#but was so damaged that in the end he wasn’t able to escape that broken part of himelf

[harmonytheme]

thinking about stendan since I’ve just done a rewatch, and while i’ve been desperate for emmett to come back to the show for years, I honestly believe brendan’s three year arc on the show was as close to perfect as it could have been.

I’ll never stop wanting him back, but there's some comfort in knowing how legendary brendan's story remains to this day. eleven years on and he’s still being brought up on the show. he's still being referred to as the love of ste's life (ste who has been married like five times) by kieron. and he still has half of us hoping against hope that he’ll return some day.

[slushycoookie]

A Welcome Distraction 18+

Miguel’s had an eventful day at HQ. He's had to deal with report mix-ups, two anomaly containment breaks, and half of the cafeteria being destroyed. All while not having his daily cup of coffee. Because the machine was broken when he arrived.

Everything had calmed down near the end of the day, enough to where he shut himself in his lab to destress. He ranted to you via phone call, arms folded and shoulders hunched.

“I already knew my day was going to be bad when I found out the coffee machine wasn't working.” He started, “As soon as I come in, I'm bombarded with messages saying the reports got mixed up. I thought I could at least get a cup of coffee in first. But no, turns out a lot of my spiders were pulling all-nighters for reasons they have yet to tell me.” He pinched his nose while recalling the memory, “Plus, I couldn't order coffee since there was heavy traffic due to a bank robbery I stopped before I got here.”

“Oh no…” You said, your empathetic tone already easing him.

“I let the coffee thing slide and tried to fix the reports right away. Margo was a big help so we managed to get them done in a few hours, but then we got an alert of a breakout. Not just one, but two anomalies escaping.”

“That was probably annoying.”

“It was. Which surprised me because I noticed Kaine was nearby while I was dealing with the report issue. I thought, as capable as he is, he'd handle it-”

A message interrupted him. Miguel quickly opened it, wondering if it was from one of his colleagues. Instead, he was hit with a picture of you in your black, lacy bra. The shirt raised above your breasts, cups holding you together perfectly.

Miguel blinked, wondering if this was an old message that came through. He'd usually get something like this from you in the middle of the day. Occasionally, the messages arrive late but no, you just sent it.

“You good?”

“Yeah, yes.” He cleared his throat. Your tone was normal as if you didn’t send the picture at all, “Where was I?”

“Two anomalies broke out.”

“Right.” Miguel went back to recalling his story, not closing the message containing your suggestive picture. “I had to deal with that. Worse part was it was a Green Goblin and a Taskmaster. We were able to take care of the latter quickly but Goblin was relentless. He injured three of my spiders and threw some of his bombs around. One of them ended up blowing up part of the cafeteria!”

“What? I can't believe it.”

“Believe it, baby. So now I-”

Another picture arrived causing him to shift. You were only in the bra and matching underwear. He was able to see your body, your soft stomach, hugged by the laces of the lingerie. Your plush thighs pressed together while your lips slightly parted. “Is-is that the set I brought you last week?”

You hum, “It's nice, right?”

“Very nice.” Miguel wasn’t folding his arms anymore. His body pressed against the desk and his eyes couldn't tear away from the picture.

“So, the cafeteria blew up?”

“Y-Yeah. I couldn't really assess the damage until I…took care of goblin.” He tried to look at anything else besides you but was failing. “And I made sure to have a few more of our people close by the containment area so that incident doesn't happen again.”

“Taking care of the situation, good job!”

Miguel bit his lip at your praise. He was having trouble keeping himself together, between the pictures and you actively listening. “Thanks.”

He stopped breathing when you sent him another picture. This time you were laid flat on the comforter, your bra removed, your breasts out in their full glory. It was a reward for how quickly he handled the catastrophe earlier. Now, he was staring like he’d never seen you before. His hands twitched to grope them, use them to help release the stress he experienced.

“Miguel? You still there?”

He rapidly blinked, darting away from the picture. “Yeah, yeah I'm here.”

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. What did you say?”

Your voice raised an octave, amused at how he was falling into your trap. “I asked how bad was the cafeteria damaged.”

“Oh.” Miguel felt his suit get tight. His eyes kept landing on your chest and now all he wanted to do was ask for another picture. He had no interest in continuing his story now. “Can I tell you later?”

“Why? What's wrong?”

A groan escaped him, “You know what's wrong.”

“No, I don’t.” You scoffed, “I'm not a mind reader.”

“Nena,” Miguel let out a shaky breath, “are you in bed right now?”

“Yes.” Your teasing tone rumbles across his ears. “Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head as if you can see him. “No.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because-” Miguel licked his dry lips, running his hand over his hair to figure out what to say. He was losing the battle but was ready to accept defeat. “Nothing. Take off your underwear.”

“Wait, what? What about the cafeteria? You know I like eating there sometimes.”

“I will tell you later.” He starts palming himself through his suit. “Let me see.”

You didn't argue back. Silence took over as he waited to see the picture he requested. His mouth dropped at the final photo. You reflected in the long mirror in the corner of your room. A hand amongst your breast while your legs spread for him. Showing you his prize. His reward for the terrible day he’s had. Mouth agape, almost drooling at the sight of you. Miguel couldn’t hold on any longer.

“I'm coming over.”

[oriistar]

The Sun, The Moon, And Their Star

Prologue

Sun and Moon x GN Reader

Summary: Following the rebuilding of the Freddy Fazbear Pizzaplex after the mysterious fire, salvage teams managed to uncover the burnt remains of their main animatronic cast- including their former daycare attendant. With their body being too damaged to repair, Freddy Fazbear Entertainment Co makes the executive decision to split the two halves Into their own bodies and revamp their personality chips, installing state of the art ai systems to give them a more lifelike feel. Although happy to finally be free of the restrictions of their old body, Sun and Moon discover that their new Ai includes a plethora of new emotions, triggered by the new daycare employee that works alongside them..

Warnings: Slight Angst, Mild Body Horror.

Intense heat and lapping flames melting plastic. Black smoke clouding their vision and the horrifying sight of the daycare crumbling around them. Those were the last things both Sun and Moon could recall before their systems crashed and they fell into darkness. They weren’t sure what started it but their collective conscience had agreed on one thing: This was the end of the road for them. They fought as hard as they could to escape, to get as far away as they could, but their mechanical body had failed them. Their exterior shell had all but melted off, leaving a trail of molten plastic in their wake as they desperately tried to find any way out. The faint memory of bidding one another goodbye lingered before they blacked out, so how? How was Sun awake right now, staring up at a slightly familiar ceiling. 

His system had booted up only a few minutes ago, his memories flooding through his mind as he tried to process what was going on. In his head he had tried to talk to Moon like he was so familiar with but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hear his other half or feel anything from him. It made him feel.. anxious? That was new. He had never felt anxiety before, his personality chip was nowhere near advanced enough to allow him to feel any emotions that weren't already programmed into him. Things like that were reserved for the more popular animatronics, such as the main band. 

The thought of the four main animatronics made more anxiety build, followed by a hollow feeling in what he assumed was his stomach region? He really wasn’t sure yet. How many of the others had survived the fire? Were they okay too? His mind was running wild with horrid possibilities that made him feel something akin to nausea. His face contorted into an uncharacteristic grimace as he thought about it. Wait. His face was moving? Certainly not. But it definitely felt that way. He wasn’t sure. In fact, he wasn’t sure of anything. Not even sure if him being powered back on was real or not. He would have tried to move but for some reason his body wasn’t responding. His assumption was fried wires. Of course his body would suffer a great deal of damage after all he had been through. He didn’t even want to know what his body looked like right now. 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door opening somewhere to his left and footsteps approaching. “Oh, you’re finally booted up. That’s good.” An unfamiliar voice said. Sun was surprisingly able to turn his head enough to see who it was. Their features were unfamiliar to him but he recognized the Parts and Services uniform they wore. So that's where he was. “W-what happened..” He muttered weakly, surprised by how different his voice sounded. The employee gave him a sympathetic look and typed something into a computer. Whatever code they imputed had given Sun his mobility back and immediately he sat up and looked his body over. It was.. different. Instead of hard plastic, his exterior was now a soft and plush foam. His arms were also a consistent orange color instead of being broken up by the former ugly gray that used to color the tips of his fingers and forearms. The ribbons and bells on his wrists had been replaced, along with his usual satin striped pants. The employee waited until he had finished examining his body to explain the situation to him.

“The old Pizzaplex burnt down a little over a year ago. The company was able to salvage you and the other animatronics but your bodies were.. Unrepairable.” They explained, moving to grab something off the desk next to the computer. “Luckily all of your memory chips were in working condition but yours, and all of the others, got new personality and body upgrades. You might be feeling some new things so take it slow and have a look.” They held up a hand-held mirror which allowed Sun to see his new face model. He was shocked to say the least. Instead of the permanent plastic molded smile, his face had been replaced by a soft silicone that was colored light orange. Instead of his unmoving white eyes, he now had vibrant blue ones and the full capability to blink even if he technically didn't need to. His cheeks and the bridge of his new nose were also dotted with darker orange freckles. The new silicone texture of his face was what allowed for his facial features to move. It surprised him, how almost human he looked. The inside of his mouth even had a moving tongue! Most likely to make it look more real when he talked. 

“It's different, huh? You look a lot more like the old posters now. I think it's definitely an improvement but I'm sure it will take you a little to get used to.” The employee said as they took the mirror away and set it back down by the computer. Sun was definitely thankful for the change. Being able to express himself was new but welcome, and he was sure his appearance would be much more appealing to children now. There was still something wrong though. “Moon.. how come I can't hear him anymore?” He asked cautiously, still confused as to why he couldn't hear Moon in his head like usual. The employee turned their attention back to him and shook their head. “Right, I forgot to tell you. Moon is no longer part of your program, meaning that you’ll no longer change forms when the lights are off. You’re just Sun now.” They smiled as if that was good news, but Sun felt like he’d throw up if he was capable of such a thing. That pit in  his stomach had returned and he must have looked absolutely horrified because the employee was quick to back track. “I mean, he’s not gone, don’t worry! They just decided to separate the two of you. Moon has his own body now and upgrades that are very similar to yours.” The employee explained in an apologetic tone. 

Sun was relieved that Moon was okay, but he didn’t know how to feel about them no longer being part of one another. Ever since their creation, Sun and Moon had been together. Hearing each other's thoughts, sharing the same body, and finding comfort in one another that they were both sure no one else could possibly understand. Sure it was frustrating sometimes having to share a body, but now knowing that he’d never have the experience again, never having Moon so close.. It felt wrong. He gulped and willed himself to think on the bright side. If he and Moon were split then that meant Moon would be able to play with the kids with the lights on, and neither of them would fear randomly switching if the lights happened to switch on or off at random. Most of all, Sun figured it’d be nice to physically see Moon, to be able to hug his brother and do all sorts of activities together. It was weird and would certainly be an adjustment but maybe this really would be a good thing in the long term.

“Where is he?” Sun asked after he got a handle on his thoughts. The employee smiled at that, “Moon was quicker to boot up than you were. He was just as confused but once he processed everything I brought him to the new and improved daycare” They said. Sun slowly nodded. The employee had mentioned the daycare being ‘new and improved’ so he assumed that they had to completely rebuild it and probably the rest of the Pizzaplex. He simmered in his thoughts for a bit before he turned back to the employee. “I think.. I’m ready to go?” He said, feeling nervous but ready to see Moon and the new daycare. The employee nodded, “Follow me then.” They said, leading the way out of parts and services. 

Walking back to the daycare took a lot longer than it probably should have. The pizzaplex was very different and Sun couldn’t help but stop and stare at the new additions everytime they passed through a new area. Eventually they did make it to the daycare and Sun’s previous anxiety was replaced by excitement as he rushed around, gushing over all of the new installments. A brand new play area with new and crazier play structures. There were two ball pits now, in the shape of a sun and moon. Above the ball pit, the curtain covered entrance leading to Sun and Moon’s green room was still there and he was relieved to see it. There was a separate area for crafting, and even a new area for meal times. A brand new gift shop, and what looked like a special room dedicated to nap times that was padded with a large glass wall so it was easy to see inside. They had even rebuilt the theater and made it more kid friendly. As excited as Sun was about the new daycare, he was most excited about finding Moon in the vast space. 

“Moon! Where are you!” He called out excitedly, pushing open the new doors to the play area. From behind one of the play structures, a figure emerged. “Sun? Is that really you?” Moon said, sounding like he was in disbelief as he stood and stared. Where Sun had stayed relatively the same, Moon had changed drastically. His body seemed to be made of the same materials as Sun’s was, his face fully moveable as well. The soft baby blue silicone was complemented by warm orange eyes, no longer the terrifying red from his old design. Instead of freckles though, Moon’s face was decorated by slightly darker periwinkle spots to mimic the craters on the moon. His outfit was what changed the most however. He had a similar blue hat on, though the star pattern was more busy and the bell on the tip of the hat was replaced by a golden star charm. Instead of a ruffled collar, he wore a small blue cape with a white fluffy rim that was secured in place by a golden ribbon. His pants were flared at the bottom with the same star pattern as his hat and held up by another golden ribbon tied with a bow at the back that had a bell in its center. 

The outfit was so very him, and it only convinced Sun more that their split would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Sun grinned happily and he swore he would cry if he could. He rushed over and enveloped Moon in a bone crushing hug, laughing happily as he squeezed his brother tightly. Moon was surprised at first but soon his face reflected Sun’s grin as he moved to hug him back just as tightly. They'd have plenty to talk about later but for now they were both content with holding onto one another like their very lives depended on it. Moon was back to himself, free of whatever corruption in his code made him so hostile. They were together again and more importantly, they were safe. Getting used to their new bodies and emotional capabilities would take a bit but both of them were looking forward to the Pizzaplex’s reopening and hopefully this time around things would turn out how they were always meant to be.

Masterlist ᐤ Next Part

All of my writing is original work created by me. Please do not repost, translate, or alter them in any way.

[luvknow]

after her | yang jeongin

summary: a lonely yang jeongin, fresh from a break-up, finds what it means to be happy again while living with his best friend in the big city. you fall victim to his signs of affections, struggling to define if he’s emptying what’s leftover from his relationship or if they’re truly meant for you. you’d live through the endless heartache if it meant he would smile again. characters: female reader x yang jeongin & stray kids ensemble. genre: romance, friends-to-lovers, hurt with comfort, happy ending. additional warnings: alcohol consumption, university party, some mature dialogue and situations, song lyrics. wc: 11.2k

Jeongin placed the last of his boxes in the living room of his new place you two shared. While you were away at work, he employed an off-duty Minho and Jisung with promises of pizza and beer as payment.

A low whistle escaped Jisung’s lips as his eyes scanned the condo. “Pretty decent for the price in the middle of the city.”

Jeongin wiped the sweat off his brows. “It helps that _____ is a functioning adult.”

“You’ll get there in a couple of months,” Minho patted his head. “Relax while you can before your job starts. The adult world is not kind.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

Jisung shrugged. “Find a hobby. Adopt a pet. Read a book. Don’t worry about anything! What more can a bachelor want?”

“Go to the club, hop on a dating app,” Minho suggested before Jisung hit him.

The first box Jeongin opened was one he wasn’t supposed to. On top, it wasn’t labeled, but on the side in big bold letters was, ‘TRASH. BURN. DONATE. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT OPEN!!!!!’ On the top layer of stuff was a framed picture of him and his ex-girlfriend under the cherry blossom trees, her eyes curled like sparkling moon crescents and him looking at her like she was his whole world. Beneath were various memorabilia from blind box trinkets to old sweaters of his that still smelled like her perfume. As his heart cracked a bit more, he flopped on the couch face-first, groaning muffled by your decorative pillows.

Minho hit Jisung back. “I told you not to bring that one in!”

“He took it from me before I knew what box it was!”

The two were left unloading the Rent-a-Truck alone as their youngest friend tried to not let too many tears ruin the fabric of the couch. They’d give him a pass this time, but the next warranted multiple rounds of drinks. Jeongin’s energy bled from his body and was absorbed into the cushions, gluing his cheek down until a permanent imprint of the weaved fabric formed on his skin. His eyes stared blankly at the door after his personal mover-bros left and until you walked in, home from a long day of work. A total of six hours where he didn’t move, barely breathing, hoping evolution would kick in and he’d be able to live his life photosynthesizing.

You smiled sympathetically at the damage before you; a pile of boxes, untouched take-out, and an unmoving boy with redness around his eyes that stared off into nothingness.

“Hey, bud,” you began awkwardly. “How’re ya doin’?”

You received a lazy groan in response. He turned over to face the back of the couch, unwilling to elaborate further.

Jeongin called you last Sunday at 2:13 AM. Your first feeling was irritated, as he had better be in some deep shit to be waking you up at this hour on a work night. What you got was worse. Way worse. In a fit of tired, breathless, chest-squeezing sobs and snot-filled sniffles, Jeongin confessed that his girlfriend of just over a year had broken up with him. It was a shitty time to do so, as he was in the middle of signing for a lease after she begged him to move to the city to be closer to her. Luckily, the leasing agency was sympathetic and he went forward with canceling the signing.

The conversation that led him here in your home occurred after he was able to breathe through his tears, wondering what he was supposed to do with his new job contract, and it went like this:

“You’re already mentally prepared to move to the city. Why not do it anyway?”

“What’s the point?” he had asked with a voice so tired of crying. “There’s no reason for me to be there anymore.”

“I’m here,” you replied, offended. “You get to hang out with the most important person in your entire life -”

“By default.”

“I’m going to give you a pass on that because you’re hurting, but you called me, remember?” you had scoffed. “The city will be good for you. Better food, better drinks, things to do, people to meet. Things to distract you, y’know?”

“I can’t do this alone.” There was a long pause before the sniffling and sobs filled the silence on the other end. “If I live alone, I might never leave my apartment.”

Without hesitation, you had said, “Come live with me.”

“What?”

“Yeah! Come live here with me! We’ll turn my office into your bedroom, and voila; casa de _____ and Jeongin.”

“I can’t do that to you. You worked so hard for that place to be your haven.”

“You are my haven,” you had emphasized. “Let me be yours, too.”

A short chuckle on his end. “Cornball.”

Progress was far from linear and the hardest point was ascending from zero. Jeongin was in the negatives. Probably because he had opened a box full of outdated signs of love he and Sieun had given each other the past year and two months. Your face wrinkled in disgust at the sight of her glowing face in a heart-shaped frame. And Jeongin had called you the cornball… Maybe you were a certified hater, but you had to get rid of this box of trash now.

When you bent to pick it up, he gripped your wrist and stopped you.

“Don’t,” he muffled into the pillows.

“Keeping this isn’t good for you.”

“Neither will throwing it away.”

“How about we compromise,” you sighed. “Let’s store it in my closet until you’re ready to toss it. Out of sight, out of mind.”

His answer was letting go of you and allowing you to touch the most tender parts of his heart to store away in your dark, cold, lifeless but stylish closet for it to wither away. You didn’t want any parts of her near your room at all, but you kept muttering, ‘This is for Jeongin. This is for him because you love him, for some reason,’ as a reminder.

You’d repeat that reminder maybe ten times a day for the past week for stupid shit like him not washing his dishes, not putting the toilet seat down, drinking all your specialty alcoholic beverages you liked to save for after-work woes, but what pushed you over the edge was the empty stash of your favorite snack.

“Ok, I’m done!” you yelled. After a long day of Teams meetings and smiling at sleazy men twice your age, all you wanted was a little treat! A little snack! But when you opened your pantry, you were left with an empty box. He couldn’t even throw the damn box away!

You opened the door to his room where he sat in his gaming chair, yelling at his bros on Discord. He paid no mind to the noise, since his gaudy headphones blocked everything and likely bruised his eardrums. So when he couldn’t hear you calling his name, you went up to the microphone.

“Sorry, boys, Jeongin has some chores to do!” You heard a muffle of ‘boos’ from Chan and Felix on the other end before unplugging his set-up.

“What the hell, _____! That was a ranked game!” he whined.

“You!” you seethed, grabbing the remnants of your snack bags before chucking the empty box at his face. “You gluttonous squirrel-faced stupid, stupid boy!”

“Ooh, yikes. I know that tone.”

“You couldn’t bother texting me that we were out?!”

“They’re just snacks, we can buy more.”

“We, who!? Who’s paying the mortgage here? Who’s the one with an actual job at the moment?!”

“I start next month, ok?! And you agreed to a prorated rent because of that!”

“Being jobless doesn’t give you the right to live in my home like a slob! There are responsibilities for adulthood! There are chores and rules for living under my roof!”

Jeongin had this stupid face he’d put on to get whatever he wanted. It worked with Sieun, and sadly worked for you, too. He wheeled himself over on his new four hundred dollar chair (“For ergonomics!” he had argued) and pulled you in between his legs. His arms wrapped around the back of your thighs and his chin rested on your stomach. The stupid, adorable, troublemaker face was up-turned brows, pouting lips, and eyes that twinkled from the lighting above.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “It just… feels nice to be taken care of right now.”

Ugh. Maybe you were being too harsh. A week’s worth of annoyance was nothing compared to a week’s worth of trying to glue back pieces of his heart together when they kept falling apart. Or maybe that was the spell he put you under with his dreamy eyes talking. You couldn’t think straight with your constricting office wear on.

You kissed your teeth. Your hand grabbed a chunk of his curly brown mop of hair and pushed him off of you. “You stink. Shower and get ready; you’re buying me new snacks at the grocery store.”

“But I don’t need to go grocery shopping.”

“You have one pack of instant ramen left; yes, you do.”

–

One of your first memories with Jeongin was the day before you both started secondary school. The last day of summer was spent under the stars on a trampoline in his backyard with empty cans of cola scattered out on the grass. Your heads touched while bodies were oriented in the opposite direction, semi-Spiderman style.

You were the first to voice what you feared most. “Do you think things are going to change?”

He shook his head adamantly. “Never.”

“Nothing is ever non-zero.”

“Must you nerdify everything?”

“It’s not on purpose. I can’t help it.”

“Except you could.” Jeongin sighed, whether out of disappointment or enjoying the feeling of the cool night air, you had long forgotten. His black, too-short-for-a-bowl-cut pin-straight hair poked your ears whenever he turned and knocked his head against yours.

“Ow,” you whined. “What?”

He pointed to the sky. “See that?”

“Stars.”

“Do you recognize the constellation, smartass?” Astronomy wasn’t your strong suit. “Scorpio and Lupus.”

You shrugged. “Who do you think would win in a fight: ten scorpions or one wolf?”

“That’s not the point of my question,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But the correct answer is ten scorpions.”

“What’s the point, then? Of anything, really?”

He pointed to the sky again. “Things will change only when the stars do.”

“Apocalypse-style?”

“Exactly. When they do, it’ll be the end of the world.”

You giggled, tilting your head closer to his. “Cornball.”

“What is a cornball, anyways? Like, a chicken nugget made of corn?”

“Genetically-modified corn in the shape of a ball.”

At thirteen, you both thought these conversations made you comedic, thought-provoking geniuses. They were typical teenage nonsensical word-smithing that’d later evolve into witty adult assholery, but they were ones you’d cherish ‘til the end of time.

“Never change, _____ _____.”

“You, too, Yang Jeongin.”

Tonight, the night sky was as clear as the night before secondary school. It’s been a couple of weeks since Jeongin moved in and progress was there, but it was slow. Some days, he’d spend all day in bed under the covers and you’d have to force-feed him sustenance and flip him over to prevent bed sores. Some days he spent the entire day deep cleaning the tile grout with a toothbrush until his knees were purple. The worst nights were like tonight, where you’d come home to an empty bottle of some mystery brown liquor you didn’t remember purchasing and him passed out on the couch.

It was exhausting for this short amount of time. It was a rollercoaster of emotions and outbursts and constantly having to take his phone away from doing something stupid like calling or texting her. This wasn’t the Jeongin you were used to; you wanted the one who sang tunes and trot jingles, the one who burned mac ‘n cheese on accident, the one who’d wave to little kids when you were out together. The unmoving body was just a shell of him, and just as he struggled putting the pieces of himself back together, you struggled holding the ones he was able to find in place.

You lifted his head by his curls and plopped it back on your lap after taking a seat.

“Careful,” he groaned. “There’s precious real estate up here.”

You didn’t speak, distracting yourself by playing with his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and cheeks stained with drool and salty tears. Sniffles filled the silence.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, words a bit slurred. “I don’t like when you’re quiet.”

“Ask yourself that question,” you replied, mouth full of salt.

“You’re mad at me.”

“I care about you.”

“You’re mad because you care,” he nodded, understanding, or at least pretending to. “I care about you, too.”

Caring wasn’t enough. No amount of love and tenderness from you could replace the one Sieun gave him, and that was evident. How were you supposed to hold him together when she was his reason? You could only do so much, and your best was never enough.

He pointed to the ceiling. “Do you think Scorpio and Lupus are out tonight?”

“It’s cloudy.”

“Oh. Is it?” he sighed. “But they’re still there?”

“They’ll always be there.”

“Together?”

“Together. Forever, of course.”

“How do you know that?”

Was he asking with underlying intention or drunken oblivion? “I just do.”

Jeongin snorted. “Boooo.”

“Boo, you!”

“Ugh, stop moving!” His lips pursed as he rolled off of you. “Nope. I need to throw up.”

You followed him as he crawled into the bathroom, hunching over his toilet bowl. You held his hair back for a bit before realizing you could tie it back.

“It’s so long now,” you admired while tying back his front pieces.

“Sieun hated it,” the toilet echoed.

“I liked it. Very ‘bad boy’. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah. She’s stupid, right?”

“So stupid.”

“Yeah! And so bossy!” He paused, gagging into the toilet. “Bossier than you! Can you believe that’s possible?!”

“I’m not bossy, I just know what I like when I like it and how I like it,” you patted his back a little too harshly this time, “nothing bossy about that.”

“And it’s a wonder why you’re single.”

A sharp pang pierced your chest. Your relationship status was a touchy subject. It’s not that you preferred to be single, but your job was mentally demanding and sometimes required long hours past sunset. It wouldn’t be fair to your partner when your life was devoted to your career and climbing the corporate ladder. Dates were few, and not too far in between, but none of the prospects were worth the trouble when half of them expected you to pay the whole bill when they found out your occupation.

You loved love. It was beautiful, it was kind, it meant always feeling whole. Of course you wanted to be in love. Of course you wanted to touch, to kiss, to always be intertwined with someone. Life was young, and there was time, but the shroud of loneliness grew longer and larger as the days passed. Suffice to say, your single status hit a nerve.

You patted his back hard enough for him to gag one last time. “Good luck not puking your guts out.”

“No, wait -” but you had already shut the door.

It was the kind of topic that elicited a long, hot, reflective shower until the water ran cold. Were you one of those working women who were doomed by capitalism to serve as a corporate slave until you could withdraw from your 401k at fifty nine and a half? To live a mediocre life and settle down with a five-rated coworker for the sake of reproduction and contributing to lowering the birthrate? To settle for the mundane and predictable? That wasn’t the _____ you knew. At the peak of your young life, when did owning your first place meant that it was the beginning of the end?

When you walked out of the steam cloud, Jeongin was buried beneath your duvet, staring at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the tired, but still awake city. When he first moved in, he mentioned how jealous he was of your nice bedsheets, and you wondered, in that moment, how many times had he napped in your bed without you knowing. Annoyed, but willing, you crawled in behind him, too tired to argue.

He wiggled back, making sure your bodies touched, though he wanted to keep looking out. “Being single isn’t bad… right?”

Was it bad? No. “I like my alone time.”

“But isn’t it lonely?”

It’s never ending. “Only a little.”

“Even when I’m here?”

Especially now, more than ever. “Just a little.”

“What’s your metric of ‘little’?”

Astronomical. “Like a pinch of salt.”

His breathing slowed, body ready to shut down for the night and hopefully awaken before noon. He wrapped your arms around him, begging for a hug, a bit of human connection, something to satiate the pain of wanting to feel whole with someone again. When you gave in, he melted into your touch. This feeling was familiar, but it wasn’t the same. You would never be her.

Just when you thought he fell asleep, you felt his chest jitter, suppressing a mouthful of sobs.

“I hate this,” he said, voice cracking, hands gripping your blankets while you played the big spoon.

You could only nod into the crevice between his wingspan. “I know.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“Sometimes, there’s a reason; sometimes, there isn’t.”

“Then, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” you confirmed and squeezed him tighter. “People fall out of love all the time.”

“Isn’t that fucking terrifying?” he sobbed. “One day, you’re flying, high on life with someone you thought could make forever feel like a day. Next, they tell you they don’t love you anymore.”

“Love is complicated.”

“But it isn’t! When you know, you know. It just isn’t as complicated as many people make it seem. So, what? She knew she didn’t love me anymore? That’s it?”

Complicated isn’t only when someone who once lit up your life now felt like their own fire within fizzled in the darkness. It wasn’t waking up one morning and deciding that they stopped loving you. Complexity was built with intention and time, overthinking and self-reflection. It’s as complicated as math; despite the many ways you could achieve an answer, there was only one answer. Sieun wasn’t a bad person; in fact, you liked her for the time they dated. You figured despite all her might and the many times she tried, she couldn’t force herself to love him anymore. It’s not like she woke up one morning and thought, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’ It’s never just, ‘that’s it,’ as Jeongin claimed its simplicity.

Complicated is spending every moment of free time with someone who knew the deepest parts of you without letting the romantic feelings slip through the cracks. It was intending to confess and ruin a decade’s worth of bonds, all for it to stay hidden with your many secrets when he admitted to finally asking out the cute girl he met through a mutual friend of Jisung. It was saying, ‘I love you,’ to end a phone call while suppressing the ache in your chest as he’d say it to someone else the same evening.

To Jeongin, it was just that. Love. How could one make it so difficult? But to you, there were layers, and someone had to peel them back before you revealed the true nature of your heart. Because after this, after Jeongin was healed and you were left with no one to hold you together the way you had for him, you’d have grown an infinite number of layers to protect yourself. Your future partner would have a lot of work to do.

“Love is an organism. Organisms are complex. It comes in different forms and has different functions. When I say, ‘I love you,’ you think I mean, ‘I care for you,’ right?”

Jeongin didn’t answer. Verbally, at least. His leveled breathing and rhythmic chest rises told you he was fast asleep in a drunken stupor while you had contemplated your answer.

“Yes,” you sighed, snuggling closer, “you do.”

–

Most psychologists would agree that the stages of grief had an order to them. Jeongin, PhD in grief, would say otherwise. In the span of a single day, he’d go between as many as three of the stages. Lately, it was a cocktail of denial, depression, and anger. Today, there was only anger. The drawers would be shut a little too loudly, he’d chew his food a little too aggressively, and his volume and colorful language on Discord closely resembled a sailor.

“Where’s the damn support?!” he screamed into the mic.

“You said you’d be in Zone A!” you heard Jisung yell through his headset.

Jeongin didn’t bother with a response and hung up the call. After whipping his headset on his bed with the strength of a baseball pitcher, he ran a hand through his tangled mop and swore under his breath.

You leaned on his door frame. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Shut up,” he whined.

“You know what would make you feel better?” You drew a rectangle with your pointer fingers, then wiggled the rest in a wave of flames. Then, boom! Big boom!

“No.”

“Jeongin -”

“You said I could wait until I was ready.”

“I think you need to be ready now.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore about that stupid box in your stupid closet with all the stupid fucking shit in it!”

If there was one act you wouldn’t tolerate from anyone, even with a bond thicker than blood, it was raising their voice. You had barely lifted your hand to point an accusing finger at him the same way his mom would, when he shut his eyes and realized his grave mistake. He knew he fucked up when your eyebrows were raised in that, ‘what did you just say to me?’ manner. He was also regretting how much time you spent with his mom.

“... Maybe we should take the box out,” he muttered.

“Yeah, no shit. Grab the hammers.”

Two adult-sized adult-aged children in hoodies carrying a mysteriously heavy box and a couple of hammers at a public park past sunset was not one would describe as inconspicuous. Jeongin was far from ready to address the box, you realized, when you were forced to carry it all the way and he refused to look at it. Even when you prepared the garbage bag and shuffled through the contents, he avoided any sight of strawberry blond hair and scents of neroli and jasmine. Semi-slicked with sweat, you took the box to the top of the jungle gym and dragged the big baby up to meet it.

“You left the trash bag down there,” he noted.

You nodded. “Grab that picture frame.” The first one was the red one shaped like a heart. You tilted your chin overboard. “Slam it.”

“Like, on the ground?”

“Yup.”

“That’s not very nice... Why can’t we just throw it?”

“Because I can’t be sure you won’t dig through the dumpster and drag filth across my floors.”

“Who do you think I am?!”

“Break it with all your might!”  you demanded, pretending to be angry and Hulk-smashing on the stable platform. “Rah! Into the trash bag, though, please.”

“She gave this to me on our two-month-iversary. She said it was a symbol of her heart,” he reflected, gentle fingers wiping the dust that collected.

“And what did she do to yours?”

“Break it.”

“She stomped on it.”

“Yeah…”

“Crushed it!”

“Yeah…!”

“Stabbed it with a blunt butter knife!”

“Yeah!”

“And did it hurt?!”

“Like a bitch!”

“Rue the day!!”

“Rue the roux!!”

Someone’s hungry. “Yeah, sure!”

With a guttural scream passionate enough to elicit goosebumps, Jeongin chucked the heart frame into the trash bag that splayed on the cement. The plexiglass shattered into big chunks and the frame split in two, shards of wood scattering about. It was a picturesque and artistic display of anger and heartbreak, but you’d never admit how you admired the symbolism to Jeongin’s face.

“That felt good,” he panted.

“Yeah? Do this one,” you said, handing him a mug.

“We painted mugs to give to each other at one of those stores in the mall. She said I didn’t have enough pink things in my life, so pink would be her color for me.”

“Fuck the color pink!”

“I mean, I still like the color -”

“Innie, I’m giving free therapy right now and I need you to work with me,” you hurried him alone by rolling your arms.

“Ok, ok! Jeez. But even you look good in pink -”

“Jeongin!”

“Pink sucks…!” he admitted hesitantly before chucking it into the pile. A satisfying shatter of ceramic echoed into the cloudless night.

“Ooh, heartbreak ASMR,” you sang.

Jeongin pulled a pink lop bunny Sonny Angel, those naked baby blind box toys that will put you in crushing debt one day, from the pile of infinite junk. He twirled it in his hands carelessly. “Don’t you like these, too?”

It was a rarer, sought-out-by-collectors type. You and many others had fingers twitching over the overpriced pay button on the resale apps everyday. “No…” your voice cracked.

“How am I supposed to break this?”

“Pop its head off.”

“What?”

You pointed shakily to its cute, pink ears as it smiled innocently. Your hands pretended to yank apart the head from its body. “Decapitate it.”

Jeongin jumped at the low-effort strength it took, which masked your pained groan. There goes a hundred dollars. Then, he plucked away its appendages. You couldn’t bear to look when he tossed the innocent body parts. May you wish no ill will on any collector to ever witness such a murder.

The rest of the box was junk to a stranger, treasure to Jeongin. Things like concert tickets, an empty wine bottle, dried flowers, cologne, sweaters, and jewelry joined the garbage. The last piece was the final boss; a shadow box summary of everything they’d done in the past year. A collection of restaurant receipts, themed matches, movie tickets, polaroid pictures, and loving post-it notes of cheesy poems and ‘I miss yous’ were stabbed into the felt and protected by a thick cover of glass.

“I can’t,” Jeongin sighed, sharp eyes scanning through the memories. He shook his head. “I just can’t.”

“You know the ‘break for emergencies only’ thingies for the fire extinguishers?” you asked and pointed to the pink box. “This is an emergency.”

“She put so much time into this. Almost everything we’ve ever done is preserved… Just for her to throw it all away two months later.”

When he offered this perspective, perhaps your speech on love not being complicated was more introspective than universally accepted. Two months to know you stopped loving someone was not a long enough time. It took much longer than that to no longer be on the same page, or in the same stage of life, or, for fuck’s sake, fall for an affair partner, right? No matter what the answer was, it made you upset.

You could only offer an affectionate rub on his arm. “Do you want to save this for next time?”

Jeongin took an eternity to answer, as if he read every line of every receipt and every ticket or memorized the way she dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s. Then, he pulled you to him in a side-hug.

“There won’t be a next time.”

The frame of the shadow box split by the seams and only cracked the glass. The felt board was kept intact, of course, save for a few loose polaroids. He wrapped his second arm around you in a full hug, resting his cheek atop your head as your bodies swayed with the wind, needing the comfort of his best friend to protect him in this very vulnerable moment.

“You ok?” you muffled into his chest. He smelled of vetiver.

“No,” he admitted confidently, “I hope I will be one day.”

“You will! You will.”

You two remained on the top of the jungle gym overlooking the twinkling skyline in each other’s arms. His fingers traced little shapes across your shoulder blades, some recognizable like stars and moons, others a choreography of squiggles. Your arms rested holding his lower back. In the quiet night, miraculously not in fear of being arrested, you could have fallen asleep right there.

Tonight, you witnessed no tears or any evidence of them. No pink cheeks, or stuffy nose, or bloodshot eyes. Progress was here for now, and though it was too early to celebrate, you’d both bask in the little victories.

“I’m so proud of you,” you encouraged.

“Really?” he hummed.

“Of course! Always.”

His throat bobbed, swallowing down emotions that threatened to escape. “It still hurts so much.”

“I know,” you agreed empathetically.

“But the destruction helped.”

“See?” you boasted. “Who’s always right?”

“_____’s always right,” he squeezed, “always right and always kind.”

“And always here for you.” No matter how painful it’d be.

The night ended with slow dancing under the stars. Hand-in-hand and the other his shoulder, you led the steps to the beat of his songs.

–

Jeongin found no comfort that was better than your bed. The second you left for work, just as the sun rose and tinted the condo in blood orange, he’d sneak in and crawl under your duvet. When the softness of linen and the weight of the feather down knocked him out hard and for the first time in a month, he was able to fall into a deep sleep and would make this his routine until work started. His body had never felt so refreshed, even before the break-up. It smelled like you; like cherries, cream, and tonka bean. A scent cocktail that was so warm and sexy it was like he was put under a spell.

When you were kids, your room wasn’t dirty, but it was cluttered after falling into the feminine urge to gather all things shiny and trinkety. Now, he noted, adulthood hadn’t knocked that part of your brain out while still developing your frontal lobe. You didn’t have as many rocks lying around anymore, but your decoration consisted of naked baby toys and other colorful vinyl blind boxes, music albums, movie posters, and pictures of your loved ones.

Jeongin had looked through every picture in your room about a thousand times already, but only had now noticed that he was in almost every single one. Some were just with you and your parents, but even many of those had him in it. He liked the ones in your younger years; going through the gross and oily phases of puberty, matching ice cream-stained camp t-shirts, teenage-year birthdays, and his favorite was the one from prom night. You wore the sparkliest, glitter-sheddinng, not-the-most-flattering silhouette of a gown that many other girls matched in different colors. But he was just as ridiculous; too small in his poorly-tailored suit, sleeves folded, loose matching tie, and a crooked boutonniere. You both refused to do the prom pose because, ew, touching. So, you dabbed instead. Double ick.

If there was a picture with Jisung, he was in it. Minho? With Jeongin. Your girlfriends? Jeongin photobombed it somehow. He may have ruined some of the compositions, but he was your Jeongin, how were you supposed to throw them away?

Jeongin’s parents once asked if he would consider marrying his best friend. Knowing them, they were serious. At the premature age of twenty, he had gagged at the idea of marriage. Not to you specifically, but tied down? Early into his prime years of bachelorhood? No, thanks.

Then, he met Sieun, and thought maybe marriage was meant for him after all. Forever with the one person you loved so dearly, what could be bad about that? But forever meant really forever, not just a few years, or a few decades, it meant ‘til death do you part and into the afterlife, if that was even real. Maybe that’s what scared her. The thought of Jeongin being her soulmate crushed her world; the thought of her not being his soulmate crushed his. So, now he was back to square one, and he’d rather rot in your bed than make any progress.

Snuggled deep in between your plushies and pillows, he held above him a picture of you on your birthday. You were sitting next to him in front of your cake and had buttercream smudged on your nose while he was bent backwards in an evil cackle. He replayed the memory in his mind. You weren’t mad, but you wanted revenge, and shortly after had also smeared some under his nose in a stylish mustache.

In bed, he couldn’t help but snicker. In between sessions of handheld video games, he’d shuffle through more pictures until time passed by too quickly and the day was spent.

“Jesus -” you gasped, clutching your chest as you entered your room. “Yeah, sure, come in.”

“Thanks,” he sang half-heartedly.

“Have you been doing this every day?” He responded by shrugging. “He’s in pain, he’s hurting, and you love him…”

“I don’t like this picture of me.” Jeongin held up a recent one at a dinner party Hyunjin hosted for his condo-warming. His face was unprepared for the picture and his eyes were closed and mouth open. “I’m not even looking at the camera.”

“Yeah, but I look good,” you boasted.

He tossed it to the side of the bed in a pile of likeness dubbed, ‘throw these ones away’. “I like this one in front of the art museum, though.”

“I do, too.”

You hopped next to him on top of the covers, shuffling through the different piles he made. It was clear which ones he liked, disliked, and didn’t care for. “You don’t like this picture of me and Changbin on our graduation day?”

“Am I in it?”

“No?”

“Then, no.”

“You like this one, though?”

It was a solo picture of you on the same day. He found it hidden in a box of other pictures that were either blurry or of you alone at special events or academic and career achievements. You wore your gown and held your cap that was decorated with plastic jewels that spelled, ‘So Done with this B.S.’, high above your head with the brightest smile on your face. Around your neck was a necklace that he got you for your graduation gift: a petite padlock on a simple chain from one of those boutique brands all the girls liked.

This was one of the most important days of your life. You were happy, sunny, and beautiful. Of course he liked this one.

“Meh,” he shrugged. “I guess you look all right in that one.”

You spent the night in bed recalling stories and social media posts of times past with oily take-out from the corner restaurant downstairs. The quiet weeknight was livened by your giggles and ugly snorts and Jeongin couldn’t remember the last time you two did something like this. It lasted until it was too late to care to kick him out of your bed and you both fell asleep covered in film and prints.

If forever meant forever with you, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

–

Clubbing was a past time that Jeongin probably shouldn’t partake in due to his borderline alcoholism, but when it was for Jisung and Felix’s wombo-combo birthday bash (their words, if you’d even call them such), no one was safe from the heavy pour of Hennessey or bottom-shelf tequila down one’s throat. The weather was still appropriately warm to show off skin, and both you and your roommate took advantage of that, claiming that it was still hot-girl summer and this would be the best time to show off how perfectly fine everything was.

Jeongin rested his chin on your bare shoulder as you stared into the mirror. He had shown his affection more in a physical form after the destruction of his romantic paraphernalia. You should probably set some boundaries… Next time, maybe.

“You might as well go topless,” he teased, poking at your skin-tight top.

His touch tickled and your body stupidly reacted to it more sensitively than any other man who once touched you. “I’m sure you’d like that.”

He neither confirmed nor denied, only nuzzled his curls deeper into the crook of your neck. He styled it in the half-ponytail way you both came to love and work all black, sparkles of silver and pearls adorning his neck. Just as you had barely-there clothing, as did him, exposing hard-earned results of his efforts in the gym. His daytime clothes of soft linens and cottons dyed in innocent shades of blues and oranges matched his aura more than this edgy alter-ego that came out in the presence of alcohol. Soft Jeongin would be in a deep sleep tonight.

“Pearls?” you scoffed. “You slut.”

“Too much?”

“No, but you’re certainly sending the, ‘I’m single and very much looking,’ signal.”

“Perfect!” he shrugged. “When was the last time you went to a pregame, anyways?”

“When did you turn twenty-one?”

“Ok, grandma.”

You threw your hands up in defense. “I’m sorry I am a working woman.”

Skin touched more skin when his arm hooked your neck and dragged you to the door. The closer the taxi approached the condo, Jeongin’s hands more frequently wiped on his pants.

“Do you think she’ll be there?” he asked, sensing your concern.

“I don’t know,” you lied.

A couple weekends before this, you had personally asked the two celebrants to not invite her to the pregame. If they felt so inclined to invite her to the club for the sake of keeping the peace, at least then Jeongin wouldn’t have to be in close proximity and you could drag him away. Jisung was the one who tried to protest, but after begging and bribing them five rounds of drinks on the night-of, he caved in, though claiming he was going to not invite her anyways. He just wanted to see how far you’d go for your ‘beloved “friend.”’

“I need a drink,” he groaned.

“Look at me.” When he wouldn’t, you had to force him by grabbing his bare shoulders. They were much bigger than you remembered. “Say it with me; I am smart, I am sexy, and I am fine.”

“I am smart, I am sexy, and I am fine?”

“I need more gumption, babe. Give me some umph!”

“I am smart, I am sexy, and I am fine.”

“More!”

“I am smart, I am sexy, and I am fine!”

“Yeah!”

“Smart, sexy, fine!”

“Yeaaahh!”

“Let’s drink!”

After tipping the taxi for suffering through your pregame to the pregame, you and Jeongin did more breathing exercises outside their condo to the tune of the hip-hop music inside. All charged up, he opened the door and you stood in awe just how many friends two boys had post-university. The floors were already sticky with juice and liquor, and there was barely room to get to the crowd of people you actually knew. Luckily, Jeongin was tall, and he grabbed your hand to lead you in. This, for some reason, felt more intimate than slow dancing at the park, and that’s when you knew you were embarrassingly touch-starved.

Jisung squeezed himself in between and slung his arms across the shoulders of his close friends. “Long time no see, sugar mama!”

“Hello to you, too, mooch,” you smirked. “Happy birthday, I guess.”

He landed a big wet one on your cheek. “Thanks, babe!”

“Ugh, ew. Where’s the other child?”

“_____! Jeongie!” the deep voice of an Australian boy slurred. He handed you two plastic neon shot cups of brown liquid and no chaser. “Shot o’ Henny! House rules.”

“You disgusting, gross, icky boys…” you groaned.

“C’mere,” Jeongin urged. He twisted his arm around yours so they’d cross, causing your faces to inch closer. His dimples poked his cheeks. “Bottoms up!”

That was the motto of the pregame. One after the other after the other after losing games in humiliating succession made your vision double and made walking feel like you were on a ship. Chan had to catch you not once, but twice, from tripping or bumping into someone. It was as simple as one hand on your waist and pulling you into his chest, to which you so shamelessly placed your hand on when he hugged you close.

“We keep running into each other,” he grinned, biting his bottom lip.

“Must be fate,” you flirted back.

For the second time, Jeongin had to pry you away from the hottest man in the room. Annoyed, you followed anyway, because tonight you were supposed to distract your best friend from falling into a hole filled with existential crisis, not trying to sleep with someone he considered his brother. Still, you shot Chan a hand sign to your ear. ‘Call me!’ you pouted.

“Why would you cockblock me like that?” you whined.

Jeongin didn’t answer right away. He cleared his throat. “It’s time for the club, silly.”

You two shared a sedan with the birthday boys and Minho. One person above the normal limit, but the driver didn’t care and would rather hurry to do the drop-off.

Jisung patted his lap. “Got your seat, sugar mama.”

“No,” you and Jeongin said in simultaneous deadpan.

“Felix, move up,” Jeongin demanded. He man-spread as much as Jisung and Minho allowed, making a small seat in between his legs.

You’d be the first to admit that sometimes you and Jeongin were a little too close to be considered friends; even strangers had mistaken you for a couple once in a while. But you’ve never been close to him like this before. Your hesitation was long enough that Jisung had to yank you into the car. You did your very best to settle in, moving your ass as little as possible, struggling with how you could make this any less awkward and cover the least amount of surface area.

Jisung wrapped Jeongin’s arm tight around your waist and slapped his triceps. “All buckled in!”

As Jisung and Minho yapped each other’s ears off, you and Jeongin remained silent. If you turned to talk to him, your ass would graze his pants, and that was weird, right? Yeah, weird, and it seemed he had a similar thought. The exception was tapping his fingers on your waist to the beat of the radio. His breath tickled the skin on your neck, and your body betrayed you by heating up your face. Touch-starved was an understatement. No, horny was not the right answer; you’d refute it.

You couldn’t have crawled out of the sedan faster. The other boys rushed in to line up at the bar (“Don’t forget what you owe us!” Jisung whispered (yelled)). Behind you, Jeongin scanned the crowd. You followed suit and couldn’t find a beautiful short girl with strawberry blond hair. Ok, this was a good sign. Maybe she wouldn’t come! He let out a breath of relief; or was it disappointment? Regardless, he joined you on the dance floor and weaved between people, dancing against the oontz-oontz.

In this moment, while your veins were half-filled with alcohol and both of your closest friends closed in with over-filled cups, you watched Jeongin forget his woes and sing to the sad up-beat electronic music. A circle would open up in the middle at the peak of the song; Changbin would break dance; Minho and Jisung would body roll; Felix did the worm; and Jeongin would force you into a connected chain reaction of shoulder and arm waves. In these moments, he smiled. Grinned, even; dimples as deep as they could be and eyes twinkling under the neon lights from the DJ.

When the boys dispersed for another drink after a couple of hours of burning calories, you two were left alone again. In those hours, you couldn’t count how many times you made eye contact. After locking eyes again, feeling the highs of euphoria and the lows of heartbreak, he looked like he was going to say something. Then, he broke it, and his face dropped. You didn’t have to turn to see who it was, but like a moth to a flame, you were attracted to the pain.

She greeted Jisung and Felix at the bar on the opposite side of the club. It was too easy to spot her in the dark with her bright hair. She introduced the boys to someone next to her, touching his arm and leaning against him affectionately, making it as clear as the vodka shot in her hand that’s who she was with and he was hers.

How quickly the human heart beats for a lover, just for it to dance to the same rhythm for another.

Jeongin seemed apathetic. Not angry, not sad, and maybe unable to distinguish between if this was the ache of betrayal or the nostalgia of closing a chapter that begged to end.

Speaking of nostalgia, an old EDM song that premiered in your early years of middle school began, the familiar notes from a piano causing the whole club to scream.

You reached out to your soulmate. “You love this song.”

He smiled, eyes tired and filled with sadness, though without the reflection of a pool of stars. “I do love this song.”

You led him to the front where the DJ played Clarity. Lost in the crowd packed like sardines with strangers, you and Jeongin were free to sing out the shadows that slept in your hearts.

“Hot dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life,” you sang at a horribly off-tune. “C’mon, I know you know it!”

“If I fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time,” he sang in perfect key.

“Louder! Hold still right before we crash ‘cause we both know how this ends!”

“A clock ticks ‘til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again.”

You forced your heart to sing its song and it retaliated in waves of tragedy. As your lips stretched to retain the smile, you screamed with the crowd, “‘Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need!”

And he joined in, matching your volume, matching your energy. “Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don’t know why!”

In unison, you threw your heads back, crying into the air at the peak of the song. Like shadows, the crowd mimicked each other with hands curled into fists and hearts raised to the sky. “If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy? If our love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?”

“Let’s go!” you cheered.

The beat picked up and the crowd jumped to the chorus. The bass of the song reached your heart and pumped blood through your veins, tired from fighting with rationality. You would take these short five minutes to let go, let your heart confess to the boy in front of you in the form of a 2013 poetic masterpiece. Despite the meaning, the beat was too sick and you couldn’t help but grin from the fun. Jeongin wasn’t one to hide emotions for the sake of saving face, but it was like he forgot why he was screaming as he headbanged his way through the wordless chorus. You both burst into a fit of giggles, blinded by the lasers that cut through the smoke machine.

As the song progressed, the more your bodies pressed together. Side by side, mixing sweat with sweat, you both screamed at the DJ the second verse and would turn to each other again for the iconic bridge. His dimples carved into his perfect skin and this would be a core memory you’d lock away forever despite the molotov cocktail of despair that ignited in your gut.

The line you screamed to your best friend was the one that branded itself into your whole being. It was the one line he refused to sing.

“You are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need!”

He didn’t continue the pattern of bouncing off lines from each other. He stopped jumping, brows furrowed in a way that concerned you more than it concerned him.

“What?” you paused.

Jeongin closed the gap between your bodies. Surrounded by violent waves of people, you blocked them out within the bubble, unable to hear the song anymore. His hands cupped your cheeks. Your mind registered a second too late that he was wiping something with his thumbs. It felt wet and warm, freshly flowing on your numb face.

His hands left your face and found your arms. You watched as he wrapped them around his neck and his dropped to your waist. The strength of his grip was desperate and longing, filling an emptiness that physically you could replace, but lovingly couldn’t replicate. You begged your body to step away, to run out and find Chan or anyone else; to go home even, but tonight your heart controlled your mind and overwrote the command. This was what you wanted, what you needed, what you dreamed of since secondary school. To be in the arms of the one you loved fulfilled the one level on the hierarchy of needs, but was a threat to the one below it. Your body was struggling to respond to its fight-or-flight, understanding that you had long crossed the thin line between friend and lover long ago with a size thirteen shoe, but it had betrayed you and glued your heels to the sticky dance floor.

Why was Clarity the longest fucking song in the world?

The smell of his pink peppercorn and cedar hit your senses and brought you back to life. You felt his forehead against yours, nose touching nose, his breath tickling your lips, and saw his eyes float between them and your now dry eyes.

“Why?” was all you could muster against his lips.

He answered by swallowing your words. You never understood the comparison of the softness of rose petals until you felt his. You kissed him shyly, waiting for him to pull away in a shocking realization of regret and prepared for the aftermath. But when you wouldn’t respond how he wanted, he pressed harder, moving his lips hungrily and mouth open and welcoming to receive. Your tongues danced and tasted the bitterness of tonight’s drinks, old lovers, and repressed confusion. But it felt good; so, so good. To be the one he wanted for once, whether it was real or for convenience, was an opportunity you pathetically couldn’t pass.

And your heart, how it soared! With wings made of wax, you were high above the clouds, tangling yourself with him and exchanging euphoric hums. But your dreams were sculpted by Daedalus and delusion was the sun, and though you wished to remain here forever, your wings began to melt and reality wouldn’t be kind enough to soften the fall.

When you broke for air in the middle of the next song, you felt pressure rise in your nose and eyes as a million tears collected. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted; or rather, you weren’t what he wanted. He wanted the same memory, the same cry of song, the same touch, the same kiss, the same taste of breath; just not yours. He wanted hers. You knew in the deepest corner of your heart that he imagined holding her instead and that her breath was the one he’d breath in. In the ideal scenario, you’d be out by the perimeter watching your best friend win back the woman of his dreams and he’d hold her so tightly, afraid that she would drown in the crowd. You were meant to be his biggest fan, not his greatest love.

“Why?” you cried again.

He shook his head. “I just thought -”

“This isn’t right.” But you wished it was.

Outside, the busy streets in the middle of the night were deafened by the bass and proximity to the DJ. It was a miracle you heard the honk of a nearby taxi that’d take you home.

No, you wouldn’t confess to your best friend in a club downtown. No, you wouldn’t confess any other time regardless of circumstance. This was a secret the recipient of an unrequited love was supposed to bury with them to their grave because it was the deepest sin committed between two best friends. As long as you didn’t confess, the bond wasn’t severed and the damage could be repaired. That’s how it was supposed to work, anyways.

For the night, you’d lock yourself in your room. You’d close off any and all avenues in order to protect and repair the critical condition of your heart. So much of it had been chipped away and given in pieces to fill the gaps that Jeongin was missing, but now he was confusing kindness for love and familiarity with feeling whole. How would you get back the pieces of yourself you so willingly gave up? Would your heart know to create those pieces into something new, or would it reject anything that came in its place that wasn’t from him?

You arrived home and washed away the sins until your skin burned from all the scrubbings. The sky was cloudy tonight as you looked outward into the lively streets of young adults who could party until the sun snuck above the horizon. The stars wouldn’t show themselves tonight.

Would Scorpio and Lupus be there tomorrow?

–

When your door handle wouldn’t give, Jeongin gave up and retreated to his room some time after 3:00 AM. He laid in bed and hated the feeling of his bed sheets. They weren’t as soft and they didn’t envelope him in a blanket of clouds as yours did. Though the ceiling color was the same as yours, in a sense, it still wasn’t the same, as he was in his own room and not where he belonged.

You had burned into his soul. The way your lips felt, the way your tongue swirled, the way your hands pulled him in, was the answer of how much you yearned for him. He was no stranger to signs of affection. No friend would do all of this with their heart in platonic mode. You didn’t look at him the way Felix or Chan or the others did. You, with your softened eyes and gentle touch, had him in your heart, for the Gods only know how long.

Jisung was the one to kick him out of the club and kick what little sense was left in him. “Go after her, you idiot!”

His lips were tingly. The feeling of your hands through his hair, fingers gentle and tracing the map to your heart, was carved into his scalp. His tongue swiped across his lips, lonely and aching to have another taste.

You infected him. You forced poison down his throat that made him unable to sleep, torturing him with a recording of your body pressed on his. He blamed you for how it planted itself and festered into something more salacious; a similar scenario, with tangled limbs and messy hair, but in the privacy of your bedroom and much less clothing.

In the days that followed, you pretended that night never happened, but something changed. Your responses were shorter, your cheeks were pinker, you couldn’t hold eye contact without faltering to his lips, you wore baggier clothes, and couldn’t even spend more than fifteen minutes in the same room without having to leave to ‘get water’ or ‘go to the bathroom’.

Why, for the love of all the Gods, hadn’t you confessed yet? Isn’t that the rational next step?

“Why would she?” Minho snorted while kicking his feet up on your coffee table. Jeongin would wipe that down later.

“Why wouldn’t she?” he repeated.

“You understand you live here, too, right?”

“So…”

“So… isn’t that weird? What are you going to say? ‘Cool, I’m still not over Sieun though, sowwy. Can I still live here, though’?”

“But I am!”

“Yeah, right.”

“I swear. Seeing her with that guy… sure, it sucked ass, but I don’t know. No one ever likes to see their ex with someone else.”

“No one likes taking care of someone they love who loves someone else, either.”

Jeongin pulled the string on his hoodie and hid inside. “I just feel like a confession would get rid of all this tension -”

“Sexual tension.”

“Regular tension.”

“And change the trajectory of your friendship and lives forever, so much so that the stars would misalign and chaos would ensue. Just as the prophecy foretold,” Minho rolled his eyes. “You know what, Jeongin, you’re right - _____ should confess her undying love to her best friend of over a decade who just broke up with the first love of his life after they made out on the dance floor to fucking Clarity, of all the damn EDM songs in the world, and then all would be normal, right? Nothing good has ever come out of tongue dueling to an EDM song.”

“I don’t need your sass…”

“Yes, you do, because you’re acting like an idiot. I don’t care what Jisung says, he’s too much of a loverboy. Think rationally, here; she’s not going to confess to someone who she knows doesn’t feel the same way. It’s that simple.”

Love was an infectious disease and Jeongin didn’t have the proper antibodies to defend himself against your poison. His heart, his mind, and his body were firing alert signals to each other whenever he saw you. His body would block them when you came home in your work-out clothes; his mind couldn’t focus whenever you spoke to him; and his heart wrenched when your smile didn’t match your eyes.

“Earth to Jeongin!” you snapped, waving in front of his face.

“Hm?” he asked, pretending your chest wasn’t in his face. His mind did a double-take when it registered your outfit.

“I said I’m going out for the night. So, you know, don’t light my home on fire.”

“Out where?”

Your back stiffened. “On a date.”

–

When Minho hit you up during your lunch break on a Friday afternoon, you were half expecting him to ask when the meeting was with the developers. The other half was not expecting a proposition.

“I don’t date co-workers,” you deadpanned.

“Not me, genius,” he scoffed. “A friend.”

“I’m not interested in Jisung.”

“How we got promoted at the same time is beyond me. I have other friends!”

“Do they look like Chan?”

“Sadly, no. They don’t look like Jeongin, either.”

Since the clubbing-turned-friendship-destroying wombo-combo, Minho made it his mission to terrorize you about it every working hour, either in person or over Teams with kissing, tongues, and eggplant emojis. Each time, you couldn’t suppress the burning on your face and in your chest. Your showers had to be ice cold for you to not remember how his hands gripped your waist and to forget how warm his tongue was around yours. At work, you often found yourself dazed, looking out at young couples that passed the streets below, daydreaming about kissing Jeongin again every time a couple would kiss at the stop light before crossing the road, or kiss each other goodbye, or just because.

You were sick with the lovebug and there was no remedy available. What made Minho think a date would work?

“No,” you said.

“Come on, _____! Live a little!”

“No!”

“So you’re saving yourself for a man who only kissed you because he felt sorry for you.”

If anyone was going to tell you the hard truth, it would be him. That didn’t make it hurt any less. “You think I can’t get over him.”

“I know you can’t.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You wanted it.”

“Of course I did, so what?!”

“You need to either move on and forget it happened, or fuck each other and see where it takes you. Which would you rather tell Jeongin?”

Minho was brash, but he was right, in a sense. If you couldn’t feel comfortable in your own home, you’d be drained of all life and cease to exist, living as a hollow body that went to work and came home to sleep. But was moving on or sleeping with your best friend truly the only two options?

Maybe you were an idiot. “Not a date. A drink.”

“Same thing. I’ll set it up tonight.”

“Tonight?!”

“Take it or leave it.”

There was some satisfaction in the way Jeongin’s face twisted when you admitted to a date. Yes, you put on your tightest clothes; yes, you put on your favorite perfume; and yes, you weren’t wearing a bra. All of which Jeongin realized, based on the path his eyes traveled.

“A date,” he muttered. “With whom?”

“I don’t know. Minho set it up for me.”

“Minho?” he sneered, then shook his head. “And you’re going?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t go.”

“Jeongin -”

He stood from his seat on the couch. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I can’t -” you stuttered, unable to form the words you wanted to say in order. “I’m going.”

He blocked your path to the door. “I think we should talk.”

“About what?”

“About that night.”

“Now?” you scoffed. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

“This is something I want to do. Please,” you begged, “let me go.”

“I think you don’t want to go.”

“You don’t know what I think.”

“I think I do.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” The familiar sting on your nose returned. “You don’t know anything.”

“I think -” he paused, voice caught in his throat. “I know what I felt from you that night.”

“You know,” you chuckled bitterly. “You know what, exactly?”

“I felt you. I felt ten years of frustration, of anger, of-of desire, of everything that is both good and bad -”

“Jeongin -”

“How can you say that I didn’t feel how your heart beat against mine, how your lips pressed deeper -”

“Stop -”

“No!” he cried out. “I won’t stop! I can't! I-I need to know.”

“Are you asking for something? Are you looking for an answer that you already know?”

“Yes!”

“Why?!”

“Theories can be proven wrong.”

“But why does it matter?”

His voice cracked and he couldn’t manage to look you in your glossy eyes. “We need to lay everything on the table for this to work.”

“What’s not broken doesn’t need to be fixed.”

“But it is broken! Everything’s broken! It’s all a shattered mess of pieces that don’t fit together and we need to repair what’s broken when it’s all laid out in front of us.”

“Why?” you stuttered. “Why tonight? Tonight, of all nights, when I have something that’ll make me forget about that night for just a couple of hours?”

Jeongin couldn’t answer. It could have happened any night. But the game of life threw in a time-sensitive prompt that changed the whole plot. The fact that you wanted to forget, but couldn’t, might be the only confession he’d get.

“I can’t keep revolving my life around you,” you whispered. “I can’t keep loving you the way I do and maintain the friendship you need from me.”

There it was, the confession he was looking for, but not in the way he expected you to admit. He thought you’d do so while looking at the ground, hiding your smile the way you would act shyly, and maybe it’d be a little embarrassing. But as you stood before him, you were standing strong, refusing to break eye contact, with tears streaming down and dripping from your chin. It was in a way that begged for him to see you for how you really felt; like he was ripping your heart from your chest with his bare hands.

Your hands curl into fists in an effort to stop the tears. “If I lay the pieces of my heart on the table, I can’t take them back.”

He stepped closer. “Why not?”

You stepped back. “Because I won’t be able to put myself back together.”

“I’m here. I was made for you; to help keep you together.”

“Not in the way I want. In the way I need.”

“Yes, yes to both!” Jeongin grabbed tissues to dab the tears from your precious face, as if your skin was coated in porcelain. “I want to make this work.”

“This friendship.”

“No.”

“I am not her!” your voice cracked. “I am not her and I can’t fill in for the gap she left behind.”

“I don’t want her. I want you.”

You still couldn’t accept it. It just didn’t make sense. You were made to care for him from afar, not stand by his side. “You don’t mean that. You had ten years. Ten years! It only changed because, what, you're desperate for touch and you're going after the easiest catch? It's pathetic. You're pathetic!”

Your sharp tongue was your greatest weapon, but Jeongin was left unscathed. You were hurting and had a decade's worth of hardened shells that were crumbling in front of him. Yes, this was all too sudden, and it didn't make sense, but he was losing you and he'd rather break you down into a million pieces and deal with the puzzle later if it meant you'd stay.

“_____,” he whispered. He pressed his forehead against yours as if the closeness would allow you to read his mind and hear his heart scream. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

You sucked in a breath. Those words felt like a spell that lit your body in flames. Your mind said to run, but your body and heart had overruled. You tilted your head and your noses touched. “What if this doesn’t work?”

“Theories were tested repeatedly to be deemed true.”

“Tested a lot of times.”

“A billion times.”

“That takes a very long time.”

“I’ll take forever with you,” he breathed on your lips. “If you’ll have me.”

Your iron grip on his sweater would surely leave a mark later, but you were too afraid to let go, too afraid that this moment was a dream and he’d disappear if you faltered. “I was yours for ten years. I’ve been waiting to have you.”

One soft kiss. “I took too long.”

Another, more needy, kiss. “You can make it up to me later.”

And another, one that mimicked the hunger from that night. “Now.”

“Hm, I don’t know… I have a date, remember?”

“Yeah, with me in your bed.”

Your giggles echoed throughout the condo when Jeongin threw you over his shoulder and ran to your room.

And so your heart soared again. Above the ether was the unknown, in the mythical heavens and forbidden territory. But you'd get there together, while your arms tangled with his and noses rubbing affectionately as your breaths combined in between long and slow kisses under your (and his) blankets.

The fine line you once refused to cross bent and folded with your bodies.

–

EPILOGUE

“Yo,” Minho greeted the phone.

“Hey, I don’t think I can make it tonight -”

“She’s sick!” Jeongin interrupted.

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. Well, thank God!” Minho sighed.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, that was a lie.”

“What the hell/What the actual hell is wrong with you?” you and Jeongin yelled in disbelief.

“Because Jeongin is a possessive simpleton and _____ is a cheap date. Did my master plan work, or not?”

“Well, yes, but -”

“My work here is done, bye!” Minho hung up.

[romancingromanoff]

Hi there, your stories are amazing, I really love them, I was wondering if you could do a margaery tyrell x F targaryen reader, where the reader is the sister of daenerys, and she also has a personality like her badass ancestor visenya instead of being ladylike

Sorry this took so long but I had a lot of fun with this request. It made me realize how much I miss writing for GoT and Margaery. I made our reader similar to Visenya in the sense that they share a love for combat and have tenacious spirits, but she isn't a complete carbon copy of her ancestor and lacks more of the diplomatic skill/finesse she was also known for. I hope you enjoy and thank you!

Daenerys was finally on the throne. You had already left Essos with a massive force the world had not seen in centuries with the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and three full grown dragons at your sister’s command. With the additional support from the Tyrells, the Dornish, and the Greyjoys, Cersei Lannister stood absolutely no chance. As Dany rode on Drogon and you rode Viserion, the sky over King’s Landing and the Red Keep instantly darkened.

The smallfolk and many of Cersei’s supporters had already begun to turn on her after the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor. Luckily, Margaery Tyrell and a few others had been able to escape thanks to her sharp wits and quick thinking, while the High Sparrow and the majority of his followers had perished in the explosion. Poor King Tommen, who was under the impression that his wife had been killed, had taken his own life soon after by jumping from the Red Keep. As your army surrounded King’s Landing, the City Watch peacefully surrendered before any blood needed to be shed and your forces quickly closed in on the queen. There were a few loyal members of the Kingsguard that were willing to put down their lives for their queen, the most notable among them being the Kingslayer himself, however, they could only delay the inevitable.

Your father’s murderer was swiftly stabbed in the back by Grey Worm, killed the exact same way he had betrayed his king. Every part of you envied your friend for being the one to end the Kingslayer’s life. You were told that Cersei broke down upon watching her brother and lover die protecting her. She had poison on hand which she planned to use on herself but wasn’t quick enough to evade capture. No, she would not get a swift death. Dany had her presented to the entire city and lit her up with Drogon’s dragon fire in the tradition of your ancestors. She died screaming for mercy while the crowds cheered, the tyrant queen was finally gone.

Unfortunately, there had been very little time to celebrate your victory before a convoy from the North traveled down with news of an ancient threat that sought to wipe out all of humanity. 

Neither you or Dany believed that the White Walkers actually existed until you flew north of the wall yourselves to witness the army of the dead with your own eyes. You immediately summoned dragon fire to try and destroy whatever portions of the army you could, but then Viserion and you had nearly been killed in the attack when an unimaginably deadly spear made of ice had been launched in your direction by the Night King himself. Viserion dove quickly and turned his body so that you wouldn’t be hit but part of his left wing was snagged and soon the two of you were falling out of the sky. Your dragon was able to soften the landing for you as best as he could but the impact was still extremely damaging on your body.

Being more of a fighter, you had suffered your fair share of injuries in the past. Around your sixth nameday, a special sling had to be made for your arm. You had broken it while wielding a large stick you found in the gardens of one of the many sponsors in Essos you lived with before moving onto the next. In your mind, you imagined it was the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister that had once belonged to your great ancestor Visenya Targaryen. One jump off of the roof with your imaginary dragon had led to a nasty fall and started a series of mostly self-induced, reckless wounds. 

Scars covered your body, telling the stories of every horse you’d fallen off of and time you’d wrestled a Dothraki warrior that was easily twice your size. Daenerys hated how eager you were to pick up any sword or bow you could get your hands on but understood that trying to stop you only fueled the fire in your veins. When she had entered the funeral pyre and given birth to her three dragons, the only thing you could talk about from then on out was when they’d be large enough to ride. Not once did you worry about the possibility of falling out of the sky.

It took an entire week before you finally awoke, your first action trying to scramble out of bed despite the maesterscolding you for breaking several of your stitches. You had to know if your sister and friends were safe. Dany soon informed you that you were back in King’s Landing where Viserion was also healing. It was truly a relief to find out that he would be okay. Then your sister informed you of her plan to return to the north and aid in the fight against the dead at Winterfell while you were ordered to stay and rest in the capital.

“Dany, please!” You protested with every ounce of energy you had, causing a sharp pain to rip through your shoulder. “Let me go with you. I won’t let you do this alone!” 

“You are in no shape to fight, sister, and neither is your dragon. As your queen, I order you to stay here. I still have not been crowned and I need someone I can trust to guard the iron throne.”

It was a fight you knew you could not win, yet you dreaded being left alone in this strange city. “We have no allies here. I have no friends. Please, let me at least go with you to Winterfell and I won’t fight, I give you my word.” The thought of not being able to participate in the battle pained you but you at least wanted to be there for support. 

Your sister adamantly shook her head. “No, I will not gamble with your life. You are my heir and the only other person I trust to enact our mission. That is my final decision. Missandei and a few of the Unsullied will stay here with you. You should take the opportunity to get to know the people here, learn about the culture and make more allies. Many in Westeros still view us as foreigners and I need to know who I can truly trust to fully support my reign.”

“Dany, you know I’m hopeless when it comes to this stuff,” you sighed and could already tell your head would be hurting for weeks if you were forced to sit and make pleasantries with strangers. Between you and your sister, she had always been more naturally gifted in the ways of diplomacy and charming others to listen to her words. You, on the other hand, were more inclined to laugh at the absolute worst moment of a conversation or trip over your own words and accidentally curse in a way completely unfit for a highborn lady. “If it’s seven kingdoms you wish to rule then you’ll ensure I’m not able to make a fool of myself in front of the most powerful families in Westeros.”

There was no convincing her. Your eyes stung stung for hours when your sister left you behind. In the following days, more agonizing than your wounds was the dreadful feeling of not knowing whether or not your friends were alive or dead. Being bedridden you felt completely helpless as the days came and went with no ravens delivering news of any sort of outcome yet. After a few days, you were finally given permission to try and walk again and took every opportunity to explore the castle. Missandei eventually tried to force you to rest and it took a great deal of effort to ditch her. Trying to shuffle as quickly as you could through several smaller corridors resulted in you being completely lost.

That was where you first met Margaery Tyrell. Somehow, she managed to sneak up on you the third time you realized you had walked past the same statue. “Your grace,” she performed a small curtsy in front of you. “I’m glad to see you have progressed tremendously from your injuries. I’m Margaery of the House Tyrell, truly, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I…“ Oh gods, you weren’t prepared for this at all. It was like you instantly had forgotten how to speak. Many had said that Margaery was the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. And although you had seen very little of the seven kingdoms thus far, you were inclined to agree. She was utterly breathtaking, with honeyed hair and hypnotic eyes. You cursed at yourself for leaving Missandei, the only person that might have been able to save you in this current situation. You needed her to say absolutely anything else in literally any of the several languages she spoke. Even gibberish would have been better than you just standing there gaping at the poor lady.

She went ahead and continued speaking after you failed to respond with anything more than a wordless stare. “May I assist you in any way? I know how daunting finding your way around the castle can be. During my first two weeks of living here I got lost on my way to the Great Hall and found myself in a sunken courtyard where two men conversed with one another in a foreign language I didn’t recognize and ignored my presence when I tried to ask for help in Common Tongue. I had to wait for a cook to come rescue me and that was only because he was chasing a pigeon that had stolen his spoon from the kitchen!”

It was unclear whether or not you were meant to laugh at her anecdote and you didn’t want to risk doing the wrong thing. But then Margaery herself began chuckling at her previous misfortune and you felt relaxed enough to lift your lips into a small smile. Her energy was contagious and frankly, so was the sound of her laughter. You immediately wished to hear more of it.

“Yes, well… It’s, uh, strange never having been here myself but knowing my family has walked these halls for generations. I asked a servant if the rumors that dead Targaryens haunt the corridors were true and she nearly fainted. I suppose that answered my question. Honestly, it would be nice if their ghosts could offer me any directions.”

You worried that you might have overshared, although you had only been trying to follow Margaery’s lead. But the charming woman in front of you suddenly burst into the most melodic laughter you’d ever heard and a strange warmth rushed into your face.

“That would be helpful, wouldn’t it, if those from the past could offer their wisdom to us before we make the exact same mistakes they did?”

“Yes, exactly!” The fact that the two of you are on the same page has you giggling with complete elation. “Do you ever think about your dead family?”

As soon as the words left your mouth you only realized what you just said. Oh gods, why did you have to phrase it like that? How foolish did you have to be to forget that her own brother, Loras Tyrell, had been unable to escape the Great Sept not even two moons ago? 

Margaery blinked twice, staring at you mildly stunned. It was the same look you see on your sister’s face whenever tries to hold in a cringe and realizes she’ll have to offer up an explanation for your infantile behavior.

“I-I must apologize, my lady, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” You took several steps back from the woman, unsure if she wanted to turn and leave so you were prepared to excuse yourself first. “I understand if you want me to leave.”

“It’s alright. Please, stay.” You felt her hand reach for your wrist and although her touch was nothing but gentle it startled you. Your eyebrows immediately shot up like she had frozen you by some strange magic. “You’ve done nothing to offend me. I suppose I was simply surprised by your choice of words.”

You released a breath you’d been holding. “That tends to be a regular occurrence I’m afraid. My lady, I truly am sorry about the loss of your brother. My own was rather cruel and I feared him since I was a small child, yet his death unsettled me greatly even though he deserved it. I understand you were very close with yours and no one deserves that sort of fate. You and your family have my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you,” Margaery spoke more softly before with a new contemplative look in her eyes. “Loras was deeply misunderstood and unfortunately people weren’t very accepting of his differences. I wish he had been able to freely live as himself without judgment.”

It sounded all too familiar. Recently, people you knew had spoken about the youngest Tyrell son’s… sexual preferences… But you always tried to avert your attention from such conversations when you came across them, even if the participants didn’t seem hostile with their judgment. You were no longer in Essos where people like yourself were generally more accepted in society. And although the High Sparrow and his fanatics were gone, members of the Faith of the Seven continued to persecute others like you. 

“I understand the feeling. My sister and I hope to build a new Westeros where everyone is free to make their own decisions. A place that’s free of judgment and everyone can decide their own future, so long as it is done fairly. The weak and the poor will no longer break their backs for greedy men that would abuse them for a few coins.” 

“I should be quite fortunate to witness it,” she gave you a bright smile and offered you her arm, which you hesitated to take at first. A part of you knew even the slightest bit of her touch would be addicting for you, which turned out to be correct. She guided you throughout the rest of the castle and you decided that you’d let her lead you anywhere.

You found it strange when only a fortnight had passed and surprisingly you felt as if you’d been friends with MargaeryTyrell much longer. Whether you were struggling to find the proper words to use or going off on one of your many animated tangents, the southern lady never judged nor criticized you. It quickly became evident that she was a master at socializing and had no problem carrying the conversation on her own when you internally fussed over what to say. However, she was also eager to listen when you finally let one of your passionate ramblings pour from your heart. Even subjects that were positively unladylike, which you had first assumed would be of no interest to your new companion, became effortlessly easy to talk about with her. 

“Valyrian steel is objectively the best material to use if you ever needed an amputation. It cuts clean through skin, flesh, and bone, unlike more blunt blades which would be more likely to cause even greater injury. I’ve seen some medics have to practically saw their tools back and forth through limbs in order to get them to detach. It’s completely gruesome!”

“And Dark Sister, that was the one you used to pretend to have?” Margaery’s eyes shimmered like she was completely enthralled in your story. Never once did you think she’d call you a freak or too violent to be considered a lady.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. It was Visenya’s during Aegon’s conquests. I’ve always wanted to be a warrior like her for as long as I can remember. Of course Viserys only ever saw me and Daenerys as pawns easy enough to use, as was his right he said, to help take back his throne.”

“What he did was cruel and how I wish you had been treated better. Had a better childhood surrounded by your loved ones and a proper place to call home. I’m sure we would have met sooner, perhaps here at court. Except then you’d be the one showing me around and rescuing me from becoming lost!”

There’s nothing you could do to stop the blush from filling your cheeks as you imagined this rewritten version of history and who you might have been had things been different. The past wasn’t something you liked to dwell on too often as you knew there was no point in trying to change things, but one other thing had become incredibly clear about your future. You couldn’t imagine it without Margaery in your life.

Daenerys was finally due to come back tomorrow and while you were certainly eager to see her and have her introduced to Margaery, many other mixed emotions came with the letter she had most recently sent you. She’d mentioned several losses over the series of battles that had taken place up north. You knew victory would never have been easily won, but feared finding out which friends’ faces had been permanently taken from your life. Thankfully, Margaery was there to listen to you express your anxieties. 

“I have this horrible feeling that Jorah is dead. As complicated as his past was, I never doubted that he would lay down his own life to save me or my sister. He once promised me that he would never leave us and yet somehow, I know he’s gone and done just that.”

“I will be here for you every step of the way,” Margaery assured you, grabbing your hands and softly rubbing her thumbs upon the tops of them. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I may not know any of your friends but I will not leave you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” You squeezed her hands tighter, gazing up into her wide eyes and looking for any sign of uncertainty. There were so few people in this world that you’d let get to know the real you, and even fewer that had stayed and accepted it.

Her eyes softened, and in a way of almost sealing her promise she slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of you. You were a princess as your sister was the queen and people were regularly brought to bow before you just the same. Still, the way Margaery executed it without ever breaking eye contact made her particular act feel incredibly intimate, like she was pledging her loyalty not only to your blood or titles, but simply because it was you.

“I promise, my little dragon. Where you go, I go.” It was whenever she made statements like this that you almost believed she might have felt the same way as you did about her. 

A snarky smile crept across your face. “Does that mean you’ll finally ride Viserion with me?” You’d recently been begging the woman you were infatuated with for a chance to impress her with the one experience you knew she would not have had. Or could find anywhere else.

She let out a nervous laugh. “You forget, my dear, that I am a rose and am meant to be firmly planted into the ground. And while I’m sure Viserion has no qualms with you riding him, he’s surely to be mistrustful of a stranger like me. There are no dragon riders in my family’s history, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe you’re a stranger to him as of now but we can remedy that! I am bonded to him more deeply than humans can be with normal animals, which means he should inherently trust you as much as I do. He’s going to love you, I know it. Margaery, you must know I would never put you into danger like that.”

There was a substantial amount of hesitance which began to fade from her eyes. You tried to show her what you believed was your most empathetic look and you watched as your words caused the last few threads of doubt to come undone.

“I trust you as well. But I shall have to ask for something small in return, if you’d agree to it.”

She could’ve asked you for the world and you knew you would give it to her. The two of you then struck a deal and made your way to dragon pit. 

Viserion was already in protective mode as you approached him, making sure he had at least one eye on Margeary at all times. You started to speak to him in High Valyrian, explaining that you had brought a special friend and your comfort around her appeared to ease him. The golden rose tried to remain calm throughout the whole ordeal as well, though you sensed that she was dealing with a reasonable amount of nerves deep down. Her hand timidly reached out for yours, in a way that was surprisingly bashful for the normally confident woman, and you immediately accepted her touch.

Three circles around King’s Landing was all it took to change Margaery’s mind about flying. A perfectly blue and cloudless sky made for the perfect views. The few screams she attempted to stifle had turned into pure uninhibited laughter by the second lap, and you only landed shortly after to be certain you weren’t overworking Viserion so soon after his injury.

As much joy spending time with Margaery brought you, there was a voice from your past softly whispering in your ear, telling you not to get too attached. You were a dragon but you had been burned before. Dany was the only other person that truly knew how complicated your relationship with Doreah had been. Completely smitten with her from the start, it was easy enough for her to win over your innocent heart with a few stolen kisses and flirtatious words. She made you believe you were her favorite and even more special than your sister. It eventually drew a wedge between you and Danythat gave Doreah the opportunity to betray the both of you. Worst of all, you couldn’t prove it but you knew she had killed Irri too.

“Now do you see why I told you not to trust her?” Both your sister’s embrace and her words were firm as she had turned from the vault where Doreah and Xaro Xhoan Daxos were sealed inside. Your body was still shaking but Daenerys was determined for you to remember every detail of that exact moment. “As Targaryens, people will always envy our power and try not only to take it but to have us give it to them if they can.”

“I won’t ever let us feel like that again, sister, I swear it,” you had promised with the utmost sincerity.

You never let yourself fall for another again until you invited Margaery Targaryen to accompany you on Viserion and it made you feel alive again. The realization began to set in when your feet landed back on the ground, with a heaviness in both your heart and your knees suddenly overtaking you. Margaery naturally caught sight of the grimace on your face and asked if everything was alright. Honestly, you didn’t even know what the truth was.

“Margaery,” the gravity in your voice made even Viserion shift uncomfortably. You knew you had to be honest to receive honesty in return. “I will grant whatever favor you request of me as I am a woman and princess of my word. I only ask that you be sincere with me. Getting to know you recently has felt like a breath of fresh air, but I have been used and toyed with for my name and my power since I was born. You are a woman of noble birth with the duty of uplifting your family and house. I can respect that. It is also evident that you are more than capable of securing your own means of influence. You have been wed to three men that have called themselves ‘King’. It would be foolish of you not to try and befriend me, but I must know, what is it that you really want?”

Margaery sighed and momentarily averted her gaze from you. You’d never seen her that reserved before. Having her be the one too nervous to open up to you was a strange switch in the roles you’d mostly settled in over the past few weeks. It made you eager to demonstrate the lack of judgment you held on your part. You ached to be someone she could trust and every second of silence that passed had you sitting in bitter anticipation.

When she finally spoke, it was with a solemn sense of conviction. “I have wanted to be Queen for so long. You’re not wrong to assume it has completely consumed my life. These past few years have been especially driven by my obsession, which might have started as a seed planted by my family but became fully grown and sustained by my own ambition a long time ago.”

She paused after that, clearly unaccustomed to the position she had found herself in. There was also something else about her demeanor that you couldn’t clearly define. Shame, regret, possibly even indignation? You slowly leaned in closer, careful to make sure you weren’t overstepping, but wanting to show that you were there for her.

“I was always maintaining a specific persona, trying to play the role of a voice for the poor when I only cared about how the publicity could serve my own interests. I was not like you or your sister. Truthfully, I made very little effort to help anyone aside from myself and my family and never sacrificed more than a few comforts or dresses I dirtied. Even when I was officially the queen, all the power that came with the crown wasn’t enough to save my brother from the animosity and unfairness which runs so deeply in the establishments that uphold our society. Things that I didn’t spare a second thought for until they came to hurt the ones I love and it was too late to do anything.

“Margaery,” you shook your head and bravely reached for her hands. “None of what happened is your fault. You’re only one person and shouldn’t put the pressure to change history and customs by yourself. We’re all human.”

She squeezed your hands tightly, pulling you closer to her so that only a few inches separated your faces. Gods, being near her affected you like a powerful drug. She smelled of roses and fresh morning dew in the early spring as you expected from a lady of Highgarden. There was something in her presence that seemed to transport you there. And though you had never actually been, it strangely felt like home.

“Yes, you are human, dragon rider, and more,” she smiled and came to run the back of her fingers softly down your cheek. Your legs would have given out had you not been so determined to keep looking up into her enchanting eyes. “And yet when all odds were against you, you and your sister freed thousands and bettered the lives of countless others with nothing expected in return. That is true selflessness and deserves the right to rule, as I am certain you shall do fairly as these kingdoms desperately need. You will bring forth the future where people like me and Loras could have lived freely. A place I never even imagined until I met you.”

Nothing in her words or demeanor felt dishonest but something told you the request she had yet to make would reveal the ultimate truth. If she believed in you and your sister’s mission then would it be so outlandish to think she’d ask for your friendship above additional power? Your heart was beating frantically and you strained your voice to get out your next few words.

“Margaery, what is it that you want from me?” Despite knowing that she had the power to end you right then and there, you chose to cling onto hope and held onto her one hand and lean into the touch of the other which now rested on the opposite side of your face. Doreah had been gentle with you at times but not in a way quite like this. Her affections had always been calculated and she gave you just enough to leave you wanting more. Teasing and playing games with you where you were only awarded by granting her favors. Margaery held you like she never wanted to let you go, even if it burned her skin in the process.

“If you wouldn’t be opposed to it, I’d like to kiss you, little dragon.”

Your heart must’ve stopped and all you could do was nod. Then as soon as Margaery’s lips met your own it began to beat once more, complete with new life she breathed into you. Her kiss was soft at first, careful to ensure the continued contact was alright with you before you deepened it. She tasted of vanilla and sweets and you eagerly chased to explore into her mouth further with her tongue. Your enthusiasm must’ve surprised the other woman, though she gave off a pleased chuckle before shortly taking back the lead and her other hand found your waist.

“Kostilus,” you moaned as she pressed your bodies even closer together. Everything else you wanted to say you put into your movements. Margaery smiled once again and her chest vibrated when you went to wrap your arms around her neck and continued to interrupt your dance with brief pronunciations of Valyrian words. She didn’t need to speak the language to understand what you were pleading for, and it pleased her greatly in many ways.

The two of you instantly separated when Viserion let out a deep cry that vibrated the ground around you. He twisted his neck up towards the sky where a dark mass grew faster and faster in its descent. Drogon answered his brother’s call and you realized Dany must be home. You grabbed Margaery’s hand, the biggest grin painted across your face. Getting to kiss Margaery and reunite with your sister had you so giddy that it didn’t occur to you how Margaery had never met Drogonbefore, who was much larger and intimidating than your sweet Viserion.

But all you could think about was how relieved you were to see your sister and her dragon both safe and unharmed. You raced to Dany when she began to dismount and dragged Margaery along with you. You felt as if you could burst with joy in that very moment, although your sister’s face did not show the same excitement or relief as you would have expected. No, this wasn’t Dany excited to greet you after an easy victory. This was Queen Daenerys already fueled on anger and glaring daggers at the woman next to you. 

To her credit, Margaery stood firmly next to you in the face of the Mother of Dragons and her fiercest son.

“Who is she?” 

[a-singleboat]

Ruin You - 2

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: N/A

Please do not expect updates to be this close together in the future. I am in grad school but was too excited to write this next chapter. This can be seen as a bit of filler, but it's important, I PROMISE.

Series Masterlist │Main Masterlist

Previous -> Next

Oikawa Toru. It had been a while since you’d even given him an iota of thought. In high school, he was a non-issue. You never really crossed paths in the hallway, and when you went to practices, you were either too focused on your brother or completing homework for classes that you barely paid attention to. Sure, he sat next to you in class, but he was a quiet boy without his fan club hovering. Quiet, well-mannered, and very interesting.

You shook your head. No, what were you thinking? There was no world in which he was interesting. But now, as you sat on your couch and staring at Argentina’s roster, you saw that your brother was once again playing with the star setter from your high school days. Suddenly, you were thinking about that day. The day that Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno.

Up until that day, you didn’t think a man could look so beautiful while looking so absolutely crushed. 

You swapped over to look at Japan’s roster. You quickly scanned the list, almost surprised as you realized that your brother would be going against some of his toughest adversaries from his high school days. Not only would that red-headed speed goblin make an appearance, but so would his matching pair. If there was anything else you remembered from that last match, Hinata and Kageyama made for a formidable duo. 

No wonder why your brother so desperately wanted you to go. 

You pulled up the email once more, clicking on the PDF attached at the bottom of the surprisingly long-winded email. Most of the words were “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE” with the occasional “PRETTY PLEASE,” sprinkled into the mix. 

Not only that but the ticket also promised prime seats, ones right behind the coaches. Plus, as if to sweeten the deal, your brother had mailed you a special VIP pass that ensured that you would be able to meet with the players afterwards. It had arrived the day after he called you. So far, it stayed in its package on your kitchen counter, only serving to get in your way whenever you went to make a meal. 

But now, it piqued your interest. Why was it in such a big box? You were sure a lanyard shouldn’t have taken more space than a regular white envelope. What else did that little shit send you?

You scrambled off your couch, cursing as the blanket that was draped over you tangled between your legs and caused you to fall forward and smack your face onto the carpeted ground. You groaned as you rolled over, pressing a hand to your nose, which had taken most of the impact. Luckily you managed not to do any major damage and your nose just ended up feeling sore. 

You stood slowly, shaking the blanket off as you went. For a second, you thought about burning the cheap sheet of cotton before shaking your head. That would be a ridiculous thing to do. Even if the blanket had caused you a broken nose, it would have been your fault anyways. No need to set your entire apartment ablaze over a minor incident. 

No matter, you would still be keeping an eye on the offending article of comfort. After all, this wasn’t the first time it had unceremoniously dumped you onto the ground like you weren’t worth the dirt under its shoe. As if you were a peasant.

You blinked, reconsidering your current train of thought. You needed sleep. Badly. 

Regardless, you got yourself off the floor and over to the package. It was taped up inexplicably well, the tape following the folds of the box and then sealing off the ends. It was then tapped over and over again, as if to keep something from escaping. With a kitchen knife, you sliced through all the cellophane and revealed the hidden contents.

But you weren’t in just yet. After pulling back the cardboard flaps and sifting through the tissue paper that rested on top, you unveiled the VIP lanyard and yet another box. You were beginning to get irritated. It was one thing for your brother to incessantly beg you to watch his game but it was another for him to annoy you with a package. If he thought that this would increase your chances of attending, he got it wrong.

You removed the second, flatter box from the bigger box and discarded all the previous packaging. It was a white box, one that looked similar to the ones that the department store down the street would give you for clothes that cost more than an arm and a leg. It was taped much more conservatively than the last box, giving way when you tugged gently to separate the top from the bottom. 

It was a light blue jersey, emboldened with the number thirteen and your shared last name across the back in white. The color struck a resemblance to Aoba Johsai’s current sports regalia and reminded you of simpler times. But the number… it was the number you once wore way back in middle school and had since held onto. While your brother chased his dream of playing volleyball professionally, you had stopped just before you entered your high school years.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It was almost unbelievable that he remembered your number from all those years ago. Along with the jersey was a note. It was nothing special, just a standard piece of printer paper that had been folded in half to preserve the writing written inside. 

It held your brother’s notoriously messy handwriting, stating, “You were my first role model. Just in case you can’t make it to the game, I wanted to say Thank You. I asked our manager to have this specially made for you. Still, I hope to see you at the game!”

The jersey was a sweet gesture. And the note did bring tears to your eyes. The game wasn’t for another week but you knew your brother was already in Japan. The team had arrived two or so days ago, the flurry of texts sent by notifying you of his return to the mainland. He was recouping the time difference at your family home back in Osaki. You just hoped that your parents were taking good care of him. 

As they approached the age for retirement, you knew that they were spending more and more time at home. Your mom, at least, had taken to sending photos of her sprouting garden last Spring and had even gone as far as sending you fresh produce that she had cultivated herself. 

You sighed, putting the jersey back in the box. You still had a week to decide. Checking the time, you decided that it was too late for you to be cooking up a meal and would have to resort to eating out for the fifth time that week. As the days grew shorter with Winter approaching, you felt less and less inclined to leave the house for groceries and instead often visited one of the many restaurants that lined the streets below your apartment. 

You slid on your shoes and shrugged on a jean jacket before making your way down the stairs, passed your neighbor’s cat that often roamed the halls, and out the front doors that lead to be busy streets of Tokyo. You considered your choices. You knew you didn’t want anything too heavy, so the steakhouse was out. You’d been trying to eat healthy so the place with the many salads didn’t really pique your interest. Your only other options at this point would either be ramen or to grab a bunch of snacks from the bakery next door.

Considering it was 7PM and you went to the bakery every morning, you finally decided to give the ramen shop a visit. Besides, the carbs from the ramen didn’t count because of all the vegetables that came with it.

Making your way over to the shop, you took in the city’s steady thrum of noise. It wasn’t loud but it was exciting. There was a certain electric feeling that ran through the air that Osaki didn’t have. But you could admit that it did get to be overwhelming. Silence was a rare treat for Tokyo. At times like those, you missed the gentler sounds and the general quiet that the life in the country gave you. 

The door’s bell jingled as you pushed it open, stepping out of the cold and into the warmth of the ramen shop. You enjoyed coming here not just for the ramen, but for the singles booths that they had for customer use. That way, you could eat alone without interference from others.

You put in your order shortly after sitting down. Your phone buzzed consistently since you had sat down, the vibrations letting you know that your brother was finally awake after having fallen asleep on the phone earlier in the morning. The messages ranged from, “Did you open the package yet?” and “Mom’s making me eat this weird vegetable, is this safe?” accompanied by a photo of what seemed to be her latest attempt at growing a carrot. 

You finished your meal in silence, occasionally sending a text back to your brother. He seemed excited to be back home, which made you question why he left in the first place. Out of everyone, he is the only one who had actually left the country. Furthermore, to even play for the Argentinian team, he had to revoke his Japanese citizenship. You couldn’t imagine ever self-destructing your own life like that, even with the slim chance of signing on with a major sports team. 

You supposed that was just a risk he was willing to take. You were certainly less courageous than that. Moving to Tokyo was already a stretch. If you were any less ambitious career-wise, you would have settled for the Sendai branch of the company. 

Finishing your meal, you fished a couple of bills out of your wallet. Ensure that the amount would be enough to cover your meal, you inserted it into the faux leather book that they had left at the top of your booth. You shoved your phone into you back pocket and moved to stand, but as fate had it, your foot had decided not to listen to the rest of your body and remained motionless. It snagged on the bottom rung of the stool and you began to topple backwards. You swore, scrambling to grab onto the edge of the table to help you regain your balance. 

Instead, your hands grabbed the table and the placemat on top. The placemat, which had not been a very good placemat to begin with, slipped off the top of the table and only aided in your backwards fall. You squeezed your eyes tight, and brought your arms up to your head, bracing for a rough impact with the hardwood floors. Great, you thought, yet another fall for the clumbsiest person on Earth! You were frustrated with your lack of coordination that caused you to fall twice in one day. Normally, you were fine and gravity worked with you but it was as if the Universe wanted you to fail today for whatever reason.

But instead of the expected hard impact with the floor that you expected, your fall was short and the impact came when you were still relatively vertical. You took a minute to debate wheter or not you had just gained some sort of superpower to freeze time. 

“Are you okay there?” a familiar voice asked. It was coming from above you. 

Slowly, once you were sure you didn’t gain a new superpower, you opened your eyes to meet your savior. You had to look up to even meet their eyes.

Their brown eyes. That met brown hair. Which, when travelled downward, met with a smile you knew all too well. A smile that had eluded you since your last day of high school. 

You held your breath, afraid to move even an inch. The last time you saw him, like really saw him, he looked different. The last time you saw him, he was crying. He looked absolutely crushed, and he looked beautiful. But for some reason, probably because of the time spent apart, you realize he looked better like this. You could admit that Oikawa Toru looked better happy, and he definitely looked better up close. 

[hugsandchaos]

Dinotrux x Murder Drones still has me by the neck, so I want to start a small debate.

Which would win in a fight: A murder drone or a t-trux?

Because a murder drone’s small size combined with their speed could be an advantage, and they have a vast range of weapons. Claws, guns, RPGs, their acid tail, the list goes on! They also regrow and reattach limbs, which we saw in the first episode when N regrew his own head, in episode 3 when he and V put themselves back together, and in the final episode when J and V seemed to regrow their arms and legs in a matter of seconds.

However, their metal might be thinner and more easily bent and broken, not to mention their weight is probably not much compared to a t-trux, which means it wouldn’t take much to knock a murder drone off its feet or crush its insides.

Another thing we need to remember is that the murder drone would be heavily dependent on the weather. If it’s too warm, they might not stand much of a chance. If it’s cold, then they will be able to fight. If it’s a storm, especially a bad blizzard at night, they’d be at their highest advantage point not only because of the low temperatures helping them last longer, but also the harsh winds, snow, and darkness would make it harder for the t-trux to see the murder drone coming.

Remember, Copper 9 was basically in nuclear winter, and murder drones were built to survive the unbelievably intense and inhospitable storms that plagued the planet, and they’re nocturnal, so I’m very sure that storms and darkness aren’t a problem for our murder drone.

Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that they can fly. That’d give them a huge advantage to strike from above.

Going back to speed, the murder drone would have the advantage depending on if they’re flying or not. Walking and running might be too slow to escape a t-trux, but their wings would carry them to speeds above 100, which would definitely make them much faster.

Now let’s move on to the t-trux.

A t-trux’s engine is built for power, and as far as I know, it runs the hottest of all Dinotrux engines. T-trux are able to sniff out ore, which by extent could mean they might be able to smell metal. I know some might disagree with me on this, but in one of the episodes, Ty specified that he was getting a wiff of iron and “the slightest hint of magnesium”, so am I wrong for liking the idea he might be able to smell being made of metal as well if he tried?

Regardless, a t-trux would have the size and possibly strength advantage over a murder drone. Definitely the size, strength is a bit debatable since we don’t know if it’s a murder drone’s weight or strength that keeps them from being carried away by the strong winds of Copper 9. I’m guessing weight, which would make me rethink my previous statement about a murder drone being easily moved by a t-trux.

Moving on, dinotrux seem to have tougher external plating than drones, but I’m not entirely sure we could add “armor” to the list of advantages a t-trux has. N was able to dig his claws into a door that looked just as tough as a dinotrux and force it open. Not only that, but he played with one of his hands a little and spoke without any strain in his voice, suggesting it wasn’t much of a struggle. He also left claw marks in the walls during his attack.

Next, t-trux tails have some sort of weapon at the end. Ty has a wrecking ball, D-Structs had a wrecking mace before he lost that and got a chainsaw tail, and then Skrap-It made him his claw, and D-Stroy… I don’t know what that thing was, but it was spiny and definitely did some damage. So it looks like what kind of tail varies from t-trux to t-trux, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a wrecking ball was common.

However, going back to their size, it could also be a disadvantage because it’d make them a bigger and easier target, and if the murder drone were to escape through a small tunnel, they wouldn’t be able to follow.

What do you guys think?

[hebuiltfive]

Loving your stories and couldn't resist sending a prompt.

Conversationalist: character rambles in their sick state.

My absolute top trope. Gonna ask for John, but will accept whatever the muse decides.

I'm still slowly working through the last half of these prompts 😬 

Sorry for taking so long! This one is about John, it's just with Gordon as the POV. I hope that's okay! It also ended up taking a darker turn than I'd first anticipated... still, I hope you enjoy it, @sofasurf!

Conversationalist (feat. John)

The fever had taken a hold during the night and had so far refused to let him go. Long, drawn-out bouts of shivers and sweaty delirium had kept both of them from getting a good night’s rest. Gordon tried not to think about the consequences of that, pushing the worries to the recesses of his mind until he needed to give them contemplation.

Nothing about their current predicament had him holding much hope. Gordon wasn’t usually one to lose faith so easily, however having a sick brother stuck in the middle of the Outback with no way of being able to help him was apparently was the key. John wasn’t even supposed to be out there with him; it was supposed to be Virgil… God, how Gordon wished their resident medic was with them now. 

Virgil would have seen the signs. 

Virgil would have known what to do. 

Virgil wouldn’t have allowed John to get this bad.

Gordon had often sat with and tended to his brothers during moments of sickness before plenty of times, but this was different. He was alone, with a delirious John, in the middle of nowhere, with his already very limited medical kit running out of supplies fast. They’d managed to get through one night, but Gordon feared what would happen if he couldn’t get John some urgent medical assistance soon.

He took a deep breath, trying to will those fears back into the box they had escaped from once again. 

Worry later.

The call he had tried to make several times over the course of the night had been a wasted effort. It wasn’t because they were in the middle of nowhere — their comms systems operated even in the more remote parts of space — but because his radio had been damaged during the ensuing fight that had followed dinner. If Gordon hadn’t lost his temper in such an uncontrolled way when that shot was fired towards John, he may have fought better. Remembering the fight reminded him to get his ribs checked when they next had access to medical equipment; he was certain there were a few cracked, if not broken, bones. But that didn’t matter. He came out of it unscathed compared to John.

Gordon hoped Tracy Island picked up his SOS. All he could do was hope, given he had no way of receiving transmissions anymore, but given the fact that he’d already begun to lose that optimism… It wasn’t looking good.

John’s clammy hand squeezed around Gordon’s, bringing the aquanaut back to the present again. His eyes were still closed, no trace of the green Gordon longed to see, but chapped lips began to move. He didn’t dare check on the wound on his brother’s side, too scared to see the infection and thus make any of these last few hours real. Gordon knew that burying his head in the sand wouldn’t help the situation but he still couldn’t bare it. 

They’d run out of water in the early hours. Gordon had shared his rations with John, encouraging his brother to take small sips whenever he thought he was able to. It was clear by John’s hoarse voice that he was still in need of more.

“S-S-Sorry… I…. Sor-Sorry.”

“It’s alright, John.” Gordon pressed the back of his hand to John’s forehead, ignoring the hair that sweat had adhered to his skin. His brother was still too hot, but without more water the rag used to cool him down during the night was useless. “You’re going to be okay.”

“C-Can’t… Can’t do a-anything r-r-right…”

“No, no. You’re not doing anything wrong. Just… Hold tight. Help is on the way.”

The lie came easy to him. That was the worst thing, Gordon thought. He tried not to berate himself over it. What else was he supposed to say to his brother who was quite literally dying in front of him? God, he really was the wrong person for this. Words had never been Gordon’s thing, and, even if they had been, he probably would still have found himself at a loss.

“A-All…. All my fault.”

“None of this is your fault, John, okay? I promise you, none of it—”

“C-Couldn’t save… Couldn’t save… My fault…”

Gordon halted his replies, allowing John to use his hand as a squash toy because that didn’t make any sense.

“F-faster… Not f-f-fast enough… Broken n-now. F-Family b-broken… and it’s all m-m-my fault.” Tears began to leak from the corner of John’s eyes, sobs breaking through his lips. “S-Sorry… Dad, sorry…”

Gordon’s heart lurched in his chest and he felt nauseating cartwheels being performed in his stomach. If he had thought his brother had been bad with the delirium last night, that was nothing compared to this. At least John was semi-conscious then. Now, his brother was completely out of it. Was that a sign of his system getting worse? Gordon could hardly see how it was a good sign.

“Dad?” 

Those green orbs that Gordon had wished to see only moments ago were now visible, but the sight would haunt his dreams for days to come. John’s question had been spoken with such clarity that didn’t seem to match his eyes. They were glossy and unseeing. The light had dimmed in them. They weren’t as bright as they once were.

He was fading.

And Gordon still didn’t know what he could do to stop it.

“You’re okay, John. Dad’s not… Dad’s not here… Remember? It’s me, it’s Gordon.”

“D-Don’t… Don’t cry…” John continued, clearly not out of his delirious, fever-induced hallucination yet. “Don’t… Can fix it… I-I-I… Fix it…”

For the sake of his brother, Gordon tried not to tremble or let any of his fear show. Whether John was seeing Dad in his place or not, he didn’t want to risk making whatever hallucination John was dreaming up to seem anymore real to him.

“You don’t… You don’t need to fix anything, John. You just need to rest.”

John’s body lurched from some sort of pain Gordon had no way of locating let alone treating. He tried to hold his brother still, but the five inches John had on him made the task difficult. Jackets that Gordon had used as blankets to cover John were thrown across the small space as his legs spasmed out uncontrollably.

“John… John! You need to calm down! Can you hear me? John!”

“Useless… Useless… All my fault.” 

John’s self criticism continued in-between painful sobs. 

“Not your fault! John, listen to me.”

The scream that followed would remain with Gordon forever. So much anguish held in the God-awful sound, so much agony and distress. He wasn’t sure if it was from the hallucination or from the pain John had likely caused himself by thrashing his body around so violently. Gordon didn’t need to look down to know his brother had accidentally reopened his wound. The stitching wasn’t perfect by a long shot but Gordon had hoped it would have held until help reached them.

If he had the time, or the mental capacity, he would have scoffed at being so foolish.

There was no help.

This was it.

John was dying and in a painfully delusional state, and there was nothing Gordon could do about any of it.

The warm blood that had leaked onto his fingers in his attempt to hold John down, not to mention the tears born out of panic and fear that he refused to let fall in the aftermath of that scream, were a stark contrast to the silent calm that followed.

His brother, who had calmed from his tumultuous delirium, was lying so still that Gordon had thought the worst. The shallow breathes that were still being taken, the uneven rise and fall of John’s chest, had his worst nightmare subsiding for the moment. Not dead yet, just very, very sick.

Whatever had caused John to go into that mini-fit was, for the time being, over. Gordon would have breathed a sigh of relief if it wasn’t for the fact that he sensed it was just the beginning of the end. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to John’s forehead, trying to block out the wheezing in his brother’s every exhale, and stood with his comms unit in hand. Gordon may have lost hope in any help coming but that didn’t mean he had to sit down and do nothing.

As long as his brother still breathed, he wouldn’t stop, no matter how helpless the situation seemed.

For his brother, he wouldn’t give up.

So, he exited the small cavern, blinking as the morning sun, already so bright and parching, blinded him momentarily. Gordon lifted the radio unit up, whacking it twice with the heel of his palm.

“International Rescue, please, please come in!”

[silvabacca]

Fairytale rescue (dreamling)

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence (or as far as I’m able to write that kind of scene…still lot of blood in it)

The idea that Hob rescues Dream is so cute and nice, but I gave it a little twist. Dream has enough strenght to fight, fuck his tools, fuck the rules, he has spend a century in a damn aquarium and is ready to burn the whole place to the ground. And here is also Hob…who watches as his friend destroys everything around him. I promise it will be sweet, but not in the first part…ok that will do for the introduction. Hope you enjoy!!

Part 1

Dream was lying there, helpless, in a prison made of glass. How long has it been since he last saw the night sky? How much time has passed since he saw the dreams of humans? He closed his eyes, he didn’t have a connection with the dreaming, his power was blocked by a spell casted by na amateur. That damn spell, that damn mortal who dared to trap him here, demanding things he couldn’t give him. This foolish human and his son, keeping him here, not realising the damage they have done.

From the day his dear raven, Jessemy, died from the hands of Burgess’ son, it was only worst. With every day his rage only grew along with the anger, frustration and desire for vengeance.

***

He didn’t know anymore what year it was, time was moving, but he was still here. He was resting, gathering any energy he had left. As he was lying a strange noise coming from above, it wasn’t a first time that it happened, so at first he didn’t pay much attention to it. But the noise only grew, and the footsteps started to increase more and more.

Dream opened one eye, which followed the steps from the top to the bottom of the mansion. The guards also noticed them, they got up, one of them went to see what happened. When he wasn’t returning and there was only a silence after him, the other went after him. This time a loud bang was heard from the stairs to the basement, a sound of a body dropping to the ground.

That interested Dream enought to lift his head to see what happened. What he saw was something, he wouldn’t even expect in another million years. There was only one man standing, the shadow casted on him covered his face, the features weren’t easy to see. But Morpheus knew perfectly well who it was.

As he slowly started sitting up the man began to walk to the glassglob. Dream placed his palms on a thick layer of glass and looked ahead of him, at the man who was closer and closer. Finally when the figure standed just a couple of inches away from the prison, Morpheus could look him in the eyes.

It was Hob, one and only Hob Gadling standing in front of his friend. He sighed with reliefe at what he saw, but after that a look of worry was painted all over his face. He looked around a little, making sure they are alone and checking the construction of the prison.

- Let me get you out of here!! - shouted Hob, thinking that maybe Dream didn’t hear it right.

First he stepped over the painting on the floor and breaking it’s spell. This could be enought for Dream to escape, but his savior decided othervise. He made a gesture with his hand to let Morpheus know to move away. He then reached for a hammer behind his back…

„How did he have one?” Dream tought, „Did he know?”

…but as soon as his tought ended, Hob already started to break the glass. At one hit, there appered a huge rupture at which Dream decided to move back even more away. At second a small smitterins started to fall to the ground and at third the whole glob was destroyed.

Hob only now tought that Morpheus could get hurt from the broken glass, he reached out to him, who was sitting on the floor.

- Oh God, sorry man - he started to panic as he helped Dream to stand - I didn’t think about the glass, are you ok??!

When Dream got up he streatched his arms and his head from side to side. Hob could tell there was something wrong, the aura around his friend was strange. He decided to look a little closer at Morpheus, he turned his face to look him in the eyes, which were…black.

Hob let go of his face and stopped saying anything, as if any sound or move could kill him. Those eyes, dark and cold, full of anger and rage started to leak a black liquid. It weren’t tears, as they were falling down his cheeks and on his naked, pale body they left marks. Where they fallen there appeared a dark spot on the skin. It was as if an oil was spreading on a snow, it was beautiful, but also terrifying.

Dream’s fingers also started to transform, into big, sharp claws as dark as the liquid dropping from his eyes. Now Gadling decided to take a step back, not entirely sure what was happening, he just watched his friend shapeshift into a monster. The rest was even more creepy, now there wasn’t much skin left, it all disappeared under black mass and dark feathers. The only place where there was only a hint of his old pale skin was around his mouth. Which seemed normal at first, but when he opened them there were teeth sharp as blades, ready to tear anything alive apart. It was no longer a Dream that Hob knew, it was…

- …a nightmare - Hob’s mouth slipped and he immedietly covered them back.

Morpheus- or a creature that was once him - looked at his savior, who took another step back. The nightmare smiled with all those petrifying teeth and whispered only two words that sounded like thank you…

At this words guards from before came back to the basement, terrified at the look of the creature that welcome them back. The monster stretched its wings wide open, knocking Hob in the process, and flew as fast as it could. It jumped at the first guy it saw, tearing him to shreds with it’s claws. His screams were echoing in the room, his flesh was all over the place, blood was everywhere. This massacre was horryfying to watch from Hob’s perspective.

The other guard, who by now for sure died inside from fear, pointed his gun at the nightmare and shoot a bullet. The sound left a horrible sound in the room, for a second only the unsteady breath of the second guard was heard in a whole basement. The creature took an interest in him and began to slowly move closer to him. The poor guy pulled the trigger a few more times until it was empty. The most terrifying thing was that, bullets didn’t even leave a scratch on it’s body. As the guard started to beg for mercy and ugly cry to the beast, it only smiled at him, licked it’s top row of teeth and right after that jumped to his throat.

The view was the same as before and the only tought in Hob’s head was that, it would be better if he killed them before this embodiment of nightmare did. As it finished it went up the stairs and to the top of the mansion. Even from the bottom Hob could still hear the screams, sound of body ripped open and gun shots. He couldn’t do anything, for a while, which felt like eternity, he couldn’t even move an inch.

When he got the courage to finally get up, still a little unsteady on his feet, he moved on. As he walked the stairs, he could see a scenery like in a horror movie. Blood on the walls, guts of the people under his feet were outside of their owners’ bodies… As he was walking he was getting more and more sick, he wanted to throw up so bad, but he hold it and moved on. When he finally made it up to the main hall all the screamings stopped.

It was so quiet, he finally heard his loud heartbeat and unsteady breath. Now that he noticed it he knew he needed to calm down and get out of here. As he was takich deep breaths he heard a sound behind him.

He immedietly stopped what he was doing, slowly turned his head to look behind him and saw what he fearde. The monster was there, now not longer black, it had red blood all over it and it was even dropping from it’s mouth.

As it slowly started to move to him, Hob felt uneasy. His head felt so heavy, the picture started to blurr and it was ringing in his ears. He tried to fight with it at first, because he knew he couldn’t drop on the floor. Not here, not now. As he was fighting with himself the beast started to run to him and for a second Hob tought that it was screaming something. But he couldn’t be sure, now everything started to intensify, he no longer was able to stand on his feet.

Before he knew it, his head hit the floor, he fainted.

[chihoshisai]

♡ Perona's Diary ♡ ch3

Goth Family (Perona, Zoro, Mihawk)

Ch1,Ch2

cw : found family, fluff, comedy, chaos // this is a preview, the full chapter is on ao3 !

Broken Bottle

Perona swirled the glass containing the wine she had been allowed to bring up in her room. Staring at its scarlet color along with her journal that laid open on her lap, she considered how lucky of a person she was after the events of the day. 

***  

“We’re doomed,” Zoro said slowly.

“Doomed? More like dead,” Perona’s voice trembled, looking down at the shattered bottle of wine that had just hit the floor. Whilst the liquid spread across the tiles, as though it had dragged the color of her face along with it, the gravity of the situation sunk deep with the beating of her heart.

“What do we do?” Zoro’s gaze was just as fixated on the floor, and he too had been hit hard enough that cold sweat could be seen running down his forehead.

“What else can we do, you take the blame!” Perona said with conviction, a finger pointed towards Zoro. 

“You’re just as guilty as I am!” He said with a slight increase in his tone, eyes finally breaking free from the damage, to look in annoyance at the finger pointed towards him.

“You’re the one who wanted to come here get a drink!” Hands now designating the mountain of alcohol from the cellar, Perona could think of nothing but start an argument with the swordsman. A small yet vain attempt to steer away from the reality they currently found themselves in. 

“And you're the one who guided me because you insisted I couldn’t make it here on my own!” Zoro returned with a grunt.  

“Argh forget it,” Perona began, shoulders slumping. Even if Zoro was to be framed as the sole culprit, Mihawk would still come to know of her involvement. Courtesy of the Straw Hat pirate snitching on her. As the odor of the wine, sweet and rich in aroma made its way towards her nose, a frivolous thought crossed her mind, “let’s just say the monkeys went and did it !” Her voice gained in pitch, eyes somewhat serious, signaling she had both lost her mind and given up on finding a reasonable solution. 

Zoro’s gaze, now locked on hers with a somewhat stunned expression, caused a flush of embarrassment to form on Perona’s cheeks. A silence ensued, which both caused the spoken words to linger and create an uncomfortable feeling that creeped down in Perona’s stomach. Maybe, just maybe he was stunned because her idea was a good one ?

A scoff escaped Zoro’s lips, as the hint of a smile lured around their corner. Feeling like her words weren’t so nonsensical after all, Perona’s face brightened in response, before a scowl settled upon Zoro's. “As if he would believe that!” The words came flying into her face, with force — almost as though she was being scolded.

Irritation came boiling up to her, as she returned with a nasty voice, far from her usual pitch, “then what do you propose we do?!” Her hands clenched at the frustration she felt — towards the situation and her former decision, out of kindness, to help the swordsman. They did spend most of their time together after all, so it wasn’t all surprising she’d lend him a hand as there was no one else to do so. And Mihawk, well he’d probably trust Zoro’s words if he claimed to be able to reach a destination on his own. Therefore, not that much help to be expected on his end.    

Zoro crossed his arms, as a smile clearly appeared on his lips this time, “we’ll cover it up” he said confidently. 

“What, how?” Perona raised an eyebrow at his claim. This time she returned the silent look that was previously bestowed upon her, without revealing how eager she was to hear more of the swordsman’s idea.  

Keeping his confidence, Zoro pointed his thumb towards himself, “I get rid of the evidence, while you go and distract him,” he finished by pointing towards Perona, his smile unfaltering. 

Perona considered his words for a few seconds — it did sound like a tangible idea. “Okay, except you're leaving all the heavy lifting to me!” Her tone was accusatory while she pouted. 

Zoro shrugged as though he didn’t see anything wrong with it, “leaving no traces behind is just as important.”

Yet, the thought of having to keep Mihawk from suspecting anything was like trying to take down an emperor. And alongside the guilt of having shattered one of his precious wine bottles would make it all unbearable. 

“Whatever, you better come and help me when you're done,” she ordered him. Best have her accomplice close to her. So they would fall together, if the worst was to come. 

Zoro grunted his reply, “fine now go. The earlier we get this done, the better.”

Getting rid of the proof meant Zoro would have to go outside and subtly dispose of it. A shudder ran down Perona’s spine, imagining the swordsman losing his way and accidentally stumbling upon her and Mihawk in his attempt. “I’m leaving one of my ghosts here because we can't have you getting lost,” she said and one of the hollows promptly joined Zoro’s side, causing a slight surprised growl to escape him.

“Yeah alright,” he replied, giving a side glance towards the floating being. 

“One last thing,” Perona said. 

“You’re still not going?!” Zoro gruffed, eyes now looking towards the mess he had to clean.

Perona floated herself towards the shelves, using both hands to grab a bottle of wine with precaution, “I’m taking this with me just in case,” she gave a look towards Zoro for approval.

“Are you sure about that?” He raised his eyebrow, unsure.

“He won’t suspect anything if he’s enjoying wine,” Perona pressed her case further, clutching the bottle harder as she said so.

Zoro smiled, “right, good idea,” he nodded.

It was enough to give Perona confidence along with the foolish hope that their plan would succeed. “Good luck to you, you clumsy oaf,” she gave him a teasing smile, as she floated towards the cellar’s exit.

“Don’t forget you’re the one who broke the bottle!” She heard Zoro shout from behind and she giggled, having found enjoyment out of his lost temper.

[cyber-streak-extra]

So, I decided to make another quick little fic involving the ITP: Happy Ending AU by @maraariana01 and this time, it’s got Funtime Freddy from Count The Ways, aswell :)

Title: A Bear, A Child, & Said Bear’s Way Of Breaking, Entering, & Capturing

The animatronic bear stared out at the house, a smirk plastered right on his face. He’d been around the area for quite some time—after simply stumbling across it after wandering around after leaving the old man’s garage.

He already knew who he wanted to get this time—the young boy, Oswald. He’d already been planning everything... he’d just been waiting for the perfect moment.

Funtime Freddy sighed. When it did come down to taking the kid, he would’ve preferred to be able to use his storage tank—but, thanks to Silly Millie, when she entered, she caused it to get stuck.

It was something that the bear only discovered after he’d counted, gotten rid of his boredom, and fulfilled Chilly Milly’s wish. It was all still a win-win in his eyes. But he wished she hadn’t gotten it stuck. No matter what he tried, it stayed that way.

Oh well, Funtime Freddy thought. I can still manage.

...

Oswald sat at his bed, drawing some sketches. His phone was in his lap, texting Ben—although his friend hadn’t texted back yet. He could hear Jinx purring from where she lay on the ground.

He was waiting for Spring Bonnie to finish up with some chores—as the rabbit was going to drive him to go pick up Ben. Through his closed door, he could hear the vacuum.

Oswald was glad that everything was normal again—...well, as normal as life could be after he went through the ball pit, and obtained a third parent in Spring Bonnie.

Everything else was still pretty normal. School had started back up, he’d been visiting and chatting with Ben more—who had returned from his little vacation not too long ago. Spring Bonnie, Jackie, and Thomas all seemed to be comfortable with each other.

He knew it was something that took time getting adjusted to. Oswald was happy that it went smoother than he had thought it would when he talked to the two of them, explaining little parts of what had happened that day.

...Even now, he had never outright explained the ball pit. Sure, he told them both that he found Spring Bonnie at Jeff’s Pizza, but Oswald never explained the time traveling part. He didn’t even know how.

Click.

Oswald paused. What was that? He frowned. It sounded like it was coming from behind him. His window? Before he could turn, he started to hear the sound of hissing.

“Jinxie?” He glanced down at the cat, who was backing up slowly—she looked on edge, and her hissing didn’t stop. “What’s the m-“

Oswald’s eyes widened when he was suddenly grabbed by a cold, metallic, and somewhat broken arm. A gasp had escaped him when he was lifted up, but he could tell it was muffled.

His eyes darted around, trying to get a full look, and what had grabbed him was obviously an animatronic—but not the one that he was used to seeing, or liked seeing. Just like the arm, this animatronic was damaged, and he seemed to be a bear.

The animatronic bear chuckled, although it was obvious that he was trying to keep himself quiet. He was just barely succeeding. “Hello, Little Ocelot!~” He whispered—or tried to, voice glitching.

Barely managing to see anything else behind the large bear, Oswald noticed his window. It was fully opened, but it looks like some parts of it had been broken in the process.

Oswald wanted to get away. He wanted away from this bear. He could feel himself moving around... but it wasn’t working. The bear’s grip was strong. What did he want?

Oswald didn’t want to find out.

Could he yell for Spring Bonnie? He knew he sounded muffled... but what if the bunny still heard him? How good was the bunny’s hearing? He didn’t know.

For a moment, Oswald thought about trying to call someone—but that was quickly thrown out the window when he realized that he couldn’t. His phone, originally in his lap before he was grabbed, was now abandoned on the floor.

He could only think that, if he could grab it, that he would either end up messaging Ben—who seemed to have texted back now—or his parents—who were out on a date. What would they do?

“Squirmy one, aren’t ya, Little Ocelot?” The bear chuckled again, still seemingly trying to make sure that he remained quiet enough. Oswald glanced around, eyes spotting the bear’s stomach. What was leaking out of it...?

...

Spring Bonnie had been vacuuming the whole house. He’d decided to do some chores a couple of hours, and then he planned on driving with his son and Ben. He’d promised to do so after he was finished.

He was in the living room—which was the last area he needed to get done. Earlier, Oswald’s room had been where he had started, and he went from there.

Spring Bonnie’s ears twitched, and he paused. He thought he heard something. Was it just the vacuum? It was loud. He’d almost forgotten that he had the TV on, too—a rom-com, which he was glancing up at and watching bits of as he did chores.

He continued vacuuming for a second or two... but then the bunny’s ears twitched again. The bunny was hearing something. It wasn’t coming from the vacuum or the TV, though. It was... what was it?

The bunny pressed a button, turning the vacuum off, and setting it carefully on the ground. The TV’s volume was quite low, so he didn’t need to turn it further down—he’d mainly been relying on the subtitles earlier.

Hissing. The bunny heard hissing. And... talking? Talking. It was a little distant and somewhat muffled from where he was, but he knew that’s what it had to be.

The hissing had to be Jinx—he’d grown accustomed to that noise. But the talking? It wasn’t Oswald. It wasn’t Jackie, or Thomas. It wasn’t Ben. He could tell that. He knew all of their voices well... but this wasn’t any of them.

Son? Spring Bonnie frowned in concern. He could feel his ears start to lower. He should go check on him. He hoped that it was nothing—he hoped that nothing was wrong—nothing was going on with his son.

Moving the vacuum out of his path, the bunny started walking down the hallway to reach his son’s room.

...

When he opened the door, Spring Bonnie nearly stepped on Jinx’s tail—but spotted the hissing cat before that, and stepped out of the way. Once out of her way, the cat ran out.

He watched her leave, confused, before turning back around and looked ahead. That confusion quickly turned to horror from the sight in front of him.

Funtime Freddy, beside the bed, with his son squirming around in the bear’s grasp. Both’s attention were turned to Spring Bonnie when he had entered the room.

Spring Bonnie! Oswald felt relieved.

“Oh, why hello!” Funtime Freddy knew of him. Knew of how the bunny came from the pit—pretended to be Thomas—before truly joining the family. He knew how he was essentially a third parent.

Oswald thought he heard a... growl?

Spring Bonnie took a step forward, and Funtime Freddy started moving, too—towards the direction of Oswald’s door. “I wouldn’t get too close, bun-bun!” He snickered.

The bunny stared. “I have plans,” He started, still slowly making his way to Oswald’s door—the smirk remaining on his face. “You wouldn’t want your Little Ocelot to go...” He used his arm without the hand, seemingly doing a ‘slicing’ motion around his own neck.

“But, maybe it would be fun to make you count the ways with me, bun-bun...” He laughed, smirk growing. He wondered what Spring Bonnie would choose. He also wondered what the kid would want. But, he had different plans.

He was here to get the kid and leave, before resuming everything. Silly Milly shouldn’t have gotten his storage tank stuck. If not for her, this would be a little easier. But, he had fun with her.

Oswald noticed how Spring Bonnie was beginning to leak. There was always little bits dripping, but massive leaking usually seemed to happen, he noticed, when the bunny was angry or sad.

Teeth. Oswald and Funtime Freddy saw all of the teeth stored in the bunny after he unhinged his jaw. Angry. Oswald hadn’t seen him like that since the night he went back to Jeff’s Pizza to get his dad.

“Oh, you don’t like that, bun-bun?” Funtime Freddy giggled.

Spring Bonnie’s hands bawled into fists. Just as the bunny started to get closer, the bear ran out of Oswald’s bedroom door. Spring Bonnie followed.

He entered the living room, looking around—he didn’t see Funtime Freddy or his son yet. He could feel himself leaking further.

Just as the bunny took another step, he heard a glitchy little laughter, followed by footsteps, and the feeling of something hitting him from behind—it felt... electrifying. Shocking.

...

Spring Bonnie blinked. He was leaning against one of the walls in the living room. He wiped at some of the liquid agony and remnant, before hurriedly looking around. Son...! What had the bear done?

Standing up fully, the bunny hurriedly began looking all over the house. He went back to his son’s room, checking under the bed, and in the closet, before moving to the rest of the house.

Oswald... Spring Bonnie could feel himself shaking as he kept checking the house. His ears were lowered. He could feel so much liquid leaking from his body—eyes especially.

As he reached the last room that he had to check, Thomas and Jackie’s room, Spring Bonnie leaned against the wall as his body started shaking further. How could he let this happen? How could he let his son get taken?

What was going to happen...?

Son... I’m so sorry...

He couldn’t find anything in the house—no hints or traces of where Funtime Freddy could possibly be with his son. Wherever the bear went with Oswald, neither of them were in the house anymore.

Spring Bonnie made a decision. He left through the front door, hurriedly looking around outside—he spent an hour or two doing so. That’s what it felt like.

The bunny was leaking everywhere. He checked the front yard, and the back yard—every area near the house, and even somewhat far away—in hopes that he’d find any sort of clue to where his son and the bear could be.

He found nothing.

Spring Bonnie made his way back home. When he got back, he’d been planning to recheck everywhere. But, as he passed the front door, the bunny fell to his knees.

Jinx meowed sadly from where she lay somewhere in the living room.

He should’ve been able to stop Funtime Freddy. He should’ve been able to stop him from taking his son. The bunny should’ve been able to save his son. Had he failed his son...? What did Funtime Freddy want with him?

Horrible possibilities started throwing themselves into the bunny’s mind—which he attempted to ignore, but... Funtime Freddy could do anything. What if he had already done something? How was he going to find his son?

Spring Bonnie heard the front door open.

...

“Oswald, we’re-“ Thomas started, closing the door behind him and his wife—although he stopped when he spotted Spring Bonnie in the middle of the living room.

He was collapsed on his knees, shaking. Even if the bunny wasn’t facing them, Jackie could tell that he was leaking... something. (What was it called? She’d never asked. Did Spring Bonnie know?)

Most of the leaking, she noticed, was coming from his eyes—it was pouring out like a waterfall. Although she noticed it coming from other parts of him, too. Jackie frowned.

“Spring Bonnie?” She gently called out, approaching the bunny carefully. Thomas stayed where he was, but looked around.

“Spring Bonnie,” The nurse knelt beside the animatronic. “What happened...? What’s wrong?”

The leaking bunny turned slightly to look at Jackie. Messily searching through his pockets of his coat, Spring Bonnie eventually pulled out his note pad and pen.

Jackie and Thomas, who moved a little closer, both watched as the bunny started writing. Although, whatever was leaking ended up hitting the notepad paper. So, the only words that the two could fully read were: “Oswald” “Freddy” and “Captured”.

Spring Bonnie messily flipped to another page on the notepad a second later, and sloppily wrote something else—this time, only two words. But it got the point across. “Son taken.”

“W-What...?” Jackie whispered, horrified, her eyes widening.

He could vaguely hear Thomas say something, too, followed by quick footsteps—from the corner of his eyes, Thomas seemed to be making his way to his son’s room.

Jackie watched her husband for a single moment, before refocusing on the shaking bunny in front of her. “Spring Bonnie, w-“

She was cut off when the bunny moved forward, hugging her—the hug was tight, but he wasn’t hurting Jackie, either. Blinking as her eyes felt watery, Jackie hugged the bunny back.

Jackie had never seen him like this. She rubbed the bunny’s back, closing her eyes. Oswald... please, be okay. What had happened? Why would anyone want to take her son...?

He should’ve stopped the bear before he escaped, Spring Bonnie had thought. He should’ve done... anything. Why did this have to happen? Oswald didn’t deserve anything that the bear may do.

He only hoped that he could get to his son somehow before Funtime Freddy went through with anything...

[loominggaia]

Full Gastro Obscura Interview

A while back I posted about the interview I did with Gastro Obscura. (If you haven't seen it, click the link and check it out! It's about the importance of cuisine in worldbuilding. It features other worldbuilders too and their work is great!)

They weren't able to use the entire interview in the article, but gave me permission to post it here. I wanted to wait a while before I did so that their blog could get the clicks it deserves.

Now it's time, so here it is!

1) What name would you prefer me to use for you in the article? And where are you located?

A ) You can just call me Alex or Alex Greys! I’m located in Washington, USA.

2) How long have you been worldbuilding? And do you do it primarily as a hobby for its own sake, or as part of a larger project you are developing?

A ) I’ve been worldbuilding since I was in kindergarten, or maybe a little before then. I learned to read and write earlier than most kids, and I spent a lot of time writing fantasy stories and creating worlds for them. In retrospect, I wouldn’t call it a hobby. I think it’s more of a coping mechanism I used to escape reality, because I’ve spent most of my life trapped in situations where I have no control. Worldbuilding gave me control over something.

I didn’t start taking it seriously until 2017, when I contracted a flu that left me with severe post-viral syndrome. I was stuck in a wheelchair for over a year and developed chronic conditions that kept me in bed for long periods of time. My body was broken, I could hardly do anything physical for years after that. I decided this was the time to buckle down and finally do something with this writing skill I developed.

I wanted to commit to a larger project than the little ones I’ve done in the past. I started writing the World of Looming Gaia series in 2017, and it’s still going strong 7 years later in 2024! My health has been up and down ever since, but Looming Gaia has always been there to support me when my body won’t.

3) Was food always something that you incorporated into your world? If not, when/how did food become an aspect of your worldbuilding?

A ) This part is pretty interesting, because even though cuisine is so essential in real-world cultures, it wasn’t something I thought about until several years into my project. I believe this is because my health conditions really limited my diet. By that I mean, I could only tolerate the same 3 or 4 bland foods every day for years on end, and this limited diet was driving me insane. Eating became this immense source of stress and physical pain for me. I resented food and never wanted to think about it.

One day, my husband complained that he wanted food from a restaurant, but we couldn’t afford it. So, I told him I would cook him something instead. I never cooked much in the past, but I looked up a random recipe online and gave it a go anyway. It turned out pretty good, so I started researching more about cooking so I could make more meals for him.

Cooking for other people fixed my damaged relationship with food. I was still stuck on the same bland diet due to my health, but I didn’t resent food anymore. I finally saw the value in cuisine as an art form and developed an interest in it, so I decided to incorporate it into my worldbuilding. Looking back, I’m embarrassed that it took me so long to incorporate something so vital into my world. I think cuisine is one of the first things worldbuilders should think about when developing cultures.

4) Why is it important for you, or worldbuilders in general, to consider the food that characters are eating, and make food a part of the storytelling?

A ) What people are eating can tell you a lot about their culture, and it can tell you a lot about the area where they live too. When you examine what’s on a character’s plate, you get a glimpse of what crops and meats are available to them, and this forces the worldbuilder to consider things like the climate and geography of that location. It all ties together.

It also gives the worldbuilder an opportunity to explore their cultural practices, like maybe they are from a purely vegetarian or carnivorous culture, and the worldbuilder must come up with reasons why that might be. They can also consider the health implications of such a diet, and that might change the appearance or behavior of a character. Cuisine can say so much. It opens the doors to all kinds of stories and concepts.

5) When it comes to food, what factors or details are most important for you/worldbuilders in general to consider?

A ) When worldbuilding, I think it’s important that different aspects of your cultures feel cohesive and make sense. For example, let’s say you wanted to create a culture that lives in an arctic tundra environment. You decide that their native cuisine is hippopotamus meat and coconuts because it sounds cool or whatever, but you should ask yourself if that really makes sense when their environment doesn’t support those plants and animals.

Worldbuilders should ask themselves what their people/creatures are eating and also WHY they’re eating it. Is it because they have to, for nutrition or scarcity reasons? Or because they prefer these foods over others for taste? The history of the region and the biology of the people matters too. How accessible is food to the average person in this culture? Is famine an issue? What do the rich people eat compared to what the poor are eating? Do they use ingredients that are imported from other lands?

These are some of the questions worldbuilders should ask themselves when developing cuisines. As you write the answers, you’ll find pieces of a puzzle naturally coming together and building cohesive concepts.

6) Where do you get inspiration from? Real-world cultures, history, etc.? 

A ) Inspiration comes from everywhere! Sometimes I look at real-world cuisines from regions that are similar to my own, and I ask myself if these dishes would make sense in my lore. If not, I can tweak them as needed and create something more original.

I take a lot of inspiration from what animals eat too. When you’re writing fantasy creatures with animal traits, like centaurs and satyrs for example, I think it’s helpful to look at what those animal counterparts eat in the real world and why.

Do they have specific nutritional needs? Do they have to eat hard things to grind down their teeth? Do they eat little stones to help them digest stuff? These dietary factors can carry over into fantasy species too and make them more interesting.

7) Tell me a little about the process for developing the different cuisines that you profile in Looming Gaia. Do individual characters, settings, or cultures that you have created dictate the food that you think of? Or is it more the other way around, that you think of an interesting idea for food first, and then see where it fits into the setting?

A ) When I’m developing a cuisine, the very first thing I do is look at the climate and geography of the region. I ask myself what kind of crops would grow there and what kind of animals would make the most sense to hunt and ranch. I also look at the species of the peoples who live there. A troll’s diet, for example, is going to be very different from a human’s diet because they have different nutritional needs.

The next step is to consider other factors such as religion, economy, trade relations with other regions, and so on, because these can all affect what resources are available to them. I think about what foods may not be native to the area, but could be imported from foreign lands.

I never come up with a cuisine first and build a culture around it, though I do think this is a perfectly valid way to worldbuild. I always take the opposite approach and build the cuisine around the culture. I try to create at least 10 traditional dishes per region, including a typical breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snacks, and drinks both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. When all of them are put together, it can paint a vivid picture in the reader’s mind of what the whole culture is like.

8) What’s one aspect or detail of your own food worldbuilding that you are most proud of, or think is the coolest?

A ) So far I’m most proud of my Mogdiri cuisine concepts. The Mogdiri are a kingdom of magic-users who refuse to eat animals for cultural reasons, but they don’t consider insects to be animals. For this culture, I had to come up with traditional cuisine that centered around bugs and bug byproducts. It was intimidating at first, but I’m really happy with the way it turned out.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[lohstandfound]

5 18 29

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Okay. There's a few:

The one I've been sitting on the longest is one I called Be More Enhanced. It was inspired by a piece of fanart by maegimaki (I think) back in the day. I can't be bothered trying to find it rn but it was of Jake, Jeremy, and Rich but parts of their bodies that were affected by the squip were shaded in bright blue tv static (Jake's legs, Rich's burn scars, Jeremy's eyes). It gave me the idea for a fic of, like, essentially lab-made superheroes except they never reached superhero stage. Jake, Jeremy, and Rich had been in the lab for as long as they could remember. The second attempt at The Enhancement Project. Jeremy had enhanced intelligence and senses, Jake had enhanced strength/speed/durability, Rich could alter his appearance and physical form (enough to pass through walls). They eventually escape and end up on the doorstep of Michael Mell and his friends (the bmc girls), the failed and escaped first attempt of The Enhancement Project.

The other ideas arent necessarily things I won't write, I just might not get around to them. Those would be the popular kids polycule royalty au and The Poet's Garden. I love The Poet's Garden au so much, I just don't know what to do with it yet but I would love to talk about it

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

I love the entirety of the royal pains pantone fic.

There are so many lines I like but the first one to come to mind is Jake's Pinkberry pizza metaphor

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Okay, here's a bit from be more enhanced

Christine walked out of the room and stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Brooke and Michael have a very animated conversation with each other. She wasn’t sure what either of them were saying, but it seemed more like an argument. She turned around when she heard a groan coming from the stairs.

“God, turn you’re voices down. I can hear you two arguing from upstairs,” Chloe groaned, joining Christine in the doorway.

“Michael’s voice is gone again…” Christine mumbled.

Brooke and Michael had stopped arguing. Michael huffed, leaning against the bench. Brooke sighed.

“Michael isn’t sure if we should keep them here for too long.”

“Keep who?” Chloe asked.

“Three boys turned up on our doorstep. They’re like us,” Christine said. “Jake seems to be the leader of the three. He did all the talking. Strong protective energy coming from him. Jeremy’s is very weak, scared… Michael- they need to stay here.”

‘But what if they were sent to find us. We still haven’t been able to get rid of all their tech from us. Or to fix whatever they took from us.’ Michael said.

“They’re kids, Michael!” Brooke hissed. “They’re kids… Who knows how long Squip had them for, what they did to them.”

“They’re broken…” Christine said softly, looking back towards the doorway.

Michael sighed and shook his head. Brooke hit the back of his head. She seemed to be scolding him.

Chloe sighed, frowning at the two.

“Stop arguing like little children. We’re keeping them here. We can call Jenna tomorrow and she can fix your voice again and whatever damage Squip did to the kids.”

“You’re like us?” A voice said from behind them. Christine and Chloe turned around and Michael and Brooke looked at the doorway to see Jake standing there.

Chloe raised an eyebrow and walked over to him. “One of the kids, huh?” She said, circling him. Jake bit his lip as she watched the girl, tensing up when she touched him.

Christine bit her lip. “Chloe…”

Chloe ignored her, although she sighed and looked at Brooke.

Brooke glared at her. Chloe huffed.

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 7

Summary: There’s a new kid in town, and she’s got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x F. Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, violence, gunshot wounds

AN: photos from Pinterest

They had been following her for fifteen minutes. No doubt, it had been longer, possibly days. They had been good at covering their tracks and staying hidden so far. She could only figure today was the today they were attacking.

YN exhaled, keeping her eyes focused on the fruit in front of her. Deciding a path would be more difficult than she had anticipated.

She could stay there, in the market, in the crowds. Where the trio of men following her would remain hesitant to fire when she could slip off into the crowds and they would lose her.

Or she could leave. Draw the gunfire away from the innocents and avoid any damaging crossfire. The plaza on the west end, just as she left the marker would be almost empty. Not many people were there at this time, most were in the market. She would be the only moving target.

A small weight bumped her leg.

Looking down, YN saw a young boy, giggling up at her as he backed up a few steps. A larger hand came down and grabbed the boy’s. His mother.

“Alexander, say excuse me.” She instructed.

The boy giggled louder, garbling out a half chewed on mimicry of the phrase. YN smiled.

“No problem, little man.” She replied.

The mother and son paid for their groceries and continued down to their next vendor.

Sometimes, she wished she never gained a conscious.

Glancing over her shoulder again, YN saw one of the men, right where he had been earlier. Chatting absently with a vendor. The other two were disseminated around, a loose semi circle to herd her in the direction they wanted.

She left the fruit stand; The vendor’s brows furrowed. YN was a regular customer, it was unlike her to not make a purchase or stop to greet them.

However, she had already disappeared into the crowd before they had a chance to question.

YN hurried toward the end of the vendor stalls, weaving between people and random salesmen.

The men had quickly moved in, now that she was on the move.

They had been spotted.

YN had just broken out of the market, into the plaza when the first shot rang out. Screams echoed behind her, forcing her to kick into another gear. She was practically sprinting.

More gunfire rang out—

“Fuck!” YN cursed, her body jerking and nearly losing balance as a slug went directly through her shoulder.

Her eyes searched frantically for a place to hide; Sprinting across an almost empty plaza was not the place to be when gunmen were firing shots.

Another slug cut its way through the air and lodged itself in her stomach, the bullet remaining in her body.

“Oh, shit!” YN hissed, keeping her head low as she sprinted across to the nearest alleyway.

The three men were close behind, following her mad, unorganized dash.

Another shot popped off, chipping the brick building beside her head. Nearly leaping out of her skin, she flinched and scrambled into the alley.

Pain radiated from her shoulder and gut, thrumming out in time with her heart pumping.

YN ran as far as she could before ducking between two large dumpsters. The stench was acrid, revolting, and she hoped she wouldn’t be stuck long.

The sound of booted feet slowed, echoing down the alley.

She scrunched up as tightly as she could. Scooping her hand around her bullet wound to prevent leaving much of a trail.

There wasn’t much she could do with her shoulder— just grit her teeth and bare the pain.

“Come out, come out, you little bitch.”

Aw hell, YN rolled her eyes, you let a guy get a shot in and he thinks he’s King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

They were still approaching, slower now, that they didn’t have a clear shot, but she doubted they would give up easily.

Think… just slow it down and think. She needed a distraction to escape— she needed to go higher. Out of reach if possible, because she would never be able to outrun them.

There was a fire escape above her, it would be a reach but she could make it.

She moved her hand away from the gushing wound at her side, grimacing at her stained hands. She had to move fast, or the blood loss would begin setting in and she’d be left at their mercy.

Steadying herself on the balls of her feet, she summoned power from her core, directing it to her hands. Preparing for her attack.

The feet stopped; They had felt the temperature rise.

YN leapt from her spot, flames bursting from her palms. Burning a bright hot white, flashing and blinding the trio.

They cried out, trying to block the light, stumbling away.

Thrusting her palms out, she shot fire at the center of the group. Two of the men managed to dodge. The third wasn’t so lucky.

Her flames caught him in a sweeping whirlwind. Effectively creating a wall of fire between them. He screeched— a sound she was unfortunately, very familiar with.

Taking quick advantage of their shock, and their blindness, she scurried away. Clamoring to the top of the nearest dumpster, she leapt up and caught the edge of the fire escape.

Ignoring the shouting behind her, she pulled herself up, her arms straining under the pressure. Grimacing through the searing pain in her shoulder.

The fire died down as she tucked herself into the corner of the building. The smell of burnt ozone lingered in the alley.

“Shit!” The man cried. He looked down to his friend, lying in a heap on the ground. His skin burned and warped; He almost lost his stomach. “Shit, go! We gotta go!”

“But the girl—“

YN pressed herself further against the brick, the cold steel biting into her bare arms. Pressing a hand over her mouth, she choked back sobs. Tears welled in her eyes, blinking them back did nothing to quell their strength.

Ragged breathes still escaped her nose.

“We found her now, we can find her again.” He growled. The injured man whimpered. “She’s not that good.”

“But the money Adrian is paying is.”

“Then you stay, I’m getting him to a hospital.”

There was a quiet grunt, quiet chatter and scuffle. YN didn’t move— didn’t dare to see where they were going. Or if they were leaving as they said.

“Fuck.” The man cursed. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing nervously. He bit his lip, sparing a last glance down the alleyway. “I’ll haunt your dreams, bitch! Sleep with an eye open.”

Yeah, right.

YN kept quiet, keeping herself pressed to the wall. She had been in the game too long to be unaware of traps. Of lies.

And though she was fairly certain that the three men were telling the truth, the one she injured had been burned quite extensively, she wasn’t absolutely certain of it.

Even so, she could wait long enough for them to get further away. She had all day.

A stinging pain erupted from her torso as more blood oozed from the wound.

Okay… maybe not all day.

“Fuckin’ Adrian.” She hissed, pressing a hand to her abdomen.

God, she hated that man. With every fiber of her being, she despised that man.

Sending three unqualified, amateur bounty hunters after her, what a dick move. Couldn’t even kill her himself. Wouldn’t even try anymore.

She wondered if he was beginning to regret her now. Regret training her, taking her in, using her.

She prayed she made him regret his entire existence.

“Oh…” YN stammered, her head spinning. Vertigo plaguing her senses.

Her hand slipped from the railing, losing her balance, and she fell backwards. Tumbling from the fire escape, she landed flat on her back, a low groan left her lips. The air knocked from her lungs— muscles aching.

Pressing her hand to the wound on her stomach again. Her breathing shortened, beginning to become panicked, shallow breaths.

Tears welled over, spilling down her cheeks. The pain overwhelming enough, adrenaline beginning to numb her body.

Her fingers stumbled to her jacket— to the inside pocket. A fresh wave of pain crippled her hands, her lungs, her nerves… it burned.

It burned.

Crying out in agony, she grit her teeth.

“Fuck, I’m gonna regret this.” She groaned, pressing two buttons at the same time, hoping one of them would be correct.

God, she hoped Hood would come through.

Or… someone… someone, whoever was on the other side of this pager.

“The ping is coming from here.” Tim said, frowning down at his phone screen. The blinking red dot over their exact location. He looked up, scanning the alleyway. “I don’t see him.”

Dick groaned, walking three steps ahead and searching every nook and cranny. Tim slowed to a stop, a wrinkle in his brow. His tech had never failed before.

“I swear, if he pinged us and ditched the locator I’ll kill him.” Dick growled. He kicked over a discarded cardboard box.

Tim looked up again. Out of the corner of his eye, a bright red light blinked against the brick. The tip of a black boot stuck out from beside a dumpster.

“Hey, Dick?” Tim called.

“Tim?”

“I think I found it.”

Dick shot up, quickly making his way to Tim before looking down the alley’s offshoot. He pushed Tim aside, running toward the boot.

When he got there, he didn’t see Jason. Only…

Grocery Store Girl.

Grocery Store Girl who had a new, healing scar across her face. And two gunshot wounds in her torso.

“That’s… not a six foot vigilante with an attitude problem.” Dick muttered. He stood blankly, staring down at her.

He had never seen this girl a day in his life, and then suddenly, he saw her everywhere.

Dick snapped out of his stupor when Tim slapped his calf, calling his name. It sounded as though it wasn’t the first time he had tried to get his attention.

“There’s blood.” Tim explained, pressing his hands to her shoulder. Another blossom of red stained her shirt at her abdomen. “She needs help. Call an ambulance.”

“Wait.” Dick interrupted. Tim’s wild, incredulous eyes swung to stare at him. “She has Jason’s locator. He gave it to her for a reason.”

The girl groaned softly, her hand twitching at her side. Blood had dried into the cracks of her fingers, gathered under her nails.

“What if she stole it?” Tim hissed. He scoffed in response.

“Jason’s stupid but he’s not that stupid or clumsy.” Dick reasoned, kneeling down to help staunch the bleed. She moaned louder when he pressed his hand to her stomach. “We’ve got to get her to the manor.”

Tim furrowed his brows, going through all the possibilities of the scenario.

There was a reason she had it. Even if Jason had never formally introduced them, she had to be a friendly.

Even if she wasn’t, they would have her captive to confirm a story from Jason himself. Then they could probably just scare her enough to avoid the police involvement for theft.

Still… something seemed strange about Dick insisting they take her to the Manor.

“What if she’s a trap?” He argued. His argument’s final leg was unsteady, if even an argument at all.

Dick nudged him out of the way, taking over both wounds.

“She’s bleeding out. Even if it is, we can’t risk it.” He nodded to Tim’s discarded phone. “Call Alfred, I’ll try and get this to slow.”

Tim pressed his lips together, finally, with another glance to the girl, he cursed. Standing, he snatched his phone, speed dialing Alfred. He tapped his foot impatiently, visually scanning for clues.

There was nothing even remotely helpful. It didn’t even look like a struggle had occurred in the area.

Nothing was out of the ordinary for an alleyway. Except, maybe the currently bleeding out girl on the ground.

YN’s eyes flicked open slowly, her eyelashes felt matted to her skin. Her throat felt dry— it was difficult to breathe.

Hovering above her, a vaguely familiar face floated into view. Electric blue eyes— the bluest she had ever seen— with a mop of black hair. Full lips and an… aquiline… nose…

Nightwing?

Her vision blurred and she groaned as Dick pressed his hand tighter.

“Hang in there, alright?” Dick murmured. She let out a low whine, her hands moving to hold his wrist loosely. “We’re gonna help.”

His skin was warm beneath her touch and for the first time, someone else was warmer than she was.

Her head lolled back and the surrounding world, and the face, faded almost immediately from her vision.

[slimeshade]

Alone

Rating: M

Category: Gen

Characters: Grimm and the Hollow Knight (shade)

Warnings: death (implied and on-screen)

- Prologue

The sounds of clawed feet gently stepping on fragile shells and splinters echoed distantly from the walls of the cavern. It would have been an unremarkable sound anywhere else, Grimm thought, almost lost among whatever ambient sounds surrounding it, all indicative of life in some way or another.

Here though, there was no life.

Any trace of it had been extinguished a long time ago.

He tried to make his steps light and careful, to avoid desecrating the place—this ghastly tomb for the cursed and discarded—by further damaging the brittle masks that littered the floor wherever he looked.

The little shadows seemed to have found peace, finally, albeit abruptly. His friend and summoner had appeared to achieve something similar.

He was, however, not looking for any of them.

(Or perhaps he was, if the state of his newest friend was deteriorated enough.

The decapitated husk left to rot near the entrance nudged him towards this possibility.)

Shell became stone under the illuminating fire on his hand and under his steps. The cavern narrowed sharply, thanks to the thick spiraling fossils of the enclosing walls and ceiling. The air felt cold and stale yet light, oddly empty of the presence that should have been suffocating from the moment he dared to enter its territory.

The tunnel gave way to a spacious area covered in large ancient shells, with only a path of polished cobblestones as a guide. Grand pillars stood ahead in his periphery, far enough into the confines of this cave that his light barely cast away the surrounding darkness, only reaching dusty, glassy surfaces in varying degrees of decay. Some of the columns had crumbled, the remains still erect in a mockery of what they once might have been.

Amongst them though, the closest of the buildings stood out to him. Not for its height – the faraway structures were all taller, if narrower and less impressive than this one – as much as for the carvings in its wall.

A spark of curiosity emerged from the blanket of gloom, and he raised the lit hand closer to the wall to let himself inspect these better, to satisfy the blooming feeling. Carefully etched figures with six broad wings, four pointy spikes serving as crowns, made themselves known the moment he did so, all almost as large as he was tall and hugging the wall in a pattern that could certainly envelop the entirety of the building with a silent scream of mine, mine, mine.

Of course they would be; these were the symbol of the Wyrm’s reign after all.

What purpose this particular building served escaped him at the moment. His curiosity didn't reach far enough to care about that particular detail.

Most notorious was the glinting of at his feet upon rounding the building. Glass shards, Grimm realized on a closer inspection, and steel pieces of what he supposed was once a large lamp of some sort.

He looked up the building and- ah…

More shattered glass and twisted metal shone at the top, the latter jutting out like broken ribs into the open. Whatever – or whoever, more like – destroyed the windows and light from the inside out must have done so with a great deal of power.

Tearing his sight from the ruined lighthouse, Grimm headed towards his destination: the short metallic platform at the end of the stone road, where beyond churned the great expanse of the black sea.

Or, where the great sea of darkness once stood. What remained now was a dry shoreline dipping down into a massive chasm, a gaping wound on the earth that nothing would be able to heal again anytime soon.

All gone, completely. This hole, and the chaos at the entrance, the lone signs of its existence. Of their existence.

No wonder…

Stepping delicately on the platform did little to stop the echoing taps of his claws against the cold hard surface, so deep was the emptiness here. But he knew he wasn’t the sole flicker of life because, peering down from the edge of the platform, he could sense the faint light that had guided him here into the end of the world.

Closing his hand, he snuffed his flame out. Grimm let himself plunge from the platform into the dark, cloak noisily unfurling into wings behind his back in order to control his descent. The lone light from his eyes reflected weakly on the faraway rocks until they receded too far and it was only himself, a flicker following the embers of his companion in a darkness as deep and complete as that which once flowed here.

It took a long moment before his feet finally found solid ground. Even with his slow landing on the soft soil, his tired shell protested the movement. The air was stale and thin at this depth, poorly attempting to fill in a space that could very well be infinite.

Not that he sought to prove or disprove this thought, anyway.

Rising his arm again, Grimm summoned a smaller flame from the palm of his hand. It remained undisturbed by the thinness of the air, brighter than any natural fire would be in these conditions.

(He was increasingly certain that any mortal unfortunate enough to fall down here would not survive for long.

His time was due too, but not yet. Not yet, when he had one last visit to make.)

His light revealed that he’d landed on a jutting formation, a moderately sized outcropping on the side of a cliff, surrounded with darkness.

Except that, Grimm noted, not all of the black was deep; there, far into a corner, was a pool of black deeper than the gloom staining the ground. It would have perfectly blended into the floor without his fire to reveal it. He approached the patch slowly, deliberately sinking his claws in the soil and shrinking the illuminating flame so his presence was known and not seen as a menace.

Not that he explicitly needed to do either; he’d noticed the blob shifting and swirling the moment his light reached it, and by the time he stopped to stand a small distance away, it had formed a head.

Well, more like a crude approximation of what one would call a head; unevenly shaped, with a single blank eye and nothing else.

(He was right to not get any illusions over the outcome of this visit.)

“Hello there,” Grimm greeted quietly. Because what else could he do, with it still alive enough to feel his presence?

It watched, still save for the stuttering swirls of pale light in its eye and the slow pooling of void seeping into the blackened ground. Then, in the barest of whispers, something that would have easily been obscured had he not been paying attention—

Y-you…

Even so, it caught him off guard. That the fallen knight was trying to communicate with him, however strange and dissonant that tone felt in his mind, was…

He dared not to call it more than simply something. Good or bad didn't matter at this moment.

“It’s alright.” He made a quiet shushing sound. As quiet as he could, anyway; every sound he made was obscenely loud in this absolute silence. “You don’t have to force yourself.” Not anymore, he almost said, but held his tongue at the last moment.

The knight simply regarded him, silent.

“It is becoming clearer that this land, now freed from its curse, will be able to flourish again,” he added instead, trying to… what was he aiming for here? “The past will be a memory for those who survived this catastrophe. Something they can perhaps remember and learn from.”

He saw the knight twitch at his words, a minor pulse of the thick slurry that made its form.

It…

Communicating was clearly an effort, each word distorted like an old memory, stilted and grating in a way he was sure it felt as much as he did. It… does not deserve… to be remembered.

It? Who-

Ah… right.

“Maybe,” he guessed with a nod. “But maybe it is this land that doesn’t deserve that. Regardless, it is a foolish endeavor to forget the past, instead of learning from it in order to avoid repeating future mistakes. Don’t you think so?”

Besides, I will remember you.

The knight kept silent again, and he suppressed a sigh. Of course it would. It had not descended here by sheer force of will alone only to be swayed by his useless words and little, poorly hidden hints.

“I suppose you’ve made up your mind, then.”

It did, was its halting response. You already… you know that.

He nodded. “Of course.”

He really did. He had helped along with its decision, but oh how he loathed that.

The cycle of life must continue its course, and if this is what it wanted… who was he to stop that? He, who was nourished on death. He, who was the razing blaze that ended and started a cycle both at once.

Will… That mix of voices again, almost familiar behind the veil that distorted it. Will she be alright?

Ah… even after everything, even now, it still cared deeply about her.

“She…”

Would the truth do anything of worth? The spiderling had become a frequent visitor since the knight was freed. It would very likely haunt her for years to come, but…

“She will recover, I believe,” he said in the end. “She has survived plenty; with the curse and her duty lifted, she might finally get a chance to settle down with the other survivors.”

That earned him the sight of its one patch of light almost collapsing on itself, folding, closing, the slow eddies on the rest of its void nearly stopping entirely in turn.

Had it-

No. The embers were there, faint. The knight was alive still, and this was…

It was strange in a way, to see the knight so… relaxed wasn’t an apt description. He would call this peaceful, as if a great weight had been just lifted from its shoulders. Perhaps lifted by him alone.

(His words did have an effect in the end, just not the one he’d initially hoped for.)

Had it known, that she cared just as much? Or that it was this exact caring what drove the knight away from her and from her lands?

Too late regardless, too late to change the line of events leading to this, too late to do anything more than continue his given role. Too late, too late, too late.

T-… Thank you…

The softest whisper it had given up to this point, a single low tone that didn’t grate like the rest, heavy with gratitude.

All he could do was respond with a nod.

The shine in the knight's eye vanished then, and slowly, like the last remnants of a lit candle, its head melted down and the resulting lump slid back into the rest of the voided mass of what was once a bug. The mass condensed, coiling on itself into a ball for a moment before that melted too, into a pool that spread and spread further still…

Until, finally, the void went completely still, right before it reached his feet.

A pause followed where he clenched his hand on the flame, snuffing it, as he quietly watched the surrounding darkness engulf the unmoving remains in a last silent respect.

Just as they'd agreed to.

Farewell, friend.

A flick of his wrist, and the embers erupted into flames. Upon landing on the void itself, they proceeded in slowly burning the substance down. The low crackling sounds of ethereal fire didn’t echo in this endless chasm. No smell came either, and Grimm felt the sinking teeth of betrayal from the utter lack of clues about what had once been part of a living being.

(A being that burned bright in the light of its own blinding despair, his cleansing fire a last late fleck of mercy.

Did that matter anymore? Did any of it?)

What remnants he could see, though, were the images not from his memories, dancing in the fire–

[riinzler]

/* not sure how they would meet, but I think one of these might be a good fit for our muses? Leaving these as your choice. (hope that's okay?) —@not-that-dillinger */

2.  STORM :  for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm.

13.  DAZE :  for one muse to wake somewhere and find the other hovering over them.

18.  DISASTER :  for both muses to work together to escape a fire, flood, or other disaster.

32.  TRAIL :  for one muse to notice the other has been following them.

DAZE :  for one muse to wake somewhere and find the other hovering over them.

Rinzler might have miscalculated. Badly.

He had rushed to the arcade aboard his lightjet as soon as he’d seen the Portal flare to life, intent on capturing the User who’d entered before they could slip away. He’d just missed them, and so had to resort to tracking the data left by their footsteps as they traveled deeper and deeper into the depths of the city. He didn’t know where they were heading, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. As long as he was able to intercept them before they reached the desired destination, wherever that might’ve been. He stalked silently after the trail, holding in the broken rumble from his processors as best as he could as he drew near his target. He had deviated from the path the User had left behind a few paces back, instead climbing to an overhead walkway and using the height advantage to finally, finally, set his sights on the User.

In retrospect, his haste to capture them had lead to his downfall, as he’d leaped without a second thought, tackling into the User from above and using the momentum to roughly take them to the ground, rolling end over end before he’d twisted, ending up on top as the User’s head slammed into the floor tiles, the rest of them falling still.

Rinzler sat back on his heels as he lifted the User’s head, checking along the back for any structural damages done, and was relieved to find none. No cracks or spilt voxels, but they still didn’t stir. Most programs would’ve already returned to their feet by then. With grumbled complaints, sure, but they’d have stood regardless. Where Users really built that weak? He leaned towards the User with the intent of simply tossing them in his lightjet and delivering them to the Luminary, but as he reached out to do so a half forgotten protocol in the oldest parts of his code stirred, partly blocked by patches and rewrites, telling him to wait for the User to reboot before transport. He wasn’t sure why he had the compulsion, let alone why he followed it, but he settled down to wait regardless, crouched next to the User with his one of his Discs in hand.