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barricadebops · 4 years ago

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And He Falls With a Smile

Summary: In 1823 Feuilly arrives in Paris. In 1824 a man in a daring red waistcoat invites him to a student organization where despite his orphan status, Feuilly gains a family in the throes of rebellion and revolution. Read on AO3 here.

1823

In many ways, Paris is quite unlike the south. The city bustles with more people than Feuilly had ever seen in Aigues-Mortes. He will likely have to take a while to become accustomed to the constant crowds in the streets, the way everyone seems a stranger to each other.

However, to his due consideration, Paris is also in many ways quite akin to the south.

The language of French rolls easy off his tongue like the rhythms of Provençal and Polish, and casts no doubt on his employability when it comes to dealing with coworkers at the fan-making atelier. The streets are still lined with the poor who cry out for help, for just one sou while the haughty bourgeois stroll past leisurely, and there are still women thrown on the ground—prostitutes from destitution, children begging for alms instead of attending school, and there is so much misery that surrounds him when he steps foot in the city, and the orphan boy thinks that there has not been much significant change here, that he will work here until he dies never having known a true family.

Feuilly’s only family has been the concepts of France, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Italy—simply put, the rest of the world, the people of the rest of the world.

So, Feuilly resolves that he shall adopt the people of Paris too.

________________________________________________________________

1824

He meets a man by the name of Bahorel, down by the schools of law.

Three francs does not buy a man much. It hardly puts bread on the table. It certainly does not provide for better clothes than what Feuilly dons everyday. And only in his scarcely selfish dreams, do three francs provide him with a place at the universities of Paris, where every bit of knowledge is put within his reach with thought only of reading and reading and reading until his brain tires and he nods off to sleep, blissful in the knowledge that he will not have to rush awake the next morning to catch work.

But three francs does not lend him that reality. Three francs only lets him gaze wistfully outside the buildings and think of a life where he could read better, where he could write better, where he wouldn’t have to waste away toiling at the fan-making atelier—where others would not have to toil away—others who are younger, who are needy, who should be going to school. People from France, from Poland, from Greece and Hungary and Romania and Italy. People from around the world who deserve better than to have their inherent right to an opportunity, an education, a leap at life—taken away from them.

L'École de droit de Paris is teeming with young men, all affluently dressed, all hailing from wealthy families—men who care not for why lawyers are so prudent, why law needs to be so heavily examined. It is filled with men who walk without casting a glance at Lady Themis, their patron, who stands disappointed—though she may be blindfolded—knowing that her supposed guardians do nothing to bring about justice, to bring about her divine right. It is filled with bourgeois young men with haughty airs, fake smiles, and cold graces.

L'École de droit de Paris teems with such young men when classes are let out. For now, Feuilly can enjoy its tranquility, its academic aura without the glances thrown his way. Peasant worker.

So no one can really seek to blame him for the irritation that rises within him when he feels a man crash into his side, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the hard cobblestones of the campus.

"Are you quite alright?"

Feuilly has the strong urge to snap at the hooligan present above him now that he was not alright at all, not since he disturbed some of the only moments he is allowed to breathe free with his rough tumbling.

But he stops short. Something about the man's smile—though he must admit, it seems rather rude to smile in a situation like this—halts the words on his tongue.

The man, or well rather a boy since he looks like he cannot be much older than him—is smiling brashly, unabashed in his humour. Though he wears the red coat of a man bound to be wealthy, there is a certain quality in the way he holds out his hand to Feuilly, without disgust, without turning his nose up at him, without thinking that he is a great saint for doing so, that makes Feuilly think that he cannot possibly be of the bourgeois, and without thinking, Feuilly takes the proffered hand and rises his feet. As he regains his footing, the man nearly sends him back down by delivering a mighty clap on his back.

"My sincerest apologies, my good fellow. Here you were, wasting away your time like a respectable gentleman should be doing, when I so rudely crashed into you. But I do believe this is a fortunate coincidence! To meet another sensible individual—it is not everyday you have the great opportunity to meet another idler—they seem rather scarce in this dull profession. I do know of just one other, but unfortunately Bossuet is forced to remain in Blondeau's class—what amusement! Imagine Blondeau really considering that being kicked out of his class is a punishment! I fret for poor Bossuet who shall come out having truly come into possession of knowledge on property law. Just imagine!"

Much as Feuilly may have tried if he really did want to, he could not imagine, considering he was not actually a student of law, not to mention that he had absolutely no clue who this Bossuet was.

"But—" the man continues on, and Feuilly vaguely realizes that at this point he should make haste to mention that he is not actually a student of l' ècole and that he really should be heading back to the atelier, but the man barrels on, "say, I have not seen you in any class before. You certainly must be younger than I, for there can be no other way to explain it."

Feuilly flushes. How could this man seriously still go on believing that he was a student here when he saw the way he dressed and held himself?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and clarified, "You're mistaken, Monsieur. I am not a student of the school."

The man's eyebrows furrow for a moment before his smile returns with massive force. "And I thought you could not possibly get better!" Feuilly's gaze darts up curiously. "How fortunate indeed!"

At this, Feuilly's mind staggers a little, and he bristles at the way the man's words rub on him. Did he think it was fortunate that a poor man like him could not afford an education, a right all deserve? Did he think it was fortunate that children lacked the opportunity to acquire knowledge because of the situations they were born into?

This man had to be of the haughty bourgeois, there was no doubt about it. His bold, rather daring waistcoat definitely spoke a testament to the statement.

There was work to be done at the atelier, there were fans to be made, money to be earned, another day to be lived. Feuilly needed to head back and throw this man out of the recesses of his mind, for he did not have any space freed up there either.

And yet—

And yet, Feuilly finds that this man is so incredibly wrong to have said what it is he said, and, well, someone must correct him one way or another—

"Forgive me, Monsieur," he says stiffly, "but I see absolutely no reason as to why this is a good thing. Do you really laugh at the thought of an orphan being unable to find the money to pursue an education?"

For the first time in their spontaneous conversation, the man's face is thrown off guard.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" His brows wrinkle before he bursts out with a hearty laugh. "Oh no! My dear fellow you have it all wrong!" The man grins and for a split moment Feuilly is sure he is the slightest bit mad. "I—of all people! I could never make fun of the peasants—my own parents are peasants, mon ami, it is why they have common sense."

There is something in this man's bold words that has even Feuilly amused enough to crack a smile. Perhaps he had simply misjudged him; though he would likely never understand Feuilly on the full on accounts of actually still having parents that evidently did love their son, the man hailed from a peasant background, so of all things, he was definitely not stuffy like the rest of his new-class, though the daring red coat did write him into Feuilly's books as just the slightest bit reckless—such was the effect of the colour red clothed on such a brash man.

He lets out a resigned sigh; at this point he absolutely has to get back to the factory if he wants to clock in on time. But the man is still grinning at him, and Feuilly cannot help but feel the urge to stay.

"Your words undoubtedly ring true, and it speaks a testament to the kind of life you have been made to lead." All at once, his face turned serious. "We need more men like you at our meetings—come join us, I beg of you."

Meetings? What sort of meetings could this man have been talking about?

Unless…

Feuilly was not illiterate. He had caught whisperings of secret Jacobin societies, groups that hid themselves away from the gaze of the King as they would secretly plot rebellion. A man of the people, the true common man, Feuilly too had been eager to join these groups—but where was the time? He hardly had any time to go back to the pathetic little apartment he had managed to scrounge up money for, how could he find himself time to attend Republican meetings?

At the atelier, the clock was surely ticking away, bringing Feuilly closer every minute to being late heading back to work. "I'm sorry," he turns away and makes to head off. "I find myself unable to join, unfortunately, at the moment."

There is an elbow at the crook of his arm easing him around. "I urge you to reconsider, Monsieur. There is always room for new recruits, and I assure you that your input will always be valued." He opened his mouth to argue when the man put up a hand to stop him. "Your time needn't be an issue—we are all but students, we will uphold your responsibilities if need be. But your word—your word will be no doubt incredibly valuable. Please think of it."

Feuilly hesitates; in the sky, the sun burned bright in indication of a rapidly approaching afternoon. "And what do you call yourselves?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Les Amis de l 'ABC," he replies rather cheekily.

Les Amis de l'ABC? Somewhere, the name strikes at Feuilly's core. The Friends of the ABC. Surely an educational group—that was something he could support—and something he could personally understand, too.

"And what is it exactly that your group does, Monsieur?"

"Well, in name, we are dedicated to the education of children." (L'ABC). The man's smile turns a little sharp as he lowers his voice. "In reality, we… Well, I suppose you would have to come see yourself, would you not? Though I suppose if you ponder our name long enough, you should figure out anyways.”

ABC…

Abaisse.

Les Amis de l’ABC — Les Amis de l'abaisse.

The Friends of the ABC—the Friends of the abased.

A rather clever name, if he had to be quite honest. So it was as Feuilly suspected.

“And who exactly makes up your group?” he asks, attempting to keep up his inquisitive tone even as he moves to clasp the man’s hand.

The man laughs. “Well, if—when we succeed, I imagine we shall become a group that will belong to some measure of history, though that’s not why do what we do.”

“Succeed?”

“Yes! I have no doubts that we shall do exactly that. The question is, Monsieur, will you be there with us when we do so?”

There is no reason to say yes; in fact, there is every reason to say no. The minutes are still ticking by and the factory foreman is not a forgiving man, especially not towards orphans who need the job more than he needs the orphan, and there was never any time to join such organizations, and so many of them are run by bourgeois boys who did not know what they spoke of, never truly knew what it was their goals should be, why would they accept Feuilly among their ranks—

And yet, there is just something about this man, something about the aura he exudes, something brash and reckless but accepting, even if his words do not always come off that way, that makes him hesitate from immediately flatly refusing and turning to get on with his day, something about the unspoken promise held in his words, something about the name—the Friends of the Abased.

He heaves a breath and looks up at the sky; it’s approach towards afternoon and the way campus seems to hold its breath, ready to release when the professors adjourn their classes signals his inevitable tardiness at work.

He glances at the sparkle glinting in the man’s eyes—there is an entire future, a lifetime held within the promise of the society that the man informs him of that Feuilly is yet unaware of.

“Well where is it that you meet?”

With a mighty thump on his back, the man slings an arm around his shoulders, using his arm to point his finger towards the horizon in the direction of the north-east. “Follow the streets until they take you towards the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel, near six tonight. Ask a patron to lead you towards the backroom—a male, however, for we do not allow women to enter—with the exception of dear Louison, that is—surely you can understand the delicate nature of women, my own mistress would tremble at the talk of rebellion and she is one to laugh at about anything I should think to say—and surely you shall see me there. And if I should be late—for it is not unheard of that I should be out late talking to others of the same cause—tell them you were asked to join by Bahorel.”

Feuilly swallows. Seemed rather a large commitment he was signing onto before even truly attending one of these meetings.

“I shall ensure my best efforts to attend one of your meetings then, Monsieur Bahorel,” he says at last.

“And we shall ensure our best efforts to work towards that future in which orphans are allowed to pursue the education they seek.” The man—Bahorel—tips his hat. “Now you must pardon me, Monsieur—”

“Feuilly,” he interrupts. Bahorel inclines his head in sign of having listened.

“—Feuilly,” he says, “but the afternoon approaches and classes will soon be adjourned for the rest of the day, and I must deploy myself to the mighty task of finding Bossuet and listening to his new complaint no doubt against Blondeau, and then head off with him to find young Enjolras and de Courfeyrac too, for though the former may be able to sway a crowd with his words, especially with his second-in-command by his side, those two cannot hope to find their way through the university streets and—”

“Thank you, Monsieur Bahorel, I shall hope to see you then, tonight," he interrupts, only the slightest bit ashamed for having done so; he really does need to be on his way.

If Bahorel takes offense to his interruption, he makes no sign of it; rather, he clasps his hand, and says, “Thank you, Monsieur Feuilly. Your presence will be greatly appreciated. No doubt everyone will be pleased. I look forward to seeing you sit amongst us.

Feuilly tips the ragged hat he has on his head in response.

This is how it begins.

________________________________________________________________

1825

It is ten at night, a most indecent time for respectable men to still be outside, and yet Feuilly can see no sign of Enjolras tiring while he listens with bright eyes to what Feuilly has to say on the subject of the partitioning of Poland.

It was indeed a topic of great rage and indignation for Feuilly, that date of 1772. How was it that a monarchy, a tyranny, had the right to strip a people of their identity? Of their nationality? He exclaimed as much to Enjolras, who watched on with awe.

"But how can they have the right? To tell a people that they no longer have the ability to climb atop their tables and exclaim 'I am Polish! Here I stand free in my country of Poland! ?" Running a hand through his fiery hair, he fumed just as he thought about it. "The audacity!"

At the table, Enjolras scoots closer, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Indeed. Tell me more of it.”

He glances at him, and, briefly, he allows himself to ponder the person sitting in front of him. Feuilly hesitates to call him a boy, though, at nineteen years, that is exactly what he is.

It is simply that, despite his excessively youthful face, there was something in Enjolras' eyes that gave him the feeling that the boy had already lived for hundreds of years, made him feel as if he were seated in front a man who had already, in some previous existence, traversed the many revolutions of the past.

And yet—

And yet, despite that, not having gone unnoticed by any of those few members who attended the meetings, it is Feuilly who Enjolras evidently idolizes—reveres, even.

And it is a fact that Feuilly cannot fully comprehend; of all the people Enjolras is surrounded by, all the people he has to idolize—Combeferre or Joly or even Bahorel—he sees first and foremost Feuilly, a poor orphan who struggles to read when Enjolras himself could make his way through the thickest of volumes with ease.

Feuilly does not think less of himself for his background, but how often can a man go on surrounded by people who excelled in a variety of skills than he could only ever hope to gain without feeling the occasional pang of self doubt?

He allows himself a smile. “But I thought you had already read about this, Enjolras? Combeferre tells me the matter is one that incenses you quite the bit—rightfully, might I add.”

He thinks of how strange it is—at the atelier, no one gave second thought to anything Feuilly had to say, so he never really thought to say anything anymore to his coworkers or his foreman who he knew would either ignore him or dismiss him straight away.

But Enjolras listens. He listens to the words of a poor orphan boy, and despite his upbringing by his parents that likely taught him not to pay heed to the words of a man like Feuilly, he instead leans forward, always leans forward at every meeting whenever Feuilly raises his voice to contribute, and he listens breathlessly and nods and says But of course, and Yes you’re right, and But if you could please tell us more, we need more of what you have to say.

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Yes, of course, the stripping of the autonomy of any nation is an injustice—it is simply that hearing you speak of it is all the more informing.”

Feuilly quirks an eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Because you are all the more knowledgeable of this, of course.”

He huffs a laugh. “It was not as if I was there when they put down the first partition. I am hardly an eye-witness, nor would I say more knowledgeable than you.”

In front of him, Enjolras reaches a hand to grasp at Feuilly’s. “But you are! For as well as I understand it, I could never truly know what kind of an effect such a monstrous event could have on the common man. But you, Feuilly, you know so well, for you have endured far worse than I have, you are a much better man than I am, surely you must know you have my eternal respect—”

As he blushes, Feuilly briefly thinks of scolding Enjolras for proclaiming Feuilly better than himself only on the grounds that he was born in a different circumstance.

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand back. “Do not declare yourself a lesser man than me, Enjolras. Over this past year you have demonstrated the fact that those of the upper class can still have compassion and the skill to identify injustice, and you have made me feel all the more welcome amongst your ranks.”

Enjolras smiles. “Les Amis de l’ABC would not be what we are without your inclusion, my friend. It is for people like you that we fight, it would hardly be a cause if we did not have your voice present with us. The gratitude should be coming from me to you for trusting us, for joining us. You make us who we are Feuilly.”

And Feuilly is just the slightest bit blown away by Enjolras’ words, for while he knew Enjolras held a special sort of respect for him, he had never imagined that his reverence shaped up like this.

“Will you tell me more about Poland?”

He glances down at Enjolras, who stares up with hopeful eyes, and he smiles.

“But of course.”

________________________________________________________________

1826

It is not unheard of that Jehan Prouvaire should be sitting quietly in his corner after meetings, staring dreamily at his paper as if he could see entire meadows and forests scrawled on it rather than the lushious words he pens to create his poetry.

“The stars are not out and yet you gaze at your paper as if you can already see the constellations they form,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair next to Prouvaire, having been beckoned over.

Prouvaire blushes and smiles softly. “Every constellation has a story tied to it, and poetry seeks to do much the same. Poetry is how our ancestors spoke of their tales around the fire.”

“Is that what you will be writing about today? The stars?”

Prouvaire hums and shakes his head. “No. I think I should like to write in Polish today.”

Jerking slightly, Feuilly looks at him, confused. “Write in Polish?”

He nods. “Yes. I think of it often, you know, and I feel it’s an injustice, the way the Polish identity has been stolen from the people, almost as if their right to thought has been taken. I figured, would it not be prudent, then, of me to write a poem in Polish, and reaffirm their status?”

Nodding vigorously, Feuilly agrees, “Yes, of course. Your words hold the utmost merit, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge this through your words. I can think of no better way for you to express your thoughts about this than through your sacred form of writing.”

He props his chin on his hand and leans forward. “Yes, but I seem to encounter a problem in that I do not know how to speak Polish. My friend, I only have one favour to ask of you: will you help me construct this poem?”

Feuilly blinks. Of all the honours he could have been bestowed with… For Prouvaire, reading and writing poetry was one of the very fundamental things that kept people humble. To connect to nature, to hear of stories past—it is what both allows humans to soar amongst the beauty present in the world, yet keep them humbled and grounded to work on what needed to be improved. For Prouvaire, poetry is his form of worship, his devotion to the miracles of the world before him, present in front of him, and the one yet to come.

“You would choose to ask… me, to help you?” he asks, bewildered at the thought of him sharing something so close to his heart, to his spirit.

There is a sort of sparkle in Prouvaire’s eyes, a look he reserves for when he gazes at wildflowers and oats growing in meadows, or for when he hears the nightingale sing—a look so impossibly soft that he can use it only when he finds himself looking upon a being he believes deserves to be showered upon with love and written about with the utmost tenderness—and it is present in his eyes when he gently places his hand atop Feuilly’s and says with the utmost solemnity, “My friend, I could think of no one else who I would trust more for such a matter.”

Feuilly is rendered speechless. Both with the love he feels for his friend, and by the astonishment at the trust his friend shows in him.

Feuilly hopes the world will see Prouvaire's soft verses and name him with the likes of Keats, whom he idolizes.

Jehan hopes that one day the world will read his poem—the one he writes now, that tells the story of a common fan-maker who spoke Polish and still strived to see the possibilities of the entire world despite the world never having strived to see the possibility in him—and understands the adoration that he and the rest of his friends had for a man who was made up of a thousand different nations and came from a thousand different stories and had with him a thousand different plans for the future.

________________________________________________________________

1827

The sky is dark and Feuilly’s perception of time has been skewed by the long, insufferable hours spent at the atelier crafting fans while harbouring a most dreadful headache.

He does not see that the clock has struck much past seven, much past eight, now half an hour after nine, and that his foreman kept him detained much longer than he realizes, taking advantage of the evident illness that has Feuilly dazed and unaware. With much effort, he pushes the door to the café open and stumbles towards the backroom where he expects his friends will be.

Upon reaching the backroom, he leans a hand against the frame and struggles to comprehend the image of an empty room, one where the meeting has clearly adjourned.

Well, mostly empty.

“Feuilly?” At his side, Combeferre reaches a hand to place on his shoulder, a steadying presence among the rushing winds that seem to have found their way into the café. “Are you quite alright?”

He coughs—once—twice—three times into his fist. “Well I do find myself in a bit of confusion,” he admits as Combeferre gently takes him by the crook of his elbow and seats him at a table. “Has the meeting for today been cancelled? I would not have imagined that everyone would be busy all at the same time.”

Combeferre tilts his head and looks at him peculiarly. “The meeting?” He frowns. “My friend, are you well? The meeting ended about an hour and a half ago.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he coughs twice more as he shakes his head and says, “No, that cannot be. Surely it cannot be so late. I had only just seen the clock, look, there, it says…” he trails off as his eyes fall upon the small hand halfway towards its path to the painted ten, then glances back at Combeferre sheepishly. Clearing his throat, a rather painful task to do considering just how raw it feels, he manages to scrape out the words, “It appears I have missed the meeting. I apologize, I did not realize just how late it had become.”

Combeferre smiles sympathetically. “Evidently. Your presence was greatly missed at the meeting, Enjolras looked rather down about it, but nonetheless we understood, though we thought it was simply because you were working.

Burying his head in his hands, he croaks, “I was supposed to be working regular time. I don't know how I didn't realize the foreman had me working late without informing me of it.” At this, Combeferre’s eyes darken a shade.

“You cannot let this go unprotested, Feuilly,” he says, the slightest bit angry, though Feuilly knows it is not anger directed towards him. “Your foreman has no right to do so; we will go back tomorrow and demand he pay you what you deserve for working the extra hours you did.”

Raising his head, Feuilly looks up, a little surprised at Combeferre. “It will not work, Combeferre, for all that I would like it to. The foreman has plenty of people available to replace me should I start to fuss. Though it is wrong, you must know that he has the power to keep me longer without paying.”

Combeferre runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “However much power he holds, he cannot go against the principle of the matter and expect no retaliation. It is settled; we will go and speak to your foreman.” When Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, Combeferre holds his hand up and halts the words on his tongue. Silently, he reaches forward and gingerly places the back of his hand on Feuilly’s forehead, tutting at the heat that comes away. “Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

Feuilly frowns. “It is really not that much of a concern, my friend—”

“Feuilly,” Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at him again, “in about a years time I shall begin my internship at l’Hôpital Necker; as of right now, I have enough medical knowledge—well, really, anyone has enough medical knowledge—to diagnose you with the fact that you have caught a cold—no doubt from the rainy season we have all found ourselves trapped in—and while it is nothing serious, it can become something of a concern if you do not rest and allow me to take care of you.”

Feuilly looks away. “While I do not doubt your knowledge, Combeferre, you needn’t bother yourself with—”

“What is more so a bother, Feuilly,” Combeferre interrupts him once more, and does not even look the slightest bit embarrassed for doing so, “is when one of my friends fall ill, and instead of taking the time they need to get better, they only continue to work until it is worse and their recovery becomes all the more difficult.” He watches as Combeferre rises from his seat, holding out his hand when he says, “So, for my own convenience, if you believe—unjustly, may I add—that your own convenience is not worth it, please come back with me to my apartment so that we can have you back on your feet in mere matter of days rather than weeks.”

As Feuilly allows himself to be hauled up, his arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, for he does not believe he has the strength in him to stand a single second more on his own—he marvels at what it is he must have done that warrants fate to provide him with friends who care for him like a mother or father would their own child, though Feuilly is not well acquainted with the feeling.

________________________________________________________________

1828

Even before he feels Courfeyrac’s hand clap down on his shoulder, Feuilly can feel Courfeyrac approaching—because that is simply the kind of person he is; his aura is boisterous and bubbly, a loud that made you grin rather than cringe away.

“My friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “My friend, my friend, my very good friend!”

Feuilly smiles as he knows what is inevitably going to come up. “As much as you may ask, Courfeyrac, I simply do not have the time to stand out in the middle of the street only so you can ‘save’ me in front of that Genevieve girl you have recently taken a fancy to.”

Courfeyrac looks taken aback for a moment before he begins to laugh. “No, no, I was not speaking of that. Besides, I have most recently been made to come to sense that I do not need anyone to play the part of a man in distress who needs to be saved—as long as I somehow end her near Bossuet, I shall allow him to carry on with the way he already lives, and soon enough I shall have saved him from his own stupidity in front of her!”

At another table, Bossuet indignantly pipes up, “Hey!” In response, Joly waves his cane dismissively.

“Calm yourself, Aigle de Meaux, his facts are not incorrect.”

As Bossuet and Joly begin to bicker in that lighthearted way friends so often do, Courfeyrac turns his gaze towards him, and Feuilly finds himself blinking, trying to figure out what exactly it is Courfeyrac will be asking him as a favour, for he knows the beginning of their conversation is exactly what Courfeyrac will do every time he seeks to extract a favour from someone.

And whatever it is, Feuilly already knows he will be saying yes, for not only does he love his friend enough to do anything for him, he is sure that had it been Feuilly asking for the favour, Courfeyrac would have already been up from his seat heading off to help.

“Out with it, Courfeyrac,” he encourages with a smile. “What is it that you evidently need me to do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “You know me so well, my dear friend. Well, the matter is,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “my parents have been writing incessantly to me in hopes that I will, at their side, attend the ball of one of their long-time friends.” Courfeyrac grimaces. “I shall depart for Avignon in a week’s time.”

Feuilly blinks, confused. He could hardly grasp at what this entire affair had to do with him.

“But Courfeyrac, you have always struck me as a man who delighted in dressing in a nice coat and going dancing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Courfeyrac huffs impatiently. “I like to go dancing with my friends. I would rather not have to suffer by my parents’ side at some ball surrounded by a crowd of people who cheer at the sight of the 1814 Charter.”

At his mention of the Charter, Feuilly allows himself a little laugh, his mind straying to a recent memory of Courfeyrac throwing a copy of the very same thing in the fire during a heated debate with Combeferre.

Calming himself, he manages enough breath to ask, “That is all good and fine, but what do I have to do with all this?”

With a beam, Courfeyrac shuffles closer to throw an arm around his shoulders. “So,” he begins, “all I ask from you is a small favour.” At Feuilly’s silence, he continues, “I want you to attend with me.”

At this, Feuilly nearly spits out the coffee he had taken in his mouth.

Once he finishes choking, he adopts a look of astonishment and asks, “Me?”

Courfeyrac’s grin is one of sincerity; try as he might, there is no sort of a joke written on his face. “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, he asks, “But… Why would you ask me of all people?”

At this, Courfeyrac frowns. “But why ever not you? I cannot think of a single reason why I would not ask you.”

He feels a humiliating blush stain his cheeks as the many, many reasons why he should be amongst the last people Courfeyrac should ask crosses his mind. For God’s sake, even Grantaire is a more preferable option—he, at least, hailed from a wealthy family, and so has the knowledge of the sort of behaviour and etiquette to be employed in such situations.

With a sad sort of smile, he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and says, “Find someone else to go with you, Courfeyrac. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must deny you this one thing.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepens. “But why?”

Must he really push this issue?

Well, Feuilly is not ashamed of who he was, but it really is a little rude making him say the words.

“Courfeyrac,” he sputters, “I haven’t the faintest clue how to behave at such a social gathering. Neither do I… neither do I have the money for the sort of lavish clothing no doubt one is expected to wear there.”

Courfeyrac’s mouth flattens, and it is a rare moment that Feuilly sees him so frank. “Your background has not rendered you a scoundrel, Feuilly—I have only ever seen you act as a man should—honest and down-to-earth. You’re exactly the kind of person a man should be like, and frankly I do not care much for the opinions of my parents’ friends, and I believe you needn’t do so either. As for clothing, if you will not allow me to purchase you new clothing, I shall simply ask Combeferre to borrow his, on your behalf.”

His little speech shocks him. “But,” his voice is a little weak, “why would you ask me?”

At last, Courfeyrac’s face brightens once more into the sort of face he was famous for amongst his friends. “My friend! You are such interesting conversation! I cannot think of another person I would rather have by my side as I am forced to endure another gathering of insufferable royalists.”

Feuilly struggles with his words. Courfeyrac would have him attend the ball by his side? Once more he finds himself searching Courfeyrac’s face for any hint of a cruel joke, but finds none.

At his silence, Courfeyrac rises from his seat, grinning widely, for silence tends to give the impression that the opposing side has fallen into agreement. “Excellent! So, Tuesday next week we shall depart. And I shall begin my valiant search through Combeferre’s wardrobe!”

Feuilly remains astonished in his seat.

________________________________________________________________

1829

If he has to be completely honest, Feuilly does not talk very often with Grantaire, and so, Feuilly finds he cannot really come to a conclusion about him. He sees that the man is doubtful of their efforts, loud and rambunctious, and is drunk, always seems to be drunk.

But there is also a sort of melancholy present on his face when he thinks no one can see, when he does not constantly keep up that smirk as he goes on his next drunken ramble, a bitter and sardonic expression when he hears the rest speak of revolution and he finds himself too tired to even inject himself into the conversation. He sees a yearning, impossibly broken look grace Grantaire's face when their leader starts to speak or makes to smile or cries when upset or rages when he is furious—he seems to look as if he is reaching for something he can never quite have no matter how he stretches his fingers whenever Enjolras does anything, really.

Feuilly does not know much of Grantaire. So, he thinks to speak to him.

"Grantaire," he sits down next to him and inclines his head in greeting when Grantaire looks up from where he had been staring hard at his bottle of absinthe.

"Ah! The fan-maker makes time for me at last!" Grantaire cries as he spreads his arms wide. "Yes, young Feuilly, what is it that you find yourself in need of a drunk for?"

He ignores the young comment, only meditating briefly on the fact that he is the same age as Grantaire, and instead, hoping to forge a connection to the man, asks, "Did you really study under the guidance of Gros?"

Grantaire bellows out a loud peal of laughter. "My good fellow," he slurs, and Feuilly worries for how much he has had to drink tonight, "you must not believe everything that comes out of this drunkard's mouth."

He furrows his eyebrows. So he was lying?

"So you lied?" he asks in clarification. "You never did go to art school?"

A smile twists up Grantaire's face. "I only just told you not to trust everything I say. And yet! And yet, what is the first thing you do after I give you advice?"

He was beginning to get a little lost here. "I’m not quite sure I follow. Did you attend art school or not?"

Grantaire leans back in his chair. "Yes and no!"

"Yes and no?"

He grins at Feuilly. "A tale worthy of the likes of pleasant idlers, I am afraid, and while you are pleasant enough, you are anything but an idler—you cannot possibly hope to enjoy it."

He leans forward. "And yet, I find myself curious enough to hear of it nonetheless."

"Well," he starts, and for a moment, Feuilly fears that Grantaire will start on another one of his rather infamous rants, and while it is not that he is exactly opposed to them, but more so, he needs to get home so he can get however many hours of sleep Joly ordered him to get. "I certainly did attend classes at first. But the pretentiousness of it all! No man can tell you better that artists are amongst the most pretentious people to grace this hellish landscape we call earth. And the nude models were hardly anything to look at! I could get myself a better whore for less than a sou! Or better yet, not pay at all when it is me that such women always want!"

For a split second, Grantaire's gaze drifts, and when Feuilly tracks the movement of his eyes, he ends up looking over to where Enjolras stands at the table near the front, regarding Grantaire with a strong look of disappointment as he holds Grantaire's stare before returning to whatever it was he was discussing with Combeferre.

Grantaire tips his bottle towards the ceiling.

"No, I made the decision that no more would I waste away somewhere I knew I would rot. So instead I spent my time pilfering apples."

He huffs a laugh. “Pilfering apples? The ones used to model fruit?”

Within Grantaire’s eyes, Feuilly sees a mischievous sort of glint. “The very same.”

“And now? Do you still attend?”

He shrugs. “From time to time, though, I must ask why you think to ask me. My good fellow,” he reaches forward and lays a heavy hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “I should think to ask you, rather, on your own painting.”

Feuilly flushes a little. “I haven’t the slightest of time for painting, Capital R.”

“And yet what little you have painted deserves to be hung up next to the works of Géricault!” Grantaire cries once more, and despite himself, Feuilly grins a little.

“It is hardly anything compared to Géricault.”

Grantaire waves a dismissive hand. “Bah! All these names—Géricault, Prud’hon, Delacroix—all of them are insufferable men who catch one whiff of fame and lose themselves to their pretentiousness. Your one work, young fan-maker, would be worth more than any of those scoundrels’ paintings put together.”

And Feuilly cannot help but gape, for this man in front of him, the very set definition of a skeptic, who once told their group, on his own whims, that believing was for the foolish and that he had no wish to believe in anything that would earn him an early death—he now sits here telling Feuilly that he finds meaning in his work, more meaning than in the works of the greatest painters to exist.

It leaves him shocked beyond compared.

Attempting to gather his thoughts once more into a state of decent coherency, he proceeds to ask, "Do you paint anymore?"

For a moment, just one quick moment that Feuilly admits he would not have caught had he not been looking closely, Grantaire's eyes flicker over to where Enjolras appears to be moderating some sort of a debate between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, laughing at something Courfeyrac must have said, and he notices the way Grantaire's face twists bitterly.

"Yes."

Feuilly does not ever ask what—or who—his subject is.

________________________________________________________________

1830

The weather of Paris in the spring signals the approach of a storm the Friends, unknown yet to their knowledge, will find themselves fighting in when the people decide in the season of July that tyranny must not be allowed to continue, and will resurrect barricades all throughout the city in the name of a free France achieved through a revolution that sees the overthrowing of King Charles X.

But for now, it is spring and the rain beats down upon the poor the hardest, upon those who have less shelter, fewer clothes, scarce food, and only in abundance do they have misery.

Feuilly counts himself lucky that he has a roof over his head, even if it is one that freezes in the night’s cold, and in the summer, swelters in the day’s heat.

Joly, however, does not seem to think so.

“I simply cannot allow you to go back to your flat when the rain beats down on our heads like this!” he cries, ignoring Feuilly’s several protests to the idea of spending the night at Joly’s residence, after Joly had taken one step into Feuilly’s own apartment and declared it uninhabitable in their current temperatures. “There is more than enough room at my residence, and I will not have one of my own falling ill when I had more than enough resources to prevent the ailment.”

“I wish not to intrude,” Feuilly repeats for what must surely be the hundredth time. “You already find yourself housing Bossuet, too, and—”

“Feuilly,” Joly scrubs a hand across his face, “helping a friend is hardly any bother to me. In the six years we have known each other is this how you expect me to behave?”

And Feuilly stops short, because Feuilly, who has never had a family—who has never had a mother or father or brother or sister—could hardly ever have imagined in his life that would have a friend—that he would have several friends—who would care for him—who would love him—like this, enough to offer up the chance at a residence that must look like a palace compared to his own shabby room, even if for one night.

“I simply… I simply would not want to cause any burden,” he mumbles.

Joly’s face splits into a bright grin, the one everyone who knows him is familiar with, the one that gives reason to why they all call him Jolllly. “But my friend!” he exclaims. “The more people to house, the more amusing the occasion, no?” Armed in one hand with his cane and the other holding Feuilly by the elbow, he begins to lead him towards his apartment. “Come! We shall make merry by the fire and drink to our heart’s content today—and we will not have to worry about rationing our drinking, for Grantaire is not here, either!”

“Make merry by the fire? But I regret to inform you that the Yuletide season is well past us,” an amused voice says by their side. As they both turn to the left, a familiar, laughing bald head makes itself apparent to their eyes.

Feuilly snorts. “I have not known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to nest by Joly’s fire, Bossuet. I find that I would rather while away the time in the false pretense that Christmas is still upon us rather than spend the hours shivering in the rain—would you not?”

“Bossuet can handle a little rain, what with the two sous in his pockets, he may even be able to manage a meager coffee,” Joly teases, carefully bringing the tip of his cane to rub at his nose.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, how does one manage a coffee at just two sous?”

“With enough grovelling at my door once he realizes that his endeavour is an impossible one and he owes me for the medical supplies I would inevitably have to purchase to bring him back to health after shivering so long in the cold.”

Bossuet bellows a laugh as he makes way for himself in between Feuilly and Joly, draping an arm around each's shoulders. “The grovelling will not be necessary, Jolllly, I shall tag along anyways. I would never decline, having found myself in the company of our dear friend Feuilly.”

Feuilly shoots him a confused look. “And why might my company be so desirable?”

Bossuet and Joly both laugh as if he had just told them the most amusing joke, but Feuilly cannot quite catch what it is that is so funny about what he said.

“Friends do not ask each other why their company is desirable, Feuilly,” Bossuet simply says.

And Feuilly feels something warm in his heart turn to a roaring fire, despite the chill of the rain.

Later, when he finds himself tucked into one of Joly’s armchairs, a blanket around him, he feels Joly lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder, looking at him most earnestly.

“I beg you think not of this as charity, my friend, but rather as something a friend would do for another. Nay a friend—more a brother.”

And with that, Joly leaves to prevent Bossuet from setting himself on fire in the kitchen while Feuilly struggles to blink back a wetness that threatens to slide down his cheeks, though his feelings are far from any sort of sorrow he has felt before.

________________________________________________________________

1832

He is hungry and he is thirsty and he is tired and he knows he is going to die.

He also knows that not only will he die in triumph, but he can imagine no other group of wonderful, extraordinary, familiar people he would rather die with.

Enjolras has already delivered news of their abandonment. Now, they sit and listen as he speaks of the principles of their fight, of the principles of their deaths, and Feuilly can think of no better speech he has ever heard in his short life.

He realizes, with a jolt, that Enjolras has turned to him. “Listen to me, Feuilly, valiant worker, man of the people, man of the peoples. I revere you. Yes, you see the future clearly, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father. You’re going to die here—in other words, to triumph.” He holds his gaze for a second longer before he continues.

And Feuilly nods. Because he believes in Enjolras. He trusts in his words.

He knows he will die. But what better cause could there be?

He wishes they had succeeded, he had hoped, had so ardently believed that the people would rise with them.

But if the people do not wish to answer the call of revolution, he knows it will not succeed. He has accepted this.

And he realizes it is okay. He has come to terms with it.

He dwells on Enjolras’ words.

You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father.

And, he quietly thinks to himself, I have adopted my friends as my brothers. And there is no one I would rather die beside. There are no other people who I would rather see smile one more time, or hold one more time, or laugh with and cry with and sit with one more time.

When he had first arrived in Paris, back eight years ago, Feuilly had resolved that he would adopt the people of Paris just as he had adopted those of the rest of the world.

He never imagined he himself would be adopted in turn.

________________________________________________________________

Rather than the bullet, Feuilly feels a sort of warmth spread through him instead. He lifts a hand to place at his side, where his blood begins to seep through his shirt and waistcoat.

He thinks of Bossuet’s laugh when he comes up with only two sous in his pocket and still offers Feuilly a drink.

He remembers why Joly was named the way he was, remembers his jollity in just about every situation Feuilly had found himself and Joly trapped in.

He nearly laughs at the thought of Grantaire’s rambles, and he sympathizes with his pursuit to find a family after his own had thrown him out. He sincerely hopes he will find the family that Feuilly did, too.

He recalls the feeling of Courfeyrac’s warmth, recalls how he kept the group together, how he shared that warmth with everyone no matter who they were, even if they were orphans like Feuilly.

He remembers Combeferre’s care, the way he always seemed to keep one eye open to look after everyone in the group, the way he never stopped making sure Feuilly got enough sleep, or had enough food, or rested enough, and he thinks that the world has just lost one of its greatest doctors.

He smiles at the memory of Jehan’s empathy, how his eyes seemed to see right through anything, and the way he always knew when to sit with Feuilly and ask him if there was something he wanted to share, something weighing down on his chest that was suffocating him, something that seemed to be relieved only when Jehan would smile that soft smile of his and tell him that he always had him by his side.

He can still feel Enjolras’ passion light up the barricade, recalls how his passion showed when he preached of a free France, when he spoke of the plight of the poor, and remembers the way that passion would soften into reverence when he would sit with Feuilly and listen to what he had to say, despite the fact that all his life he was likely taught to disregard men like him.

He remembers Bahorel’s bravery, how could he ever forget? He remembers that reckless smile, the bold behaviour that led to him taking his hand after being toppled to the ground, remembers that single question Bahorel asked him that would change his life forever, and he wishes—he cries at the thought of never having had the chance to say thank you, to tell him he is the reason why Feuilly is content to die in the situation he has found himself in.

Feuilly thinks of being born into the world with no family, no one to call his own.

Then he thinks about leaving it having found the men he loves, he loves—oh Lord above he loves like he could never love a mother or a father, he loves these men so much that it tears his heart in two thinking of each and everyone dying—he catches a glimpse of Enjolras being backed up the stairs while the National Guardsmen continues to prowl their way towards him and he sees Combeferre glance towards the heavens as his chest is speared by three bayonets and he sees Courfeyrac fall to his side having been shot once, twice, three times, and he sees Joly and Bossuet look towards each other as they are both shot side by side and he remembers the strength in Jehan’s voice when he cried out one last time in the name of the world they had sought to build and he remembers Bahorel’s spirit being the first to leave and he remembers, remembers, remembers, and it hurts so much, it makes him ache with a pain that makes him want to scream and cry for he cannot imagine the thought of having finally found his family and then having them torn from him, one by one, he hurts so much and surely God cannot be so cruel that he snatches their dreams, snatches the only people he knows he will ever love away—

And then he finds peace. Because as he bleeds out, he hears a voice, clear as the dawn drawing above the new day, cry out Long live the republic! and it is Grantaire, and he can almost hear Enjolras smile when he hears what he knows is the final report resounding, and in Combeferre’s eyes there is a sort of divine trust as his eyes remain affixed to where he believes he will find salvation, and there is a sort of tranquility in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he sees the way Joly and Bossuet are still looking to each other even in death, and he thinks of how Jehan went out exactly as he wished, with strong words on his tongue, and he thinks of Bahorel’s fighting spirit and how he died doing what he thought was right.

His hand grows damper and hotter as his blood seeps out quicker and quicker.

The world may not remember their names in history—but Feuilly knows they will have a permanent place in his.

Like Combeferre, he casts his eyes towards heaven, and he thinks he can see Bahorel hold out his hand like he did eight years ago.

He can’t wait to have his life change again.

And Feuilly falls with a smile.

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shedobewritingtho · 4 years ago

Text

To the stars - Park Jinyoung

! nsfw - smut !

2,9 k

Big thanks to @ihateeveryone2021 for requesting this prompt and also for having patience with me all this time. Enjoy reading it!

**also this needs editing and a "read more", I'm mentioning this because I know I have to include this, and for that I'll be back later. Thanks for your patience! 💕

"Come on, you have to be active in order to learn how to use it properly." Bambam whines while taking Jinyoung"s phone in order to show him how reels work. "I know you are a bit older but I was not expecting you to act as if you were born in the past century."

"Give it back." Jinyoung says on a pouty tone, while reaching out and snatching his phone out of his friend's hand. "I don't need your help if you're going to insult me."

"Well good luck then!" his friend answers while laughing. "You better be coming with me this weekend, I have already bought two tickets."

"Yeah, whatever." the elder says while focusing on his phone.

Bambam's love for fashion was a good excuse for the two to go out and have some fun. There was this upcoming runway show they wanted to attend and it was getting closer and closer, making Bambam act like the fake maknae he is out of excitement.

On the other hand, Jinyoung was getting really bored and thought that a good way to promote himself would be social media, the tool everyone uses lately. There was one problem though. He never found too much interest in this before so he was not the most skilled influencer on the platform. His picture-taking skills were not bad, but when it came to selfies, the poor boy had to try hard. Posting was not a pleasure either, the descriptions not making any sense in his opinion and the commands on instagram not being really easy to follow.

So here comes the deal: Jinyoung agreed to go with Bambam on this runway show as long as Bambam would help him learn how to use instagram and other social media. A deal hard to keep when his friend was getting annoyed at his lack of skill.

After giving it some thought, Jinyoung decided against dissapointing his friend, although the instagram skill-learning process was now a solo battle. So here they were, on a saturday evening, ready to attend this big runway show. At least Jinyoung was ready. Bambam was fashionably late, as always, so his friend was now texting him not very cute invitations.

"I should've known he would be late. Ah, sh*t. He's got both tickets. Amazing." Jinyoung mutters to himself while waiting in front of the big building. Even from outside, everything looked shiny and expensive, as expected. People were entering the building in a calm, calculated manner, no hustle. Everyone was dressed nice and had an exquisite aura. Jinyoung really loved the place, even from outside, so he had a really good idea: what about trying to take a really cool selfie there? The lights were amazing and everyone seemed to think the same.

He took his phone out of his pocket, looked for the instagram app and, after a few taps, he managed to open the app's camera. Here comes the hard part. Jinyoung extends his arm in order to include in the picture the amazing background he had. Because of his poor skills, though, he finds himself stumbling and moving a bit around, trying to get the perfect picture. While taking a step back, he bumps into someone.

"I'm so sorry." he manages to speak after meeting your eyes. You give him a kind and reassuring look.

"No problem, you seem to struggle a bit with that phone." you say chuckling.

"This selfie is harder to take than I thought. I wanted the nice background in the picture, but it seems I was a little bit to greedy, right?" he defends himself while laughing too.

"Mmm, don't think so. Here, let me help." you say while taking his phone. You position the camera in a way that includes everything in frame: Jinyoung, the background and yourself. "Smile. Or pose." you say and then press the button, taking a gorgeous picture.

"Woah, you are good." he exhales while relaxing from the stiff position he was in while the picture was taken. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure. Here, post it." you say while giving the phone back, then take a quick look at your wristwatch. Another minute and you were late. "I'm sorry, but I have to go." is all you manage to scream while running inside leaving Jinyoung confused.

"Goodbye to you too I guess." he says while following you with his gaze, only now noticing that you were entering the building without the guards checking your ticket. "Now how do I post it?" Jinyoung sighs while tapping again, succeeding right when Bambam came.

"Sorry I'm late Nyoung." he says while hugging Jinyoung's arm.

"Okay, I forgive you. Stop it with the cutesy stuff." the elder says while struggling to get the younger one off his arm.

After admiring the building from the outside, Jinyoung had to admit that the inside was at a whole next level. It perfectly fitted his taste, it was a delight. Shortly after the show started, Jinyoung notices a familiar face walking down the runway stage. Your outfit was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen and your make up was suble, but it revealed your beautiful features. There was a shine all over your body that made you look ethereal. The way the reflector's light fell on your shiny pieces of clothing. He was amazed, looking up at your every step, feeling like in a trance. Everything made sense now, how you approached him out of nowhere and offered to help take a selfie. More than that, you allowed him to post a picture that showed your face without a doubt. Were you expecting him to recognize you? That was confusing.

As you make your way to the backstage, Jinyoung takes his phone out to check on the notifications which, speaking of, were blowing up. It didn't take him much reading to discover that he has just posted a casual selfie with the hottest model right before you went on stage. Everyone was praising your looks and saying how well your face complimented his. "Jinyoung and Y/N in the same picture? Now my life is complete.", "I didn't know GOT7's Jinyoung is friend with Y/N *shocked face*", "They really look good in this picture." were only a few comments he read before shoving the phone back into his pocket. The rest of the show he spent zoning out while thinking about your looks, wishing you would walk in front of him at least one more time, but you didn't.

"A few days ago you didn't know how to access the search tab and now you just won't stop typing. I'm shocked." Bambam teases his friend.

"Thanks for teaching me." Jinyoung responds without taking his eyes off his phone.

"Okay, I'll go say hi to some friends. Do you want to meet them or I should let you have a few moments alone with that phone?"

"I'll wait here."

How come no verified account shows up when he searches your name? Is there any possibility you don't have an account? No way, you knew exactly how to use instagram earlier and for sure a model like you has to have an account. He just didn't know how to find you. He decided he should look for you in person while still being there. As soon as Bambam came back he asked about you, but no idea. The security guards then said you left early due to an emergency.

"But why are you so eager to find Y/N?" Bambam protests while following his friend through the fancy dressed crowd. "I mean I saw that face so I understand." he then laughs to himself.

Jinyoung stops in front of the building. "Check your instagram." is all he says and the boy opens his app to find the most recent post right on top of his feed. You and Jinyoung smiling right in the same spot they're on right now.

"Oh." silence."I didn't know you knew Y/N."

"I don't, really. I mean I didn't. I don't even know how to find Y/N's instagram account." Jinyoung sighs after his agitated speech.

"I don't know either, Jinyoung. I would've helped you if I knew, sorry." Bambam pats his friend on the back, giving him a sad look.

***

A few weeks passed and Jinyoung gave up trying to find your account. He posted two more pictures and his fans were now focused on the chemistry he had with Youngjae's beloved dog, Coco. It was as if it never happened, except there was a picture he had posted as evidence of a moment so short it meant nothing.

The boys have just finished practice on a thursday evening when Jinyoung's phone started blowing up with notifications again. As soon as he checks it, he finds his dm flooded with links to an instagram live. He opens the most recent one and reads "Oppa, look! Y/N mentioned you!!". A hot shiver goes through his body as he taps on your face on the screen. "Lueur? What's with this name?"

"It's french." Mark whispers. "It's not a name, Jinyoung." he points out the obvious.

"Since when do you know french?" is his defense. "Anyway thanks. I'll leave first." is the last they hear from Jinyoung as he takes his stuff and leaves.

No patience was as big as his curiosity about your ongoing instagram livestream, so he didn't even bother to drive back home. After throwing his backpack in the backseat, Jinyoung opened your live. You were casually chatting with your fans while relaxing in what looked like a hotel room. As soon as everyone saw he had joined watching the live, the whole comment section was filled with Jinyoung's name. You immediately said hi.

It did not take much for him to panic. As soon as he heard your voice saying his name, he became clumsy. All he wanted to do is to salute, but a few taps on the screen led to "@lueur0 invited you to join their live broadcast!" displaying on his device. He quickly accepted without giving it much tought, but regretted as soon as the screen split in two and showed your face on top and darkness on the bottom part.

"I'm sorry, I'm in the car. Let me turn some lights on." he says with an embarrassed face, being grateful that nobody can actually see him.

As soon as the light makes his features visible, you smile. "Good to see you again. I wasn't expecting you to join my live."

"Ah yeah, that.. I thought I could say a proper hi."

"I'm glad you did." you stop and check the number of views. "Woah the audience has doubled up." you laugh again. "Wow, Jinyoung. Check the comments!"

No reaction for a few seconds as Jinyoung was still analyzing the way his name came out of your mouth. Love at first sight was a lie in his opinion, but what about attraction at the third sight? He couldn't really put his finger on what made him feel like this. Was it your smile? Your laugh? The way you said his name? Your looks? Your kind and laid back vibe? Maybe all of them really. There was no doubt, Jinyoung was enjoying his time on your live and like that both of you told the story of your first encounter, him not bothering to leave the parking lot.

After the live was over, you were not surprised to find out that he followed and texted you as soon as he got home. You followed him back, answer his dm and like that, you spent the whole night talking. The more you talked, the more you felt like you knew each other since forever so you promised to meet up as soon as you returned from a business trip.

***

As you check youself in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair that was not sitting where it was supposed to, you hear your phone ringing and know immediately it is Jinyoung.

"I'm in front, you can come." his calm voice welcomes you.

"I'll be there in a minute." you say as you grab your keys, exit your apartment and lock the door. Right after leaving the building, you notice an amazing black shiny car waiting for you. Jinyoung gets out and the big smile on his face makes you feel safe.

It has already been a few weeks since the live stream and since then you've been talking almost everyday. It was easy to get in touch, as you exchanged phone numbers and both had days when you were so busy you forgot about even having a phone. You get to know each other well and it was not really hard. Although he seemed a little bit shy or reserved at first and knowing his rigid approach on social media before, you were really happy to see how much he enjoyed talking to you.

"Hi." you salute with a smile as big as his and he responds while opening the door for you.

The ride was chill, his driving skills made you feel safe once again and the lights of the night life in the city were perfect. You two decided to dine at a fancy restaurant.

"I can't believe we've both been here before so often but never bumped into each other." you laugh and take sip of water.

"I don't know about you, but I felt like I had seen you before." Jinyoung states and he makes you think about the first time you met months ago, at your modelling show.

"Yeah, that's why you looked so confused when we took that photo." you attack.

"I was not expecting you to do it, that's why." he defends himself. "Ah." you hear Jinyoung say as he winces. "There is something I've always wanted to ask you but never remembered to."

You give him a curious look and nod your head as a sign that you are ready to answer. He then proceeds. "What does your instagram name come from?"

You chuckle. "Well.. I've always wanted to shine, no modesty about it. I always wear the most luminous piece when going on the stage, I am known for looking good in those so I chose lueur. It's a french word that means glimmer, glow and yeah, I know it's not used too much nowadays, but I loved the way it is pronounced. As for the 0, it was the only number I thought looked okay with the word, nothing special." you conclude with a shrug.

"Ohh." he says with an impressed face, you smile. "I agree with that." he stops and looks out the window. "I've got an idea that goes perfectly with your lueur."

You both had finished eating so, after paying, you get into his car, the impatience making you shift in your seat. After what it felt like 10 minutes of driving, you arrive near a stadion.

"Are we there?" you ask, trying to hide the surprise in your voice with a cough.

"Yes." is all Jinyoung says right before pressing a button that makes the roof of the car open, exposing to your eyes a sky so clear you can see every little star. "Cliché, but they remind me of you." he says while staring in your eyes.

You feel his eyes all over you and when they finally meet yours, your whole body reacts to it. His gaze turns dark, you know he feels it too. Why are you only now noticing how his lips look? The tension is so thick between you two, it can be only ripped with physical touch. So that's what you do.

You crash into each other's lips, kissing as if you craved it for way too long. Everything is so intense you don't even realise how loud you are moaning when his lips touch your neck. Every piece of clothing that came between you was taken off one by one until you were both naked. You sit on top of him, with your back pressed on the steering wheel, kissing patches on his collarbone, then going lower, on his nipples. You suck and slightly bite them, enjoying every little moan he lets out. He grabs your waist and lifts you, placing you right on top of him. He then tries to thrust inside you but you lift yourself even higher.

"No babe. Let me do it." you say placing a hand on his chest. Your eyes are glued on his as your palm goes lower and lower until you can feel him in your hand. You smirk then rub and sqeeze it lightly, then position yourself over it. You place both your hands on the roof of the car and slowly go down, hissing through your teeth. You keep going in and out at the same pace, savouring the hunger in his eyes.

His hands grab on your hips and push you down, filling you completely. You faintly scream at the sudden movement and grab one of his nipples, slowly twisting it while going up and down on his lenght. "I said let me do it, Jinyoung." you whisper at his ear. "Tonight I'll shine on you, okay?" you keep whispering going faster and faster. His hands are going up and down your back, grabbing your ass, while kissing your neck and breasts until you come. After that, you go faster, messing with his hair, leaving kisses and moans all over his skin. He starts thrusting inside you harder, but you don't even care anymore. By the time both of you come, you're covered in sweat and collapse over him on his seat, hardly catching your breath.

"Damn it, Y/N."

#jinyoung #park jinyoung #got7 #got7 scenarios #fanfic #imagines #kpop #scenarios #jinyoung scenarios #got7 smut #got7 writing #park jinyoung smut #fanfiction #oneshots #prompts #drabbles #Jinyoung #got7 writings

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daydreamnu · 4 years ago

Text

The After | Shownu [M]

✧ characters: hyunwoo (shownu) x female reader ✧ word count: 4.5k ✧ genre: one-shot, smut, angst, post-breakup ✧ warnings: brief language, emotions pertaining to a break-up and heartbreak, mature content (sex), break-up sex, explicit descriptions of sex, oral sex (female & male giving/receiving), slight overstimulation, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, size-difference, body hair/neatly trimmed southern forests~ do not read if you are under the age of 18. ✧ summary: what happens after a breakup? ✧ A/N: after 11 months I am finally done with this. I began this during the end months of a dying relationship that I had been emotionally checked out of for quite some time beforehand--it is certainly an outlet for what I was experiencing at the time. as such, please forgive the indulgence (as well as if it’s a little subpar--my emotions were messy and I am ready to move on from this fic). thank you for reading! please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyed this ^^

Three brass numbers stare back at you, their dulled shine throwing your distorted reflection in your face. Behind those numbers, a different life was lived—one that saw more smiles on your face and laughter tightening your belly. Now, they served as a jabbing reminder to that past life.

You let out a huff, expelling those pleasant memories past your lips to wither in the air with the last remnants of summer. Your knuckles tap twice on the rough grain of the door before falling to your side, your fingers fiddling with the cuff of your jacket sleeve to calm the jittery flutters of your stomach.

A muffled shuffling can be heard from the other side before a brief pause. The deadbolt clicks back and the door creaks open slowly. His presence finds you with a gentle wave of warmth like a lingering stream of sunlight that never quite liked having to yield to the moon just yet.

You cannot look him in the eyes, not yet, so you settle for somewhere in the middle of his chest, although, it is not much of an improvement. The smooth mounds of his pecs are outlined by his white t-shirt and it takes all of one heartbeat to remember how his muscles feel under your hands. Your breath stutters in your chest and the greeting that perched on your tongue plummets off.

He, it seems, is content to wait for your silent spell to lift.

It takes effort, to push those memories and sounds away, but you hurriedly shove them back into that box in the neglected corner of your mind and slide the lock in place.

“Hey, Hyunwoo,” you say to his shoulder instead.

He shifts to the side, opening the door all the way to let you in. “You made it,” he answers, something grated catching the tail end of his words. But, it is gone before the next comes, “I could have dropped the box off at your work. Save you the time.”

You step over the threshold, the box in question sits ahead on the coffee table in the living room. A life condensed to one cardboard cube. You shake your head at his suggestion and reach into your pocket to retrieve a set of keys, holding them up between you.

“It’s alright, I need to leave these for Mr. Lee anyway.”

Hyunwoo lets out a small hum of understanding. You still cannot look at his eyes. So, you opt to look around the apartment. It is a small space, but it feels larger now, and not because of the lack of your share of things. It is still warm, still him, but a definite something is gone. You do not have to stretch your thoughts much as to what.

A melancholic twinge pinches your heart and the urge to grab the box and leave immediately shoots through you.

“I think I got everything in there,” he is saying now, a tanned hand reaching up to play with the hair at the back of his neck, “but you might want to look around to make sure.”

“Okay.”

There is a pause; It is deep and full of questions, but Hyunwoo does not push. You don’t have the answers, anyway.

“Hey,” he says then, quietly, testing the waters at your toes, and carefully steps to you again. “It’s good to see you.”

You can hear the unsaid words and bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop the ones you want to say.

“You cut your hair,” he continues. Unconsciously your hand reaches up to finger the freshly blunted ends; an impulsive decision in the tumult of your emotions. Strong fingers gently pull the lock of hair from your own and he thumbs the strands fondly.

Unwillingly, your eyes look up to find his. He’s staring at you, his chocolate eyes lightened and burning with the setting sun coming through the window. Fondness clouds his gaze, but something else cowers behind it; a fresh wound still too raw and bleeding to cover. He’s letting you glimpse it, you know, but he won’t speak of its pain out loud, content to bury it under a thick facade so it doesn’t lash out and cut you, too.

But that makes you hurt all the more, to see him hide his pain, to know he’s hurting like you but is still too in love to lay bare the full brunt of it to you. He still protects you— after every ugly thing that happened—an action as natural to him as breathing. It’s infuriating. You want to scream at him to show you, to let you share in the burden that both of you are carrying.

It takes a moment to register the touch, your senses otherwise occupied with your thoughts, his proximity, and the comforting scent that clings to his tee. Your now empty fingers twitch, wanting to gather the fabric and remove it from him.

Instead, they rise, pressing into the firm skin of his forearm to nudge his hand away.

“I’m gonna take a look around, now.”

It doesn’t take long, but you find a handful of forgotten things—a tube of lipstick at the back of a drawer, a pair of slippers kicked under the bed, and a few shirts mixed in with his. You add them into the box and close it. A crease appears between your brows as you take in the size of the box; it’s a little too wide for you to be able to carry comfortably. Before you can wrestle with the indecision to ask Hyunwoo for help, he offers it for you. You quietly accept with a nod and sidestep to move past him but are stopped by his fingers on your wrist.

He smooths a thumb over the sensitive skin, a habit he picked up after arguments when he couldn’t find the right words to say. A silent request; a plea.

“Stay,” he whispers, bowing his head to rest atop of yours.

It’s a familiar feeling—the weight of his head on yours, the rough pad of his thumb smearing unspoken words across the canvas of your wrist, and the way his breath against your ear wakes something deep at the bottom of your belly.

It’s a feeling you know and yearn for when the moon is the only one to see your tears; when the nights feel too cold and hollow for the season. It’s an ache that sits heavy behind your ribs, digging and tearing into your exposed, tender heart, and one that you wish to rid yourself of so badly regardless of the repercussions. If you give in, would you be able to staunch the flow of the reopened wound?

The decision two months ago was final, you swore, but now, with all the comfort of him right at your fingertips, that promise was beginning to fray.

When the silence stretches too far, and your answer dances tauntingly out of reach, Hyunwoo’s fingers slide a warming trail up the inside of your arm.

“Just for tonight.”

Once. Only once wouldn’t hurt, right? He wants this as bad as you—it’s evident in the way his breaths come quicker and the weight of him against your side. This could heal you both, could dislodge that lump in your chest that makes it so hard to breathe every day.

But you think of the wound it is covering, preventing the full flow of the pain from seeping down to break your brittle bones. A scab that should remain untouched. This could hurt you more, prolonging the healing and stoking your suffering into even greater anguish.

Hyunwoo’s fingers have found their way to your jaw and he tilts your head up to his, catching your eyes before you can make yourself look away. Dusky pink and lavender light bloom in his eyes and contour his face, tinting his skin with a soft golden glow and sighing sweet longings onto his lips.

His expression isn’t hard to read, for once, his emotions and intent displayed openly across his features.

Your resolve wavers, the thread of your promise struggling to stay whole. But, with the way he looks at you, the way he feels against you, the way the unbearable need kicks restlessly against its bony confines, you don’t imagine the thread can hold on any longer.

And so, it snaps.

You lean into his chest and close your eyes, parting your lips to await the arrival of your salvation. Hyunwoo dips his head to brush the petals of his lips against yours, testing, before pressing for a deeper kiss that breaks open the floodgates.

A heat, a relief, surges over your worn nerves, so intensely that it has you stifling a cry against his mouth. For the first time in weeks, you are touched by the sun, given the grace of its warm refuge within the circle of his arms.

At once the pain against your heart ceases; a warmer, happier, lighter thing blooming in its place. The frigid, lonely nights of the past months fade to the background, succumbing to the scorching flames of the reddening sunset. The joy of having him again, of his lips searing white-hot love against your skin, blinds you to the steady trickle of a freshly reopened wound and the poison it seeps into your marrow.

Hyunwoo pulls you closer until your heartbeats thrum together, chests rising and falling with shared breaths. He continues kissing you with an insatiable hunger, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other splayed across the small of your back. His larger frame cradles you against the firmness of his torso and your fingers delight in the discovery of his heated abdomen beneath his shirt. Skimming tips over his happy trail, you take your time ascending. You can map out all that you feel under your palms with your eyes closed—the small mole here, the raised scar there, the dips between his formed muscles. It is all familiar and just as enticing as before.

Your hands reach his collarbones and spread outwards towards his shoulders, curving over the rounded and tensed muscles. A gentle tug against his shirt has him reluctantly releasing you to raise his arms and his shirt is removed with a hurried flourish.

The sun delights in peppering gold and red-tinged kisses against his skin and you find yourself wanting to follow suit. Hyunwoo’s hands reach for you again, wrapping around your waist as yours find home tangled in his hair. A contented sigh flows from his throat and over his kiss-swollen lips at the contact.

He angles down to tongue indigo flowers against your neck, nibbling lightly with white teeth when it coaxes those breathy noises from you he so loves. Wide hands travel south to cup your ass, giving an appreciative squeeze before descending lower and you react to the familiar request. You stand on the tips of your toes, pulling yourself up in time to the lift of his sturdy arms.

Hyunwoo smiles up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that always has your heart oozing in love. There is a small moment, taken by you both, to simply look at one another, eyes locked and air stalled in lungs.

But now you can see the finer details—the deep purple crescents that color the skin under his eyes, and the way the stubble across the cut of his jaw and upper lip fails to hide the fact that his cheeks are not as full. You are sure your face mirrors what you find in his, but does it hurt him the same way it does you? Does his heart clench in guilt for the sleepless nights and untouched meals, too?

You almost want to ask, but instead, brush away the inky fringe from his forehead.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you say with a kiss to his cheek.

He moves, walking with easy footsteps away from the living room and down the short hallway to the room.

He places you down gently at the edge of the bed and you remain sitting, eyes level with his navel. The trail of black hairs disappears beneath the low rise of his charcoal grey joggers and you wet your lips at the thought of where they lead. Your focus moves to the ‘v’ of his hips, a little more prominent now, likely suffering a similar fate as his cheeks. A surge of guilt rakes across the weeping edges of your heart—a reminder that it is a result of your actions.

You lean forward, shifting slightly to place your lips against his left hip—your own plea for forgiveness. Deliberately, you mark affection-tinted kisses down his hip until you are stopped by the waist of his sweats. You withdraw a fraction, ghosting light breaths against his goose-bumped skin until you reach his right hip and repeat your actions. By the time you reach the end of the line, his breaths are coming in shaky, shallow huffs, and there is a noticeable strain under the grey fabric.

A midnight blue nail hooks the waistband and drags it down until the upper line of curly black hair appears. Your eyes glance up to find his looking down at you, hooded and churning with a deep well of need. He doesn’t move—controlling and holding back with well-practiced patience. But that doesn’t fool you—beneath the calm veneer a golden lion waits, eyes fixed on you to find the perfect opportunity to pounce and gain the upper hand. For now, he lets you lead and play with your pretend hold of power. The thought has warmth spreading through your belly to gather in a burning sunspot between your thighs.

Holding Hyunwoo’s gaze, you slowly pull his sweats all the way down, allowing yourself to delight in the way his thickly muscled thighs feel under your fingertips. He steps out, kicking the bundled fabric to the side before resuming his position before you.

The length of his cock is lightly veined, rushing scorching blood to the swollen head that has already begun to bead with translucent pearls. You can taste him already and eagerly wrap a hand around his base, leaning in to lead the tip to your mouth.

From your periphery, you spy his hands move to the back of your head, but he pauses just before he can gather your hair between his fingers, and drops them back to his sides.

No, you think, bring them back. Pull my hair and guide my head like those many passion-fueled nights where we couldn’t contain ourselves. You didn’t want him to restrain himself; you needed to know that he still wanted you in all the ways he did before, even if only for this brief moment. You shed your protective walls, opting instead to expose the rawness of your emotions and give in to their whispers, but Hyunwoo is fighting his. Where he seemed so sure of what he wanted back in the living room, he now looked to be warring with his inner turmoil—unsure if he can really give in and give you every last splintered shard of his destroyed heart. The whole of it is already yours, anyway.

But you want it, want him and are more than willing to give him all the broken pieces of yourself. If only to feel whole again for one night. To have him mend you and make you complete.

You want to do the same in return. Let us pretend that we can stitch each other back together. Please.

And so you ask him for such, lifting his larger hand in yours and painting rouge blossoms across the rise of his knuckles. He opens his fist, turning it up and softly caressing your cheek. You lean into it as he rubs a line over your cheekbone.

“Don’t hold back,” you murmur into the heel of his palm.

He watches your eyes for a moment, quickly made decisions flickering behind his pupils. He nods once, pushing his hand up through your hair to rest slightly at the back of your skull. A gentle smile sits in the corner of his lips, one that holds years of fondness and familiarity at the act. With a light touch of pressure, he coaxes you forward and you take him into your mouth. The salt of him on your tongue has your pupils dilating with pleasure.

Despite being a bit too large for your mouth, you take in as much of him as you can. With steady movements and practiced touches that know exactly how to elicit the soft moans that spill over the pillow of his lips, you pleasure him. You bring him to the edge several times, delighting in the way his abs flex to stave off his release. A hard suck on the head of his cock has a loud whoosh of air gushing out of his open mouth, resulting in a fisted hand in your hair pulling you off. Saliva dribbles down your chin as you grin up at him, his pupils blown wide.

Hyunwoo runs a thumb over your bottom lip to clean away the remaining spit before dipping it between your lips. You roll your tongue along the digit and suck. He smiles and withdraws his hand to grip your chin and brush a kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hair. “It’s my turn now.”

His hands curve over your shoulders, pressing you back against the mattress. Rough fingertips tickle the bare skin under the hem of your shirt before he lays his palms flat over your sides, pushing up your shirt as he explores the smoothness of your tummy. You lie there, watching the ever-growing desire pool deeply in his eyes. His hands reach the rounds of your breasts and you arch up into the touch—he takes advantage of your movement and makes quick work of the clasp of your bra. Together, he helps you remove both garments.

Hyunwoo’s lips waste no time in latching onto the already peaked buds of your nipples. He dotes on each in turn; massaging, licking, sucking, tweaking, until you are melting and whining under his touch. He plays your body so well and you are already begging to return to how things used to be. Your heart plays tricks on your brain and for a moment, as Hyunwoo descends with a trail of wet kisses, you believe that maybe you two can work this out. Maybe you can glue the splintered pieces back together despite the gashes being sliced into your hands.

But that makes you a fool. Your mind knows this, but your heart has covered its ears and refuses to listen. ‘Maybe! Maybe!’ it shouts.

Your hands reach out to card through Hyunwoo’s hair as he slips off your pants and pushes open your thighs. All thoughts of who to listen to vanish with a single lick of his tongue over your folds.

He eats you with a ravenous hunger—not the gentle, loving Hyunwoo of typical days gone by, but the starving, mind consumed with only one goal-Hyunwoo who has not tasted you in far too long. He works you over with his skilled tongue, lapping up every drop you have to give between the mind-numbing sucking his plump lips bestow upon your swollen clitoris.

And just as pleading whimpers tumble from you in rapid succession, he slides two fingers into your heat and beckons for you to let go.

You come undone into his waiting mouth and he lets out an audible moan, devouring you more until you writhe in overstimulation under his strong grip.

“Hyun-Hyunwoo,” you stutter, hands uselessly swatting his head away, “Too much!”

He removes his lips with one last wet kiss and his hands instantly wrap around your ankles.

“Come here,” he says, a command wrapped in a low growl rumbles from his chest. He tugs you down closer to the edge of the bed and taps your hip. A silent signal.

You flip over obediently, coyly wiggling your ass in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

An impatient hand digs into the soft curve of your hip, the other hand, you imagine, is wrapped tightly around his cock. It makes you drool at the thought.

You let out a soft mewl as he slides his length between your dripping lips, covering it with your slick arousal. He is already hot against you and your muscles clench tightly in desperate need to have him inside already.

Never one to make you wait, Hyunwoo answers your wish and pushes himself in deep. A shiver dances down your spine at every delicious inch of him you feel slide inside. His fingers are locked in a vice grip on your hips but you welcome the bite of pain; bruises mean nothing when he is buried in you.

“Move, please,” you gasp, breathless to feel more.

He cedes to your body in an instant, allowing himself to drive into you in a euphoric state. Each stroke is purposeful with careful intent to coax out the utmost pleasure for you both, but that does not mean it lacks any power.

His thighs and balls slap against you in a lewd rhythm, and he plunges inside of you so passionately that strength quickly leaves your arms. You bury your face into the sheets and let your eyes close, ignoring the string of drool that leaks from your open mouth.

God, you missed being thrust into oblivion by this man.

A tense arm slips around your waist and a sticky heat drapes over your back as Hyunwoo pulls your bodies closer together. His lips find your shoulder before biting down, sending a burst of pleasure spiking through your blood. He nudges your head sideways, exposing your neck and littering it with destitute kisses and not-so-gentle nips.

“You feel so fucking good. So wet,” he whispers, tugging on your earlobe as his fingers gather the wetness between your legs.

“Only for you.”

He hums approvingly and guides you back down on all fours, picking back up his almost desperate pace.

“Deeper,” you beg.

Hyunwoo grunts behind you and rocks you forward with a particularly hard snap of his hips. “I’m already balls deep.”

“Bullshit, I know you can do it.” Your view spins suddenly and you blink up at Hyunwoo’s large frame looming over you. A band of sweat gathers along his temple and his toned chest billows with exertion.

He cups his hands under your knees, pushing them up to your chest and out slightly. He keeps them in place by leaning forward, letting his body weight hold you down. A sharp breath is sucked into your lungs as his cock glides back in farther than before, touching the spot that has your toes curling. Your lips turn up in a triumphant smirk.

“Shut up,” Hyunwoo says in return. His pace is slower, a gentleness lacing through thanks to the close proximity of his face to yours, but the urgency and need continues to boil steadily behind his pounding heartbeat.

You take the opportunity to connect your mouth to his and your heart flutters as he responds to your kiss. It is deep and easy, communicating all wants and words that are too fragile to be spoken aloud.

Tiny cracks begin to reach out from the back recesses of your heart; damning reminders that every happy thing you are feeling now is a lie; a false mask that will shatter and break away when it ends.

And ever the fool, you jerk away from them and turn your back. You will face this setting sun and soak up every last flickering ray it has to offer.

You join Hyunwoo in this final “love”-making, imbuing each other with the last drops of your broken and bleeding hearts.

Nails cut fresh crescents into sweaty skin; tongues and teeth and lips lavish dark marks on flesh, and words of unyielding love die in the air before they can soak into souls.

A calloused hand brushes against your throbbing clit. You twine your fingers in Hyunwoo’s hair to pull him close and clench around his length. With practiced ease you bring one another tumbling over the edge in ecstasy, his hot seed spilling slowly from your slit. Your ears catch the way your name rolls off his tongue; a plea thinly disguised as a moan of pleasure.

You lie in each others’ embrace for a moment, basking in the heat and euphoria of being joined. But slowly, the warmth leeches away, sucking with it the blissful feelings. What is left is something cold and forlorn, a hollowness that gapes even wider than before.

The grip of your fingers in his hair weakens and Hyunwoo rolls off of you, careful not to touch any more of you than necessary. The loss of his comfortable weight and the emptiness as he slides out of you is a painful punch to the gut; a reminder that he is no longer yours.

He turns his back to you as he stands from the bed and gathers up his clothes. You do the same, accepting your shirt wordlessly from him when you cannot find it.

“I’ll take your box out now,” he says, pulling on a fresh shirt.

“Thanks.”

He gives a short nod but does not look at you. He is already distancing himself, but that small action feels as if he is standing on the other side of an ocean. You suck in a tight breath, forcing the tears and the hurt to stay back. There will be time to cry later.

You follow Hyunwoo out into the hallway and to the living room. He lifts the box with ease and waits patiently for you to open the front door. A quiet goodbye leaves your lips as you give one final look over the apartment; a farewell to many happy memories and the place that housed them all.

The walk to your car is quick and quiet. Hyunwoo maneuvers the box into the backseat, shutting the door and opening yours in smooth succession.

“Thanks for your help,” you say again, slipping through the open door. He waits for you to get behind the steering wheel before closing it after you.

“No problem,” he answers through the open window, still looking anywhere but at you. “Are you sure you can carry the box on your own?”

“I’ll manage.”

An awkward silence falls heavy around you, both of you at a loss for what to say next. Before, silences with him were full and comfortable, a calm peace that never demanded more. A pause that was content to wait for words or actions. Now, it sat wavering and jagged, uncertain of what to do. Another piece of your heart chips away in response.

When the spell is finally broken, it is by a quietly whispered wish from Hyunwoo, laden with the final remaining crumbs of whatever ardent feelings he once held for you.

“Be careful.”

He looks at you, his eyes full of soft warmth. Your chest aches at the sight.

“You, too.”

One corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile and he steps away, shoving his hands into his pockets. He watches you drive away and you watch him in the rear-view mirror, but he turns away first.

The emotional damn you hastily built up finally collapses in on itself, and through salty tears, you drive to a new, unfamiliar home.

#mxwriters #shownu #monsta x #hyunwoo #monsta x smut #shownu smut #shownu angst #daydreamnu writes #*the after

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common-blackbird · 4 years ago

Photo

Started!

This is my Inquisitor (so overjoyed you can be a qunari), her name is the default Herah and I decided I’m going to approach this game by staying true to a character and not looking to do everything and be on everyone’s good side u_u

I want to make a good background for her so i’m not telling anything. Yet. I’ll just say she’s a qunari mercenary and prefers using two-handed weapons.

Highlights from today:

Studying history does pay off! This was a reference to the famous book in environmental history - Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. So proud i recognised it x)

Also i don’t have a good shot of solas but he cracks me up so much.. The guy has a posture of the typical retired grandpa (the only thing missing is to have him walk with his hands on his back). And there’s a scene where the party sees the rift and there’s the inquisitor facing it, cassandra bracing herself and solas... just standing like an old man

On a side note, Cassandra is so gorgeous and good and i already love her, i just keep taking shots of her TAT

As for varric, it’s so different than from da2, this is so much more “official” and you can see he’s the same as ever, but you’re not hawke, hawke’s not here, the gang’s not here and there’s nothing casual about the whole situation T-T

And lastly, my inquisitor has a horse now, i didn’t know that was possible in the game ;__;

played some more...

Let me start with.... The advisors! (+ cassandra... or is she also an advisor too?)

What a bunch. I love Cassandra’s and Leliana’s faith having a crisis bc they believe that Inquisitor is the Herald of Andraste and the way they deal with it. It’s really interesting. Leliana is completely opposite than what she was in origins and i’m surprised it doesn’t bother me at all! I love seeing this whole darker side that was only hinted at in origins, though it’s also sad when i think how she used to be. I wonder how she’s gonna overcome her doubting of faith.

Josephine is a delight. I keep using her for almost every war table mission for now. She radiates capability. She reminds me of those bureaucrats that are super nice and helpful and chill and even if you’re doing everything wrong she’ll just smile and say “it’s ok, we can fix it” and then goes and fixes everything herself (and you feel this insane amount of gratitude you send a whole separate email to thank her for her patience and help )

As for Cullen... It’s interesting... I got impression from what i saw in the fandom that he’s supposed to have had his allegiance changed and him rejecting the templars should have been him ultimately siding with the mages (or at least being anti-templar(?)), and that turning point that could have been a great way to show his character development during the game. Which i agree, only... i did not get that impression from the game so far at all. I mean, so far everything that i can remember him saying is totally smth he’d say in da2... He didn’t leave kirkwall bc of his disappointment with the templar order, he doesn’t seem to have any issues with the templars except those who go full war mode instead of trying to balance the situation. And it’s a really chaotic situtation, i love how they did it.

This line was amazing, i wish there was a special cutscene for that.

I’m loving the way they made this huge religious organisation in crisis have a complete collapse with the death of a key figure. I love the concept of inquisition and problems that it poses. I love you can see everyone’s reasoning and doubts reflect their background, but also see why inquisition can be understood as another power-grasping organisation trying to topple the templars, the mages and the chantry. Everything is divided. We got templars leaving the chantry, seekers leaving the chantry(?), rebel mages, loyal mages, rebel mages gone rouge, templars gone rouge, and suddenly there’s another organisation forming that you can totally believe is just another powerhungry force trying to get the piece of the cake by taking advantage of the power vacuum left by the sudden lack of the religious authority. (and only we know we’re The Good Guys). I love that we have characters who need to believe in the greater plan, characters who question the greater plan, and characters who want to utilise the power of belief and characters who don’t care for divine plans. The chaos is real and it feels real. I love that the centre figure of the whole holy business is a heretic of another culture. For the chantry this is the lose-lose situation (unless the inquisitor becomes religious by the end of the game). Which is why this line works so well.

Ok, now shorter updates:

Red Jenny! I know it’s not her actual name but it is in my head. Where’s that box i delivered ages ago >_> Anyways, she makes my brain work on 150% capacity. I can understand what she means only after i go over it for 5 times.

Forgive me but oh my god, i can’t believe that i can recognise one voice actor and now i have another mental image whenever he speaks. Like, he’s really good at bringing out a new character, but when he gets more casual he sounds like kanan jarrus from star wars rebels and i’m just “what are you doing here, space dad” ;__; Hopefully it’ll get old and i’ll be enjoying more iron bull. he seems nice...

Vivienne on the other hand is like a reverse Josephine(?) She seems insanely capable but hates customer service, however somehow she likes you very much and will do everything you need for reasons you can’t fathom. Have a screenshot. So classy. I already feel humbled.

and lastly, BREAKING NEWS: aveline finally hired carver ;__;

Tbh Kirkwall is still a mystery and i have so many questions but i don’t think i’ll get any answers... If a powervacuum of the divine cause this much chaos, how’s kirkwall faring without a new viscount? Like, yeah, aveline can keep in check, but umm it’s in a very vulnerable state which makes it a good target for any invasion... didn’t sebastian promise bloodshed?

That’s all for now, bc otherwise i’ll start writing an essay on cassandra.

We befriended a bear in the hinterlands!

lets start with this cool shot

so, i have been to the mages and to the templars and... i sided with the templars.... First i was all for mages since they offered negotiations while the seeker just walked away, but then it turned out that was a trap, there’s also tevinter mages there (which is a red flag for my inquisitor) and then there’s some time magic involved (which is a big no for me), and i just walked out. Felt bad for the mages but my inquisitor comes from a culture where mages have their tongues cut so...

Also this guy deserves a medal for putting up with corrupted superiors and annoying nobles.

And i met cole ;__; Where are Rhys and Evangeline ;___;

the templar mission was ok i guess... I was surprised that red lyrium was apparently circulating around for some time, not sure if that means since meredith or even before. I love the stories of corruption tho and to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in this organisation that just keeps breaking everything it stands for

As for the important mages, i’ve Dorian twice since i bailed out on him in Redcliffe :I I love the guy, he seems arrogant yet so kind (like, no one would have carried that annoying priest and yet he did, after he ran from his own people to warn us after i ditched him in Redcliffe? man ;A;) Every time i go with “ok the inquisitor fears tevinter and distrusts this rando who just popped in” i am marinating in guilt.

and then we fight some mages and die several times but we succeed and we meet the bad guy...

Is it an unpopular opinion to say that i like him as a villain so far? i saw so many jokes on his incompetency. Idk, i like that part where he said that he reached the fade in someone’s name, it makes me think he’s not just power-hungry person(?) who’s just evil,but was originally serving someone, and he said that the gods were either gone or corrupted and he spent hundreds of years thinking what to do with whatever happened so he seems like he knows what he’s doing and maybe(!just maybe) he is trying to fix things that are wrong but we can’t see that? And of course he hates the inquisitor, he has to redo his stuff all over again, i’d hate the inquisitor too. im probably looking too much into it. My wish is that, if he’s evil, he became so gradually, but originally had good intentions? Or there’s more to things going on that we just don’t know and he does... Maybe this was his tragic attempt to fix things but he would ultimately fail and be branded as a villain etc etc. I’m getting carried away

If it turns out he’s just evil for the sake of being evil then feel free to tell me so now so i don’t embarrass myself further with plotting myself lol.

A side note, is he the Architect? Or the same? In DA2 he says he’s a tevinter magister, right? and he ceased to be a human. Also in DA2 it seemed like he was the boss, and here he said he reached in the name of someone (probably more important than him). But what is the Architect then?

And with that we reach the skyhold.

in skyhold

I didn’t know you meet hawke so soon ;__; i thought that was like, somewere more to the end of the game, since the big decision and all. But the mission is already opened and i am going to procrastinate on it until i finish every side mission :<

Also he is so sad ;__; i understand, but at the same time... all that humour now bitter sarcasm :’(

(also, very shallow remark, but i really really prefer his looks in da2 than here... it’s like they softened him. He’s more...oh god idk bearish(???) than hawkish(????) you know what i mean? the nose isn’t as sharp anymore, the beard is... what is it with the beard... anyways i get the game has its limits so it’s fine. it’s fine! fine.)

then there was the fight that i remember since twitter >:D

It’s what made me want to play dragon age and i finally reached it T-T so good! I love how you can see the both sides and everything they say is true but they’re so angry at themselves they’re taking it out on each other TAT

Cassandra later says Hawke probably wouldn’t have joined the inquisition even if she found him, and i wonder now if that’s true... At first i thought, nah, Hawke has too much of a hero complex, he would feel too responsible to just say no. Besides, he’s with the inquisition now (tho i can’t find him anywhere anymore!). But at the same time, the way da2 ends was such an iconic walking away from everything, and not taking into account the hocus-pocus rift stuff, i can imagine him refusing, especially seeing how bitter he is now. It’s also a question of how much would have cassandra told him i guess. idk, what do you think? Would he lead or nah?

another person i want to find but can’t in skyhold are the templars with ser barris. i can use them on war table missions but otherwise they’re non-existant? i forgot to talk to him back in haven but now i wonder if it was even possible and if he was even available there, since he isn’t here. I spent hours just running around skyhold looking for the guy :(

and then everything becomes unimportant bc aaaaa!! she! is the arcanist! Dagna! im so happy and proud(?) she went and reached her goals x)

anyways that’s all for now, laters

some random updates:

so i did the halamshiral and gave up to my “stick to the character” mode, and nothing went my way, but that’s life. Met morrigan! i almost forgot she appears lol. And, despite also jumping on the wagon of give-morrigan-better-clothes train, i have to admit seeing her in her old clothes was a relief after that dress at the ball. It’s not the way the dressed looked, but the way she moved in it... god im shallow

i also initially didn’t like morrigan being at orlais court of all places, but after the conversation that’s supposed to explain why she’s there i’m kinda ok with it. I mean, i still need some more info. Wouldn’t Tevinter be better? she’d practically become a magister overnight if she got this good in the game so fast. It’s also unconvincing how everyone knows everything in orlais but somehow nobody connected that the random kid that has no bakcground whatsoever with morrigan who keeps checking on him? But at skyhold she’s just “hey i have a kid, he’s no trouble, right?” but hey, it’s morrigan. She can do anything. I’ll just have another story idea in my head.

Then there was news of the new divine that could be either cassandra or leliana and i don’t honestly know whom to choose. I’d prefer leliana over cassandra simply bc cassandra is more of a military mind, while the position of the divine would be more political. But lately every mission with leliana was spy spy, kill kill... Do we really want that for a religious leader? On the other hand, it would nicely round up her story from origins to inquisition... But cassandra is more of a public figure than leliana is...

when cassandra said:

“I want to respect the tradition, but not fear change. I want to right the past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if wanting any of them makes them right.”

great moment. She’s usually so convinced and rash, i forget she’s more doubtful and open minded than what she looks like. Everything about cassandra is different from the impression she gives ;__; I love her so so so so much. (when she says she considers the inquisitor her friend i melted, next time varric pulls up the “seeker has no friends” joke, my heart will no longer be breaking).

I did a bunch of personal missions. Some were cool, some were ????. Also there were war table missions with zevran, that was cool. Also i love the codex entries in skyhold. The archery competition with varric banned? Dancing lessons failing bc lace harding is on the move all the time? Perfect.

And i met chargers, i like them, and aaah that staff-bow from the trailer is such a cool idea ;A;

What i don’t get with bull’s chargers is - they’re a mercenary group right? But isn’t swordselling seen as the complete misunderstanding of the qun? I get only bull is qunari, but he’s the leader of them? How is that not frowned upon?

And lastly, i don’t think i’ve said this, but i love that they added codex entries in the loading screens. love it.

update

After months of procrastination, i have faced my fears and have met alistair. it was very anticlimatic beating 11 level monsters when i was level 21...

but.. ALISTAIR TAT He’s changed... but not changed... but changed! Like, his personality is the same, but he’s more serious, doesn’t run from responsibilities, isn’t as bitter as hawke (also, why do i get impression that i am supposed to get the impression that they’re friends? they’ve met like, once, and talked for less than a minute.. whatevs. let’s pretend they’ve met again when on the run), i really love the inquisition alistair ;;__;;

Also, i managed to get that awkward demon baby family reunion :D

know that morrigan says the vaguest generic thing “i told him his father was a good man” bc of various world states, but i also think she’s come a long way not to mock alistair, and then when he notices that she didn’t use the opportunity he mentions that the kid changed her and she’s like “pfft, yea right, you wish”....

... when she was the one who said that in the first place ;;__;;

Awwww :> I love that they bicker but softly. Kids have grown up :’) Anyways, when will alistair start paying alimony

The only weird one is Leliana bc when morrigan was introduced she was like “danger danger” (smth i’d sooner think alistair would do), and when alistair is (supposedly) in skyhold, Leli doesn’t even mention him, only hawke. bruh, what were they to you, you almost died together ;;__;;

oh i also slayed a dragon. I didn’t even want to fight that dragon. It was a hillarious feat of inquisitor, solas, cole and blackwall, all on level 21, having to chug all the health potions right at the beginning while fighting a dragon that was... level 13, after which i just let go of controls and suddenly everyone was hella good at fighting and slayed it (only cole needed revival several times).

And, befitting the wild-dream feel that it had, when i got back to skyhold and visited companions, suddenly i was drinking pelin with iron bull, and he’s reminiscing on that fight with the dragon and i’m like

it was awful and you weren’t even there.

i forgot to update

but last time i was playing i finished the hawke/alistair sacrifice and all the torture i went through with deciding whom to sacrifice vanished bc frankly, at one moment, i wanted to sacrifice both of them, but in the end it was much more easier to sacrifice hawke bc inquisition hawke just didn’t feel like hawke to me, while alistair improved since the origins!

and now i remembered why i didn’t update, in the same day cassandra rejected me so i was sad and didn’t continue playing since then (i think last time i played it was around easter?)

new update

BLACKWALL!! or should i say Thom Rainier? Wow, what an arc! It was also so fun bc i was all strict mode, picking the third option, telling him his life is in inquisitor’s hands and all that, but in the end i set him free. He’s so good, a true knight T-T

Also i romanced sera. we’ll see how that goes.

Also, fave point in the game so far, i wanted, for so long, to sit at that val roeayoux (can’t spell) cafe and finally did it with cole’s personal mission. THANK YOU COLE YOU TRULY CAN READ PEOPLE’S MINDS.

another interesting thing was that after specialising as a reaver, cassandra said that drinking dragon blood makes you grow scales and become mad. Iron Bull said that inquisitor smells better bc dragon blood and that qunari generally smell better than humans. So i’m guessing qunari have fractions of dragon in them? ok...

and now i started that mission with morrigan and the puzzles are killing me lol, i am this 👌 close to just go chase calpernia and give up on a well of sorrows.

#it's a terrible time to start a dragon age game but it's the only time #meet me at val royeaux with my pal cole fixing people's lives every sunday 5 pm

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Cinnamon Rolls

Summary: Rushbelle. Belle is missing Earth. Rush manages to put his foot in it until he learns the deeper reason for Belle’s distress. This acts as a prequel to my previous fic Whispers, but it can stand alone as well.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling October moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: T

===

Cinnamon Rolls

“I miss cinnamon rolls.”

Rush paused in his contemplation of what had affectionately become known as ‘Rush’s Wall of Mathematical Madness’ and looked over at Belle. She was staring into the middle distance, playing with the chalk between her fingers and very obviously several million miles away from Destiny.

“Pardon?”

“I miss cinnamon rolls. I miss all proper food. Roast lamb with all the trimmings, lobster, chocolate fondant, steak sandwiches… But most of all, I miss cinnamon rolls. I’m beginning to think that I might never eat them again. I know I’ve gone back to earth and eaten them via the stones, but it’s not the same when it’s not your own taste buds, and inevitably I have to come back here to this body, whose taste buds only remember protein gloop and the odd things we’ve managed to grow in hydroponics.” She sighed, finally looking over at Rush. “I miss Earth,” she said simply. “I want to go home. I know that what we’re doing out here is important, discovering the key to life, the universe and everything, and I understand why you feel the need to keep chasing that until the end. But I want to go home, Nick. I’m tired of this. I can’t cope with it anymore.”

It was the longest speech that Belle had made to him for days. She had been subdued and withdrawn for a long time, and now he knew why. Rush gave an inward sigh. He was not a good boyfriend. A good boyfriend would have noticed that Belle’s behaviour was off and would have asked about it, instead of just shrugging it off as one of those inexplicable quirks of human interaction that he didn’t currently have time for, then going about his day.

In Rush’s defence, though, he had never claimed to be a good boyfriend when he and Belle had first got together. In fact, he had explicitly stated that he was probably going to be a very bad one. Belle knew what she was getting into and she’d stuck by him for almost a year and a half. All the same, it did make him feel a bit guilty. He turned back to the wall, trying to distract himself from the unwelcome feeling.

“Do you miss anything about Earth?” Belle asked. There was something hard and accusatory in her tone, and Rush didn’t like it. He bristled.

“Of course I do.”

“Apart from a whiteboard and a limitless supply of dry-erase markers, and anything else that would make your job here easier?”

That stung, and Rush turned to her.

“Of course I miss Earth. I miss normal food and normal showers with running water like everyone else, but unlike everyone else, I can put that aside in order to get on with the task at hand!” He indicated the wall, annoyed that he’d lost his train of thought.

“Jesus, Nick, are you even listening to yourself? Are you even human?” Belle got up from her position cross-legged on the floor. Rush knew he’d said the wrong thing, but since he had no idea what the right thing was, he opted to keep his mouth shut.

Belle threw her hands up in defeat. “We had a life, before all this happened! We had a nice, normal, happy life, and we may never have that life again, and I miss that life! I miss coming to your house and sitting in front of your fireplace and talking about things that were in no way, shape or form related to astrophysics! I miss dating! I miss having you all to myself and not having to share you with a spaceship that’s falling apart at the seams! I miss that life, and you have the audacity to stand there and infer that the life I miss is just a distraction! That it was never as important to you as this new life is!”

There was a long pause, and Belle shook her head. “I deserve more respect than that, Nick.”

She left the corridor then, no doubt going back to the cool and calm of the hydroponics lab where she spent most of her time, caring for her little seedlings and helping build their new life here on Destiny even as she longed for her old one back home. Her footsteps echoed eerily along the metal corridors, and Rush turned back to his wall again. At the end of the day they would both calm down and everything would be just about ok again, although this did seem to be a hurdle that they were destined to come back to.

It must have gone deeper than just missing Earth. Belle had expressed how much she missed Earth before, but it had always been in a more wistful tone, like she expected never to see it again and was nostalgic for the time they’d had there. Rush had thought that she’d made her peace with Destiny becoming their permanent home just as much as he had. This longing was something very different, and it perturbed him more than their argument had.

He did value Belle, of course he did, and he had loved the time they’d spent together on Icarus and on Earth. He loved her, and he could never think that she, or their relationship, was a distraction. He just wasn’t very good at expressing that, especially not when there were so many other things pressing in at the edges of his mind.

Perhaps he did take her for granted in a way, a kind of comfortable reassurance that she would always be there and would always forgive him no matter what else might come their way. He thought that they had done very well to be able to keep their relationship going amid all the stresses of their stranding - perhaps the fact that no-one else on Destiny seemed to have realised that they were even in a relationship at all helped - but now, things looked like they were falling apart and he knew that he could not rely on having Belle there in the background like she had always been.

It was not a happy thought.

Belle came back to the corridor later in the day, leaning carefully against the wall so as not to smudge the chalk marks there.

“We need to talk,” she said. There was a quiet sadness in her voice, and Rush wondered, with a gnawing little feeling of ice in the pit of his stomach, if this was the moment when they fell apart; not explosively, not with hard words and shouting like there had been earlier, but with sadness and disappointment, like so many things fell apart. “We needed to talk earlier, and I was segueing into it but then I flew off the handle.”

“I know you miss Earth,” Rush began. “And honestly, I do miss it too.”

Belle shook her head. “It’s not that. Well, it’s not just that. It’s the terror of feeling like we may never get back there. It’s not so much the things on Earth that I miss as Earth itself. And I’ve always felt that way, and I’ve always managed to push it down and make the best of it, because what other choice did I have? But I can’t do it any longer.” She sighed, and her eyes were melancholy when they finally met his. She’d been crying, it was obvious. “I’m pregnant, Nick.”

For a long time, silence reigned supreme in the corridor. It was a heavy, all-encompassing silence that was screaming with the need to be filled. Although Rush had perfectly understood the three words that had just come out of Belle’s mouth, he was having a lot of trouble actually processing them and having them sink in and their full repercussions become known.

“What?” He wished that he didn’t sound so shocked, his voice choked in the back of his throat, but he knew that at least it sounded better than something flat and emotionless would have done. He had no idea how to react to the news. It was… Well, if he was being brutally honest with himself then he couldn’t say that it was entirely unexpected given their lack of resources on Destiny, but it had come so far out of the left field, so out of the blue that he simply hadn’t given any thought to it at all.

“I’m pregnant.” Belle gave a soft sigh, raising her hands as if to use them to illustrate her point - Belle was good at talking with her hands when she got excited, but she was far from excited now - and then just wrapping them around her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. “I mean, we’re still having sex even though I ran out of my Pill three months ago. It’s not exactly like this wasn’t a risk.”

Rush gave a slow nod. “No, no I can see that.” He paused. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not just stress and bad diet making you skip a period?”

Belle nodded. “I’m sure. TJ has tests in the medical stock. She knows, but no one else does.”

Rush let them fall into silence again. His most primal instinct was telling him to swear and smack his fist against the wall, but he knew that would not help matters in the slightest. Belle was already standing on a knife edge, close to breaking point, and their relationship had already started to strain beneath the massive consequences of this news even before he’d been aware of it. Rush was not a social person by any manner or means and he was not a good boyfriend, but he retained enough interpersonal awareness to know that showing anger would be the worst reaction he could make.

This was not what he needed right now. It was not what he needed at any point in time if he was being honest. He’d never had any desire to be a father; it had never been on the cards with Gloria and he’d never spoken about it with Belle, but he’d assumed that she felt the same way as he did. He had never wondered if she might want to start a family.

All the same, even if she did want to, here on Destiny, stranded in the middle of nowhere on a quest to discover the origins of life and time itself, well, it was hardly the place to start one.

“So what happens now?” he asked. Whatever decision was going to be made, neither of them could make it alone. This was on both of them, this baby was a part of both of them.

Belle wiped her eyes.

“Now I need you to put me first, instead of this ship,” she said quietly. “We have so much to decide, so much to talk about. I want to be a mother, Nick. I want to have a baby, and God knows I want to have one with you. But at the same time, can we really justify bringing a child into this world?” She gestured around the corridor. “This would be so much easier if we were on Earth. But we might never get back there. I may never have a better world to bring a child into. So we are going to have to think long and hard about what we do next, and I need to know that no matter what happens, you’re with me, and no matter what happens, you think it will be worth it. I don’t want to feel like this is just a distraction from what you’re working towards. This is so much bigger than missing cinnamon rolls, Nick. This is missing opportunities. This is missing life.”

Rush came across and put his arms around her, welcoming her slight frame leaning against him. This was unexpected and unprecedented, and he still didn’t know how he was going to deal with it all in the long term, but even he could tell that it was time to put Destiny aside and focus on Belle.

There was a long and difficult road ahead for their relationship, no matter what the future might bring.

#A Monthly Rumbelling #rushbelle #anyelle #Belle French #Nicholas Rush #Fic: Cinnamon Rolls

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rapperkookz · 5 years ago

Text

broadcasted | jhs | fluff, slight angst

summary: after a fight with your boyfriend, you suck up your pride and try to apologize to him, if only he would stop giving you the silent treatment.

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 2.6k ________________________________________________

Your POV

It took a lot to get your boyfriend angry. Understandably so, he was the embodiment of sunshine, an angel sent from heaven above. You know when he called your name, all looks of love and kindness in his eyes gone, did you fuck up badly.

In your defense, it wasn’t your fault. You both went to a university where money meant status, so when a friend of yours had the audacity to look down upon Hoseok because of his lack of wealth in comparison to the two of you, long story short: you went batshit ruthless.

You could recall the situation vividly, the memory only two days ago and still a fresh wound causing a strain in your relationship with Hoseok.

“Why do you keep checking your phone? Hoseok hasn’t texted you back yet?”

You nodded, a pout playing on your lips as you rested your head on your palm, “He has a big exam for his philosophy class that he was worrying about, I wonder how it went.”

“I guess he has to study hard huh? Sucks to actually have to work just so he can survive after university.” Your friend quipped backhandedly. You furrowed your eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying y/n. We have trust funds and inheritance from our families, even if we fail all our classes, we’re already set for life. Hoseok has to actually study and work hard to keep his scholarship here and somehow get a good paying job after we graduate. I don’t know why you’re dating him of all people in his friend group.”

“Why are you saying him like he’s less than us? I never thought I deserved better than Hoseok, Yoo Jeongyeon. Take it back right now.” You said offended. Jeongyeon only shrugged, “I mean, he is less than us y/n. He won’t amount to anything close to what we will end up doing in the future.”

“Hoseok may not come from our background, but at least his family isn’t full of cheaters and filthy tax evaders, you ignorant bitch.” You practically snarled at your so-called friend, “And who are you to talk to me about my relationship and who I date? You can’t even keep a boyfriend for more than a month, why huh? Cheating runs in your blood?”

At this point, the crowd of students around your table were giving the two of you looks, whispering no doubt about your argument. Family matters were a sensitive topic for everyone, especially those of you with a high-ranking lineage. Anything said can be used as an attack and can ruin reputation with a snap of a finger. Jeongyeon looked around embarrassed, unsure of what to say in response to your words. She scoffed after a few seconds, “You’re right. My family is full of cheaters, but in the end you probably will do the same once you realize that Hoseok isn’t good enough for you. Let’s be real, he’s only using you for your money-”

You couldn’t help yourself at this point, immediately reaching forward and taking a fistful of her hair, the girl yelping in surprise. You were beyond angry at this point, your blood boiling. You tugged harshly, “Take it back, you have no fucking right to-”

“y/n stop!” Your boyfriend said shocked as he and one of his friends, Namjoon, came into view, quickly separating the two of you. “Jeongyeon, are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking talk to her Hoseok, she’s a two-headed snake, that bitch-”

“I’ll fucking sue you, y/n!”

“Do it! Talk to my fucking lawyer. Can’t promise you’ll get what you want since your family’s dealing with your father’s sexual assault lawsuit, right?” You said with a mean smirk, unphased as Jeongyeon’s eyes started to water. Hoseok gripped your hand, “that’s enough, y/n.”

You were still fuming as Hoseok pulled you away from the scene, telling Namjoon that he would catch up with him later, as Hoseok led you to his car so that you two could talk without ears listening in. “Seok, why did you stop me? Jeongyeon was talking shit and badmouthing you right to my face-”

“That doesn’t give you the permission to pull her hair out, y/n.” He said staring at the dashboard, trying to collect his thoughts. You couldn’t believe his lack of anger, why wasn’t he as mad as you?

“She fucking said you didn’t deserve me and that you wouldn’t amount to anything close to us after graduation, the fucking audacity-”

“She’s right,” He said cutting you off, much to your surprise, “I don’t deserve you and I probably won’t succeed as much as you would, the fact that you’re angry about it means you’re embarrassed. How did you manage to date me for this long if you were ashamed of our different wealth classes?”

“What?” You said in disbelief, “Jung Hoseok do you even know what you’re saying right now? I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of you! Our different backgrounds don’t mean anything to me at all—what, why are you angry at me? It was Jeongyeon who fucking started it!”

“You didn’t have to roast the living shit out of her because she insulted me. I thought you would have been the bigger person and that you don’t bring family matters into arguments. I’m just disappointed that I had to see you act like that.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose. You called his name, shocked at the emotionless gaze he gave you, one you’ve never seen before. You scoffed, opening the passenger door, “I can’t believe you’re mad at me right now. I’ll see you later, I’ll ask my chauffeur to drive me home.”

And that’s how you ended up here. It’s been two days since you’ve seen each other besides passing the grounds at university, both of you quickly averting eyes after a glance at the latter. You didn’t regret what you did or said to Jeongyeon, considering you were only defending your boyfriend and your relationship. Still, you couldn’t help but at least feel guilty towards Hoseok, and towards his disappointment in you. He wasn’t a fighter, peace and fairness was in his nature, so to see you get physical like that, you suppose he had every right to feel the way he did.

You tried calling and apologizing to him hours after the altercation, but were met with missed calls and messages left on read. Not going to lie, you were hurt, but he did nothing wrong, it was all on you to self reflect and bridge your relationship.

“Have you tried buying him dinner? What about that steakhouse we love?” Jimin asked as you sat with him and Yoongi in the eldest’s studio. You scoffed and threw your Apple pencil at the boy. “I’m not going to buy his forgiveness with money, Park. He’s not materialistic like you.”

“Maybe not, but he has rich taste like the rest of us. I know your boyfriend like the back of my hand y/n, I am his roommate after all.” Jimin said. You rolled your eyes, Jimin was how you and Hoseok met in the first place. You and the boy met as children, your parents being business partners—and by now, in-laws since your elder brother and his sister were married last year in order to merge companies and raise stock prices.

“Don’t listen to him, y/n.” Yoongi chuckled lightly hitting the back of Jimin’s head. “Hoseok’s just been thinking, he’s not actually mad at you. It’s just a bit hard for him to comprehend since he’s never been in a situation like this before.”

“I told him, Yoongi. I don’t care about his status or how wealthy his family is, I just care about...him.” You sulked, feeling frustrated with yourself. Yoongi gave you a sympathetic smile, “Don’t take this the wrong way y/n, we all know you don’t think of Hoseok any different like the rest of us. But he gets insecure and inferior, you don’t get any shit because you’re the one with a higher economic status. Hoseok gets the short end of the stick in situations like this. Now c’mon, we’re airing in three minutes.”

Yoongi was the dj for the most popular podcast on campus. Students from all majors listened in because of his impeccable music taste, blunt personality, and charming voice. You and the other boys in their friend group guest-starred often, Yoongi only letting his close friends join in on his fun every Thursday afternoon.

“So he’s mentioned me at least?” You whined at the two, the boys chuckling and conspiring amongst themselves much to your oblivion. You were starting to go crazy, missing Hoseok so much and craving to at least hear his voice.

---

“Huh? Yoongi hyung’s airing already? Isn’t it a bit early?” Jungkook said turning up the volume of the speaker as he, Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok lounged around Seokjin’s living room.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Taehyung nodded in curiousity, “Aren’t Jimin-ie and y/n guests today?”

Hoseok nodded, of course he missed you like crazy too, but it was endearing to him whenever he read your texts of apology and listening to the guys tell their encounters with you over the past two days, making cute excuses to try and get him to notice you. “Just talk to y/n already, dumbass.” Seokjin remarked from the side. “You’re not doing either of you any good by ignoring ‘em, y/n apologized already too.”

“I know, I just think y/n’s cute when they’re pouty.” Hoseok grinned fondly.

“Hm? Wait everyone shut up-”

“Jimin please, tell Seok-ie that I’m sorry and that I’m self reflecting! I feel like I’m suffocating and Hoseok’s my air, I can’t breathe without him! Why are you two laughing—oh my God the light is on, are we live right now?! Min Yoongi I’m going to fucking kill you-”

“Alright everybody welcome to your weekly dose of D2, I’m DJ Suga as you all know, and we have two special guests today, my dear friends Jimin and y/n-ow! Stop hitting me!”

“Oooh,” Jungkook snickered as the four boys started teasing Hoseok, an embarrassed blush on your boyfriend’s cheeks at your accidental live confession.

“And that’s it for today’s podcast, my favorite fuckers. We’re closing off today with Missing You by BtoB because y/n misses Hoseok. Make up already please, I think I embarrassed y/n enough for a lifetime-”

“I will never forget you did this to me,”

“See you next time on D2 everyone! Have a good night, don’t max out your bank accounts, and remember, I’m single.” Jimin said flirtatiously as Yoongi cut off the mics and started playing the song. God you feel like you aged ten years after this thirty minute podcast, you had no doubt that Hoseok heard your confession, you were pretty sure everyone heard your confession. There wasn’t a single student you knew of that didn’t listen in to Yoongi’s podcast every week.

“I did you a favor y/n, c’mon. There’s no way Hoseok would keep ignoring you after that.” Yoongi said lightheartedly. You grimaced at him, running your hands through your hair in stress. Swiftly, Jimin grabbed your phone and bag, “You’re coming with us to Seokjin hyung’s, in-law. No backing out because I have your stuff, time to face your boyfriend.”

You tried retaliating but were urged to follow them to Yoongi’s car anyway, your desire to see your boyfriend trumping your humiliation. The ride from Yoongi’s studio to Seokjin’s hotel flew by, your mind coming up with all kinds of scenarios and preparing for the worst as you walked towards Seokjin’s hotel room.

“Ah here’s our favorite DJ,” Seokjin said excitedly as the three of you entered. “Gotta say, this week’s podcast was one of your best ones Yoongi.”

You shot the eldest a look, glancing at the rest of the bodies that were dispersed in the living room. Immediately you met eyes with your boyfriend, body freezing as you stuttered and excused yourself to the bathroom.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Jimin snickered as he patted Hoseok on the back, the boy grinning as he walked in the direction you went off. Seokjin crossed his arms, “Just don’t fuck in my bathroom, please—actually, if you do, just let me fucking know so I can get the cleaners to disinfect that place.”

“If I hear one thud from the bathroom, I’m blasting some cursed Wii music, I hope you know that hyung!” Jungkook yelled.

You splashed your face, hoping the cold water would bring down your body temperature and rid your flushed cheeks. You flinched as a knock sounded on the door, “y/n, can I come in?”

“I-uh yeah, it’s unlocked.” You said shyly as Hoseok entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes downcast on the marble flooring as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. You didn’t need to look at him to know he looked incredibly attractive right now. “I’m your air, huh baby?”

You cringed, bringing your hands up to cover your face. Hoseok let out a laugh, his voice sweet and melodic to your ears, your stomach doing somersaults at his mere presence. The boy gently took your hands, revealing your face to him, “I’m sorry for ignoring you baby,”

“Why are you saying sorry?” You muttered finally gathering the courage to look him in the eyes, “I was the one that disappointed you Seok,”

“I know you did all that to defend us, y/n. I don’t blame you for lashing out at Jeongyeon,” He said softly as he cupped one of your cheeks, instantly nuzzling into his warm palm. “Thank you baby,”

You pouted and wrapped your arms around his waist as he pulled you in for a hug. You felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders as he buried his face in your hair. God how you missed his scent. “I know I said it all in my texts Seok-ie, but I hope you do know that I’m so happy to be yours. I mean it when I say that I don’t give a fuck about your status and that I’m not at all ashamed to be dating you.”

“I know, y/n.” He said pressing a kiss to your crown, “I can’t help but get insecure sometimes because you really are too good for me-”

“shut up,” You denied tilting your head up to peck his lips. “I am not, if anything it’s the other way around. I can’t believe you really didn’t text me for two days, I was going crazy over here.”

“I was too,” He retorted rubbing your sides, “I was going to text you yesterday, but you were just so cute being all pouty, I wanted to drag it out a little longer.”

“Evil,” You scoffed lightly punching his chest. He only laughed and squeezed you tighter, “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” You mumbled relaxing in his embrace. “We should probably go back out there or else the guys will probably think we’re fucking in Seokjin’s bathroom.”

“I mean, Seokjin hyung gave us the okay, baby.” He smirked winking at you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the slight churn of heat that shot through your body, “I am not having sex in Seokjin’s hotel bathroom.”

“You’re no fun,” Hoseok said, this time his turn to pout. You lightly slapped his mouth, “Why do it here when we have a perfectly empty king-sized bed at my apartment?”

He chuckled, snaking a hand down to squeeze your ass as you both exited the bathroom and rejoined the guys in the living room. The six looked at your interlocked hands and gave you claps of approval. “Can’t believe it took Yoongi hyung publicly outting y/n for you both to make up,”

“Yeah, can you breathe now, y/n?” Taehyung smirked at you as he agreed with Namjoon. You raised your fist to threaten Taehyung, cursing at him. The boys only laughed, Hoseok bringing your hands up to kiss the backside of your palm.

“You are so welcome, you fuckers.” ______________________________________________

a/n I got this idea after rewatching heirs and just mmmm i love hoseok goodnight.

7-11-20

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simply-saeran · 5 years ago

Text

Jumin Han - Ramen

jumin x fem!reader

fluff! also i am on mobile pls forgive any formatting errors. OTL

You sat quietly on the couch with Elizabeth the 3rd curled happily on your lap. You hadn't had work today and Jumin was supposed to be at a meeting until late, so things were pretty boring at the penthouse. There was only so much garbage tv you could watch without going crazy, and all the good shows you had already promised Jumin you wouldn't watch without him.

Elizabeth the 3rd purred gently in your lap as you stroked her back, the warmth coming from her tiny cat body starting to make you sleepy. You started to nod off when suddenly your stomach growled very intensely.

Right, you hadn't eaten since lunch - and it was already 5pm. Jumin still wasn't expected to be home for another three hours, and for some reason ordering something to be made by your personal chef didn't sound very appetizing. You were craving something in particular, but couldn't quite put your finger on it.

After a few minutes of thinking, it hit you.

Ramen! You were craving ramen. Ever since you and Jumin had gotten married and you moved into the penthouse with him around a year ago, you hadn't had the chance to eat some good old-fashioned convenience store ramen. Just thinking about it made you excited, so you immediately decided to get dressed in some of your old clothes and head to the convenience store.

Sporting your trusty gray joggers and a t-shirt, your hair tied up in a messy not, you made your way to the convenience store. No one should recognize you in such a lazy outfit since you always wore the things Jumin picked out for you when you went out in public together.

It was only a couple blocks away, so the walk was actually pretty nice. Getting out after staying inside all day felt very refreshing, and the thought of eating spicy ramen next to Elizabeth with some home-brewed coffee motivated you to walk very briskly. A good workout!

You were in and out of the store pretty quickly, but you decided to get 6 of the ramen bowls to stock up at home for future days like this. Walking home with a bag full of junk-food felt very exciting.

After taking the elevator up to the penthouse, you opened the door to find Jumin sitting on the couch with Elizabeth. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"Jumin? I thought you weren't supposed to be home for a few more hours," you asked as you walked in and placed your grocery bag on the counter. You looked at him, concerned.

"Our business partners postponed the meeting," he explained with a sigh, "and I am actually quite glad that was the case. There was too much to do at work today, I felt like the stack of papers on my desk stayed the same size regardless of how many I signed."

You walked up to him and cupped his face in your hands, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He looked up at you and couldn't help but smile.

"I think all the tiredness went away instantly," Jumin mused, wrapping his arms around your legs and resting his face against your stomach before continuing, "But where were you? Actually, a better question would be where were you going dressed like that?"

"Hey!" you whined, "Sometimes it's nice to dress comfortably instead of fashionably. I was just making a quick run to the convenience store."

"I was only joking, love. You look beautiful in whatever you wear. But... the convenience store?" Jumin asked incredulously, pulling away from your stomach to look at you again, "What for? We have everything we need here, and if you really were missing something you could have called and gotten it brought to you."

"I wanted spicy ramen!" you replied with confidence.

"Ramen? From the convenience store?" Jumin furrowed his brow, becoming genuinely confused at your statement. "Why not just ask the chef to make you proper spicy ramen with chicken, eggs and vegetables? There is no nutritional value in packaged ramen. In fact, it is very high in sodium and quite bad for you."

You rolled your eyes and pinched his cheek softly before turning back toward the kitchen to boil the water, "What if I don't want to eat healthy today?"

Jumin let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back. He still seemed very tired, but quickly stood from the couch to follow you and watch what you were doing.

"Jumin..?" you said softly, leaning on the counter as you waited for the water to boil.

"Hm..?"

"You've... had ramen before, right?"

"I've had classic Japanese style ramen cooked by one of the greatest chefs in Japan while I was there for a business trip several years ago," he replied confidently, but could immediately tell by the face you were making that that wasn't what you were asking. "No. I've never had ramen from a convenience store, MC."

You couldn't help but giggle. It was times like these, when you would learn the smallest and most insignificant of things about him, that reminded you how very different his background was from yours.

Jumin sighed and looked at you inquisitively, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I don't really understand why that's funny to you, but as long as it made you smile I am happy that I said it."

You smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "Are you hungry? If you ask nicely, I might share with you."

"I will just order something-" he stopped mid-sentence, his stomach interrupting him with a loud growl, "...well. I will try it, just for you."

The water reached a nice boil, and you took the pot off the stove. Peeling open the lid on the bowl of ramen, you poured the water up to the line and placed chopsticks on top to let it steam.

"Now we have to wait two minutes," you explained with a grin, "then we can eat!"

Jumin moved to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island while he waited, watching you stare intensely at the bowl with anticipation. You were so damn cute sometimes that he really didn't know what to do with himself, because ooking at you acting like that made him want to squeeze you and not let go.

The two minutes seemed to last forever for you, but for Jumin it felt like no time at all. Everything went so quickly with you, and every moment felt so precious.

You lifted the chopsticks and peeled the lid off before joining Jumin at the island.

Picking up a fairly small bite with your chopsticks, you blew on it gently before holding it up for Jumin to eat. Your other hand was cupped beneath it to make sure that it didn't splash on him. He leaned in and took the bite, sucking the noodles up.

You looked at him expectantly with a wide smile on your face, "Well?"

Jumin was very surprised at how good it tasted considering how lacking in nutrition it was. The noodles were also very spicy, which he had found out and remembered very early on in your relationship that you loved. He understood immediately why it was something that you enjoyed.

"It is very good," he replied, "even if I can already feel the sodium dehydrating my cells."

You reached out a hand and hit his shoulder gently, "Oh, whatever. I'm still happy you like it, even if it's unhealthy."

"The best part isn't the taste," Jumin said quietly, "but instead watching you make it. You were very cute just now. Also, you made food for me. How could I not enjoy a loving meal made by my wife, even if it is just instant noodles?"

You finished the bite that you had taken and smiled, "You're so cheesy, Jumin."

"Only when it comes to you," he stated as you gave him the next bite, "you make me act like this. I can't help it."

You two finished the bowl together, and ended up making another with the remaining hot water. The evening seemed to fly by far too quickly, and before you knew it, it was already getting late.

After washing up, you sat on the bed and waited for Jumin to get out of the shower so that you two could sleep.

It wasn't a very long wait. After a few minutes, Jumin came from the bathroom in his night shirt and messy, towel-dried hair. You turned out the lights and you both got under the blankets facing each other. You smiled as Jumin placed a soft, warm kiss on your lips.

"Will you make me ramen again sometime, princess?" he asked quietly, his voice raspy and tired.

"Of course," you whispered, already drifting into sleep, "I will make you ramen anytime you want... Jumin."

#mysmes #cute #jumin #cheritz #mysme jumin #jumin han #fluff #fanfic #fic #short story #one shot #mystic messenger #mysme

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sloppy-butcher · 5 years ago

Note

I saw your requests were open,if not I’m sorry :,). But can I get some hcs with Frank,Dwight (Jake and/or Quentin) with a s/o who’s a short curvier artist and is just insecure about themselves and their work? I’m just in sad boy hours rn lmao

please don’t ever feel sorry about sending in an ask

Sorry, it took as long, I can’t help with how much I write. Hopefully, this will help alleviate some of them sad boy hours. I’m going to assume that by “artist” you mean drawing and not like music soooo also im going to assume its a survivor S/O

i love you anon, thank you for the ask and sorry again for the wait

sad boy hours is offically declared OVER

HeadCanons with a short, insecure Artist S/O

The Legion (Frank Morrison)

Frank, in all honesty, doesn’t give a flying crap about how you look. To him, if you can make him laugh or you amuse him in the slightest, he already likes you. The only looks or appearances he does care about are his own, he’s gotta look badass 24/7, no exceptions. But he does like that you are shorter than him (not a lot of people are so you are a rarity). He likes to tease you and put his elbow on your shoulder or head.

“I need my walking stick.” His eyes would trail over to you. Cue you trying to walk around with the boy hanging onto you, grumbling like an old man. You contrasted him exactly to the T

Frank is absolutely fascinated by your artistic abilities. You have a real talent and he enjoys both watching your process and seeing the finished project. Talent like yours was hard to come by, he sort of envied you for it. If only he had that kind of something that made him special that would have made those foster parents interested in him. But that time for developing uniqueness has passed and now, all he has is you.

You shared your talent with him and he felt extremely special when you would ask him what to sketch next. Frank would pull Suzie over and set her up in a position he imagines to be cool. He would pause, inspect Suzie’s bad form then huff and begin to rearrange her limbs until she was just right. “That's nice.” He’d comment over your shoulder. You’d tell him you didn't like being watched like that while you work and he’d sigh and reluctantly shuffle away. Not even 5 minutes later he would be back standing over you. You would just have to deal with him. He wasn’t judging you or your skills rather he just wanted to watch and marvel at how easy you made it look.

“Okay, now give her a huge dick.” Both Suzie and you would gasp. “Frank! No! That's too disgusting.” A moment of silence. “How big?”

Frank noticed right away when you would start to feel insecure. When you would flatly refuse to take out your sketchbook regardless of what ridiculous poses Suzie would make for you. You were quiet, eyes downwards and shoulder slumping as if you were trying to make yourself somehow smaller than you already were. Frank’s by no means an emotional guy but seeing you so downtrodden, so determined to sink into the background really tore at his heartstrings. He would pull you aside, taking you far away from the others until you two were alone. You wouldn’t look at him, your arms wrapped around yourself. “It’s not just the art.” He was guessing but already he knew he was right. You wouldn’t even offer him a nod afraid that by doing so you would be labeled as someone digging for feigned sympathy.

This was so difficult for Frank. He didn’t know how to comfort you or how to make you feel better. He also didn’t understand where this sudden insecurity came from. To him you perfect and talented and such a good person. You had a kind heart which you would share with those around you and that's all he really cared about. You were good to him. He couldn’t think of anything to say so instead he walked closer to you and slowly placed your hand between his. You momentarily looked up at him and you saw his eyes flicker behind his mask. He squeezed your hand, his words failing but his contact and pressure making up for it. He was trying to be reassuring and you appreciated it. He’d only ever hold your hand and that was something to be gratefully for.

In that time alone he asked you to take out your sketchbook. You did and he steps away, releasing one hand from yours. He reaches up and hesitantly takes off his mask. “Draw me.” You were stuck, in awe of his face and the significance of this moment. Frank never takes his mask off, not completely anyway. This must really mean something to him, YOU must really mean something. A wave of unsureness washed over you and you lost all confidence in your skill. He saw you slip away again and he squeezed his hand. “Hey.” He makes you look at him, his face gentle and his attention focused solely on you. “I believe in you. You are good. You got this.” And that's all you needed to hear. You got the feeling that he was talking about more than just your drawing skills. If he believed in you then everything was okay. You were alright. “Besides. It can’t be worse than the original.”

Dwight Fairfield

Like Frank, Dwight doesn't really care about your outward appearances. Well, it's not that he doesn't care it’s more that he just in a constant state of shock that anyone at all is interested in him. He’s always amazed when you sit next to him specifically or when you want to talk to him and actually listen to what he says. No one has ever really given him that kind of attention before and now you’re here beside him eagerly wanting to hear how his day was or what he was feeling. Dwight was just grateful to have someone as kind and loving as you were to even notice him.

He was beyond blown away by your artistic talents. You can sketch killers from memory and Dwight always finds himself in awe of how detailed and accurate the drawing was. You were so creative and special, the thing he was never. He looked to you and saw everything he could never be or never was. But you didn’t shove your achievements in his face, you didn't flaunt your talents like some egotistical morons would. You were humble and his compliments never went straight to your head. You looked so good when you were kind and modest. He liked how ordinary you were regardless of how awesome you appeared to him.

You’d often ask to draw him and he would blush and look away. Why would you want to draw him? The most boring of all the other survivors. But you were insistent and eventually, he’d cave. If only you had a red pencil because his cheeks were always hot and flushed. He could never make eye contact with you while you worked on him so expect a lot of side profiles or closed eye portraits.

In trials together his heart would all but break at the sight of you getting hurt. Whenever he’d hear your cries as you’d be slammed onto a meat hook he would gasp and practically feel something inside him cry out along with you. You were too good for this. He was a nobody, a weak, pathetic nobody who deserved to be in this purgatory because he was too scared to try and live a normal life. This was his punishment for being so forgettable. But you... he just couldn’t understand it.

Once he had jumped between you and your pursuer taking the hit and aggression while you ran off to go heal. For once in his life he felt happy, he felt as if he had finally done something meaningful and good. He had saved you. He would have died for you as well but you never let that happen. He watched in utter shock and disbelief as, against all odds, you went back for him. You pulled the man off his hook and with shaking hands you pressed his head into yours. Both your foreheads with touching and you had your hand at the back of his head.

“Don’t ever do that again.” He felt you waver and suddenly he realized that you were scared for him. He felt your urgency and terror and it was all directed towards him and his safety. He could have cried.

Dwights not the brightest bulb in the pack so forgive him but it will take a while for him to realize that you were insecure. He just assumed that when you started isolating yourself from him that it was because you had found someone much better than him. But he noticed that your hands still shook whenever you’d see him in pain and you would always be by his side the moment he needed help. You still cared for him deeply and he could feel it through your desperate actions and your desolate expression.

He walked over to your spot at the campfire. No one was near you, all were chased away by your depressing aura. You were dark and dying, everything around you was heavy with despair and sorrow yet he pushed through it all. He clawed away that thick fog and finally came to rest by your side. You didn't even look at him as he approached.

“Y-You don’t draw anymore.” No response. He hesitated unsure of how best to comfort you. He looked over and saw your hands. They were so small and gentle yet they produced such amazing things. He missed seeing you alive as you worked, the happiest you had ever been. He reached out and took your hands in his. This was the most forward he had ever been with you and it caught you by surprise. You turned to face him and you saw pain in his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” he paused and looked away, ashamed. “I’m sorry I took so long to notice.”

Dwight really did feel sorry. He felt like he had abandoned you, leaving you vulnerable and alone with the true killer; yourself. This time you felt his hands shake.

Dwight wasn’t much but he was yours and he loves you. And he loved you so much to maybe even make up for your own lack of self-love. You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder. He was enough.

“Please draw me again. I-I promise I won’t look away this time.” How could you refuse him?

Jake Park

Jake’s a simple man. He knows the silence of the world and prefers it to the company of people. So when you start to hang out with him or show interest in his life he is pretty unresponsive. He expected you to eventually lose curiosity in him and leave him alone with the woods. But you didn’t.

You’d follow him around, asking questions and receiving minimal answers. You would ask him what to draw and when you were done he would just glance at the sketch then nod or huff. He was certainly a very difficult and cold man.

You would draw many things for him, be it crows or plants or sometimes even killers. And he would always show an extreme lack of interest in them. So you decide to stop showing him. The two of you would sit in a quiet spot in the woods, you sketching and him wondering why you were still trying so hard to be friends with him.

You were working on a portrait when you were, without warning, whisked off into a trial. You quickly shoved your art into your pocket and set to work trying to escape. Jake was in the trial with you and you gladly worked on gen with him. Minutes later everyone was dying and only 2 generators had been lit. It wasn’t looking so good but the only thing you were worried about was your precious item in your pocket. It was something that you were really proud of and, to be dead honest, it was one of the best pieces of art you had made in a long time. You were afraid to die and lose it. But... it really didn’t look like you were getting out of this one.

You caught Jake in a corner, injured but not making a noise. You approached him and he reached out ready to tend to your wounds. You shook your head and crouched next to him trying to catch your breath. Your hand went into your pocket and pulled out your folded artwork. he eyed it unsure.

“I know you don’t care about my bad drawings but,” you held it out for him to take. “please, this one’s for you.” You quickly ran off, too embarrassed to be there when he opened it.

He was frozen for a moment, confused as to what just happened. He did care about your drawings. You were talented and he really enjoyed when you included him. Why would you think that he wouldn’t like them? He turned his attention back to the paper. With a bloody hand, he carefully unfolded it and was shocked to find a portrait of him. It was so beautiful, delicate lines used to define his face and his far-off expression and for a second he couldn’t believe it was him. It was so well done. How could you be ashamed of showing him this? He loved it. He looked up and saw you run off and his heart run with you. He was suddenly hit with his suppressed love for you. You were patient and kind and your small stature always made him wonder how anyone could hurt something so cute. He escaped that trial along with your picture. He, unfortunately, couldn’t save you.

Later at your spot in the woods, he approached you. He presented your art and you gasped. “How’d you get that!?” You reached out to take it back. “I’m sorry! It’s...” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He must think you are such a creep, drawing bad pictures of him without his knowledge. You clutched the paper to your chest and felt a wave of hot insecurity flood over you. But Jake never let you drown.

“It’s really good,” Jake said, his voice the most emotional and vibrant it had ever been. “I’m sorry if I never expressed my appreciation of it.” He put a hand on your shoulder. “You’re really good... to me. And,” he paused letting go for a moment and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. Thank you for sticking around.” It wasn’t much but it was the best he could do. There was a deep-rooted honestly in his confession and it pulled at your heart.

It wasn’t enough to make you feel better but it was a start. With Jake, it is a journey of recovery, not a once-off end-all fix. But he was good at consistency and was always there the moment your fears reared their ugly heads. He was warm and solid, grounding both himself and you in the world.

#dbd imagines #dbd headcanons #dbd x reader #dbd frank morrison #dbd dwight fairfield #dbd jake park

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onthesandsofdreams · 5 years ago

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To Catch A Dragon’s Eye

Fandom: ASoIaF Pairing: Ned x Rhaegar (Main), Elia x Rhaegar, Elia x Ashara (both background) Rating: T Summary: He wondered if this was what Elia felt for Ashara. If this is what Jon felt for him. He didn’t know. But one thing was perfectly clear to him, a Quiet Wolf had caught his eye. Words: 1571 Notes: A prompt fill for @asoiafrarepairs: The Quiet Wolf catches the eye of the dragon prince.

Read @ AO3

It was unprincely to sulk, Rhaegar knew.

But with his father attending Lord Whent’s tourney, his hands were tied. So he just braced himself for whatever it may come and hope that the Lords of the Realm would see his father’s state and come to him.

He heard giggles behind him, he turned and found that it was Elia and Lady Ashara. His lady wife and her companion were lovers he knew, but he didn’t care. They did not love one another, he was fond of Elia and wished for the best and knew that when the time came, she would make a fine queen. But there was no passion between then, no grand love, so who he was to deny her companionship? Lady Ashara was a good choice for lover, discreet, funny, smart and loyal, he could hardly fault Elia for choosing her.

He himself had no lover, not for the lack of want. There were many, both men and women who would take the chance to share his bed should he allow it. But, something held him back. Like there was something out there he was meant to find.

He sighed and hoped that at least the tourney would provide a distraction, if only momentarily.

*****

It was on the third day of the royal retinue’s arrival when he noticed it. His cousin, Robert, was pretty much dragging another man around. A friendly arm tossed about the man’s shoulder and they both seemed to be getting along just fine.

The man was tall, not as tall as Robert and much leaner. Dark hair and long of face, he couldn’t distinguish the man’s eyes from the distance, but the man dressed in several shades of grays and white, there was a pin on his shoulder that he couldn’t quite make. He shrugged, Robert was always good at making friends.

*****

On the third day, Arthur had accompanied him for a walk around Harrenhall, when he crossed paths with Robert, “Cousin!” Robert was all exuberance. “Look who it is, Ned! None other than my cousin.”

The second man bowed, “Your Grace,” he addressed him quite formally. “Eddard Stark, at your service.”

Ah, so that it was who Robert was dragging about yesterday. He was taller up close, and his eyes were smoke gray and solemn. “Well met Lord Stark,” he returned the greeting. “I did not know you had met my cousin already.”

“We fostered in the Eyre together, your Grace.” Ned replied easily.

Well now that made sense. He knew that his cousin Steffon had sent Robert to foster, but he had not remembered that Lord Stark had also done so. “He’s been a good foster brother, I hope?”

Robert took a few steps forward and smacked his arm, “Aye, cousin, I have. Ned over here is my brother in all but blood. Honestly, I get along with him better than with Stannis.”

No surprise there. “Well then, I am glad to hear of it cousin, Lord Stark, if you excuse me.” He continued with his walk, leaving the two men behind.

*****

“…I can’t believe what you did Lyanna, tossing wine on Benjen in front of the King, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, alongside the whole court!”

Rhaegar paid attention now, it surprised him hearing Lord Stark speak, he could clearly hear the anger in his voice.

“Oh come now, Ned, don’t be like that, it wasn’t so bad!”

“No?” Ned hissed and Rhaegar had to do his best to keep listening, even when he knew he should not be. “Your behavior reflects not only you, but father, the North and House Stark. Not to mention, your betrothal to Robert, do you want them to say that you can’t behave in society?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Do not make me write to father.”

It was then, when he decided to keep his eyes on Eddard Stark

*****

“Your eyes continue to wander to the table where the Starks sit,” Elia’s dulcet tone brought him back to reality. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” he turned and faced his wife. “You have nothing to fear from the Lady Stark, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Elia nodded sagely, “Good. Then, if that is the case, you may continue to observe. Ashara speaks well of Lord Eddard,” her voice turned mischievous then. “Poor man, his elder brother had to ask Ashara for a dance on his behalf.”

He smiled, “Ah yes, he seems quite… quiet. Unlike Robert, they fostered together I believe. I wouldn’t have expected they’d get along, but… they do.”

“Ashara says his siblings call him the Quiet Wolf,” Elia turned and looked at the Stark table. “I think it suits him, a wolf is no less a wolf because he’s quiet. In fact, I’d be worried more about him than his siblings.”

He could see the wisdom on her words. He observed Eddard once more, he was talking with Robert, Eddard’s face had lost the seriousness and was quite animated, lips were curled upwards in a faint smile. “The Quiet Wolf indeed,” he said.

“You should court him, I think he could be good for you. At least he doesn’t seem to dislike me as Lord Connington does.” Elia had drawn near and whispered those words in his ears, then she gave his cheek a quick kiss. “You have my permission to misbehave.”

He snorted, bless Elia Martell.

*****

The following day, he found himself quite unexpectedly in company of Eddard. He had been reading in Lord Whent’s library, when Eddard had walked in, stopped when he had seen him and made the motion to walk out, ��Forgive me your Grace,” Eddard bowed. “I did not know you were reading, I will leave you to your peace.”

“There is no need to leave Lord Stark,” he stopped him from leaving. “If you are here to read, I would welcome the company.”

“My thanks your Grace.” Eddard began to look through the shelves before selecting a tome and sitting near the fire to read.

Curiosity got the better of him, “I must confess Lord Stark, I didn’t take you for a reader.”

Eddard looked surprised. “It’s a pleasant way to spend time, it drives Robert crazy in the Eyre. Brandon and Lyanna can’t stand still long enough, only Benjen sits still for the stories.” Eddard’s face had softened a small bit speaking of Robert and his siblings. “But I quite enjoy it.”

He nodded, “I understand, I enjoy reading myself, much to the worry of certain people.”

“If I may be bold, your Grace,” at his nod, Eddard continued. “Better a learned king than not.”

He blinked surprised, that was unexpected. Many men would scoff at his interest in books, he still recalled how many had said that he was Baelor the Blessed come again, and the relief that washed over them once he took up the sword. Interesting. “Perhaps so, not many would agree.”

Eddard frowned, “Then, they don’t know anything. A king should care for his people, how can one do that in times of peace, if he doesn’t know or understand anything other than battle?”

Well, now, this was an interesting turn of events. His curiosity, already spiked grew. He arched an eyebrow, “True enough, Lord Stark.”

“Ned, if it pleases your Grace.”

He nodded, “Ned, then you may call me Rhaegar.” He hesitated, then asked. “Would you tell me of the North and Winterfell, Ned? I am afraid I have not had the chance to see it. All I know is what I have read and what my uncle Aemon writes from the Wall. I would hear it from one of its people.”

“Winterfell is home, Rhaegar…” Ned began and he watched as the serious man began to lighten up, his usually solemn face seemed younger as he spoke of his home, his father and sibling. Of the Godswoods and the Weirdwood tree, of the Wolfwood where they have hunted, of the summer snows and the blue roses, of the hot water springs underneath Winterfell and the hot water that flows like blood between its walls.

It was an astounding transformation and he felt himself being pulled in. He felt lost in both Ned’s eyes and his words. Winterfell and the North came alive, and it seemed so had Ned and a part of him that had been dormant, awoke.

And for once in his life, he craved.

*****

He wondered if this was what Elia felt for Ashara. If this is what Jon felt for him. He didn’t know. But one thing was perfectly clear to him, a Quiet Wolf had caught his eye. Elia had given her blessing and wished him well. He was thankful for that, he could only hope that Ned would like him too.

And maybe, if he allowed himself to hope and be greedy, maybe they could know love.

*****

In the tourney of Harrenhall, in the year of the false spring, Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Princess Elia Martell as Queen of Love and Beauty. And when his retinue made its way towards Dragonstone, it had a new member: Eddard Stark.

#asoiafrare #ned x rhaegar #rhaegar x ned #Rhaegar Targaryen #Ned Stark #pre asoiaf fic #au: canon divergence #prompt fill

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yaboylevi · 5 years ago

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Hi vivi, there's smth I didn't understand, about when Levi was ignorant about Erwin's true motivator then when he knew it. In the beginning he used to talk about freedom stuffs but after Shiganshina battle he almost didn't? Was those freedom stuffs related to his fake vision of Erwin?

Hey there!

Honestly, I'm not the best person you should ask this to. I'm pretty sure I've proven myself to be someone who does not understand Levi very well. Or maybe, what I understood of him was either wrong all along, or it is simply something I don't like anymore, and that I find pitiful (especially if this is all there is to it), after putting together all the pieces of his character arc until now and in light of more recent highlights of his character when paired up with his past.

For the sake of giving you my opinion, since you asked, I think Levi has lost himself, and that's why he doesn't bring up freedom at all. This is just my rough interpretation of a part of his psychology that I've never quite seen analyzed so I could just be wrong ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ tl;dr at the end.

I think he lost confidence in himself all the way back when Erwin made him think that Isabel&Farlan's death, his family, was his fault,

"A heavy sense of regret cut away at his heart, more sharply than the blades he held in his hands. Levi thought. That's right—what Erwin said was right. The one who's wrong was me. I lost a fight that I could've won; I'd even gotten my allies killed. The responsibility for all that falls on the one who'd made that decision…me." x

and so Levi made his life all about following Erwin and his superior, bigger goal, without knowing what it was, with the belief that it was something selfless and that he couldn't understand it simply because he himself wasn't worthy, was inferior. Just like Kenny thought he was inferior to Uri until the very end (but at least Levi had the much-awaited epiphany that no, it wasn't the case. Though I'm not sure if he absorbed the lesson or not - I think he didn't). Anyway in his mind, that goal he couldn't see could make all the sacrifices worth it, it made you a better person, one that had no regrets. And this, in particular, is Levi's biggest struggle - you'll always have regrets, but you can accept them if for the right cause. The moment this cause is no more because it was sort of a fraud, how do you deal with those regrets and sacrifices, how do you make them worth something again? -> simple, pick someone you hate, pin all the fault on them and kill them. This is what he's grappling with, currently.

He's been stuck there for 4 years because he was used to not having "mental autonomy". Erwin's idealized goals became his, simply because Levi considered himself inferior, without a worthy or right goal, only able to mess things up and causing others' deaths, so he should naturally follow someone superior. He gave up thinking for himself when he decided to follow Erwin, because Levi had lost faith in his qualities as a human - he got his friends killed, right? It was his fault, right? He can still think for himself and he has his own opinions, but when it comes to the future, or to making big decisions, he is unsure and scared and lacks confidence and so he leaves it up to Erwin, to following Erwin's orders. This is what I mean when I said he isn't used to "mental autonomy". Because he gave it up for the longest time. Why do I think so? Let's go back to ACWNR, the origin of our current Levi...in a moment of full despair and insecurity about his own decisions and decision-making skills, in my mind, it's like Levi gave up on himself and decided to put those skills and his strength at the service of Erwin's goal:

""All right… It looks like you have something that I lack. Until I know what that 'something' is, I'll go with you.""

What I get from this, and from what we have in the actual manga, it seems like Levi had thought Erwin's goal was a pure and superior one. He idealized Erwin and never really understood him. For years. He could accept all those deaths - of the soldiers they sacrificed together, and of Isabel&Farlan - only because he believed in this goal he didn't really understand and that he thought was a selfless one. He even sacrificed his own feelings. He disliked how Erwin used his soldiers as bait, but accepted every order because he believed in him and the goal he believed they shared.

In the end, he found out Erwin's goal had selfish motivations. He was shaken up and confused and disgusted initially. This is proof that Levi really believed in saving humanity, in freeing it. But then, since he was Erwin's friend, he decided to accept that the real Erwin and his idealized version of him weren't the same. And he chose to keep avoiding making choices and to keep believing in Erwin, for some reasons that I tend to identify into two categories: 1. Erwin was his friend, you tend to forgive and accept things in your friends that you wouldn't accept otherwise, even if you disagree (and Levi disagreed plenty); and 2. Levi's delusion had to go on or he would feel the weight of all the sacrifices he made and he would get crushed - he wasn't ready to decide for himself, so he chose to still follow Erwin. In the end, he was forced to in RtS by circumstances when Erwin failed to make the call for Levi like he used to, failed to give him orders. When Levi tells him to die with the recruits, you can see on his face that this is the first time in a very long time that he actually takes full responsibility for those lives. Before that, I feel like he halved their weight because they were all Erwin's decisions, not his, he was merely following orders for a greater cause.

So, yeah, I think Levi had given up making important decisions (outside of the immediate ones in moments of dangers/on the battlefield), and then he was forced to make 2 very important ones in RtS all of a sudden. After giving up his "freedom" to Erwin's orders and decisions and goals, he was thrown back into reality full force. Making choices is hard and painful. He already knew (that's the whole point of him avoiding having to make them), he is aware of it on a personal level and he directly acknowledges this when dealing with Eren and imparting his lessons to others. But it's actually quite ironic because he always followed Erwin's orders to a T (even when he felt strongly against them), successfully avoiding choosing. In my opinion, his blind belief in Erwin was exactly the result of Levi never properly dealing with his own guilt re: Isa&Far. Because of it, he ended up thinking he's unfit to make choices. So he left the task to someone he deemed more capable and superior (and this is how the whole "Ackerbond" thing was described, basically, but you need to add to it Levi's self-deprecation and feelings of inferiority caused by his guilt, which make the whole thing even more codependent imo). The two decisions in RtS ("Give up on your dream and lead the recruits to hell" and the serum choice) meant he was responsible of the death of almost all the SC and also of their Commander. With how the situation is now in the manga, he may feel even more guilty. Because of those 2 choices, and of his failure at killing Zeke in Shiganshina, they're in this situation: Hange can't lead them, Zeke played them like a fiddle, the SC has never been this corrupted and divided. (For the record, I don't think Levi should be considered fully responsible for this bc it would just take away agency to all the other characters involved, but he sure did nothing to help the situation, that we know of.)

Hence why he's so hellbent on repaying those lost lives and on destroying Zeke, even if killing Zeke wouldn't mean victory for their current situation. Even if those deaths have already been proven to have been useful, not in vain. He's obsessing about this, not seeing past it, not seeing the freedom he was striving for before, because of his inner demons (his guilt and his insecurity about his own ability to make choices). That's why he's always there in the background doing nothing, barely expressing his opinions about the circumstances they're in. That's why his only two modes are conflicted and violent, because he's lost, and he has regressed in the sense that he thinks he can solve anything with violence like he used to. I'm glad the story has proven him wrong. Hitting Eren has amounted to exactly nothing. Being viciously sadistic with Zeke only blew up in his face (ah! sorry...).

I'm not saying he needs to repress his feelings. But everyone has condemned Connie's violent and irrational behavior (caused by pain and confusion) recently, but nobody can acknowledge the problems in Levi's behavior, though it is just very similar to Connie's. The difference is Levi is an adult and should technically act more like it. But I guess his development has been stalled since he met Erwin, because as I said, he gave it all up just to avoid dealing with his own feelings and responsibilities, something that would've made him "grow up" emotionally. So I really really hope he'll finally have this growth he needs to undergo, next time we see him. Just like I hope there is a positive resolution to Connie's internal conflict.

tl;dr: I think Levi really did care for humanity's freedom, he wasn't just parroting Erwin's public speeches. That's why he was disappointed in Erwin, because he implicitly did come to care about their freedom, as he explicitly said to Eren. However, he lacks confidence in his long-term decision-making skills, so he's focusing on the past, rather than the future. The only time he chose something that impacted the future was in RtS, and that "future" he's living in right now seems hopeless, probably also because of his choices (or so he may believe unconsciously). So I think he's been obsessing about the past and his past choices in particular, though this just stumped his growth, made him regress and actually made it impossible for him to create a vision for the future for himself - hence why he never brings up ANYTHING about the future of the island in a positive way like he did before...he doesn't have the confidence to believe in anything regarding their future atm; meanwhile, in the past he gained that confidence through following someone else's leadership. Some find it pure or romantic, I find it looks like codependency. If he managed to kill Zeke, he wouldn't have had anything else going on for him and this is...not a good look for a character, simply from a narrative pov. That's why I knew he would've never been able to kill Zeke and there was zero tension in their most recent fight for me.

In general, though, Levi has directly brought up freedom only once, to Eren. He has always fought more for individuals and to repay their sacrifices (almost as a self-inflicted punishment/strife to atonement for what happened to his friends). But I agree that we all were under the impression that he had the goal of freeing humanity inside the walls. This is also why I say I may have been wrong all along about him, and I have never truly understood him.

Why do you think he doesn't bring up Freedom anymore?

#shingeki asks #Anonymous

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crmediagal · 5 years ago

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I Have A Lot of Thoughts...

Okay. I just got back from seeing TROS. Bearing in mind that I already knew the main spoilers involving my precious boy, Ben Solo, and my beloved ship Reylo, I still have So. Many. Questions. And a flippin’ series of disappointments to whinge about, so get ready.

!!! WARNING: #TROS SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

Lets start with the main and, for me, most important factors: Reylo and Ben Solo

At the end of the day, if Reylo wasn’t ever intended to be end game, I could have lived with that. I’ve shipped whatever the heck I wanna ship and written those ships in fandoms I’ve loved for years, regardless of their basis (or more often, not) in the canonverse. I’d have survived if there was no kiss at the end.

Back in early 2016, when people were still speculating that Ben and Rey were related, I was writing them as lovers and doting parents, so, erm, again, for me, the ship wasn’t contingent upon them becoming canon in order to hold legitimacy/meaning. It shouldn’t for anyone, really. Ship whatever you wanna ship, guys! Love them regardless of screen time or lack thereof!

That being said, I will cherish That Moment™ forever when the Reylo shippers got a glimpse of what this incredible coupling could have been. And in the actual canon material, no less. That’s more than I'd have ever expected to receive and, frankly, was enough for me to be satisfied.

HOWEVER.

I was fully invested in this trilogy from start to finish for Ben Solo. And that is where I've been most letdown, disheartened, and pained.

At the off, sure, Kylo Ren made for an interesting archetype “villain” in TFA, but the moment we learned of his true identity, the Bad Boy™ appeal, for me, melted away. I fell in love with the tortured young man who had never really had the freedom of choice; who had the burden of war heroes for parents and a royal bloodline that traced back to Vader; who was abandoned by his family and left to navigate the enormity of his powers and abilities on his own. I was taken with Ben Solo’s troubled, many-layered complexity and this character took on a whole new meaning for me after TFA.

Like so many other Ben Redemptionists, I desperately wanted to see Ben Solo free of the torture he’d suffered all his life. And that life wasn’t long in years, unlike Anakin’s. By the end of Anakin’s life, he was more machine than man and middle-aged.

All the more reason that I needed to see Ben redeemed in this story...and allowed to walk freely in the sun.

SW is built on forgiveness and redemption, after all, so why would they not bring Ben Solo back to the Light and take him where Anakin’s story never could go? The groundwork was laid in two films and reiterated in countless interview quotes the creators dropped on us for four effin’ years. Disney and the creators seemed as invested in Ben Solo’s redemption arc as the fans were, so I wasn’t too worried about seeing it come full circle.

Hooooo boy. #MyBigFatMistakeThatIWillNeverMakeAgain

Ben Solo’s redemption, while earned in the last few minutes of TROS, was horribly cheapened when the creators decided to ‘play it safe’ by making him sacrifice himself. It wasn’t romantic and tragic, as I’m sure JJ and the creators were aiming for, but, rather, a Grade F example of very poor, very subpar writing. We got to see Ben for a few moments as himself whilst much of his storyline and importance in TROS was cruelly (and, it would seem, very purposely) reduced in the last film, too, when such plot for his character was supposed to be centre stage.

Less time devoted to Ben’s arc and then killing him off sends so many terrible messages, particularly for kids. You’d think Disney would understand that better than most.

Death is not hopeful. Redemption in the form of a young man, who was barely given the chance to live in Light and Love, dying as soon as his true self was realised isn’t hope. It’s been done before in this saga, as it has in many others, so it just makes the whole play-by-play defeatist and devastating. And after 40+ years of Skywalkers and Solos suffering in this universe, haven’t we ALL had enough of that, JJ? Disney?

They made Rey a Palpatine--a ‘surprise’ that had me actually laughing in the cinema and asking myself nervously, ‘Is this a joke?’--who takes the name of Skywalker to renounce her own bloodline but in the end, JJ, Disney, and the creators still sent us the same damnable, harrowing message: that Palpatine won.

#YIKES. That isn’t hope either, JJ! Disney! ABORT ABORT ABORT!

I thought JJ and the creators would be bolder than this PG-level crap. I thought Ben’s journey would be a true reversal of Vader’s, just as the director himself quoted not too long ago, and what did we get instead? Dusty old tropes and the sour takeaway that redemption will always come at a price rather than at its simplest, most exceptional form: the beauty of a second chance.

In the end, Ben Solo’s never to know freedom from Darkness? He's never to have the opportunity to make right of his wrongs by living in the Light? He's never to grow old? Instead, he’s to die a too-young death in the hands of a woman who actually loves and cares about the role he has to play in this whole saga; perhaps, the only one who cares at that point?

That’s cruel, JJ. Disney. And, again, utterly hopeless.

Hell, Ben’s not even one of the Force Ghosts Rey sees in the last scene of the movie! (A convenient loophole, yes, and the flicker of an opportunity to, perhaps, bring him back but it’s a wildly overlooked mistake if that wasn’t intended by the creators...and I don’t think it was intentional to make him Not There™.)

I don’t get this saga anymore. I failed to grasp the overall message of Hope in TROS. At all. I’m beyond disappointed at the assassination of Ben’s character to give others, who shall remain nameless, more screen time and a beefier storyline which was, frankly, always quite thin to begin with. I feel like I’ve been cheated on...and it hurts so badly to be so letdown by something you’ve loved and supported for so long.

And some other ridiculous absurdities in TROS while we’re still here:

Why was this film ALL about Rey’s lineage, a direction that seemed to come out of nowhere when it was already established in TLJ that her background wasn’t important or crucial to her part in the story? She came from nowhere, so why did this become a central thing?

I’ll admit that I never really cared whether Rey was a Skywalker or a Kenobi or had any given name. I rather enjoyed the idea that she had built herself up from nothing. That was an empowering message, in fact, and a strong one, I think. It was certainly leaps and bounds better than the, ‘HA! GOTCHA! SHE’S PALPATINE’S GRANDDAUGHTER!’ reveal that was laid onto us way too thick in the Final Act.

Ew. Gross. No thanks. I hate it. Take it back. It’s a passe trick to try and pull on the audience at the last minute.

One of many more examples of poor writing by the creators, I suppose.

Also, since when is Finn a Force sensitive? Did I miss something in TFA or TLJ that suggested he possessed that gift? No? Ah. More lousy writing.

Additionally, why does Finn spend the entire movie running after Rey? Why was his romantic storyline with Rose completely dropped and nonexistent in TROS?

It’s almost as if JJ and the creators were giving TLJ director, Rian Johnson, the middle finger throughout the entire finale that was this garbage of a movie. Nice work in undoing all the innovative things Rian brought to the saga, JJ. TROS is even worse™ than the Prequels...and THAT’s saying something.

Why did all the voices of Jedis past speak to Rey but never the helpless Ben Solo who had Palpatine raping his ear from the time he was a baby? It seems sketchy and unfair?

Again, lots of TROS makes little sense. It felt like an entirely separate movie to me--separate from the rest of the saga--and doesn’t wrap 40+ years of this series up all too nicely. It’s anything but. It’s confusing, heartbreaking, and leaves one without much hope.

So...we come to the end of my ramblings and wailings:

Ben Solo was the most interesting, convoluted, and beautifully crafted character from this new trilogy and a true redemption would have served the legacy upon which the SW saga is built--Hope™--so much better, including but not limited to its utilisation in making Han’s death carry meaning. Because his son would have not only returned to the Light but gotten to Live™ and experience it fully.

What a remarkably hopeful ending that would have been...

Instead, we got garbage writing and the redundant SW tropes.

Ben Solo deserved better. JJ and the creators absolutely wasted his potential in this story and I’ll be forever crestfallen..and retreating more and more into my own Ben Redemption fics because to hell with this elementary-level bullsh*t.

Han Solo deserved for his son’s part in his demise to not be utterly pointless at the end because, hey ho, guess what? YOUR SON DIED ANYWAY?!

Leia Organa deserved to not only see her son redeemed but to have that emotional reunion many of us were craving. She had already lost so much, but I guess JJ and the creators decided to just...serve the general more pain in the end. Wow. Rude. Such disrespect. Carrie Fisher wouldn’t have stood for it.

And Rey... My gawd, she deserved better, too. She should never been tied to Palpatine in order to make her seem more important. That grossly underserved her character.

She also should have had her other half. The yang to her yin. The only other person in the entire ruddy galaxy who understood her: Ben. She deserved to not be left alone at the end of TROS, just as she had started in TFA.

I’m going to go work on my WIP Reylo fic now and try to forget TROS entirely.

#ben solo #reylo #reyben #tros #tros spoilers #rey #star wars #i am in pain #i am....so heartbroken

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neshabeingchildish · 5 years ago

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Poly Wanna? Ch. 10

Even though this is a rated M story with characters in the 27-29 age range, I understand and respect that there are kiddos here and have no intention of writing flat out graphic adult material. I’ve used a lot of mature language, but have hopefully not gone too far in this chapter, which has numerous dreams and situations that I tried not to make too explicit. Be prepared for a few shockers, but hopefully, the M didn’t go into some other higher letter!

I stopped tagging as many people. I heard that the tags weren’t really working well anyway, so I just started over on these tags with the people that I know are reading and if anybody else is, they can find it on my page. @adorkable-blackgirl @chenoahchantel @woahjusttakeiteasy-man (I hate this because it’s way too mature content for your eyes and I feel like I have to say that, but also feel like if I didn’t tag you, that’d be effed up, because you’ve read and reviewed every chapter!) @up-the-tube Anywhooo, if any of the 4 of y’all, or I guess I should say if Lizzie and Niah want me to PROMPTLY remove you after this update, I understand completely and I am SO SORRY FOR THIS. I tried to handle it hella different ways. Nothing went right. I know them first two just put up with ANTYTHING from me. 😅

Laughing Fits and Lucid Dreams

The movie watching went well. They wound up turning on some horror movies and Charlotte practically clung to Jasper the entire time. He loved that. She was so fearless, but whenever a horror movie was on, she would be worked up and a little bit terrified. Jasper fell to sleep first, probably because the past couple of days he hadn’t slept well at all. He had been awake and worried, then the three were awake all night and before the sun even set, he was passed out and draped around Charlotte. She tried to get up a few times, but he clung to her and groaned whenever she attempted. Poor thing. “I was pretty positive that between Jasper’s lack of sleep, my pulling and tugging his emotions in various directions and Henry and I arguing in front of him that he was not only exhausted (which I think is why he had a panic attack), but he was also scared and even in his sleep, his abandonment or rejection issues were flared up. I sent Henry to get my travel box of crystals from my room and I was determined to intercede on Jasper’s behalf, so that he’d be able to sleep well.”

Charlotte selected a rainbow moonstone, herkimer diamond and opal aura to set out. Henry didn’t mind if Jasper remained in his bed, but he recommended that Charlotte stay too. “If he wakes up in bed with me, and you’re not here, I don’t know how he’ll react to that.”

“Like I could get away, anyway. This boy is squeezing me like a python.” Jasper snuggled in even closer to her and held more tightly.

Eventually, he did let go. He was asleep and Henry was out fighting crime, so Charlotte went back to the Man Cave to check up on him. Nobody told her she could, but being back in there had stirred something up in her. She went up there to sit at the control panel and see if she still “had it.” Spoiler alert, of course she did. No plot twist, though. She was surprised to see Henry return alone. Where the heck was Ray? Asleep? She shook her head.

“You just keep exploring on your own, huh?” Henry asked.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” She asked back. He laughed and transformed into his regular clothes. “I started some work while I’m here. Thought about running some stuff past Schwoz, but he’s probably asleep.”

“Like you should be. I mean, I see that you’re dressed for it.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m in the middle of something right now,” she said and pointed to the screen. He couldn’t tell what she was supposedly in the middle of, so he just let her have her way and went to get himself something from the auto snacker.

Henry and Charlotte eventually went back up the elevator and checked on Jasper. He was still completely out. She was in her night clothes while in the Man Cave, so she simply slipped back into Henry’s bed with Jasper and he quickly resumed holding her closely, tightly.

Jasper had this cuddle habit. He kinda groped you in his sleep. His hand cuffed her “gens” and his other arm was wrapped gently around her throat. It was a possessive hold that Henry remembered well. He went to get cleaned up and threw on a pair of boxers, stared at himself in the mirror for a while and wondered, was he ready to do this? Should he just grab some covers and take one of the several other beds in the house? Part of him knew that might be best for everybody. That part of him was thoughtful and considerate. It didn’t win. He climbed into his own bed and laid down next to Jasper, wrapped an arm around the two of them and felt Charlotte’s hand touch his, then intertwined their fingers. He didn’t know if that was conscious or not, but was scared that if he questioned it, even in a whisper, it would be too jarring and possibly make it weird. Jasper shifted a little and Henry took a deep breath, cuddled closer to him and let himself fall asleep.

Henry blew a bubble, then went up the tube. Charlotte was doing some interpretive dance in the living room, belly full with child, and music playing, accompanied by ethereal voices, in the background. There was a patch of grass beneath her bare feet, a real patch that he had made room for, for her. Jasper was nearby, playing the bongos with his hands and beatboxing. She wound up at his lap, he pushed the bongos aside and collected her into an embrace and kissed her. Henry backed away, giving them some space, or… maybe he was… getting smaller? He looked at the place, it was getting smaller, and eventually, it was no longer his house, but Jasper’s apartment. The grass was gone, the place was cozy and they were perfectly happy without him… And he realized that he’d shrunk so small that he vanished and everything went dark.

Henry awoke with a start and glanced next to him. Jasper was awake, but cuddling Charlotte, who was asleep. “You okay?” He wondered.

Henry nodded, “Bad dream.”

“Bad dream, or honest one? Char’s got the good dream crystals out,” he said and pointed a thumb. “I mean… they’re like in HD, Dude. I had amazing dreams. They didn’t all make sense, though. Mostly about… you…” He turned his gaze to Charlotte and rubbed her arms. “And of course, her. Thank God… What were you dreaming about?”

“You… The two of you… Just… like… I don’t know… You two have a connection. You’ve got this beautiful thing going on, and since I’ve been back in your lives, I’ve just kinda been making a mess of things. You’d probably be better just forgetting about me.”

“No doubt, but it’s a little late for that. You said that you love us… You’re going to have to tough out whatever that confession will mean for all of us.”

“Do you think that it does mean anything for all of us?” “I think that I woke up because I heard her say your name in her sleep. I think all three of us are experiencing a lot of feelings.”

“That’s because I stepped back into the picture. You and Charlotte could be on a patch of grass, expecting a baby, with her dancing a tribute to the moon goddess or something and you playing bongos and beatboxing, but instead, you’re sleeping in my bed, and none of us are getting any.”

“That was an oddly specific depiction, but add a cat and I’d say fairly accurate,” Jasper chuckled. Henry sighed. Jasper pointed to a slip of paper beneath the crystals. “I didn’t look to see what she wrote down, but whenever I ask her in the morning, I'll bet it'll be something about the three of us. Come here…" Henry came closer and Jasper shifted to allow Henry to cuddle up with Charlotte. He wanted this SO bad, but she hadn't really made him feel like it was okay. Then again, if she'd said his name in her sleep… Henry wrapped himself around her and moaned out a sigh. He was asleep again in no time.

“Hey, Hen!” Charlotte cheered, come on! You’ve gotta get in here!” He looked over to where she and Jasper were inside of a photo booth. “When was the last time that we took a photo?” She asked, with a beaming smile and radiant skin. He rushed to get into the photo and they took several. They put their faces together, made silly expressions, shared a few kisses.

Jasper cheered, “Win me something!” And Henry rushed to do so. He got him the biggest stuffed animal… though it was a sasquatch. “Yay! Bigfoot comes home with us!” Jasper celebrated as Henry handed him the huge plushy.

“You guys wanna get on the ferris wheel?” Henry wondered. They didn’t look excited about that. “I’ll make it worth it, for both of you…” He told them. Their interests were piqued and they went for it.

Whenever the ride first started, Henry’s hand began to move up Charlotte’s pretty little floral dress. She smiled and looked at Jasper who raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. Charlotte leaned back to slide her pelvis forward and Henry shifted to get on his knees. Jasper simply smiled and set his plushy aside, so that he didn’t miss anything. The next circle, it was his turn. But, Henry certainly couldn’t pull that off with him in his romper… Actually… Henry could! Jasper protested for a short moment that Henry might rip his “romphim,” but was silenced soon enough. As they got off of the ride, Charlotte took one of Henry’s hands and one of Jasper’s. “Let’s go home,” she said…

Charlotte woke up and looked at Henry, wrapped around her and shifted to see Jasper wrapped around him. She grabbed her paper from beneath her crystals and looked at it. “Please, allow us to see how it could be, if we got out of our own ways and did was what best for everybody. If we forgive, forget and move forward… I would like to see THAT dream…” She set it back down and went to the bathroom to pee, rub one out and refresh. Henry’s bathroom was even extravagant, though most of his things weren’t in there. Some necessities were in the cabinets and he had really good toilet paper and a very expensive looking bidet. She’d gotten one of those ones that you attach to the toilet whenever they lived together and kept upgrading it whenever she could over the years, but didn’t have a separate and sophisticated basin!

She came back to the two men cuddled up and wondered how Henry wound up in the middle and if that meant that Jasper didn’t want her next to him. She had several dreams throughout her sleep, that she could remember very vividly. That last one though… it made the most sense and was the clearest, so she figured maybe that was the dream that she was meant to see.

The previous one wasn’t even a current VERSION of her! She looked like she was in college! In fact, she remembered that night that she had dreamed about…

Charlotte was stressed out, gathering a bunch of books to turn back into the library, dressed as a complete nerd, barely able to stay on her feet, with huge goggles atop her head and a messy bun in her hair, with poofy tendrils traveling away from her. As soon as she dropped the books into the deposit, she took a deep breath. She made it! She could go celebrate tonight! She stepped into the place, hair done, and transformed for a few hours into a little vixen, still kinda awkward, but in a delicious little package that reminded Jasper of a golden candy wrapper. He stared at her and she made eye contact with him, then smiled shyly and turned away. She went to find a seat, so that she could size up the room - figure out where the exits were in case of emergency, figure out where her vantage point would be for getting in and out of the bathroom, where she would most likely be more visible, or preferably, most likely not to.. And two guys came up to the table, simultaneously. One, the one that she’d seen earlier had asked if she wanted to dance. The other, a tall blond, asked her if he could buy her a drink. The two men turned to look at each other, challengingly, but then they look each other up and down, rushed towards each other and immediately began kissing. She had found it. The perfect seat.

That wasn’t exactly how it had happened in real life. She had gone out, gotten hit on by about a dozen old men, and went home drunk and depressed, remembering that she had been dumped by her ex and in turn lost her other ex, and she did more drinking when she got home. The dream was a nice little reimagining.

She wondered what THEY were dreaming about, but shoved her way into the middle of them. They barely resisted her doing so and after she managed to squeeze in between them, both were facing her and laid hands or arms on her in some way or another. That was more like it. Who did they think they were, putting HER on the outside? But, now that she was in the middle with them groping and rested on her. Damn… she’d forgotten how sore she still was… and NOW, she was being poked at by TWO peckers. “Ugh. Good going, Charlotte,” she whispered to herself.

Jasper was on the dance floor, twerking. Charlotte, at the bar in a tailored suit and a hat dipped low over her eye. Feelgood walked into the place and several patrons paused to see if that was actually him, or if some person was simply going around dressed like him. He came up to the bar and immediately noticed the tiny stud checking him out. She told the bartender, “His drink’s on me,” then, she took a sip of hers, touching the liquid with her tongue, before her lips. He smiled at her and moved closer to thank her, but she put a single finger up to his lips to quiet him, even though she hadn’t glanced at him again since her initial power move. She was watching something, or rather, someone. He turned to see him, a sweaty, beautiful disaster. He understood completely why she didn’t want to be disturbed.

After a while, the woman beckoned the dancing man with the curve of a perfectly manicured finger, her pinky, glistening with a pink diamond. He came over and she gathered him to herself by the buttcheeks, slapped him across one and kissed him on the ear, “Got you a present, Babe.” She turned him to face Mr. Feelgood.

Jasper cheered, “I’m such a fan!”

Feelgood said, “I’ve only seen you for five minutes, and I’m a fan, now, as well.” Jasper blushed.

The woman pressed close to Feelgood, beckoned him down to her, like she’d just done Jasper and he had no choice but to lean closer to her, because she had just commanded it. What was he supposed to do? Deny her? Their faces were joined at the nose and she said, softly, “You’d better not hurt him, or I’ll hurt you. Thank you for your service,” and planted a slow and painful kiss on his lips. The rest of it was a blur of body parts, touching, kissing, the flash of her camera…

Jasper woke up grinding against Charlotte and quickly stopped himself. These dreams were becoming a problem! But, Charlotte was back next to him and facing Henry… Actually, she was laying against Henry’s chest and his fingers were tangled up in her curls. Jasper moved in closer to her and rested his head in her curls and cuffed her to himself, without taking her off of Henry’s chest, because he didn’t wanna disturb her. But, he was also painfully aware of what that last dream had done inside of his shorts. He should probably deal with that? Naw, it’d go away in a while if he ignored it. Whenever it went down, he went back to sleep.He had a filthy, raunchy dream about them.

It was mostly him speaking very aggressively to Henry and ordering him around, making an object of him and dominating him to serve he and Charlotte. To pleasure them at his command, and cleaning them up. But, with Charlotte, he was not only gentle, but docile, speaking to her as though she were a goddess that he was worshipping through these acts. She was divinity and Henry was a sacrifice. Something that he owned and was offering to her. And Henry was willing to be that to him, to her, for him, for them. But, she explained to him that Henry needed to be pleased and cleaned up to, and asked him nicely if he was willing to do that, for her. Of course, he was. And she collected both of them to her bosom and held their heads in her hands, stroking their hair.

The situation in his shorts woke him up. UGH! I knew I should have taken care of this! He got up and went into the bathroom and just decided to take a cold shower, since he needed to clean himself up, anyway. He’d read that cold showers curbed libido and apparently, all of his dreams would be lascivious cesspools tonight. His daydream in the shower though was anything but.

It was them going home together from an amusement park. Charlotte had honeycombs from the rooftop beehives that Henry put there specifically for her and she made them snacks of cheese, edible flowers, fruit, and those honeycombs. She gave the cat some homemade pate that she did herself. She played thunderstorm sounds accompanied by music, and lit candles all over. They talked for a while, laughing about nothing and everything, then kissed, then touched, then… Maybe his daydreams were tainted too. Maybe… this itch just needed to be scratched! Maybe… If they just did this, did it… Everything could just continue on and they didn’t have to think about it this hard anymore. Maybe, he was just hoping for a good excuse to climb back into that bed naked and just let or orchestrate something to happen! This cold shower was VERY uncomfortable and not the LEAST BIT helpful! He turned off the water and shivered as he dried off. Then realized/remembered that his shorts were in no condition to be put back on. He was going to get the towel and go get more, but whenever he was picking them up off of the floor, he heard the bathroom door open and he quickly turned and faced Henry, whose eyes went wide and directly to...well… the jewels. He turned away and covered his face, “Sorry, Dude. I’ll go use another bathroom,” Henry said.

“No, I was just about to go!” Jasper said and wrapped himself in a towel and rushed out, forgetting his shorts. Henry was going to tell him that he had, but when he picked them up, they were still… not wet, but clearly they’d been recently… altered. He chuckled to himself and flung them into his laundry hamper, disturbed that he had been tempted to give them a whiff.

Whenever he finished using the bathroom and washing his face, he went back to the bedroom and Jasper and Charlotte were gone. Jasper had either woke her up to leave, or had picked her up and carried her out. Henry didn’t want to bother them, but he did want Jasper to know that it was okay and he wasn’t going to do anything because of what he’d seen. He went to check in Charlotte’s room and heard the two of them giggling. The door was cracked, so he peeked in and saw Jasper, releasing his towel and getting in bed, on top of her. He left, but he knew that there was no way that he could go to sleep now. He went back into his room and collected her stones and set them and her paper outside of her bedroom before going back into his own and locking the door. He turned down his lights, opened a bottle of wine from the bedroom wine cooler in his closet, and decided to do a late night wine workout, a bit of wine, a bit of workout to blow off some of his energy, then meditate and finish the wine and then, he might go back to sleep and just hide out in here until those two left… He heard a knock on the door and rolled his eyes. They must’ve left something.

He opened the door and Char was in a thin little robe and Jasper was in a pair of boxers. “Yeah?”

“Sorry we took off. We had to handle something. Can we come back?” Charlotte asked.

“Not if you’re bringing those damn crystals. I didn’t get ANY sleep!” Henry complained, but he was really glad that they came back and got out of the way of the door to let them in. Jasper wouldn’t look at him, so he stepped in front of him to make him at least reflexively do so. Jasper and he were face to face and Charlotte laughed, “Now kiss!” She said, playfully. Jasper leaned his head back, but then gave Henry a quick smack on the lips and sidestepped him to go back to the bed. Henry licked his lips. They tasted like Char. He smiled and blushed and asked, “Does anybody want a bottle of inexpensive wine?”

“I’ll take one.”

“I’ll take a couple,” Jasper said. Henry handed Charlotte a bottle and handed Jasper one white, one red.

“Hey… if you two lived here, what kinda stuff would you like to add or take away to or from the house?” Henry asked.

They began talking at the same time and Henry, after years of this, even though it had been a while, managed to hear every single word that they both said. A patch of indoor grass for yoga and meditation, rooftop beekeeping, a colossal sasquatch plushie… “Hey, wait… I had a dream that I won you one of those! I thought I made that up in my head. Are there colossal sasquatch plushies somewhere?”

“You won ME one?” Jasper asked in excitement.

“Yeah! We went on the ferris wheel and I went down on both of you,” Henry said, laughing.

“Oh!” Jasper didn’t know how else to reply. “Just throwing it out there, I guess.”

“Well, it’s obviously Char’s fault, because she’s the one who brought in the sex dream crystals.”

“I brought in crystals for dream clarity and recall. Nobody told you to think of going down on people on a ferris wheel. Don’t put this on those crystals.”

“I’m putting it on you!” Henry said. “You wore a chocolate skin tight dress all day, and a silky short set to bed, especting somebody to have decent thoughts.”

“ESPECTING?” Jasper repeated, laughing. “How much wine have YOU had?”

“How much jizz did you have in your shorts when I found you naked in my bathroom?” Henry asked.

“WHOA!” Charlotte said and her eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me that Henry saw you naked! Is… that why you needed a late night fix?”

“I needed that before the Henry incident. I took a shower, I wasn’t wrapped in a towel, and he came in to use the bathroom. I promptly covered myself and left.”

“And came to get me for a quickie,” Charlotte said.

“Which I needed BEFORE the cold shower I’d just taken, that didn’t work.”

“Relax. I barely saw anything. All I saw was his butt bent over and like 2.5 seconds of dingle. Are you shaving now?”

“I try to keep things orderly,” Jasper said.

“Good job.”

“Show us your stuff,” Charlotte said to Henry.

“Do what now?” Yeah, huh?” Henry and Jasper replied.

“He saw our dick and we should see his,” Charlotte said.

“Our?” Henry said. “You… You gotta… I don’t remember seeing YOUR…”

She grabbed a handful of Jasper’s and confirmed, “This is OURS. Show us YOURS.”

“Ours is… awakened,” Jasper said quietly. She didn’t let go. Henry looked at Jasper, wondering if this was an honest request or demand. Jasper knew what his look meant. “I do believe that she means it,” he said.

Henry laughed and stood up, “Fine. Okay…” He pulled down his pajama bottoms and reached for his boxers, “I mean… it’s just private parts under these. No… not any…”

“SHOW US YOUR DICK!”

“OKAY!” Henry pulled his boxers down and Charlotte screamed and laughed. “Wow. You are a mean lady,” he said and pulled his shorts back up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just can’t believe you listened to me!” She laughed onto Jasper’s chest. Jasper hadn’t laughed. He’d looked right at it and it didn’t seem to be a laughing matter to him. “Nice landscaping. Is it flames?”

“It’s supposed to be a tulip,” Henry said, looking into his shorts. “I couldn’t do a daisy, but I’m definitely practicing.”

“It’s nice,” Jasper said, softly.

“Yeah, Jasper’s jumped at the sight of it!”

“You can’t drink anymore around Henry,” Jasper said and took her practically empty wine bottle. She gave him a threatening look, but he just kissed her on the nose and said, “So, I guess you’re not showing us anything?”

“You both know what it looks like,” she said.

“Henry doesn’t. I doubt that you had the same thing going on when you two were together.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she said and smiled. But didn’t make any move to show anybody anything. Instead, she said, “So, Hen. I have a Bermuda Triangle piercing…” he gasped. “I get a Brazilian wax, front to back, but leave a patch of hair at the mons pubis, and it’s trimmed like an arrow pointing down, and above the arrow is a little Adinkra power of love symbol tattoo. My stuff is too much for your eyes to handle. You can’t even handle the description.”

All he said was, “I don’t know what kinda tattoo you mean. I think you need to show me so I won’t be ignorant.”

“Google it,” she said and laughed.

“How hot is it, Jasp?”

“Super hot. I mean, all of her is, but it's like… unf.” Henry undressed and Jasper and Charlotte watched, speechless.

He got naked and said, “I’m going to bed like this. This is how I like to sleep and this is how I’m gonna sleep.”

Charlotte said, “Aight, I’m head out…” And she and Jasper cackled, but she didn’t head out.

Henry got up and asked, “Any more wine for anybody else?”

“You don’t think you’ve have enough, huh?” Jasper wondered. Henry came out with three bottles and passed them around. Charlotte set hers aside and Jasper opened his.

“I’m going to sleep, so that I can get up and see the sunrise in a few hours. You two have fun. Be safe,” she said.

“We’re not doing anything without you,” Henry said, opening the bottle. She fought a smile. “This is a… triad. So, sweet dreams,” he said and kissed her on the forehead… Like he wasn’t stark naked.

“You… too…” She said and laid down. He dimmed the lights a little more and Jasper climbed under the covers and removed his shorts, as well. But, he was gonna finish this bottle and go to sleep. He didn’t know if he was trying to watch the sunrise. But, he hoped to at least get some sleep. Henry locked the door back, just in case Ray, Schwoz, or worse, PIPER, came through the place. He’d have a hell of a time explaining any of this. He was just figuring out himself what he wanted and needed.

#Poly Wanna #Nesha HD Fics #henry danger #henry hart #charlotte page #jasper dunlop #hd ot3

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nothingunrealistic · 6 years ago

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oof hey i hope i'm not bothering you, and i asked jury this already (and deffo got a good answer but i need all the info i can get because i am crushingly insecure)- do you have any tips on characterizing/writing the deh characters? i struggle with it immensely and I have no idea why, and you're one of my favorite writers for this fandom. so. no pressure to respond i was just curious!

sure! the only characters i write regularly/feel confident in writing are evan, jared, and alana, so those are the characters i’ll talk about the most, but i’ll try to say something for all of them. also this will feature a good number of quotes from writers’ notes (here) and interviews because those are the main sources i draw on for characterization after, you know, actual canon

evan

Smart, sincere, and cripplinglyself-conscious, Evan prefers to hover in the background, asupporting player in his own life, too afraid to step forward into thespotlight and risk ridicule or, what might be worse, no one noticinghim at all.

this description captures a lot of the things i think are key about evan, but one big thing it’s missing is that he’s kind of an asshole. he usually has good intentions, and he tries to be inoffensive and considerate and Nice, but he sucks at that because it’s just not how he naturally is. he’s bitter and angry about a lot of things - his lack of friends, jared (ostensibly) not caring about him or taking him seriously, heidi rarely being present, and perhaps most of all, his own perception of himself as “broken” and a burden, which he genuinely believes that heidi agrees with and that everyone else would if they knew what he was truly like. he’s frequently sarcastic and occasionally pedantic (see: “president” “co-president” and “it’s sula” “what did i say?” “sulu”). but these are things he doesn’t like about himself, which is why he tries to be either Nice or invisible, especially when he feels uncomfortable. the times when he’s most comfortable acting like himself are, in my opinion, when he’s just with jared, who in turn finds it most fun to spend time with evan when he’s not putting up a front.

major pet peeves in fic: being written as a ~delicate anxious bean uwu~ or anything along those lines; dialogue with stuttering that doesn’t resemble his actual speech patterns at all; making a big deal out of him using profanity; portraying his relationship with jared as evan just letting himself get pushed around until someone (usually connor) comes in to bravely show evan that He Doesn’t Deserve That

jared

Droll and sarcastic,Jared claims to be forced by his parents to hang out with familyfriend Evan, for whom he ostensibly has nothing but disdain.Jared covers his own obvious insecurities with a well-practicedbraggadocio and a know-it-all arrogance.

I think this is the playlist that Jared puts on in the morning on the first day of school to pump himself up for the day… Ultimately he’s terrified of going back to school, but he’s trying to psych himself up. … Every one of these songs is a JAM. No ballads here. And they’re all slightly sarcastic or tongue-in-cheek songs about unrequited love. Jared can relate to that. [x]

Jared Kleinman is too cool for the music of the times. He is proudly a walking 90’s movie… but he doesn’t mind sneaking a little of his parents Manischewitz and listening to a dusty Bette Midler record. [x]

(there are like a dozen interviews with will roland that i could cite here but that’s practically a post unto itself)

the best way i can sum up all the major points of jared’s characterization is that there’s always a reason for the things he says. he doesn’t make harsh remarks to be deliberately cruel or mean; he’s either pointing out an uncomfortable but important truth, or he’s aiming to make a joke and inadvertently crossing the line. when he does make jokes, it’s often another way of delivering the truth, an attempt to get people to laugh and thereby validate that he’s clever/funny/worthy, or an effort to deflect something that makes him uncomfortable or scared. redirection, derision, and showing off are some of his major defensive tactics; he doesn’t do self-deprecation out loud, but he is, as will has said, repressed and self-hating. he and evan are similarly asshole-ish, but where evan tries to hide it, jared tries to hide behind it.

he wants people to be impressed by him in general, but he really wants evan in particular to think well of him and be his friend and openly care about him - the problem is that jared can’t bring himself to openly care about evan, because that entails emotional honesty & vulnerability that he’s just not prepared to deal with. hence their interaction on the first day of school, and then jared agreeing to help evan more and more with his increasingly complex lie despite claiming not to care. (the key word in that first quote is “ostensibly.”) when he is actually is at ease (which is pretty rare, at least in canon), he’s a bit of a drama queen, which evan may pretend to be annoyed by but quietly enjoys.

major pet peeves in fic: being written as straight and/or homophobic and/or leaping to make jokes about how evan and connor are Clearly Doing It immediately after finding out that they’re becoming friends (as if he isn’t utterly convinced that evan is 100% straight); making excessive/forced references and jokes to modern pop culture/memes (everything he shouts out in any form of canon is at least ten years old and usually decades old, and that doesn’t happen often anyway); relentlessly treating evan like shit/being incredibly domineering in their friendship; constant bickering with connor; calling evan “hansen” all the time when he only ever addresses him as “evan” (or, like, “dude” or “bro” or “son”) and even only does THAT when he’s especially emotional or letting his guard down; just generally giving him dialogue that in no way resembles his actual, very distinctive speech patterns

(i have. a lot of thoughts and feelings about jared)

alana

Alana is an incredibly genuineperson. Everything she does comes from a place of deephonesty and tremendous feeling. All of the characters inthis musical put up masks of sorts. For Alana, it’s a façadeof cheerfulness. She is always ready with a smile, a note ofencouragement. This hides the loneliness underneath.

often prone to melodrama, high school senior Alana has few friends but lacks the self-awareness to understand why; beneath her extroverted demeanor, Alana is in fact haunted by a terrible and abiding loneliness; tired of always being an outsider, Alana seizes the death of a classmate as an opportunity finally to find a sense of belonging. [x]

Study break! … Alana spend a lot of time in the books. This playlist allows her to either kick back, have a lip sync battle, or a jam session. … We have classic up beats like ‘Uptown Funk’ by Bruno Mars cause she loves to dance and be silly. She’s also a romantic. Girl reads Jane Austen, so a nice healthy batch of love songs to daydream to. She’s also a feminist! So naturally Beyoncé has the perfect perfect pump up jams for the feminist in us all.

alana has Big Feelings, and they drive all her actions. she wants to achieve great things and succeed in life, yes, but more importantly, she wants to help people and make the world a better place. when she commits to a course of action, it’s because she truly believes that it’s the right or most beneficial thing to do in the end, even if the means themselves are questionable. much like jared, she struggles with vulnerability and connection with other people, and often tries to form connections with other people by making herself seem more impressive, but unlike jared, she also tries to build up and support other people, rather than tearing them down. she’s also committed to supporting Truth in a general sense, and struggles when this comes into conflict with Doing The Right Thing. this is especially obvious after good for you, when she resigns herself to continuing the fundraiser even though she’s certain it’s based on a lie.

all of this makes alana seem incredibly serious, but that’s not the entire picture. she strives to be upbeat and optimistic, and even when she’s not trying, she loves to have fun! she likes to be silly and tell jokes and laugh at other people’s jokes and daydream about finding a great romance! she thought “fuck finn” was the height of comedy! she’s not a killjoy!

i also hold with kristolyn lloyd’s theory that alana was very close with her grandmother and struggled with feeling unable/not allowed to openly grieve her death, or to express any kind of loneliness or other strong negative emotion. however, i do not hold with kristolyn’s theory that alana had a crush on connor, because alana is a lesbian.

major pet peeves in fic: being written as pedantic and joyless; overly formal dialogue (she’s perfectly capable of using colloquialisms and slang) in which she is never sarcastic, ever (she absolutely can be when she’s frustrated)

zoe

a sensitive, sophisticated high school junior; cool without realizing it, Zoe could care less about the status games and popularity rites of high school; funny and bright, she has grown up in the long shadow cast by her volatile older brother, Connor, tyrannized along with the rest of her family by his out-of-control behavior; few rooms are as familiar to her as the inside of a family therapist’s office; Zoe compensates for her brother’s darkness by striving to be warm, nice to everyone, the kind of person who goes out of her way to learn the names of the kids who sit by themselves at lunch; she feels a terrible ambivalence over her brother’s death, finding it difficult to forgive him for all he did, and at the same time forgive that part of herself that feels nothing but relief in the fact that he’s gone.

this sums up just about everything i could say, but i will add: the disembodied voice calling zoe a “stuck-up bitch” during ywbf reprise is NOT a voice you’re supposed to agree with.

major pet peeves: anything that states/suggest that zoe is a bitch; those connor/evan fix-it fics with background zoe/alana where the premise of zoe and alana’s relationship is “they’ve actually been best friends this whole time!!” even though this contradicts canon on multiple levels

connor

An angry, disaffectedloner, Connor has been a troubled kid for as long as anyone canremember, an enigma and a source of endless consternation to hislong-suffering parents and sister.

i honestly don’t have much to say about connor, because i don’t think about him very often, but i will say that:

- if your portrayal of him can be described as “edgy,” you’re probably doing something wrong. he’s just as awkward and anxious as evan, it just manifests very differently

- him addressing evan as “hansen” all the time is admittedly much more plausible than jared doing it, but still just as annoying

heidi

Overworkedand stretched too thin, Heidi loves her son fiercely, but fears theyhave begun to grow apart. She is prepared to do anything to repairthe damage.

heidi’s torn between trying to connect with evan and trying to provide a better life for him, because for her, achieving the latter currently requires spending too many hours away from home to really achieve the former. that’s why she’s so upset and demands to know what’s going on in evan’s life when he seems to be acting out of character and doing things she doesn’t expect him to do - she feels she’s being left out of the loop. much like alana, she strives for optimism, trying to find the bright side of any situation. and, as steven levenson pointed out in the annotated script (regarding the line about fabulous tips that evan’s stepmother may or may not have made from cocktail waitressing), she doesn’t have a fully developed sense of healthy boundaries, which is an interesting nuance that tends to get lost in fics that flatten her out into a generic Cool Mom. she’s trying to raise a teenager while not wanting to fully grow up herself.

cynthia

To Evan, she seems to be the perfect mother, nurturing, available,and willing to talk about anything. To her own children, it’s a bitmore complicated.

evan idealizes all the murphys, and cynthia is no exception. she tries her hardest to be a good and accessible mother, but she’s deeply dissatisfied with being just a mother. she works to support and empathize with connor, and to remember him positively after his death, but she frequently neglects and minimizes zoe and her problems in the process.

larry

Though often tense and taciturn, Larry shows a different face tothe world, representing for Evan the dad he always wished for:strong, confident, and, more than anything, reliable, someone to becounted on.

is larry going to call his children slurs or disown them/kick them out of the house for being lgbt? no. is he going to research How To Interact With Your LGBT Child and drive connor and zoe to the local pride parade? also no. the once-popular (and possibly still popular?) characterization of him as a demon straight from the ninth circle of hell is just as inaccurate as evan’s perception of him as the World’s Greatest Dad.

i hope this helps! and thank you for asking - i really enjoyed answering this, and i’d be happy to expand on most of these points if you want.

#inbox #thecicadasong #dear evan hansen #evan hansen #jared kleinman #alana beck #zoe murphy #connor murphy #heidi hansen #cynthia murphy #larry murphy #sometimes i write

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