here in bed with my fiancé, though this isn't the life I envisioned, I find myself flooded with a happiness I haven't felt in ages.

Part 2,

Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202

[riza-hawks-eye]

The Royai moments the anime adaptations left out bc they are COWARDS

(I believe in fma manga supremacy)

Riza's Grandpa asks Roy to marry her.

So this one needs outside material to explain, but Arakawa confirmed in the 2nd Guidebook (released only in Japanese and French) that Grumman is Riza's maternal grandfather. Not necessarily a big Royai moment but, still it's interesting how Riza's only known living family ships it, and that Roy doesn't exactly say "no" to his request.

I am forever fascinated as to why any of this exists in the first place, what did you mean by this Arakawa? why have Grumman make this suggestion in the first place? 👀👀👀👀👀👀 What were you suggesting? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Anyway, I wish we had an in-text confirmation of Riza's relation to Grumman and I wish this moment had come back to the story at some point. Even if it was just Riza glaring at Grumman being like "Grandpa why are you trying to marry me off?????"

2. Roy's "Get your hands off my wife!" moment.

He really said, "is he bothering you queen?" I wish we had more protective Roy and frankly, I don't understand how this scene didn't make it to Brotherhood? Riza was getting manhandled by a tin can and clearly not into it. The fact that a tin can serial killer developed a crush on her is concerning to begin with. It just wouldn't be in character for Roy to be cool with this. Roy is also a jealous boyfriend, what can I say?

3. The "I'm glad you're alive" moment.

For some dumb reason, Brotherhood changed this so when Riza apologises for worrying him, he just snaps "save it for the end of the mission!" Like, why Brotherhood? why would Roy ever snap at Riza like that? especially when Riza is generally the one who is laser-focused on the mission. Roy has enough faith in her, he's not going to see this brief apology as her being distracted or less competent. The manga dialogue is also meant to show how Maes's death is still a fresh wound for Roy, so of course he's on edge at the prospect of losing Riza too.

4. He literally asks her out

I feel like both anime adaptations really wanted Roy to be more of a womaniser than he actually is. But this scene lowkey confirms Roy has limited game and he only really wants Riza. It feels like dude jumped at the opportunity to ask Riza out the moment she technically stopped being his subordinate.

5. Roy's codename for Riza actually coming back

Seriously, I love how Arakawa took the time to establish "Elizabeth" as Riza's codename only to use it later to have Madame Christmas suggest that Roy regularly spends time with "Elizabeth" to the point where it's weird that he isn't with her now. And then, when Roy bemoans how "another man took Elizabeth" (an obvious reference to Riza being taken hostage by Bradley) one of Christmas's girls gets excited at the idea she might have a chance with Roy. The suggestion is that Roy isn't normally available on account of his seeing Elizabeth.

It's a strong hint to the idea that Riza and Roy might have *something* going on and are bypassing the fraternization laws through codes. At the very least it suggests that Roy isn't interested in anyone but "Elizabeth". Also look how bummed out he is that his wife is gone. Why did the anime rob us of so much pathetic whipped Roy? WHY?

6. Just a lot more touching in general

There's actually a lot of touching between these two in the manga. It's mostly during the big fights like the Promised Day or the battle with Lust and it really cements them as a true battle couple.

In the case of the Promised day they are literally fighting in each other's arms. Riza is leaning on Roy as she's on the verge of passing out from her wounds, and Roy is clinging onto her now that she has become his eyes. The way they hold each other shows how they are each other's crutch and how one always empowers the other. It also symbolises how inseparable these two are as moments ago Roy was at the Gate and before that Riza was on the brink of death, they could have lost in each other for good but they're still standing strong together in spite of everything.

The post-Lust fight is just a nice moment were Roy clings onto Riza out of sheer relief that she's okay and he hasn't lost another loved one. Even though he's on the verge of passing out from pain and blood loss, he still finds the strength to reach out to her.

Then there's the scene in the tunnels where he lowers her gun for her. The noticeable difference in the manga is that he does this after he takes off his ignition gloves.

The anime forgets to do this. It seems like a minor difference but it's kind of a big point of characterisation. Because we know that Riza has been hurt by flame alchemy, from the process of having the tattoo done to her by a trusted parental figure at a young age, to the trauma of seeing how much damage it did at ishval, to her very literally being burned by the flames so that it won't do anymore damage. Roy is the one who burned her, he's the one who used her secret to do unspeakable damage and suffering, why would he hurt her again by letting her go anywhere near flame alchemy?

My final thoughts: Manga Roy is altogether more dorky and in love with Riza than his anime counterparts and I miss his adorkable self.

I also feel like Arakawa was so good at subtly hinting at how in love these two are and how they basically *do* function like a couple even if they might not be together in the conventional het married with babies way.

[cumtastiics]

EMPTY PROMISES / prequel. ft. g/n reader + batfam #TW :: death (of reader's mother!), neglect :p

LET'S READ SOME MORE! prequel (here) ch. 1 2 3

your mother was the most important person in your world. she was everything you knew—your protector, your comfort, the one who made you feel safe and loved. she was the heart of your home, the one you could always count on.

and she still is, in a way. the memories of her remain, haunting and bittersweet, lingering in your thoughts like a shadow that follows you everywhere.

but she isn’t in this world anymore. she’s gone, taken too soon.

you still remember the day, you were just a child then, still small and innocent, walking home from elementary school.

when you opened the door, the stench hit you immediately—a putrid, acrid smell that seemed to seep into your very bones. it was overpowering, filling your nostrils and choking your breath. for a moment, you stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. the smell was so strong, so overwhelming, that it made your stomach churn and your chest tighten. something was terribly wrong, but your young mind couldn’t process it.

“mama?” you called out, your voice soft and uncertain. it wasn’t like her to not greet you when you came home. she was always there, waiting, ready to give you a hug, to ask about your day. 

but that day, something felt different. something felt terribly wrong.

“mama? i’m back home,” you called again, a little louder this time, though still hesitant. but no answer came, and that silence, that unbearable quiet, was more terrifying than any sound. 

you stood at the door, unsure whether you should step inside or run away. the house was eerily still. it wasn’t like your mother to not respond, to not be there. but then, as you stepped further into the house, you saw it—her.

your mother was there, but not the way you expected. 

there, on the floor, she lay in a pool of blood, lifeless, her eyes vacant and empty. the sight was more horrific than anything you could have ever imagined. you couldn’t understand it, not fully. she was the one who held you when you cried, who kissed your forehead at night and tucked you in. how could she be... gone? 

the blood that surrounded her was thick and dark, a stark contrast to the softness of the home she had always made for you. the horror of what you saw was too much for a child your age to process. you had never even heard of such things happening.

it was the kind of image that no child should ever have to witness—the kind of pain that no one should ever have to endure. and yet, it was the memory that would define you, the moment that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

the world you lived in, the one that had revolved around your mother would never be the same.

it wasn’t long after that till bruce took you in. 

he was different from your mother, he was straight-forward, and hardly spoke to you. maybe it was the first week only where he had bothered to make any effort to speak with you, but after that he stopped.

from his point of view, he never forgot about you, he was just… busy. busy is the word.

from your point of view, it was obvious neglect. you had tried to stay positive, but it was hard. alfred would tell you that bruce was busy, and surely he’ll make time for you.

he wasn’t right.

you learned at an early age that promises in the manor that were made, were almost always broken ones.

you learned that promises, no matter how sweet and caring they may sound, were just words. 

meaningless, stupid words. 

you would sit in your room, wondering if bruce would talk to you today. alfred, with his kind eyes and patient nature, would bring you meals and check in on you occasionally. he was the closest thing to a father figure you had now, but even he couldn’t fill the space your mother had left behind.

the manor almost always quiet, or at least the empty part your bedroom was a part of, was. that was, till jason died.

the manor was almost a mourning place, full of regret. 

it was then, when bruce and the rest of them, who barely knew a thing about you, forgot you.

a/n: zooweemama i let my friend read draft and she kept making mama a girl behind you jokes

taglist //// @foggyv-oid @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @ghostdoodlen @luxuryz3 @soriansick @degenerates-posts @kore-of-the-underworld @toast-on-dandelioms

[yoohyeon]

At first I didn’t really realize it, but my dad is saying at least 5 times a day how much days is left before him and my mom leave on vacation of 2 weeks so that mean I’m gonna be alone with Puppy for 2 weeks…I’m gonna d*e of stress 😭

[phant0mth1ef]

i kissed the scars on her skin, i still think you’re beautiful.

-

can be read as part 3 to this boy’s too young to be singing the blues, or as a standalone :3!

-

empty. your hospital room was empty. void of all life. the sheets were as if nobody had slept there in years, the window shades were put back to their normal, idle position, and all the decorations that class a had put up for you were now gone.

but he was still directed to the room where you were supposed to reside. he stood at the doorway, his jaw open as he stared inside, trying to look for any signs of life. because why else would they send him here if you weren’t there? you were still alive. right?

he was worried, to say the least, until he heard quiet muffled sounds coming from behind him, you were standing, your iv was right next to you as you looked up at the boy with half-lidded eyes.

“hi katsuki.” you yawned.

“you spent all that time asleep and you’re still tired?!” there was the snarkiness and attitude you knew and loved.

“exhausted really. come in.” you motioned for the boy to follow you as you made your way to your bed, sitting down and patting the space next to you.

“why’s it look like a grey’s anatomy scene in here?” he was always so blunt, even if you were currently in the worst shape possible.

“didn’t wanna get too comfortable. i don’t plan on living in here any longer than i have to.” something was off. you didn’t have that stupid happy go lucky smile on your face.

“my quirk. they took my quirk.” you looked down as the tears welled in your eyes, trying to smile but it was quickly broken.

you never knew what to do with your hands, so you just played with your fingers whenever you were scared.

“that’s what you’re so upset about?! you almost died.” even when you’re feeling down he still manages to scold you.

“i know but,” you sniffled.

“i just-. i really wanted to become a hero with you katsuki.” the boy was never one for emotions, choosing to hide them rather than showcase them.

but in that moment, he slowly felt his hard exterior crumbling as he swore his heart begun to break, you had meant every word you said to him, your tears were real tears.

“tch. you’re real dense, ya know that?! you’re already a hero dumbass. you fought in that stupid war. you earned the right to be called a hero.” he looked away from you, not meeting your eyes because he refused to let you know he was crying.

until you heard him sniffle, and you pretended not to laugh even though your own eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

“you cryin’ katsuki?” a laugh had slipped out as he angrily snapped his head back to face you.

“hah?! no! it’s just stuffy in here.” it was hard to watch him pretending to be tough while he had a tear falling from his eye.

“s’okay to cry, y’know.” you leaned your head on his shoulder, and he turned at your sudden action.

then proceeded to put his head on your head, making mitsuki nearly jump at her son’s sudden actions, and yet she was quick enough to grab her camera, quickly snapping a photo.

the same photo that bakugou had looked back on after eri had successfully rewinded your body to the time when your quirk was still a part of you.

the same photo that was on display at your wedding, along with about a gazillion childhood pictures of you both, you both had been in the background of many pictures despite never knowing each other, it was as if an invisible string had tied your souls together.

and sure enough, the photo was hung in your shared home, along with another picture of you both as pro heroes, your children walking by it every day on their way to school.