#i even gave him lil vex wings :]

[sun-is-a-square]

If I didnt at least doodle him as a magical girl I’d never sleep again ok I had to

[failsafes-guardian]

Who is Charlotte - The Guardian (The Destiny 2 Concept, not the News Website)

Okay, now we're at least getting into the characters themselves. Feel free to skip this if you just want to read interactions between Charlotte and Failsafe (and sometimes Cayde) but if you want the backstory both IC and OOC for her, keep on reading.

Okay, first question, who is Charlotte? - Charlotte is my Hunter in Destiny 2, she is the Female Exo that I created in 2020 when I first started playing the game. Well, who is Charlotte, IC? - She's a Guardian! She does guardian things, like murder cabal and vex, go on raids and participate in vanguard activities! She's somewhat calculated in her actions but still able to come up with new plans on the fly if something goes wrong, she keeps emotionally distant unless she gets close to someone, she doesn't get her humanity. Wait what was that last one? - Ah yes, Charlotte, being an Exo, was once human, probably, she doesn't remember! She can't remember what her life before being an exo was, and commonly questions what it means to be human and what it means to be alive. On the more, fun side of her, she loves hand cannons and knives (being a blade barrage user and all), her favorite Exotic is The Ace of Spades (i'll get into how she got that later) and Outbreak Perfected comes in at a very close second. You might have noticed the icon for this blog is a failsafe based emblem and uh, not an exo face. That's because Charlotte never likes to remove her helmet. (As my friend called it, Robot Dysphoria) Her cloak (Memory of Cayde, i'll get there, don't worry) is also pretty much always on with the hood up as well, she likes it that way. Okay, okay, I'll get to the elephant in the room, what's the deal with Cayde in this blog? Cayde is still alive, the events of Forsaken simply did not happen despite a bunch of other stuff having happened past that, I'll probably try and make a full timeline later. How does Charlotte relate to Cayde? - Cayde trained Charlotte when she joined the Vanguard as a guardian, was he supposed to? Not really, but he took a liking to her style and decided to take her under his wing and show her how to get things done his way. This helped develop her own style, albeit with a lot of his personal techniques thrown in. Okay, so, how did Charlotte get The Ace of Spades and the Memory of Cayde cloak if Cayde is still alive and well? - Simple! He gave her the Ace of Spades as a gift for completing her first big Raid! Sure, he wasn't exactly excited to give it up, but he knew it was in good hands, and Charlotte has been proving him right ever since. Now, the cloak is a little different, He didn't give it to her, she had it made by Ada-1 as a way to always feel like Cayde was there. Even when he wasn't on comms to support her, she could always feel the cloak on her back and knew he was supporting her on her adventure. Okay, this post is getting really long, let me wrap it up with some quick little notes I've written down over the past like month. - She loves food, particularly ramen (thanks Cayde) and likes to take her few friends out to eat every now and again. - She has a notebook! She writes in it a lot, and sometimes does lil shitty doodles. - She got INTJ-A on that test that's like zodiac but for boys. - She likes going Solo on a lot of her missions, but works well enough with a team to get by on the big stuff. - Charlotte has no number designation (that anyone knows of, yet) Sorry for the long post, very long. I need to work on rambling less, but hopefully this is everything you'd want to know about Charlotte!

If not, I have an ask box! You can submit questions to me and i'll answer them! (provided they're relevant)

[lavendertales]

hello! i saw your requests were open so i thought i would send one in!

i was thinking something along the lines of soft, inexperienced din with a reader who is also inexperienced. so they’re sorta just figuring it out together and being super patient with eachother, like there’s just no pressure there. i saw these prompts from a prompt list a while ago and i thought they’d fit: “pulling away from a kiss to look at each other, to then burst out in laughter over what's about to happen” and “are we really about to have sex? “ “ i think so, yeah.” - i think maybe it could just be super lighthearted and soft, and maybe din is a lil shy? i’ll leave the rest to you! <33

Shy, inexperienced and flustered Din???? YES I have suuuuch a soft spot for this! bless you for this idea 💖 this turned out longer than I thought but here we go!

Set afire || Din Djarin x f!reader**

word count: 2.6k

warnings: virgin reader, shy!Din, first time shenanigans, mutual masturbation (sort of?), piv, softness.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

read on AO3 

gif: @boardboxes 

You’ve been watching Din tend to the ship for most of the day and you’ve helped him wherever and however you could, but he insisted he did the heavier work. With each loose screw or place that needed drilling, you gradually began to get lost in the sight.

It’s not as if this crossed your mind for the first time. You’ve been thinking about being intimate with him for… probably as long as you’ve known Din, but it was easier thought than done. It took time for him to trust you and vice versa. You’ve built the foundation of your relationship slowly and steadily and over the course of the months, you’ve grown so fond of each other that it inevitably turned into love.

Yes, you loved Din Djarin. You loved how strong and capable he was, but also how open he learned to be around you. He gave you his most precious possessions: his trust, followed by his name and eventually, his face. It was far more than what you would’ve ever hoped for, and yet now, you find yourself with a stronger craving.

Your eyes follow Din’s silhouette up on the ladder as he does the final retouching on the wing of the ship. He lets out a few soft grunts and the helmet’s modulator makes his voice even coarser. You stare at him with a ridiculous thirst; it feels quite vexing that you’re nearly running low on air watching him do such mundane tasks, but it affects you nonetheless.

There have been plenty of chances at intimacy for the both of you, as you confessed to each other. But neither saw those chances as something stable which was something that you desired. Of course there was tension built inside of you and the farther you’ve gone with Din was a very heated making out session—coincidentally the night that he removed the helmet before you – but you pulled back. You felt insecure and unsure, afraid that you might’ve been taking advantage of Din’s sensitivity in the moment.

“That should do it,” he announces.

That snaps you back to reality. You realize you zoned out for a good while because Din just came down and was tucking the stair away. You gaze over at his body, built so sturdy and so broad that you feel incredibly parched. You’re not sure why this is happening right now, when there’s nothing inherently sexual about the situation whatsoever, but you just feel a pool of heat forming in the depths of your stomach and you instinctively know tonight’s the big night.

“Din?”

He turns to you, helmet covering that gorgeous face of his.

“Um… there’s something I’ve been… thinking about.”

“What is it?”

His voice, soft-spoken as usual, throws you aback much more than you thought it would, making the moment all the more suffocating.

“I—well, I should probably let you get cleaned up first.”

You sport a shy smile as you walk away, leaving a dumbfounded Din behind. You return to the cockpit, trying to calm yourself.

This is Din. Your Din. Calm down. Just talk to him, it’ll be fine.

You knew that intimacy was a topic of interest for the both of you and you both agreed to wait until the moment felt right. But all of a sudden you felt like you might be pressuring him into it because—who the kriff gets turned on watching some fix things??

“Cyar’ika,” Din catches up with you, “what’s going on?”

He knows you cannot resist that pet name under any circumstances. You huff, turning to face him and Din is surprised to see your reddened face.

“It’s nothing, it’s no big deal,” you try to explain. “It’s just… you were working for most of the day, fixing the ship and… and you just looked so—“

Din remains silent, awaiting for a continuation though underneath the armor he’s sweating buckets, and that has nothing to do with the physical labor.

“So good,” you finish saying.

“Oh.”

He’s taken aback and flustered himself. The mere idea that someone could get turned on by watching him do a basic job is… a lot to handle. Very flattering as well.

“And I thought that… maybe… we could—I mean, obviously not if you don’t want to, there is no pressure on you, on any of this—“

Din clears his throat in an attempt to hide his own nerves. “I should get cleaned. Wanna join me?”

The suggestion makes your pupils dilate and your heart rate to speed up. Many were the times you not so shamefully imagined taking a shower with Din, just having that hot water drip down on your naked bodies as your mouths explored each other’s body, tugging and nibbling at places that only the other was allowed to see, and now to see it shape into reality was a lot.

Reading your silence as agreement, Din leads you by the hand to the fresher. It’s small and can barely sustain two people, you have to make do. Din removes the helmet and you stifle a gasp when your eyes are finally blessed with the sight of his face; few locks of hazelnut hair are messy on his forehead and on the top of his head, his eyes radiate kindness and lust alike and his lips—oh gosh, his lips. He has a stubble and it adds to the existing heat in your belly.

One item by one, Din undresses himself right before you and you are too mesmerized to speak. You absorb every inch of his silhouette. His bronze skin is carrying scars, reminders of battles won and lost, and there’s a tattoo on his chest that makes your eyes go wide again. The sight is utterly stunning and you once again try to compose yourself.

You start undressing yourself as well, kicking your clothes to the side and stand completely bare before him, heart thrumming nervously in your ears. Din moves closer to you and runs his fingers across your arms so gently as if afraid he’ll break you. His eyes remain locked on your lips as he steps into the tiny space and lets the water run down his body. You join him and reach for the soap, starting to scrub the day’s sweat off of him, nearly shivering at the contact. You stick to the upper half and Din notices that. He grabs your wrist, taking the soap out of your hand, and guides your hand all the way down. This time you do gasp in awe and pleasure when your hand reaches his belly, feeling the happy trail descending to a patch of hair and eventually, a full-on erection. Din gasps softly as you quickly learn the touches that make his head spin.

“See how you make me feel?” he says to you. “You always… make me so hard…”

He seems too flustered to go on, but he finds he doesn’t need to. You slowly jerk him off, and his gasp turns into a moan.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, that’s about the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

Eyes locked on his face and gazing once in a while at the tattoo, you do your best to move your hand along his cock and when Din feels overwhelmed, he comes seeking for your lips. He smashes them to yours as if that would take his mind off the treatment you’re applying to the most sensitive part of his body. You allow his tongue to slide right in and then he moans right into your mouth and you nearly explode. That’s also the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

Fuck, this man is gonna be the death of you.

He breaks the kiss, staring at you breathless, and you stop what you were doing. You resume your cleaning as if the previous moment had never existed.

“Turn around,” you tell him.

Din follows your instruction and while you’re using the soap to make sure he’s clean, you let the water run down his back; your nostrils pick up the fresh scent, and your lips press on his back while your hand roam on his tummy. Din huffs, hair soaking wet and erection nearly painful at this point.

“Did that feel good?” you check in.

He turns around again and nods, eyes wide and soft just like him. You bite on your lower lip just as his thumb goes to your lips to glide over them, as if making sure their plushness is still intact.

“Din.”

“Yes?”

“Touch me. Anywhere you want.”

Albeit taken aback and insecure, Din’s hand traces in between your legs. His movements aren’t precise, disclosing his lack of expertise, but he’s more than determined and clearly eager to please you. He touches spots that you barely found yourself, and leans in to kiss you again as his fingers tease your clit. It’s your turn to moan into the kiss; the sound reverberates through Din’s body, and he feels like he’s going to explode soon.

The kiss deepens and soon, both your hands are wrapped around each other, moving to the improvised bed Din had purchased months ago for the both of you to rest on. Still wet, you fall back the mattress with Din atop of you as he still kisses you, his lips leaving a wet trail down your chin, jaw and neck. Your fingers tug on his wet locks, thus spurring him on even further.

When he feels out of breath, Din stops and stares at you like a puppy. On instinct, you both giggle and smile shyly at one another.

“This is really happening,” you coo. “We’re really about to have sex.”

“I think so, yeah.”

You chuckle some more, hands cupping Din’s cheeks. You felt like you held the entire world in your hands, your entire world, and that nothing could be more incredible than this moment you share right now.

“If I somehow hurt you… please tell me, okay?” Din asks of you.

“Okay.”

Admittedly, you stole a few glances and quickly wondered how exactly it would feel, considering that Din was generously gifted, and it stood out even more when he was aroused. But you put it at the back of your mind, not worried one bit about Din hurting you in any way.

“I’m not sure what or how it’s all supposed to go or feel, but…”

“It’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

Definitely feeling more at ease, Din repositions himself and guides himself to your entrance while you part your legs some more. The image alone is lewd and filled with the kind of pleasure you only dreamed of, but the moment he fits the tip, the entrance nice and wet for him, Din feels flustered yet again. He fails to understand how he can make you feel this way, how the sight of him simply fixing things is making you want him so intimately and deeply, but he is nothing if not grateful for it and stunned by it.

You moan as he thrusts in you little by little, closely watching your expressions. One hand holds your thigh and the other supports his weight atop of you. Once he’s finally sheathed inside of you, he exhales, head lowered and water drops falling down your belly. He moans just as much, not moving yet. Fuck, it feels like you’ve trapped him inside you, and normally he’d be alarmed maybe but the warm feeling that rushes through him is so damn good, he gets goosebumps.

“Din—Din, please move,” you all but beg.

“Just—give me a second.”

“Are you okay?”

You cup his cheeks again to catch his eyes and he seems oh so blissfully messed up that you could cry.

“It’s just—you feel so good… I didn’t think… shit…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you’d feel this good, this… oh, kriffing hell.”

Staring at you, Din gives the first thrust and your mouth forms the perfect shape of O. He smiles, gaining more confidence through that act, and thrusts again, pace slow and calculated just like everything else in his life. Then another thrust till he drags his cock out of you almost completely and then pushes back in. You can surely feel his length and girth and it’s unusual, but you learn the gist of it. You wrap your arms around his neck for support, his forehead locked with yours as truly starts to move this time. It’s nothing rushed; it’s just you and him exploring each other. Each time Din moans, there’s a greater fire burning inside of you that begs to be put out.

Your hands start to travel on his back, making him break into a cold sweat as he pushes in you at a steady pace. When he feels your nails dig into his flesh, he lifts your right thigh and gets a better angle. Then he dares move a little faster, encouraged by your touches and moans. Your body moves to the rhythm that his hips dictate and you smile, staring at him with a concoction of love and lust, but mostly gratitude to have him in your life.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” you say nearly breathless.

“N-No… no one is. I’m not.”

“You are. To me.”

Gods, he’s knocking the air out of you with the slowest movements and it’s driving you insane. He might not be an expert at this, but he’s a fast and eager learner and his movements showcase that.

Din feels an unfamiliar burn in his lower belly, one that’s threatening to make him lose himself completely.

“Shit, I’m—I’m not gonna last,” he tries to warn.

But it’s no warning. It’s a sign of how tightly you have this man wrapped around your finger.

One of your hands is pressing into the ridges of his spine, then travels further up and you feel his muscles flex the more Din’s breaths become shallow and rapid.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him again. “It’s okay, cum—cum for me.”

Din mumbles something, half the common tongue, half Mando’a, his voice sounding pained.

“You’re—so good—you’re doing so good—you got this—“

“Fuck, I’m g-gonna—I’m—“

With one final roll of his hips and a fiery kiss, Din breaks: his breaths get hitched and his head falls into the crook of your neck as he buries himself inside of you, balls deep, and he comes—hard. You know that, more than anything, Din needs the reassurance, the comfort and warmth that your sweet praises provide him with, and this is no different. You feel him deep in you, you feel him throbbing and aching and giving you his load.

When he picks up his head, he looks absolutely ravished. He smiles through it all and barely moves, but he doesn’t leave you.

“You did so good, you felt… amazing,” you tell him.

His smile widens. With that, he pulls out, watching half mesmerized and half stunned his seed slowly dripping out of you. He gulps, staring at you with an aching desire on his mind.

“Could I taste you?”

You try to steady your breaths when your eyes meet. “What?”

“I want to put my mouth on you,” he clarifies. “Down here.”

He finds your clit again and teases it, clearly nervous and excited for more, and you are just the same. You nod, heart in your throat and body set afire at the anticipation of feeling his mouth on your most sensitive part.

Thank the Gods he decided to fix that wing today.

[ephemerlskies]

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to. 

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty. 

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time." 

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him. 

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression. 

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased. 

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else. 

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent. 

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

[featherymalignancy]

Like a Lonely House—Deleted Scene

Hello lovelies. So listen, about Like a Lonely House: I am working on it! In fact, I am working on it right now! However, since it’s been a goddamn age since I updated it, I thought I’d share a deleted scene from the current chapter. This is how I intended the chapter to start, but in the end it just didn’t fit and I had to scrap it and start over (now you see why you’re been waiting for 50 years for an update—I’m a mad woman)

I really am dedicated to getting new content for LALH out in the next 7 days, but I hope you enjoy this snippet in the meantime! As for all you eagle-eyed biblical scholars out there, yes, Azriel’s vow is based on Ruth’s vow to Naomi in the Book of Ruth 1:16-17. 

Also if you’d like a refresher on the series, click HERE

LIKE A LONELY HOUSE—CHAPTER V CUT SCENE

Azriel watched as Elain as she continued to place in front of the window in their suite, just as she had been doing for the last hour. 

Part of him wanted to stop her, if only to calm her fretting, but he knew better than to interrupt an Archeron mind at work. 

Finally, she spoke.

“Perhaps it’s a good sign. Perhaps she doesn’t wish to talk about it because she’s actually fond of him and simply isn’t prepared to admit it.”

Azriel considered but didn’t speak. It hadn’t seemed particularly surprising to him that Nesta had left the party without a word the previous evening. She’d always been private and aloof; this sort of behavior was nothing new. 

Besides, if she had despised Adan (as she was want to do with most fae males) she wouldn’t have made any secret about it. 

The way Azriel saw it, the fact she hadn’t stormed out of the castle yet suggested things had actually gone well. The thought made him ache a bit for Cassian, even if this mess was of his brother’s own making.

“What do you think?” Elain asked, drawing him from his reverie. 

He gave a shrug, not foolish enough to voice his concern for Cassian out loud. 

“She’s your sister, cакана. You know her whims better than I would.”

Elain bit her lip and paused before resuming her path, hands clasped behind her back. 

“He seems honorable,” she mused to herself. “And he is tremendously handsome. I can’t imagine that’s escaped her notice.”

“Is he?” Azriel said, picking up the dark tunic lying on the bed and shrugging it on. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Elain turned to give him beatific smile. It was so lovely it made his knees weak, even after all this time. 

“Jealous, husband?” she purred, and he laughed. 

“Should I be?”

“No,” she said, stringing an arm over his shoulders. “The only Macaran I have eyes for is you.”

He gave a low sound of contentment, his hand coming up to brush her belly. She seemed to be growing every day.  

After a minute of contemplation he frowned, letting his hand drop as he glanced back up at her. 

“Forgive me.” He swallowed. “For how I behaved with Lazar.”

“Why are you apologizing?” she said, touching his brow with this tips of her fingers. “He’s the one of behaved badly, not you.”

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t want you to think I see you as my prize to covet and brawl over.”

“I don’t think that,” she said. “Of course I don’t think that. And much as it vexes me to say it, the rebuke had to come from you. Lazar is Illyrian; he would have ignored my censure, and likely continued his pursuit every time your attention was elsewhere.”

Azriel growled his frustration.

“It shouldn’t be like that.”

“I agree,” she said. “But we aren’t going to change all of Illyria’s problems in a day, my love. Besides, the high fae have their problems as well.”

“One good thing if Nesta becomes Şehzana: she will likely banish that swine to patrol on the borderlands.”

“Or make him court jester,” Elain offered, smiling. “Never underestimate my sister’s capacity for cruel and unusual punishment.”

He laughed, smoothing his hand over her belly again. 

“What would I do without you, Elain Archeron?”

She smiled, placing her hand atop his. 

“I have no intention of ever letting you find out.”

“Te sakam,” he said, unable to avoid thinking of Cassian again, of how it would feel if Elain ever chose to leave him. 

“I love you, too. Sekogaš.”

Always.

He took a breath. Hearing her speak Illyrian always soothed something restless and fretful inside him.

“I hope that if Adan does marry Nesta, he is able to make her as happy as you make me.”

“Thank you,” she said, pressing her brow to his. “For caring for her as you do. I know she doesn’t always make it easy—“

"Don't urge me to leave you, or to turn back from you,” he said, quoting the vows he’d made on their wedding day. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, your Gods my Gods.”

She tipped her head back to kiss him, and he groaned softly when she sank her teeth in his lower lip in silent request he open for her. 

He did, and her tongue swept in to claim him. He was suddenly aware of her thin nightgown and what he could see of her body beneath, and he felt his own reacting in kind.

He was hard with a single stroke of her fingers to his left wing, and she moaned, rubbing up against him. 

“How long before we’re expected?”

He growled.

“Not long enough for any of the things I want to do to you.”

Perhaps he was a glutton for punishment, but he pulled her hand between his legs even as he said it. 

“Then at least let me satisfy you,” she breathed. “You’ve hardly let me since we found out about the baby.”

“That’s because you deserve to be spoil—“ 

He broke off with a groan when she slipped a hand into his leathers to stoke him, then swore when there was a knock on the door. 

“Az, it’s nearly time. Are you ready?”

Elain snatched her hand back as Rhys banged on the door again.

“In a minute,” Azriel said, pressing his forehead to Elain’s before whispering, “we’ll finish this later.”

Tagging some of my babs: @lady-therion @katexrenee @rhysanoodle @kingdomofbrokenhearts @missing-merlin @maastrash @mis-lil-red @dreamerforever-5 @fourshizzle149 @caterinia @twilightscourt @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @sezkins79 @moonbeammadness @kamustyles @abillionlittlepieces @donnarosemary @verifiefangirl @urbisie @mariamuses @hellas-himself @julesherondalex @highlordrhysie @dreamsofg0ld @snoobolit271 @sunsummoner @fucking-winchester-trash @cutie-bug @nessian-girl @togreblog @easkyrah @tswaney17 @keshavomit @flxwer-petals @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @queen-of-wings-and-fire @chocolateserialkiller @marnz @brittpetersen @lilbat90 @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary @elaiassian @xxrattlethestarsxx @dreambigwithbooks @dreaming-of-azriel @my-fan-side

[changingourdestiny]

Fictober Day 5: As the Crow and Phoenix Fly

Prompt number: 5. “I might just kiss you.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): Destiny (Changing Our Destiny Fan-Series)

Rating: M (Destiny is rated PEGI 16)

Warnings/Tags: None

Set before The Taken King. For old times sake, Blaze accompanies Uldren on a mission. But little do they know that they’re not alone...

—

“Do I want to know?”

Ikora raised an eyebrow as she entered the Hall of Guardians. Rae, who had brought a pile of books her Vanguard requested, was currently building a large book fortress on the table from the inside, “I…may have gotten a little bored…”

Ikora slowly reached over to the fortress and grasped one of the books near the bottom. “Nonono, Ikora, do-!”

*CRASH!!!*

Ikora yanked the book out and the whole fortress came toppling onto the young Warlock. Adam, who had walked in with more books for the fortress, saw the pile of books with Ikora standing by it and slowly backed out of the hall, passing by Cayde as he left. “Why did Adam just walk out with a pile of-?” Cayde cut himself off as he burst out laughing at the scene in front of him, “Well, Sunrae, I knew you were a bookworm, but this is a whole new level!”

“Ha ha ha.” Rae rolled her eyes as she emerged from the book pile. Cayde got over his laughing fit and cleared his throat, “Anyway, I was actually lookin’ for ya. Have you seen Blaze? Can’t find her anywhere.”

“Oh, she’s at the Reef.” Rae replied, hopping off the table.

“Why is she there? Aside from the oh-so obvious reason.”

Rae chuckled before answering, “Dunno, to be honest. All she said was ‘I have some business to take care of.’”

 ———————————————————————

 “Watch out!”

Blaze and Uldren clambered up the cliff edge, trying to avoid incoming fire. Blaze had joined Uldren for a Crows mission on Venus to investigate the sudden Vex surge. However, the duo had gotten separated from the rest of the squadron. “Damn…how are there so many of them?” Uldren cursed under his breath. “They’ve been more aggressive than usual ever since we destroyed the Black Garden’s heart.” Blaze responded, “Numbers have surged both here and on Mars.”

Uldren peaked over the cliff edge. Vex Goblins, Hobgoblins, even a few Minotaurs, were currently making their way up the cliff. The cliff was actually a partially dried-up river – a large dam keeping the river water at bay. Uldren cursed under his breath as he pulled back, narrowly missing being shot by a Goblin, “There’s no way we can take them all down alone. And we can’t wait for reinforcements either.”

“Ugh…c’mon, Blaisel, think!” Blaze rubbed her temples as she tried to think of a plan. Planning wasn’t her strong point as she usually left that to Rae…despite not usually listening to them most of the time. Blaze felt her skin heating up in the frustration of the moment. ‘Ugh! Now’s not the time to lose my temper…wait a sec…’

Blaze turned her gaze to the dam which kept the river at bay. It was crumbling and looked like it was on the verge of collapsing. She then glanced at the river full of Vex. Uldren glanced at Blaze, “I know that look. You make that face when you’re planning something crazy.”

“That’s my secret, my crow. I’m always planning something crazy!” Blaze smirked as she stood up, standing a few feet from Uldren, and held her hand out – palm extended – towards the dam, “Catch me if I faint.”

“Wait, wh-?”

Before Uldren could finish, Blaze’s figure was engulfed in flames, her fiery wings appearing behind her, which grew bigger and bigger by the second. Blaze winced in pain as she tried to summon as much firepower as she could, feeling the flames begin to sting as she reached her limit. Unable to hold it in anymore, with an ear-splitting roar, Blaze let loose an enormous fireball which went hurtling towards the dam.

*B A – B O O M ! ! !*

The fireball hit the damn with a tremendous explosion that rocketed through the air around it as the river came shooting down. The Vex barely had any time to react. Some managed to teleport away in time, but the rest was swept away by the raging waters, mechanical screeches being carried off into the distance.

Blaze remained standing, arm still extended and breathing heavily, for a moment before collapsing to the ground, Uldren managing to catch her just in time. “Blaze? Blaisel?” Uldren gently shook the Hunter in his arms, a trace of worry in his voice. Blaze cracked one eye open and gave a smirk, “Guess things got a lil’ heated there, huh?”

Uldren let out what sounded like a sigh of relief mixed with a chuckle, “You’re insane…you know that? Absolutely crazy.”

“Well duh. I got it from you, after all.”

Uldren smirked, “You best watch that mouth of yours, little phoenix. I might just kiss you.”

Blaze smirked back, “Well I might just let you, your highness.”

Blaze’s face suddenly turned to one of confusion as she heard the sound of snickering…in her communicator…her Guardian communicator. “Firefly?” Blaze began. “Already on it. Tracking broadcast signal…” Firefly chirped, “It’s coming from…huh…that’s weird…it’s coming from over there?” Firefly motioned towards a large pile of rocks nearby. Blaze and Uldren shot each other confused glances before silently making their way towards the pile of rocks, Uldren with his knife in hand and Blaze with her hand cannon. The snickers were clearer now; a male and a female’s. Blaze heard the male voice speak, “Talk about love birds. Get it? Crow and phoenix!” followed by a female giggling, “I can’t tell if your jokes are getting better or worse.”

“Son of a Thrall…” Blaze growled, the voices all too familiar, as she put away her hand cannon and marched around the pile. Her hunch was confirmed. Behind the pile of rocks were a sniggering Rae and Cayde. The Warlock and Hunter Vanguard immediately stopped laughing upon noticing Blaze glaring at them. “Now I know this looks really bad, but…” Cayde began before suddenly grabbing Rae’s arm and running, “You’remyfavouriteHunterseeyoubackatthetowertakeyourtimebye!”

“I SWEAR TO LIGHT, I’M GOING TO BURN THE BOTH OF YOU TO A CRISP WHEN I GET BACK!!!” Blaze yelled after them. The Awoken Hunter let out a sigh as Uldren walked up beside her, “Well…that happened.”

“Ugh…usually I’m the one messing stuff up, not the other way ‘round.” Blaze grumbled. “Well, I hardly say it was ruined.” Uldren planted a brief kiss on Blaze’s head, causing her to look away with a blush and coy smile on her face. Uldren chuckled at Blaze’s reaction, “We best regroup with the rest of the Crows and report back to the Reef.”

“Lead the way, your highness.” Blaze smirked, attempting to regain her cocky, confident nature but the blush remained on her face. It always seemed that no matter how hard they would try, Blaze and Uldren were always each other’s weaknesses.

   “Incoming audio message from Rae Drakyx.”

‘A lil’ something to set the mood for the lovebirds~’

*’Can you the love tonight?’ starts playing out of Firefly*

“DAMMIT, RAE!”