#completely taken off guard and overwhelmed immediately

[citrine-elephant]

leon kennedy, but he's having a really good night. for once in his life, things are peaceful. he's just had a nice get together/date with chris... and a few others of course. but the way those two couldn't shut up... couldn't stop kicking each other under the table...

leon's on his way back to his lonely place when he's caught completely off guard and pulled into an alley.

the one time he lets his guard down, and he finds himself swinging fists, and another swung into his head. he's not out for long, but by the time he registers that he's been, or being robbed, he's kicked in the stomach. the face. and they're gone.

one good night. can never have one good night, can he?

[ladyempty]

"Do you think you can just deny me? No, the answer is no"

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life.| ° | pairing: Yan!Maegor Targaryen, o cruel x Wife! Reader ° | !English is not my first language!|

You were certainly a cursed woman for arousing the almost immediate interest of the cruel king after his bloodthirsty ascension to the throne.

Maegor already had three wives at that time, two wives he liked and one he despised with increasing hatred.

But you were different, it was an overwhelming feeling that caught you off guard in the first contacts.

There was something fascinating to the king in his every little gesture and movement. Her so easily adorable personality and impeccable looks.

So this was love? This flame that burns without being seen? That feeling he despised when bards sang softly on banquettes and celebrations, and now it had taken over his body.

Already convinced of the strength of his feelings, the king did not delay in a proper court, he thought he had already made his obvious interest clear. The king's way of showing interest was something... Peculiar... Certainly constantly chasing you, ordering guards to follow you and always so fixedly analyzing your slightest movement, it wasn't the most gallant way.

In any case, the engagement was not long in consideration, with Maegor coldly threatening you father:

"I will have your hand beheaded or I will have your daughter's hand in marriage" His tone was as cold as the blade of his sword held firmly at his hip.

The wedding was only in Valerian traditions, the king's warm crimson blood mingling with his own and the taste of copper on his lips.

Maegor would never stoop to marrying in the faith of the seven. An action that only caused more chaos and anger from the religious.

The wedding night was certainly not a fairy tale. The king was focused on creating an heir and finally freely exploring his body. His touches were rough, strong and not at all gentle.

You better not consider moontea...

As a husband, Maegor is not the kindest. His displays of affection are not delicate and he does not demonstrate his love through words at all.

But compared to his treatment of other people, he is much softer on you.

He will still punish you if you disobey his numerous and strict rules.

Jealous and possessive are an understatement to describe feelings and behavior. You are His in every aspect of the word. Your body and soul belong to him and him alone. And not even his other wives have the right to take their You attention away from him. Your world should revolve around him the same way his world revolves around you.

Maegor is simply crazy about you, he loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else, even if it was in a distorted way, he doesn't want anyone to get close to you, touch you or even breathe and look in your direction. Anyone who approaches you will regret it bitterly when the blade of your sword pierces the person's neck without mercy.

He admired strength... But you couldn't get hurt, he liked your bravery, but there is no way he will allow you to get hurt. Never.

Maegor will not change your reason if you don't trust him. He will even think you are smart. For a while. After your patience runs out, he will simply demand your complete trust in him.

"I am your lord husband, who is more deserving of your trust than me?"

And things only got worse after Alys's deformed stillbirth...

Tyanna's whispers in her ear about infidelity and the child being nothing more than a bastard only served to increase her paranoia. The mere thought of you cheating on him was enough to make him simply lose his mind.

He imprisoned you in your private chambers, no one was allowed to enter unless authorized by the king. Guards guarded the door to his quarters.

Then, in an act of desperation, Maegor took three wives at once. But all three had deformed stillbirths just like Alys… Tyanna had lied and the king simply didn't know what else to do. He was desperate for the first time in his life.

But like a ray of light... Were you pregnant? For the first time in almost decades... Maegor smiled widely.

[ang3lc]

the voices were whispering about poly!141 romancing a burlesque dancer!reader, this was a lot fluffier than i intended it to be, but here are some thots...

﹥ simon first sees you at a performance he’s dragged to, fully expecting to be unimpressed.

﹥ the second you step on stage, he’s captivated—not just by how you move, but by the power and command you radiate.

﹥ he becomes a quiet regular at your shows, always sitting in the shadows, watching intently. no cheers or whistles, just the unwavering focus of a man completely in awe. no, that's not drool on his balaclava, what are you on about?

﹥ when he finally speaks to you backstage, it’s brief but genuine: “you were brilliant out there,” his presence lingers long after he’s gone.

﹥ simon shows his care in subtle ways, like walking you to your car or standing by when someone gets too pushy after a performance.

﹥ his intensity can be overwhelming, but his quiet reverence makes you feel seen like no one else ever has.

﹥ johnny is the loudest, most shameless fan in the crowd, whistling and cheering without a hint of restraint.

﹥ when you glance his way mid-performance, he gives you a cheeky wink that’s more charming than annoying.

﹥ after your first show, he’s waiting backstage with an absurdly large bouquet of flowers and a grin that could light up a room.

﹥ he shows up to every performance after that, leaving little notes and even bringing snacks to win over your crew just to have an excuse to be around.

﹥ when you’re stressed, johnny knows exactly how to pull you out of your funk, whether it’s cracking the worst jokes you have ever heard or reminding you why you’re amazing.

﹥ his energy is infectious, and while he’s a goof most of the time, his loyalty and admiration for you run deep.

﹥ kyle notices you for your confidence onstage, but it’s the person you are offstage that truly hooks him.

﹥ his first interaction with you is understated—a warm smile and a thoughtful question about your routine that catches you off guard with its sincerity.

﹥ he doesn’t overwhelm you with attention but instead takes the time to understand your world, asking about your inspirations and the work behind each performance.

﹥ kyle’s gestures are small but meaningful: bringing you tea (or coffee, if you prefer. either way, it's just right.) during long rehearsals, sharing playlists he made just for you, or songs he think you should dance to (in private, though it's too soon to admit he wants that)

﹥ he’s the steady presence in your life, always knowing when to step in and when to give you space.

﹥ watching your shows, his pride is quiet but palpable, his gaze full of admiration that makes your heart race. when he sees you nail a move you were struggling with at rehearsals, he knows to reward you later.

﹥ john isn’t the type to fall easily, but something about you draws him in—your grace, your confidence, your unapologetic authenticity.

﹥ he doesn’t approach you immediately, choosing instead to observe, waiting for the right moment to move on you.

﹥ when he finally does, his words are simple yet deliberate: “you’ve got a way of commanding a room.” there’s a weight to them that makes you realize he sees you.

﹥ john is the one who steps in when things get chaotic, offering calm solutions and unwavering support. a strong hand to guide you.

﹥ he’s protective without being overbearing, ensuring you’re taken care of without trying to control your life.

﹥ his affection reveals itself in quiet moments—holding your hand late at night, his voice low and rough against your ear as he confesses how much you mean to him.

﹥ together, the four of them create a healthy mix of support and chaos that makes your world feel complete.

﹥ simon ensures you always have a safe place to land, offering strength and stability.

﹥ johnny is the light that chases away any shadows, making you laugh even when you think you can’t.

﹥ kyle notices the little things, ensuring you’re always cared for in ways that matter most.

﹥ john is the anchor, grounding you with his steady presence and unwavering reliability.

﹥ they tease each other constantly—johnny and kyle competing to cheer the loudest at your shows while simon mutters about “bloody fools” in the corner, john's too lost in the way your hips move to care about any of their rambling.

when the spotlight fades and it’s just the five of you, you feel surrounded by a warmth that makes you realize you’ve found your permanent home—in their arms, in their hearts.

mlist | @honestlymassivetrash

[chelseaknoo]

Hiii I love ur ficsss

Can u do a 2000 Eminem x latina/singer ???

2000s Eminem x Latina singer! Reader

Note:I wanted to make this fic like the other fic that I made.

You’re in your twenties, with a few years of experience already under your belt in the music industry. It’s been a whirlwind ride of late nights in the studio, long days on tour, and the thrill of live performances that leave you breathless. Tonight, you’re preparing for another show, meticulously applying your makeup in front of a mirror. The familiar buzz of a nearby radio fills the dressing room with a mix of chart-topping hits and hip-hop beats. It’s just background noise—until a new track begins to play

She's got curves in all the right places, and a smile that can light up the night,

I'd do anything to be with her, to hold her tight.

I dream about her every night, and think about her all day,

I'd give anything to be with her, to make her mine in every way.

Hearing it, you’re momentarily stunned—this is Eminem, known for his raw candor and biting verses, rarely this personal. Fans and media latch on, fueling speculation. For you, it’s a mix of flattery and curiosity, leaving you to wonder about the intent behind his words as they echo through your world.

You were performing at a festival, a massive event where music fans gathered from all over, creating a charged atmosphere that crackled with energy. It was one of the biggest performances of your career so far, and you’d just finished checking your setlist when word came through the grapevine: Eminem was also performing. The realization sent a thrill down your spine. After his recent track where he’d dropped your name with lyrics that had set the rumor mill ablaze, you knew there was a chance you might cross paths.

During Eminem’s performance, the energy was palpable. The crowd was on fire, hanging onto every lyric he delivered with his signature intensity and precision. Midway through his set, the beat shifted, and you recognized the opening notes immediately—it was the song he’d written about you. The realization sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but feel both flattered and completely taken off guard.

As the track played, the massive screen behind him lit up with visuals. To your surprise, a snippet from one of your own music videos appeared. It was you—dancing, singing, completely in your element. The image faded in and out, perfectly synced to the lyrics he was delivering. The crowd erupted, clearly catching the connection and loving every second of it.

You felt your heart race as you stood there, unable to take your eyes off the screen or him. The mix of admiration and boldness in his performance was undeniable—he’d just laid it all out there, right in front of thousands of fans. You pressed your fingertips to your lips, feeling the heat in your face as you blushed deeply. It was surreal, having someone like Eminem make such a public declaration, and for a moment, you were overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment, pride, and something far more personal.

As you made your way backstage, the crowd’s cheers outside provided a distant, rhythmic roar. The corridors were a chaotic mix of performers, stagehands, and crew members hurrying by. Just as you reached a quieter corner, you saw him—Eminem, unmistakable in his hoodie and baseball cap, talking with his team. For a second, your heart stopped. The man behind the lyrics was just a few feet away.

He caught sight of you, paused, and then walked over, his eyes holding a glimmer of curiosity mixed with that familiar intensity. You met him halfway, every step feeling like a blend of surreal anticipation and adrenaline.

You’re in your twenties, a seasoned performer in the music industry, and tonight, you're at one of the biggest festivals of the year. The air buzzes with excitement, the ground vibrating beneath your feet as crowds scream for the next artist to take the stage. You can hear the faint pulse of the music outside as you finish your makeup in front of a backstage mirror, perfecting the final details of your look. The lights reflect off your eyes, capturing the adrenaline coursing through you.

But the excitement of the night isn't just about the performance. Earlier today, a new track dropped on the radio, and to your surprise, it featured none other than Eminem—mentioning you in his lyrics. His words have been replaying in your mind, each line burning themselves deeper with every replay:

*“She's got curves in all the right places, and a smile that can light up the night,

I'd do anything to be with her, to hold her tight.

I dream about her every night, and think about her all day,

I'd give anything to be with her, to make her mine in every way.”*

Hearing those lines for the first time left you stunned, a rush of disbelief mixed with flattery. Eminem, one of the most respected names in the game, had woven you into his story with words that were both bold and unmistakably personal.

Before long, you’re backstage at the festival, preparing to take the stage. The crew members buzz around, checking equipment and making sure everything runs smoothly. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts, and you can sense him even before you see him—Eminem is here. He walks in with a confident stride, his presence magnetic and undeniable, his signature hoodie and serious expression unmistakable.

He spots you, and for a brief moment, his gaze softens, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. He approaches, and the noise around you seems to fade away.

"Hey," he says, his voice low but carrying over the hum of the backstage commotion. "I guess you heard the track."

You smile, trying to play it cool despite your racing heart. "Kinda hard to miss when you’re broadcasting my personal life to the world, don’t you think?"

He chuckles, a genuine sound that catches you off guard. "Guilty as charged," he admits. "I meant every word, though."

There’s a beat of silence between you two, heavy with a mix of tension and curiosity. You search his eyes, trying to read the man behind the verses that caught you off guard.

"So," you say, breaking the silence and tilting your head playfully, "was that your way of asking me out, or do you just enjoy making things complicated?"

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little of both. Keeps things interesting."

Before you can respond, a stagehand interrupts, letting you know it’s almost time for you to go on. Eminem steps back but not before leaning in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.

"Break a leg out there," he murmurs, his voice just for you. "I’ll be watching."

With that, he turns away, leaving you with a pounding heart and a renewed energy. As you make your way toward the stage, you can’t help but smile, knowing that tonight's performance—and whatever happens next—just got a whole lot more interesting.

With that, you stepped onto the stage, the festival’s energy washing over you like a wave. The world might have gone wild for his lyrics, but now you had a story unfolding that was just yours—and it was only beginning.

Eminem stood backstage, his eyes locked on you as you took command of the stage. He had seen countless performers before, but there was something different about you—something captivating. The way you moved, the fluid grace with which you danced, and the effortless confidence you exuded as you sang each note—it all seemed to pull him in, leaving him momentarily spellbound.

The lights cast a glow around you, accentuating every curve of your body as you swayed in rhythm with the music. Your energy was electric, and it radiated out to the audience, who moved and sang along with you, completely entranced. Eminem found himself leaning forward, his focus narrowing to just you. Every step you took, every flick of your wrist, every note you hit—it all carried a magnetic power that he couldn't tear himself away from.

He watched the way your eyes sparkled as you connected with the crowd, how your smile lit up your entire face, adding an extra layer of vibrancy to your performance. There was a raw authenticity in how you poured yourself into every lyric, and he couldn't help but admire it. To him, it was as if you weren’t just performing—you were telling a story, one that demanded to be heard and felt.

"She's good," he muttered to himself, barely noticing the words slipping out. But it was more than just skill. There was something intangible—a spark that made you shine brighter than the stage lights themselves.

When you spun around and your gaze briefly flickered toward backstage, catching sight of him, a knowing smile played on your lips. For a heartbeat, it felt like time slowed down. He felt a rush of something unfamiliar—equal parts admiration and intrigue.

As the final beats of your song echoed and the crowd erupted in cheers, Eminem couldn't help but smile, his awe evident. You took a bow, breathing heavily but radiating pride. And as you walked off the stage, he knew one thing for certain: you weren’t just another artist on the lineup. You were someone unforgettable.

As you stepped off the stage, the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears, you felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart was pounding, and your chest rose and fell with each deep breath as you tried to ground yourself after the electrifying performance. As you made your way backstage, wiping a sheen of sweat from your forehead, your gaze fell on Eminem.

He was standing off to the side, his eyes fixed intently on you. There was no mistaking the look in them—complete awe and genuine admiration. He seemed mesmerized, as if he was replaying every moment of your performance in his head. For a second, you locked eyes, the world around you fading away. The intensity of his stare made your pulse quicken, but you managed to keep your composure.

A playful, almost shy smile curved your lips. You held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the connection linger before breaking it with a soft laugh. Then, with a casual flick of your hair, you turned and began walking toward your dressing room, your team moving around you like a wave of support. You could feel the weight of his attention, even as you walked away.

Inside the dressing room, you exhaled, your reflection in the mirror still glowing from the thrill of the stage and the encounter. As you fixed your hair and adjusted your outfit, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes on you, the way it made you feel seen—not just as a performer, but as something more. It was a moment that would linger, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed.

As you touch up your makeup in the mirror, perfecting every detail, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The adrenaline from the performance still buzzes through your veins, and the roar of the crowd echoes in your ears. Just as you pick up your brush to fix a final smudge, the door behind you opens. You barely register it, assuming it’s someone from your team.

“Nice show out there.”

The unexpected sound of his voice makes you jump. Turning quickly, you find yourself face-to-face with Marshall—Eminem. There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes as he leans casually against the doorframe. You try to steady your breath, suppressing the thrill running through you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds with a smirk. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Mission accomplished,” you reply, recovering with a smile. “But thanks. Glad you caught it.”

He walks over, closing the door behind him. The air between you grows charged. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that you can see the flecks of gray in his eyes.

“You’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger out there,” he says, his voice low. “Kinda impressive.”

“Is that a compliment?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Coming from you, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah? You should.” He steps even closer, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on top of the desk. You barely have time to catch your breath as he moves between your legs, his presence overwhelming, his gaze intense.

“You always surprise me,” you murmur, feeling your pulse quicken.

“Good,” he replies, his lips curving into a slow smile. “I plan to keep it that way.” He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “But you know,” he adds softly, “seeing you like this, up close? Way better than any stage.”

Before you can respond, his lips find yours. The kiss is firm and confident, with just a hint of the hunger simmering beneath the surface. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the connection, losing yourself in the moment. Time seems to slow, the world outside the door fading away until it’s just the two of you.

When he pulls back, there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that,” he admits, his voice husky.

“Were those lyrics just an elaborate setup?” you tease, still catching your breath.

“Maybe,” he says with a grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You laugh, the sound light and easy, feeling the tension melt away. “I guess it did.”

His hands linger at your waist, fingers tracing idle patterns. “I’d say we make a pretty good duet.”

“Is that your way of saying you want more?” you challenge, feeling bold.

“Definitely,” he murmurs, leaning in again. “And I’m just getting started.”

As Marshall’s lips trail down your neck, a soft sigh escapes your lips. His hands rest firmly on your waist, pulling you closer as you run your fingers through his hair. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, and every touch, every breath, feels electric. The room seems to shrink around you, narrowing your focus to just him—until the door suddenly swings open.

“Yo, Marshall, you ready for—oh, hell no.”

You both freeze. Turning your heads simultaneously, you spot Proof standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised, a mix of shock and amusement playing across his face. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene—Marshall standing between your legs, hands still on your hips, your flushed faces. There’s a beat of silence, and then Proof bursts out laughing.

“Oh, this is rich,” Proof says, leaning against the doorframe and shaking his head. “Am I interrupting something? Nah, scratch that. I know I’m interrupting something.”

Marshall lets out a low groan, pulling back slightly but keeping his hands firmly on you. “Man, do you ever knock?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Marshall, you ready to go out and celebrate? The night’s still young."

Marshall doesn’t even look up at him, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer. He takes a slow breath, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Celebrate, huh? Nah, I think I’ll pass on that. I’ve got better plans tonight.”

Proof raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Marshall’s lips curve into a flirtatious smile as he moves even closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "I’d rather spend the night with her, if you don’t mind." His eyes lock onto yours, a heat building between you both as his gaze lingers, making it clear he’s not just talking about any casual hangout.

You feel your heart skip a beat as Marshall leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. "She’s the one I’m celebrating with tonight," he adds, his tone rich with intent, sending a shiver down your spine.

Proof chuckles, looking between the two of you, clearly understanding what’s going on. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t keep me waiting too long." He smirks, walking toward the door. “But you owe me a drink later, man.”

Marshall barely acknowledges him, his attention fixed on you. As Proof exits, Marshall turns back, that same smirk never leaving his face. “Now, where were we?” he says, his tone both playful and hungry, eyes never leaving yours. <3

[blackenedsnow]

HII!! CAN YOU WRITE A HANZO SHIMADA X A SUPER ENERGETIC READER?

The reader the complete opposite of him. But he still really cares and even comes to love them? Even though at first he found them pretty annoying?

a storm in stillness

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Hanzo Shimada x Reader

NOTE: He is so dear to me.

SUMMARY: Though Hanzo initially finds your boundless enthusiasm grating, he begins to appreciate the warmth and light you bring into his life. Slowly, he realizes that beneath all the noise, there is something precious growing between you both.

Hanzo Shimada was a man of precision and discipline, each movement calculated, each breath intentional. His life had always been about control—of himself, his environment, and his emotions. There was no place in his world for chaos or unpredictability. So when you came crashing into his life like a whirlwind of energy, he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He first met you through Genji. His brother had always surrounded himself with people who were as vibrant and full of life as he was, so when Genji introduced you, Hanzo wasn’t particularly surprised at your loud, cheerful nature. What did surprise him was how quickly you took to him, despite his clear discomfort with your enthusiasm.

"Hey, Hanzo!" you had said, bounding up to him with a wide smile and a wave. "I’ve heard so much about you! It’s so cool to finally meet you in person!"

Hanzo gave you a polite nod, his face expressionless. "Likewise," he muttered, though in truth, he wasn’t particularly thrilled about the prospect of getting to know you. Your energy was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and he found himself instinctively withdrawing.

But it didn’t seem to deter you. If anything, his stoicism only seemed to fuel your desire to break through his walls.

Every time you saw him, you greeted him with the same unrelenting enthusiasm. You asked him questions—so many questions—about his training, his bow, his time with Overwatch. You filled every moment with your bubbly chatter, never seeming to notice or care that Hanzo responded in short, clipped sentences.

"Hey, Hanzo, want to train with me? I bet I could totally learn some of your cool arrow tricks!"

"No, thank you."

"Oh! Okay! Maybe next time!"

At first, he found it annoying—your constant presence, your endless chatter, the way you never seemed to sit still. He couldn’t understand how someone could live with so much energy, so much… joy. It was foreign to him, like trying to make sense of a language he didn’t speak. But as time passed, something curious began to happen. He found himself growing used to you.

You were like a storm—unpredictable and wild—but storms had their purpose. They cleared the air, brought new life. And slowly, Hanzo realized that, though you disrupted his stillness, you also brought something into his life that he hadn’t even realized was missing: warmth.

It started with the little things.

One day, you brought him a cup of tea, having noticed that he always drank the same blend after training. "I figured you could use a break!" you said, handing it to him with a grin. Hanzo stared at you for a moment, surprised that you’d taken the time to notice something so small. He accepted the cup with a quiet "Thank you."

Another day, after a particularly grueling mission, you sat with him in the common area, rattling on about something he wasn’t really listening to. But then you asked, “You doing okay, Hanzo? I know that last mission was kinda rough…”

There was no humor in your voice this time, no playful teasing. Just genuine concern. Hanzo hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in your eyes. He wasn’t used to people checking in on him like that—at least, not people outside of his immediate circle. But you had been relentless in your care, showing up every day without fail, and now… it didn’t feel like an intrusion anymore.

“I am fine,” he said quietly, but this time, he met your gaze, offering a small nod of gratitude. “Thank you for asking.”

That was the turning point.

From that moment on, Hanzo found himself looking forward to your company in ways he never would have admitted out loud. Though he would never match your level of energy or enthusiasm, he began to appreciate how your presence lightened the air around him. Where once there had been silence, there was now laughter. Where once there had been tension, there was ease.

You’d pull him into conversations with the others, dragging him into games or casual sparring matches, laughing when he inevitably bested you in a fight. “You’re too good at this!” you’d exclaim, your eyes sparkling with admiration. “I’m gonna figure out how to beat you one of these days, just watch!”

Hanzo would allow a rare smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “I look forward to it,” he’d reply, and though his tone was dry, there was no mistaking the fondness that had crept into his voice.

Still, there were times when your energy clashed with his desire for solitude. When those moments came, you were surprisingly understanding. You’d notice when he grew quiet, when his responses became shorter, and you’d dial back your exuberance without him even needing to say a word.

"Hey, if you need some space, that’s cool," you’d say casually, giving him a thumbs-up. "I’ll catch you later, yeah?"

And though Hanzo would nod in agreement, he often found that he didn’t want you to leave. It was odd—unnerving, even—how much he had come to rely on your presence. You balanced him in a way he hadn’t expected. Where he was rigid and controlled, you were fluid and spontaneous. Where he brooded, you brightened. You were, in every way, his opposite. And yet…

He cared for you. More than that—he was beginning to fall for you.

It was a slow realization, one that crept up on him over time. He noticed it in the way his eyes sought you out in a room, how his chest would feel lighter when you appeared with your usual grin. He noticed it in the way he’d find himself unconsciously mirroring your smile, despite his best efforts to remain stoic.

The day he realized it fully, he had been watching you train. You were as focused as ever, practicing some new technique with a determination that, frankly, surprised him. You wiped sweat from your brow, laughing at your own mistakes, and the sound was so genuine, so full of life, that it sent a pang of warmth through Hanzo’s chest.

Without thinking, he approached you.

"You’ve improved," he said, his voice low but sincere.

You looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Really? You think so?"

Hanzo nodded. "You are dedicated. It shows."

Your smile grew, but there was something different in it now—a softness, a quietness that hadn’t been there before. You stepped closer, your usual energy tempered by something more vulnerable, more tender.

"Thanks, Hanzo," you said, your voice quieter than usual. "I know I can be… a lot sometimes. But I’m glad you put up with me."

Hanzo looked at you for a long moment, taking in the way your usual brightness had softened into something more intimate. He didn’t often speak about his feelings, but in this moment, he felt compelled to let you know the truth.

"You are not a burden," he said quietly. "I care for you. More than I realized."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for the first time, you seemed at a loss for words. But then, slowly, your smile returned—this time, softer, warmer.

"I care about you too, Hanzo," you said, and though your voice was quiet, the sincerity in it was undeniable.

In that moment, Hanzo realized that the storm you had brought into his life wasn’t something to fear. It was something to cherish.

[wantsobadminsung]

Warm Night. 🥰 ☔ ✨

I stepped out of the taxi, pulling my jacket tightly around me as the rain poured down heavily. Minho and Jisung's apartment was just a few steps away, but this unexpected summer storm caught me off guard. I hurriedly made my way to their building, cursing my luck for not bringing an umbrella.

As I stepped into the apartment building, I shook off the drenched raindrops from my hair and clothes. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the teasing I knew would follow when I reached their apartment. Being the clumsy one among us, I often found myself in silly situations like this.

Finally, I reached their door and gave it a quick knock. The sound of laughter and chatter from inside grew louder, filling me with warmth and excitement. They had invited me over for a cozy evening together, and I couldn't wait to see them both.

Jisung swung open the door, his radiant smile immediately melting away any frustration from the rain. Minho stood just behind him, his gentle eyes widening with surprise at the sight of me standing there, drenched and dripping.

"YN!" Jisung exclaimed, his voice filled with concern. "What happened? You're completely soaked!"

I laughed and stepped inside their cozy and familiar apartment. "Looks like I had a little run-in with a stupid man in a car who failed to see a pedestrian like me," I explained, rolling my eyes playfully. "But don't worry, I'm alright. Just a bit wet."

Minho rushed to get me a towel and handed it to me, his touch so gentle as he brushed it against my arm. "You should have called us, YN," he said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "We would have come to pick you up."

I smiled gratefully, feeling warmth spread through my body as Jisung wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. "We'll make sure you're taken care of," he whispered, his breath hitting my wet hair.

As Minho disappeared momentarily to fetch me something dry to change into, Jisung pressed a sweet kiss against my temple. "You're beautiful, rain or shine," he whispered, his words filling my heart with joy.

When Minho returned with a cozy set of dry clothes, he helped me change with utmost care, making sure I felt comfortable and cared for every step of the way. My heart swelled with gratitude for these two amazing individuals who were always there for me, no matter what.

With the three of us cuddled on the couch later that evening, the rain still tapping gently on the windowpane, we shared stories, laughter, and exchanged tender kisses of affection. In that moment, as the warmth of their love surrounded me, I couldn't have asked for anything more.

As we kissed each other, our emotions intertwined, it was clear that this apartment was more than just a place to live. It was a sanctuary, a shelter from the world's storms, and a constant reminder of the love we shared.

In their loving embrace, I knew I had found my safe haven, where the rain could pour outside, but inside, my heart remained dry and warm, surrounded by the love and beauty of Minho and Jisung.

As the night continued, our laughter echoed through the apartment, creating a symphony of joy. We shared childhood memories, funny anecdotes, and dreams for the future. Each word we spoke was filled with love and admiration for one another.

Minho, with his mesmerizing eyes, leaned in and whispered, "You bring sunshine into our lives, YN. Even on the rainiest days, you brighten our world with your presence." His words melted my heart, and I couldn't help but blush under his loving gaze.

Jisung, always the playful one, nuzzled my cheek and planted a kiss on my lips. "You're our rainbow, YN," he said, his voice soft with adoration. "You bring colors and happiness into our lives. We can't imagine a world without you."

Tears welled up in my eyes as their sweet words enveloped me, washing away any insecurities or doubts I had about myself. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of love and belonging.

Together, we shared a trio of kisses, sealing our bond and reaffirming our love for one another. It was a physical manifestation of the deep connection we shared, a promise to always be there for each other through rain or shine.

The room filled with a sense of unity as our lips gently met, and it felt like the world outside vanished. There was only the tender touch of Minho and Jisung, their love wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

We spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other's arms, cherishing the beautiful bond we had formed. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside our little sanctuary, it was nothing but pure love and happiness.

I felt blessed to have found Minho and Jisung, two extraordinary souls who had opened their hearts to me unconditionally. Together, the three of us created a love that was rare and precious, a love that celebrated individuality and defied societal norms.

As the dawn gradually crept in, we fell into a peaceful slumber, our bodies intertwined and our hearts connected. And as the new day broke, we knew that whatever challenges or storms may come our way, we would face them together, drenched in the love that bound us.

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter eleven | chapter ten | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n:  Another fun chapter to write lol. Also, I really don't know anything about horses (or riding horses) and tried to do research to the best of my ability, so if anything is inaccurate, I apologize!

word count: 5829

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Twelve

The moment your brain processes what came out of James’ mouth, Joel is back, you start shoveling everything back into your backpack: your journal, the book you bought with you, the water canteen, everything that found its way out of your bag. As you’re frantically wrapping up what’s left of your sandwich, it slips out of the paper wrapping and falls to the ground; the top piece of bread tumbles a few feet away from the rest and the one thinly sliced tomato is now covered in dirt and small rocks. At this moment, you couldn’t care less, not even giving it a second thought and leaving it there for the birds and animals to have at it. As soon as you have everything in order, you’re flying down the rugged path, your legs moving faster than you thought possible. Strands of hair keep finding their way in your mouth and you have put your arms out in front of you to shield your face from the overgrown bushes and trees. On a handful of occasions, you nearly slip on the loose gravel, sending a shock of adrenaline shooting through your veins.

When you get to the barn, Lucky seems to be overwhelmed by your erratic behavior, she softly neighs in suspicion, carefully watching you as you frantically untie her reins from the rotting wood post. The worn leather fumbles under your thumbs, causing you to become slightly frustrated at how slow it was taking. As soon as you mount her, she breaks out into full speed, taking you back toward the main gates without any sort of direction coming from you. The wind is cold on your face, you can feel the tip of your nose become raw due to wind burn. A small group of four guards are very slowly making their way back to the community, presumably coming back from the dam. Lucky rushes past, causing them to turn their heads at you. Where’d she come from, you hear one of them say.

Lucky is still at a sprint as she comes up to the gates. The moment your weight shifts onto one stirrup as you begin to demount her, she hastily slows down, letting you drop to the ground without falling. You’re holding onto her reins tightly, you can feel the palm of your hand begin to perspiration as you scan the entrance with tunnel vision, completely ignoring the guards approaching you.

“Can you…” You don’t finish your sentence as you hand her off to one of the guards, looking past them into the community. Oh, I guess, okay… you hear them mumble under their breath, their tone sounding seemingly confused, but not entirely put off by your request. Wiping your palms on the bottom of your thin thermal long sleeve, you continue searching for Joel. An intense feeling of anticipation and worry rises in your chest, almost catching you off guard. Would they have taken him to the infirmary? The thought suddenly occurs to you. Whoever called it in said there was one survivor, not specifying what physical state they were in. You come to a dead stop, spinning slowly around in a circle, your eyes shifting from one side to the other as you turn. Joel is nowhere in sight. 

In the corner of your eye, you see the door to the guard trailer swing open. Nora is slowly walking out with her head down, distracted by her clipboard; she's scribbling something onto the piece of paper, her face is screwed tight as she concentrates. She definitely knows where he’s at, you think, immediately sending your body into action, charging toward her as she turns her back toward you. 

“Joel’s back?” You grab Nora by her shoulder as soon as you’re within an arm’s reach, pressing your fingertips firmly into her. She swiftly turns around on one heel looking you up and down with an insulted expression and holding her clipboard in front of her as if it were a shield. Nora doesn’t say anything initially, just glaring at you in return. “ Where is he? ”

“Who said he–” She looks around her, keeping her eyes narrowed and her voice hushed, seemingly not wanting anyone to overhear. Of course they would want to keep this on the downlow , you think. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Nora,” You cut her off, not attempting to keep the volume of your voice down. You’re in no the mood to play anyone’s childish games today. “I heard James on the radio.”

Her chest expands outward as she deeply sucks in some air through her teeth, her eyes shifting upward in annoyance.

“You’re not supposed to be on that channel,” She monotonously responds, hardening her expression. Her fingertips turn white under her first grasp on the clipboard. You give her a challenging look, not giving up on your mission to find Joel. She eventually gives up, rolling her eyes and pointing in the direction of the trailer. “ Whatever… he’s in there. By the way, James knows you–”

You promptly push past her, nearly sending her to the ground. Hey, what the fuck, you can hear her call after you with hostility in her words, but in the moment you don’t care. You just want to see Joel and have the reassurance that he’s okay.

The door isn’t completely latched when you reach for the pull handle, allowing you to enter the trailer unnoticed; the door lets out a quiet, barely audible squeak as you ease it back closed with one of your hands. Joel is standing at the edge of one of the countertops in the back half of the trailer, leaning his hip against the edge. The trailer had been completely stripped bare and remodeled by Tommy into a command center for the higher up guards once Jackson became more of an established community. Beside the cabinetry, there were a few narrow tables and cushioned benches lining the wall up. 

Joel is distracted, completely occupied by something, probably a map of some sort, on the counter. From this angle you can see that he’s slowly dragging his finger along it. For a short moment, you take advantage of him not knowing you're there; staring at him, unable to breathe. It’d be really fucked up if I woke up right now, you think. The way this happened– it feels just like one of your many dreams you had about his return.

“You’re back,” You finally bring yourself to say something, your voice coming as a surprise even to yourself. Joel’s head shoots in the direction of your voice, his eyes undeniably full of remorse and almost a hint of relief the second he sees it’s you. 

He abandons what he had been looking at, turning around to face you completely; leaning back, he places his palms flat down on the counter, curling his fingers around the edge. You notice his swollen, freshly bruised knuckles turn white, blood pooling in his fingertips. Once the initial realization dissipates, he straightens himself up and brings his hands in front of him, adjusting his cracked watch. Your eyes move downward, now taking notice of the crimson blood mixed with dirt on the top of them, expanding up his arms. Whatever happened out there must’ve been bad, but he seems okay; upright, breathing, you think, a sense of relief overtaking your worry. 

“I had some… loose ends I needed to tie up,” He responds softly, almost too carefully. You dart your eyes back up to his face, the gash above his eyebrow now stands out, along with a busted lip. He’s very obviously avoiding any eye contact with you. His lips are slightly parted, making it evident he doesn’t know what else to say.

In response, you slightly nod at his bullshit answer, pursing your lips and raising your eyebrows at him. You let some air inaudibly escape past your lips, dragging your finger along the surface of one of the tables. His muscles tense up as you walk closer to him, though he remains still. You stop when there's only a few feet separating the two of you, looking up at him with wide eyes. His throat bobs as he finally brings himself to match your gaze.

“For a year?” Your words come out as a painful croak, your throat starting to itch and burn. “It took you a year to wrap things up? What does that even mean?” 

He brings his hand up to your collar, fixing it back into its proper position; running the tattered edge between his fingers before letting his hand drop to his side, bringing his dark, heavy eyes back up to meet yours. Joel looks a lot more worn down since you last saw him, it would be alarming under any other circumstance. His worry lines have become deeper, his eyes hold a deeper sense of sadness and dissatisfaction; you didn’t think that was even possible. Your emotions quickly take over your rational thought, and you don’t think before you speak.

“You didn’t even say goodbye… to Tommy, or… to—“ You press further, wanting answers from him, but not knowing where to even begin. He redirects his eyes to the floor, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth and lightly gnawing on it. You continue to carefully watch him, attentive enough to catch any change in his microexpressions. You’ve learned, at least with him, those are more telling than words would ever convey. Joel clears his throat, his shoulders raised in discomfort. 

Taking another small step closer, you bring your hand up to his chin, turning his face so you can see the deep cut just above his eyebrow a bit better; semi-dried blood clings to his eyelid and his cheek. Joel’s jaw tenses up the longer you look, shifting his weight underneath him. He gently grabs your wrist, that familiar roughness of his palm rubbing against your skin. 

“You do patrol now?” He changes the subject, slowly pulling your hand away from his face. Joel takes a few steps to the side to create more distance between you and him.

“Yeah, after you left, I too-” You start to say, but the sound of the door aggressively banging up against the metal exterior of the trails makes you stop mid sentence and look over your shoulder. James enters the trailer. He has a tight grip on his gun which is slung over his shoulder and his hair is messily tousled. Of fucking course, the thought pops into your mind the moment see it’s him . You quickly roll your eyes, turning your body completely to face him. Tommy shortly follows behind him, the door snapping shut. 

“Yeah, I showed her how to do things properly ,” James interrupts, his eyes narrowing in Joel’s direction. You can see the muscles in his jaw tense up. 

You turn your head toward Joel, who does the same, and you give him a shy smile. Joel lets outs a small awkward laugh, slowly nodding his low hanging head; only lifting it when Tommy clears his throat.

“ Joel, ” Tommy says tightlipped, approaching Joel. You take a few steps back, pushing yourself up against the side to make room. “You know the drill by now, gotta go see Maria ‘n talk.” 

“No welcome train for me this time?” Joel says darkly. Tommy doesn’t react, still staring at Joel stone faced.

“You comin’ too?” Tommy half turns and directs towards James.

“I’ll catch up in a minute,” He responds, his voice is uptight sounding, tension is thick in the tone. Fuck, you close your eyes, not wanting to deal with James right now.

Joel stiffly reaches across from you, grabbing his backpack which was sitting on the bench next to you; your eyes linger on each other as his arm brushes up against yours. The hair on your arm raises at the close proximity, you don’t want him to leave– not now. You try to control your breathing, knowing James is carefully watching you. Ever since the two of you have gotten closer , Joel has become an especially sore subject. Even the mention of his name in passing conversation can turn his mood sour in an instant. You know that deep down he knows what Joel means to you. You’ve never talked to him about it directly, but you’re sure the way you reacted when he left made it very apparent. With James being the only one there for you during that period of time, there’s no way he doesn’t have a tiny bit of an inkling.

The door to the trailer snaps shut once again, the latch still doesn’t latch, leaving a thin streak of sunlight beaming across the floor and walls. You can hear some of the guards talking outside, although not clear enough to hear what they’re saying. James backpedals, pulling on the handle more forcibly so it fully closes– the loud slam causes you to shudder– he then slowly walks over to you, his posture becoming more relaxed now that it’s just the two of you. An anxiousness unmistakably radiates off of him; his face is long, excessive worry exudes from his eyes. James takes a seat on one of the cushioned benches underneath one of the windows right next to where you’re standing and leans back, spreading his legs. 

“Where have you been?” His voice is soft, yet bitter as he speaks, his hands now clasped together laying in his lap. He sounds like your father when you’d miss curfew. You begin to chew on the inner flesh of your cheek, your cheeks becoming warm. “You were late, again might I add , and you never called in…” 

Your eyes widen. Fuck, I forgot, the realization hitting you like a truck You really were on one today, first with the dam and now not calling in. This only works if you keep your end of things up and running, no mistakes or minor slip ups. You force yourself to swallow the excess saliva that has built up in your mouth.

“I do my job, I—“ You stumble on your words, though you know nothing will be good enough of an excuse as to why you didn’t call in– not for James. It’s one of the first rules they teach you in training, and probably the most important rule of being a guard and doing patrol; always communicate, always call in, over communicating is better than under communicating. You can vividly hear Maria’s voice in your head.

“Well apparently not today,” He snaps back, the aggressiveness behind his words make you flinch. It hurts coming from him, even though you know it’s a well deserved scolding. James already puts his neck out enough for you as it is. “You’re lucky with how things turned out–”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” You match his tone which upsets him more.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” James instantly spits back, you can see the muscles in his neck tense up and red coming to the surface in both his cheeks.

“Why are you so fucking uptight right now,” You become defensive, grasping at anything that might make him think he’s in the wrong here.

“Why?” He says in disbelief. A line appears between his eyebrows as he cocks his head to one side. The way he’s looking at you is as if it should be obvious. “Probably because I fucking care about you… when they called in what happened at the dam, all I could think about was you and how you were supposed to be there today, and how you didn’t call in to clear it yet. You could’ve been dead for all I know.” 

You lower your head, understanding his concern and anger. A deep feeling of guilt and embarrassment resonates deep inside of you. 

“Maybe it’s not a good idea for you to go out by yourself anymore,” He adds, his voice now sounding threatening. 

“What? No , James,” You immediately shoot back. “It slipped my mind…I promise it was just a one time mistake, I–”

“It’s not just because of that. What happened at the dam– you shouldn’t be out there with no one to help you if something like this happens again. Despite what many people in the community think, there’s still so many dangers outside of these walls,” He says and you know he’s right. “Maria’s concerned as well, questioning my judgment now… Did you see anything when you were there?” 

“No, everything looked fine, like it hadn’t been touched since last time I was there, at least. I don’t know about the others who checked it after that,” You sound defeated, looking around as you try to recollect the details of your sweep; your eyes wander, running along the papers, notes from guards, and the countless maps with various markings all tacked up to the wall. Your mind is blank.

“It’s just, uh–” His voice goes dry, his throat bobbing as he forces himself to swallow. “When we swept it, it looked like they might’ve been staying there for a little bit… Well, someone was, at least. Behind one of the control centers, there were food cans, wrappers, nothing too telling but—“ 

You cock your head to the side, narrowing your eyes. Was I really that absentminded? You think, your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall as your breathing becomes heavier and deeper. James takes notice of your panic, and sits up from his slouched position. You look down at him, a heavy feeling of culpability hangs around you as he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“Listen, I’m not saying you can’t do patrol anymore… I– we don’t have to talk about this right now,” He says reassuringly. Silence follows as you gather your thoughts.

“Maybe, now that Joel’s back… maybe he can…” You test the idea quietly, letting your voice trail off and you look at James, watching his expression change into annoyance. He shakes his head, reaching out and grabbing your arm. You squirm out of his touch, shying away from him without thinking, causing him to roll his eyes. He shoots up from his sitting position, his quick movement makes you take a few steps backward until you're pressed up against the counter. His nose twitches as his eyes ignite with irritation. 

“ Okay , wow,” He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now that he’s back, all of a sudden you don't want anything to do with me? I was gonna say I can start going out with you again now that we have more guards in command.” 

“What? No, it’s just–” You say, following with a short pause. “James, I missed something out on my watch– my watch– and it could’ve put the community at danger.”

“You sure it’s just that?” He cranks his head toward you, his eyes full of rage. “Not whatever Tommy and I just walked in on? You know people talk, Nora told me you came barreling in, looking for him. You know how many times the people at the radio tower told me you stopped by… askin’ if they heard anything from Joel?” 

“Oh, okay . You mean the same radio tower Aimee works at…who is notorious for stirring shit up just for the fun of it?” You lie straight through your teeth, slightly embarrassed he knows about that. James' expression quickly changes, melting under your anger. “And just to be clear, nothing was happening when you came in, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” 

“I– I–” He stutters, his posture becoming weak. “I didn’t mean it like that… I– just–”

“Drop it then,” You spit at him, he cowers, nodding his head in defeat. A feeling of guilt washes over you the moment the words come out of your mouth.

James shifts his position on the bench, now resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang; his hair covers his face not allowing you to see it. You let out a heavy sigh, slowly taking the few steps it takes to get over to him. He lifts his head up slightly, looking at you through his brows and thin strands of hair blocking his sad eyes. Hesitantly, you position yourself between his legs, forcing him to sit up straight. James lifts his hands, wrapping them around the back of our thighs ever so slightly. You don’t move, the feeling of his hands running down your thighs give you goosebumps. 

“ I’m sorry, ” You say softly, moving his hair out of his face. “I just feel horrible about–”

“No one's gonna blame you for what happened at the dam, I'll be sure of that, okay?” He cuts you off. “What were you supposed to do? You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so…” 

You slightly nod your head. What he doesn’t know is that I barely even remember sweeping the dam, you think, your breathing becoming heavy. You mindless fuck.

“I should probably go,” He changes the subject, standing up so the two of you are nearly chest to chest. “Are we meeting at Charles’ tonight, or should I drop by your house to get you?”

He brings his hand up to the back of your neck, smoothly rubbing the pad of his thumb along your skin, waiting for you to respond. You bite down on the inner part of your bottom lip. The thought of being anywhere but either alone or with Joel sounds unappealing.

“N–Nessa and I… we actually have plans for tonight,” You say slowly, lying right through your teeth. He’s staring down at you with innocent eyes, ones that are hard to look directly into. “We haven’t had a lot of one on one time, so…” 

You let your voice trail off, your nose twitching as you think about what you just said. His lips curl upward into a smile.

“Maybe I can stop by later then,” He laces one arm around you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving. “Just let me know.”

You give him a quick nod. As soon as he leaves, you plop down in the spot he had just been sitting in and begin to zone out. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you softly mutter, bringing your hands up to your face.

–

The light in the kitchen is emitting a soft, dim glow, occasionally flickering. A low buzz stands out against the silence, matching the fuzzy feeling in your head. You sit slouched at the kitchen table, resting your elbows on the table with your arms extended outward. The guilt you’re feeling is sitting heavy in your chest; the guilt from how relieved you were to see Joel’s face and to simply hear his voice again, the guilt from how repulsed you felt when James walked into the trailer, the feeling of annoyance that came over you when he interrupted you and Joel. Then on top of all that, you lied to him. You lied about how you felt about Joel, you lied about the radio tower, you lied about your plans for tonight. You could have said anything, but you settled with plans with Nessa, a lie that could so easily be unraveled. 

You bring the tips of your index and middle finger up to your temples, slowly rubbing them in circles. How shameful, you think. The light flickers again, your eyes darting up to the single bulb. You stare into it for a little too long, causing your eyes to start to burn. James is a good guy, you think to yourself. He’s good to you, he was there when no one else was. You should want James.

You should want him, but it’s so painfully obvious that you don’t. You never wanted him to begin with, at least not in that way. But the longer Joel was gone, the harder it was to delay certain things from happening. And it felt good to be wanted, it felt good for someone to want to take care of you. You knew that made you a shitty person. You knew that stringing James along, not making your intentions completely known, would eventually get you into trouble. It just wasn’t until now you realized how bad this situation is going to turn out, likely losing someone who you genuinely considered to be a friend. 

The worst part is, it doesn't even matter if Joel doesn’t want you in that way; with him being back, you wouldn’t even want to entertain the idea of anyone else but him. This past year you thought you came to terms with what you felt for him, you thought your feelings were under control. At first, a part of you was hoping it was just some fleeting crush. His darkness, the mystery that was so apparent, his changing emotions, the uncertainty of what side you were going to get of him, it all drew you in. The kindness he showed you, that caught you by surprise, the night you met Nessa’s friends, the way he looked at you and the complexity in his eyes; it had an unfaltering grasp on your mind, body, and soul. Your so-called control completely went away the second you set foot into that trailer.

You desperately want to escape your thoughts, ignore them for one more day. There’s a bottle of dark rum snuggly tucked in the corner where the unused fridge meets the countertop. Tommy brought it over one night after a particularly hard day emotionally, and you kept it here for whenever he needed to escape, always welcoming him with open arms. Typically, alcohol wouldn’t be your go to for escaping, but this was a last ditch effort. You just wanted your mind to be clear and according to Tommy, alcohol is a great way to achieve that. 

Pulling yourself up from the table, you lazily walk over to the base of the counter, kicking off your boots that still remained on since your patrol this morning. You grab the bottle by its neck, swirling it and watching the liquids dance around the glass confines. You let out a heavy sigh, looking at the label, before reaching into one of the overhead cabinets and grabbing a glass. 

The harshness of the alcohol sits heavy on your tongue, your face twisting up as the liquid caresses your mouth; it burns as you force it down, clearing your throat after the initial swallow. The first sip is always the hardest , you think, forcibly exhaling through your nose. You throw your head back, downing what’s left in the glass in one big sip and slam it down on the table. You cough and saliva quickly begins to pool in your mouth. You go again, filling your glass half full, downing it all in one go, nearly gagging yourself to death before taking in another half glass full. 

A triple knock at your door causes you to screw eyes shut, letting out a deep sigh. James, you think, contemplating if you should open the door with the state you’re currently in. It was a poor excuse to tell him that you and Nessa had plans, you didn’t weigh the consequences in your head before telling that lie, but it just came out of your mouth with no thought. The chances of them running into each other were high enough as it is, and knowing James, he most definitely asked about what the two of you had planned for the night

Knock, knock, knock. You can see the dark shadow of a figure out on your porch slightly shifting their weight under their feet.

“Just a second,” you call out. Fuck, you mutter under your breath as you bring your hands up to your face for a quick moment and spring up from your seat. The wooden legs scrap against the floor, the sound makes you cringe. A rush comes over your head at the sudden movement, and you black out for a few seconds, leaving you grabbing at the back of the chair to steady yourself until your splotchy vision returns.

Hey James, I’m sorry, I just needed to be alone for the night… no, no… maybe just tell him you thought… you thought Nessa and you had plans tonight, but actually, you got the days mixed up, yeah that’s perfect, you think. Your stomach churns as you quickly approach the door, trying to perfect the deliverance of yet another lie. You quickly flip on the porch light as you turn the doorknob. 

“ I’m sorry, I just rea–” You begin to talk before the door is fully ajar, stopping mid greeting when you look up.

Joel is standing on your welcome mat. His hair combed back, still damp from the shower, and his beard has been trimmed nicely. The gash just above his eyebrow is still prominent but it’s been cleaned, butterfly stitches holding it together. You run your eyes down his body, the top few buttons on his shirt have been left undone, his chest hair peeking out. You can feel your lips part ever so slightly as you marvel at the man before you.

“Hope I’m not intrudin’,” he says, his voice sounds smooth. You shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of your daze.

“Not at all,” You breathlessly respond, swinging the door wide open. Joel enters as you turn to head back into the kitchen, flicking on more of the interior lights. The hinges let out a loud creak as he closes the door.

“Nights are startin’ to get cold again,” he initiates the conversation. “Won’t be long before it starts snowin’.” 

You’re not in the mood for any sort of small talk, completely ignoring what he just said.

“What happened out there today?” You turn to face him, looking at him inquisitively. “I cleared the dam, and then—“ 

“I know,” He cut you off, lingering in the wide cased opening that separates the living room and kitchen. Confusion overcomes you, dropping your gaze and staring at the toe of Joel’s mud clad boots. “I saw you.”

“You what?” You couldn’t process what he just said, a line forms between your eyebrows as you draw them together.

“I saw you walkin’ out of the main building–” He’s now slowly coming toward you, shrugging his brown jacket off of his arms and draping it over one of the kitchen chairs. “Once you were finished.” 

“You knew it was me?” You say, the kitchen light flickering again. Joel darts his eyes up at it, before looking back at you. 

“I could pick you out from anywhere,” He says barely above a whisper, moving on as soon as the words leave his lips. “I was on my way to the community, but when I saw you, I stayed back a bit behind the treeline.” 

“You didn’t think of coming out and saying something to me?” You sound somewhat angry, your reaction very obviously throwing him off. 

“You had a gun, didn’t know if you would remember me,” He says in his own defense.

“Remember you?” You shout. “You think I would forget you, after… after…” 

You don’t finish, resorting to silence. Joel doesn’t dare to say anything either, just clearing his throat awkwardly in response.

“I thought…” Joel gestures to the bottle of the alcohol on the table as he pulls out a chair— his usual chair– and takes a seat.

“Things change,” You remain standing, leaning up against the kitchen counter with your arms crossed. “You want some?”

Joel responds with a single now, leaning back in the chair. You let your eyes linger on him for a few seconds before turning and opening a cabinet, retrieving a small, short glass. You set it down in front of him, clumsily leaning over him and grabbing the bottle of alcohol and your glass. You catch his eyes as you wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, your faces now only a few inches apart. Sorry, you mutter under your breath. His throat bobs as he gulps, darting his eyes off to the side. 

“There was a group of men, three of ‘em,” Joel says as you pull back, connecting the rims of the glass and the bottle, and you begin to pour his drink first. “They came in from behind me— that’s good— not long after you left.” 

“And you got all three?” You say somewhat sarcastically in disbelief, setting the bottle back down on the table a little harder than you meant to. He nods as he brings the glass up to his lips, his nose twitching at the strong aroma of the alcohol. “By yourself?”

“You don’t know me very well if you are questioning if I could do it by myself, darlin’, ” He almost instantly follows up to your skepticism, his lips slightly curling upward.

A small smile forms on your face, one that you try to hide by tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. His use of darlin’ makes your stomach lurch, the feeling immediately pulling you out of your pissy mood. Joel steadily watches you as you take the seat adjacent to him, very obviously pulling the chair a bit closer to him. 

“So, what’s got you drinkin’?” His voice sounds sincere.

“Oh—“ As you go to say some bullshit answer, a figure outside the window comes into view and you switch your focus from Joel to the person at the end of the pathway leading up to your house. The porch light barely expands out far enough for you to see who it is– James. In one hand he is holding a tupperware container, the other is tucked in the pocket of his dark blue hoodie. He flashes you a smile as you two make eye contact. You can feel your entire face drop. Joel quickly catches on to your shift in focus and turns slightly in his chair, looking over his shoulder out of the window. James’ smile quickly fades as Joel leans into his view. You avert your attention down to the wooden grain of the table, not watching to see his full reaction. You had this coming , you think. 

“Oh, should I go?” Joel begins to half stand up from his chair. 

“No,” You immediately shake your head, James is still staring at you through the window at a standstill. 

He must have seen you shake your head, seeing you mouth the word no to Joel, because he slowly backpedals, a look of anger plastered on his face, and turns around, heading away from your house. Joel takes his seat again, taking a smooth, long drag at the remaining liquid in his glass, slowly setting it down on the table. You and Joel exchange looks to one another, he flashes you a slight smile, disappearing just as fast as it appeared. With tongue in cheek, you squeeze your hands around the cool surface of your empty glass, becoming lost in thought. 

You’ve made your decision, not caring at what or who’s expense.

You choose Joel.

read chapter thirteen here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[hsrlorefreak]

i am. not normal for dan heng. (or dan feng, as i’ve realized)

but ichor of the two dragons. god????? honestly i had ignored a lot of the animations from hoyo before because i just wasn’t that invested.

but i could talk so much about this one animation.

dan feng

(because i say “he” a lot and uh. it is kind of hard to tell)

general story

the animation basically states that dan heng, after the xianzhou luofu trailblaze mission, he visits places of significance to dan feng.

the whole thing, i think, is meant to convey dan heng trying to accept the fact that he was dan feng once, but reaffirming that he is not him. he remembers, feels, maybe, but that was not his life.

maybe it’s trying to put his (negative, complicated) feelings towards his previous incarnation to rest. because he finally had to confront it after constantly running from it, from sins he doesn’t understand.

i think dan heng believes he has put his past behind him. that’s why he goes (other than no longer being exiled)

i find it really interesting that the sky doesn’t turn dark until he starts to walk away. that it comes from behind him, and dan heng doesn’t notice until it overwhelms his world entirely and he can’t run anymore.

then the water comes.

water, cloudhymm, a power that comes specifically the man he doesn’t clearly remember being, a person that was denied the chance to live his full life, a person of a ‘home’ dan heng never had the chance to see and they both were locked away from.

he is drowning in memories of a past he wanted to deny so badly.

dan feng’s (i’m going to have a whole second on him so his dialogue isn’t the point) entrance is from behind dan heng. a constant shadow on his present life, a dark that follows him even as he can be happy, maybe especially because of that (light creates shadows).

the fact that dan heng and dan feng (in any language i checked the credits) do not share the same voice actor despite the fact that blade and yingxing do and that people keep seeing them as the same person. i’m 90% sure that was done on purpose because voice actors are great and i’m sure anyone who voices dan heng could go regal and proper and voice dan feng as well, and yet they chose not to.

the petals that fall down are the mara petals that the soldiers have. the red petals on the statue i can maybe excuse as a drink thing? but out of any color, they chose the gold of those consumed by mara.

and when dan heng ‘sees’ (i don’t think this portrayal is accurate to how he was in life?) dan feng, his immediate reaction, despite having a weapon to his throat, is “I have to leave.” he is frozen and can’t do anything against him (dead)

this establishes the theme: he still isn’t over dan feng’s place as his past. he still doesn’t want to face it.

he doesn’t look him in the eye—he can’t, he shakes and closes his eyes and avoids it—doesn’t turn completely, doesn’t defend himself. his first instinct—as it had been for blade when he had that nightmare right before the xianzhou luofu mission—was avoidance. but like the lightcone—there was “nowhere to run”.

kudos to the voice actors, because dan heng’s voice is shaky and quiet and dan feng is calm and constant. it matches the animation— dan heng is constantly moving his eyes and being taken off guard, but dan feng barely moves at all.

i’ve seen people talk about the next scene. but really. the symbolism? there is nobody but the two of them in that world, both have shadows, and yet there is a larger one vaguely resembling another person casting over the both of them.

and the next! the difference in their fighting styles is really apparent here, i think. dan heng is still in his human form, legs wide. dan feng isn’t using the spear (cloud piercer?) anymore. he’s preparing to use cloudhymm, something dan heng cannot (won’t?) do in his current form. something he never wanted to, because that meant confronting his past as dan feng.

the fight itself is so cool but i’m not very good at that but. dan heng keeps trying to move forward, is actively getting closer, but he does not land a hit on dan feng at all. he misses, is not enough, is pushed back. he cannot change the past, and dan feng is that past.

there’s no reason for dan feng to raise himself up— dan heng wasn’t managing to hit him at all. a symbolism, i think. the luofu does not see dan heng. they see dan feng, put him on a darkened pedestal, because despite if they think he was wrong or right in whatever sin he committed, there was no denying that he was one of (if not the, if i can remember the shade’s words correctly) strongest vidyadhara high elders ever.

okay i’ll say more about it later but dan feng now says “You have nowhere to run.”

—and then dan heng can’t even push back the water at all, unlike when he could at least deflect them earlier in the fight.

and he hasn’t gotten up. he’s not trying to catch up to dan feng and defeat him anymore. he’s just staring, until the very last scene before he’s hit by the water dragon and is dragged into the water, loses his grip on his weapon.

the resulting scenes of the past, of dan feng’s memories (jing yuan, yingxing, jingliu, the preceptors (?) not caring even for dan feng, just the knowledge only he holds)

darkness. for, not that long, but quite a while.

his eyes opening, bubbles, breathe, his life coming back to him.

the astral express. basically insignificant dialogue, but to dan heng, at that moment, they are the words he needed to hear.

himeko’s “you’re one of the express crew” he, dan heng, not dan feng, belonged. dan feng never was and so he cannot taint that. march, calling out his name, doing something simple and mundane with stelle having zero reason to be there but is anyway, just to see him.

pom pom’s doesn’t have much, but the fact that he remembers it means that one time, before stelle/trailblazer came abroad the express, he was in the main train cart with the rest of the crew. that sense of belonging.

his eyes, almost lifeless, blinking, instead of to avoid his last, to clear his head and to wake him up, to continue forward, upwards, to not be dragged down by a shadow of who he cannot be, even if he wanted to (he doesn’t, mostly)

acknowledgement. at last. “You are my past.” him finally understand that it doesn’t define who he is as dan heng. that he “won’t follow [him] into [his] future!”

explosion, breaking away from it all, light, genuine, bright yellow light, for the first time since the sun was out in the beginning of the animation.

aaaa i wanna talk about the line he says, but i’ll save that because it has to do with dan feng.

standing opposite sides of the statue of both of their past life as yubie. facing away, facing downward. mirrors, at last and always, and yet.

(the rain, washing everything away.)

dan feng, a constant, and yet a small shift. a willingness to let dan heng live, now.

“and don’t look back”

for once, it isn’t fear. it is advice, closes his eyes, and disappears into gold.

and he is at peace. doesn’t deny he was reminiscing at the statue. that (some of) his memories are dan feng, without having to reaffirm that “he still is dan heng” or that “i’m not him”

final shot, the astral express.

dan heng’s present, and his future.

(god i loved this animation.)

———

dan feng + dialogue

his entrance, to dan heng, came out of nowhere. he (it) crept up behind him until he couldn’t ignore it and it was threatening him.

my take on this animation is: it is not set in the real world. maybe, probably, some shenanigans happened with the sedition of imbibitor lunae that means blade is somewhat right in his insistence that dan heng is still dan feng in some ways more than just being his reincarnation.

but even if that’s not the case, i think the fight is all in dan heng’s head/conscious, in an attempt to reconcile his past in front of an area that shouldn’t be significant to him, a statue of his way past life, while he was trying to leave for his present.

note: i don’t think dan feng’s particular ‘punishment’ had ever been used as a punishment before because of the severity of the crime he committed and so there could’ve been unforeseen consequences of that. especially since the molting rebirth was messed with by the preceptors(?) to try to keep the transmutation arcanum alive.

his words, in particular i think, are dan heng’s subconscious listing all of his fears.

“how long will you keep running?” (that’s all he’s been doing since he was banished)

“you’ll find no refuge among the stars.” this line makes it clear to me (i think) that this isn’t dan feng. why would he know of what happened after his death? why would he be bitter(?) when he seemed so calm and at peace in “myriad celestial trailer — “history of the xianzhou: exodus of the five dragons””?

baiheng is confirmed to be the foxian of the high cloud quintet. baiheng was a nameless, someone who goes from world to world, among the stars. “dan heng’s” guilt of bailu’s existence (implied to have been baiheng because of her dreams starting after getting on the astral express + dan heng’s companion mission)

he doesn’t even say “escape, peace” he specifically says refuge.

“the high elder succession is as eternal and unyielding has the ancient sea” (he does not want the title)

“you are my reincarnation. a mirror image. a past life’s sin must be repaid in this one”

this line. dan heng struggles, so much, with his identity. half the reason i think he stayed on the astral express other than genuine fondness is the fact that they had no connection to dan feng (other than being nameless, but that was not dan feng’s title. it was not something exclusive to the luofu, that belonged to people unrelated to him. it belonged to someone dan feng cared for so much that he was willing to commit crimes that it probably subconsciously leaked into dan heng.)

he could protect (while he believes(?) that all dan feng did was destroy (doesn’t have his healing powers)) while not having to face his past because they did not make him.

and the part about past life repaying sins— i don’t think that is something dan feng of the high cloud quintet, when he was alive, would say. we only have one (what i consider) accurate scene of him chained in the prison, and he is calm, unlike dan heng’s light cone “brighter than the sun”. dan feng’s punishment was unique to him— usually, any sins were washed away after being reborn, because the vidyadhara believe that the reincarnation does not equal what came before them.

i think that idea got kind of muddled, after dan feng’s punishment. especially since in dan heng’s companion mission, all they see is dan feng. maybe it’s because of what the preceptors did, that made him so similar looking to dan feng, but that’s just a theory.

anyway.

dan heng responds to that, “I’m not you!”

dan feng is mostly. stationary. he moves his arms a little, dodges, but he is like a wall, that dan heng can’t cross, can’t break, until he does.

“i will blaze a path of my own.” his will, he wants to continue trailblazing with everyone, wants to be his own self, and he’s willing to fight for it instead of running and hoping for his last to never catch up.

“it is futile.” again, these are dan heng’s fears spoken through his greatest one: dan feng.

(well, blade scares him, yes, but because he is trying to murder him, and the fact that his existence screams to him that he is dan feng, that dan heng doesn’t and won’t exist towards others, that he cannot have things of his own because he (both dan feng and blade) will take them from him)

his transformation. he uses everything at his disposal to win.

(also, switch from left to right hand— is that something he consciously did? or is that one difference of dan heng to dan feng?)

[voidsentprinces]

After the Great Flood of the Sixth Umbral Calamity, the Elementals took charge of the Twelveswood and banished races they deemed responsible for such upheavel. And for a time mortal kind were subject to the judgment of these natural forces via the Greenwrath. However, one particular day, while communing with them, the Conjurers were suddenly cut off from contact. Fear that another Greenwrath would be upon them, they requested the aid of the Padjal to commune with the Elementals in their stead. But found an ominous silence. It was then discovered that a great fog and darkness had descended upon a region of the Central Shroud that cusped the Northern part. No matter the passing of time or the change in weather conditions that covered the region. The fog remained anchored and the gloom unperturbed.

Unnerved and in connecting the fogs' descent with the sudden silence of the Elementals. Scouting parties and conjurers were sent into the fog to seek the source of this strange occurance. But not a single soul who entered ever returned to give a report. Eventually, O-App-Pesi and his guard went into the fog to investigate. But, unlike all other expedition one survivor returned from expedition. A young lancer who was a gibbering mess. Carrying the arm of one of the other guards men with him. Despite conjurer mediation and support, the mental state of the survivor never recovered. As he spoke in hushed tones and his eyes full of horror. The Elder Seedseer made a proclamation that though the loss of communication with the Elementals was a blow to Gridania. The danger of the fog was far greater. And so, no one was allowed to enter the fog ever again. The White Wolf Gate constructed and guards were stationed there. But no matter what they saw out there. They were instructed to only protect the gate and never wander away from it at all times.

The Guards of said gate are changed every fortnight. As their mental state also gradually worsens. Paranoia and fear gripping them and making them erratic. Though time away from the Gate does allow them to eventually recover...those who were previously guardsmen are stationed elsewhere upon recovery and are never made to stand watch there again. This was a lesson learned quickly as two who were allowed to returned eventually went running into the fog yelling that something was coming for them. And, thus were never seen again. Some still say they experience nightmares and claim to of seen shapes moving in the fog.

For good or ill one last incident concerning the fogged region was recorded. After the fall of Dalamud and the construction of New Gridania. A Garlean force saw an opportunity to probe Gridania's defenses from the fogged region. Sending in large armed force to overwhelm Bentbranch Meadows slaying a number of guards and soldiers on the way. The force moving quickly enough that when reinforcements finally arrived. The force had already made its way into the forbidden region. Though the Gate Guards were alerted and a counterattack force as mounted. The encroaching Garleans never made it to the White Wolf Gate. Complete silence ruled the region for several weeks until finally one lone soldier stumbled out of the fog. Beleaguered and incoherent, he immediately surrendered himself to the guards. This Garlean Soldier was put under watch until it made clear that he was no threat. And after remaining silent for several weeks. He would eventually approach the Elder Seedseer and request to be allowed to move away from Gridania. Upon accepting this request, he didn't return to Garlemald or move in to another location in Twelveswood. Instead taking the first airship out of the Shroud to La Noscea. Last reported to of taken up residence in a shack stationed in the jungles surrounding Wineport.

[psalacanthea]

5 & 20 for Zyn :) (Tav Ask Game)

Thank you! :D I like to ramble about Zyn but I don't usually get to because I'm too busy writing her! Lol.

5- for the spellcasters, what's their favourite spell?

She treats the world as a stage, and she has many brief parts to play in it. So she would say disguise self, because coupled with the Drow's natural ability for mimicry (depending on if you consider Drow of the Underdark to be canon), she can be anyone she wants to be at a moment's notice.

In reality though, polymorph probably edges it out. Being that her comfort in her own body fluctuates wildly, sometimes she just needs to escape to a new form. While gender fluid, most days she's pretty neutral about how the body underneath the illusions is, but sometimes it's just too wrong and she needs to fix it for a bit.

And sometimes she just feels like being something else for amusement's sake-- it's not always that deep.

20- does your tav have a best friend in the party? what's their dynamic like?

I'd say Zyn only really has one level of friendship, and it's immediately best friend status. She doesn't really make friends, so suddenly having them is extremely overwhelming and she gets very, very (unhealthily) attached to all of them.

But as far as the first one she'd call her friend, who would then be best by virtue of being oldest, it's Wyll. She came in ready to hate him on first meeting, because she has Issues with Heroes. But, he's so genuine that she's completely taken off-guard.

She assumes things about people, puts them into character archetypes in her head. Is actually really rude about it. It's especially clear in her relationship with Gale, where she hears he's a wizard and already has decided he's the Worst Person She's Ever Met.

It takes him a while to disprove her assumptions.

But Wyll defies her expectations of him from the start, and it allows her to be vulnerable with him much faster. There's no script. It lowers her guard a bit.

And so if anyone looks at him even a little bit meanly they'll have a 4'11" Drow menacingly tuning a lute at them. She's extremely protective in a familial manner with him, in the end. Big sister little brother vibes.

Her protective spite is so bad that it makes Mizora one of the only people in the whole game Zyn isn't attracted to.

Thank you for asking! :D This was fun.

[bijouxcarys]

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

Masterlist

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟑

‘𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭. One of these approaches involves visiting recording studios of all kinds, recognising the potential for obscure and independent groups of aspiring musicians jamming in closed-off live rooms. John Reid, being just as young as some of these musicians, seizes every opportunity to provide them with their own chance to shine. It is in these situations that his charismatic personality truly comes into play.’

“Bollocks this!”

I glanced up from my paper towards the live room window, where Brian had propped his foot on one of the many amps, the Red Special resting on his thigh. He muttered under his breath, hurriedly replacing a broken string. Returning to my work, my pen immediately resumed its dance across the page. My wrist was beginning to ache, but I couldn’t stop. Inspiration and motivation surged through me that day, but it happened to be the same day I had promised Brian to accompany him to Trident. He wanted to lay down some tracks and practice, feeling guilty about missing a recording session while we were up North.

So, being the supportive girlfriend that I am, I brought all my university materials with me to the studio, determined to be there and get some work done. My dissertation was nearly complete—I had realized how much easier it was to write about John Reid now that I had met him in person and experienced his energy first-hand. I knew I had at least three more paragraphs to go, but they seemed like a breeze compared to what I had already written. I just hoped it would be enough to pass the year.

Sitting next to a monitor wasn’t the smartest decision I had made, I could tell you that. Brian began strumming once he had fixed the broken string. The full stop I was about to write turned into a squiggly line, the sudden sound of his guitar catching me off guard.

The notes he plucked, the velocity and rhythm with which he played, emitted a sense of angst and raw emotion. Since we returned from my parents’ house, Brian’s mood had taken a hit. At first, I wasn’t entirely sure why he was acting the way he was, and being me, I grew anxious and paranoid. We even had a near argument because I couldn’t believe he wasn’t angry at me.

Glancing up again from my work, I focused on Brian. His face contorted, clearly channelling his frustrations through music—an outlet I was grateful he had. Many people go through their teens and twenties without such an outlet, leading them to act out. Not Brian. When he needed to release energy, he would almost always turn to creating music, often resulting in a hit song. Well, it wasn’t a hit publicly, but I knew it would be one day.

This time, however, it was evident that he was furious. The riff he played was grungy, thick, and heavy. Surprisingly catchy, I must admit. As much as I loved listening to him play, it was clear that he was on the verge of breaking another string, if not more, if he continued to play with such anger.

So, I set my pen down and made my way into the live room, doing my best to block out the overwhelming noise. I knew calling his name wouldn’t grab his attention, so I extended my hand into his peripheral vision and snapped my fingers. He stopped strumming, looking up at me, the anger still etched on his face.

Meeting Brian’s gaze with a gentle and warm smile, I said, “Come and take a break, Bri…” I intentionally softened my voice to make it sound more friendly and inviting than usual. His expression softened, and eventually, he nodded, letting out a heavy sigh and carefully setting down his guitar.

Returning to the control room, I resumed my seat in front of my work, patiently waiting for Brian to join me. And he did. He pulled up a chair beside me, sitting suspiciously close. I arched an eyebrow at him, chuckling as he draped his arm around me, leaning in to observe what I was doing.

“Why have you been so stressed, love? I don’t like seeing you like this,” I inquired, taking his hand in my free one, my writing continuing.

“I’m not stressed.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bollocks.”

“You’re so stubborn,” he commented, resting his head on my shoulder. The display of affection sent a thousand butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Feeling his soft hair tickling my neck and his calloused hand against mine warmed my heart.

“I know,” I agreed with a small smile. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

With an exasperated sigh, he finally mustered the courage to respond. “I can’t get your mother’s words out of my head. The things she said to you… It’s unfathomable that a parent could say such cruel things to their own child.”

I immediately reached out to comfort him. “Bri, please don’t let her words haunt you. You don’t have to carry that burden anymore.”

“It’s more than that… I can’t shake off what she said about me. I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself that I’m not defined by those words… but what if there’s some truth to them?”

I admired his attempts to project confidence, but beneath that facade, I knew he was deeply insecure. Brian had a sensitive soul, and insults struck him harder than he let on. Compliments, on the other hand, made him uncomfortable. In essence, he was a vulnerable man.

As he sat beside me, his presence enveloping me, his breath grazing my ear, my heart ached for him. It was painful to see him beaten down, especially by my own family. My pen dropped from my hand as I turned to face him, gently cupping his face. Reluctantly, his eyes met mine, revealing the remnants of pain.

“Bri, she only said those things to hurt you. You are so much more than her words. You are perfect just the way you are, and you should never doubt that,” I whispered, my thumb caressing his cheek. His lips tightened, and he averted his gaze, shaking his head in disbelief.

With a sigh, I guided his face back to meet my eyes, closing the distance between us. Our foreheads touched, symbolising our shared strength. “Remember when I feel ugly or unattractive?” I asked, and he nodded in recognition. “Don’t I listen to everything you say? You call me breath-taking, beautiful, perfect. Believe me when I say the same about you. Believe it for me…”

His hand tenderly brushed back strands of my hair, and in his eyes, I saw a flicker of devotion. Whenever Brian looked at me that way, I felt a surge of hope. But in that tender moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had the same profound impact on him.

“You’re too good to me, Ria,” he whispered, his hand resting at the back of my neck, anchoring me to him. “I get nervous, you know…”

Understanding his vulnerability, I squeezed his hand, offering unwavering support. “I know, Bri. But remember, I feel the same way too. That’s why we need each other, especially in moments like this.” Closing the gap between us, I pressed my lips against his, pouring my love and assurance into the kiss. My hands found solace on his shoulders, and as the minutes ticked by, I felt the tension in his muscles ease, surrendering to the comfort of our connection.

In a sudden burst of desire, he pulled me closer, settling me onto his lap. His arms encircled my waist, his fingertips teasingly tracing a path down my backside. With playful mischief, his teeth grazed my bottom lip, drawing forth a soft groan that melted into our kiss. In that tantalising moment, he seized the opportunity, his tongue intertwining with mine in a dance of fiery passion. That mischievous side of him always knew how to ignite the flames.

Engulfed in the intoxicating embrace of Brian’s kiss, I couldn’t help but lose myself in the moment. His lips possessed a mastery that was mind-blowing, effortlessly synchronising with the movements of his skilled hands. But as his hip pressed against me with a subtle urgency, I realised he craved something more.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips, and I gently pulled away, creating just enough space to speak. “Brian… We’re in the studio,” I reminded him, but he hushed me, his lips trailing a path of kisses down my neck. He found a spot that tickled in the most delicious way, causing me to squirm on his lap like an eager, yearning girl. And that’s exactly what he wanted.

“You make me feel so incredible, sweetheart,” he whispered against my neck, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

“Believe me, Bri, if we were elsewhere, I wouldn’t be complaining,” I laughed, running my fingers through his hair as his lips clung to my skin like a suction cup. “But isn’t Roger coming in later?” I mentioned, and at the sound of Roger’s name, Brian sucked down harder, leaving an undeniable mark behind.

“To hell with Roger. He’ll know better than to interrupt,” he growled, pressing me back onto a small table by the control desk. The sound of crumpling papers sent my heart racing, envisioning my end-of-year work being ruined.

“Stop,” Brian suddenly pulled back. “Let me move my work. If you make me ruin all my stuff, I swear to God, I’ll smack the shit out of you.” His hand remained firmly on my thigh as he watched me stack my books and papers, carefully placing them on the shelf above us. “We have to be quiet. Remember, there are other people in the building, Bri.”

He rolled his eyes, his hands pulling me towards him until my legs wrapped around his hips. “Then you’ll have to make sure not to make too much noise, won’t you?” he smirked, capturing my mouth in another passionate kiss.

A moan escaped my lips almost instantly, my hands running up his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt. He adjusted my legs, securing them around his waist, his groin pressing firmly against mine. The flimsy barrier of my cotton trousers did little to conceal the intensity of Brian’s desire, every part of him making its presence known.

“Trust you two to be left alone in the studio!” a voice interrupted.

Startled, Brian and I broke our kiss, turning our heads toward the door where Roger leaned against the frame, arms folded, wearing a smug smirk. I quickly pushed myself off the table, composing myself as Brian did the same.

“Trust you to stand there and ogle,” I snapped, shooting him a sarcastic smile.

Engrossed in a sea of emotions, Brian’s face flushed crimson with embarrassment as he desperately searched for a way to change the subject. His eyes landed on the tape reel in Roger’s hand, and he pointed at it awkwardly.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice betraying his unease.

Roger shrugged, making his way to the control desk and placing the tape reel beside it. “Modern Times,” he replied nonchalantly. “Finished it the last time we were here, so I brought it. Figured you could listen since you weren’t around.”

Guilt washed over Brian’s features, but it softened when I squeezed his arm reassuringly. “He didn’t want to miss anything, Roger. But it was important for him to come with me the other week,” I defended him, hoping to ease the tension.

“Can’t he speak for himself?” Roger retorted, settling himself down on the sofa at the back of the control room, crossing his legs.

“Just like Emma speaks for you,” I muttered under my breath, resuming my seat with my university work in front of me.

“Maria,” Brian’s voice warned, filled with a hint of severity, causing me to look at him. He shook his head slightly, and my gaze shifted between him and Roger. Roger seemed visibly embarrassed. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“Why are you both acting so weird?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Fuck it,” Roger sighed, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. “It’s Emma. We’re still together. We’re just… having some problems.”

“She’s getting violent, isn’t she?” I blurted out, surprising both men with my directness. But I wasn’t oblivious. I knew what was going on. It always ended like this.

The two men exchanged glances, seemingly taken aback by my knowledge. But I wasn’t foolish. I had figured it out. And I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. It was my fault things had gotten this bad. Emma had convinced me she had changed, but each passing day revealed her true colours — she was spiralling further down a destructive path.

“I’m sorry, Roger,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows and looking down. “Fuck… I’m sorry.” I leaned forward, resting my face in my hands. “I should have told you… I should have warned you that she has done the same with all her past boyfriends. I thought she saw something different in you. I didn’t think she would do it again. Trust me, if I had known she was still capable of something like this, I would have warned you…”

“It’s fine,” Roger interrupted, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and uncertainty. “You’re fine.” It was evident that he didn’t quite know how to process this new information. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. I had played a part in this unravelling. Emma had deceived me, making me believe she had changed for the better, but it became increasingly clear that she was heading in the opposite direction.

“So, um…if you don’t mind me asking, how long do her relationships usually last?” Roger ventured cautiously.

“You’ve been the longest if that’s any consolation. That’s why I thought it would be okay,” I replied, a tinge of bitterness seeping into my words.

“It’s not your fault. It’s fine. I’ll just… give it time. Maybe she’ll get better,” Roger stated, his tone filled with resignation as he got up and headed towards the live room. He seemed to channel his frustrations into the drums, unleashing his anger in the language of music.

Turning to Brian, it was clear he was deeply concerned for his friend’s well-being. “This isn’t good, Bri,” I remarked, my voice filled with worry.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, love. He’s infatuated with her,” Brian replied, his words muffled by the loud drumming emanating from Roger. We both watched as Roger’s nostrils flared, his mouth tightened, and his arms pounded the drumsticks against the skins of the drums.

“I think I have an idea,” I said, biting my lip nervously. I glanced back at Brian briefly. “Give me a minute. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Be careful. You know how he can be…” Brian warned.

“A bit of a handful?” I smirked, standing up. Brian chuckled, nodding in agreement as he pulled me down gently for a quick kiss.

“Exactly.”

“I know how to handle the unpredictable. You’ve met my mother,” I teased, sticking my tongue out at him before walking away. I approached Roger with caution, though it wasn’t entirely necessary. He noticed me approaching and reduced his drumming to a light tapping on the hi-hats. I leaned against a stack of amps beside him.

“So, the album’s coming out next month,” I began, trying to initiate a conversation. Silence greeted me. “I’m really excited for all of you.” Still no response. “You deserve it.” Another quiet moment passed. “I have some cigarettes.”

He paused. “Can I have one?”

“I don’t smoke, mate,” I replied.

He groaned, resting his head against the wall behind him. “What do you want?”

“Well, there’s this cabin. Brian and I were planning on staying there during the summer,” I started. “My dad told me I have free access to all the facilities. It’s basically mine…”

“We know, you come from a posh background. What’s your point?” he interrupted, sounding somewhat defeated.

“I was thinking… We could all go. You, Brian, Fred, Deacy. Me, Emma, Mary… Maybe Veronica if she’s up for it. You all need a break,” I proposed, carefully persuading him that this could be a positive idea.

The allure of a luxurious lifestyle was something that resonated with Roger. The idea of having the freedom to indulge in whatever he desired without facing significant consequences was tempting. It was an offer he couldn’t easily refuse.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “As long as I can smoke and drink, I’m all in.”

“As long as you don’t commit arson or build your own Molotov cocktails, I couldn’t care less about what you do, Rainbow,” I quipped, standing upright and ready to leave the live room.

“What did you just call me?” he questioned, his curiosity piqued.

“Rainbow. You were a lot of colours,” I grinned mischievously as I made my way out.

I hurried over to Brian, who was now seated on the sofa. Lowering my voice, I inched closer to him as Roger resumed his jamming. “Okay, so…”

“So,” Brian responded, wrapping his arm around me.

“We all go to the cabin when the album is released. Everyone’s invited. We need to separate Emma and Roger and give them some time away from each other. I think Roger has become completely infatuated with her because she’s constantly around. I’m surprised she didn’t come with him today.”

“Hmm, you’re so smart,” Brian mused, planting gentle butterfly kisses on my face. “So, we just try to get them to spend less time together? Maybe they’ll realize they’re better off without each other.”

“Hopefully. It hurts to see Roger like this, and it hurts me that I could have warned him to watch out for the signs. But for now, this is the best we can do,” I explained with a tinge of regret.

“All we can do is hope,” Brian agreed.

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Remember what I said to you when we became official? ‘You’re such a cliché’? I guess I was right.”

“Shut up,” Brian retorted, a playful smile on his face.

“Or what?” I challenged, enjoying the banter between us.

“You don’t even want to know, baby,” he teased back.

“Wow, such an alpha male,” I teased, leaning into him and savouring the comfort of his embrace in the cosy studio.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sense of normalcy permeated the air. It was as if they had been transported back to the blissful days of October, a time when life seemed less complicated.

As I groggily emerged from my slumber, I found Emma already in the kitchenette, fixing herself a bowl of cereal. We exchanged brief morning greetings as I sluggishly made my way to the living room, where the remnants of Emma’s bedding were still scattered across the sofa.

“Morning,” I managed to mumble, collapsing onto the couch, fighting the urge to drift back to sleep.

Emma turned around, her tone relatively cheery. “Morning. Why are you up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I grumbled, my eyes threatening to shut again. I forced myself to sit up, resisting the comfort of Emma’s bedding, and wandered over to her neglected piano, which had acquired a thin layer of dust over time. It irritated me, to be honest. She had splurged on this exquisite musical instrument instead of prioritising our living situation and well-being.

Leaning against the piano, I gazed out the window, hoping the brightness of the day would help shake off my drowsiness.

“I’m meeting up with Marcy and James this morning to hit Biba as soon as it opens. They’re having a summer sale, and we want to grab some stuff,” Emma informed me.

My stomach sank a little, I won’t deny it. I had never been able to buy anything from Biba, as I had mentioned before. The unspoken truth hung in the air, indicating that I hadn’t been invited because shopping trips to Biba made me anxious. What was the point of tagging along when I couldn’t purchase anything to uplift my spirits? Not much, in my opinion.

“That’s nice,” I replied, folding my arms, my insecurities beginning to take hold. “Where did James go?”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, seemingly perplexed.

“Well, he used to work a bit at the studio, right? There’s a new girl there now.”

“For a while, but I think he’s doing some assistant work now. Not at the studio, just… at the shops,” she explained.

“Vague,” I muttered, turning around and heading towards the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. “He never mentioned that.”

“He probably didn’t want to upset you,” Emma casually remarked, sipping her tea and settling on the sofa as if she hadn’t just thrust a dagger into my heart and twisted it a hundred times. I busied myself with preparing my morning coffee, forcing myself to appear oblivious to the conversation, even though I was acutely aware of its impact on me.

“So, why are you up early?” Emma inquired, her voice dripping with sickening sweetness.

“Got a meeting,” I replied as curtly as possible, pouring boiling water into my mug with a haphazard toss of instant coffee.

“With?” she pressed.

“Professor Ross. You know, our teacher,” I retorted, rolling my eyes, fully aware that Emma couldn’t see my exasperated expression. “I understand if you’ve forgotten who that is, considering you’ve conveniently skipped all the coursework lectures.”

“Alright, no need to get pissy, love,” Emma responded, attempting to pacify me.

“Not getting pissy, love. Just happened to be in a bad mood today,” I replied, turning away after adding some sugar to my beverage.

“Why?” Emma narrowed her eyes, her mouth slightly agape as if she couldn’t fathom anyone but herself being in a foul mood.

“Hmm… I don’t know. It’s strange. I was fine when I woke up,” I pouted, shrugging my shoulders. “Who knows? I’m off to get my things and get changed.” I left Emma in the living room, bewildered by my curt demeanour. I relished in the satisfaction of confusing her—it was one of the few moments where I felt a semblance of power or control over her mind. Perhaps I had a touch of sociopathy, just maybe.

Somehow, Emma had decided that it was my responsibility to be her stylist for the day and coerced me into helping her choose an outfit. I really should have learned how to say no when necessary. It resulted in me being subjected to harsh judgment of my fashion sense and rushing to make it to my lecture room.

Navigating through the bustling corridors, I unintentionally bumped into several people, causing one first-year girl to drop her books and papers. I couldn’t simply leave her in a mess. Curse my compassionate nature—I was clearly very humble as well.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, immediately dropping to my knees to help her collect her belongings. Before she had a chance to respond, I was already hurrying down the corridor, catching a glimpse of a clock. I was already ten minutes late. As if Professor Ross didn’t already have a grudge against me.

I could envision it: Professor Ross, sitting at his desk with a scowl, arms folded and eyebrows furrowed in anger. Miss Brennan had made him wait once again. Our relationship was already strained, and I couldn’t afford to push him any further. Yet, here I was, running late for what would be our final meeting.

Reaching the top of the staircase, I paused for a moment, straightening my appearance and attempting to look more presentable. That was another thing about Professor Ross—he despised untidiness. So, I did what I could, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door before entering the lecture room. As expected, Professor Ross sat in the exact manner I anticipated. To my surprise, four familiar lads sat across from him, wearing expressions that bordered on awkward and authoritative.

I locked eyes with the professor, hoping my gaze would convey a sense of apology. “Sorry, I’m late,” I murmured as I hurriedly grabbed a chair, placing it next to my flamboyant friend, being mindful that my boyfriend was seated in the middle.

“Honestly, Maria, it’s about time you got yourself sorted out. It’s unacceptable,” the professor chastised, shaking his head and leaning forward. “Nevertheless, you’re here now. Let’s see…” He trailed off, sliding a pair of glasses onto his nose and scanning the papers in front of him. Seizing the moment, I glanced at the boys and offered them a small smile.

“Hi,” I silently mouthed to them, prompting Brian to extend his hand. I smiled and took his hand, and he delicately placed light kisses on the back of it. Leaning forward, he whispered over Freddie, who seemed amused by the interaction. “Are you okay? We’ve been sitting here for about fifteen minutes. I thought you had another argument with Em—”

“Mr. May, I urge you to remain quiet while I’m addressing all of you. You’re not children; you’re adults, and I expect a certain level of decorum,” the professor interjected, looking up to witness our hands separating. He scrutinised the brief exchange between Brian and me before clearing his throat and perching his glasses on top of his head. “I trust that business has been your priority throughout this academic year. I would expect nothing less, Miss Brennan.”

“Allow me to assure you, Maria here has been exceptional in her commitment to us, dear,” Freddie responded, fully aware that I had abandoned my temporary managerial role months ago.

“Yeah, she’s been working tirelessly to help us, and we’ve made significant progress thanks to her,” Roger added with enthusiasm. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he came to my defence, but I appreciated that things were no longer awkward between us.

However, Professor Ross didn’t readily accept their words as gospel, and he continued to stare at me. My foot began to bounce uncontrollably, and I nervously fumbled my fingers together. His gaze always made me uneasy.

“Do you have anything to substantiate that claim, Maria?”

Fuck.

Stay calm.

“Uh…” I cleared my throat and swallowed, sitting up straight in my seat. I could feel the others’ concerned gazes on me from the corner of my eye, but it didn’t provide much reassurance. And then it hit me. “Yes, actually.”

Freddie smiled, knowing exactly what I was about to say.

“I secured them a contract at Trident, and if you need proof, there are plenty of records showing their presence there. Better yet, you can contact John Reid, and I’m sure he’d be more than willing to provide an alibi. Furthermore, since I’ve been working with them, their performance schedule has increased by fifty percent, resulting in a significant boost in earnings. I can assure you, Professor, that when I need to, I am more than capable of delivering results. Especially when it’s for something I genuinely believe in, unlike certain individuals in this room. And let me tell you, Queen is one of the most extraordinary bands to ever exist, and you’ve severely underestimated their talent. They deserve a dedicated manager who can do far more than what I can offer, yet you assigned me to them because you believed they weren’t deserving of proper guidance.”

Even I was taken aback by my own outburst. It wasn’t the content of what I said—I could have easily written something like that in an essay—it was the fact that I actually vocalised my thoughts. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. I couldn’t determine if I had angered Professor Ross or simply left him baffled. One thing was certain though: the boys were completely dumbfounded. Even Freddie was at a loss for words, and I wasn’t sure if I should be proud of myself or not.

“Right…” Professor Ross leaned back from his previously condescending position and surveyed the five of us with his eyes. “I’m sorry if that came across as rude, or whatever. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. It’s just that the lads have already achieved a lot, and I believe they deserve a professional manager…”

“We’ve been getting along just fine with Maria; she’s extremely hands-on when it counts,” a voice chimed in, and I turned to see it was John Deacon. Quiet John Deacon.

“And you are?” Professor Ross inquired.

“I’m John… We’ve had this conversation,” John replied.

“I forgot you were there.” Professor Ross shook his head, then refocused his attention on me. “Listen, Maria, this experience will look great on your CV. My concern is not what happens with the band, but what you’ve been able to accomplish.”

“So, why are they here, then?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I needed their feedback to ensure you’re not telling little lies, young lady.”

“Like John said,” Brian interjected, leaning forward and resting his hand on his leg. “Maria is hardworking. And very, very hands-on.”

I heard Roger stifle a giggle, which came out as a choked sound. He caught the professor’s gaze and grinned. “Tickly throat.”

Leave it to Roger to find a sexual innuendo at a time like this. Once we all realised what he was laughing at, the five of us struggled to contain our immature laughter. Professor Ross, clearly oblivious to our struggle, continued droning on with his monotonous voice.

He spoke at us for what felt like hours, reiterating everything he had repeated countless times in lectures and seminars. However, this time it was more bearable because the boys were there with me. And not only that, but Roger also managed to amuse us all, effectively distracting us from the professor’s incessant rambling.

“Well… we would have finished this earlier if Miss Brennan hadn’t been late, but that’s about it for this little get-together. And as for you, Maria, you’re aware that there are only a few coursework seminars remaining until you leave for the summer, correct?”

“Yep.” I smiled, feeling a gentle relief from the bubbling laughter inside.

“And you need to submit all your work. If you don’t, you won’t be graded, and you will not pass.” He sounded pleased about that. What a prick. I rolled my eyes, luckily out of his sight. “It’s evident that you’re a hands-on learner and worker, Miss Brennan, so just keep it up. Today marks the official end of your work experience with a student band. Hopefully, what I’ve done for you will help you secure a job after university.”

“Yeah…” I dragged out the word, shifting in my seat, followed by everyone else.

“Don’t worry, Professor. We intend to make sure our Maria remains hands-on. Don’t we, dear?” Freddie put his arm around me, pulling me closer. I nodded, avoiding eye contact with anyone as my mind entertained all sorts of innuendos that tickled my funny bone.

The professor seemed disinterested as he waved us off. As the five of us made our way to the door, Roger hurriedly moved forward to whisper between me and Freddie. “Especially one of us.” He giggled like an immature child, and we all joined in with the joy. All except Brian, who kept a straight but flustered face. His cheeks were red, and I could tell he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Once we were out in the corridor, Brian had moved ahead of us but quickly turned around, scanning his surroundings before popping Roger on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?!” Roger exclaimed, earning some curious looks from other students going about their day.

“You know what it was for, Blondie. You can’t keep your mouth shut,” Brian scolded, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah? It wasn’t me who brought up the whole ‘Maria is hands-on’ business.” Roger mocked Brian’s voice, shaking his head. Freddie and John had distanced themselves, leaving me stuck between the drummer and the guitarist. Thanks, guys.

“Oh, you knew what I meant. Don’t be ridiculous!” Brian huffed, his eyes showing a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Sassy Brian was always a delight to witness, but I knew that if I let them continue, things would become more personal and serious than necessary.

“Roger, shut up,” I intervened, stepping between them and facing Roger directly. “We all know you’re a special boy, but you don’t need to remind us every five minutes.” Before he could respond, I turned around and looked up at Brian. “And you…” I hesitated for a moment before poking his stomach. “Stop being so miserable and not telling anyone what’s wrong.” My playful poke seemed to bring a smile to his face. “And stop provoking the child,” I added, referring to Roger behind me.

“Maria is now a mum. Brilliant,” John expressed his thoughts from his position with Freddie against the wall. I shot him a glare. “Don’t even try it, Deacy. You wouldn’t outlast me,” I joked, asserting my playful dominance. I grabbed Brian’s hand as we continued to leave Imperial, making sure we lagged behind everyone else.

I squeezed my boyfriend’s hand, getting his attention. I smiled at him, and although he forced a smile back, I could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. He had a lot of pride and didn’t like showing his weaknesses. “Are you still nervous?” I asked him quietly.

“Yeah…” he answered, lowering his voice. “But it’s okay. It’s just one of those days. Plus, I haven’t seen you since last week, and I’ve been really irritable.”

Furrowing my eyebrows, I wrapped an arm around his, fully cuddling into him as we walked. We stepped outside, and instantly the summer sun beat down on us. I was never a fan of hot weather. I preferred being wrapped up in clothes and blankets, although I’ve come to realise that it was mostly due to my insecurities about my body. In high school, I used to suffer from intense heat strokes. I would refuse to wear anything with short sleeves or shorts. I often wore black, and when you combine that with an oversized jumper and twenty-five-degree heat during the English summertime, it’s a recipe for getting sick. By the time I turned eighteen, I became slightly more comfortable wearing short sleeves and colours, but that was as far as I had progressed.

I was dressed in a knockoff pair of Levi’s flared trousers (obviously not real) and an off-the-shoulder shirt that I seemed to wear too often. At least it wasn’t as suffocating for my body as what I used to wear years ago. Plus, Brian always liked it.

“Bri… why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see me?” I asked, concerned.

“We’ve both been busy, haven’t we? So, I just… I don’t know, it’s silly,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. Being with Brian for about eight months had taught me not to push him in these situations. I knew he would tell me everything when he was ready. Besides, I didn’t want him to feel upset for missing the chance to see me if he didn’t realise it was possible.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him, lifting his hand and kissing it gently.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

We returned to Sinclair Road with Freddie, Brian, and Roger, where Mary was waiting for Fred. I would have been alone if I went to the flat, and I missed Brian too much to choose solitude.

Brian and I found ourselves in the kitchen after making drinks for everyone. We took our time returning to the group, not because we didn’t love our friends, but because we craved some alone time. We just wanted to be in each other’s company. Was that so wrong?

“I’m sorry for not seeing you, Bri…” I mumbled into his chest, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“You don’t have to be sorry, my love. You’re okay… We’re together right now, aren’t we?” Brian reassured me, resting his chin on my head and holding me close.

“Yeah…” I nodded, cherishing the embrace. He still smelled of pine, a scent that always reminded me of him. I had a small flashback to the panic attack I had during our first visit to The Britannia. Back then, Brian was the one who calmed me down. His heartbeat against my cheek and the warmth of his skin brought me comfort like nothing else. In that moment, I was grateful that he never buttoned his shirt up fully.

“Are you excited for the cabin?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah… It’ll be nice to take a break from everything. And I get to spend time with you. So, it’s a win-win,” I replied, looking up at him with a soft smile, which he returned.

“That’s true… And I may have a little surprise for you too,” he teased.

“What is it?” I asked eagerly.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” he cooed, leaning down to press a small kiss on my lips. I pouted playfully at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Are you going to behave?”

I raised my eyebrows, my mind instantly going to a mischievous place. But before I could respond, Mary walked into the kitchen, interrupting us.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary quickly tried to close the door, but I stopped her.

“No, it’s okay! Don’t worry. Is everything alright?” I reluctantly pulled away from Brian to give Mary my full attention.

“Um, it can honestly wait. I can talk to you another time…” Mary trailed off, clearly hesitant.

“No, honestly, it’s okay. Do you want to go somewhere else?” I offered, trying to be as warm and understanding as possible.

“Sure…” Mary agreed. I said a quick goodbye to Brian before accompanying Mary to the bathroom. We locked the door to ensure privacy.

“What’s up?” I asked, concerned.

“It’s Freddie,” Mary stated bluntly. “I’m… concerned. I think he may be attracted to other men.” She lowered her voice to a whisper.

All I could do was chuckle in relief. It wasn’t as serious as I had feared. I rubbed her arm gently as I tried to console her. “Mary, love, everyone has their suspicions about Fred. But think about it: he loves you. And I know for a fact that he loves being intimately with you. Have you ever considered that it’s possible for him to also be attracted to men?”

“That’s… that’s not really a thing, though. Is it?” Mary questioned, uncertain.

“I mean… not many people talk about it openly. But I’m sure it’s a thing,” I reassured her.

“I’m not convinced,” Mary shook her head, staring at herself in the mirror. “It just feels like confusion.”

I cleared my throat, gathering my thoughts. “Well, if someone can be attracted to both men and women, then it’s very much possible. If anything, you shouldn’t be too concerned. Let him figure himself out. Try not to restrict him.”

Mary nodded slowly, biting her lip anxiously. “I just want to spend more time with him…”

I empathised with her longing. Lately, I had been craving more time with Brian too, considering how busy we all were. The boys were working hard on the album and doing frequent gigs. Then an idea struck me.

“Do you fancy a holiday?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood. Mary looked at me with confusion.

“When the album comes out, I have a cabin up North. Brian and I invited Roger and Emma, and I’m pretty sure John and Ronnie are coming too. It just makes sense for Freddie to join, so you should come as well,” I suggested, smiling at her.

“That’s… that’s really kind of you, Maria. I’d love to come,” Mary replied softly, a smile gracing her face. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, love,” I said warmly, pulling her into a hug. “Um… I get a bit nervous when I’m not with friends…” Mary hesitantly added.

I pulled away slightly and raised an eyebrow at her. “Can I bring my friend with us? It’s just because I tend to get nervous.”

I nodded understandingly. “Of course. The cabin is huge, so space won’t be an issue. Who’s your friend?”

“You’ve met her before. She works with me. It’s Patty,” Mary revealed.

My stomach dropped at the mention of Patty. Not exactly my favourite person. “Oh, Patty! Yeah… her. Yeah, I remember her,” I forced a smile, trying my best to hide any discomfort. “Sure, no problem. Listen, I have to get back to Brian… So, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Mary nodded gratefully. “Yeah, of course! Thank you again, Maria.”

“No problem, love,” I replied with a smile, then left the bathroom. As I descended the stairs, I let out a heavy sigh.

Brian and I were in for a lot more than we had bargained for with this upcoming cabin trip.

[goldendivinewrath]

@thathollowsound

Vash doesn't feel any safer when Midvalley's gun gets lowered, but that's not exactly surprising. Neither is the man's response, truth be told, but he keeps his voice even. Conversational. "That's an answer, though. Even if the only person you want to save is yourself." He can understand that. He can. He just can't relate, exactly.

The next words are a lot more concerning, even more than where the other man's gaze winds up, but no moves are made to attack. Slow, quiet, easy; there's no need to escalate even with the prodding. "It matters to the one who gets saved." He's so achingly sincere in the words, the sentiment. He's done a lot of saving and an awful lot of failing, but every once in a while he's gotten the overwhelming mixed feelings of being rescued. Pardoned. Saved. "If you can spare it, if you can manage it. Whatever it is, it matters. Life's too precious to hoard it, you know?" His tone of voice makes it sound like he ought to be smiling more than he is. A little more energy should be put into that pasted-on expression, but it--

It takes a moment longer to settle. To shift uncomfortably into place. It visibly falters at the vague threat against Wolfwood in particular, but that's not terribly direct. Vash can handle threats against himself, let them slide off like they aren't completely valid, very real. Believable. "Guess you're not really wrong, too. Getting attached makes things more difficult." Just as simple, just as vague. His finger is on the trigger guard, keeping his aim threatening but safe. Safe enough. "Guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, right?"

It's an unsatisfying answer even for him. Avoiding, sidestepping. He'll defend. He'll do everything in his power to protect those who need protecting, and he'll try to stay alive. That's all he needs to know himself, right? All anyone needs.

There is a point made about Wolfwood that he doesn't like, but has to acknowledge even if only to himself. There's a lot he doesn't know, and suspects there's a lot the man himself doesn't know either, but they still keep their secrets from each other. Out of respect? Necessity? Something misguided?

"And if winning this fight means--" Killing you? It feels like too much of a threat, especially when Midvalley is so clearly retreating. It feels... "If winning means that we can't have these neat little philosophical conversations anymore, I'll be sad." Oh yeah, that'll inspire his brother and his hired guns to leave him alone, alright. Sheesh.

Slowly, he bends his elbow so the gun is pointed at the sky, but makes no other move. Realistically there's still time to shoot if he needs to, but he doesn't think he will. Hopes he won't. For all that he and Midvalley don't see eye to eye, the man clearly doesn't want to be here, doesn't want any more complications. That's fine with Vash. Then he hears Wolfwood--

It's automatic, the step he takes to better block Wolfwood from Midvalley's view as much as aim. There's something between them that isn't animosity, he's aware of that much. If the saxophone player can be taken at his word then he doesn't want to harm Wolfwood until he actually feels he has to, so...

So, it's still a bit of faith, more or less. He watches the retreat, but he doesn't aim, doesn't follow. He doesn't turn yet either, calling, "Here. I'm coming." Vash doesn't move immediately, full attention and gaze on Midvalley until he's far enough away to justify more of his guard dropping; but when he turns and approaches, crouches, he still shields Wolfwood's body with his own.

What will I do? I'll take as many bullets as I can hold. And that's still not a satisfying answer in the least.

@goldendivinewrath

This is a fight that he won't win, Midvalley knows this. God does he wish it isn't true though. His best shot is to pin the two brothers against each other and see which one tears the other to pieces first.

He has a pretty good guess who would win.

At Vash's question, the soloist immediately scoffs, "Who do I want to save most—oh that's rich. I don't care about saving people. What I care about is saving myself." He lowers his gun, but doesn't holster it. His grip remains just as tight as before.

"Survival of the fittest—you ever hear that? What's the point in saving someone if they're just gonna turn around and die anyway? What's the point in saving someone if you're just gonna die? There's nothin' more valuable than life out here, and no one's life is more important than your own."

His honey eyes shift over Vash's shoulder to look at the priest behind him. It seems like he's starting to stir, but isn't coherent yet.

Looking back to the blond, Midvalley continues his line of questioning, "Tell me now. What will you do when someone you save turns around and kills you? Kills him?" He nods his chin towards Wolfwood, "You may think you have a lot of people after your bounty, but he's got a hell of a lot of people who know how to kill him and won't hesitate to do so. You have no idea."

With another scoff, he begins to back away, checking over his shoulder for the nearest alleyway to bolt off to. The fight, to him, is over, and it's time to leave.

"Speaking of people who won't hesitate to kill you, look at the time, yeesh," the musician chuckles, gesturing towards Wolfwood again, "Protecting him will either kill you or kill your petty pacifism. I've got my hands tied for now, but if I gotta kill a man to save myself—even if it's him—then I'm out for blood next time. Guess you better start winnin' this fight if you want to live, Blondie. The longer you sit on your hands, the lower the doomsday clock ticks down."

Holstering his gun now, Midvalley places his lips back to his reed—not playing anything yet, but the threat is there as he begins to back away slowly. He doesn't blink as he watches Vash like a hawk to predict his next move.

___

From some distance behind Vash, a normally strong and gruff voice meekly calls out, raw with concern, "Shit... Needles...? Vash...? Where...?"

[cashforhouseswilmingtonnc]

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I got an idea, how about about something about how the Poképasta trainers & Pokémon from FNF Lullaby deal with a spunky and energetic reader (who is also a Poképasta trainer that specializes in ghost and psychic type Pokémon)? Obviously, everything’s platonic.

Sure! But I'll be doing just 5 characters bc that’s my limit. I can’t fit every single one in this. sorry

Also to give this Pokepasta!Reader a backstory, they’re a soul who was trapped in the Pokémon Black (creepypasta) bootleg with Ghost as their starter, after Red died in that game. And after many "resets" of the game, they learn to tame Ghost’s murderous antics (and also learn he can’t harm pokepastas).

........

Grey

He’s immediately taken aback, expecting you to be this scary ahh ghost/psychic trainer. It doesn’t help when he’s absolutely terrified of Ghost lingering behind you.

But you reassure him he’s friendly, catching him off-guard with your laugh.

You’re the total opposite of the Pokémon you train. Ghost and psychic-types are meant to be intimidating, alluring, and mysterious...but you break the stereotypes with your energetic personality.

If you have a Hypno or Drowsee in your party, Shinto would be besties with them fr.

And when you see her you’re like “wow that must be a rare species with no fur collar and a short stature!! Where’s her pendulum?”

Grey can’t convince you of her true nature, so he just plays along. You're actually pretty cool.

Silver (Insomnia) 

Your Pokémon aren’t scared by his muffled wailing, and with most of them knowing the move Hypnosis, Feralisleep waking up isn’t a problem.

Even if he did, he’d be too scared to attack anyways thanks to Ghost.

So basically becoming friends with Silver is, in fact, possible.

Of course that takes time given his inability to verbally communicate, but he seems impressed by your strong Pokémon.

Sometimes your energy gets to be overwhelming and he’ll gesture for you to be quiet (mostly bc he doesn’t want his starter to wake up and frighten you away). So you learn to be calmer around the two.

You learn that he hardly ever sleeps, due to his need to watch Feralisleep and his insomnia from nightmares whenever he tries to sleep.

But if you have a Munna on your team, you could absolutely help him with that.

Steven

At first his blood goes cold when he sees Ghost bc “isn’t that part of the missing one???” He still has some regrets from using it.

You, however, reassure him this one’s completely different. Plus, you’ve seen Missingno back in your game and knew very well what it was capable of.

After that, Steven calms down, but he still stares at Ghost every once in a while. Clearly he’s unnerved by him, so you show off your other Pokémon to distract him.

Your energy reminds him of Mike’s, but he doesn’t mind you hanging out with him. He became like a dad to you, as he did with Gold and Grey.

One day you see “Miki” and immediately know how she was brought back, though you can understand Steven’s desperation, having lost her in an accident.

The thing with ghost-types is that they’re already dead, in a way, so you didn’t have to fear losing them. But you take good care of the psychic-types on your team, of course. Steven made sure you did.

Glitchy Red

When you first meet him in Glitch City, he was ready to snap your neck at a moment’s notice.

He thought you were one of those NPC trainers until he notices Ghost, and you weren't a blank slate spewing the same dialogue.

You’re just happy seeing Red alive (even if he’s from another game), and you explain where you came from to him, showing him all your Pokémon.

Considering that all the other pokepastas he met seem miserable, he wonders why you’re not the same.

Where’s your anger?? Your rage??? Do you not have any vengeance in your heart????

He’d ask you this, but decides to drop it after seeing you praise your Haunter for their scariest Mean Look.

For a self-aware ghost/psychic trainer, you’re quite cheery.

Buried Alive

You meet Bury while training atop Pokémon Tower, wanting to find a quieter place so the visitors floors below can pay their respects in peace.

Immediately he thinks of you as fresh meat--ripe for the taking--but then notices you also have a Gengar on your team.

Then he brings his out like “same hat!!!!” and the two actually become friends.

They don’t wanna fight, but Bury’s hunger grows stronger the longer you stay near him, so you find some meat for him so he didn’t get those cravings around you.

Since he’s a zombie spirit attached to the tower, he can’t leave, but you’ll visit him every time you return to continue training.

You’re the first human that became his friend.

[nowritingonthewall]

💍 with our Moon Boys please, especially Marc ☺

Hiya, I am so sorry for the late reply, this got way more angstier than I intended and tbh I was a little scared to post it. Thank you so much for sending this ask 🥰

!Content warning for the mention of trauma and child abuse!

A Marriage Headcanon for Marc

- It probably goes without saying that Marc would be the most protective husband that you could imagine. Laying his life on the line without thinking twice to keep you safe and always putting the needs of those he cares about before his own is just the bare minimum of his love language.

- At first he keeps telling himself that his need to hold you at night derives purely from his desire to keep you safe. After all, the only human touch he has known since childhood was mostly of the kind that involved pain, first inflicted upon him by his own mother, followed by his experiences in the Marines, his work for Bushman and all the gruesome deeds he has been forced to carry out in the name of Khonshu’s justice. The whole concept of the simple touch of a hand being warm and loving and gentle lies buried somewhere deep down with his need to be accepted and loved. They are buried under so many layers of projected shame and feelings of guilt that they seem to be out of reach for even the most dedicated of archaeologists to uncover.

- And yet, every time that he can feel you melting into his every embrace, snuggling as close as possible and burying your face in the crook of his neck whenever he opens his arms up for you, lovingly placing your hands on his whenever he hugs you from behind, it seems like another one of those layers is steadily being removed. It takes some time to tear down those walls that he has built around his fragile and vulnerable heart but once their foundation starts to crumble, he turns into the softest and cuddliest snuggle bear whenever he is near you. There is nothing that brings more happiness to his life than making his special someone feel safe and warm and loved.

- His deeply-rooted belief of not being worthy of love doesn’t go away over night, of course, but with every initially hesitant hug by him that is met with your gentle reassurance and warmth instead of the rejection he has learnt to expect, he becomes a little more confident, allowing his heart to open up towards you a little further.

- He has so much love to give and while he may not be able to find the proper words to describe his feelings for you (yet), he more than clearly communicates them to you via his actions, putting his heart and soul into even the tiniest of touches, from the very first cuddle in the morning to the very last hug good night and every little embrace in between.

- Being taken care of in return, on the other hand, is a completely different matter and something he has never actually experienced before he met you. Maybe it’s his inherent protectiveness towards people that he cares about, maybe it’s his deeply ingrained need to make others feel safe in a way that he has never known himself, maybe it’s simply because he has never been with a person who he felt safe enough with to let his guard down like that.

- The first time you try to spoon him, he immediately goes into defence mode, nearly panicking hard enough to make Jake front as he starts to prepare to fend off an attacker. But instead of withdrawing completely, as Marc has always feared that you would someday, you only back off far enough for him to no longer be overwhelmed by your display of affection for him. You always knew that it would take some time to convince him that there is no shame in letting other people provide comfort and support for him the same way that he provides it for you. So your actions just become slower and softer and gentler. You don’t force him to talk about things that he isn’t ready to talk about yet and you certainly don’t expect him to “just get over it”. You are just there, trying to give as much as he needs but never more than he is able to take.

- That night, you start by carefully taking his shaking hands in yours and drawing soothing circles on them with your thumbs, while repeating to him how he is safe and so loved, until his ragged breaths turns into softer sobs. Carefully watching out for the slightest sign that he might flinch away, you gently guide him to lie down next to you so that you are facing each other. When you slowly reach out to cup his cheek in your hand, you wait until you can feel him leaning into your touch ever so slightly, before you start to gently wipe his tears away with your thumb, never minding that they are immediately replaced by new trails of tears. Only when you feel that it is safe to do so, you pull him close towards you, letting him lean against you, slowly beginning to tenderly stroke his back in a soothing rhythm, while answering every sob of his with a soft kiss to his temple or the crown of his head. You lay with him like that all night, steadying him against your chest right next to your heart. The very first person holding him like he should have been held by his mother all those years ago.

- Nowadays he still cries now and then when you hold him like that. Sometimes the tears fall silently, sometimes they turn into heart-wrenching sobs. But they always end with him feeling just that tiny little bit safer, a little warmer, a little more loved. And every time the flow of tears made of pain and grief and despair becomes a little less overwhelming as they – drop by drop – turn into tears stemming from a heart so overflowing with love for you that not even the might of gods would be able to contain it.

- You’ll never forget the first time you wake up and find him snuggled up against you, with his head resting on your belly, his worry lines smoothed over by peaceful slumber, displaying a kind of vulnerability and trust that had seemed so utterly out of reach only a few weeks ago. As you stroke over his hair with the gentlest of movements, you are nearly afraid to wake him up. But he just leans subconsciously into your touch, makes the sweetest little content sound and tries to snuggle even closer to you. Finally safe, finally feeling the kind of peace he had been longing for all his life and yet so much better than anything he ever would have dared to dream of.

This is more of a bonus wedding headcanon than a marriage headcanon but I like to imagine that Marc did not only accept Steven as a part of his marriage to Layla, but he also arranged for them to have a (semi-) official ceremony to seal their bond. Marc knows how much Steven loves Layla, he knows how much Steven is in love with Egypt, so can you imagine Steven’s joy and happiness having his own wedding ceremony with Layla in Egypt? Marc spends all day watching from the sidelines trying his hardest not to cry because seeing Steven so happy and so in love makes his own heart burst with joy. The next day, Steven is still so giddy and bubbling over with excitement that he can’t stop himself from saying how he wished he could hug Marc for real, just one more time. This is when Marc loses his composure, no longer being able to hide his tears from Steven. Steven, who – not that long ago – had been convinced that Marc did nothing but hurt people and ruin everything that he touches. Steven, who is now beaming at him in front of the mirror acting as if Marc himself is the reason for the happiness he feels that day. And while Steven may not be able to hug him, he can still sit by his side without any judgement, reassure him that he isn’t alone and whisper softly how grateful he is for having Marc in his life.  

I am really sorry about making Marc cry so much 🥺 Not all tears are bad, though, and he just deserves someone to take care of him so much <3

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

Mephistopheles 🥰 Dramatic and for what? I do love him and his antics can be hilarious. I haven’t gotten far into the game so my first interaction with him was from an event and he’s chaotic to me. He seems sweet when he wants to be from what I saw from screenshots so yeah! I love him very much! I hope that was a little insightful haha I just saw your post of what we think of him so my brain went brr

Aww heck yeah, Anon! I'm gonna use this as an excuse to write Mephistopheles x Reader, shhhh.

For the past two years, the only real news buzzing around R.A.D. had been about that damned exchange student. MC, the descendant of Lilith, who had all seven lords of Hell and, if rumors were to be believed, the Prince of Hell himself, his butler, Solomon the Wise, and one of the Celestial Realm’s best angels wrapped around their little finger. Every demon they encountered seemed to be enamored by their optimism, bravery, and intelligence, and Mephistopheles hates it. He hasn’t met MC yet, but he’s determined to expose them as nothing more than an ordinary, selfish human. After he finds his missing documents, of course.

He retraces his steps from the R.A.D. Newspaper office, growing more and more worried with every step until he comes to the top of the staircase. At the foot of the stairs, one of the seven brothers and someone unfamiliar and picking up papers, trying to reorganize them into a neat bundle. The stranger curses, and he catches a glance of a completed Sorcerers’ Guild tattoo on their arm as they put their finger into their mouth, nursing an obvious paper cut. The demon at their side immediately turns to comfort them, much to his surprise. “Here, let me heal that for you, MC.”

Rage boils within Mephistopheles’s chest as he descends towards the pair–how dare this human go through his personal documents. As he reaches the bottom and clears his throat, ready to start a grandiose, intimidating speech, MC looks up at him, and every mean word dies on his lips. They just look so… Innocent. Not in the way a child is, but in the way only a human that can survive living with the Seven Sins unscathed can be. Their soul, heavy with magic, burns brilliantly with an aura of strength, confidence, and kindness. He can feel the pact essence of all seven brothers swirling around it protectively. Even more surprising, however, is the curl of an angel’s blessing, blazingly warm and ethereally beautiful, woven into the pacts. There’s no doubt that the being in front of him is beloved by both the celestial and demonic aspects of these three realms. He’s not surprised that, with those pledges of love and the overwhelming roil of magical strength surrounding them, they aren’t afraid of him. “Sorry, are these yours? We were trying to get them back in order before searching for the owner.”

By the Ninth circle, even their voice is beautiful. Now he understands why everyone seems to be so taken with them–at least, that’s what he wants to say. What comes out of Mephistopheles’s mouth as he roughly snatches the papers away is, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you how rude it is to go through someone else’s papers, or are all humans just this stupid?”

The immediate hurt in their eyes makes him want to take it all back, but the momentary weakness is immediately replaced by steely confidence. The demon at their side growls, but the human puts up one hand to stop them. “Don’t, I can handle this.”

They really are fearless, he decides, as they step towards him. “Human, I don’t have all day. Apologize so I can go back to more important things.”

“What’s your name?” The question catches him off guard. “Mephistopheles.”

He hates the way their lip curls up at his name. “Well, I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but you’ve really lived up to every single story I’ve heard about you. I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do, and I’m certainly not going to apologize to you for doing your ungrateful demon ass a kindness. Get out of my way so I can go to my next class.”

Mephistopheles is in love, he decides. He’s in love with this human who seems to already hate his guts. That’s his fault, of course, but he can make a better second impression.

Unfortunately, this hope is completely shattered by the fifth week of his attempts, where he wanted to compliment them on their new perfume and instead made an incredibly loud comment about “human stench.” The demon is desperate at this point–every time he tries to say something nice to MC, his arrogance stops him and makes him insult them instead. Mephistopheles wants to tell them how enthralled he is, how all he wants to do is make them smile and get to know them better, but he just keeps digging himself deeper into this pit of hate.

When he finally drags himself to see Asmodeus and Solomon, the most likely of MC’s partners to take pity on him and help fix this mess, it’s with stinging pride and downcast eyes. Solomon laughs until he’s doubled over, holding his stomach as tears of mirth spill down the sorcerer’s cheeks at the demon’s dilemma. Asmodeus, however, is beyond delighted. “Oh, I knew you’d come around to them, Mephisto! My darling is just too wonderful for anyone to stay away for long–after all, I deserve nothing less than perfection to match my own~”

Mephistopinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, yes, MC’s very enchanting. How do I fix this?”

“Well, how far are you willing to go for this?” The quickness of his own answer surprises him. “I’ll do anything. I just need a way to tell them how I actually feel without my ego getting in the way.”

The wicked grin on the Avatar of Lust’s face, coupled with the gleam in Solomon’s eyes, makes him reconsider his wording, but it’s too late for that now. He’s asked for their help, and they’re going to give it to him.

Asmodeus sends Solomon to Purgatory Hall to brew a potion, something that has Mephisto very concerned, but he has no time to think as Asmo drags him off shopping. He allows himself to be led into clothing stores, listening as the demon lord prattles on about MC’s preference for formalwear and trying whatever outfits Asmo throws at him. Each new look comes with varying levels of complaint until finding one they both agree on. Asmodeus insists that the colors bring out his eyes and compliment his skin tone, and Mephisto is just glad it isn’t sparkly. He draws the line at a haircut, much to Asmo’s dismay, but the extravagant gifts he lets Asmo pick out for him to give to MC as apologies over time seem to make up for it.

The next day, Mephisto finds himself following Solomon up to the door of the House of Lamentation, dressed impeccably and bearing flowers. The sorcerer hands him a small potion–he should probably have insisted on knowing what it will do, but he downs it without hesitation before knocking. MC answers the door, tailed by an eager Asmodeus, and immediately scowls. “Oh, it’s you. Come to tell me how much I smell again, or have you come up with a new insult?”

Mephisto doesn’t answer for a minute, too focused on staring at the human. Asmodeus had said he would dress MC for this so Mephisto would have things to compliment, which he’d thought would be helpful at the time. Now he realizes that, since he finds them attractive even on the days where they show up to class in a slightly wrinkled uniform and bedhead, seeing them all cleaned up with an Asmodeus Approved™ outfit is enough to render him speechless. He internally prepares himself for whatever inane bullshit his pride is going to spit out. “You look incredible.”

They both seem surprised by the words that left his mouth, but Asmodeus has a grin plastered on his face that would put the Chesire Cat to shame as he wraps his arms around MC’s waist and kisses their cheek. “They do, don’t they?”

MC immediately looks suspicious. “What’s your angle? If this is your way of trying to get me to put my guard down so you can properly hurt me, it isn’t going to work.”

“I’m sorry for all of that. I swear I didn’t mean any of it.” Mephisto holds the bouquet of flowers out to them, angling it just right so it blocks their view of his quickly heating face. The human takes the bouquet and hands it to Asmo before crossing their arms. “Solomon, what did you do to him?”

“Well, our friend here was having trouble telling you how he really feels, so I brewed him something to give him a little push.” MC’s eyebrows shoot up. “Mephistopheles–”

“Who doesn’t hate you,” Asmodeus adds helpfully, ignoring the glare the aforementioned demon gives him. “Let you dose him with a truth potion.”

“For the record, I did not know that that’s what they were planning.” Solomon snorts at the admission. “Like you would have gone along with this if you knew that was the plan.”

Mephisto growls in response, but MC holds up a hand, just like they did the first time he saw them. “Solomon, Asmo, how about you two boys give us a moment?” Asmo pouts, but allows Solomon to drag him off into the House of Lamentation, leaving Mephisto alone with MC. “Ok, go on.”

He decides it’s better not to look them for this–if he’s going to have to spill his soul out to them, he doesn’t want to watch them reject that as he does it. The demon fixes his gaze on the ground and takes a deep breath before letting the words spill out of him. He tells them about what he thought when he first met them, how every time he tried to say something nice to them it would come out wrong, and how much he hated seeing them hurt by his words. He lets himself give them every compliment he’d ever wanted to give them, with a few extra for good measure. By the time he’s done, his face feels like it’s on fire, and he prepares himself for the onslaught of well-deserved anger they’re obviously about to unleash on him.

Sorry for the cliffhanger! I have a good ending in progress, but let me know if you want MC to punish him a little first.