#i say that but the emotional toll this section had on me was so much LOL

[pippuns]

traveler abroad? you mean that time zhou ying is slapped in the face with how annoying xi ping is over and over again after five years of peace?

[jerzwriter]

15, 16 & 17 for Ethan, Tobias & C/K, please!

Hey there - I have officially recovered from your earlier Tobias ask 😂😂😂 - so let's get to it!

15. What it takes to make them cry

Ethan: He's more emotional than he likes to let on, but years of teaching himself how to repress those emotions took it's toll. But fear of anything happening to the people he loves most can turn on the waterworks - but only after he's explored all possibilities, done all he can. Once Emma is born, SHE is the biggest cause of tears, good and bad, in his life. The first time she says, "Daddy", every time she says, "I love you, Daddy." When she tugs his hand as he walks her to school - he's a mess.

Tobias: Memories of his father, memories of the night Casey almost died (chemical attack), and the time after. He was a rock for her and helped her deal with her PTSD immediately after, but as often happens, we cope when we need to, but then the memories of it after can bring out the waterworks. If you REALLY want to see waterworks, wait for the Baby #3 fic... our boy falls apart.

Kaycee: She's a crier, and she's not ashamed of it. She thinks it is cathartic and can help her move on to the next thing. So if she has an especially rough day at work, she'll sit in an on-call room (or later an office) and let it out. She is also a happy crier, which really left Ethan perplexed, but also enchanted. She cries when Santa arrives at Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, she cries when she watches It's a Wonderful Life, and she cries when she listens to Folklore and Evermore... so she cries. lol

Casey: Remember, Casey and Kaycee are essentially the same, so they're both criers, but Casey does it a little less UNTIL after the attack. She really has more PTSD in this world than the other and it really sparks the anxiety disorder she's had since she's a child. After that, waterworks can turn on much more easily. She spent a lot of time crying in the months following the attack, but like Kaycee, she thinks it helped her heal. Both women are total waterworks with their babies. They cry at milestones all the time. Especially Kaycee, since Emma is her only child, every first is also a last, and it makes it so poignant.

16. Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet

OOFHH. I almost feel like I need more time with this one. I want to make it good. But I promised answers tonight. So I'm going to ask you - give me til Friday and PLEASE remind me if I don't, OK :) (I take this shit too seriously! lol)

17. Regrets

Ethan: Not convincing Dolores to have the c-section immediately. Hurting Kaycee during his "reset" era. Allowing his pain to create issues between him and Alan during his teens/early adult years.

Tobias: Not making peace with his father before his death. Not meeting Casey sooner.

Kaycee & Casey: Not calling the police to handle the situation when they realized Travis was poisoning Farrugia.

[themomsandthecity]

Postpartum Snapback Culture Is Toxic, So Modern Latina Moms Are Doing Away With It

Growing up, I didn't feel beautiful, and that was primarily due to how I felt about my body. I was a chubby kid, and my family didn't hesitate to make comments about it, with some calling me chunko-city. They insisted it was all out of cariño (love) and not meant to be harmful, but their words made me feel even more insecure about my body. I'm glad I can laugh about it now. But, when I gave birth to my first child at the age of 30, I still carried those body insecurities with me, and that little chubby girl came out of the shadows. When I entered college at 17, the baby fat was shedding and what was exposed underneath was an hourglass frame often associated with "the stereotypical sexy Latina." My small waist, big hips, and bubble butt started to attract attention from both men and women, and I liked it. Up until then, I was the little cute chubby one in my family. As I shed that image, I never wanted to return to it. But I did, and this time it was even more mentally taxing and so much harder to shed the physical weight I gained. After all, I had given birth to a baby and the transformation my body went through was something I was not prepared for at all. I was 30 years old and had just given birth to my first child at a birthing center - no drugs and all-natural. Although I was in labor for 27 hours, having my little girl was the most beautiful experience I had ever had at that point in my life. It was the first time I had an out-of-body experience, which set me on a journey deep into my spirituality. However, I wasn't prepared for what pregnancy did to my body. The emotional toll was deep. All the insecurities I had as a little chubby girl flooded my mind, and I slipped into depression. But with a beautiful newborn in my arms, I wasn't supposed to be feeling anything but joy and happiness, right? As I balanced being a first-time mother, who breastfed my baby girl for the first year of her life, I was also figuring out how to love myself in this new, wider, softer, and heavier frame. It didn't help that some people in my family still had comments, just as they did when I was that little chubby girl. During one family visit shortly after I had my daughter, my grandfather greeted me by laughing and saying, "You look like a Christmas tree." He was commenting on how my waist and upper body stayed slim, but my hips and butt had widened more than ever before. I won't ever forget how much his laugh hurt my feelings, and even though I snapped back with my little indirect dig about his big belly, it didn't make me feel any better. I was an entertainment reporter at the time, which included writing many stories about celebrity women bouncing back physically only weeks after giving birth. The stories I had to write about celebrity women walking the red carpet with snatched waists and nice butts two weeks after having a baby were so toxic for me, and I'm sure for other women reading the stories as well. That's why writing this personal essay is so important to me now. I want women to know they are not alone, and that the snapback culture portrayed in the media is not realistic. And it turns out I'm not the only Latina who's struggled with this. Stephanie Ferreira shares with POPSUGAR that she too experienced body image issues as a child, which affected her during and after pregnancy. While the weight gain during the pregnancy was challenging to deal with mentally, Ferreira says she did find the transformation of her belly beautiful. The real struggle came for her after the baby was born, and social media didn't help. "You have certain expectations because of the many women that post about their body postpartum and it looks like their bodies didn't change," she says. "I still looked pregnant. I was very swollen from my C-section. It was very difficult and I avoided the mirror the first few days to not fixate on it too much." In addition to self-imposed pressures, the stress of… https://www.popsugar.com/family/latinas-are-finding-postpartum-snapback-culture-toxic-49332739?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[thetoxicgamer]

Plague Tale Requiem Was an Emotional “Wreck Room” for Amicia’s VA

The journey taken by Amicia and Hugo in A Plague Tale: Requiem is troubled by conflict and characterised by suffering. The main character of the rat game's mental instability spirals into a PTSD-driven state as she begins to break under the pressure of a hostile environment. In-person at WASD, PCGamesN spoke with Charlotte McBurney, Amicia's BAFTA-nominated voice actress, about how both she and her character changed throughout Requiem. McBurney is a soft-spoken, polite Englishwoman, whose nervous excitement matches the buzz of WASD itself. It’s a hectic time for Plague Tale: Requiem, which has been nominated for several BAFTA Games awards in the wake of last year’s somewhat disappointing Game of the Year Awards. McBurney is up for best performer in a leading role; something she has more than earnt. As discussed in our Plague Tale: Requiem review, McBurney’s Amicia is no longer the innocent young girl of Asobo’s first game. Instead, she’s hardened, battle-ready, and ruthless in her pursuit of a cure for Hugo. She kills without fear and punishes without regret, yet the violence has taken its toll on her mental state. Stricken by PTSD, the story game‘s focus is as much on mental health as it is the rats, and McBurney admits that playing the part of a shattered teen was no walk in the park. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIbzwb8vzNI “When I read the script at home, I would cry,” she tells PCGamesN. “I was definitely drawing on things that I’ve been through, things people I know have been through – real . I was definitely channelling a lot from my own experiences. “It was very fun to explore in a very weird, macabre way, because it’s not often that someone says ‘here, let loose.’ We did one section where they said ‘can we just stand you in front of the mic, and can you just cry?’ So I just stood and wept for like, five minutes. That’s probably the most cathartic thing that I’ve ever done – not that I’m hurting, but it’s a good thing. We should all try it!” Amicia’s emotions are what make her so relatable – it’s one of the reasons I fell so in love with her as a character. With a smile she says “I sort of thought of like a wreck room – you know those places where you go in and wreck plates and things – that’s what working on Requiem was like; it’s like going in there but with my emotions and just letting loose.” A young woman and a little boy holding hands walk on a red carpet made of flowers in a high, ornate building with the sun streaming down on them“When I read the script for the first time I was like ‘oh my god has seen right through me, it’s terrifying! Why has he written me as a character?’ and then when I spoke to about it was like ‘oh, I’ve written myself.'” Trauma, anxiety, and mental health transcend temporal boundaries, and that’s one of the things that makes Requiem – and the Plague Tale series as a whole – so powerful. If you haven’t played yet, I really suggest you take the game out for a whirl; just ensure you have some tissues nearby and potentially a tub of ice cream. If you do, we have a rundown of the Plague Tale: Requiem system requirements to make sure your rig can withstand the might of the Macula, or if you’ve already played and had your heart broken, we have a list of the best stealth games to keep you entertained. Interview conducted by Nat Smith at WASD 2023. Read the full article

[werewolvesandaccordions]

Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet. But the slow movement was, and is, one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Of course I say that for every great piece, so it’s ok if you roll your eyes. But over time this became one of my favorite chamber works, and among my personal top favorite works by Brahms. When Brahms brought the manuscript of this quartet to his publisher, he asked for the picture on the cover to be a man holding a gun to his head. This allusion to Goethe’s Werther (about a young man falling in love with an older married woman who didn’t love him back, and eventually committing suicide because of it) has led people to assume this piece is a musical confession of his unrequited love for Clara Schumann, and how it contributed to some private emotional turmoil. It does at least give a more human side to a composer who’s always being called a dull academic. And perhaps it was this personal aspect, and details and references to Clara and Robert, that kept him from publishing it right away. He wrote it around the same time as his first two quartets, but left it in a drawer for decades until deciding to come back and finish it. That at least explains why, overall, it’s somewhat more ‘direct’ than the denser textures of his late music. The first movement has a lot of the “academic” moments I mentioned, where in following with Classical tradition, the entire sonata form is based on or derives from the opening. The C tolls in octaves on the piano, the strings play a somber theme with emphasis on a falling two note motif. Then, we go a semi-tone lower, which goes against classical form. The Romantic justification can come from the Werther-suicide image; like the character, the music is losing its sense of self. We modulate back to c minor, even with odd pizzicato notes outside of the key, and now hear a passionate wave of a melody again based on the two-note motif. That transitions into the softer and lyrical “B” melody, but even this melody derives from the motif. Again, this motif will be reused to an obsessive degree and re-contextualized for the mood in a way that would make Beethoven proud. The next section starts with a repeating Eb on the piano, again making me think of bells, that the strings start playing over. This acts as a pedal point, which in the 19th century signaled “old fashioned”, “Bach”, “church music” etc. and Brahms was criticized and called regressive/conservative a lot with his use of pedal points as an example of this ‘problem’. But from one of the letters he wrote to Clara, he said he knew she had a soft spot for pedal points. If you hear them in Brahms’ music, it’s probably because he knew Clara would like them. Anyway, we also get a kind of ‘heroic’ revision of the theme with heavy pounding chords and a scratchy viola. Into the ‘development’ section we have the lyrical version of the theme playing in canon in the strings over an unsettled rumble of another motivic pattern in the piano’s bass. Through all that turmoil, the last section opens with a much softer, more contemplative version of the lyrical theme. But the intensity comes back and collapses into the same somber atmosphere of the opening. The second movement rushes in with a wide leap downward, which becomes the motif to be obsessed over here. More-so than the first movement does this scherzo show Brahms’ ‘heavy handedness’ and love for thick textures, full chords, and slamming into the piano’s bass registers. The strings interject with the rhythm, pulsating the motif, and soon the violin pulls a melody out of it all. And I think I hear a lot of “hunting horn” calls coming through open fifths, and I wonder if Brahms were trying to evoke “the hunt” with both horn calls and a kind of ‘galloping’ rhythm. Or maybe this is a kind of evocation of the woods which horn-calls were ubiquitous with in 19th century German music, like this scherzo is a wild and dark shaded Friederich painting that shows nature as a menacing and awesome thing. Or I could be speculating too much. The biggest surprise is how this movement ends in the major, with a triumph you wouldn’t expect early on, especially after the kind of devastating ending of the first movement. This helps us into the slow movement, which I already said was in my short-list of ‘most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard’. It starts with the cello singing the melody, a very long almost operatic melody, over the piano’s syncopated chords, with a lot of slight dissonances and leading tones that really push the emotional ‘longing’ in this music. At the end of the melody, the violin joins in a duet and it plays a slightly altered version of it. The cello has a rich accompanying part that mixes into the fabric. And then something magical happens; the viola joins the violin and cello for a trio on a new melody (in the Brahms fashion, the ‘new’ melody derives from the first one), while the piano’s texture changes into slow arpeggios. After that section, the rhythm gets a bit disjointed, and the harmonies a little more mysterious, segue-ways into another gorgeous magical part: another revision plays in the strings in call and response style, while scales in contrary motion on the keyboard emphasize and make the dissonances a little harsher, more paneful, and more poignient. I won’t keep detailing this movement since words aren’t enough. I’ll end with a mention that Brahms often used pizzicato to represent water, so my inner Romantic wants to think of this as a peaceful scene by a river, a serious contrast in the emotional intensity that we’ve heard so far. The last movement opens in a way feels like Italian opera. The violin plays a melody over the piano – the right hand is playing a restless figuration that modulates like a Bach keyboard piece, while the left hand plays the beat and also emphasizes a three note motif which has to be a homage to Beethoven. Funny, I think if Brahms heard me say “this might be a Beethoven reference,��� he’d treat me the way he treated critics of his first symphony, “of course it is! Any ass could see that!” Soon the full string section comes in, and again we get the dense textures and hyper-drama of the scherzo (along with the heavy-handedness). Through this section Brahms de-stabalizes the rhythm, but comes back to stability along with an easier and thinner section in the major. The development has the strings playing with and obsessing over, what else, but fragments of the opening melody. In its recap, the melody is played again in unison strings over a fiercely difficult etude looking passage on the piano made up of broken octaves. During this recap the instruments are again disrupted by complicated passagework that messes up the rhythm. After getting overwhelmed by the violence, Brahms again surprises us with a major key ending. But maybe it isn’t a surprise, maybe the scherzo was a foreshadowing. That’s the thing that keeps bringing me back to Brahms: everything that happens is more deliberate than you’d assume at first. If he presents an idea, it will not be left alone; it will return as an important component, and the whole structure is based on what Schoenberg would later call ‘developing variation’. From one melody, an entire piece can emerge. Movements: 1. Allegro non troppo 2. Scherzo: Allegro 3. Andante 4. Finale: Allegro comodo

mikrokosmos: Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet.…

[tinas-art]

Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet. But the slow movement was, and is, one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Of course I say that for every great piece, so it’s ok if you roll your eyes. But over time this became one of my favorite chamber works, and among my personal top favorite works by Brahms. When Brahms brought the manuscript of this quartet to his publisher, he asked for the picture on the cover to be a man holding a gun to his head. This allusion to Goethe’s Werther (about a young man falling in love with an older married woman who didn’t love him back, and eventually committing suicide because of it) has led people to assume this piece is a musical confession of his unrequited love for Clara Schumann, and how it contributed to some private emotional turmoil. It does at least give a more human side to a composer who’s always being called a dull academic. And perhaps it was this personal aspect, and details and references to Clara and Robert, that kept him from publishing it right away. He wrote it around the same time as his first two quartets, but left it in a drawer for decades until deciding to come back and finish it. That at least explains why, overall, it’s somewhat more ‘direct’ than the denser textures of his late music. The first movement has a lot of the “academic” moments I mentioned, where in following with Classical tradition, the entire sonata form is based on or derives from the opening. The C tolls in octaves on the piano, the strings play a somber theme with emphasis on a falling two note motif. Then, we go a semi-tone lower, which goes against classical form. The Romantic justification can come from the Werther-suicide image; like the character, the music is losing its sense of self. We modulate back to c minor, even with odd pizzicato notes outside of the key, and now hear a passionate wave of a melody again based on the two-note motif. That transitions into the softer and lyrical “B” melody, but even this melody derives from the motif. Again, this motif will be reused to an obsessive degree and re-contextualized for the mood in a way that would make Beethoven proud. The next section starts with a repeating Eb on the piano, again making me think of bells, that the strings start playing over. This acts as a pedal point, which in the 19th century signaled “old fashioned”, “Bach”, “church music” etc. and Brahms was criticized and called regressive/conservative a lot with his use of pedal points as an example of this ‘problem’. But from one of the letters he wrote to Clara, he said he knew she had a soft spot for pedal points. If you hear them in Brahms’ music, it’s probably because he knew Clara would like them. Anyway, we also get a kind of ‘heroic’ revision of the theme with heavy pounding chords and a scratchy viola. Into the ‘development’ section we have the lyrical version of the theme playing in canon in the strings over an unsettled rumble of another motivic pattern in the piano’s bass. Through all that turmoil, the last section opens with a much softer, more contemplative version of the lyrical theme. But the intensity comes back and collapses into the same somber atmosphere of the opening. The second movement rushes in with a wide leap downward, which becomes the motif to be obsessed over here. More-so than the first movement does this scherzo show Brahms’ ‘heavy handedness’ and love for thick textures, full chords, and slamming into the piano’s bass registers. The strings interject with the rhythm, pulsating the motif, and soon the violin pulls a melody out of it all. And I think I hear a lot of “hunting horn” calls coming through open fifths, and I wonder if Brahms were trying to evoke “the hunt” with both horn calls and a kind of ‘galloping’ rhythm. Or maybe this is a kind of evocation of the woods which horn-calls were ubiquitous with in 19th century German music, like this scherzo is a wild and dark shaded Friederich painting that shows nature as a menacing and awesome thing. Or I could be speculating too much. The biggest surprise is how this movement ends in the major, with a triumph you wouldn’t expect early on, especially after the kind of devastating ending of the first movement. This helps us into the slow movement, which I already said was in my short-list of ‘most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard’. It starts with the cello singing the melody, a very long almost operatic melody, over the piano’s syncopated chords, with a lot of slight dissonances and leading tones that really push the emotional ‘longing’ in this music. At the end of the melody, the violin joins in a duet and it plays a slightly altered version of it. The cello has a rich accompanying part that mixes into the fabric. And then something magical happens; the viola joins the violin and cello for a trio on a new melody (in the Brahms fashion, the ‘new’ melody derives from the first one), while the piano’s texture changes into slow arpeggios. After that section, the rhythm gets a bit disjointed, and the harmonies a little more mysterious, segue-ways into another gorgeous magical part: another revision plays in the strings in call and response style, while scales in contrary motion on the keyboard emphasize and make the dissonances a little harsher, more paneful, and more poignient. I won’t keep detailing this movement since words aren’t enough. I’ll end with a mention that Brahms often used pizzicato to represent water, so my inner Romantic wants to think of this as a peaceful scene by a river, a serious contrast in the emotional intensity that we’ve heard so far. The last movement opens in a way feels like Italian opera. The violin plays a melody over the piano – the right hand is playing a restless figuration that modulates like a Bach keyboard piece, while the left hand plays the beat and also emphasizes a three note motif which has to be a homage to Beethoven. Funny, I think if Brahms heard me say “this might be a Beethoven reference,” he’d treat me the way he treated critics of his first symphony, “of course it is! Any ass could see that!” Soon the full string section comes in, and again we get the dense textures and hyper-drama of the scherzo (along with the heavy-handedness). Through this section Brahms de-stabalizes the rhythm, but comes back to stability along with an easier and thinner section in the major. The development has the strings playing with and obsessing over, what else, but fragments of the opening melody. In its recap, the melody is played again in unison strings over a fiercely difficult etude looking passage on the piano made up of broken octaves. During this recap the instruments are again disrupted by complicated passagework that messes up the rhythm. After getting overwhelmed by the violence, Brahms again surprises us with a major key ending. But maybe it isn’t a surprise, maybe the scherzo was a foreshadowing. That’s the thing that keeps bringing me back to Brahms: everything that happens is more deliberate than you’d assume at first. If he presents an idea, it will not be left alone; it will return as an important component, and the whole structure is based on what Schoenberg would later call ‘developing variation’. From one melody, an entire piece can emerge. Movements: 1. Allegro non troppo 2. Scherzo: Allegro 3. Andante 4. Finale: Allegro comodo

mikrokosmos: Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet.…

[hushilda]

Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet. But the slow movement was, and is, one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Of course I say that for every great piece, so it’s ok if you roll your eyes. But over time this became one of my favorite chamber works, and among my personal top favorite works by Brahms. When Brahms brought the manuscript of this quartet to his publisher, he asked for the picture on the cover to be a man holding a gun to his head. This allusion to Goethe’s Werther (about a young man falling in love with an older married woman who didn’t love him back, and eventually committing suicide because of it) has led people to assume this piece is a musical confession of his unrequited love for Clara Schumann, and how it contributed to some private emotional turmoil. It does at least give a more human side to a composer who’s always being called a dull academic. And perhaps it was this personal aspect, and details and references to Clara and Robert, that kept him from publishing it right away. He wrote it around the same time as his first two quartets, but left it in a drawer for decades until deciding to come back and finish it. That at least explains why, overall, it’s somewhat more ‘direct’ than the denser textures of his late music. The first movement has a lot of the “academic” moments I mentioned, where in following with Classical tradition, the entire sonata form is based on or derives from the opening. The C tolls in octaves on the piano, the strings play a somber theme with emphasis on a falling two note motif. Then, we go a semi-tone lower, which goes against classical form. The Romantic justification can come from the Werther-suicide image; like the character, the music is losing its sense of self. We modulate back to c minor, even with odd pizzicato notes outside of the key, and now hear a passionate wave of a melody again based on the two-note motif. That transitions into the softer and lyrical “B” melody, but even this melody derives from the motif. Again, this motif will be reused to an obsessive degree and re-contextualized for the mood in a way that would make Beethoven proud. The next section starts with a repeating Eb on the piano, again making me think of bells, that the strings start playing over. This acts as a pedal point, which in the 19th century signaled “old fashioned”, “Bach”, “church music” etc. and Brahms was criticized and called regressive/conservative a lot with his use of pedal points as an example of this ‘problem’. But from one of the letters he wrote to Clara, he said he knew she had a soft spot for pedal points. If you hear them in Brahms’ music, it’s probably because he knew Clara would like them. Anyway, we also get a kind of ‘heroic’ revision of the theme with heavy pounding chords and a scratchy viola. Into the ‘development’ section we have the lyrical version of the theme playing in canon in the strings over an unsettled rumble of another motivic pattern in the piano’s bass. Through all that turmoil, the last section opens with a much softer, more contemplative version of the lyrical theme. But the intensity comes back and collapses into the same somber atmosphere of the opening. The second movement rushes in with a wide leap downward, which becomes the motif to be obsessed over here. More-so than the first movement does this scherzo show Brahms’ ‘heavy handedness’ and love for thick textures, full chords, and slamming into the piano’s bass registers. The strings interject with the rhythm, pulsating the motif, and soon the violin pulls a melody out of it all. And I think I hear a lot of “hunting horn” calls coming through open fifths, and I wonder if Brahms were trying to evoke “the hunt” with both horn calls and a kind of ‘galloping’ rhythm. Or maybe this is a kind of evocation of the woods which horn-calls were ubiquitous with in 19th century German music, like this scherzo is a wild and dark shaded Friederich painting that shows nature as a menacing and awesome thing. Or I could be speculating too much. The biggest surprise is how this movement ends in the major, with a triumph you wouldn’t expect early on, especially after the kind of devastating ending of the first movement. This helps us into the slow movement, which I already said was in my short-list of ‘most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard’. It starts with the cello singing the melody, a very long almost operatic melody, over the piano’s syncopated chords, with a lot of slight dissonances and leading tones that really push the emotional ‘longing’ in this music. At the end of the melody, the violin joins in a duet and it plays a slightly altered version of it. The cello has a rich accompanying part that mixes into the fabric. And then something magical happens; the viola joins the violin and cello for a trio on a new melody (in the Brahms fashion, the ‘new’ melody derives from the first one), while the piano’s texture changes into slow arpeggios. After that section, the rhythm gets a bit disjointed, and the harmonies a little more mysterious, segue-ways into another gorgeous magical part: another revision plays in the strings in call and response style, while scales in contrary motion on the keyboard emphasize and make the dissonances a little harsher, more paneful, and more poignient. I won’t keep detailing this movement since words aren’t enough. I’ll end with a mention that Brahms often used pizzicato to represent water, so my inner Romantic wants to think of this as a peaceful scene by a river, a serious contrast in the emotional intensity that we’ve heard so far. The last movement opens in a way feels like Italian opera. The violin plays a melody over the piano – the right hand is playing a restless figuration that modulates like a Bach keyboard piece, while the left hand plays the beat and also emphasizes a three note motif which has to be a homage to Beethoven. Funny, I think if Brahms heard me say “this might be a Beethoven reference,” he’d treat me the way he treated critics of his first symphony, “of course it is! Any ass could see that!” Soon the full string section comes in, and again we get the dense textures and hyper-drama of the scherzo (along with the heavy-handedness). Through this section Brahms de-stabalizes the rhythm, but comes back to stability along with an easier and thinner section in the major. The development has the strings playing with and obsessing over, what else, but fragments of the opening melody. In its recap, the melody is played again in unison strings over a fiercely difficult etude looking passage on the piano made up of broken octaves. During this recap the instruments are again disrupted by complicated passagework that messes up the rhythm. After getting overwhelmed by the violence, Brahms again surprises us with a major key ending. But maybe it isn’t a surprise, maybe the scherzo was a foreshadowing. That’s the thing that keeps bringing me back to Brahms: everything that happens is more deliberate than you’d assume at first. If he presents an idea, it will not be left alone; it will return as an important component, and the whole structure is based on what Schoenberg would later call ‘developing variation’. From one melody, an entire piece can emerge. Movements: 1. Allegro non troppo 2. Scherzo: Allegro 3. Andante 4. Finale: Allegro comodo

mikrokosmos: Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet.…

[dariaandjanelanefanboy]

Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet. But the slow movement was, and is, one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Of course I say that for every great piece, so it’s ok if you roll your eyes. But over time this became one of my favorite chamber works, and among my personal top favorite works by Brahms. When Brahms brought the manuscript of this quartet to his publisher, he asked for the picture on the cover to be a man holding a gun to his head. This allusion to Goethe’s Werther (about a young man falling in love with an older married woman who didn’t love him back, and eventually committing suicide because of it) has led people to assume this piece is a musical confession of his unrequited love for Clara Schumann, and how it contributed to some private emotional turmoil. It does at least give a more human side to a composer who’s always being called a dull academic. And perhaps it was this personal aspect, and details and references to Clara and Robert, that kept him from publishing it right away. He wrote it around the same time as his first two quartets, but left it in a drawer for decades until deciding to come back and finish it. That at least explains why, overall, it’s somewhat more ‘direct’ than the denser textures of his late music. The first movement has a lot of the “academic” moments I mentioned, where in following with Classical tradition, the entire sonata form is based on or derives from the opening. The C tolls in octaves on the piano, the strings play a somber theme with emphasis on a falling two note motif. Then, we go a semi-tone lower, which goes against classical form. The Romantic justification can come from the Werther-suicide image; like the character, the music is losing its sense of self. We modulate back to c minor, even with odd pizzicato notes outside of the key, and now hear a passionate wave of a melody again based on the two-note motif. That transitions into the softer and lyrical “B” melody, but even this melody derives from the motif. Again, this motif will be reused to an obsessive degree and re-contextualized for the mood in a way that would make Beethoven proud. The next section starts with a repeating Eb on the piano, again making me think of bells, that the strings start playing over. This acts as a pedal point, which in the 19th century signaled “old fashioned”, “Bach”, “church music” etc. and Brahms was criticized and called regressive/conservative a lot with his use of pedal points as an example of this ‘problem’. But from one of the letters he wrote to Clara, he said he knew she had a soft spot for pedal points. If you hear them in Brahms’ music, it’s probably because he knew Clara would like them. Anyway, we also get a kind of ‘heroic’ revision of the theme with heavy pounding chords and a scratchy viola. Into the ‘development’ section we have the lyrical version of the theme playing in canon in the strings over an unsettled rumble of another motivic pattern in the piano’s bass. Through all that turmoil, the last section opens with a much softer, more contemplative version of the lyrical theme. But the intensity comes back and collapses into the same somber atmosphere of the opening. The second movement rushes in with a wide leap downward, which becomes the motif to be obsessed over here. More-so than the first movement does this scherzo show Brahms’ ‘heavy handedness’ and love for thick textures, full chords, and slamming into the piano’s bass registers. The strings interject with the rhythm, pulsating the motif, and soon the violin pulls a melody out of it all. And I think I hear a lot of “hunting horn” calls coming through open fifths, and I wonder if Brahms were trying to evoke “the hunt” with both horn calls and a kind of ‘galloping’ rhythm. Or maybe this is a kind of evocation of the woods which horn-calls were ubiquitous with in 19th century German music, like this scherzo is a wild and dark shaded Friederich painting that shows nature as a menacing and awesome thing. Or I could be speculating too much. The biggest surprise is how this movement ends in the major, with a triumph you wouldn’t expect early on, especially after the kind of devastating ending of the first movement. This helps us into the slow movement, which I already said was in my short-list of ‘most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard’. It starts with the cello singing the melody, a very long almost operatic melody, over the piano’s syncopated chords, with a lot of slight dissonances and leading tones that really push the emotional ‘longing’ in this music. At the end of the melody, the violin joins in a duet and it plays a slightly altered version of it. The cello has a rich accompanying part that mixes into the fabric. And then something magical happens; the viola joins the violin and cello for a trio on a new melody (in the Brahms fashion, the ‘new’ melody derives from the first one), while the piano’s texture changes into slow arpeggios. After that section, the rhythm gets a bit disjointed, and the harmonies a little more mysterious, segue-ways into another gorgeous magical part: another revision plays in the strings in call and response style, while scales in contrary motion on the keyboard emphasize and make the dissonances a little harsher, more paneful, and more poignient. I won’t keep detailing this movement since words aren’t enough. I’ll end with a mention that Brahms often used pizzicato to represent water, so my inner Romantic wants to think of this as a peaceful scene by a river, a serious contrast in the emotional intensity that we’ve heard so far. The last movement opens in a way feels like Italian opera. The violin plays a melody over the piano – the right hand is playing a restless figuration that modulates like a Bach keyboard piece, while the left hand plays the beat and also emphasizes a three note motif which has to be a homage to Beethoven. Funny, I think if Brahms heard me say “this might be a Beethoven reference,” he’d treat me the way he treated critics of his first symphony, “of course it is! Any ass could see that!” Soon the full string section comes in, and again we get the dense textures and hyper-drama of the scherzo (along with the heavy-handedness). Through this section Brahms de-stabalizes the rhythm, but comes back to stability along with an easier and thinner section in the major. The development has the strings playing with and obsessing over, what else, but fragments of the opening melody. In its recap, the melody is played again in unison strings over a fiercely difficult etude looking passage on the piano made up of broken octaves. During this recap the instruments are again disrupted by complicated passagework that messes up the rhythm. After getting overwhelmed by the violence, Brahms again surprises us with a major key ending. But maybe it isn’t a surprise, maybe the scherzo was a foreshadowing. That’s the thing that keeps bringing me back to Brahms: everything that happens is more deliberate than you’d assume at first. If he presents an idea, it will not be left alone; it will return as an important component, and the whole structure is based on what Schoenberg would later call ‘developing variation’. From one melody, an entire piece can emerge. Movements: 1. Allegro non troppo 2. Scherzo: Allegro 3. Andante 4. Finale: Allegro comodo

mikrokosmos: Brahms – Piano Quartet no. 3 in c minor (1875) I’m surprised that I haven’t covered this work yet. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time now…it was actually my introduction to Brahms. I was kind of overwhelmed by most of the music, so I didn’t really like the full quartet.…

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

Newsflash: Dazai cares for Chuuya

Before reading any further, I will be talking about stormbringer, so spoilers ahead!! Translation credits go out to: @popopretty on tumblr, make sure to give this kind human some love and appreciation<3

Also if you want to read the first few chapters of stormbringer: @buraihatranslations is currently translating it, give them much love and appreciation as well, they deserve it!!

Honestly, I have been so obsessed with Soukoku lately and I think the reason behind this is because when it comes to Soukoku, their feelings for each other are not as easy to grasp as love or hate, it is much more profound than that. There is care, hurt, trust, resentment, companionship, bitterness, and consideration...And ironically enough, thats just the tip of the iceberg.

If we break down their individual feelings towards each other, it will be easier to understand their bond.

On Chuuya's end, his feelings are much more clear due to his expressive personality. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, he can try and hide what he feels towards Dazai but his true feelings tend to unravel easily.

He sometimes tries to mask his feelings towards Dazai by throwing insults, but his facial expressions are enough to contradict what he is saying.

Chuuya's feelings towards Dazai can be easier to comprehend. He obviously feels this certain betrayal due to the fact Dazai left the Port Mafia. Not to mention, he and Dazai have always had a rivalry relationship.

In the Soukoku wiki page, it is stated that Chuuya is aware of Dazai not experiencing a proper childhood, therefore allows him to act as childish as he can and lets him tease him relentlessly. I don't know how reliable this source is, but either way I think its worthy enough to add.

In the Dragon head conflict when Dazai was out of sight, Chuuya told Mori to forget about Dazai. That was until Hirotsu mentioned a microscope, Chuuya quickly realizes it was code language because he remembered a previous conversation where Dazai says he needs a microscope to be able to see Chuuya properly.

The moment he figured out it was a tracker, Chuuya did not hesitate to jump in and rescue Dazai. But here is the catch: No one but Chuuya knew about the microscope, if Chuuya really didn't care for Dazai he wouldn't have mentioned the microscope and kept all this under wraps, leaving Dazai in a mess.

Chuuya trusts Dazai with his life. He never hesitates to leave his life on Dazai's hands when it has to come to it. Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for years, for Chuuya to be able to trust Dazai that much is because Dazai also cares for him too, right?

The answer here is yes, Dazai cares for Chuuya. In a superficial level, it doesn't seem like Dazai truly cares, but I can assure you that he does care for him. Weather you like to think of his care in a platonic or romantic manner, the care Dazai has for Chuuya is undeniable and extremely significant for Dazai's character.

I think that stormbringer establishes this idea even further. There is one specific moment in this light novel that shows his genuine concern towards Chuuya's well being:

"There is one problem." Dazai cut off his sentence hesitantly. "It has nothing to do with the sucess rate of the plan. It is a matter we have to overcome in the end but... It may require some time to decide."

"What's with you?" Chuuya raised his eyebrows at Dazai. "Stop dramatizing it. Just hurry up and say it."

"I said earlier about this control spell to open the 'gate' that is used to reset the command inside Chuuya, right?" Dazai spoke with a strangely restrained voice. "If we use that, the logs of the command formula that were written in the past will be erased. That means...even if the memory erasure was used on Chuuya in the past, the traces of that will be erased as well."

"What?"

"I told you before right, the memory erasure command. The only way we can confirm if Chuuya is human or not is to check the history to see if the memory erasure command was ever used. It means..." Dazai looked at Chuuya with eyes that he had never looked at him before. Those eyes were serious. "If we use that control spell, the method to confirm if Chuuya is an artificial personality created by a string of code, or just a normal human being, will be lost. For good."

The time had stopped.

Chuuya opened his eyes and looked towards Dazai but his eyes were not seeing anything. The wind blew between the two of them. Even so, Chuuya did not blink.

"Verlaine became like that because he was tormented by the curse that he was not human. That only is enough of a big problem. The matter of being human or not." Dazai looked at his pocket watch, gave it a glance and continued. "I can delay the time until the plan starts for about two minutes. I will send an order for my men to wait... You can think about it alone for a while. Cuz I guess its hard for you to collect your thoughts with me around."

Having said so, Dazai turned away and walked down the stairs, leaving Chuuya alone.

Dazai fixated in his pocket watch. Two more minutes. Too short for a life decision. But he couldn't afford more than that.

Inside Dazai's head, he was planning a procedure to swith to an alternative plan in case Chuuya refused, at a tremendous speed.

This section in stormbringer is personally one of my favorites, this is a very rare moment between both of them, but especially for Dazai. Like I stated earlier Chuuya wears his emotions on his sleeves, therefore even if he tries to mask his care with insults, its still painfully noticable that he genuienly looks after Dazai. Chuuya also sometimes show a vulnerable side of himself to Dazai, especially after using corruption.

Dazai on the other hand is extremely unreadable. Its hard to understand his true intentions and if he really cares for people or only sees them as a pawn. In this moment though, Dazai was being painfully genuine. Dazai literally prioritized Chuuya over the mission. He was already thinking of coming up with an alternative plan just in case Chuuya refused, obviously the sucess rate of the alternative plan would be lesser than the actual plan Dazai had in mind, he choose Chuuya's wellbeing over a mission.

In this section, Dazai wasn't throwing jokes or witty remarks, he was being serious. Because Dazai knows how desperately Chuuya wants to be human. He knows how important being human is to Chuuya.

Dazai wasn't manipulating Chuuya by giving him the chance to decide, we can see that Dazai was literally showing a lot of hesitation when mentioning this to him, we also get to see what Dazai was thinking, and we can tell he wasn't thinking about manipulative his movements in any way. All of this wasn't coming out of manipulation, it was coming out of pure care.

After six steps, Dazai reached the stair. He stepped on the stair and started walking down. Three steps down the stair, he heard a *clang*, a cool sound of metal echoing behind him. It sounded like the metal was kicked by the sole of someones shoes. The moment Dazai realized what the sound was, Dazai turned around in surprise.

There was already no one at the top.

Dazai was dazed for a moment, then he loosened his lips and laughed.

"Trying to act cool, huh?" Dazai smiled, both annoyed and relieved. Then he turned on his radio and sent out his order. "Chuuya has sallied, everyone get ready for battle."

I personally love this part so much, relief washed over Dazai the moment he noticed that Chuuya was going to go through with the first plan, which proves my point that he wasn't manipulating him and how Dazai was under a lot of stress because he wasn't sure if the alternative plan would be as effective as his original one.

Yet he still was willing to go through the alternative plan if Chuuya refused, because Dazai values him and regards his wellbeing.

Dazai was being surprisingly gentle in this section, he was being honest. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions here, just a boy looking after his partner.

"So i'm going to send an order to my men to prepare for action... Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Chuuya turned to Dazai. "Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Dazai didn't answer right away.

That was an unusual expression. It's like he was trying to say something, but he had to arrange the words in his head to decide where he should start. An expression he rarely shows.

This was right before Dazai drops the bomb to Chuuya about the memory erasure command. He was even asking for Chuuya's opinion on sending his men to get ready, this was the first time Dazai ever showed actual concern without masking it with witty remarks. You can tell that Chuuya isn't used to this.

And when you think about it, when Dazai and Chuuya have missions together, Dazai always uses corruption as a last resort and he always allows Chuuya to make the decision if they will be using it or not.

I personally belive that the main reason Chuuya trusts Dazai with using corruption is because The Sheep used to exploit his powers too much, but Dazai leaves the decision to use corruption up to Chuuya. Dazai understands the physical and mental toll corruption takes on Chuuya and therefore leaves the choice up to him.

Theres another section in stormbringer that I really enjoy, it doesn't necessairly show solicitude but I still think this should still be taken into consideration:

"You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don't you?"

"I am," Dazai laughed with a sigh. "There is no way a man-made code could create such a personality that I detest so much."

Throughout the whole story, Dazai is more than determined that Chuuya is human. The main reason Dazai finds Chuuya so intresting is because of how frighteningly human Chuuya can be, because of the fact that he always wears his emotions on his sleeves, something Dazai rarely does himself. Thats personally a nice sentiment from Dazai's end, even when Chuuya struggles completely when it comes to believing in his own humanity, Dazai still can't help but see him as a human being.

Also I am aware that Dazai literally said he detests Chuuya here but he also sighed and laughed while stating this, showing us that he isn't being serious about hating him.

And its not only in stormbringer were he shows his concern towards Chuuya. In fact, in this following manga pannel Dazai is telling Chuuya that if he is willing to listen him, he will stage his own escape so that Chuuya doesn't get punnished.

Honestly, if Dazai didn't care enough for Chuuya, he wouldn't have mentioned this to him. Chuuya didn't care enough to realize that he literally unwillingly freed Dazai which would get the pm mad at him, so the fact that Dazai is literally helping him out is no doubt out of care for him. If Dazai didn't have any regard for Chuuya he would've not staged his escape or mentioned anything to Chuuya, eventually incriminating him.

There are many misconceptions when it comes to Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya, people think that he doesn't care for him due to the fact that he left the Port Mafia, leaving Chuuya behind. But heres the thing: Dazai's intentions had nothing to do with Chuuya. He left the organization for his own good, he left it to fullfill Oda's wish.

"If Dazai cared for Chuuya then why didn't he take Chuuya with him?" the reason is simple, he knows how much the PM means to Chuuya. In stormbringer it is shown that Chuuya feels as if his humanity is attached to the people he is loyal to, in this case its the port mafia. Verlaine wanted to get rid of the pm because he believed that the pm is what kept Chuuya's humanity, eventually making Chuuya believe that he is only human if he stays loyal to the pm. Dazai knows this. Thats exactly why he didn't take Chuuya with him or even explains to Chuuya why he left, he knows it would be selfish to basically rip Chuuya's sense of humanity apart.

I have a feeling that if Dazai told Chuuya about the real reason he left the Port Mafia, Chuuya will not only feel conflicted about being in the pm, but he would also have an inner conflict with himself as a human.

People also think Dazai may not really care for him because of the fact that after the fight against Lovecraft he actualy deserted him, maybe that part was truly just supposed to be seen as simple humor, but either way I want to talk about it. Chuuya's only request to Dazai was to take him back to base safe, so why did Dazai leave Chuuya behind?

I mean he has carried Chuuya back to saftey before with no problem, for example in stormbringer when Chuuya uses corruption for the first time Dazai carries him back to the billiards bar and not to the mafia’s base so that he could say goodbye to his passing friends.

The reson behind this is because Mori needs to know that unlike Dazai, Chuuya is absolutely loyal to him. Leaving Chuuya the way he did will make Mori believe that these two really are at each others throats and that Dazai is insignificant to Chuuya. Making it seem that for Chuuya, the mafia comes first before anything else.

Therefore Dazai established Chuuya's saftey within the mafia since not only does Mori want these two to be hostile with each other, he doesn't want Chuuya to eventually turn against him if he truly found out more about Dazai's true reason of departure. Then again, this isn't canon but it is a logical assumption.

Not to mention that although Dazai did leave him behind, he folded Chuuya's coat and hat before taking his leave. There is also an an extra chapter where Ozaki Kouyou was talking with Chuuya but when he left he forgot his coat, which made Kouyou came across the coat; where she noticed a badge sewed inside saying "Name: Hatrack", she smiled fondly thinking to herself that some things just never change, in this case, Dazai and Chuuya's bond.

Dazai literally took his time to sew this into his coat just to tease him, it was a simple gesture but it shows us how their dynamic will never change. No matter what these two go through, they will always share a bond that consists on teasing, trust and underlying care.

All of this actually makes that theory of Dazai planting a bomb under Chuuya's car for the sole reason that the PM doesn't find Chuuya as an acomplice who aided Dazai on his escape much more feasable.

For Dazai to just plant a bomb under Chuuya's car with no motive makes no sense because if Dazai's true intentions were to simply mess with Chuuya, he would've most likely made it clear at that time. Dazai always has an underlying motive behind his actions, and in this case it is very likely that he did that for Chuuya's sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am aware that the bomb incident could've just been a comedic moment and I shouldn't look too much into it, but there is still a posibility, right?

These two hold so much trust and care for one another, yet they also hold a lot of bitterness and resentment. In the end the good aspects of their dynamic outweighs the bad.

Either you see these two in a platonic or romantic way, you can't tell me that their bond isn't significant.

Thank you so much for reading!! I wanted to talk about this for a while because I feel like people misinterpret Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya a lot so I hope this clears up things a bit<3

[ktrivia]

A Sniper's Competition (Crosshair x Reader)

Summary:

The Republic had many humanized weapons in this war but all of them were well known by the Separatist forces. All of them but me, that is. The Republic brought me in at the beginning of this war to be one of their secret weapons. A sniper who could go undercover and stay unknown to the enemy. As the war grows closer to a close, the Republic is sending me on a new mission, one that includes four experimental clones. Which another sniper, who was known for his disdain for others, already in the squad, things were sure to get interesting.

Author’s note:

Sorry for the long wait everyone! Life has been very hectic (major exams and catching Covid for the first time). This story is back and shit is going down! I'm excited for the plot to really begin now and the twists and turns to start. Please let me know what you think because your comments and reblogs are truly what keep me motivated to keep going with this story!

P.S. Let me know if you catch an Easter egg of a well-loved Bad Batch character

Also I am officially writing Fives x Reader oneshots and drabbles as a prequel to this series! There is now a section on my master list for and I would love to write more for one of our favorite ARC Troopers so please PLEASE send in some requests! Sometimes we all just need a little Fives goodness in our lives.

Enjoy the chapter!

Mando'an translations:

Vod: Brother

Gar kebbur gar jatne: You tried your best (just like I'm trying to string together sentences in Mando'a)

<- Previous Chapter : Next Chapter ->

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CHAPTER 13

The only men sitting past the door were Rex, Echo and Anakin which meant the rest of the Batch was in the cockpit. The four of us looked at each other, no one sure of what to say first. The events of the day had taken a toll on everyone it seemed. 

“How much longer are we in hyperspace?” I questioned as I moved to sit next to Anakin who sat across from two of the only remaining men from the original 501st. 

“A couple hours,” Rex answered, checking me over once again for injuries. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better, Rexxie,” I assured before turning to Anakin. “But I need your help.” 

Before I could continue on, he spoke. 

“You can’t feel the force can you?” 

“Not at all,” I confirmed. “And it honestly feels like I’m missing a limb.”

“It happens,” Anakin began, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You basically fried the receptors in your body that let you feel the force because you used so much of it at one time. That part of you needs to heal. You were never trained to recognize the warning signs of wearing yourself out like that.”

“How long will it be like this?” I asked, trying to keep myself from reaching out to the emotions of the men around me. 

“Give it a couple days and it should start to come back. If it doesn’t then come by my quarters and we’ll contact the temple for suggestions.” 

I reached up to my shoulder and gripped his hand in thanks before turning to Echo who now wore someone’s spare set of blacks. Because of his emaciated state, they hung loosely on his thin frame.

“What about you, Echo? How are you feeling?”

He gave me a small smile and explained that Tech had performed another health assessment on him and done what he could to make him more comfortable until we got back to base to a proper medic. They had given him a bit of food and water, but he had a hard time keeping it down so they had held off after that. The room went quiet, the four of us still taking in the reunion that had occurred hours ago. 

“I’ve uh, been meaning to ask,” Echo prompted hesitantly, sorrow in his eyes. “What happened to Fives?”

My heart stopped as I met Rex’s panicked expression. How did we tell Echo that his twin had died? How did we even begin to broach what had happened?

“I assume he’s gone,” Echo said, his voice cracking as he did. “Otherwise, I’m sure he would have been here for this.” 

Tears sprung to my eyes at the thought. There’s no way in hell that Fives would have missed this. He would have fought anyone and everyone to be on this mission to rescue his brother. 

“Yeah, Echo.” I confirmed. “He’s gone.”

My voice broke and I couldn’t help the tears that streamed down my cheeks. Across from me, I could see Rex’s eyes glistening as he tried to keep it together. 

I barely noticed the door to the bunk area whooshing open as Crosshair emerged. He quickly took in everyone’s expression but those observant eyes landed on me and widened. 

I thought he was about to get jealous of either Anakin’s hand that still rested on my shoulder or the mention of Fives, but he surprised us all by quickly claiming the seat next to mine and grabbing hold of my hand. He gently caressed it in soothing motions, but didn’t say a word. He sat there as a reassuring presence. Maybe he was ready to make the effort for there to be a relationship between us.

“Can I ask what happened?” Echo asked timidly. 

“Of course you can, Echo,” I confirmed, willing strength into my voice. 

“He was your brother. You have every right to ask that,” Rex added, ferocity clear on his face. There were many cases where the clones wouldn’t know what happened to a lost brother and when they would try to ask, their requests would be denied. The administration didn’t bother to keep track of which clones were lost, only that their numbers had been depleted in general. 

I wasn’t sure where to begin the story, but thankfully Anakin spoke up. 

“It started with Tup,” he began, voice going quiet like what he said was a secret. To be fair, it was a secret to most. 

“He killed Master Tiplar,” Anakin continued solemnly. Echo’s face somehow paled more than it already was. 

“He killed a Jedi?” He asked disbelievingly in a whisper. His gaze went foggy, and Rex put his hand on Echo’s shoulder in comfort. It dawned on me that Echo had also just discovered Tup’s passing as well. Crosshair’s hand now clenched mine tightly. Glancing over, I could see confusion and discomfort apparent on his face. Echo wasn’t going to be the only person hearing this story for the first time. 

“He did,” Anakin confirmed with a sorrowful nod. “It was clear that something was wrong. We thought it was some kind of virus or biological agent so we sent him back to Kamino with Fives in charge of him. Even when Tup left he wasn’t mentally sound. He couldn’t focus and just kept repeating himself.”

Anakin’s head bowed and I gently grasped his hand, offering him comfort. Anakin bonded with his soldiers, clones or not, and I remembered how hard this whole situation had hit him when it happened. 

“Then what?” Echo asked quietly. Anakin turned to me. 

“You’re probably the best person to tell him the next part,” He offered, Echo’s face contorted into a look of confusion.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I was on Kamino when they got there,” I explained, voice growing thick as the memories flooded me. Crosshair tensed next to me.

“You were there?” He murmured, eyes shockingly full of concern. I nodded my confirmation and squeezed his hand before turning back to Echo.

“I hadn’t seen Fives since we had broken up,” I started. “We were together for about a year, and I hadn’t seen him for a few months. The second he saw me he tried to tell me what had happened with Tup, but I was about to leave on an assignment. I just-,”

My words choked off and it felt like the air around me grew physically heavy. My eyes widened in panic as I tried to pull in air, but even that felt like I was inhaling lead. Crosshair’s hand pulled from mine and wrapped around my shoulders pulling me against his chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on breathing. When I re-opened them, Anakin was crouched in front of me. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, placing his hand on my knee. “You’re ok. It's just the force. It can be a little overwhelming at first when it comes back on line, but it’ll ease. There are a lot of heavy emotions in here right now and that can be hard to feel.” 

At the mention of the force, I could feel Crosshair almost retract his hold on me, but instead he squeezed tighter, hands roaming over my shoulder and arm. I worked to pace my breaths in time with Crosshair’s rising chest, and while they were still weighted, it was slowly getting easier to breathe again. When I could finally speak without gasping for air, I looked back to Echo. 

“I’m so sorry. This is your story and time and I just interrupted it.”

He shakily rose to his feet and stumbled over to me. His flesh hand reached out and grasped mine, squeezing as hard as he could. 

“It’s our story, Vod. You take your time,” he reassured. The three of them grounded me until I was ready to continue the story. 

“Fives tried to tell me something was wrong,” I began again. “He tried to tell me something had happened to Tup, but I had to leave. He never knew, but I stopped in the med bay to check on them, but they told me Tup would be fine and Fives was healthy. The Kaminoans don’t usually lie to me. I could feel they were lying, but I thought it was because they didn’t know what was wrong with Tup yet. But I had to go, so I left. I have a little friend who works in the med center that kept me updated as much as she could, but her droid could only find out so much information once the Chancellor got involved.”

“The Chancellor?” Echo questioned, sunken eyes widening. I hummed in agreement. 

“Fives said he had discovered something and the Chancellor needed to hear it. But they say that once he got to Coruscant, he tried to murder the Chancellor in his office. Then he got a hold of Rex and Anakin.” 

I trailed off and looked to them to continue the story. Rex spoke this time.

“He found Kix at 79s and had him contact me and the General. We went to meet with Fives and he trapped us in a ray shield. He tried explaining himself but the Coruscant Guard… they shot him. We tried- we really tried to help him but he was too far gone. All he said was the nightmare was over.”

Rex’s hand clasped together as his shoulders hunched over and his breathing shortened. With effort, I extricated myself from the men around me and made the short crossing to the Captain. Standing in front of him, I pulled his forehead to my chest and stroked gently over his cropped hair. Strong arms pulled me as close as possible as his breaths turned ragged. 

“You did what you could, vod,” I reassured. “We all did. Gar kebbur gar jatne.” 

I held him there for a while as the silence of the room settled. Resurfaced memories had reopened old wounds and everyone was trying to grapple with it in their own ways. Clanking footsteps came closer and I glanced over to see Echo standing there. He sat down next to Rex and put his arm over his shoulders, pulling him away from my hold. Tears almost left me again at the sight of Echo comforting his brother. Even after all this time and the torture he undoubtably endured, he remembered the little things that helped Rex while he was mourning. 

The exhaustion hit me suddenly from the conversation and events of the mission so I went back over to where Crosshair was still seated. I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed in content when his arm circled my shoulders, a warm and reassuring weight. My eyes drifted shut as I listened to the lingering conversation. I was almost asleep, Crosshair's light rubbing on my shoulder lulling me, when I heard Echo ask a question that made me perk up. 

“Before Fives was sh-shot,” he began to Rex, “what was he trying to warn you about?” 

My eyes remained closed but I was alert and listening. 

“He said there was a plot against the Jedi,” Rex said softly. Crosshairs ministrations froze at the mention of the Jedi and I grumbled at him, displeased with the lack of the soothing motion. He huffed a small laugh before resuming again. I felt the tension leaving my body as his hand worked its way up towards my neck, rubbing the tight muscles there. I groaned quietly at the sensation. 

“Get a room,” Anakin muttered under his breath. 

“You’d hear me either way, Skywalker,” I grumbled back. Crosshair choked on his breath and I could only laugh. Anakin said something else but I didn’t hear it as part of Rex’s comment caught my attention. 

“-he said something about a chip controlling us. That we were programmed.”

My eyes shot open and I bolted upright. Connections were rapidly forming in my mind. I could hear the four of them questioning me as I ran to the cockpit of the ship. The door slid open and my eyes landed on Tech in the pilot’s chair as he typed on a datapad. In the periphery, my mind took note that Hunter and Wrecker were also there, the larger of the two sound asleep. 

“Tech, where are the scans of Echo’s brain?” I asked frantically. Hunter stiffened at the tone of my voice. 

“They are on my data pad,” Tech replied simply, not looking up from what he was doing. 

“I need it. Now,” I demanded. Tech glanced up, confusion clear. 

“Why do you need it?” 

“Give me the datapad, Tech. I need to check something and time may be of the essence.”

I stormed towards him, ready to take the datapad from him whether he wanted me to or not, but Hunter blocked my path. 

“You need to calm down,” he instructed, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“It is ok, Hunter. She can have it,” Tech said calmly. Hunter glanced back at him, not convinced I wouldn’t do something to Tech, and stepped just far enough out of the way for Tech to hand me the datapad. 

“I pulled up his scans for you,” Tech stated as I wrenched it from his hand. 

I scrolled through the slices of the scan as quickly as I could, looking for what I had seen earlier on Skako Minor. I made a sound of success when I found the right slice. I turned it back to Tech and pointed at it.

“What the hell is this and why did you tell me to ignore it?” I questioned. His eyes squinted as he focused on the spot before his face smoothed into understanding. 

“Oh! That is Echo’s inhibitor chip.”

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!):

@1fineslytherin @buddee @possiblyexisting @ttzamara @angstforce99 @crosshairscyare @rndmpeep @whore4rex @twinkofthedink @clone-whore-99 @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @sweetsunflowerkisses @amyroswell @mellowstatesmanhandsempath

@ben-is-a-hoe @scioness-7 @eternalwaffle @espuma-y-arrecife @philiasoul 

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[ayamturd]

brother│sbi family

summary: y/n will always stand by their brothers no matter the hardship or challenges they should overcome in the end.

song: Brother by Kodaline

warnings: angst to fluff(?), cursing, blood/gore descriptions, death, slight spoliers for dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!sbi family

a/n: i heard this song the other day and knew i had to give it a try (give it a listen!). also, each section/scene change is supposed to show a period of growth for the reader, both in age and confidence wise. as always, pls feel free to comment or give feedback!

wc: (4.1k) - m.list

When we were young we were the ones

The kings and queens oh yeah, we ruled the world

“Techno, wait!” 

“Keep up then, slow poke!” 

Technoblade and y/n were running through the village, laughing like madmen while jumping over the hay bales serving as their mini obstacle course. They were passing the time while Dadza finished his tradings with Wilbur, him volunteering to assist in hopes of exploring the market place. As they continued their chase, Technoblade began to gain a lead; his long limbs giving him a far unfair advantage against his smaller sibling. He was nearing the local well in the town square, and y/n knew they would have to take drastic measure before he could claim victory. 

Quickly assessing their surroundings, y/n grabbed the first product they could snatch off the closest stand. They beamed it at Techno, the potato hitting him on the back of his head, causing him to falter and trip over his hooves. Y/n leaped over him, grin wide when hearing the vendor and their brother yell after them.

“Y/n! What gives?!” Technoblade scrambled up in a hurry, rushing to meet their stride. Y/n only cackled, shouting back, “hey, it’s like you once said, ‘What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease.’”

The sun beamed down in the late afternoon, yet y/n was too driven to notice. They reached the center square and rang the bell, signifying their win. “I regret teaching you the ways of Sun Tzu.” Technoblade was panting with his hands on his knees; he had tried to catch up given his fall slowing him down, but ended up running in vain to his defeat.

“Ahh you don’t mean that now, do you?” Y/n climbed up the well and jumped on Technoblade’s shoulders, forcing him to adjust to the sudden weight while they gripped his pink hair. He grunted, “I do if it means you beating me.” Y/n giggled. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember your miserable loss as the origin of my success.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Despite their bickering, the two children held large smiles, snickering while spinning carefree and contently. They tuned out the world, purely existing in the moment while conquering each trivial challenge at a time.

We've taken different paths

“Come on, y/n, you’ve got to let go some time or another.” Y/n clung onto Wilbur’s side, curled into his chest while the lanky man hovered his arms above them.

“Not until you hug me back, you jerk!” Wilbur sighed, pulling them in again. “I already hugged you in the house. We’re not gonna be here for another 10 minutes, right? You know how impatient Tommy can be.”

“Alright, fine you dickhead. I’ll let you go. See if I care the next time you want a hug,” y/n huffed. They pulled away in haste and crossed their arms, turning away from him completely. 

“You’re such a cry baby, s’not like we’ll be gone forever. Can visit and shit,” Tommy spoke up, walking towards the pair with his saddle in hand.

“Shut up, bitch. I won’t miss you anyway, I was talking to Wilbur.”

“Like hell you won’t!”

Wilbur stepped between the two, hand on Y/n’s shoulder and a push to Tommy’s face. “Maybe it’s best that we’re leaving, y/n. Tommy’s obviously influenced you too much.”

“Why the hell you say that like it’s a bad thing?!”

“Ugh, God please no.”

Despite all odds, y/n was the shortest in the family compared to all the boys. They were forced to look up at Tommy while he glared down at their smug face. 

Phil came forward from the house and chose to stand besides y/n. “I’ve only just gotten them to leave, don’t tell me you’re holding them down any longer.” Y/n muttered a small no. Wilbur and Tommy looked offended at the comment, and Phil only chuckled at the sight. “You’ll see them soon, y/n. You know they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to explore, and one day you’ll take your chance too.”

“Yeah, I know,” y/n sighed and leaned into Phil’s side. They were openly pained to have their brothers leave their home, disliking the idea of their family separated, yet they knew they didn’t have the right to stop them from their ambitions.

Phil checked over their supplies once more before patting their shoulders with encouraging words. Giving them room, the brothers mounted their horses and pulled the reins to the East, taking one final glance at their home. They both waved and rode off. 

The sun laid above the horizon, strips of color spread across the sky as night began to fall. Though they were too far to hear, y/n waited a moment before speaking. “Till next time.” 

And travelled different roads

“You can’t be serious.”

“You rather I leave them to die?” Technoblade was packing, grabbing his best weaponry and stuffing rations into his satchel. Although contemplating to bring his armor, he opted out of it in favor of traveling light. Y/n was trailing behind the large piglin, eyes irritated and upset. 

“How can you say that? I’m only concerned on why you think a revolution is what they need right now!” Technoblade spun around at their words, standing above them menacingly. Any rational person would be afraid if it weren’t for the fact that they grew up together. 

“Y/n. You and I both know there’s a reason they called me and me alone. I’m going there to help and do what is ask of me. What else do you expect from all of this?” Technoblade spoke steadily, his chin still raised while his eyes looked down at them. It only angered y/n more. 

“What I expect, Technoblade, is for you to be their brother and help them! Be their brother for once and not just ‘the Blood God’!” Y/n emphasized each point with a jab to his chest. It was rare for the two to fight at all, them being considerably close and maintaining the same idealization for the most part. 

Techno only narrowed his eyes before grabbing y/n’s wrist. “We’ve talked about this, y/n. Don’t act like you don’t understand the difference between ‘the Blood God’ and myself. Don’t act like there is a difference at all.” There was a slight pause as y/n’s eyes widen at their close proximity, Technoblade having had moved closer towards their face.

“… you’re hurting me, Techno.” Glancing down at their hands, Technoblade immediately let go and grabbed his crossbow behind y/n, leaving the room as if the conversation never happened. Y/n was quick to follow him before he left the house. 

They screamed out, “This isn’t right, Techno! For their sakes, you and that tactical brain of yours should realize that at the very least!” Technoblade stopped near the exit and tilted his head to the left, a brief silence before speaking. “If you weren’t so afraid of the world, you could always go save them yourself.”

He slammed the front door close at that, leaving a still y/n in shock at his words. The night was dead quiet as y/n stood there for some time, a ringing silence impeding the air. Phil came down the hallway from his room, tired yet aware of the situation; he was admittedly awake during the argument. “Are you alright, dear?” His voice was soft as he was unsure of y/n’s current emotions, their back to him while facing the front door. Y/n turned towards him with teary eyes.

“No.”

And when you're in the trenches

And you're under fire I will cover you

“Ya’ know what, Wilbur?” Tommy was sitting on a furnace, Wilbur leaning against the cavern walls across him. They were both eating dinner together in the dark, dimly lit and empty space, the only sound coming further down the cave where Technoblade farmed until Tommy spoke up. Raising a hand to chew, Wilbur swallowed before asking a what?

“I’m getting real sick of potatoes.” They both laughed at that, temporarily finding joy in the small joke before fading back into a helpless silence. They were still reeling from their situation; no home, no friends, no government to stand with. While they were in the presence of their brother, Technoblade was focused on their main goal: revolution. Even through perseverance, the brothers couldn’t help but feel exhausted from the efforts, the previous war having taken a toll in spite of the approaching age of a new one.

“I miss home,” Tommy expressed, eyes trained to the ground. Wilbur stared at the boy before looking down at the baked potato in hand. “Me too.” 

A sudden noise came from above, as if someone broke down their stone entrance. Although Pogtopia had gained an underground support from the citizens of Manberg, their location was still undisclosed to the others, secret letters and Tubbo being the only communication. Grabbing his sword, Tommy nodded to Wilbur and headed up the steep stairway. Wilbur briefly looked up and ran to warn Technoblade of a possible intruder. 

Weapon in hand, Tommy creeped up the path determined. Footsteps echoed underground and Tommy paused to push himself against the wall. The light of a lantern glowed ever so brighter with each approaching step behind the corner above. Right as he rose to strike, a familiar voice spoke out. 

“You’re not seriously going stab me now, right?” Tommy’s gaze shot up to see his sibling smirk at his surprise. “Cause that would suck after traveling this whole way to see you idiots.”

Tommy laughed breathlessly in disbelief before shouting their name for all to hear. He ran up to quickly embrace them and pulled them down to meet the rest. Technoblade and Wilbur visibly relaxed at the sigh of the two, weapons dropping to their side.

“You’re here,” Technoblade stated, his eyebrows raised unexpectedly. Expression neutral, y/n only spared him a glance before looking to the side. “I’m here.” 

Wilbur ignored the small tension and walked forward, a soft smile at the sight of them with his arms raised. “Am I still allowed to ask for that hug?” Y/n grinned and let him engulf them in a hug. They squeezed his torso tight while they swayed slightly side to side. Tommy, elated to see his sibling for the first time in practically years, vocalized his excitement loudly behind the embracing pair.

“Are you here to help us fight?!”

Y/n hesitated before turning back to smile wearily, “I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

If I was dying on my knees

You would be the one to rescue me

“You want to be a hero, Tommy?”

The battlefield was suspended in apprehension, everyone amassed on the small platform above the caved in trench. Standing before them, separated by the broken landscape, Technoblade held large, black skulls in each hand. In front of him, two structures of sand guarding his sides. He was perched over them, eyes red in blood-like fury with tusks that pointed in pride and determination. Y/n gaped in horror at the sight, whispering a small no that fell on deaf ears. 

“Then die like one!”

A sudden light blinded the field, Technoblade having had completed the ancient ritual due for destruction. Before anyone could collet their thoughts, a small force pushed everyone back. Strong winds blew as dust covered the the terrain, and from the ashes of white fire rose two mythological beasts with holo eyes and a grotesque body of dark bones. There was a beat of stillness before chaos erupted.

Yelling and panic ensued as some began fighting the monstrosities while others worked to kill those preventing the end. Y/n felt lost as others pushed and pulled them every way. They tried looking for their brothers, crying out their names in the frantic space, but could no longer define anyone in the tumultuous crowd overwhelming them. 

By the time they were able to separate themself from the group, a building hum penetrated from above. Explosions descended around them as they became trapped by the blasts. Arms covered and crouched close to the ground, Y/n was helpless to the wither, and they stared in dread as the creature began to glow to attack once more. 

Before they met their final end, however, colors invaded the sky and erupted against the wither’s side. It roared in rage at the measly ambush and turned to find the source. Y/n was still frozen in the futile position, but was hoisted from behind and dragged up the small crater entrapping them. 

Technoblade let go of their weight once on solid ground again and stepped away immediately. Y/n, wheezing from the realization they could have died, turned to look up at their brother while still laying on the ground. Arms beneath them, they struggled to raise their head to him. 

“Why, Tech,” y/n exasperated, eyes begging for a justification for more destruction beyond that of their recent brother’s death. Tears fell in anguish of the devastation around them. “Just why?”

“Not everyone can be saved. Not everything is worth being saved.”

And if you were drowned at sea

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

“Come on Toms, stay with me now.” Pulling with all their might, y/n grappled the thin boy through the water as they fought to swim against the current in the rising dawn. As they crawled onto the sandy shores, the heavy weight of being completely soaked left them restless on the beach. Taking a moment to breathe, y/n gathered their strength before rushing to Tommy’s side.

“Come on, Tommy. You can’t do this to me now.” Y/n laid him completely flat and started to push his chest in rhythmic beats, shoving down as hard as they could to save him. 

He was already incredibly pale from the cold depths of the water, and y/n could only assume he had been in the water for some time before they arrived. 

Every so often they would glance to discern any movement or change but would go back to focusing on reviving their brother entirely. As more time passed and Tommy refused to move, Y/n grew frustrated and speed up their pace harshly, tears clouding their vision despite their resolution. “Please, Tommy. Please. I can’t lose another one of you. Not again.”

With a sudden twitch, Tommy jerked before coughing up water and trembling with the rush of air to his lungs. Y/n looked up to the green horizon and closed their eyes in relief, tears streaming down their cheeks before they reached down to hold the boy close. Gently bring him into their arms and caressing his long wet hair, Tommy continued to draw breaths with his arm hung limply around them. He clutched the fabric on their shoulder, whimpering in a small voice,

“Y/n? Are you really here this time?” Y/n squeezed him tighter.

“It’s really me, Toms. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”

And if we hit on troubled water

I'll be the one to keep you warm and safe

“This is not a trial, Technoblade.” Quackity motioned to the anvil strung above the stage, beaming at the seething piglin through the bars of the cage. “This is an execution. We are going to kill you.” 

Hidden beneath the breath of night while under the effects of the invisible potion, y/n observed from the roof of a nearby house. Although they kept their distance from everyone in their family besides Tommy, y/n couldn’t ignore the apparent ‘Butcher Army’ when they passed through the forest where they were collecting wood, their brother strung behind them as if on a leash. 

Y/n glared at the immaturity of the young boys, despising the belief that more death will create peace in a land built on bloodshed. While their relationship with Technoblade was rough considering their last encounter, they couldn’t deny the fact that he had a right to hold his certain principles and acted out in aggression to the others’ mistreatment; though arguably to an extreme.

Their gaze shifted when the mercenary, Punz, announced his arrival with thrown snowballs and began spreading TNT as an apparent distraction. Deciding to aid in the diversion, y/n pulled arrows out of their quiver and aimed to target the boys when they tried to assault him. 

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Fundy screeched out in revelation after barely managing to dodge an incoming arrow to the leg. Despite all efforts, Quackity realized their intentions and ran to pull the level. As he let out a joyous shout, y/n dropped their bow in fear, eyes trained on the falling anvil before it was meant to strike and scrambled to their feet. To their astonishment and utter relief, a faint, green glow emitted once Technoblade was supposedly killed. The Blood God had escape death. What a surprise.

Y/n watched as Technoblade climbed swiftly out of the cage and followed a green figure mounted on his horse through a tunnel hidden beneath a stone hill. They knew from pass whispers and Tommy’s harsh words that it was the warrior, Dream, having had only seen the daunting smiling face in a blur during the war. They were aware of the torment the man had caused to their family, both in the war and in Tommy’s exile.

Sliding down the tile roof, y/n jumped off the building and maneuvered their way down, ignoring the stare of their imprisoned father on top of the nearby balcony as the potion’s effects started to fade. They noticed Quackity trace the foot steps of Technoblade’s hooves, and stalked behind him as he entered the small hole. Pausing before leaping in themself, y/n looked up to see Dream already staring down at them, arms crossed and in wait. 

He stared at them expectantly, which made y/n’s patience wear thin once hearing Quackity lowly state how he planned to kill Technoblade then and there. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance, y/n gave Dream a final glare and blocked off the entrance once entering. 

They pulled out their axe and treaded quietly down the tunnel before pausing behind the broken wall to an old vault full of chests. 

“—nd I don’t care how long it fucking takes me, or what I have to do to get you, Techno. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I just have on question, Quackity.” Technoblade paused as Quackity asked him to continue.

“Do you think you’re enough, to kill me? Even unarmed, with iron armor?” They both ever so slightly gripped their weapons tighter, stance shifted as they prepared to fight.

“You know what? Let’s fucking find out, you son of a bitch!” Their weapons clashed as they dodged the blow from one another. Quackity delivered each blow with blind determination while Technoblade played defense with each graceful side step. Eventually, Technoblade knocked his pickaxe into his face, Quackity yelping in pain and holding a hand to cover the wound. 

When turning his back to move further down the tunnel, Technoblade risked leaving himself vulnerable to the crazed butcher. Quackity stood despite his injury and tried to attack him from behind.

Y/n took the opportunity to run towards him, axe prepared to strike. Before Quackity could turn to defend himself, y/n swung the axe into his neck. Blood instantly pooled at the cut as he struggled to breathe, and y/n ripped their blade from his flesh. He fell to his knees while grasping helplessly at his wound, choking on his blood before falling to the side. 

While they had a distaste for violence, unlike their brother, y/n couldn’t excuse the attempted murder of their family by any means. 

Technoblade stared in reverence, eyes darting between Quackity’s slump figure and his sibling covered in an excessive amount of blood from the attack. Y/n stepped forward and grabbed a lead from their belt, having previously found it abandoned in the snow. No words were exchanged as they silently pulled Carl through the sewer system, blood casually staining the water as they walked through. Technoblade only spoke once they reach the surface.

“Pog.”

And we'll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

“Are you alright, y/n?”

Broken sobs become shuddered breathes as y/n hears the voice of their late brother. They lifted their eyes from beneath their arms that held their legs together while pushed against the very corner of the room, their current position reminding Ghostbur how small anyone could look when upset. Ghostbur slightly frowned at their lack of response, floating closer to them to observe their tears, lighting the space slightly with a soft glow. 

“What’s wrong?” Despite the innocence behind his echoed voice, y/n couldn’t help the pain from hearing his concern. “Nothing that matters, Ghostbur. Nothing that anyone could fix anyway.”

Ghostbur didn’t like that response, refusing to believe that sadness could exist without a solution to bring an end to despair. He reached into his pocket, hands carefully holding some dye out towards y/n.

Y/n tilted their head in confusion, tears having stopped running but still present. “What is it?”

“It’s blue! Here, here, take some.” Ghostbur placed the colored substance into their cupped palms, explaining its significance with a gentle smile. “See, when someone is very angry or sad, the blue sucks away all your sadness and turns blue! And what you can do, is you can throw the blue away, and that’s all your sadness gone.”

Although strange and futile, y/n couldn’t help the smile form on their face from Ghostbur’s clarification. Ghostbur gasped excessively, causing y/n to chuckle lightly. “It worked! Do you feel better now, y/n? I have more blue if you need as well!” Pulling an incredible amount that began to pile on the floor in front of them, y/n giggled at the sight.

Y/n wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, breathing in and out to recollect themself. “Thank you, Ghostbur. Never change your wonderful self.” The ghost grinned brightly at that.

“Of course, Y/n! Never change your caring self either!”

Oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink

Beneath the skin of our tattoos

“I have to ask, Y/n. Why choose them?” Y/n stood before Dream in their kitchen, the man having had shown up unannounced at their front door and began asking vague questions. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n was unnerved by his demeanor, never having held a conversation, let alone utter a word, with him before despite small, yet silent encounters. They refused to show discomfort, though they didn’t have a mask to cover every waver in their voice or their jaw visibly tighten.

“Oh, you know.”  He turned to walk around the small living space, hand skimming over a chest surface before continuing to speak ominously. “Time and time again, I’ve seen you run and fall to your knees for your so-called family. Yet as time continues on, I’ve seen them give you nothing in return.” He paused and faced them again. “What’s the point of saving something that does nothing but hold you down?”

Though we don't share the same blood

Y/n crossed their arms in defiance, finally understanding his intentions and glowered at his objective.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dream. Even if you tried.” He looked confused at their response, tilting his head slighting while his masked continued the same haunting smile. Y/n smirked.

“Your seen weakness gives me strength. I fight for everything because of them. Your lack of attachment leaves you nothing to gain.” Dream bent forward in mocking interest, though y/n knew better than to give in. “Is that so?”

“You tell me. Who will come running to your aid when your lies eventually catch up, and everyone realizes the things you’ve planned behind their backs?”

“I have my ways. Ways that insure I’ll have people on my side when I need.”

Y/n scowled before stepping forwards, leaning into his face. “Say whatever you need to say to comfort the idea of your downfall. I don’t care about you or your motives, leave my family alone or I will personally see to it you meet your expected end before its fated to happen.” Dream let out an amused breath in response. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise."

You're my brother and I love you that's the truth

[spiderling-space]

Hey so this thought has been on my mind for like ages and I think that you'd be able to write a headcanon about it in a wonderful way, so I'm presenting this idea to you hehe ( I love ur blog so so so much btw!)

So let's say that whatever miracles of seven happened, that Yuu overblots. Being constantly pushed around by other students by being magicless, solving the idiot trio's problems, trying to survive overblots and dealing with Crowley's neglectful ass cheeks sure is not easy. With all the piled and bottled up negative emotions, Yuu like the previous boys, overblots. Yuu wasn't that hard to defeat cuz you know, they're magicless, but the twst boys did struggle and Yuu's quite the challenge too. So what if, after Yuu's overblot, they had a full on mental breakdown. Not like crying mental breakdown, they're full on SCREAMING, their voice are cracking too, and very painful to hear. They started to unconsciously harm themselves so they have to be tied down to prevent to hurt themselves further. How would the dormleaders react to that?

(Sorry for my English and if I ever break a rule, it's OK if you decide to not do this too. Btw I got this idea when I watch ATLA aka Aang the last airbender, for reference of the breakdown of Yuu just search "Azula's breakdown" that practically how their breakdown looked like :D)

I cant write headcanons because you basically wrote everything. I will just make comments and additions to this. first I mention the background, secondly Azula’s breakdown so non ATLA watchers can understand a little and lastly, MC having breakdown like Azula. For the record, I could write about ATLA for pages since it is something I love since 2005. LOL This became a bit meta xd

You can join the discord server here 😉🤣

Firstly, the back ground:

I was 7 years old when ATLA started airing. I’d be excited to get back home to watch ATLA after school. Azula’s breakdown was awful back then when I first watch it as a kid. And of course, when they aired the episodes again and again. I rewatched again because I remembered the show being dope when I was in 12th grade which was stress relief while studying for university exams, and then I rewatched last year and even founded a Zutara server. Now I’m getting back to the point. In the last two rewatching, I saw Azula in a different light and her breakdown at the end of the show was understandable. I can recommend some ATLA meta that you might like. 

Secondly, Azula’s breakdown: 

Azula lost everything. In the flashbacks, you saw she was getting along with Zuko, laughing and playing tag until Ozai’s influence on her grew while Ursa showed more affection towards Zuko since Ozai basically hated Zuko. These two triggered each other and it grew like snowball effect which came to the point that Ozai-Azula and Ursa-Zuko. She didn’t get love from Ozai, she was just a puppet, someone to empower him more, not his daughter meanwhile to Ursa, she was a monster. Azula was 8 years old  Ursa disappeared. Imagine how this would affect the child. After this, she had estranged brother that she was jealous of because of Ursa’s love, a father who manipulated her, and an uncle who was too in pain to do anything and he was more focused on Zuko. She only had Mai and Ty Lee as “friends” but it was toxic and Azula used fear to control them. After Zuko got banished, Mai and Ty Lee went to their own places, leaving Azula alone with Ozai. Just when Zuko got back, she was being like the last times, cruel teasing, Mai and Ty Lee with her. Later, Zuko went away and probably got lectured by Ozai for her lie. Mai and Ty Lee stood against her. In the end, she had no one. Ozai didn’t want her with him either because he only wants power. Being alone drew her to the edge. In the Royal Hair Washing, the girl sje fired had her face. Her self hatred was palpable. She started to reflect this via Ursa, the mother who thought her as monster and didn’t love her like she did Zuko. I believe she would have had breakdown if she actually killed Zuko. At the end, she couldn’t handle it anymore. Being all alone, not being loved, self hatred and finally failing at something which is something she knows Ozai would never tolerate like he did with Zuko. This 14-year-old wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore and had breakdown.

Now last section, MC having breakdown like Azula’s:

Let’s see the things MC went through:

Stripped away from home

Doesn’t have much memory of it

Is thrusted into a world so foreign to them, where everything is foreign to them. There is no familiar thing that can make them recall home or feel at home

Is forced to study things that they have no prior info where the others have prior info and they are expected to ace the tests. This puts on pressure on regular students, can’t imagine the pressure they would feel since they barely understand the magic.

Is treated like trash by everyone at least once. From the first moment they came to Twisted Wonderland, they were like dirtbag. Dire gave them a house where they could get Hepatitis A to C, tetanus, hypothermia and any other disease. They have lived in that state for months and the house barely got fixed by the end of exams. They got belittled or used by almost all characters at least once. Examples: Vil calling them nobody; Azul trying to take the only thing they have from them, the dorm; Riddle calling them uneducated because not having magical parents; Leona acting like they are a toy in E2; Jamil literally manipulating their choice; sometimes NPC characters talked; Cater making them do his work etc.

They are given more than a person should handle. They are not certificated psychologist, they aren’t superhuman, they don’t have super healing... They are just human but has to fight enemies than can easily kill them if it were not the magic users around them. They are given the task of dealing with the emotional breakdown of the other people.

All of these are building up more and more. Maybe they started to get along with people after the belittlement and being used but every new character does this. At one point, it will be too much and they will think “they are only nice to me because I did a favor to them. If not for that, they wouldn’t be nice to me” which would lead to self doubt. When one starts doubting themselves, everything else starts to go down. Also, new characters treating them that way adds salt to the wound.

MC isn’t a professional psychologist. They can’t handle other people’s issues without taking a toll at themselves. They don’t even catch a break between everything.

Dire is deliberately keeping them away from home as they all do the errands he say. To him, what MC wants doesn’t matter much. The game doesn’t show but if MC has family and friends or pets, you can’t tell me that they wouldn’t miss them once or see, hug them or know their state, alive-dead, healthy-sick etc. 

Lastly not being invincible. The end of Episode 5 shows this well. They couldn’t stand against Grim who isn’t as powerful as the other overblot characters. They are mortal who can get hurt easily.

Now all these build up meanwhile we don’t see an MC centered chapter, how they are etc. It’s all about the others. Maybe there were a few chapters asking if MC is okay after everything but it feels like it is in the second plan. 

Everything that I mentioned can lead to a breakdown like Azula’s. Everything is just too much to handle and they don’t talk with a professional about it. When they finally let out everything, it feels much better, screaming out their lungs, lashing out like all of them did. They are finally letting out all of their emotions, crying and screaming; yet still feels better than bottling everything up. They think maybe that’s how overblot characters felt.

All in all, everyone in NRC needs a counselor.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 2

WC: 1728

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: mentions of sexual themes, alcohol consumption, past relationships

🧠

You and Laszlo had easily fallen back in your work routine during the first week back. His course load was almost identical to that of the previous semester, and so he didn't mandate that you come to classes like he had during the fall. Even so, you insisted on attending like usual.

Taking your seat at the back of the lecture hall you watched as he moved around the front while he spoke. You were supposed to be sorting through the information cards the students had filled out. Not much was actually getting done, as you were highly distracted. His right hand typically found home in his trouser pocket so as not to draw attention. But his left? You licked your lips. Of course you loved both of his hands, but with his favoring the left side you developed a certain affinity for the limb. Oh what his hand was capable of, you reminisced.

Your sigh must have been louder than you anticipated, as Laszlo’s eyes snapped in your direction. “Perhaps if you are bored you should keep your noises of displeasure to yourself,” he said with a quirk of his brow. His face held a look of annoyance, but his eyes told you otherwise. He knew exactly what you were thinking about based on the sound you made and it amused him to no end. You knew he meant nothing by the harsh statement. He did so to maintain his staunch reputation in front of the class.

Biting your lip you issued a “sorry, professor.” Even from across the room you could see the brief flicker of heat in his eyes at your 'apology'. To everyone else the encounter would probably leave them shitting themselves, but you knew better. Even a small success such as this was to be celebrated in your mind.

You had been hoping that you could push Laszlo to be a bit rougher with you sometimes. He would often restrain himself when you were intimate, but you had an inkling that underneath he was just itching to let go. By no means were you ever left unsatisfied, he made damn sure of that. You wanted to kick things up a notch; you wanted to see what he was capable of.

He cleared his throat. Picking up where he left off, he began “as you can see, within psychology there is no single truth. No one theory that can fully or definitively explain who we are, why we are, or what becomes of us. That is why we must always ask of ourselves the purpose of our nature and our choices. This term will be a glimpse of seeking answers to our questions. In the meantime - you have a quiz on Monday for the parts of the brain and their functions. Do not be late or come with excuses, I do not give makeups often, if ever. Have a nice weekend.”

With that the young underclassmen all shuffled out to go spend their weekend most likely partying, rather than studying. You really couldn’t blame them, as this section of Introductory Psychology was in the late afternoon. As an undergrad you would have probably done the same on a Friday night.

Both you and Laszlo packed up your things from your respective areas of the room. Once the last student was gone he called out to you. “Sara and John want to meet up this evening, would you like to accompany them or do you have plans?”

“Will you be there too, or are you too busy with paperwork and stuff?” He had been complaining of having a list to work through this week with some new documentation requirement the university put out on the professors. You trek down the stairs to meet him by the front desk.

“I think it would be odd of me to invite you out in the event that I would not be there myself,” he quips back. His hand comes to rest on your side.

You hum in response. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

He chuckles at you, “you’ve spent every day with me.”

“You know what I mean.” Peering around to ensure no one was present, you lean up to give him a quick kiss. “What time do they want us there?”

He checks his phone for the text from John. “In half an hour.”

“Then we better get going before he hogs all the pretzels,” you crack.

The two of you made your way from the university to the old pub a few blocks down the road. Students didn’t come here often, as it was geared towards the older and less rowdy crowd. It was perfect for the four of you though. You had even gotten on with the owner, Cyrus, and his niece Joanna, who often worked the bar.

You sat in the booth next to Laszlo; Sara and John opposite you. The first 45 minutes or so were spent going over the events of the past week back. Eventually, the conversation slowed.

“I think I should get us another round. What do you say?” Sara asked the table. You slid out from your side offering to give her a hand with collecting the new beverages. Laszlo watched as you walked alongside her to the bar, laughing at something Cyrus had said to you. You always looked so beautiful when you were laughing.

“So…” John began, getting his attention. Laszlo turned to face his friend. “I heard a rumor.”

“You know I don’t put credence into such things, out with it John.” Clearly whatever he wanted to discuss he didn’t wish to say in front of your presence. Despite his words Laszlo did have some trepidation about the upcoming conversation. Could it be about you? Maybe you two weren’t being delicate enough with keeping the relationship subtle?

John looks over to the bar where you and Sara are still procuring the drinks. “Karen is in town.”

He relaxed at the turn of events. “Ah, yes. She is guest lecturing at the university while she conducts research of some kind in the city.” Laszlo is matter-of-fact in his response.

John studies him for a minute. He looks concerned. “It’s been what, four years since you last saw her? Or have you seen her yet?”

“I have not. Why do you ask?” He brings the near empty glass to his lips to take a sip of the harsh liquid.

“Well, Laszlo, I just mean that you two were serious for a long time before you moved out here. In fact I had figured you would settle down with her. You left her in Austria to come here, after all,” he explains quietly.

Laszlo cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see how that would be a concern. The dissolution of our relationship was mutual - she stayed in Vienna; I came to New York. We did not want the strain of attempting something long distance and we both came to the same conclusion on the matter. And it has been four years, John, as you so kindly reminded me. I have moved on and I am quite content now.” His tone was nonchalant.

He is happy. You were vibrant, and thoughtful, and he couldn’t say that he had felt this lighthearted in years. His years with Karen were wonderful, but in truth they didn’t compare to what he had now with you. For once he felt hopeful for what the future with you could bring. It wasn’t as strong a consideration with Karen.

John holds up his hands as if to defend his words. “I’m glad for that, truly. She’s wonderful for you and I can see that. I just worry that Karen’s presence might cause a resurgence of emotions or whatnot with you. Sara and I would hate to see things fall apart for the two of you after everything,” he gestures towards where you stand with her. “Are you going to tell her about Karen?”

Laszlo nods in understanding. “I appreciate the concern, John. But I assure you, I view Karen strictly in professional terms now. I look forward to hearing about her studies here as they could be illuminating for my courses.” He sees movement from you and Sara as you begin your return. “I do not see myself withholding information regarding my past with Karen, but I don’t know that I find it necessary to bring it up as of yet.” John’s nod is faint, as though he disagrees but isn't willing to say so. The conversation is cut short by you setting drinks on the table.

You all stay another hour at the bar. Laszlo’s thigh rests against you, his right hand atop your own leg. Occasionally you can feel the way his thumb lightly strokes you through your jeans. He makes it hard to pay attention to what Sara is saying to the group; little bolts of lightning shoot up your leg and to your core. When your legs clench Laszlo doesn’t seem to notice.

Aside from the growing arousal within you, the soft clink of the index finger of his left hand grabs your attention. A steady tap tap tap as he hits the side of his whisky glass. The movement brings you back to your thoughts during his lecture earlier, how the thick digits with their calloused tips drive you absolutely mad when they brush against your skin. You swallow.

This time Laszlo is aware of your state. His eyes shift to you from where he sits to your left. The two of you hadn’t had time or energy to be intimate since that night he took you to Delmonicos. The lack has taken its toll as you give him that look.

Abruptly Laszlo faces the others. “I would hate to cut our evening short, but I have more paperwork to fill out by Monday for the Dean. I would rather get it done so that I may enjoy my weekend. John, Sara.” He nods his farewell as he nudges for you to move out of the booth. You hold back your giggle at his insistent need to get home.

John looks slightly confused with the suddenness of your departure. A look of understanding comes over him with a whisper from a smirking Sara. With a wave the two of you leave into the cold January night.

Tag list

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[starbornsinger]

Nepenthe

Azriel x Gwyn one-shot (light angst, fluff)

Warning: ⚠️ ACOSF spoilers, mentions of abuse ⚠️

The day was not turning out as Azriel had originally anticipated. That much, at least, he had gathered. Now today wasn't like other unanticipated, unwelcome distractions. Those were the kinds he dreaded— days where he would return to the townhouse soaked in blood he wasn't sure belonged to him.

Those days haunted him on ones like this.

Yes, today was a different kind of unexpected. Rhysand had decidedly summoned him for lunch in his office, to discuss politics and prisoners and what color he and Feyre would paint the baby's room. It went in and out of Azriel's mind. Most things did, these days. The time after the war, after spending months trying to get those goddamn Illyrians back in line, it was taking its toll on him. His shadows, which curled behind his ears like tufts of dark hair, now seemed to swallow Azriel’s face whole, clenching around his body with an armored ferocity Rhysand was accustomed to.

Maybe, Azriel told himself, that was why he called him here. To see what he was up to. How he was doing. It annoyed him, when Rhys fluttered around him like a concerned mother hen, desperate to understand his feelings and thoughts.

He doubted he deserved to be cared for like that.

And maybe, he thought with a wry snort, it was why he had sent him on such a meaningless errand. A distraction, one he merely welcomed with indifference.

"There's a book," Rhys had drawled, leaning back in the chair pushed out from his onyx desk. Behind him, the portrait of his Mate seemed to glimmer with curiosity. "In the library beneath the House of Wind. A history book, about the royal bloodline. Feyre is making a family tree, and wishes to learn more about my ancestors. If you don't mind, I'd like you to retrieve it for me."

As though Azriel had nothing better to do. Truthfully, he didn't. But still he had replied slowly, his voice tight, "Can't you get it yourself? Or send Cass?" Rhysand only barked a laugh. When it came to his brother, Azriel knew he would do anything he asked. For his brother, he would have jumped into the Sidra if he had asked. It was beyond the duty to the High Lord with which Azriel regarded Rhysand; but that didn't mean he wouldn't give him grief for such a stupid task.

"No, shadowsinger," he had purred in reply, mouth stretching into a taunting grin. "I cannot. I'm far too busy looking at paint samples with my Mate. And besides, the priestesses like you best, don't they?" Rhys barked a laugh. Azriel opened his mouth to retort, to defend the way his shadows flinched, but he set his jaw tightly. The shadowsinger gave a subtle nod, then rose from his seat. A soft brushing of knuckles against his stony mental shields had him pausing in the doorway.

You can hide it, Rhys had said. You can hide many things from us. But you can't hide from me. You need this today.

Hide it, indeed.

Azriel huffed as he flew, wings beating against the cool summer breeze that rippled across his dark head. He needed to stretch his wings, to clear his head and focus on the warmth beating down on his back. The sun, hanging lazily in the afternoon sky, illuminated the blues and reds of his wings and cast his shadow over Velaris as he made his way to the library. He told himself he had only wanted to get it over with, and that was why he was moving so quickly, darting across the sky. That he wanted to go back to the townhouse and sulk. But Mother damn him, he couldn't stop that swell in his chest as he came nearer and nearer. That swell was akin to dying a joyous and euphoric death— there was no other way Azriel could accurately describe it. His heart pounded in anticipation at what he knew lay beyond those ancient doors.

Her.

Azriel had become accustomed to Gwyneth Berdara’s strange beauty and equally strange humour during their training; had grown to like her friendly nature and competitive, passionate spirit. If anything, he admired her. He might have even feared her. That cheerful female with copper hair that shined in the light of the sun and moon, both of which seemed to love her. They had spent months, moving side-by-side, grinning at each other across the ring while trying to slash the other with a sword.

Their encounters outside of training were brief, and conversations short. He supposed he wasn't one for talking, and allowed her to lead them in a dialogue. But as time went on, Azriel found the little smiles on her rosy lips now reflected on his, and the bright laughter that filled his ears now echoed softly in his own throat. With her, he felt his emotions bob to the surface, and for once, he didn't stop them.

From the moment he'd met Gwyn, she'd held Azriel's attention with a preternatural ability, and had caught him off guard more times than he'd like to admit. The shadowsinger, spymaster, king of shadows— taken by surprise by a young priestess.

His lips turned upward at the thought of her.

᯽

Azriel landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, his wings snapping behind him as he eased into a walk. His descent down the swirling staircase to the library was a silent one. Azriel had been to this athenaeum hundreds of times, far more than he could count, but it had never gotten easier.

The pain and sorrow he felt in the priestesses' sanctuary was suffocating, at times. Not because he had felt the same anguish himself, but because he had rescued many of them from it. Because the shadowsinger had seen the horrors they'd escaped from, and faltered, unknowing of what to say or do to offer comfort.

He remembered rescuing Gwyn. Azriel was the first of the Inner Circle to arrive. He remembered dragging his blade across the throat of the Hybern general who thought he had a claim to Gwyn, who thought he was worthy of even gracing her presence. His scarred hands shook even now with fury, fury and rage towards the soldiers who had defiled her home and her body.

Azriel knew though, it was nothing compared to the pain she must have felt. He couldn't bring himself to think of it. Every inch of him now trembled with that dark rage, the joy now vanished without a trace, and he clenched his fists— the fists of a killer, he thought bitterly. Distraction was a fruitless effort. They had hurt her, and he had made them pay with their lives.

He only wished that killing them might have eased her mind, as he hoped to. It didn't. Even now, he found himself staring at the wall late at night, wondering if those mental scars were healing.

Or if they were just as ugly and unavoidable as the ones he bore on his skin.

Melancholy filled him as he walked further into the forlorn depths of the ancient library. He seemed to disappear into it, willing the shadows nearby to whisk him away into oblivion.

᯽

The hymn sung during today’s dawn service had yet to leave Gwyn's mind. It was a soft, gentle song, full of joy and sorrow and hope— the beacon she needed today. When she had woken this morning, the heaviness of her heart had weighed on her with a particular viciousness. It had been difficult to rise, to dress in her familiar blue robes and run a brush through her tangles of copper hair.

But she had done it. A small victory. And she had dragged herself to morning service, as she did every day. It had taken her many months to work up the courage to attend after arriving initially. She couldn't bring herself to fill her heart with music, with love. Not when it was so ravaged by hate. Gwyn didn't know if she deserved to feel joy like that. But when she was through with feeling sorry for herself, through with feeling such overwhelming shame, she dragged herself to that first service and never looked back.

Now, she led the songs with a fervor she hadn't felt in the 2 years since Sangravah. Now, she was bursting with life. With passion. Although the shame had never quite left her, she was happier. Lighter. Gwyn was healing, and happy to do so.

Gwyn had suggested the priestesses sing an older selection of music today, one that cried love in the rawest of forms. It was in a language long forgotten, and the words that had been lost were replaced by lyrics in the common tongue. The song carried on long after the service had ended, caressing the dark confines of her mind and coaxing her out of her stupor.

Perhaps, she thought to herself with a small smile, it was magic. To her, music was magic.

And so Gwyn carried on with her day, pushing the cart that only seemed to get heavier and heavier as the hours flew by. She nodded to priestesses that passed by, and offered small smiles to those she recognized the scents of. The library was a quiet existence, save for the occasional conversation; so she filled the silence, humming and singing and tapping her fingers as she worked.

᯽

It was that soft singing that caught Azriel's attention as he stood before Clotho, his hands resting on the desk politely. Perhaps a reminder to those watching that he too, was damaged. A silent request to be accepted into their sacred space. He had asked politely about the book Rhysand had requested, and a silent prodding about the possibility of him seeking it out. With a shallow nod, Clotho permitted it, and waved a gnarled hand of dismission. She too, seemed to perk up at that singing, but merely shrugged when Az raised a brow. He studied her for a moment, before nodding and turning away. Clotho returned to her work without another word, but a secret smile ghosted her lips.

A few priestesses had indeed watched from afar, but quickly returned to their work as he approached the endless rows of books. Level Four, Section 3A, he repeated over and over. Level Four, Section 3A. Curiously, Azriel glanced over at the group of priestesses who now spoke quietly, and offered a rare, gentle smile to the group before descending down the spiral ramp to the next level.

Still that singing seemed to follow him, echoing off the stone walls.

It was, in simplest terms, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His shadows harmonized with the gorgeous melody, a reverence of the Mother like no other. The song called to Azriel with an intensity that made his blood tremble, and pulled him until his feet seemed to move on their own, down and down and down into those depths of darkness and light and beauty. He picked up speed, his heartbeat erratic as his mind echoed with that damn music.

When he reached the fourth level, he turned in the direction Section 3A, looking up at a nearby sign. But when he took the first step, his shadows nipped at him, grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him in the opposite direction. Come, they whispered. Find her.

Azriel hesitated for a breath, glancing back at the sign, then obliged. He was walking blind, betraying every battle instinct that had drilled into him. Ignoring them, he let his shadows guide him with a racing heart, until he found the source.

Mere feet away, there she stood, her straight copper hair tied back by a simple blue ribbon, the same sapphire shade as his siphons. A few stray wisps of red were tucked behind her delicately pointed ears. His shadows wanted to curl around those pretty ears, to run their dark fingers through the silky strands of her perfect hair, but he quickly tugged on their leash before they could slip away from him. Gwyn's lips moved gently, her voice vibrating with a clarity he wasn't quite sure was possible for Fae— but she wasn't entirely Fae, was she?

This damned female would surely be the end of him.

He felt his knees wobble, as her voice waltzed towards him on a star-studded breeze. Azriel had heard beautiful singing before— had been to the theatre several times with Rhysand and the Inner Circle, had tapped his foot to the sound of street performers on the cobblestone pathways of Velaris. But this was nothing like them. She was casual, examining the spines of books and then tucking them into spots on the shelves, rearranging them until she was satisfied. Her musical prowess was a stark contrast to the sight of her; Mother, just seeing her standing there was a perfect melody that made his blood sang. The words that left her lips though, were something wholly magical.

Gwyn was confident in her singing, confident enough to do so in a near silent library where all listened and admired her talent. When Gwyneth Berdara sang, the troubles of the priestesses weren't simply forgotten. Instead, they became tangible, and beautiful, and raw. They became a song, a flawless execution of emotion, a dance of mourning and a waltz of life , all at once. It was a release; a rebirth. It was an almost laughably common occurrence for females to cry tears of relief during her performances, but one that gave Gwyn a swelling sense of pride.

In her songs, there was an honesty that only Mor had ever shown; it was all swirling together like she herself was Cauldron-blessed and the Mother was pouring Gwyn's soul into the world. Time had frozen for— well, Azriel wasn't sure for how long. The faelights flickered around them, two beings lost in the eternity of the library, one seemingly unaware of the other.

If Azriel hadn't known better, he might have admitted how much his heart had calmed. How his chest had warmed, and the heavy weight he had been feeling on his shoulders had slowly but surely vanished. But he dare not say a word, and instead, savored the moment in contented silence.

His shadows, on the other hand, were perfectly content to dance and harmonize alongside her. They hugged the shadow cast at her feet, their misty forms swaying between them. Azriel clenched his fist, and swallowed. Stop it, he tried to command them. And of course, they ignored him wholly. Gwyn's song came to a close, and she hummed the tune to herself as she pushed the cart a bit further down the aisle. The shadows followed, and Azriel took a silent step forward, beckoning them. You're supposed to listen me, you know. They laughed at him in reply.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop, shadowsinger?"

Azriel's heart stopped.

᯽

Gwyn had known Azriel was near the moment he had stepped foot into the library. She wasn't sure how or why, but something in her seemed to suddenly resonate— a feeling ringing inside her that she couldn't quite explain, and only seemed to grow louder and more intense.

Until it was behind her, and she swore she felt the most tender of brushes against her ear, tucking her hair back. A bit of darkness flickered in and out of the corner of her eye, and a smile formed on her lips. Gwyn welcomed his shadows, let them settle at her feet and dance to her song. She had always liked them, anyway. She had been humming throughout the day, but when she had felt that warmth in her blood, it was as though the voice of the Mother had whispered into the curve of her ear: Sing.

So she did.

Gwyn had heard Azriel's soft footsteps as they approached the rows of shelves on Level Four. It wasn't particularly hard to identify them; no other males outside of the Inner Circle were permitted to visit, and no other was as subtle about his movements as the shadowsinger was. Months of training and sparring had accustomed her to his preternatural stillness. Yes, Gwyn assured herself, she had become very familiar with him. Had deduced that it must be him. Nothing more than that.

She dare not admit that she would have felt him and his shadows even if she were blind and deaf.

So finally, Gwyn spoke. Her lips curled into a teasing smile, and she turned to face Azriel fully. And of course, there he was, standing at the end of the aisle as she had expected. What she hadn't expected however, was that his eyes would be as wide and mouth hanging open as it was. Gwyn blinked, the only indicator of surprise, before she soothed her expression into one of cool teasing. The High Lord's spymaster straightened up as well, setting his jaw tightly. He cast his gaze to the floor.

"Gwyn," was all he said in greeting.

"Azriel." Her teal eyes sparkled, and her freckles seemed to glow like stars in the faelight. "What brings you here? Surely not my singing." A soft laugh.

What he wanted to say was, Yes. It was you. You and that damn gorgeous voice. I couldn't hear anything but you. Couldn't think about anything else. Hell, I forget walking down here.

But instead, he simply answered, "Book."

A pause. Azriel's cheeks flared, and his shadows made to quickly hide his embarrassment. He coughed. "A book. For Rhysand. A— a history book. Clotho directed me to this level."

"Ah," replied Gwyn. There was no hint of judgement in her tone. At least she didn't think he was a moron. His shadows flicked towards her curiously. "I see. And what sort of history book could interest our mighty High Lord?"

Gwyn's grin was unrelenting, but Azriel was far too stiff to even look up at her. He had been caught. The shadowsinger, the fucking spymaster for the Night Court, had been caught red-handed by a young female. Cassian would have guffawed at the sight of him blushing like an idiot.

Gwyn picked up a particularly heavy book, standing on her toes to reach a higher shelf. She strained, but was determined to reach what was too high above her head. Without thinking, Azriel moved. His strides were smooth, powerful even, and he stood beside her. A comfortable distance away, he took hold of the book, and gently pried it from her hand. A silent request. She obliged, releasing her hold as his scarred fingers grazed hers. A tingling sensation crept up her body from that contact, while Az pushed the book into its slot effortlessly. Gwyn still remained on her toes, looking up at him as he seemingly towered over her. Yet, she was not afraid of him. It was impossible to be, not when he was so gentle, and so strong, and had saved her life—

"Family history," he clarified. His voice was a low caress. "For Feyre." Azriel's hand lingered on the shelf high above her for a moment, a finger trailing slowly down the cracked spine of the book. Gwyn's eyes darted from his face to the book, then back to his face. A moment seemed to stretch into a thousand tiny moments that burned into his mind like etchings on a cave: face, so smooth and gentle, yet lively; plush, pink lips that curved upwards, that seemed to have a magnetic pull to his. If he leaned down far enough, his mouth might have met hers. Gods, she was divine. As expected of a priestess, he supposed.

He took in the rest of her face: a strong, stubborn chin, with equally opposing gentle eyes, that flared with surprise once more. He sensed a gradual change in her scent, one he didn't recognize. Gwyn's freckled face flushed pink, and Az worried that he might have overstepped her boundaries.

So he retracted his arm, and took a step back. The heels of Gwyn’s silk-slippered feet lowered to the floor. The male ran a scarred hand through his dark hair, and Gwyn tracked the movement, her eyes catching on every strand and wave of his silken locks. Her face seemed a bit rosier than it had before. He swore silently, worried he had upset her.

"Thank you," Gwyn said rather suddenly, as though snapping out of a daze. The faint blush did not leave her cheeks, though. Her hand drifted to her necklace, fiddling with it and zipping the small flower pendant along the chain. He only stole a glance at her, not wanting to stare too long and make her uncomfortable. But seeing her in that necklace, touching it so affectionately... Az felt his mind ease into a calm. With Gwyn, he felt absolved. Even for just a moment.

"Would you mind helping me? Find the book, I mean." Azriel asked, jerking his chin towards the section. Thinking for a moment, he quickly added, "That is, if you're not too busy."

Gwyn halted, and chewed on her lip. She glanced up at the other floors, as though looking at something in quiet consideration. then returned her gaze to him. There was no way she could say no— not when he made the sorrow in her mind settle. Not when he made her feel so... happy.

"I would love to."

Something about that smile… It was so disarming. He had no defenses, no stealth, no plans for her. Even his shadows, usually astute guard dogs, had rolled over to bear their bellies to her.

They liked her.

He liked her.

A secret, happy possibility was tucked away in the back of his mind.

Gwyn’s heart skipped a beat, as though she was wondering the same thing.

What they could be.

“Lead the way, Berdara.” He made a lazy motion with his hand, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards. He sketched a bow, like a true courtly gentleman.

She returned the smile, her teal eyes sparkling with a new feeling, and took his arm. "Gladly."

The touch sent his heart soaring.

nepenthe (noun)— something that makes you forget grief or suffering.

[the-bau-quinjet]

And I confess, babe

Part 6 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Feelings are confessed... sort of.

Warnings: none 

Word count: ~2400

“There’s something I haven’t been completely honest about.” You blurted out taking a break from cleaning. It had been a few months since Halloween, and you and Spencer have hung out whenever possible, but never calling anything a date. You had both gotten pretty busy with the holidays, but still made time. He is basically your best friend, but you want more than that. You just aren’t sure he feels the same way. 

Spencer turned from where he was reading on the couch immediately mirroring the nervous expression he could see on your face. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what friends are for.” Ugh, friends. This is so confusing. As he walked up to you, you thought you noticed a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but you brush it off. You need to focus.

You have never told any of your friends about this. It’s almost like you were living two lives and all the sudden you wanted them to merge. Well, really you just wanted an excuse to sing love songs to the man standing in front of you without completely freaking him out. “You know how much I love Taylor Swift, right?” You could see the confusion growing on his face 

“Um, yeah. That’s not exactly a secret…” he chuckles as he searches for the truth in your eyes. 

“Well, um... I kind of... well… it’s not really a big deal, but I… you see…”

 “Y/N, just tell me. I promise not to freak out.” He interrupted, the confusion evident on his face.

“Okay, just… I’m inaTaylorSwiftcoverband…” You blurt, the words rushing from your mouth. You cover your face with your hands. Of course, boy genius understood the mess of a sentence you just said, realization slowly dawning on him.

 “Y/N, why were you so nervous to tell me?” He sounded shocked. “You know I would support you no matter what. When’s your next show? I would love to go see you perform.” The sincerity in his voice made tears well up in your eyes. 

You rushed to hug him as you said “I don’t know why I was so nervous. I guess people can be really harsh when you are a Taylor Swift fan. Nobody takes you seriously, ya know? I started the band because her music made me better at conveying my emotions. It was actually a kind of therapy for me at first, but then I fell in love with performing. I actually wanted to tell you so I could invite you, and the rest of the team, to my next show. It’s Saturday night.”

 He ran his hands up and down your back before pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I will be there.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“Yay!” You were practically jumping with joy that the conversation went well. It felt kind of stupid to be so worried over other people’s perception of your music interests, but you’ve always been self-conscious of being the “weird” girl. It made even the smallest decision so hard for you. “I want you to invite the rest of the team, but keep it a surprise. I haven’t told Penelope, and I’ve known her 2 years longer than you.” He laughed as you realized how comfortable you must have felt with Spencer to be inviting him and his friends to see you perform. Usually the only way you made it through was knowing there was nobody in the audience that would recognize you enough to make fun of you. But, it was time for a change. You have always been proud of your accomplishments, and the people you called your friends should be a part of that.

 “You should know there’s always a theme to the show. I like to tell a story with her songs, pulling from all the albums helps make it more cohesive.” You wanted him to be a little bit prepared for what you had planned. 

“What’s the story for this show?” Spencer asked, curiosity brewing in his mind. 

“Well Doc, I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.” Spencer kept pestering you to find out the theme, but you refused to tell him. Finally, he returned to reading as you cleaned the rest of your apartment.

--

 Saturday came much faster than you were expecting. The nerves you felt kept growing as you tried to finalize the set list you would be performing in just a few hours. The stories you usually tell don’t normally rely so heavily on your own life experiences. But, that’s why you fell in love with Taylor’s music in the first place. The songs are so relatable. It’s incredible how well she can convey emotions and stories with her lyrics. Plus, this is your chance to tell Spencer how you feel without having too much pressure. If he doesn’t say anything about the obvious theme, you could just pretend you made up the story for the audience. It would be fine. No pressure at all.

 The hours until your show drifted away as you got ready and arrived at the venue. You were actually playing in an auditorium instead of a bar for the first time in a few months. The night had been heavily marketed for couples since Valentine’s day is next week, but you knew your friends would all be there to support you. Going over the set list with the band, they knew exactly what mood you were going for. It was clear there were three sections to the night: 1) the break up, drawing heavily on your experience with Drew, 2) moving on from the failed relationship as you form a new crush, possibly on an incredibly hot doctor, and 3) where you wanted this new relationship to go. That storyline is what made the marketing so good. Couples could come and just be in love, relating the music to their own lives. Plus, people were itching for something to do since no real artists were touring in DC right now.

 You glance out at the audience as the lights flicker, indicating only a few minutes until show time. You find Spencer and the rest of the crew, barring Hotch and Rossi, easily as you put them in the front row. You wanted to be able to see their faces, or completely look over their heads. It all depends on the expression of the one and only Spencer Reid.

 “Hello, and welcome to the show!” You try to hide the nerves. You’ve done this plenty of times, but knowing who is in the audience is taking a toll. “In case you didn’t know, with every show I do, I try to tell a story. Usually, it is based on a movie or a book, but today I am trying something a little bit new. No book, no movie, just a story. It’s got three parts to it. Part one sucks.” You laugh along with the audience. “It’s about a breakup and learning to move on. So let’s get started!”

 You immediately jump into the first song Babe. Technically it features Taylor Swift, but she wrote it so it counts. Plus, it is the perfect song to describe your feelings to finding Drew cheating on you, and she did write it.

 This is the last time I’ll ever call you Babe.

 “Now, I know how hard it can be to get over someone who you’ve been with a long time. Especially when combined with the pain of them cheating on you. This next song describes that mentality of recognizing that someone won’t change because you want them to. Sometimes, the best thing to do is cry and scream and move on.” The instrumental to You’re Not Sorry begins to play as you calm you’re nerves.

 This is the last straw. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. And you can tell me that you’re sorry, but I don’t believe you baby like I did before. You’re not sorry. No, no, no no.

 “I know, I know. No more sad songs! After you break up with someone, it can be pretty hard to not miss what you had. But eventually, you’ll get to a point where when they call you in the middle of the night, all you have to say is We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Like ever.”

 You make it through the next song without a hitch. The crowd is clearly enjoying the show, which is actually helping with your nerves. You’ve glanced at your friends a few times, but nothing that lingers. You’re not quite mentally prepared to look at Spencer yet.

 “With every breakup, there is some amount of time afterward where you can’t help but think about them. No matter how badly it ended, there is at least a day. It could slowly fade out or it could just disappear one day, like magic. Either way, this song is how I personally feel once that window of time ends.”

 I forgot that you existed. It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it‘s just indifference.

 This song really helped turn the mood around. Everybody is dancing and singing, clearly enjoying themselves. As the song ends, your nerves return a bit. This is the scary part.

 “And with that, we move on to part 2! As the saying goes, the best way to get over him is to get under someone else. Well, that’s not exactly where this is going, but it follows the same general logic.” The instrumental to Enchanted has already started as you finish the intro “Meeting someone who helps take your mind off the bad by making new memories.”

 All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you. This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

 This is the first song you are singing directly to Spencer, even if you can’t even look at him. You glance at every other member of the BAU, but you just can’t bring yourself to admit it to him. Not yet.

 Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

 You can feel the sting in your throat that comes from thinking of Spencer being with someone else, finally making you look at him. He seems happy. He’s not dancing as much as everyone else, but he is swaying. You count it as a win.

 “Now, I’m not saying the only way to get over a breakup is a new relationship. Sometimes, you just need a friend.” You clear your throat to go right into the next song.

 Wanna hang out? Yeah, sounds like fun. Video games, you pass me a note. Sleeping in tents. It’s nice to have a friend.

 This is where it’s supposed to be obvious who you are singing to. None of your newly formed friends really know the extent of your relationship with Spencer. But, you’ve convinced him to try a lot of new things. It started small, with hiking, but eventually you got him to agree to a short camping trip over a long weekend. It was freezing since it was November, but you just cuddled together around the fire. That is what makes this so nerve wracking. You are terrified of messing up your friendship.

 “Friends are the best resource post breakup. They always know how to put a smile on my face, no matter what I’m upset about. You could go so far as to say I’m Only Me When I’m With You.” You laugh at the corny joke, knowing that’s the next song you’re singing. “To be completely honest, this is kind of a story of the past few months of my life. I had a pretty bad breakup, but I met some new friends who really helped me through it. It’s nice to be completely honest about yourself with someone else.”

 I don’t try to hide my tears, my secrets, or my deepest fears. And through it all, nobody gets me like you do.

 “Now, we move onto the third and final part of the show. We’ve covered the past and the present, so all that’s left is the future! The future is unknown, which is kinda of scary when you think about it. So, it can really help to have someone who makes you feel Fearless.” So many lyrics make you want to stare at Spencer.

 I wanna ask you dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

-

Run your hands through your hair, absentmindedly making me want you.

-

And I don’t know why, but with you I’d dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless.

-

You’ve decided against looking at Spencer and the rest of the profilers. If you make eye contact you know they would 100% be able to see right through you. Just two more songs to get through. You don’t even pause to talk before the next song is playing.

 Cause all I know is you said, “Hello” and your eyes look like coming home.

 You’ve spent so long thinking about Spencer and his perfect freaking eyes that you subconsciously glance at him right then. The second you realize, you look away again, missing the look of complete adoration on his face.

 And meet me there tonight and let me know that it’s not all in my mind.

 “Alrighty folks, I’ve got one more song for you. You probably could’ve guessed it by now, part 3 is about a future relationship, one I’m not currently in. But that’s the thing about the future, you never really know what it holds.” This is where shit goes a little bit sideways. You didn’t plan on changing the lyrics. Most of the profilers seem to miss it, not recognizing that you switched one very crucial word in the song. The one profiler that notices the mistake has spent the last four months listening to every Taylor Swift song ever written because he’s spent so much time with you, and you are always listening to something.

 Dark jeans and your converse, look at you. Oh damn, never seen that color blue.

 Oh damn is right. You somehow manage to make it through the rest of the song, but now Spencer knows you were singing to him. You can’t decide if you’re glad it’s out there or if you are going to puke the second you run off stage.

 “Delicate is about the beginnings of a romance. It’s that point where you are scared any sudden movements will shatter everything you’ve built so far.” You take one final deep breathe. “It’s about admitting your feelings because you can’t move forward without taking the next step. That’s what the future is all about. Thank you all for coming, goodnight!” And with that, you left.

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