#i’d post pictures except i’m terrified to post anything that has any information on what my house looks like and any pictures where i’m

[gg-is-a-loser]

darkstalker costume is complete.. sniles sneetly…..

[wizkiddx]

worst case scenario part 3

umm so, never ever intended it to be this long but here we are. again this is v dark so please please read the warning!! also [and obvs] this is very medically inaccurate and just a work of my head aha

[part 1] [part 2]

warning: mentions of death / hospital / mentions of childhood abandonment too- please don't read if this could affect you <3

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His heart was thundering in his chest, so much so it drowned out all other sounds making all the doctors words fade into the background. Conciously, he really was trying to listen to what the doctor was saying; consciously he knew she was trying to prepare him to see Y/n; consciously he knew she knew he wasn’t okay. But really? It didn’t matter, and as they drew closer to his fiancé Tom felt an urgent sense of relief purely know she was there. She was there and she wasn’t dead…yet. 

Only two people were allowed to go up, just because the nature of the ward - everything was meticulously controlled, including the comings and goings of visitors. If you’ve never been in an ICU it’s a pretty hard environment to describe. Really, it’s just another hospital ward, with capacity of about 20 beds. Each bed has much more equipment surrounding that the average and a nurse is stationed per patient, monitoring every possible variable that the machienes are measuring, so any trend (either positive or negative) can be identified at the earliest point. Though in everyones head, it seems as though ICU is a common place ending up for some unfortunate sod when something bad happens, it’s actually really rare for someone to be so ill and dependant on medicine to maintain normal body functioning. Only the most severe trauma, infection of the most dangerous microorganism, surgery of such high stakes normally make an appearance on the ward. And ,on average, between 8-20% patients that are admitted to an ICU never make it out. 

And those grim figures were unignorable to anyone. As soon as you walk through the doors, the atmosphere is intense and ineffable. It’s not spoken, but is so incredibly morbid it makes anyone shiver. 

Dom felt this, squeezing his sons shoulder as he followed Tom and the doctor, just a pace or so behind them. Having offered to go with Tom, whilst Harrison took Nikki to see the baby, Dom was now feeling just as clueless as his son did. Except he was actually listening to what the doctor was trying to warn them about and it scared him. The three, made it to the door and with a swipe of her ID card the doctor admitted the Holland men in. Gratefully, none of the staff took any notice of who was walking in, they were much too busy for that - Dom was incredibly relieved, had someone recognised Tom when he was in this state, god knows what would’ve happened.

The doctors pace was with purpose, perhaps so that the two couldn’t spend too long ogling the other patients in the beds - who all looked almost unhuman with the amount of tubes and wires coming out and into them. But then, she slowed up, halting infront of a bay about 5 or 6 down the ward. Spinning on her heel and with a subtle nod to momentarily release the nurse from her post at Y/n’s bedside, to give them a bit of privacy, she looked at the two men. 

“You can touch her, just be gentle with the wires.”

Shellshocked and terrified, Tom was frozen those 2 metres away from the bed barely able to see her face over all the equipment. Yet undoubtedly, it was his finance’s delicate visage lying on the white pillow, with a thick white mouthpiece and tube covering her mouth and stuffed into her nose. Not able to move, both Dom and Dr Goodwell sensitively waited - it was an adjustment to say the least, seeing someone you knew so well look so different. With quiet tears starting to roll down his eyes, Tom eventually started to inch toward the bedside, taking his time to try and absorb everything of this frankly ridiculous situation. He couldn’t get over how, even considering it all, above her nose it just looked like Y/n. Like she was asleep in their bed, eyes closed as if she had once again  fallen asleep infront of a random Netflix movie Tom had bugged her enough to watch in bed. And it was, ever so slightly comforting. That was still her, that was still the love of his life lying there. And she was still alive - which given the last few hours, was enough. 

Reaching the bedside, Tom naturally reached out and stroked the top of her head delicately, pulling into place a few rogue strands that seemed to have a mind of their own - she had always hated when her hair got frizzy. The picture had Tom’s mind casting back to their first holiday, a serene if quick few days in Fiji-  though Y/n didnt know this , that holiday had been one of the most important times in their relationship for Tom. Until then, given the nature of his job, the couple had only ever managed brief periods together. They spent time together as and when they could in between Tom’s busy schedule but it was never as long as they’d like. Somehow though, he’d managed to squeeze a few days away to surprise Y/n with the trip. 

It was everything he’d ever hoped it would be and more. In fact it was then Tom was oh so sure he would be spending the rest of his life with her. This thought crossed his mind on the last morning, when he had for once woken up before Y/n - her head mere cms away from his on the pillow. Just like now, her hair had been all over the place and her sparkling green eyes locked shut. Contrastingly though, in Fiji the sight had made him smile softly; now it just made him cry again. 

“Would you like a minute alone Mr Holland? We will just wait outside?” Not even turning round to properly respond to the doctor, Tom just nodded violently, not taking his eyes off his fiancé - waiting till he heard his Dad and the doctor leave the bay; then the curtains be completely drawn to a close, before he shakily cleared his throat to whisper.

“Hey darling… you um-you’ve scared me shitless today… and… and I’m supposed to be the dramatic one in the relationship.” Chuckling wetly, Tom clasped his other hand in Y/n’s - still mindful of the IV port coming out of the top of her wrist. Not that he was expecting any sort of response, yet the lack of her squeezing his hand back still had his heart sink. “Look I…I love you so bloody much and I really need you to get better okay? You’ve never listened to me before but I really am begging you to now, I just.” Swallowing thickly, he shut his eyes momentarily and delicately rested his forehead on hers - his touch feather light. Just needing to feel her. “I just really need you and I really love you., okay?” 

Unsurprisingly he didn’t get a response. The rhetorical question hung in the air alone, safe the mechanical whir of the ventilator and various chimes of the machines and monitor, till his Dad came in. Grasping and squeezing his shoulder lightly, Dom provided the stimulus for his son to unfold from over the bed, standing upright, as both men just took in the sight of Y/n lying there for a minute or two. 

“I need her Dad. I-I-“

“I know Tom.” Speaking so quietly it was barely audible, Dom’s eventual agreement at what Tom was saying was in a way a relief. Haz and his mum had both either been saying or implying that they would be okay no matter what - which came from a good place but was so infuriating. Because god forbid, if this situation got worse Tom knew it wouldn’t be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. So his Dad’s simple acknowledgment meant a lot, causing Tom to turn round and embrace his slightly shorter father. 

Dr Goodwell silently watched the exchange for a short while and once the men eventually pulled away she stepped forward to give some more information. She went through what all the biggest and scary looking tubes and wires were doing for Y/n, before explaining the next steps. 

“Now as I said before we are sedating her at the moment, while we wait and see if she gets any complications from the surgery that are better treated while she is asleep. By this afternoon we will have a clearer idea and by that point we may choose to withdraw that sedation. It’s important that you are aware though that she might not wakeup immediately. Sometimes some people that have suffered similarly to your fiancé will be unconscious for a while in what I’d presume you’ve heard of as a ‘coma’. Now it’s not as dramatic as you see on TV shows, it’s just Ms Y/l/n’s brain giving her body a chance to recover. It’s often a longer process, which I know is something you don’t want to hear, but I have to be honest.” The doctor was stern but in a softer and from-a-caring-place. “These patients are suggested to possibly recover quicker if they have a steady support network behind them, which it seems like she does. That means that you need to look after yourself so you can help her sir, especially in what could be a long process. It’s not going to be helpful for Yn if you’re killing yourself trying to be here all the time… It seems like Y/n already has quite a big group of you here for her, so please remember you’ve got all of her care team here and everyone else to help you too��.Does that make sense sir?”

“Tom” His Dad, in a gentle but firm warning tone, urged Tom to speak and to listen. Properly listen. 

“Yeh… I-yeh It’s just all a lot right now.”

“Of course… and we promise that if anything changes with her condition, you will be phoned straight away. You are welcome to stay as long as you want - the only rules are two at a time, no flowers, sign in and out and then sanitise your hands pretty excessively. If you need anything, Ms Y/l/n’s nurse will be your first port of call.”

“Thanks for everything” Dom nodded in a gracious manner, which the doctor seemed to massively appreciate - apparently, for the job they do not receiving a hell of a lot of thanks. 

“I’ll pop back in a little bit.”

And for a couple of hours everything everything felt like a bit of an anticlimax, nothing happened, not a lot changed. Just Tom and Dom sat next to Y/n’s bed in silence; Harrison and Nikki downstairs with the baby, till Dom got a phone call from Nikki asking them to meet at the neonatal unit  - which was limited by visitor numbers unlike the ICU. Thinking it’d be simple, the elder man gained Tom’s attention with a call of his name, explaining they should go down to meet up. 

“I’m not going down there.”

“Son, I know you’re worried by Y/n isnt going anywhere right now. The doctors said they’d call you if anything happens.”

“It’s not-“ Tom stopped himself, biting his tongue and looking away from his Dad. “I just don’t want to go down there.” Slowly, Dom was more and more realising Tom’s thought process and honestly… it scared him. In the hopes this was just a big misunderstanding he offered a different option - hoping Tom would equally refuse that. Dom suggested going down to the cafe instead, which most unfortunately Tom agreed to. It wasn’t leaving Y/n that was the issue, it was being near the baby. 

Tom’s daughter. Unnamed and apparently abondoned by both parents. 

Anyhow, Dom resigned to playing into Tom’s choice, perhaps Nikki and Harrison would be able to swing him round, to see sense. It still took Tom getting the nurse to triple check they had his correct number on record , just in case, before Dom could tear him away from the bed. Fortunately the pair found a quiet and secluded corner table, where Tom was still yet to be recognised, while Nikki and Haz found them too. 

What followed was Tom answering all his mum and Harrison’s questions about Y/n’s condition, in a blunt and emotionless manner - without Tom returning fire by asking any questions at all about his beautiful little baby girl. Eventually Nikki braved it, someone had to bring it up. 

“Well it sounds like littles going to change for a while… maybe you should head home for a bit? You’ve been up half the night and you look shattered love. You don’t have to go back to yours… you could stay in your old room for a bit?” Tom being by himself at the moment sounded like the most incredibly stupid idea ever, Nikki was offering it as a choice - when in reality there was only one option.

“Maybe later this evening I will? Just don’t want to leave her alone yet.”

“It’s already 7 love, you’ve not eaten all day, you got to look after yourself too.” Harrison and Dom sat awkwardly while Nikki tried to delicately encourage Tom into what was the only sensible plan, watching him nurse the small hot choclate in both his palms. Time really had lost all meaning at this point, for him it felt both years since he’d first arrived with Y/n and at the same time barely 10 minutes ago. It felt weird. 

“We can take shifts? If-if you want someone with her I mean… I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if it means you head back to your parents.” Harrison really truly didnt mind, in fact he sort of wanted to. He wanted to see Y/n’s face definitely alive, wanted to feel reassured by the monitors. Shockingly, Tom slowly nodded his head, surprising everyone with his lack of argument. None of them could work out whether it was a good thing him not putting up much arguement ; either he was heeding everyones advice of taking care of himself - or he had just given up. Harrison, as much as he didn’t want to, was favouring the latter. 

“Okay” Nikki declared optimistically “So maybe you and Harrison go up so you can say good night to Y/n, then we can all go and pick up the baby?” She opened the plan to the floor, allowing for input but got nothing - except maybe Tom’s jaw unconsciously tensing uncomfortable at the latter part of her statement. Dom noticed. 

Not one noticed but knew what it meant. His son blamed his granddaughter. His son, right now in that moment, hated the unnamed and totally helpless baby girl. 

part 4?

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - ONE

Summary: You arrive at your new home. Steve is a blank canvas.  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female!)reader

Warnings: none (so far)

Note: Had to reupload cause instead of editing I accidentally deleted it.

Raindrops, heavy and loud against the window beside your head, clash against and glide down the glass in messy, squiggly lines. The title of the song playing on the radio, ‘Soft like Rain’, fits the scene almost perfectly. Almost, because the rain that pitter-patters against the fogged-up window isn’t very soft in nature. In fact, the droplets come down so hard they bang against the roof of the car, its sound almost entirely overtaking the mellow tones of jazzy piano and drums in the background. The lines obscure your vision of Times Square, lights from the streets blown out and blurred to look like colorful stars and wicked shapes in the darkness.

I hope I made the right decision.

Your breath further fogs up the glass when you sigh audibly. A pair of dark eyes can be found eyeing you carefully through the rearview mirror when you sink further down into your seat. They offer you a hint of concern, of uncertainty. Nick Fury doesn’t know whether you’ll be okay or not. He can’t tell just yet, but the glimmer of hope he feels inside tugging at his heartstrings motivates him to give you a shot.

“We’re almost there,” his voice is quiet and deep when he speaks for the first time since picking you up from the airport, “just a few more miles.”

Of course I made the right decision. I always do. When have I ever fucked up?

You nod in response without checking to see if he’s looking at you through the mirror again because he undoubtedly is. After all, it’s all he’s been doing for the last hour. If you were to study the look in his eyes or his inner monologue just a little longer, you’d find out he’s scared. Nick Fury is afraid, both of you and for you, and he doesn’t like it because Nick Fury doesn’t get scared. He’s seen so much, experienced so many horrors in his time that he genuinely didn’t think anything could frighten him any more. Past tense, because the you’ve clearly made him change his mind.

This could be the best thing I ever did, or the worst. Can’t wait to find out which one it is. Cap better not fuck this one up.

There are so many questions you want to ask, but the voice in his head is loud in such a confined space, and nothing appropriate comes to mind. All you can pay attention to is the rumbling of the engine and the occasional ambulance rushing by somewhere in the distance. In the meantime, the song on the radio changes and morphs into something that sounds more melancholic.

When the two of you finally pull up to the compound, the rain has mostly stopped. It’s only drizzling now, tiny drops tickle your face while you brush strands of dampened hair from your forehead. A chill runs along your spine when a gust of wind blows through your open jacket, and you immediately zip it up for extra warmth.

You quickly scan the building, breath hitching in your throat when you notice its sheer size. It’s huge, much larger than where you used to reside, and the bright blue Avengers logo on the front causes your heart to beat a little faster. Seeing that logo makes it real, you think. You’re not so sure if this is the right place to be, but you don’t believe you have a better option. Either way, you told yourself you wouldn’t fuck this one up, and you have no intention to break this promise. This is home now, or at least it will be for a little while, and as intimidating as it is, you’ll have to make it work.

You can adapt, you’ve done it before. Hell, you’ve done it more times than you can remember. It’s extremely easy to make the people around you feel at ease in your presence when you can literally read every single thought they’ve ever had.

“I’ve assigned you to our best agent. He’s going to accompany you wherever you go to keep you safe. You cannot, under any circumstance, leave the building without him. You will listen to him and do what he tells you to do because it’s in your best interest. If you need anything, ask him, and he will provide. Do not tell anyone private information. If you need to vent, tell him,” Fury pauses, waits for you to nod, “no phones, no computers and especially no social media allowed under any circumstances. We need to figure out how much they know first. Don’t worry, we got Tony and Banner on that one.”

Did I get it all? I’m getting too old for this shit.

He watches you intently while you have to stop yourself from chuckling, “Got it?”

You nod.

“I need a verbal confirmation,” he grumbles, sounding annoyed by his own protocol.

“Yes,” you mumble against the whistling wind, “I understand.”

“Good. Let’s get moving, then.”

The opulent, open design of the ground floor greets you warmly when you walk in. Your boots, black and caked with mud, make streaks of brown along the white linoleum with each step you take and creak beneath your feet when you force yourself to move slowly forward. Fury watches your gaze flickering across the entrance and motions for you to follow him to the elevators, which you do silently.

A look of disapproval follows when he notices the trail of mud you’re leaving behind, but he doesn’t say anything. It won’t do him any good to verbalize his annoyance, because you’ve already picked up on it. Still, you drag your feet in an attempt to make him think you aren’t listening.

“Gym is in the basement,” he comments after watching you eye all the buttons inside the elevator, “roof is a terrace and pad for the Quinjets. There’s a penthouse underneath you’ll see soon enough.”

You raise a brow, and to your surprise, he chuckles, “Christmas party.”

“All the other floors include a lab, living quarters, conference rooms with workspaces, IT, a weaponry and gear storage. There’s a training room attached to the building that offers simulations. The building has a common kitchen and living room, a game room, a movie theatre and some other crap. Steve will show you when he has time.”

Your voice is dry and hoarse when you speak, “Steve?”

The elevator comes to a halt on the fifth floor, and before Fury has time to reply, the doors open to reveal a tall, blonde man in the opening. His arms, broad and encased in royal blue wool, are crossed over his chest. He has a stern expression on his face and a deep crease in his brow until he sees you and Fury, standing so far apart both of you are nearly hugging the mirrors on the walls. Fury has some of the loudest thoughts you’ve ever heard, and being stuck in a tiny box doesn’t do the volume any favors.

A glimmer of amusement is evident in his light blue eyes when you get out of the elevator. You look awkwardly at Fury, who’s making no move to follow you into the hallway, leaving you standing with one foot in the hall and one still in the elevator.

“Steve,” Fury says with a nod of his head towards the stranger, “is the agent you’re assigned to. He’s the captain of the team. I’d love to stay and chat, but you know how it is. Things to do, people to see… Keep me posted, Cap. I’ll be back soon for updates.”

He nudges you softly until you fully exit the elevator, and wastes no time pressing the button that will lead him back down to the ground floor. The heaviness of Nick Fury’s presence and the loudness of his inner monologue disappears with him when he leaves. It’s not until the doors close behind you that you feel like you can finally breathe again.

You turn to the man in front of you when you notice how quiet it’s become, and you subconsciously tilt your head to the side when instead of a constant stream of low mumbling and whispering, you hear nothing at all.

Steve raises a brow when he notices the way you’re looking at him. The soft expression on his face falters just a moment, but he recovers quickly, deciding not to allow his concern to show for now.  

“Hey,” he says “I’m Steve Rogers, captain of the team.”

It takes you a while to reply because you’re so focused on listening for his inner voice that you don’t even notice his rosy lips moving.

You swallow down a stream of curses in a variety of languages and force yourself to stand up straight when you realize he’s waiting for you to say something. What the fuck is going on, you think to yourself while you plaster a smile on your face.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Y/N,” you reply politely, “nice to meet you.”

“I hope Fury didn’t intimidate you too much,” Steve says with a chuckle, “the first conversation I had with him scared the hell out of me. To be fair, I did think I was still in the 40s.”

You bite your lip and shake your head, grip on the straps of your backpack tightening until your knuckles turn white. You’re glad he doesn’t extend his hand for you to shake. You assume he contemplated it.  Don’t know for sure though, because it’s still quiet up there in his skull. Does this guy even think at all?

“Come on, let me show you to your room.”

Your footsteps echo against the walls when the two of you silently cross the hallway. In total, you count a number of six doors. You tip your chin up when you reach the end and take a moment to study the man’s appearance while he points to the door on the right. He’s even taller and broader than you imagined him to be when Fury pictured him in his mind for you to see. If the upward curl of his lips wasn’t so genuine and soft, you would have been terrified of how big he is.

“This is mine,” he says, “I’m right across the hall if you need anything. This is yours. Usually, the doors open with fingerprint recognition, but you have a key. Nobody else has a copy except for me, for safety reasons. I’m obligated to tell you that you aren’t allowed to make any more copies.”

“Wasn’t going to,” you reply quickly.

He pulls a short, silver key from his back pocket and places it gently in your open, shaky palm. He notices your fingers are shaky when you fumble with the lock and smiles again in an attempt to make you feel more at ease. It’s almost like he can read your mind instead of the other way around. That stupid smile pisses you off.

“You have your own private bathroom,” Steve explains while he follows you inside, “Fury told us you don’t own much, so I asked Natasha to get you some clothes. We can go out and buy you some more if you want, just let me know. Feel free to decorate the place however you want.”

“Natasha?” you ask while looking around.

“The best spy we have. You’ll get along just fine, I’m sure. Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled for now. Don’t hesitate to knock on my door at any time, okay? I’m not supposed to leave for another mission for a few weeks until you get situated. We can explore the compound tomorrow if you’re up for it. Maybe you can meet some of the other team members while we’re at it. No pressure.”

“Thanks,” you swallow thickly, “Steve.”

“You’re safe here,” he presses, “don’t forget that.”

For a brief moment, you wonder how much he really knows. You knowFury’s told him and Tony a watered-down version of what you’ve told him, but the kindness in his voice allows you to believe he hasn’t heard much. Still, you try to enter his brain and find out yourself, but once again you come up with nothing.

You exhale loudly after Steve leaves and take a moment to look around the room you’re now supposed to call yours. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, not yet anyway, and you wonder how long it will take before you find yourself succumbing to a new routine.

You take a shower to warm your bones and wash your hair with the shampoo and conditioner that smell like papaya. The towel you use to dry off is too fluffy for your liking, and a look in the mirror reveals dark circles and sunken in cheeks. It’s fine, you think. You haven’t recognized yourself in years.

Your backpack finds its way onto the bed, which is big enough for at least three people to sleep in. You follow shortly after, arms spread wide across the silky, forest green sheets until you sink down so far they almost wholly envelop you. Your hair is sprawled messily across the pillows. They smell like lavender and fresh cotton, and the scent is so relaxing and calming that within just several minutes of staring up at the ceiling, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When you wake up in a cold sweat several hours later, your hands are curled tightly in small fists around the silk sheets that cling to your legs. It’s hot in your room even though the chills along your arms would suggest otherwise, and your eyes frantically scan the shadows that seem to momentarily engulf you. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, and while you lie there in the dark, for several minutes, the only thing you can see is the vague outline of the face of a man.

As images from the dream you’ve just woken up from begin to fade, your heartrate slows down enough for you to remember where you are. You push the covers away from you and get up out of bed. You consider making a trip to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat, but you have no clue where the kitchen is located. Irritation pricks at your skin when your stomach rumbles loudly in the deafening silence, and five seconds later you’re stomping through the hallway with one goal in mind; to find something to eat.

The memory of Fury pointing out which floors of the building contain which rooms replays in your mind while you speedwalk through the hallway. You try to make a mental map of the compound for future reference just as you round the first corner, and in your state of tiredness and annoyance fueled by hunger, you don’t have time to realize Steve Rogers is on the other side of that corner.

Before he slams into you chest-first, his arms stretch out in front of him out of reflex. He grabs onto your shoulders and holds you steady while the both of you inhale sharply. Your head shoots up to meet his gaze, and he quickly releases his grip. What are the odds?

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, “I didn’t see you.”

You didn’t hear him. That’s what you really want to say, but it wouldn’t make sense.

“I can tell,” he replies, “What are you doing awake?”

He’s tired, you can tell by the raspiness of his voice and the droopiness of his eyes, but he’s trying to hide his exhaustion by showing concern.

“I’m not trying to bail,” you cross your arms, “if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies, “didn’t think it, either.”

I wouldn’t know, you think. 

You take a step back to study his face for a moment, unaware that you haven’t answered his question. When the silence between the two of you becomes nearly unbearably heavy, you finally speak up.

Your cheeks heat up, and you swallow thickly, “I was hungry.”

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, “of course. I’m so sorry, I should’ve given you something to eat. The kitchen’s all the way at the end of the hall, on the right. Fridge should be stocked. I think there might be some leftovers, if Sam hasn’t eaten them already. I gotta go, see you in the morning.”

As you watch him walk away in the opposite direction, you can’t help but wonder what the rush is all about. Perhaps he’s really eager to get back in bed, you muse, although you doubt that’s the real reason why he’s speedwalking away from his room in the middle of the night.

NEXT CHAPTER.

[braincoins]

for DA Shallura

I’ve been doing a series of posts about basic Dragon Age canon for my DA fic series, Dragon Age: Schism. HOWEVER, my Dragon Age AU for Shallura has slightly different background (it takes place before DA:O, and thus before any of DA:S) and I include headcanons and whatnot for DA:S in those info posts. 

So I thought I’d make One post with all the info that @tybalt-tisk​ or anyone else could need to make sense of what’s going on in that fic specifically. Some of this will be copy-pasted from what I’ve already done for DA:S because c’mon why write it twice? But everything here should give the necessary bgd for that fic. If you want/need to ask me other questions, feel free!

With credit, as always, to @yslanam​ who started this by first suggesting a DA AU for Shallura. And if you make it to the end, there’s pretty Mitz art! (Or you could skip to it, I know, but... be good, hm?)

Our story takes place in the country of Ferelden on the continent Thedas. Ferelden is basically Fantasy England (though not an island and not shaped that way), and is about the same size and climate (though it’s south of the equator, not north of it).

Shiro was born Takashi Shirogane in a small village where everyone knew everyone else and he liked it there. Loved it there, really. He signed on to be in his bann’s (the noble who ruled the land and its village) army, as did another young man from his town (whose name Shiro rarely speaks now). They served honorably and well and fell in love. 

And then they were called to battle. Shiro survived: plus a scar and some new white hair, but minus his right arm, which was too badly injured and had to be amputated. Shiro’s lover didn’t make it, though. Shiro was discharged with pay and a small bonus, but that money would run out eventually. He’s not sure what to do with himself, and he overhears people talking about what a shame it is, such a young man now destined to just wither away because, well, he’s basically worthless now. Can’t work a farm, can’t fight in wars. It hits him hard. He wants to prove himself worthy of... of something, anything, just to prove them wrong.

That’s what brings him to the Grey Wardens. 

Allura is a city elf. Elves are second-class citizens - at best - amongst humans, and the city elves live in ghettos called “alienages.” Her father was the Elder of the Highever (a city in Ferelden) Alienage: the man in charge, basically. That didn’t mean Allura behaved though; even as a child, she would rant about how elves were people just like humans and they deserved better treatment. This didn’t win her a lot of friends; most city elves learn quick that yelling about the truth just draws a whole lot of unwelcome - and often armed - attention.

But then it was discovered that Allura had magic, and she was taken off to the Tower of the Circle of Magi to be trained... and supervised. If there’s anything worse than being an elf in Ferelden, it’s being a mage. Mages, if they aren’t careful, can basically be possessed by demons and then they kill a bunch of people and it’s a bad scene. Therefore most people fear mages, and the Chantry - the main religious organization on the continent and damn near the only one in Ferelden - has created Templars to watch over the mages of the Circle. 

The Templars are also known as “mage-hunters” because that’s one of their main duties: running down mages who try to flee their gilded cage. They also kill any mage suspected of being demon-possessed. And they’re posted all throughout the Tower, watching... always watching...

Allura liked learning magic but hated that this is how it’s done. She’s just been moved from one cage to another, and she wasn’t silent about that either. Things came to a head after she became an official mage; she saw a Templar about to force himself on a fellow mage, who was terrified of the man. She got angry and killed the man, straight out. She should have been killed, made Tranquil (basically magical lobotomy) or sent to Aeonar, the mage prison, but Duncan, the Warden-Commander, was there visiting and recruited her away, instead. 

That’s what brings her to the Grey Wardens.

And that’s where she meets Shiro.

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! …though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries.

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”:

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates… on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So… didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. (Allura was RoC’d, to keep the commander of the Templars from killing her.)

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you… become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens.

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens… yadda yadda. (Shiro might not speak Adam’s name anymore but he sure does yell it some nights, jolting out of a night terror and back to reality.)

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! (Not like they let mages have kids in the Circle. And Shiro’d been in love with a man, so he was okay with not having biological children anyway.)

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition.

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.”

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. 

Shiro and Allura get close because it turns out they work well together as a fighting pair: he as a warrior, she as a mage. Even with only one arm, Shiro can at least protect Allura as she takes shit out. They’re quickly a unit, just the two of them, always sent out together. It’s no wonder it starts to blossom into love.

But Allura sees that Shiro wants to do more than just protect and shield bash, so she starts trying to figure out how to make him a prosthetic: one worthy of a Grey Warden. One... worthy of him. 

There are different schools of magic: Creation is the healing branch, and it seems natural to try to work with that some, but in the end, Allura has to also dip into a forbidden school: Blood Magic. Blood Magic has the reputation of being evil because you’re using people’s blood - people’s life forces - to power your spells. After growing up in the Tower, she’s understandably nervous about using it.

But she talks about it with Shiro, and although he might otherwise be scared of Blood Magic, she tells him she doesn’t need a lot of it, it won’t kill him, and... well, it’s her. He trusts her. And she works hard to be worthy of that trust, she goes over this spell she’s created several times. It should work to attach the arm - made of silverite, a very powerful and durable metal - to him so he can use it.

She just forgot about the darkspawn taint coursing through him. His blood is not normal. And there are some... side effects from messing with it.

I do recommend reading this post (it’s kinda 1/2 meta, 1/2 fic) but if you don’t want to, the short version is that Shiro has trouble controlling his arm at first and so he pushes Allura away because he’s afraid of hurting her. She takes that as a well-deserved rebuke because she did this to him. 

Eventually they scream it all out at each other: he loves her, he was afraid for her, she feels guilty and is so afraid he’ll leave her, etc. They settle down and start working together on figuring out how Shiro can better control this thing. At the beginning of this fic, he’s gotten the hang of it now.

I’ll put up pictures of their uniforms when I can, and other than that, you should be good to go! I know this was long, sorry. Here, have some pretty @mitzoco​ art:

[eloquent--asshole]

My Date With the President’s Son Volume 2

a/n: So I just want to say WOW y’all have been so patient waiting for this. I was not expecting to get so many messages for a part 2 and I really appreciate everyone who has read or sent an ask! And I’ve been sitting on it for the last couple weeks because I wanted it to be well.. in my eyes, perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you’ve missed it you can read Volume 1 here

I don’t remember how long I stood in that hallway in the White House. I don’t remember when I let my tears start falling. I don’t remember when Niall came around the corner and enveloped me in a hug. I don’t even remember what I saw on the drive home when my vision was blurred with tears.

What I remembered is how Harry’s normally olive eyes turned black. How his voice shook me like I was experiencing an earthquake. I remember how tight my chest felt hearing how upset he was. And I remember my breath leaving my body as I heard his bedroom door slam shut.

What once was Niall’s hard and cold attitude toward me turned warm and gentle when he dropped me off. “We’ll figure it out, okay? He just needs some time to calm down. I’ll talk to him” I recall him whispering, giving me one last hug before I got out of his car.

***

Sunday came and went as I laid in my bed, not daring to check my phone for any potential messages from Thompson.

“Hey, Y/N.” I glanced over my blankets to see Derek, Summer’s boyfriend, standing in my doorway. I moved my gaze back to the wall, barely acknowledging his presence.

I hadn’t told Summer or Ashlie about what had happened. All I said was that whatever Harry and I had was over. I heard Derek sigh before coming to take a seat next to me on my bed.

“How are you?” his voice was tender, like it scared him thinking I may throw a punch. I like Derek. He’s always been kind. When he and Summer started dating in college, he fit right in with our tight-knit group. He always knew what to say to Ashlie or me when one of his fraternity brothers would piss us off and helped us pass our chemistry exams.

“I’m okay,” I sighed, pushing the blankets from my chest. “I’ve been better.”

“Summer and Ashlie are worried about you, you know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and quirked a grin, “Said they haven’t seen you like this since Professor Neuman wouldn’t let you take that final you missed.”

I cracked a smile with him. Of course that’s what they would compare this to. “Okay, Professor Neuman knew how badly I needed to pass that class.” I looked down at my hands sitting on my lap, “Besides, she was a bitch.” I mumbled.

He let out a cackle, “Yeah, that she was, kid. That she was.” I noticed Derek fiddling with his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with me. “Look, Y/N, I’m by no means a love expert. But whatever happened, and whatever will happen, I know that you’re tough and you can handle it. You work for the fucking FBI, dude. You need to remember who you are.”

“Derek, that’s the problem right now. I don’t know who I am. I took a mission thinking it would be a breeze because my boss and team had my back. And it blew up in my face when I couldn’t keep my personal life separate.” I paused so I could sit up against my headboard. “Am I really the girl that can’t keep up with the guys because I’m emotional? Niall has been working with Harry since President Styles got into office. How can I – “ My eyebrows scrunched, and I shook my head, trying to find the words. “I don’t want my personal and work life to be so tangled.”

Derek kept his gaze steady on me while taking in the information I just unleashed. “Okay… So untangle it.” My eyes flicked to meet his.

“What?”

“You heard me. Untangle it. Separate those again and come back to it.” With that, he got up and headed for the door. “Also, do you want some pizza? One’s being delivered in about 5.” I could only nod in response, still taking in his advice.

***

Thompson called me later that Sunday night. Should I even answer? “Hello?” I greeted Mr. Thompson.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was eerily quiet. “Niall called me.” Oh, great. Niall told Thompson everything. “He told me Harry found out… About the mission.” I felt the confusion cover my face, my mouth went dry, and a clammy feeling started on my palms.

“Oh, Mr. Thompson I – ”

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Thompson interrupted, “While I’m working on damage control this week, you’ll still be working. But I’m going to stick you on desk duty for the time being.” He grumbled. What? Not fired? “We’ll discuss your employment next week after we’re finished with damage control.” There it is.

When Thompson hung up, I lay my phone back on the nightstand. I had a few notifications from Ashlie and Summer asking if I wanted to talk, which I ignored. I should go for a run or to the gym. Something, Y/N. Something.

***

Walking into work was terrifying on Monday. Eyes followed me around the office as I went to my desk. I settled in and turned on my monitor.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” I looked up to see Thompson standing next to my desk.

“Mr. Thompson,” I welcomed him.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’re moving you for the week.” What? “We’ll be sticking you in an office. Just for your peace of mind.” I nodded my head and picked up my bag to follow him down the hall.

We stepped into a compact room near the back of the office. The office filled with filing cabinets and papers askew from other workers. Thompson gave me a curt nod and excused himself to go back to work.

Sighing, I set my bag on the desk. The wavering lights were dim, almost dim enough to hurt my eyes. I turned on the monitor and logged into the database. Desk duty is probably the worst thing to do. All you do is research. Although, researching criminals sometimes got interesting.

I researched some of our most wanted suspects, finding where they were living, what they were doing, anything I could find. I came across a file that particularly caught my interest. Greg Patterson – Attempted assassination. Why haven’t I heard of this? Maybe it’s from a long time ago.

As I dug deeper into the file, I noticed that he had a connection to Harry, and to the government. Greg was a congressman’s son. Unfortunately for me the file didn’t have much in it except some basic information and a picture.

Last known location: New Orleans, Louisiana – December 2018.

Wanted for: Attempted assassination.

Reward: $1,000,000

I started looking at Harry’s social media connections, checking Facebook friends, Twitter followers, Instagram followers, everything.

Harry had posted nothing in the last week. Harry’s always on social media. I would know.

I scrolled through Harry’s Twitter followers, a username catching my eye. G_Pattsy. I clicked on the profile and was met with a picture of a single emerald eye; I looked back at the computer to compare the colors. Greg’s pictured shows that he has brown eyes, not green. I looked harder at the picture. Wait. That’s Harry’s eye.

I scrolled to the most recent update. It was a picture of the Washington Monument saying So good to be home����.

Not good, Y/N, not good.

I printed the documents I had up and grabbed them, immediately going to Thompson’s office. The door was slightly cracked.

“Mr. Horan,” I heard Thompson’s gruff voice, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I peeked into the room to see Niall standing in front of Thompson’s desk and Thompson facing the windows overlooking the 695.

“Sir,” Niall’s voice shook, “I haven’t seen him in two days. I don’t know where he could be.”

Haven’t seen who? Harry?

“Then you better fucking find him. You better get the entire TEAM sweeping this city to track him down!” Thompson roared. His voice ringing through my ears, and I’m sure Niall’s.

“Yes, sir.” I scurried from the doorway and hid behind a file cabinet. I watched Niall exit Thompson’s office and rush out of the building. My thoughts whirled to Harry. Where is he? I should call him…

I waited a minute before deciding to interrupt Thompson with this information I just found on Greg Patterson.

“Come in,” Thompson demanded after my soft knock. His face lightened only a bit when I entered the room. “Miss. Y/L/N, what do you need?” His voice is dismissive. He’s not happy with you. What had been Thompson’s relaxed demeanor from our time on the mission was replaced by his original hard exterior.

“Mr. Thompson,” I started, walking over to the empty chairs and taking a seat, “I was doing some research and I think there may be a potential threat to the Presidential family.” Thompson’s brows drew together, taking on a frustrated expression.

“What are you talking about, Y/L/N.” Thompson’s voice was so low, I almost couldn’t hear it over the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Does the name Greg Patterson sound familiar?” Thompson glanced at the papers in my hand and reached for them. He started flipping through the few papers I brought with me before meeting my gaze.

“What did you find?” He interrogated.

“I believe he’s back in D.C,” I informed him, thinking of the picture printed on the page with the screenshot of his Twitter update.

“Damn it.” Thompson reached for the phone on his desk and began dialing numbers. “You’re dismissed, Miss. Y/L/N.” I hesitated to get up from the chair. I found this information. I want to help. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson stopped me, “Have you been in contact with Mr. Styles as of late?” I shook my head. He nodded and motioned for me to leave. “Get me Joe.” I heard him bark into the phone as I shut the door.

***

If it was two weeks ago, I’d be seeing Harry after work. This week, after work, I would go home and sulk in bed.

On Thursday night, I finally decided I should do something instead of sulking about how I failed. How I failed the director of the FBI because I couldn’t keep it together. How I failed Harry because of my lies. But most importantly, how I failed myself by putting my job above my feelings and letting it interfere with my personal life.

I got up and grabbed my leggings with the pistol holster in the back. I slipped the one I kept in my drawer into its holder. They trained us to carry a gun at all times. Whether it’s in my purse, my boot, or my waistband. I always had it. Harry never knew you had a gun on you.

I looked over to the hoodie laying over my chair. It’s Harry’s. I wonder if he wants his clothes back. A few times when he was over, he brought an extra shirt, hoodie, sweatpants, because “I think you’d look fantastic in my clothes.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. I grabbed the hoodie and tossed it to the pile of his things lying in the corner of my room.

I went to my closet and pulled out a long sleeve NASA t-shirt to slip over my head. Why didn’t I just become an astronaut?

“Hi, you!” Summer welcomed me happily when I walked into the kitchen area. She turned to face me, and I caught Ashlie’s eyes from her position on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back,” I stated, opening the front door and shutting it behind me. I could just make out Summer and Ashlie having a conversation through the door, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

I let my feet carry me closer to the downtown area, my music blaring in my ears. I ran past an alley and saw a man limp against the brick wall. He was being cornered by 3 others in black jackets, hats, and I could just make out sunglasses covering their eyes from one that was slightly turned to the side. I came to a stop just past the alley and took my headphones out. I noticed I was stood next to an entry of a bar. I listened to see if I needed to intervene.

“Come on, Styles. We know you’ve got something on you. What is it?” The voice was muffled from facing the other direction, but it was hard, callous, and aggressive. Harry? I reached around my back and grabbed my gun, peeking around the corner of the building into the alley. I looked at the ground to see if there were rocks that would shuffle as I stepped forward.

How stupid are they? Not one of them is facing the street to see if anyone is coming by. My eyes wandered around them, not seeing any guns or knives.

“I don’t have anything, I swear.” Harry pleaded. His face was cast at the ground. He was clutching his shoulder. “Greg, I swear.” Greg? Greg Patterson? Oh, God. Help me.

I took a few more steps, so I was standing about 6 feet away and raised my gun, pointed at the man talking.

“Step away from the boy,” I muttered. Harry’s head snapped in my direction. His eyes looked thankful to see someone standing there but grew withdrawn when he saw it was me. Greg slowly turned to face me. A lopsided grin taking over his features.

He twisted his torso to face Harry again, “Hey, isn’t this that girl you were seeing for a bit? Turned out to be a narc?” He took a stride towards me, “What’re you gonna do about it baby girl?” he belittled, lifting his shirt to let the light glimmer off a knife sticking in his waistband.

“Unless you want me to shoot you, I suggest you get out of here,” I said, my voice turning hostile.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He taunted, taking another step toward me.

“Oh, yeah?” I quickly pointed my gun at the ground a foot in front of him and shot. The fire rang in my ears, “Do you seriously want to test me?”

The two other men grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him out of the alley passed me. “You will regret doing that, bitch!” I heard him yell. They started running when I aimed at the wall and released another bullet. I glanced at Harry, who was still slack against the brick wall.

“Harry,” I rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” I gripped his arm and went to put it around my shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He griped, pulling himself out of my grasp.

“Oh yeah, and let them kill you? No way.” I laughed sarcastically. Harry started walking towards the street, rubbing his shoulder.

“They weren’t going to kill me,” He brushed off.

“Harry, that guy had a knife,”

“A little nick is nothing compared to what I’ve been through recently.” He paused. Ouch. “What are you even doing here? What, did Thompson send you here or something?” His tone was demanding,

“What? No. I’m just out.”

“Sure you just happen to be passing a bar I used to frequent. And just so happen to make an appearance when I catch a bit of trouble?” His interrogation sent a chill down my spine. He turned on his heel to look at me, inches from my face. “I didn’t need you to defend me.”

“Harry, what are you even doing here? Without security? Your entire team has been looking for you for four days! And I was just trying to help…” I whispered, my eyes falling to the ground.

“I don’t need your help, okay?” His voice rattled my eardrums. I took an involuntary step back. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were glowering, fixed on mine. “I think you’ve done enough ‘help’ in my life. And I certainly do not need your permission, or Niall’s, to leave my own fucking house.” He spat, turning toward the street again.

“Say what you want, okay?” I said, my voice shaky, tears brimming my eyes. “But I care about you, Harry. I wanted to tell you! I have cared about you the entire time. You were and are getting back to being an absolute mess, Harry. Okay, maybe I was used as a prop by the FBI, but –“

“See that’s just it, Y/N,” Harry turned to face me again. His eyes soft, glistening with a few tears. “They used you as a prop. You used me to advance yourself. I thought,” He paused and ran a hand through his long locks, looking at the ink shaded sky. “I thought you were feeling the same thing I was.”

“I was!” I shout, not caring if any passer-byes could hear me. “I was feeling the same thing you were! I wanted to tell you everything! I –“ I took a deep breath to compose myself and looked into his darkened eyes – “I was scared.” I admitted, my voice lowering to a mumble. My eyes flashed around the alley, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Scared of what?” He questioned, furrowing his brows. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Of Thompson?”

“No.”

“No?” He affirmed, confused. “Then what were you so afraid of?”

“Well, yes. Thompson. But I was afraid of you…” My voice trailed; my eyes fixed on the pavement between us.

“Me?” He brought his palm to his chest “You were scared of me?!” His tone deepened. “What did you think? That I’d have you fired or something?”

That was something I hadn’t thought of. Can Harry have me fired? Did he have that much say in the FBI staff?

“I was scared,” I played with the hem of my shirt, “It scared me to think that you’d wonder if everything I told you was a lie. And I was scared you’d be done with me, and that you’d just…” I briefly met his expressionless gaze before settling it back on the ground, “Just walk away without getting a chance to know me. The real me.”

“Well,” Harry stiffened. “I’m sure we’re both glad we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” My gaze snapped to his. “I know exactly who you are, you’re nothing but a con artist who got exactly what you wanted.” He turned his back to me and walked out to the street.

“This is not what I wanted!” I called, he stopped in his tracks, “At the end of the day, I wanted you to know the Y/N that is compassionate and strong. I wanted you to know the Y/N that started falling for the kind, caring and utterly incredible man that you are.” Without a response, he kept moving. I waited for him to round the corner before following. I watched as his back disappeared into the boisterous bar.

I stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes before deciding he wasn’t coming out. I turned on my heel to continue my jog home.

***

My heart began racing like never before every time I thought about going into work on Monday morning. Meeting with Thompson. The looks I would get from my colleagues as I packed up my desk. The only contact I’ve had with Thompson since Tuesday was him texting me to tell me about our meeting on Monday morning.

Friday and Saturday brought me to the gym. Employees of the FBI had exclusive access to a gym on the north side of the city. I stepped on the treadmill and began my jog, upping the intensity every couple minutes. Beads of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I wiped them away, staring out the window at the trees across the field. My feet began to pound harder as I thought back to Thursday night and my actual run-in with Harry.

How could he be so hardheaded to think that someone sent me there?

I looked down at the moving treadmill under me. A pair of feet caught my eye, climbing onto the treadmill next to me. I turned my head to see Niall standing there. I scrunched my eyebrows at him as he motioned for me to take out my headphones.

“Hey…” I said as I pulled them out and pressed the pause button. The treadmill came to a stop, and I faced Niall.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, a hint of a smile on his face. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “And you?”

“I’m alright.” The silence took over as both our eyes wandered around the empty room. “I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Harry’s been to the office a few times, since that night.” He started, my eyes widening. That’s why Thompson moved me. So we wouldn’t see each other. “I don’t know what’s going on but – “ There’s something he’s not saying.

“Are you still working with Harry?” The question slipped from my lips before I could fully process the question I wanted to ask.

Niall harshly blinked, taken aback by what I asked. “Oh – “ he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the space between us. “Yeah. Harry was pretty upset with me, but I think he’s doing better.” I figured.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Y/N, Harry’s just really hurt. You know, by everybody. Not just you.” Niall’s sympathetic tone seeped into my mind. “And, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Niall?” I asked, picking up my water bottle to take a sip. “It’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve known better than to let my emotions get in the way of this.” I finished after gulping my water down.

“No, it’s my fault too. I should’ve seen it.” He concluded, his eyes staring out the window at the trees. He glanced at my face before continuing, “I should’ve seen the way you two were looking at each other. I should’ve seen how real it was for both of you.”

Why was Harry at the office so often? Was more than just my job at risk now?

Niall stepped off the treadmill and headed for the front door. I watched him as he exited the building, my legs not allowing me to follow and ask more questions.

***

Do you ever try so hard to forget something, but then it keeps popping in your memory even more? That’s how I feel with my conversations with Harry and Niall. What is Niall not telling me? What does he know that I don’t? And how can Harry forgive Niall and not me?

Derek broke my thoughts when he walked through our front door, 3 friends in tow. “Hey, Y/N. How was your day?” He asked, heading towards the kitchen.

“It was – “ I glanced at his friends and felt anxiety consume my heart. I can’t place the feeling, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. “fine.”

Derek nodded, filling a glass from the cabinet with water. “Oh, Y/N. These are some friends, Mike, Tyler, and Greg,” Derek said, taking in my blank expression, and pointing to each man standing in my kitchen.

I couldn’t place the faces, but I felt like I’ve met them. “Hi,” I said, giving a slight wave. “Um – Have we met before?” I asked, gesturing between me and the men I learned to be Tyler, Greg, and Mike.

Greg looked at his friends then back at me, “I – I don’t think so?” A smirk took over his features with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe in a past life.” Flashes of a knife went through my brain. Greg. G_Pattsy.

“Anyway, where’s Summer? She said she’d be home,” Derek spoke, obliviously breaking up the tension slowly building around him.

“She’s in the shower,” I said getting up from the couch. “I have to run an errand.” I grabbed my purse from the counter, side-eying the men standing there once more.

“Problem, sweetheart?” A chill ran down my spine from his menacing tone. “Don’t worry, I know the effect I have on people.” Oh, we’re going to have a problem.

“Don’t ever for a second think you’d have the privilege,” I uttered over my shoulder, slamming the door on my way out. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I could think of. “Hey, can you meet me?”

I hung up and made my way to the nearest bar. It was only 8 pm, so it wasn’t that packed. “Hey, you,” Louis said wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What can I do for ya?”

“Do you want something to drink first?” I laughed, motioning to the liquor sitting behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” Louis waved the bartender over and taking a seat on the chair next to me. “Bumbu, rocks, please.” The bartender made his drink and placed it in front of him. Louis took a sip before turning in his chair to face me completely. “So.”

“You’ve known Harry for a long time, right?” I asked, running my fingers around my glass, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, since I was about 3, I think.” He said, gazing off into the distance. “I heard about what happened. That it didn’t work out, and I’m sorry. You two seemed good for each other.” Louis confessed, placing a hand on my shoulder. How though? How did we seem good for each other?

“It’s okay.”

“Anyway, yeah. A long time.” He spoke, bringing his hands back to his lap. “Why?”

“Can you tell me about his friendship with Greg Patterson?” I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

“Greg? Patterson?” He questioned as I nodded. “Well, there’s not much to tell. Harry and Greg were friends through high school. After that, Greg kind of fell off the grid. Got into a… a more dangerous crowd. Harry didn’t say much about what happened.”

“But what did he say then?” I pressed. Louis looked at me with a frown, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Uh – “ He ran his hand across his jaw, leaving it there for a second. “I know they got into a tremendous fight. Greg landed in the hospital, Harry walked away with a few scrapes and a broken nose.” Louis lowered his hand, clasping the glass in front of him. “Something about drugs.”

“Was Harry selling?” I asked nonchalantly. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and tucked some strands behind my ear. I took a glance at the door, eyeing the couple walking in. “Or buying?”

“No, no. Harry never got into that.” Louis waved off, shaking his head. “But he knew people that were. Greg wanted in. He didn’t believe Harry wasn’t in on the deals.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Who, Harry? Not since the benefit.” Louis glanced at my blank expression. “Oh, Greg? I never knew him. Just of him.” Louis knocked his fist on his chin gently, deep in thought. “You know, I think I heard from someone that he was back in the D.C. area though.”

I thought about Louis’ last comment almost the entire way home. I thought about how the man that is wanted for attempted assassination has gone this long without being found. More importantly, I thought about how that same man had been standing in my kitchen not even two hours ago and every possible way that Derek knew that man and brought him to my house. Does he know?

I pulled up to my building and shifted my car into park, taking notes of the blacked-out SUV sitting a couple of spaces away. I eyed it, warily. Many people drive blacked-out SUVs, not just Harry. I had to remind myself. I slowly got out of my car and walked towards the door, eager to know if Derek was still inside.

I couldn’t see if anyone was in the SUV, but I prayed the Thompson didn’t have it out for me now.

“Derek?” I called as soon as the door latched. “Are you here?”

“In here,” I heard him call from Summer’s room. I made my way, checking my phone for anything from Thompson. “What’s up?” he greeted when I entered the room.

They were sprawled across the floor, Boy Meets World playing softly on the TV. “Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, taking a seat on the floor next to them. He sat up and stared at me expectantly. “How’d you meet those guys from earlier?” Derek’s mouth slightly parted, confused. “Like did you meet them recently? Or have you known them for a while?”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together, “Do you know them?”

“No, but I was just wondering.” I shook my head, trying to laugh it off.

“Did Greg say something to you? I’ll kick his ass.” Derek slammed his palms on the ground like he was ready to track him down. “I swear if he fucking said something, I’ll-“

“Derek, no” I laughed, “I think I’ve seen him around or something.”

He raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Okay, good. I met them in NOLA, actually.” I raised my eyebrows. That’s right. Derek went to New Orleans like two years ago. “They were cool, got us into all the good clubs down there,” he looked at Summer who was nodding her head in agreement. “Told him to hit me up if he was ever in DC. Guess he decided to take me up on the offer.”

“I think I may need your help.”

***

The next day, I was once again sat in the conference room. It was around 9:00 pm and my breath was hitching every other second. I’m nervous about how everything will go. Thoughts swirled my mind. How will Niall react? What are we going to do? I can’t believe I looped Derek into this. This is insane.

“All right,” Thompson started, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. My gaze shifted around to each person in the room. Niall, Joe, Thompson, Derek, and a few others from secret security I didn’t quite recognize. “Derek, first and foremost, thank you for joining us and helping us.” Derek nodded nonchalantly. “Here’s the plan.” I started spacing out. I knew I wouldn’t be a part of it. No matter how much I wanted to be. I’d be in the van, with Joe, Thompson and the others. Of course, Niall got to make the arrest. He’d be with them, watching from afar.

What felt like an eternity passed before Thompson’s voice rang in my ears again. “Understood?” His voice was loud, angry, stern. Everything you would expect from the Director of the FBI. Everyone started getting up to pack the van and move. “Y/N,” Thompson stared at me. He motioned for me to wait while everyone else filed out of the room. “You don’t have to come.”

“Sir?”

“If it will be too much. Just let me know.” He said gently.

“Mr. Thompson,” I said, my voice hinting irritation, “This is my job. I love my job. And I want so badly to see that sucker put away. I’m not letting what happened interfere with this. At the end of the day, it’s my duty to protect and serve.”

He gave me a curt nod and gestured for me to exit, quickly following suit. We made our way to the vans and got in. Niall and Derek got into their respective cars to meet up with the suspect and the bait. Everyone had their gear on, ready to intervene if need be. Everyone except me. “It’ll be for the best. He won’t be thrown off.”

When the van started moving, all the men started chatting about work life, home life, “Did you hear about Linda in the office today?”, and everything going on in the White House. Thompson’s voice kept me sane. This isn’t a crazy dream I had thought up. This is real life. I kept my mouth shut through it all. Everyone knows what happened. Niall probably told everyone at the White House what happened. Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole.

We pulled up to the dingy bar that somehow became remarkable after one encounter. Niall pulled up behind us and got out of his car. He came up to Thompson’s window to get his earpiece and mic before heading off into the bar. The static on the radio in the back of the van let us know the mics were on. The voices and music started flowing through within seconds.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice came through. “Thought I might find you here.” His voice was hard to hear with all the background noise, but I distinctly heard a chair screeching across the floor. Niall’s sitting down.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s words slurred, he sounded far away. How much had he had to drink already? Suddenly I didn’t know how to breathe. Oh, how I missed the sweet voice that I no longer had the privilege of hearing.

“Just came to check on you. I know you’re still upset.” His voice was sympathetic. For once, I was grateful it wasn’t for me.

There was a lengthy pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry’s voice sounded beaten. He sounded rough. And though I couldn’t see him, I knew his eyebrows had a crease between them. “I mean, how could she do something like that? How could you do something like that?” Okay, going right in then.

“Harry,” Niall stuttered, “We were just trying to do what’s best. Look, I’m not here as your guard tonight. I’m here as your friend. If you want to get fucked up and party, I’m here. If you want to get fucked up and talk, I’m here.”

About 30 seconds had passed before I stopped holding my breath. “I just, I could really see something with her.” He has to be careful. Niall’s lack of response confirmed my thoughts. He knew that we were all listening. “Anyway, thanks for letting me do this, Niall. Thanks for being here. It’s been a rough week.” I could basically see the smile on his face, dimples making a full appearance.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice broke. “I know you’re hurting. But you’re not alone, okay? She’s hurting too.” A smile crept onto my face. Thanks, Niall. I didn’t dare look at Thompson, scared he would see the brokenness and weakness hidden in my eyes. I kept my face straight, fading the smile to be more serious for the situation, and for the sake of being within a foot of my boss.

“So you like this bar, huh?” A voice from another speaker broke through, much clearer than the last. A gruff voice I recognized from my kitchen. Someone remind me why I thought this would be a marvelous idea.

“Yeah, been coming here for a short while with my girl,” Derek’s voice was smooth, he had always been a talented actor. Hiding me and Ashlie in his room and straight-up lying to his brothers saying he hadn’t seen us. Pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend so a creep at the bar would back off. Sometimes I’m still amazed and the stuff he can pull off.

“Awesome.”

A couple of minutes passed as Derek and Greg made their way to the bar, we were outside of. Their voices on the speaker grew cluttered, voices from all around them being picked up. Joe turned down all the speakers, so the van wasn’t being bombarded. Soon after, Derek, Greg, and his two friends arrived and entered. Now it was only a matter of time.

The unfortunate part of tonight was, our eyes were Niall. We don’t have any cameras in the bar, or on our people. All we had to go off of were conversations. Greg and Harry were completely in the dark. But we needed them together to make the arrest. What if Harry gets hurt? You’re at fault for that. My eyes widened at the thought. But if you had said nothing, Greg might’ve tracked Harry down and the outcome would’ve been so much worse. My conscience was trying to rationalize everything happening, but I couldn’t keep up.

“Y/N, I want you to go inside.” I looked over to Thompson to see his serious face.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He reached into the center console pulling out an earpiece and a body camera. “Here, put these on. And go.” I took the pieces with shaky hands. I strapped the camera onto my torso and stuck the piece in my ear.

“Ted,” Joe leaned through the seats from the back, ‘Are you sure about this?”

Thompson looked at Joe with enough blaze in his eyes to put hell to shame. “Yes, she’s discreet enough to not be seen.”

My body was on autopilot walking into the bar. I looked around. Derek had strategically placed himself and Greg at the bar near the bathroom. Niall had taken Harry to the opposite side of the bar. Niall looked in my direction with wide eyes. I hurried to the corner, narrowly avoiding Harry’s eyes as he turned around. I could still hear everything from Niall and Derek’s mics. I was the eyes of the men in the van.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” I could just make out Harry’s voice above the music and other people talking. I pulled my hood up and looked at the table, catching his feet walking passed. I angled the camera to follow him, hopefully.

I saw Greg take a glance over his shoulder at the passing body. “I gotta take a piss.” Spotted. Greg had spotted Harry. Greg got up from his stool and followed behind Harry.

“Derek, go wait about 6 feet from the bathroom, let us know what happens but don’t do anything. We don’t want you getting hurt. Horan make your way outside to the east alley. That’s the only other door to the bar. Y/N, stay there.”

“Got it” “Moving” Derek and Niall’s voices filtered through the noise. Niall made his way out the front door. My mind went to the alley. The same alley where Harry looked defeated. The same alley we fought because of my job. The same alley he could’ve been killed if I hadn’t been there.

“They’re moving, heading towards a side door,” Derek stated, making me forget anything I was thinking. I felt the color drain from my face. I saw Greg and Harry walking down the hallway.

The door burst open. The last thing being seen was Harry being shoved to the ground as it slammed shut. I felt my heart break at the scene. I couldn’t hear what was being said. Niall was too far away,

“Move!” Thompson screamed; my eardrum felt like it was about to bust. I heard a gunshot go off. Muffled voices and commotion coming through my earpiece.

I got up, grabbed Derek by the forearm, and rushed out the front, knocking a few people out of the way. People on the block were ducking for cover or scrambling into the nearest open shop.

By the time we got to the corner of the building, Greg was being put into handcuffs. Niall helped Harry up and placed his hands on his shoulder. “You okay?” Harry nodded, blank-faced.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at Thompson. “Good job, kid.” It was short, but it made me feel secure. I did something right. “Come on,” Thompson ushered me back to the van. Derek walked towards Niall, Harry, and the other men.

I walked towards the van and clutched the door handle. I turned my face towards the alley. My heartbeat sped up as I locked eyes with familiar olive ones. I sighed and pulled open the door, climbing in.

Looking back to the alley, Niall, Harry, and Derek were walking toward the street. Niall gave a thumbs up in our direction. “Horan, you can take Harry home, or to another bar. I will sweep the area before we leave.” As Thompson continued talking my eyes glazed over, thinking about how crazy tonight had been. Derek helped save Harry’s life. Niall helped save Harry’s life. I saved Harry’s life. Who knows what would’ve happened if Greg found him out and about by himself?

I watched as the three boys disappeared down the road. Who knows where to? Harry was glancing back every few seconds. Almost as if to convince himself he saw me. And Derek, well, he had just made friends with my coworker and Harry. The men in suits walked Greg across the street towards the van behind us. “The boys are going to take Greg in that van. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Ted,” Joe spoke from the back, “I’ll take her.” My eyes shifted between Thompson, and Joe. Thompson pursed his lips, giving Joe a nod. “Come on, kid,” Joe said as he pats my shoulder. I took the body cam and earpiece off and handed them to Thompson.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Thompson spoke slowly as I opened the van door. I nodded at him before shutting the door. What happens to my job now?

“You need a drink,” Joe commented and motioned towards a bar across the street. I didn’t say a word as we began walking towards the entrance of the bar.

We sat at a table near the back, waiting for our drinks. “So,” Joe started. “How are you?” How am I? Really?

“I’m okay,” And it was true. I was okay. I had my breath back, the boy I had fallen for was safe, the guy who was wanted for trying to kill said boy was being put away, and I’d be okay if I had to transfer or be fired if it meant I could leave everything that had happened in the past.

“Y/N, I’m not your boss. You can talk to me. Person to person.” Joe smiled, putting a comforting hand atop mine on the table.

“Honestly?” I asked. Joe nodded, giving me the go-ahead. “I’m so exhausted and disappointed.”

“Disappointed? With what?” He asked, grasping his drink after the waitress sat it down. Joe thanked her before turning his attention back to me.

“I’m so disappointed in myself,” I stated.

“Why? You’ve done brilliant work. I would know. We’ve been watching you since you got hired.”

I let the confused expression on my face speak for itself. Completely ignoring his second statement I questioned him, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Know about what I did.” It was Joe’s turn to be confused. “How I completely messed up my mission by putting my feelings above my job. How I couldn’t keep it together. How I let myself, Harry and the FBI down. How – “

“Woah Woah Woah, Y/N. Slow down.” Joe laughed. “What are you talking about? You didn’t let anyone down.” He paused, glancing at the glasses between us, “Look. I’ve worked with the Styles’ for over 5 years. Sometimes we have to do dreadful things in order to get good results. When that happens, we often forget all the wonderful things we did. You did a good job, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t let anyone else either.”

“But what about Harry?”

“Harry? Honey, that kid's crazy about you. He’d be crazy to let you go.” I took a sip of the rum and coke I had ordered. I had grown to like them after having tasted it on Harry’s lips at the benefit. “After seeing you two gallivanting around at the benefit, we all knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, taking another look around the room. Young couples all around. Being handsy under the table, whispering into each other’s ears, grabbing each other’s hands to pull the other towards the door.

“We all knew that something real would happen.” I let my gaze settle on Joe again. “You were scared, and that’s why you ran and caused some trouble. Stop running. He might surprise you.” Joe dropped the subject after that and refused to answer any of my cut-off questions. He brought our attention back to work and regular life. We finished our drinks and walked outside. The cool air felt nice on my warm skin.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the Mercedes sitting in front of us. “When Ted called me about this, I knew I was going to pull you aside.” He shrugged off my unasked question. I pulled open the door and slid in. The drive was short and quiet. The only sound being the soft playing radio tuned to the Queen station on SiriusXM. “I’ll see you soon, kid.” Joe winked when he pulled up to my building. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and got out, taking a deep breath before walking up to my apartment.

I pulled out my keys and turned to the stairwell when I heard footsteps coming behind me. “There you are,” I twisted to see Derek walking up the steps. “Been waiting for you to get back. That was crazy, right?” I laughed as I unlocked the door.

“Wild.”

***

It was exactly 8 O’clock on Monday when I looked at the clock on the wall. The atmosphere of the conference room brought me back to the first time I had an interview with Thompson. His demeanor was tough, cold, and stern. My nerves reminded me even more of that day. My legs bounced under the table, my palms were sweating, and my eyes couldn’t settle on a single object for too long. I was completely prepared to possibly turn in my badge, gun, and ID.

When Thompson entered the room, his intimidating nature followed. He closed the door and sat across from me at the table, setting some papers down between us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson started, taking a second to clear his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson,” I greeted him, exhaling a shaky breath.

“How are you?” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. How am I? That’s how you want to start my termination?

“I’m – I’m nervous,” I confessed.

“Nervous?” he casually asked. “Why are you nervous?” Thompson started shuffling the papers he had laid on the table. I glanced at them, trying to figure out if they were the agreements I signed when I first started.

“I – “ I pointed to myself, “Am I getting fired?”

Thompson snickered at my question. “Fired? Why would we fire you?”

“I thought – “ I paused, blinking harshly. Am I being punked? “since Har – Mr. Styles found out. I thought I would be fired.”

“Y/N, Mr. Styles has made it very clear we would be stupid to fire you.”

“What?” The question fell from my lips. I was taken aback. Why would Harry tell them not to fire me?

“When Niall called to tell us he let it slip last week, we called in Mr. Styles to talk about it and explain why we did it.” Thompson started, “We talked about suspending your employment for 6 months or transferring you out of D.C. He was pretty adamant about it. But Mr. Styles came in yesterday, unannounced I might add, to tell us if we suspended you or transferred you, well. We’d be out of our minds. In better terms.”

I fell back into my chair. So I’m not fired? Thompson answered my question before I could ask, “We’d be stupid to let you go. Especially after Saturday night.” My eyes flicked to his. “Y/N, one thing I noticed when we first met was how much you reminded me... of me. You are strong, ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes. Those are qualities we need in this job.”

“So, I’m not fired?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But we’ll be putting you on desk duty for the next two weeks. For disobeying orders of the mission.” Damn it.

I nodded my head, accepting my two-week punishment. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said, waving me off. “Thank Mr. Styles.” He dismissed me and I picked up my bag, ready to head for the door. “And Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson said, stopping me. “Don’t mess it up.”

I left the conference room confused. Why would Harry save my job?

I took a seat at my desk and pulled up the database. Researching was tough, but even more so when my mind kept wandering to Harry. Why’d he do it? Why would he come in here to tell them not to fire me? Maybe because you saved his life. Who knows what Niall or Derek told him? The questions filled my mind for the rest of the day. So much so, I could barely get any work done.

***

I left the office after a few of hours of researching some wanted suspects. I found myself strolling the streets, coming to a halt as I passed the café where Harry and I first met. I wandered inside and ordered a grande iced vanilla soy latte. A drink I genuinely came to enjoy from my times with Harry. When my order came up, I took a glance around the café to pick a place to sit. My eyes landed on a familiar stranger facing the window.

Stop running, Y/N.

I took a seat next to him at the bar, sitting my coffee down, and facing the man. I propped my head on my hand, with my elbow resting on the bar top. “Is this seat taken?” I asked him.

He cracked a smile at me, turning his face to me. “How’d you find me this time?” Harry probed.

“Oh, I didn’t,” I laughed. “I just came here for some coffee. I had a fantastic first ‘date’ here.” I said putting air quotes around the word date. A comfortable silence fell over us. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why’d I do what?” he asked, grabbing his cup to take a sip of his coffee.

“Why’d you save my job?” I asked, dropping my hand, so it hung over the edge of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you were pissed at me,” I stated raising my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I was.” He confirmed. “But also, after last Thursday – and Saturday for that matter – I started thinking. And I realized that everyone, at some point, is going to hurt you. Even the people who truly care about you and want what’s best for you. We can’t control that. What we can control, though, is how we react to that, and we get to determine if the person who hurt us is worth it.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“I came up with some people are. The people that make you look at yourself and want to be a better person.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “Harry I – “

“I don’t want you to tell me you’re sorry, Y/N. You’ve already said it.”

“What do you want me to say then?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” I scrunched my face at his request. “Thursday night you told me this isn’t what you wanted. So tell me what you want.”

“I want us to start over. I want you to know my actual life.”

Harry stuck his hand out to me, “Hi, I’m Harry. And you are?”

I looked at his hand before taking it in my own, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m the President’s son. What do you do for a living?” He let go of my hand and placed it around his cup.

“I work for the FBI,” I smirked.

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve heard outstanding things about their work. An agent saved me.”

“Saved you?” I giggled.

“In a way, she saved me from myself, really. I was a proper mess.” He broke into a grin and laughed.

“Oh, really?” I laughed with him.

“She kind of made me realize that I was, yeah.” He looked down at his thighs before his jade eyes met mine. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I nodded as he started to get up. He held the door open for me. We walked out and he interlocked our fingers, rubbing circles into the back of my hand.

We started down the street. I pulled his hand as I stopped on the sidewalk. “Hey, Harry?” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “Are you sober right now?”

“Yeah?” His eyes held the confusion that laced his voice. I reached for his face and pulled his lips to mine. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. He pulled away briefly, “At least we don’t have to worry about them,” He mumbled, nodding his head toward the blacked-out SUV sitting across the street. I giggled as he pulled me back for another kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, we could be real.

[the-currian]

since we got Yandere headcanons for Autumn and Winter troupes... what about the remaining two?? If that's ok that is.

Hnnnggg NGL, I struggled with this troupe. I’m not that happy with how these came out... And I am currently still struggling with the Spring Troupe. But I do appreciate the challenge!! These boys are just too sweet; it’s kinda hard for me to twist their personalities. I hope you like them, though! ((Spring Troupe coming soon!!))

Summer Troupe Yandere Headcanons

((No Kumon because I’m only playing the English version of A3!))

Tenma Sumeragi

Dating this boy is definitely not easy. He can be too proud at times, and is quick to jump to conclusions. Plus with how busy he is in the entertainment business, it’s hard to get ahold of him sometimes. Despite this, the two of you are determined to make it work.

Which is why he gets super impatient when you’re the one that doesn’t have time for him. You knew going into this relationship that he’s a busy guy. So why does it seem like whenever he gets some free time, you’re always off somewhere else?

 As stated, he’s quick to jump to conclusions – one day he just gets so fed up and assumes the worst.

 “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” he says, grabbing onto your wrist with a vice-like grip. “What are you talking about, Tenma?” you reply, squirming to get free. “Tenma, let’s talk about this. And let me go; you’re hurting me.” Your words only seem to make him angrier, and he tightens his hold on you. “You’ve gotten tired of me not having the time for you so you’ve gone off with someone else.” “Tenma, that’s not–“ “Did you forget who I am? Me?” he gives you a ruthless chuckle. “My fans and I? We can ruin you.”

You immediately get chills down your spine, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. It’s been a brought up topic between the two of you before. Ever since word got out that the two of you were dating, Tenma’s fans had never been quite welcoming to you.

Although it’s toned down a lot, you still sometimes receive hateful comments on your social media. In the beginning, though, you had received quite a few threats and experienced physical assault from Tenma’s more… devoted fans.

Of course it died down after Tenma held a press conference on your behalf, harshly admonishing his fans for their actions and threatening to pull out of the entertainment business altogether, but now…

“It would be so easy, sweetheart.” Tenma says, cupping your face with a firm grip. “Just give a few anonymous tips to the media and your personal details could be out there in no time. Your address, your school, your schedule…your family’s information? I wonder what creative things my fans could come up this time with when they get ahold of that information.” “What do you want me to say, Tenma? I swear, I’m not cheating on you. It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me.” “No, I guess not…” he ponders, a devilish grin taking over his face as he reaches his decision. “Guess you’re just gonna have to stay by my side…forever.”

Muku Sakisaka

Definitely has a persecution complex. Because of this, he feels as if he’s never enough for you.

But he just loves you so much. He needs you… how can he convince you to stay with him?

He could never lay a hand on you, never. But maybe, if he shows you how much pain he’s feeling on the inside by causing himself the same amount of pain on the outside… you’d understand how much you mean to him and how much he needs you.

“I just can’t live without you – I’d die.

But he’s genuinely a sweet guy… Maybe if you spend enough time with him, you’ll come around and love him the way he wants you to…

Or so you tell yourself every time he threatens to harm himself again whenever you try to break things off with him.

Kazunari Miyoshi

When you first started dating, you had no idea that you’d be getting so much attention.

As it was, it turned out that Kazunari was somewhat of a social media celebrity. So of course he’d post numerous pictures and clips of you on his social media account.

You never minded it. You actually found it cute that Kazunari documented everything – from dates to lazy mornings in bed, he captured it all. So when you two decided to be more intimate, you glibly let him take videos and pictures of your more private moments.

Of course, those private moments were only for the two of you – not to be consumed by his followers.

And speaking of those followers, the public loved the two of you. The both of you were practically an influencer couple.

It never occurred to you just how popular the two of you were until one day, some people approached you and asked to take pictures with you.

The fans uploaded the pictures (with your permission) and you were excited to tell Kazunari about the nice fans. Unfortunately, he didn’t share your excitement.

When Kazunari saw the pictures you took with the fans, he was livid.

“Only I can take your pictures. I’m your personal photographer, and you’re my model.” “Calm down, Kazu! They’re just a few fans.” You laugh nervously, trying to placate him. “I guess it comes with being so active and open on social media.” “Calm down?” he seethes. “You’re mine, remember?”

You look on, confused, as he suddenly takes out his phone from his pocket.

“If you’re so keen on being open to everyone, how about I post this?” he says, showing you his phone screen.

You’re horrified to see a new post ready to be uploaded full of your nude photos, photos of you in bed during the private moments that you and Kazunari shared, and other intimate material that the two of you promised was only for the two of you to view.

“That’s what you want, right? All this attention from other people? Let other people see you the way that I see you?” he says, a crazed smile on his face as he draws the phone closer to himself, finger hovering over the upload button. “I’ll gladly do it for you.”

“Kazu, stop!” you cry out. “No… just stop… please. It won’t happen again. I’m all yours...you know that.”

He closes the app and walks over to you, crushing you in his embrace. “Good girl…” he murmurs into your ear, oblivious of how you stiffen at his touch.

If any of Kazunari’s followers noticed that you looked a bit distressed in the posts that Kazunari would upload following that day, they never commented about it (or maybe Kazunari deleted them)

Misumi Ikaruga

You’d been dating Misumi for a while now, so when he asked you to move in with him, you were initially all for it, but hesitated when you remembered that he shares a dorm with around twenty other men.

“Don’t you want to stay with me?” he pouts, putting on his best puppy-dog expression that he knows you just can’t resist.

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay with you…” you say, trying your best to avoid looking into his eyes. “But you already have so many dorm mates, and wouldn’t it be awkward for them knowing that your partner is rooming with you?”

“Don’t worry!” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I have it covered!”

Apparently, having it covered means hiding you away in his room. ((He was able to hide himself from the Spring Troupe all that time; he can most definitely hide you.))

Could this even be considered “hiding you away”, though? No… it was more like you were… trapped.

“You’ll be my secret triangle – my treasure. Doesn’t that sound nice?” he stopped himself, looking to you, waiting for your input. He continued when he noticed that you were speechless (from glee, obviously! Or so he tells himself). “No one will know, except you and me. You don’t need to do anything! I’ll get to be with you and take good care of you! It’ll be perfect.”

He was adamant that you not go outside of his room under any circumstance, unless he was with you.

Even during the times when you did go out, no one else was around for you to be seen.

He did practically everything for you – he brought you food, gave you baths, provided all your needs for you – on the condition that you just stay put and not draw attention to yourself.

Honestly, you were terrified of what would happen if you did otherwise.

Yuki Rurikawa

Despite being blunt to a fault, Yuki is a bit sensitive to people’s opinions.

He can normally take it, however, and is able to put up a strong front.

He can endure scorn from others, but when that scorn is directed towards you? Oh, no.

He’s had to teach those offenders a lesson or two, be it through brutal smack talk thrown back at them, or with his talents… Scissors have uses besides fashion, you know?

He doesn’t trust you to take care of yourself no matter how many times you reassure him. You’re hopeless without him in his eyes.

So after the first few times when his bullies start bullying you, too, he takes matters into his own hands.

He even goes as far as to control how you present yourself. He dresses you, fixes your hair… basically corrects you as he sees fit.

When this happens, his sharp tongue doesn’t spare even you. This boy will rip your self-esteem into shreds and comfort you while you cry over it. His skill in manipulation does wonders – he fixes your hair and presses your head against his chest as choked sobs leave your lips.

He calls you “doll”, and his troupe mates either heckle him for his cheesiness or are jealous of how sweet the two of you are.

If only they knew exactly what he meant when he calls you his doll.

[random-thought-depository]

Also, from Brett Devereaux’s latest Dothraki horde essay that I just posted about:

“This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states:

“I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.”

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.

Once again, Martin has instead constructed this culture out of stereotypes of nomadic peoples.”

Ouch! This is a harsh dunk, but it’s also an insight into how to write speculative fiction that I’m going to take to heart. Well, I mean, it parallels thoughts and the approach I already have. Reading this makes me feel better about having the artistic process I have.

I know it sounds arrogant to think I’d do better than a famous and very successful big name author, but reading these essays I can’t help thinking that I’d have handled that stuff better. Like, at least before writing extensively about a steppe nomad culture I’d Google things like “what did the Mongols eat?” To be fair, I think ASoIaF was started in, like, the ‘90s, when it wasn’t so easy to just Google stuff, but still, I like to think stuff like “how did historical precedents for this culture get their food?” would be things I’d look into a bit before sitting down to write.

To also be fair, I have the opposite problem of spending like 90% of my time “worldbuilding” and taking forever to get around to actually writing anything. Maybe I should be more like George R.R. Martin! He‘s clearly doing something right!

But on the other hand, I think I do better work for actually thinking about stuff like this. Like, here’s another quote from Mr. Devereaux’s latest essay:

“But that leads into the larger problem, which comes out quite clearly in how Martin has carelessly separated the shepherds and the nomads into separate cultures living side-by-side. As we’ve discussed, that’s wrong: the shepherds and the fearsome riders were the same people. But Martin has stripped away not just the shepherding from the Dothraki, but also the cheese-making and wool cleaning and so on – after having already, as we saw last week, also stripped away the artistry, creativity and artisinal skill. His Dothraki don’t do anything as whimpy as herding sheep – something they regard as unmanly because of course they do – they kill the sheep (with arrows, which just makes it a double waste for every shaft that breaks or tip that is lost) and leave them to rot, like (very stupid) badassess.

He has stripped the Dothraki of every part of a Steppe nomads life, except the barbaric violence. And in so doing, he has taken one of only a handful of non-white cultures that we really meet and get a real taste of (rather than merely passing through) and reduces it from a complex culture which grows and nurtures and conserves (but also kills and destroys – we’re not going to don any rosy glasses about the violence of nomads here – that discussion is coming) into a pure vehicle of violent destruction, offering nothing of redeeming value.”

Like ... right now I’m planning out a story I intend to write in January; it’s supposed to be a kind of deconstruction of the Fremen mirage, and very much one of the thoughts going into it is “yo, a Proud Warrior Race would be a horrible society to live in or have as neighbors, we shouldn’t romanticize them!” and yet ... I feel that the “bad guy” culture in it is much better, from a literary viewpoint, for me having given some thought to the material base of their society and how that would shape their culture. I could have just written them as flat edgelordy-grimdark barbarians, but thinking about their culture in materialist terms gave me a more complex and nuanced picture that I think will make for a more interesting and nuanced story and a fictional society that feels more interesting and human and alive.

And to be really fair ... I think if I have an advantage over George R.R. Martin writing in the ‘90s, it’s partly from reading essays like this; because I was shaped by a geek culture that very much appreciates good worldbuilding and that is full of advice about it (of varying levels of quality, but lots of it is at least decent, and there’s a lot of it). If I do better, much of the credit belongs to the people I’ve interacted with and the people whose thoughts I’ve read and listened to over the years. “If we can see farther, it is because we stand on the shoulders of giants” very much seems to apply. Except I don’t like that quote because I think it’s too implicitly elitist; “giants” implies a few outsize individuals. I think it’s more accurate to say that if we see farther it’s because we stand at the top of an enormous human pyramid; it’s not about any particular person, it’s that we reap the benefit of enormous collective efforts. And that enormous human pyramid dynamic exists in science and government and morality and so on just as much as it exists in writing science fiction and fantasy novels.

Side note: it was informative to learn that the big Mongol food animal was sheep (or at least that’s the impression Mr. Devereaux’s essay gave me). I knew Eurasian steppe nomads primarily relied on domesticated animals other than horses for food, but I never had a very clear picture of what animals, and I kind of vaguely thought it was cattle (I guess cattle-herding nomads were more of a thing in Africa and I just kind of assumed Eurasian steppe nomads worked the same way).

Side note 2: seconding a comment somebody with the username “Roxana” left on that essay; if Mr. Martin wanted something plausible-ish that would still make the Dothraki look all macho and badass, a good way to do it would have been to loosely base them on North American horse-riding bison-hunting cultures and have them hunt some sort of terrifying badass fantasy megafauna.

[mellometal]

I know I said I don't associate myself with the Panic! fandom anymore, but this is something I have been ACHING to talk about. This is some bad timing, since it was Brent Wilson's birthday recently (yes, his birthday is July 20th, NOT August 20th; source: I've been following him on Twitter for five years and he's actually said this), but this is going to be about Brent and the whole situation with him.

Warning: What I'm about to say about the situation with Brent Wilson (original bassist) is heavily biased, since I do stan him. YEAH. I STAN BRENT MATTHEW WILSON, THE ORIGINAL BASSIST OF PANIC! AT THE DISCO. CRY ABOUT IT. STAY MAD. He's one of the ONLY members of Panic! At The Disco (past and present) who I give a fuck about, besides Ryan Ross, Spencer Smith, and Ian Crawford.

Trigger warning: This will be talking about arrest, jail, drugs (doing and selling), weapons (guns), childbirth, parenthood, and some other things. If these things are triggering for you or make you uncomfortable in any way, you do not have to read this post. Consume media that sparks joy for you.

Disclaimer: I don't know Brent in real life, I'm not in his circle of friends or people he's closest to (like his wife Taylor, his parents, his brother Blake, his in-laws, his irl friends, coworkers, etc.), and this is not me acting like I do. I don't know what his life is like outside of Twitter. The only contact I've ever had with him has been on Twitter, but it was pretty limited.

My thoughts on this situation are MY opinion, any possibilities in my thoughts are just theories and not proven to be true, and I'm not trying to excuse whatever he was allegedly charged with.

Just for the record, I am willing to have a civil conversation with anyone who hates Brent. The minute you attack me or anyone else who likes Brent, or a whole bunch of you start circle jerking about how much you hate him, you're getting blocked. If all you're going to bring up is the shit Brent did when he was in his late teens instead of adding anything useful to the discussion, you're getting blocked too. I already know about that. It happened back in 2004-2006. They were all still kids, to a point. Brent has changed quite a bit since then. The whole "Hate on Brent Wilson" bandwagon is stupid, toxic, and I refuse to jump on it. I've never jumped on it when I was in the Panic! fandom, so why would I do it now?

Remember, without Brent bringing Br3nd0n Ur!3 into Panic!, your precious Br3nd0n wouldn't be successful today. JUST SO YA KNOW. (I'm very salty right now, if you can't already tell.)

If you would like to know about what happened with Brent, a few months ago, he was arrested on (alleged) drug charges and illegal possession of a weapon, along with a traffic violation and something to do with a probation violation too. He was set to go to court back in March for his sentencing, but that's the most recent information I've found. I don't know what the fuck is going on at this point. I don't know if he's been sentenced, if he's doing anything alternative like rehabilitation, nothing. (The reason why I said they're alleged charges is because I don't know if he's even been to court for sentencing or anything like that.)

People's reactions were mixed. Some actually LAUGHED and made a whole bunch of jokes about him being arrested (that's fucking insensitive and cruel). Some felt bad for Brent because he just became a dad (yes, he's a dad, but I'm not posting any pictures of the kid out of respect for Brent and Taylor). Some were shocked. Some weren't surprised (how and why????).

My reaction? It was pretty mixed. I was shocked. I thought I was having a fever dream and what I was seeing was fake at first. When I realized it wasn't fake, I was crushed. I felt absolutely horrible for Brent, Taylor, their kid, and all their loved ones. Like, I care about the guy a lot. Obviously.

Ironically, the band members and/or group members I stan are either the black sheep or they're just not as popular. Or they're the fucking scapegoat almost EVERYONE attacks for the stupidest shit. Brent's the black sheep as well as the scapegoat of Panic!, for example....and I would say that Ian is another black sheep too. Not for any negative reasons. He's simply not as popular, due to the fact he was only in Panic! during the Vices era for a short time. He's underrated as FUCK. I'm one of the black sheep in a lot of places [except for friend groups], even in my own family, so it explains why I stan Brent still.

I just want to say that selling drugs and doing drugs aren't inherently bad things to do. This doesn't mean that I'm for kids doing drugs and selling them. Absolutely not. I want people who do drugs or sell drugs to be treated like human beings. I also want them to be able to seek help easier without the judgment or being treated like a criminal. Personally, I don't do any of that, but I understand why someone would. (This kind of thing hits home for me.)

As far as the whole weapon thing is concerned (it was a gun), I personally don't like them and we need better gun control in the United States. I don't think I'd trust anyone who owns a gun because of the possibility that they would hurt me or worse in an argument or something. I've seen my abuser threaten to pull a gun out on my dad when I was a kid. Thankfully it wasn't loaded, but still. It was scary. I wouldn't own a gun because I'm autistic, mentally ill, and I'm afraid of what I might do in certain situations. If someone wants to own a gun for protection, hunting, target practice, or to collect them, fine. BUT YOU DON'T NEED A HUGE ASS GUN THAT THE MILITARY USES TO GO HUNTING OR FOR TARGET PRACTICE. I don't like them, I don't want one, I don't trust myself with one, guns scare me, and I want better gun control in the United States. It terrifies me that people openly carry. I understand that's the Second Amendment and all, but it doesn't change the fact that it terrifies me. As long as you're responsible with that kind of thing, I don't really care.

I don't know what Brent's reason was for (allegedly) owning a weapon (maybe for protection or something?), but it's none of my business.

In my opinion, this is all stupid shit. There are people who have done horrible things and they're STILL free people, but oh, god forbid you do or sell drugs! THAT'S bad. /s

Here's my response below. I'll type out everything, except for the disclaimers and what he was arrested for. I will start from the fifth paragraph on the first screenshot and continue from there. This is so anyone who has a hard time reading any of the screenshots can read them easier.

(My response was from around the time it was announced that he was arrested. Just so you know.)

First screenshot, fifth paragraph:

First off, I just want to say that this situation is a fucked up one for anyone to be in. I would never wish this on anyone. Especially because now, there's a baby involved, so this makes the situation worse. This is pretty difficult for me to put into words without coming off as bitchy or anything like that, so if I get bitchy here, I apologize.

Second screenshot, fifth paragraph:

I don't know what caused this mess to begin with, but I do know that Brent and his wife Taylor just had a baby a couple months ago (when I was typing this out initially). While it's a good thing for them, it can be assumed that this is also a very stressful time for them.

Combination of third and fourth screenshots (These are pretty much only theories; not facts, and they will be broken up into paragraphs): 

The pandemic most likely isn’t helping their case. Las Vegas is a HUGE city and I’m sure A LOT of people there are REALLY struggling right now in all aspects. Maybe Brent and Taylor are struggling to pay off hospital bills or whatever (to put this into perspective, the average cost for hospital childbirth in Nevada is around $21,239, according to CBS News). The average salary for an accountant in Nevada is anywhere from $34k to $150k, and that all depends on education, experience (how long you’ve been in said career), certifications, and any additional skills. Take into account any other necessities they have to pay for, like their mortgage, bills, insurance, etc. 

Let’s say that they did manage to pay everything else off, but they’re struggling to pay the hospital bills from when they had their baby. (Having a baby is fucking expensive in the United States, regardless of whether there are complications or not, and regardless of whether you have insurance or not.) Let’s say they’ve tried every single option out there, but nothing seems to give still. Maybe the drug selling was a last resort on Brent’s part. (As I’ve said, I don’t know the full story.)

The whole subject of drug paraphernalia hits home for me. My parents both did drugs when I was a kid. I’ve seen it a lot growing up. My dad was, in the past, in and out of jail for drugs and other things that aren’t relevant here. I’m not sure if my mom was in and out of jail for the same shit, but I know for a fact my dad was. Y’know, because he told me. ANYWAYS. 

I get it. You gotta do what you gotta do. It’s not something I’d do personally, but I understand why somebody would do it. I wouldn’t treat them any differently. Maybe they’re selling drugs or whatever to keep themselves from losing their homes, put food on the table for their families, help pay their bills, pay for their education, whatever. It could be a number of things.

Fifth screenshot (people’s reactions to the news and my thoughts on them):

Now...let’s move on to how people are reacting to the news. There’s a lot of mixed reactions. A lot of people feel bad for Brent, especially since he and Taylor just had a baby a couple months ago (as I was typing this). Some people “aren’t surprised” because they were never fans of him in the first place. Others think this is amusing. I’ve seen some people who are solely involved in celebrity news (similar to TMZ) making jokes about the situation, which to me, is appalling.

Let me tell you something. It doesn’t matter if you’re a fan of Brent or not. This shit isn’t funny or cute in the slightest. It sure isn’t funny or cute to anyone who is being affected by the situation, which includes Brent himself, Taylor, their son, and all their loved ones. Like, full stop. Have some decency. Y’all are fucking gross. You can dislike Brent all you want, but he’s a real human being who fucked up. Personally, when I first heard the news, I couldn’t believe it at first. I thought I was having a fever dream. That is, until I looked it up and actually found that it was true. I was CRUSHED. Why? Because Brent is one of the last people I’d even expect to get into this whole mess. 

Sixth screenshot (my thoughts):

If I’m being honest here...like, BRUTALLY honest, Brent needs to be put in REHAB, not jail. For anyone who has been here (on my Instagram) from when I used to dedicate this account to vintage Panic!, you know how I’ve never said anything but kind things about Brent. From the few times I’ve interacted with him a little bit on Twitter and from how I’ve seen him interact with others on the site, Brent is one of the sweetest people ever. I’m being genuine here. He’s a good guy who fucked up and did some dumb shit. Does that make him bad? No. Then again, as far as I’ve read about the current situation at hand, it’s too early to really determine anything. None of us know what caused him to have drug paraphernalia or anything else that he was arrested for in the first place.

Seventh screenshot (wrap-up):

I’m gonna wrap this up here. My heart aches for Brent, Taylor, their son, and all their loved ones. I hope that everything gets straightened out, all sides of the story come out, and that Brent can get his shit together again. Like he had been doing since he was kicked out of Panic!. I wish everyone involved nothing but the absolute best right now, given how fucked up the whole situation is. (Just to clear up any confusion, when I was referring to Taylor, I’m NOT referring to Taylor Swift or any other celebrity with the name Taylor. I’m referring to Brent’s wife.) 

If you’ve read this far, thank you! If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I’ll try to answer as best as I can.

Have my thoughts on the situation changed since February - March of this year? No.

I think that Brent needs some kind of help. That's why I mentioned rehab. It's obvious to me that's the kind of help he needs. I don't believe jail is helpful in certain circumstances (like drug charges, traffic violations, and other nonviolent crimes)....at least in the United States. They treat people who do drugs and/or sell drugs like they're subhuman. Yet there are people who have committed violent, deplorable, horrific crimes, and they're still free people. Funny how that works. I'm not too educated about how the jail system works in other countries, so I can't exactly tell you how I feel about that system on an international standpoint.

Brent should be with his wife and child. I hope the guy gets his shit together again. I believe Brent WILL get his shit together. Genuinely. I would never wish anything bad on him.

I don't crucify Brent like a lot of people in the Panic! fandom do. The only reason I would hypothetically do so is if Brent actually committed violent, deplorable, horrific crimes (i.e., chomo bullshit, trafficking...like, extreme shit) that would warrant him being locked up and I'd drop him completely at that point. OBVIOUSLY I DON'T SEE HIM DOING ANYTHING LIKE THAT. EVER. THAT'S JUST HYPOTHETICAL.

Anyways....have a good day, y'all.

[ebaeschnbliah]

M O N S T E R S   I N C

________________________________________________________________

... and it’s stunning similarities with Sherlock BBC

MONSTERS, INC  is a computer-animated comedy from 2001, produced by Pixar Animation Studios and distributed by Walt Disney Pictures. A modern fairytale, so to speak. I stumbled across this movie by accident while researching the ‘221b door’ tag on my blog and found an old tweet from Arwel Wyn Jones (x) posted during the filming of Series Four.  Watching the movie turned out to be quite the eye-opener.  :)

It’s not so much the plot of that movie but rather certain images which remind me strongly of Sherlock BBC. A lot of images, to be precise, but also some dialogues and one distinct voice. Watching MONSTERS, INC really left me speechless at times.

Related posts:  The Monsters are loose  (initially I’d chosen to name this post ‘Monsters Inc’ but that was before I watched the movie)   Overlaps    Playing with skulls (soon)   Laughs or Screams, additional informations

The ‘monster post’  is waiting below the cut for the fearless  ….  :))))

For anyone who hasn’t seen the movie:  MONSTERS, INC mostly plays in Monstropolis, a city in a parallel universe. The only places where the monster- and the human-world can connect, are the closet doors in children’s beedrooms. Here skilled monsters - the ‘scarers’ - appear at night to harvest the screams of terrified kids. Just like in the human world, the majority of the monsters aren’t evil, nor mean they any harm to the children. Monsters are actually more scared of human kids than the kids are of them. The harvested screams are badly needed because they provide the energy which is necessary to power the monster’s world. And because children are constantly becoming less easily scared, the screams decrase more and more, which means that an energie krisis threatens.

Initially the storyline for MONSTERS, INC  had been a different one though:

Pete Docter's (director and writer) original idea revolved around a 30-year old man dealing with monsters, which he drew in a book as a child, coming back to bother him as an adult. Each monster represented a fear he had and conquering those fears caused the monsters to eventually disappear.  (X) 

The logo of MONSTERS, INC,  the powerstation where screams are harvested to light the Monster’s world, combines the symbol of the eye and the letter M. I simply can’t help unsee a certain similarity with the logo for TheGameIsNow. That’s quite thought provoking, to say the least. 

The two leading characters in the monster world are scarer James P. "Sulley" Sullivan and his best friend and roommate Mike Wazowski, who is also his assistant at work. A big blue, fluffy guy wearing horns and a short, one-eyed, green guy who prefers to sit in a green egg-chair …. a bit similar to the one from the stagnight scene inTSOT.

Sulley holds the top position among all the scarers of Monstropolis. With military-like training Mike takes care that his friend stays in best form. 

Hey! Less talk, more pain, marshmallow boy! Feel the burn! You call yourself a monster?

The most successful scarers are celebrated like stars. Everyone knows them. They can’t go anywhere without being recognized and asked for autographs. And when they enter their company it looks like a hero parade. 

Future scarers have to undergo a special training in a high-tec simulation room. Here they are taught everything of importance, including the art of scaring children most efficiently in order to get the perfect scream. 

Listen to the lady in front of the surveillance screens who teaches screaming (at 01.40) …. but beware … she sounds an awful lot like Eurus Holmes ….

And this is the big boss, the chairman of MONSTERS, INC … Mr. Waternoose. He is very proud of his job, which has been passed down through his family for three generations. He acts as Sulley’s mentor and holds great faith in him as a scarer. Additionally …. he reminds me very much of Mycroft in TAB.

The monsters believe that harvesting screams is enormously dangerous, because children are deemed to be toxic, that their touch could kill them. Agents of a special task force - the Child Detection Agency - are on constant alert to neutralize any contamination with objects belonging to the human world. 

As soon as anything suspicious has been detected, the ‘big bad bouncy red alert’  goes off, cameras zoom in and then CDA agents enter right through the skylights to take care of the problem. Like AGRA in Tiblisi , really! I couldn’t help a yelp watching this little scene below ….

And then ..... shaved by AGRA … sorry, by CDA, of course ….  :))))

The day comes, however, when the unimaginable happens and a human child enters the monster world. And Sulley, the most famous scarer of all, is almost scared to death. I’m really tempted to call this an ‘Eurus-efffect’ ...

Thankfully, Sulley also has a heart of pure gold. He overcomes his fear - a little bit - and takes the human child home. His partner Mike is definitely not amused but helps anyway. Courageously, the friends prepare for the worst case scenario ...

Sulley, the Viking, with shield and horned helm and Mike, who seems to have ransacked the kitchen Cabinet instead. The little ‘killer-girl’ though is completely unimpressed ...

The evening starts rather chaotic, which results in some remarkable accidents …   I guess I know now where the idea of shoving a big pack of cigarettes into Sherlock’s mouth comes from …. and maybe Sherlock’s spraying attack on the CIA agent in ASIB as well.

Finally the situation calms down. Sulley beginns to supect that human kids might not be toxic after all. The little girl has a real crush on the fluffy, blue monster. She believes Sulley is a big cat and starts calling him ‘Kitty’. Looks like ‘killer girl’ is a cat lover. :)  Against Mike’s advice, Sulley decides to give the girl a name as well. He settles for ‘Boo’ because she likes nothing more than to scare him.

And Boo likes to draw …. Spoiler: Boo doesn’t burn down the house.

Eventually Boo gets tired. A trace of goodies (not breadcrumbs) leads the little girl to bed.

By the way: The book based on the film gives Boo's "real" name as Mary Gibbs, the name of her voice actress. (x)

The architecture of Mike’s and Sulley’s flat … the wide arch in the living room and in Sulley’s bedroom (Mike’s bedroom is never shown) … instantly reminded me of the very similar structure chosen for the 221b Baker Street livingroom set in PILOT.

What would any fairytale be without a good old-fashioned villain. In this case it’s a villain who looks suspiciously like a Chinese dragon. And naturally, where there is a dragon there needs to be a dragon slayer as well.   

Randall, the dragon-like monster is one of the most wicked characters in Monstropolis. He works as scarer but holds only the second place on the company’s success-list behind Sulley. Randall’s envy is huge. He is driven by his desire to displace his opponent from the top of the list. One can safely say that ‘murderous jealousy’ is a good description of Randall’s motivation. But his plan to capture the all-time scare record, only scratches the surface of his sinister agenda. 

But before it comes to the ‘slaying’, the nasty reptile tries to torture Mike, to find out where the missing human child is hiding. 

Randall:  SAY HELLO TO THE SCREAM EXTRACTOR!   (Jim in TAB:  Well, say hello to the virus.)

This is what Randall has created in a secret lab to prevent the looming energy crisis of his world … a machine to harvest the screams of children by force and not through the acting skills of trained scarers. Mike’s unimpressed answer to this realisation: 

Mike:  WELL, SOMEBODY'S CERTAINLY BEEN A BUSY BEE    (Mycroft in TEH:  You have been busy, haven’t you? Quite the busy little bee.) 

That’s not a joke … and the way down to the secret lab looks strikingly familiar as well ...

Needless to say that Sulley arrives just in time to rescue his friend … but that’s not the end of the story and also not the end of similarities with Sherlock BBC. 

Some nice little images in-between:  a fish mobile from Boo’s bedroom in which Sulley gets tangled up in, a toy train, a toy ship and a toy plane from the high-tech simulation room. Rater similar items can be detected in Sherlock BBC as well (TST, MHR and TFP). Especially the plane reminds me of the one Eurus’ plays with near the brook.

More familiar images:  

the prominent display of the letter M - often in combination with an eye 

a precious littel thing ... Boo, who wears pink underneath her disguise as monster, hides in a bin

a rather ‘big G’ painted on a wall

And there are eyes wherever one looks ...

Even contact lenses can be found ...

Mike’s love interest is a lady with hissing snakes for hairs, who works as receptionist in their company …. 

At one point the hero’s life is threatened by a deep fall, caused by his opponent, Randall, the nasty ‘dragon’. 

Seeing Sulley’s life threatened, Boo overcomes her fear of the reptile-like monster. She attacks him violently. This gives Sulley the time he needs to get out of the critical situation. 

And WOW!!! What changeable creature this villain is ……. even Jim ‘I’m so changeable’ Moriarty would be inmpressed. 

Randall’s exceptional talent for any kind of masquerade is also demonstrated in a little scene involving a portrait of the company’s chairman, Mr. Waternoose.   

The face of a chairman, covered by something related to a dragon … this reminds me instantly of TBB and Sir William, the former chairman of the bank, whose face had been covered with the yellow spray-paint, applied by a member of the Yellow Dragon Circus. 

To their dismay, Sulley and Mike discover that Randall isn’t just a jealous colleague. What is far worse, the changeable villain doesn’t work alone. His partner in cirme turns out to be none other than Mr. Waternoose, the big boss of the company. The two of them intend to use Boo for their experiments with the scream extractor, while Sulley and Mike get banished from Monstropolis and are sent into exile .. to the Himalayas. No return expected. 

There is no plane involved as in Sherlock’s case, but strictly speaking, the way in which the ‘sending into exile’ happens, can indeed be seen as a variation of ‘flyihg’ … 

Snow falls at the place where they land, somewhere in the Himalayan mountains.

While the Himalayas, more precisely Tibet, is closely connected to Sherlock’s hiatus after Reichenbach, the falling snow can also be found in TAB, the place Sherlock finds himself in, as a result of his ‘going into exile’ at the end of HLV … London in the winter 1895. 

And it doesn’t take long before the dark shadow of a scary creature falls over them … a seemingly monstrous creature which is covered all over in ‘bridal white’ fur  ….

May I introduce you to ….  Yeti, the ABOMINABLE snowman!

"ABOMINABLE"!  CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?  DO I LOOK ABOMINABLE TO YOU?  WHY CAN'T THEY CALL ME THE ADORABLE SNOWMAN OR...OR THE AGREEABLE SNOWMAN, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD?  I'M A NICE GUY. 

He is really a very nice guy and helps Sulley and Mike to get back where they came from and where they are badly needed by Boo. Randall is not amused but this time it is him who looses the game.

Yeti’s nickname was inspired by the Abominable Snowman from the 1964 animated special Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (X).  Knowing this, one could view that bridal-white character also as a sort of Christmas connection. :))))

And have I mentioned those horns?

Some more lovely images:  a shot from the inside out of a small box (without a severed head in it though), no fire-extinguisher but it looks like one, silhouettes behind glass, safety helmets (X) and ... flickering screens ….

At the story’s finale, the simulation room from the beginning - a bedroom on a stage with a ‘fake’ victim lying in it and with a moving wall - I’m not kidding - becomes the ‘confession room’ for the main culprit. And of course, every word of his confession gets recorded. Somehow this reminds me strongly of another scene … another film … what was it again? It’s on the tip of my tongue ….

It turns out that chairman Waternoose had already been under close observation by CDA undercover agent 001 - code name Roz (not AMO). An elderly, quite steely lady, who turns out to be his superior. Waternoose gets arrested and Sulley becomes the new chairman of MONSTERS, INC.

Now the time has come for Boo to return to the human world. Sulley takes the little girl back through the closet door into her room, where they part after a big good-bye hug. 

Then the closet door which leads to her bedroom gets shredded, to prevent any future contact. But Boo’s short visit to the monster world had a huge impact. It proved that a child's laugh has ten times the power of a child's scream. The energy crisis of Monstropolis is solved. From now on laughter is harvested instead of screams and the power generated this way, is enormous. Mike turns out to be best harvester for laughs ever. 

Because Mike knows how much Sulley misses the little human girl, he collects and secretly reassembles the pieces of Boo's shredded door so that it can be activated again. 

The End

The song "If I Didn't Have You" won the Academy Award for Best Original Song.

Mike: ♪ But I must admit it. Big guy, you always come through. I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have you. ♪ Mike and Sulley: ♪ You and me together. That's how it always should be. One without the other don't mean nothin' to me. Nothin' to me. ♪

Sulley: ♪ I don't have to say it. 'Cause we both know it's true.♪ Both: ♪ I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have... I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have... I wouldn't have nothin' if I didn't have you. ♪ Mike: ♪ You! You! A-E-I-O... That means you. Yeah. ♪

And doesn’t this almost sound like …. ‘just the two of us against the rest of the world’? 

Hopefully you enjoyed the rather long ride. I can highly recommend this movie to anyone. It’s so much more fun watching it with ones own eyes than just reading a summary. This said, I leave you now to your own deductions. Thanks for reading that far. :)

August, 2019

[secularsoapbox-blog]

Small Town Witch Trials?

So, I’ll be frank with you, this story isn’t actually about witches.

However, it is about the Salem Witch Trials mentality sneaking its way into my rural small town here in 2020 and it scares me.

So, about a year or two ago, we had this homeless man appear in our small town. This originally wouldn’t be a big deal, it’s a small railroad/freeway town and we get homeless passing through quite often.

The weird part here is that this man was/is ALWAYS in a clean/unstained completely white outfit. White beanie, shirt, hoodie, pants, and shoes.

His clothes were never dirty and he immediately stood out. We began calling him “The Man in White.” Rumors and gossip immediately began spreading about him. People began speculation immediately.

Some approached him and asked about him. He said that “God wanted him here in this town to help the children” and that he’ll “know when it’s time” or something along those lines.

People immediately began speculating about him potentially being a pedophile and whatnot. We have a Facebook group for locals and EVERYONE uses it for gossip/debates constantly.

Eventually, he began loitering at the local Starbucks often and a young female employee told a local that he makes her uncomfortable. Now, I understand, and I want people to feel safe in their workplace, but remember that this man never did anything wrong other than being homeless and constantly talked and speculated about.

Shortly after, said local made a post in the group about how the town needs to team up and protect our children because the police and Starbucks aren’t going to do anything about him. Thus began a campaign to complain about him as much as possible to Starbucks management and even higher ups outside of the store. 

Eventually, Starbucks and police informed him he was not welcome and that he would be arrested if he came back. My memory is foggy here but I believe he may have been arrested for loitering here some time afterwards if not that very day.

Either way, he was given the same treatment at all of the local restaurants and fast food places and was much later arrested at Taco Bell for trespassing as well. Keep in mind, every time he was arrested he then walked back to our town which is about a 14+ hour walk back.

So far, the only crimes this man committed were going to restaurants/fast food businesses, being homeless, and I believe smoking weed in public once. The rumors continued though. Every arrest was blown out of proportion and the subject of heavy gossip.

Throughout this time, the pedophile theory kept coming back up as well. Someone found a homeless man on Megan’s Law that looked a lot like him and everybody KNEW it was him. Except, it was not, he actually hung out with that man and there are pictures online of the two of them together. 

We know his legal name now, both from him and from the arrest reports. The man on Megan’s Law is certainly not him, yet many in our town never got the memo. I have to correct locals and show proof constantly because these damn Gen Xers believe everything they read on the internet once as long as it goes with their bias.

So, as far as the town is concerned, hes a dangerous homeless drug addict pedophile and their minds will likely never be changed.

The reason I began this rant today, is that he was jumped and badly beaten the other night. Two men in ski masks appeared out of the darkness and beat him bloody. Some rumors even claimed that they shot his dog but that part has since been debunked.

The most sickening part? The Facebook group is ECSTATIC about it. Memes, bragging, thanking, jokes about doing it again. It’s sickening. I asked the reason why this happened and the main response was almost always something along the lines of “We need to protect our women and children.”

These people are constantly laughing, bragging, and posting updates about his black and bloodied face and his eye swollen shut. They’re already making jokes about a phase two and things like that. 

They love it and it’s disgusting. 

I’ve still yet to uncover any reasonable proof that he did anything other than one person claiming that he heard from someone that they heard from someone that he was threatening women and children.

Is The Man in White guilty? I’m honestly not sure, he’s super weird and if the town didn’t turn him into a martyr I’d probably have far less positive feelings about him personally. He certainly could be a bad and dangerous pedophile, I won’t deny that. But what truly sickens me is that we don’t know. 

There are few things more terrifying to me than the idea of an innocent living thing being punished for something it didn’t do, especially so harshly.

“Innocent until proven guilty.”

Please, don’t profile, don’t jump to conclusions, and definitely don’t put ski masks on and gang beat an elderly man in the dark. 

This has been my soapbox.

[canardroublard]

TMFU, Gaby’s fashion, and some feminist film analysis

Back when I slapped together a reblog post about the men’s fashion in The Man From UNCLE in between physio appointments, which somehow got like way more notes than I ever really expected or even wanted, I didn’t address the fashion of the lead female character, Gaby. It was outside the scope of the OP, and I didn’t feel like I had anything new or interesting to say about Gaby’s fashion, or lack thereof.

(My beta says those earrings are the ugliest thing ever. I disagree. It’s a wonder we’re still friends)

Anyways, we see only one brief scene of Gaby in her own street clothes, and a slightly longer sequence of her in her work clothes. The rest of the film, she is wearing clothes chosen for her by Illya. Saying “we just don’t have enough info” is a perfectly reasonable approach to this. So this was the other reason I had no intention of making this post.

But then people started getting interested. Someone reblogged commenting about Gaby’s fashion, and I discovered that I have very strong opinions about something I’d previously claimed was unknowable, and it made me wonder what was going on in my brain.

Then I talked to some other TMFU friends who all seemed interested in what I assumed was common knowledge/nothing unique. So, they may have been feigning interest out of politeness, but it activated the art history side of my brain, and here we are now!

The boring stuff but please read this

I am not attempting to tell anyone how to interpret this film. I am not even trying to change people’s minds or persuade them to my thinking. All I am doing is sharing my thought process. I wasn’t even going to do this for Gaby until people asked. To this end, please don’t attempt to argue with me about this. I don’t want to argue. I won’t respond to it. If you disagree, then please, just move along.

And I’m going to remind people that I love TMFU. I love this movie so much it hurts. Why am I putting this reminder here? Because I am about to apply some critical analysis to it, and in places this will be cynical, and it will not always look kindly on the film. If you just want to exist in a happy “I love TMFU!” bubble and not hear anything less than 100% positive about the film (which is a totally valid choice, I don’t fault anyone for that), then don’t read. But don’t yell at me for being mean or criticizing the film, because I warned you.

Tldr; or, if I were still being graded for this stuff here’s my thesis statement

When analysing Gaby’s fashion, there exist considerations which don’t apply to the male characters. Namely, she is a woman and the male gaze is a thing. So I am very, very wary about taking at  face value any expressions of traditional femininity in the choices made  for her outfits, hair, makeup, etc. Therefore, when considering her character, I find it much more useful and informative to give more weight to the aspects of her appearance which do not connote traditional femininity, rather than those that do.

For readers who have studied enough  media analysis to follow my thought based on that alone, there’s the thesis statement, y’all can go home (or at least skip to the end where I come to a conclusion). If you’re lost, then read on.

(mobile readers, the cut here might not work, and if so I apologize for what is going to be a very long post. Tumblr’s “keep reading” functionality is inconsistent at best, but I tried)

Context is for kings essential for analysing media in a meaningful way

(Or, some brief background. Stick with me here, we’ll get to the good stuff soon)

So, art doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Attempting to analyze any artwork (in this case a film) while disregarding the culture it was created in and the intentions of the creator is...not going to get you very far. Asking “what is art” is a question that quite frankly exhausts me at this point (looking at you, Duchamp) but the closest I’ve ever come to an answer is that the only thing that separates art from everything else is intent. And intention only exists within cultural context. So yes, intent and context don’t just matter peripherally, they are one of the biggest considerations one needs to make when analyzing works of art. The creator in this case being Guy Ritchie et al, the culture being British/American Popular Cinema in The Year of Somebody’s Lord Two-Thousand-And-Fifteen. 

Everyone views and creates (if applicable) art through their own distorted, murky, imperfect lens of personal experience. And one of the most persistent Things in western art is that cishet men create art based on their experience of Being A Dude. This is crucial, because this lens of cishet male perspective literally underpins almost all of western culture including popular culture. And thanks to feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey, we have a name for this.

The male gaze and you

I’m going to quote Wikipedia here, because honestly this intro sentence sums things up rather neatly (with one exception which I will address momentarily).

In feminist theory, the male gaze is the act of depicting women and the world, in the visual arts and literature, from a masculine, heterosexual perspective that presents and represents women as sexual objects for the pleasure of the male viewer.

What does that all mean? That the Viewer and the Artist are both cishet men by default, and any women are Subjects of art. Women are viewed, never viewers. Men take action, women are subjected to actions. Furthermore, women are supposed to be pleasurable to view. By men. Since the Viewer is male by default.

But I would disagree that the pleasure is inherently based on women being sexual objects. That’s honestly a really damn limited read on the whole theory, and it’s one that Wikipedia itself contradicts later in the article. More broadly, cis men also derive other forms of pleasure from the presentation and viewing of female bodies, including aesthetic pleasure (the enjoyment of looking at beautiful things).

The theory of the male gaze is not without limits. As originally theorized, afaik it’s not particularly intersectional. It doesn’t really address queer perspectives or perspectives of POC. However, these issues are something I just can’t address here, unfortunately. And when looking at popular media, I still find the concept of the male gaze, imperfect as it may be, is a helpful means of analysis, so it’s worth having in your toolbox.

Circling back, the easiest way to sum up the male gaze, if you’re still not super clear on what it is, is with a demonstration.

Ever seen a shot like this in a movie?

And did you immediately roll your eyes? Feel gross? Congrats, you have just perceived and reacted to the male gaze.

Now we actually get back to TMFU

But the male gaze also shows up in many more subtle, insidious ways than fanservice-y boob shots. For this post, let’s focus on the following considerations, which might help everyone follow my thought process more clearly.

Gaby is a woman

She functions as the love interest of Illya in the script (I am not talking from a shipping perspective. What you ship does not matter for this discussion. I am talking about the narrative function of Gaby in the script as written. Put on your “cishet man” goggles for a moment)

Illya is a man who is attracted to women, specifically Gaby (again, I don’t care if your shipping conflicts with this. I am analyzing the film based on a literal reading of it as if I were a cishet man. Why? Because that’s who made the film. That’s who it’s “for”. I am all for queer readings of film--hell, I ship OT3, I myself have chosen a queer reading for how I interact with it, but I’m not critiquing people’s readings, I’m critiquing the film itself and to do that I have to critique its intentions and cultural context.)

Cishet men are traditionally only allowed to be attracted to women who are conventionally attractive. If they were to be attracted to anyone else it would destroy their fragile senses of self and their heads would explode or something. At least I assume that’s what must happen, based on how terrified they are of it.

Therefore, Gaby must be conventionally attractive, because it is literally required of her or otherwise the whole underpinning of western straight malehood crumbles and then where would we get such a pure, vast source of unadulterated toxic masculinity?

(Yes, this is a very cynical read on things. I’ve studied, like, three centuries worth of this bullshit. I’m tired. Let me be cynical.)

Or, to force myself to be less cynical, Gaby has to be pretty because...nope, this is still going to turn out just as cynical.

But what I will say in favour of this movie is that it gives Gaby and Victoria both a lot of agency and general awesomeness, which is quite unusual in this sort of big-budget action film, and it’s one of the big reasons I love it. I’m not saying that the entire film is sexist. On the contrary, there’s a ton of stuff to celebrate about how it portrays its female characters. But these aspects don’t change the cultural context, and we still have to consider the impacts of the male gaze.

Anyways, point being is that as filtered through the male gaze, Gaby is never given the option to, say, wear no makeup (or the appearance of such, as the guys are afforded, this being cinema where “no makeup” still means makeup) because that would look “ugly”.  Instead she needs to have a “baseline of pretty” which is way higher than reality because she is not a real human being with her own agency, she is a character created by a cis male writer/director team in a film directed by a cis man in a genre that caters to cishet men.

Gaby doesn’t exist in a vacuum. She exists battling centuries and centuries worth of sexist convention.

Now then, remembering all of that, let’s actually look at her. There are woefully few good pictures so I’m going to have to piece things together a little. Starting with the coveralls.

This is a great look, I love it. And I’m going to give Ritchie a lot of credit here because it would’ve been easy to go for a “Michelle Rodriguez in F&F sexy mechanic lady” look. In case I need to provide a visual:

(Repeat above gif about rolling my eyes)

Now, to be clear, I am not making any judgement about the way any real-life women dress. I’m sure there’s plenty of female mechanics who have their hair down and wear tank tops while working. That doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if real life mechanics choose to do their jobs in a string bikini. Or in cosplay of the bee from Bee Movie. I don’t care (and quite frankly it’s none of my business) because they are real people who can make their own decisions. But what I am talking about here is a fictional character who does not have her own agency. I am critiquing how male creators choose to dress their female characters.

So I personally choose to read much more into the unpretty  aspects of Gaby’s outfit, because these are not the “obvious” or “easy”   things. Obvious and easy are “of course she wears makeup” and “of course her hair looks good” and  “of course she doesn’t look like a swamp witch  who bathes in mud and spends her days cursing passing men”. Those things don’t challenge or disrupt the assumption that women must look attractive for male consumption.

Gaby’s introduction to us is with her in a pair of grease-stained, baggy coveralls, not wearing any obvious makeup (again, this is cinema, so she is wearing makeup. For cinema the goal posts around “wearing makeup” always need to be moved from where they’d be irl). There’s very little here that screams ‘pretty’. And that is fascinating to me.

I don’t know how deeply Ritchie thought this through when giving final approval to the costume, hair and makeup. But unpretty is not the default here. It’s a choice

And look at this. This is the stance and dress sense (and socks!) of a woman who does not give a damn about looking good for the male gaze, whether the in-movie gaze of Napoleon, or the implied gaze of the viewer and creator. It’s not ‘pretty’. And this is the only time in the film we see Gaby in her own everyday clothes, as she only escapes East Berlin with the literal clothes on her back.

So how do I think Gaby dresses? I think that for the most part she dresses....like this. Practical. Comfortable. With a few simple touches of things she likes/finds pretty, perhaps, but not with a specific interest in being pretty. She dresses for herself, not for others. And if that isn’t something to aspire to, I don’t know what is.

[justice-for-shayla]

The Shadow and the Soul

A/N: This has been finished for hours but I couldn’t post it without a title. The prompt I received (Many days ago) was Historical AU and Secret Relationship, only one of which is a focus for this part. I have a second part planned but it may need a third to wrap things up. 

Word Count: 4000 

A note on Historical Accuracy: The inaccuracy here is intentional. I will break all rules of history in order to steal the aesthetics of a time period, (in this case the Antebellum South, without all the nastiness. I’m not going to write characters I like as former or current slave owners, that’s fucking gross.) Don’t send me messages or write comments about how this isn’t true or wouldn’t work. I don’t care.  

Warnings: Historical Inaccuracy, Civil War Mentions, Death Mentions, Melodramatic Period Piece Tropes, Smut in Later Chapters (18+ Only) 

The locals called them leeches and parasites, the Northerners who’d descended on New Orleans in the wake of the war, but Aurelie never flinched at their hurled insults. She never flinched at all, in fact.

Long ago, she had learned that it was better to be seen as sweet. Sweet girls who never got into any trouble could get away with anything, because no one could imagine a “Sweet girl like her” getting up to any trouble.

Four years of war time had toughened even the sweetest girls, and Aurelie was no exception. Her once round cheeks had grown sharp and narrow when rationing had started, and her soft fingers had become calloused with all the times she’d pricked her fingers sewing up uniforms or burned herself on the water they boiled to bring to the hospitals.

Losing all three of her brothers had toughened her too. By the time they’d lost Henry, Aurelie didn’t even cry, only stood near her mother, somber and steady while her mother sobbed and fell to her knees. Henry had been the oldest, and the one she’d thought most likely to live, but even he had fallen, shot dead on a battlefield far from home. 

Lucas had been first, the first time her youngest brother had ever been the first to do anything, and Jean-Paul had been right in the middle, as always. It had destroyed her mother, the loss of all her boys, and in an effort to help her regain her health, the family had decided to move down to New Orleans to stay with relatives.

Though she had said she was looking forward to living with her sister, Aurelie’s mother never seemed particularly excited about the idea, even as she stepped off of the train into the sweltering air. 

Aurelie was neither excited nor perturbed. Her life up North had been boring until the war and difficult during it, leaving her feeling restless and purposeless now that it was over. Though being sweet had always been a lie for her, now act was heavy against her skin, itching like wool underclothes and cloying like a too-tight corset.

The only thing worth looking forward to had been the presence of her cousin, Eugene, the only young male in the family to make it out of the war. Aurelie sought him out now and found him lounging against a large tree in the garden.

“Is my mama looking for me?” He asked her, politely setting his pipe aside, though she wouldn’t have minded if he’d kept smoking.

“No, just me,” She said, taking a seat beside him and carefully arranging her skirt around her.

“You alright?” She had remembered him as an awkward and sickly boy, but he had come back a sad-eyed man, stronger than he had been before, but wounded in a different way. Aurelie never asked him about it, but she sensed that he was pretending to be well in the same way that she pretended to be sweet.

“You met Sidney yet?” He asked.

Aurelie groaned. “I’ve done nothing but meet Mr. Phillips. There are too many mothers trying to match us; it’ll be the death of me.”

“They just want something happy, I think. He’s not a bad one, you could do worse.”

She just shrugged. “I don’t care either way about him, and that’s just the problem.”

“Well, every surviving young man with any kind of money in New Orleans will be at your welcome party tonight, so if you’re ready to announce an engagement, now’s the time.”

Groaning, Aurelie gave up trying to keep her dress nice and flopped all the way onto the grass. “God, I’d love to make them happy but I can’t get engaged just to see my mama smile, Gene. I just can’t do it.”

“I don’t think you should, even if he’s my friend. You oughta wait.”

“Wait for what? For all the surviving men who fought in blue but live in New Orleans to get married to the other girls everyone’s shipping from up North?”

“Then at least you won’t have to be one of them.” Eugene shrugged.

“And what about you, Mr. Sledge, are you hoping to make your mama smile tonight?”

He rolled his eyes. “She smiles plenty because I came home. She only had one son and I came back. Your mama sent three and didn’t get any, I think she might hate me for it.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Aurelie protested, “But you look like Henry, if she squints and turns her head right. I think you make her sad, but I’m sure she’d like to see you wed and naming babies after her boys.”

Eugene shuddered. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Aurelie accepted this without question. If she’d had other options, she would have said Not Yet about marriage and babies too, but her choices were limited. “I oughta go inside and start dressing.” She shifted but didn’t stand, not wanting to leave her quiet moment with Gene.

“Can I ask you a favor, Rellie?” He asked, using the nickname he’d given her when they were children, before he’d mastered the pronunciation of her name.

“Of course.”

“I invited a friend of mine, Merriell Shelton. This isn’t really his type of party, so it might be nice if someone… helped him. I know he’d like you.”

“Why’s that?” For all the time she’d known him, Gene had only had one friend-- Sidney-- so the idea of him having someone else, someone who didn’t quite fit with the rest of their circle was intriguing enough on its own, but Aurelie fished for information anyway. She was hoping it might reveal something about this mysterious friend.

“You’re pretty, but you’re not soft. You’ll look him in the eye and not let him give you shit, which he will try to do.”

Aurelie smiled, picturing a bold sort of man who wouldn’t be afraid to make jokes around her, and wouldn’t flinch if she accidentally used some of the swears she’d learned from hanging around the nurses during the war.

“Sure, Gene, but only if you try to have some fun.”

Gene sighed and looked away from her, a shadow passing over his face, which he’d tried to arrange into a smile for her. “I’m doing my best, Rellie.”

She nodded and turned away, hating that sadness that clung to him like mud, but unable to do anything about it.  

“Rell?” He called, just before she was out of earshot, “He says he’s got a way with women; watch out.”

Laughing, Aurelie tossed her words over her shoulder. “All men say that, Gene; I’m immune.”

Submitting herself to the terrifying ordeal of getting ready for a party was distracting, but did little to lift her spirits as she was pinched and pulled and powdered until she looked like a perfect little doll nestled on top of a skirt wider than most door frames. Her mother had picked the dress and her maid had picked the hairstyle, she could barely recognize herself underneath all of it.

“Miss? It’s time; folks are waiting.”

She nodded, stealing one last glance at her reflection and defiantly tugging one red curl out of its place and letting it hang next to her eye. It was a small flaw, but with no time to fix it, she would be allowed to keep it, and with it some semblance of herself.

The Sledge’s ballroom was packed with people, though the festive atmosphere felt forced and oddly turbulent, like someone holding a match next to a powder keg. It was obvious that not all the people in this room had fought on the right side of the war, and tension ran high as everyone wondered who would start the first fight.

Aurelie hoped it wouldn’t come until later. She hoped it might not come at all. She wished the boys in gray could all just go home and lick their wounded pride in private, rather than frothing about it at every society party people felt obligated to invite them to.

Though she’d only met a few of the assembled guests-- Eugene’s oldest friend, Mr. Phillips, among them-- Aurelie felt like she knew them all. They were rich and polite and would spend many hours making small talk and pretending that less than a year ago they’d all been trying to slaughter each other. Aurelie hated to pretend, but she plastered a honey-sweet smile onto her face as she swept down the staircase and into the ballroom.  

Her eyes found the person who didn’t fit in almost immediately, and she knew that she’d spotted the friend Eugene had told her about. His suit almost fit perfectly, but even if it had been properly tailored, she would have seen his discomfort in it. This was not a man who spent his time at parties making small talk.

He had spotted her, caught her staring at him.  

His gaze was intense as she stepped lightly through the crowd, greeting people and smiling shyly, always gently dancing away before someone could pull her into a conversational circle. She was an expert at this type of weaving, and she made it across the room in record time, only stopping when she was standing in front of the stranger.

She held out her hand, as much a challenge as an introduction. “You must be Mr. Shelton. Eugene told me about you.”

He took her gloved hand, holding it gently. “Nice to meet you Miss…”

“Aurelie,” She said, flinching slightly when he kept his grip.

“Aurelie…” His voice lilted over her name, reducing it to something smooth and melodic, completely new to her. “Nice to meet you.”

His wasn’t an accent that one found in most society ballrooms, but Aurelie loved it immediately. For a long moment they stood like that, with her fingers still gripped in his hand. She glanced around, sure that someone had noticed this odd interlude, but no one was looking at them.

“Have you been staying with the Sledges long?” Aurelie asked, trying to find a normal conversation with a man who was very, very far from her normal.

“Not staying with them; I’ve got a place in the city. Sledge invited me and I’m not one to say no to a party like this.”

She nodded and then impulsively said, “I might have said no if I could have.”

“Why couldn’t you?” No one in her circle would have asked that. No one in her circle would have had to.

The question made her stumble and answer honestly. “Because this is my job.”

“Your job?” He tilted his head, studying her.

This time, it was his intense stare that caused her uncharacteristic ineloquence. “It’s what I do; it’s what I’ve been trained to do since I could walk and talk. I smile and dance and make conversation with the right people.”

She sounded like a doll, or some sort of teachable puppet, and she inwardly cursed her idiocy.

He looked around, apparently unbothered, though new tension hardened his face when his eyes fell on a coupe of men across the room from them. “I don’t think I’m the right people, but I’m better than those two.”

He pointed to two classically handsome men, similar enough to be brothers. “They fought with the rebels and show up here claiming they were just doing what they were told. Cowards.” He spit the word, glaring at the two, who had noticed his stare and were looking back.

Flushing when she made eye contact with one of them, Aurelie turned away, hoping they wouldn’t comment on her impropriety in front of her parents. She felt that men like them had no business on the Sledge’s property, but her parents weren’t as discerning. If they had money, a decent name, and no wives, she would be introduced to them with the same hope her parents expressed whenever she spoke to any man.

“They’re staring at you,” Merriell said conversationally, watching them over her shoulder.

“Don’t stare back, maybe they’ll go away.”

“They’re coming over here.”

“Damn.” The word was barely out of her mouth when the men approached. Up close, Aurelie could see that one of them was slightly taller, and the other had a very square face, but both had a bitterness in their eyes and stance that made her immediately wary of them.

“Miss Aurelie; it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We’ve heard so much about you.” The taller one said with a smile that looked like it had been carved into his face and a drawl like thick syrup, poured too heavily over his words and rendering them sarcastic.

“Charmed,” Aurelie said in a tone that indicated she wasn’t. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Mr…”

“Simmons. And this is my cousin Frederick Pierce.”

She nodded, allowing the conversation to stall in the hope that they might leave.

It didn’t deter them. “Is this man bothering you?” They studied Merriell with barely disguised scorn that made Aurelie bristle, though she didn’t let it show.

“Not at all!” She plastered on her best smile. “In fact he saved my favorite cousin’s life in the war, so I feel I owe him quite a debt.” She took Merriell’s arm in a slightly bold act that would send a clear message. *****I am not one of you.*****

This made those marble smiles falter on their faces, and Aurelie tried not to outwardly cheer for her victory.

“Most ladies don’t pay their debts with their company,” The shorter one-- Mr. Pierce-- said, nodding in a mockery of politeness before he and his cousin walked away.

Aurelie was fuming. “Those bastard sons of whores,” She muttered, glaring at their backs.

Merriell was laughing at her and a sudden flush crawled up her neck and into her cheeks; she’d sworn in front of him. She’d sworn in front of a gentleman! If her mother found out she would die on the spot. “I’m terribly sorry you had to hear that--”

“I’m not.”

“--I just got so angry at what they implied. The audacity of coming into my family’s home and suggesting that--” She paused, realizing that he was watching her pleasantly and seemed utterly unphased by the entire situation. “You’re not?”

“Not sorry I heard that. I kinda liked it.”

The flush burned even hotter, probably leaving her pale skin blotchy and scarlet under her freckles. “I…” She couldn’t think of anything to say.

He held out one improperly ungloved hand. “Dance with me?”

Any polite conversation she might have tried to make died in her throat. “I… Yes, thank you.”

Aurelie didn’t expect him to be good at dancing, and she was correct. Her massive skirt mostly hid his errors, and she was good enough to guide him through the rest without too much trouble, though she caught Gene’s eye and saw his sympathetic smile as he stood off to the side.

“Is he alright?” She asked Merriell as she eased herself carefully into a turn, subtly pushing hm in the right direction. “Gene, is he… happy?”

He looked at her like she was insane, bringing yet another hot flush into her cheeks. “No.”

“Of course, it was an idiotic question, I just… we’re worried about him. He used to smile so much, and he was much… brighter, I suppose. I don’t want to lose him too.” The last words slipped out without thought; they were inappropriately honest, but Merriell didn’t seem to notice or care.

“He’s right there.”

“He’s changed--”

“That shit changes you.” Abruptly, he dropped her hand, stepping away from the dance and leaving her where she stood. It was an awkward rush to go after him before someone noticed that he’d left. Leaving a girl on the dancefloor was an insult, and though she knew she had offended him first, it was hard not to feel the sting of it.

“Please, wait,” Reaching out, she caught his arm, once again surprising herself with her boldness. Though she had thought about it many times, she couldn’t remember ever having grabbed a man like this before. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everyone’s changed after the war, I know. I just… we all lost so much, I can’t bear the thought that he might not get better.”

“Better doesn’t mean same as before,” Merriell said.

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m sorry.” Ducking her head, Aurelie thought about moving away, returning to the comfortably familiar crowd with their predictably polite conversations. Whatever this was with Merriell, she preferred it to the artiface that surrounded them.

“Seems like you’re the same as you were before.” Perhaps he didn’t mean it as a challenge, but she couldn’t help but take it as one.

“You didn’t know me before,” She said coolly, “And you don’t know me now, so you’re hardly in a position to judge that.” She wanted to believe that he was somehow clever enough to see past the carefully constructed mask of words and behavior, rules and etiquette, that she wore constantly.

She met his gaze boldly, waiting for his apology or his next move, swallowing the pain that his words caused. &&&Just because you can’t see that I care doesn’t mean that I don’t care.&&&&

When he didn’t say anything, she turned and walked away from him, avoiding looking at where she was sure Eugene was standing and watching them, unable to hide the guilt she felt at breaking her promise to him.

She spent the next couple hours dancing with various men who were paraded in front of her by her mother or theirs, having the same conversation over and over as they did the same steps to the same dances, with few exceptions made for different songs. The men were, to her, utterly interchangeable, and her eyes drifted back to the only unique face in the crowd, before they would snap right back to her partner’s face, forcing herself to pay attention to whatever droll observation he was making about the weather.

When it all became unbearable, she stepped out into the garden, breathing the thick, warm night air deeply. Underneath the smell of heat and mud that permeated the garden, she caught a faint whiff of cigarette smoke, and considered investigating before its source stepped out of the shadows.

“Miss Aurelie,” He said, his accent once again smoothing out her name until it sounded more like a collection of notes than a word.

“Mr. Shelton.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” He said rather stiffly, after a too-long pause.

“You didn’t,” She lied instinctively.

He watched her, clearly spotting the lie.

“I have changed,” She said, daring to be honest in the dim garden, surrounded by night air that felt as heavy as a wool coat. “I never liked all this, but after the war I could see how pointless it all is. Now I’m… I’m so angry it takes my breath away sometimes. It scares me.”

“Makes sense to be angry.” He paused as if considering his next words. “You don’t look angry.”

“Ah, well, you know ‘Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it’,” She quoted, smiling at him.

He nodded, glancing away but not before she saw the confusion on his face.

“It’s Shakespeare,” She explained. “It… It’s a man’s wife telling him how to commit a murder.”

That made him laugh, and she stared, transfixed, at his smile until it had faded off his face. “You planning on killing anyone, Flower?”

The nickname brought back her blush, which she hated. “No, of course not! Though I wouldn’t be sad if Johnny and Jimmy Reb over there happened to not make it through the night.” It was by far the boldest joke she’d ever made in front of a gentleman, and she felt a rush singe through her veins when he laughed.

“See, before I never would have said that; I would have been too polite.” She told him, laughing with him and savoring it.

He nodded. “I’m glad you said it. Been thinking the same thing all night. I didn’t like what they said to you.”

A group of people passed the window nearest you, their voices carrying out into the night, and Aurelie stepped closer to him, into the shadows where she wouldn’t be seen.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention, and she ended up directly in front of him, only a breath away from being pressed against his chest. He looked down at her, his strangely reflective eyes studying her face in the darkness.

The polite, proper thing to do would have been to step away, to apologize and then to take his arm and allow him to lead her back into the ballroom, away from this compromising position. She didn’t do that, though the thought occurred to her, just like it always did. Just because she knew what she should do didn’t mean her mind was made up about what she was going to do.

Even though she was certain she knew what she wanted to do. “I’m different than I used to be,” She said, not sure if she was talking to herself or to him.

“I believe you.” His head bent lower as he breathed the words, so quietly she had to lean even closer to hear them.

At that point, she was too close not to do anything, so she lifted her lips the final inches they needed until they were pressed against Merriell’s. His hands started on her waist, brushing against the satin of her dress before one slipped up to cup the back of her neck, drawing her even closer as his tongue slipped between her parted lips.

She had been kissed before. She had done more than that before, with a soldier the night before he left, his blue uniform in an untidy heap in the corner of her bedroom. All of those kisses had been tinged with the desperation of a man who knew he was going to die, and needed one last thing before he could go.

Merriell had none of that desperation as he kissed her. He was slow, exploratory, and thorough, leaving her breathless when he finally moved away from her, taking a full step back.

“I can’t do this,” He said.

Aurelie stared at him, flushed, wide-eyed, and mortified. “What?”

“You’re Sledge’s cousin, practically his little sister--”

“He’s barely older than me!” She stepped closer, her blush now brought on more by anger than embarrassment.

“--He’d never let…”

“Eugene doesn’t let me do anything,” She insisted. “And he likes you! He wanted me to talk to you, to keep you company tonight--”

He shook his head sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

His hands found her hips again, pulling her close. “Don’t say you’re keeping me company tonight.”

The alternative meaning of her words struck her when he said them like that, with his warm breath against her ear and his hands strong on her waist. “Oh.”

Her lips fell open again, and he hesitated for the briefest of seconds before kissing her again. It was another perfect kiss, possibly even better than their first, but once again Merriell pulled away.

“People like you and people like me… They won’t allow it; you know that.”

Aurelie did know that, but she refused to admit it. “They don’t have to know.”

“You’re my best friend’s cousin.”

“You’re my cousin’s best friend,” She retorted, unphased.

“If he found out--”

Cutting him off, she kissed him again, savoring the feel of his lips as they moved over hers. “I have secrets already,” She told him when they parted. “What difference does one more make?”

Merriell still didn’t reply as he looked down at her, his face a mix of emotions she couldn’t decipher.

“Please, think about it,” She said, dipping into a slight curtsey before she left him in the shadows and reentered the ballroom. She felt warm and strange and powerful and scared, all things she had to tuck away into the back of her mind so she could pretend to be the girl they all expected.

Beneath her placid smile, she let herself relive every moment outside with Merriell, where she’d been allowed to act on impulse, to yearn and pursue and feel in a way that she never had before.

Immediately, her mother appeared to force her back into Mr. Phillips’ waiting arms for the final waltz of the evening. While she spun across the smooth wood floor with him, she felt a pair of eyes, burning into her back, and hoped that Merriell had made up his mind. She wanted her moment of freedom back, she wanted to be allowed to be the girl she’d been with him again.

Before he left for the night, he thanked her briefly, bowing rather clumsily over her hand. When he stepped away, she could feel a scrap of paper in her hand, barely noticeable through her silk gloves. 

In the privacy of her room, she unfolded the note and read his bold, messy scrawl. Our secret. 

[silhouetted-beauty]

“Run In: Fate” - Part 5

Genre: Angst, Little bit of Fluff, mentions of Smut

Word Count: 10.4K

A/N: I’m sorry this is being posted a day later. I had it planned to schedule this chapter for its original time but when my best friend informed me that the movie was starting at 5:00 instead of 7:00, my ass panicked. Especially when the time was already 3:40!!! Anyways, here it is now and I hope you all enjoy. Happy Readings!^^

“Yoongi?” She mumbled back, looking just as shock to see him. She made sure to keep her identity hidden, for obvious reasons but it would only make sense that he would spot her so easily. Yoongi lowered the phone from his ear, eventually, ending the call from Namjoon. The wind blew; the outside noise and the people passing them by, all went unnoticed by the pair. “I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me.”

“Is that because you thought I’d be dead?” Yoongi challenged.

“No! No... To be honest, I’m glad that you’re okay.” Both went quiet again until she added. “Listen, I know we ended on a bad note but if you aren’t busy, I’d like to talk to you about what happened. Please... just give me a chance to make it right.”

Not even five minutes later, the two of them were seated at the diner, staring at each other from across the table. Mina looked down in her lap, at the table; anywhere except for Yoongi’s watchful eyes. She played with her hair, pushing it behind her ear as to not cover her face. Yoongi just stared at her, his eyes moving around her person. Everything was still the same besides her hair. It was a bit lighter than what he had remembered, perhaps she had dyed it. 

The last time he laid eyes on her, she was furious with him. Spouting off about how much she loved him yet she stood, pointing a gun at him; the irony of it all. Now, she sat timid in front of him, scared to make the first move and strange enough, his heart hasn’t stop beating any faster. What did it mean?

“Thank you for meeting with me.” Mina had finally spoken. “I want to start by saying that I didn’t mean for what happened that day to occur and I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do it?”

Mina ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a sigh as she thought. “I honestly wasn’t thinking straight. I was blinded by jealousy that I let my emotions take control.”

Yoongi looked away, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear but he was still getting answers. This question always appeared in his mind every time he looked at the scar on his side.

“If you hadn’t shot me, you would have shot y/n.” He stated. It came out more as a statement than a question. “Why?”

Mina fidgeted uncomfortably with her hands. “She was who I there for, initially. I really believed that if she was out of the picture, maybe you would come back to me.” It was then that he remembered. That sentence had triggered a memory that he chose to forget. 

“Do you realize what you had done? In order to get me back, you sided with the very enemy who was trying to kill me.”

“I didn’t see it then but I understand it now. It was selfish of me to do that but Yoongi, you have to understand. I devoted my life to you and you tossed me aside for no reason. Granted, we weren’t together but I didn’t deserve how you treated me. Now, I’m not excusing what I did but hearing you tell me that you hated me more than anything, broke me ways you couldn’t imagine especially after being with a girl who didn’t do half the things I did for you.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes and flipping back her hair. “I didn’t want to shoot you and when I did...”

Mina broke down and it was Yoongi who pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” She took it, dabbing her eyes. She was quiet as she gathered her thoughts before continuing. “When I saw how you were lying on the floor, bleeding to death, it scared me. I was scared for what I had done because in reality, I didn’t want to live without you. I gotten home and cried my eyes out. I really thought I had killed you and for that I didn’t want to live anymore. I swallowed as many pills as I could and drank as much alcohol as I could before I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital but I was terrified. I was scared of living, I was scared of living in a world without you, and I was scared of what your family was going to do. I could barely walk but I had to get away so I ran away.”

“I hid at friend’s houses and even while I was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I visited the cemetery assuming that you’d be buried next to your brother but nothing was there.” Mina sighed. “My friends told me to pick back up my life and move forward. And as much as I want to, it’ll be hard for me to do it without you.”

~~~

Jimin had the food ready to go but as he turned to leave the diner, he spotted Yoongi sitting with another woman. From the looks of it, both of seemed on edge as they talked. To Jimin, something about this situation seemed off. Yoongi wouldn’t just talk to any woman at random especially if they had important business to get to. 

So he knows her. 

Could she be the same person he heard about? The one that shot him? Why was Yoongi meeting with her? Could this be a trap? Is she somehow behind what is going on? Jimin felt as though he needed to keep an eye on the pair, for safety precautions. He pulled out his phone and dialed two numbers; the first one being someone who could bring clarity to his eyes.

~~~~~

“Hi, Jimin.” You answered, but when he responded back with a simple ‘hi’, you figured something was up. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine; I just have a few questions.”

“Okay.”

“When Yoongi had gotten shot, who was it by?” When he asked this, an unsettling feeling came over you.

“It was his ex girlfriend, Mina. Why?” 

You heard Jimin sigh and something about it, had you feeling a bit nervous. “I’m watching him now and he’s talking with a woman.”

Your heart drops as you stop what you’re doing immediately to go. “How does she look?”

“I mean, she pretty with long dark hair-“

That was all you needed to hear as you hung up the phone and quickly left your apartment. The only thing on your mind was getting to Yoongi. What if he was in trouble? What if Mina returned to finish the job? You unconsciously held your stomach for support, feeling a certain form of discomfort as you raced to your car but a quick search of your pockets alerted you that you had forgotten the keys inside.

“Shit!” You yelled out loud.

After getting the address from Jimin, you called for a cab and asked the driver to drive as fast as he could to the diner. You had to get there before something awful happened. Despite how you two had been at odds recently, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered to you was making sure he was okay.

“Hang on, Yoongi.”

~~~~~

“It would be hard for me but I want to try. I know that your feelings for me are gone and y/n has your heart, and even though my feelings still haven’t changed, I want to try living without you, Yoongi.” Mina stated. “It’s been so stressful trying to remain hidden and I’m tired of it. So if it’s possible, could I ask you for a favor?”

“Which is?”

“Do you think it is possible to call off the hunt for me? I just want to live comfortably without looking over my shoulders.”

Yoongi sighed, finally casting his gaze elsewhere by looking away. If he were to do that, he would have the risk of Mina possibly trying to harm him again or worse, trying to harm you. But sitting in front of her, like he was now, Yoongi felt something in his heart for her that he couldn’t deny; maybe it was sympathy or maybe it was still love. The year away from her had changed his feelings to where all the anger he once felt was gone.

Mina took the time, while he was still distracted, to examine his appearance. He still looked the same, if possible, even more attractive. He seemed a bit tired, probably from overworking himself. The thought had her smiling to herself. Yoongi was still the same man that she fell in love with and remembered.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Yoongi stated, coming out of his thoughts. “But in return, you are to never come near y/n. If you do, you’ll need protection from me.”

Mina couldn’t help the hurt she once again felt when Yoongi became overprotective of you. She had to repeatedly remind herself that he belonged to you now. But... just because he had asked her to stay from you, didn’t mean she couldn’t try to work her way into his good graces, and possibly, back into his heart.

She placed her hand over his as she smiled. “Thank you.”

Yoongi nodded, removing his hand and standing to leave, causing Mina to quickly stand up with him; trying to prolong his time.

“Would I be asking for too much if I wanted to seal the deal with a hug?” She asked him. Yoongi hesitated for a moment but agreed, enclosing an arm around her waist. Mina took full advantage of the situation and pulled him as close as she could to her body. “Thank you so much, Yoongi.” She whispered in his ear. She released him but not before giving him a soft kiss to his cheek. 

You had pulled up to the diner, practically throwing your money at the driver before getting out and running inside. You instantly saw them off to the side and approached them. Jimin quickly noticed your arrival and stood close by in the case the situation gotten out of hand.

“Yoongi!” You yelled, gaining everyone’s attention. “Mina! You’ve got some nerve-“ you went to confront her but Yoongi stuck his arm out as to protect her from you. Both you and her looked from his arm to his face.

“Leave her alone.” Was all he had to say to you, not even looking your way.

“No! You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let her get away after what she did. She crazy for showing herself now!”

Your erratic nature caused Yoongi to turn his body to face you, pulling you away from the scene. Your anger increased even more as you watched Mina smile at the sight of him putting you in your place.

“I said leave her alone, y/n.” He stated in a serious tone. “You are not to touch her; in fact, I want you to wait for me in my car.”

“Why?! Or am I the only one who remembered what she did to you?! You almost died because of her! I should call your mother and tell her the news!” You pulled out your phone but Yoongi took it away from you.

“Stop!” He yelled in anger. “This isn’t about you so stop causing a scene and wait in the car! We will discuss this at home in private.”

Your eyes watered as you stood your ground, staring at him. You wanted to slap him across the face for how he just spoke to you but you didn’t want to give Mina the satisfaction. She’d love witnessing a heated argument between the two of you especially if she could benefit in some way. When you didn’t bulge and remained standing in front of him, Yoongi breathed out an irritating sigh, addressing Jimin who was standing nearby.

“Take her to my car. I’ll be finished here shortly.”

Jimin only obeyed because he didn’t want you to further upset yourself. He gently, grabbed onto your arm and waist and carefully steered you out of the diner. You and Yoongi finally broke eye contact when the tears fell from your eyes and he turned away from you to walk back over to Mina.

Only when Jimin opened the passenger door to Yoongi’s car was when you broke down. Jimin pulled you into his chest, holding you close as you sobbed into his shirt. His hands slowly stroking your back in a comforting manner. He hated seeing how upset you were and was even more pissed at Yoongi because of how he handled it.

“This is bullshit and you know it.” You cried, looking up at him. Jimin used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

“I know and he knows it too.”

“I don’t want to see him right now. I want to go home.”

“You are aware that he will follow you there. Yoongi may not leave you alone in this condition.”

“Then take me to your house.” You challenged. “Anywhere, to get away from him.”

For a second, Jimin almost considered it but he knew better than that. Taking you to his house out of spite would only fuel Yoongi’s insecurities and another argument will ensue between them because of it. Who’s to say that Yoongi may or may not run into the arms of his ex girlfriend to get even?

“Listen to me, y/n.” He grabbed onto your shoulders, staring you in the eyes. “Remember what the doctor said? don’t stress yourself and the baby. Now I think in order to find some kind of understanding, you need to talk to him. I know you came because you were worried about him but I was there. I was there to make sure she didn’t try to hurt him.”

“He shouldn’t have protected her the way he did.” You stated bitterly. “Am I not his girlfriend? Do I not matter to him?”

“These are questions you need to address to him. If by any chance that things spiral even more out of control, then I’ll take you my house but until then, you two are a couple and you need to talk it out.”

Ujin pulled up in Jimin’s black car and waited with the headlights on. Jimin helped you into the passenger seat before you watched him walk over to his car and get in. They waited, watching Yoongi’s car until he emerged before leaving. Mina exited the diner first, smiling in your direction before getting into her car and driving off. Yoongi came out a minute later, walking around to the driver side of his car and gotten in.

The two of you didn’t say one word as he drove off into the setting sun, letting the dark blue sky come into view.

During the duration of the car ride, Yoongi could sense how angry you were. The way your hands squeezed into fists on your lap, the way you focused your attention outside the window, and the way you tried to control your breathing, were all signs that you were pissed at him. Now that he controlled one fire, he had the difficult task of trying to put out a much stronger one.

~

“I’m sorry, Yoongi. If I had known, I’d get you in trouble with your girlfriend; I wouldn’t have asked you to talk.” Mina offered with slight humor in her voice when he returned. She assumed Yoongi would apologize and explain himself and the relationship, inviting her into his business, but he did quite the opposite.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Mina. The only reason why I stopped it was not to protect her but to protect you. If you think your life is on the line now with my family after you, you don’t want me as your enemy for hurting her. Now I’ve granted you freedom, use it wisely because if I find out that you spoke one word to y/n, you might want to leave the country and even then you still won’t be safe.”

Mina watched him walk away feeling worried but not like before. She could see it in his eyes that he still cared for her so she knew his threat meant nothing. She walked out of the diner feeling like herself again. She wasn’t going to let on how Yoongi had chewed her out and walked off. In fact, she was going to give you a reason to worry. The bug was already planted, seeing how upset you were about the meeting. So when she left the diner, she made sure to smile a little too hard in your direction just to drive the point home. Keep a close eye on Yoongi because she was coming back for him.

~

The thought had you red with anger and even more pissed at Yoongi for playing into her hand. If he didn’t understand his actions this evening then there was nothing to discuss. To hell what Jimin said.

“Take me home.” You stated.

“No.” Was all he said.

“No?...”

Yoongi met your gaze with irritation of his own. “No, we will talk about this like adults. I refuse to let you run away without talking it out.”

This time, you had sat back with your arms crossed, staring back out of the window. When the car pulled up in front of his house, it hadn’t even come to a complete stop before you had hopped out with Yoongi right on your tail. The two of you made it behind the front door before all hell broke loose.

“You are fucking unbelievable, do you know that?! I must be dreaming! Please tell me I’m fucking dreaming!” You screamed as you turned around to face him.

“I’m unbelievable because I wanted answers?” He asked confused. “What’s so wrong about that?”

“Why does it fucking matter, Yoongi?! This woman shot you! She shot you and almost killed you and you wanted answers as to why she did it? I’ll tell you why, she’s selfish! Plain and simple! Mina doesn’t give a fuck about anybody else but herself!” You took a moment to run your hands down your face in frustration, taking a deep breath. It was frustrating you more that he was so calm. It was almost as if Yoongi refused to match equal to your screaming voice.

“As angry as you are, I wouldn’t expect you to understand unless you were in my position.”

“And what position is that? Do I need to have a heated argument with my ex boyfriend, have him shoot me, scare you half to death while lying on my deathbed, then makeup with him; all for me to understand why you are so forgiving towards her. It’s not like she stayed around to help. Mina took off and has been on the run for over a year until now.”

“So you want me to be angry forever?” Yoongi asked, roughly running his hand through his hair. He was beginning to lose his patience.

“No, I want you to be smarter than how you’re acting. Mina could have ulterior motives to hurt you again. What if she tries and succeeds?”

“Well, this is the real world, y/n. We can’t live in ‘what if’s’, can we? We need to focus only on what’s ahead of us.”

“That’s funny coming from you. It seems as though I’m the only one focused on the future and making sure you’re okay. You only seem interested in saving her feelings and for what?! Because you two shared a past?! Did something else happen that I’m not aware of?! Do you somehow still love her? Are you planning on getting back with her?!”

“Is that what this is all about?” He asked sternly with an eyebrow in the air. “Are you really that jealous and insecure because I didn’t let you have your little moment at the diner?”

“Fuck you, Yoongi!” You spat as you walked up the stairs but when he tried stopping you, you slapped his hand away.

You stomped off leaving him no choice but to follow after you. Yohan remained in the kitchen and Mr. Wu stayed hidden in the dining room as the two of them listened to the disagreement. Neither was going to step forward or offer a solution until both of you had calmed down. 

Yoongi had followed you into the bedroom where you picked right back up where you left off. “Fuck you, Yoongi! I don’t care if you think I’m ‘insecure’ because despite what you think, I went there to protect you. I was scared of her hurting you again. You didn’t have to yell or belittle me like that!”

“Fine, I apologize if that’s what upsets you so much.”

You lowered your head, slowly shaking it as you let out a sigh. “There’s no point of us even having this conversation. You just don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand, y/n. What’s really going on with you? Why are you upset? Is it about Mina or something else?”

“It’s about you being passive. It’s like I’m talking to myself and all you are doing is settling to make me feel better.”

“Well I’m not in the mood to fight or argue with you. There are a lot of other problems that require more of my time but I can’t focus on that when you’re constantly pissed at me over nothing.”

Nothing... that’s how Yoongi saw your feelings. Instead of talking it out to reassure you that everything will be okay, he’d rather pacify you as much as he could so he could get back to work. It was as though you were talking to yourself; he may have just been a brick wall. Yoongi didn’t understand how scared you were of losing him. How hurt he had made you feel when he took your worry and turned it into something as silly as being ‘jealous‘. And now, he offered you a half ass apology just so he didn’t have to deal with a problem that he had help caused. But if he wasn’t going to budge, then neither were you.

“If you’re not in the mood to ‘talk’, then neither am I. You can just return to all of your important problems and we can just agree to disagree. As a matter of fact,” you paused as you grabbed one of the pillows off of his bed. “Sleep on the couch tonight. I rather sleep alone and be left alone to my jealous ways.”

For some reason, Yoongi found what you said humorous, chuckling as he spoke. “Nobody has to sleep on the couch; I have too many bedrooms for that.”

But you didn’t find what he said funny. Instead, you tossed the pillow at him without saying another word.

~~~

Yoongi was in his office, slouched slightly in his chair as he swam through his thoughts; none of which consisted of work but of his angry girlfriend that had kicked him out of his own bedroom in his home. He looked over at the pillow on the couch, thinking back on the argument the two of you had over an hour ago. He could see the hurt in your eyes and wanted to hold you but he knew the anger in your heart wouldn’t let him get closer.

Mina was old news. He didn’t want to talk about her because to him, she wasn’t important to him as you were, nor was he going to let her sneak her way back into your lives to hurt you. That was one of the main reasons why he didn’t respond the way you wanted him to. He didn’t want you to worry about what her motives were because no matter what, he was going to protect you. Yoongi just didn’t want you involved.

A sudden knock on the door tore him away from his thoughts. When he turned his head to see who it was, Yohan was standing there.

“Mr. Min, I was going to head home for the night. If you and Miss y/n are hungry, I left the food in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

He was going to leave but added. “Please excuse my intrusion but perhaps Miss y/n is upset with you being forgiving towards Miss Choi.  I do believe that harboring hatred inside is not good for the body so I understand why you forgave her but do keep in mind that Miss y/n was left alone trying to save your life. Her feelings on the matter run more deeply because of the mental sacrifices she had to endure just hoping you were okay. I don’t think it’s fair that you made her feel a sense of worthlessness when she is only worried for your safety.”

Yoongi sighed. “It wasn’t my intentions to hurt her feelings but I also don’t think my feelings should be pushed under a rug either. I met with Mina for clarification purposes only, nothing more. I wanted answers and I think I deserve them. Y/n showed up; fine but when she tried to act on my behalf, putting herself in danger, which I couldn’t allow. I know she was scared of me dying before but if anything were to happen to her... I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Yohan smiled. “I’ll take my leave. Have a good night, Mr. Min.”

He left while Yoongi remained seated in place. After awhile, he gotten up and headed upstairs to the bedroom. The door was closed but when he opened it, he found you already asleep, surrounded by a sea of covers. Yoongi walked closer, staring down at you and instantly noticed your breathing. As your figure slowly rose and fell, you occasionally let out a few hiccup breaths, alerting him that you had cried yourself to sleep. He kneed down by the bed, slowly and softly running his hand down your face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, leaning forward to gently kiss your lips.

Yoongi had left the bedroom and then the house, heading to his club to get work done.

~~~

When Yoongi had told his family and friends the news about Mina and her new found freedom, they were all but understanding. His mother cried to him and expressed her worry and anger. She warned him, if Mina stepped out of line and tried to harm either of you, she would see to it personally that Mina would be brought down. But if Yoongi thought his parents would be more upset at the news, he was wrong.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to side with y/n on this one.” Namjoon exclaimed with his hands in the air. He and Hoseok couldn’t believe it when he told them. “You can’t be serious, Yoongi? Mina of all people! You feel bad for her.”

“I don’t feel bad for her; I just don’t want to have that burden on my back. It’s bad enough that I’m reminded of that moment daily.”

“You don’t have a burden because it’s our job as your right wing to take care of any situation you can’t. We would have taken care of her so you wouldn’t have to. You never would have to look at her again.”

“Well if it means so much to you then, why don’t you do it? I’ve gotten more than enough backlash from this that I just want it to be over. I don’t care what happens.” Yoongi countered.

“Are you sure about that?” Hoseok intervened. “You never would have agreed to such a deal if your feelings didn’t play a part. Would you really be okay if we killed her off?”

Yoongi looked away, unable to answer. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with Mina dying, after all; he did survive, but there was something he was sure about. He didn’t care what Mina did with her life, as long as she just stayed away. It was a risk he was taking, just like everything else and if it failed, he would take responsibility like always and handle it.

“My feelings didn’t play a part. It was taking the risk. Knowing what we know is it better for her to be hidden and undetected or out in the open where we can trace her whereabouts if something were to happen?”

Both men shrugged, realizing that Yoongi had a point. 

“Alright, fine. She’s free; let her be but don’t think for a second that Mina isn’t up to something sneaky. Snakes stay low to the ground, thinking that they can’t be seen. You will have to be one step ahead.” Namjoon stated.

~~~~~

Over the next couple weeks, the distance between you and Yoongi only continued to grow. He buried his head into work and you didn’t stop him. You started spending more time at your apartment until he would spend the night with you or come get you to take you back to his house for the night. The two of you only spoke when it was needed and that wasn’t entirely Yoongi’s fault. He put forth the effort to communicate with you but your responses were rather vague and stoic. You were still bitter over the fight and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was blindly playing into Mina’s hand. You just needed a break to think everything over. 

The more time had passed, the bigger your belly was growing and so was the baby inside of it. It was safe to say that it was becoming an emotional trimester for you as you reached different milestones of pregnancy. You felt movement for the first time which had you crying for more than a day. You rubbed over your bump, talking to it and wondering if the baby could hear you back. But with good times also came the bad. The clinic had been calling your phone daily, yet you refused to answer... at least for now.

~~~~~

Brian shook off his dark suit jacket as he looked up at the sky. Finally, he was out of jail and working for one of the top powerful men in the city. It was hard to believe that he had met Min Yoongi in a prison cell and got offered a job. That was over a year ago and Yoongi had kept his word, hiring him the same day he was released. Sent a car for him and provided a place for him to stay. Brian was grateful and although he had only been employed for a month, he planned on working hard so his boss would take notice.

“Hey, kid!” One of the supervising men called to him. “Let’s get a move on. We have a transaction we need to deliver.”

“Uh, yes sir!” Brian ran over immediately, fixing his clothes. “Sir? I have a question. Is there a chance we will get to work with Min Yoongi during a transaction?”

The man hawked out a ball of spit to the ground. “Son, before you work with the big man, himself, he has to know if you can handle the small things. Focus on your job and I might put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks, sir.” 

After making sure, the merchandise was secured in the back of the trunks, the cars left the warehouse; heading to the drop off. Brian rode in the backseat of the second car, fulled with six others. Although he was the youngest, he felt just as important. In this type of business, no matter age, mobsters get killed off in the drop of a hat if they didn’t have their wits about them.

The car in front went through the intersection while the second one had gotten caught at the light. The men watched the car continue on ahead before disappearing in the distance. Once the light changed green, the car preceded into the intersection. A loud thunderous crash rung out as the car had been t-boned. It rolled over and over, tossing around the bodies inside before coming to a stop on the roof of the car. Glass and debris where scattered around the pavement. Brian coughed out blood as he looked around the car. Everyone but two others were either dead or critically injured. Blood, as well as the merchandise, were spilled all over. He undid his seatbelt, falling hard to the ground. He didn’t want to think about his injuries, only about getting to safety. Everything about this was wrong. It was an ambush. Someone was waiting on them to leave to strike.

The driver’s door of the car that had hit them, opened and a man gotten out. He slowly walked over, pulling a gun out of his waistband. Brian grunted as he dragged his body along the broken rubble. He could hear someone coming but couldn’t see them, for he was hidden on the other side. The assailant fired a shot at the bottom of the car, setting it on fire. 

Brain quickly tried to get away before the car exploded. He didn’t care if he made noise, he just had to get away but unfortunately for him, the man heard him. He walked around the burning car and saw Brian on his stomach, dragging behind a trail of blood. Brain heard the footsteps getting closer and stopped, taking deep breaths, trying to control his anxiety. This was it. He was dead before his life actually begun.

When he looked up at the man, he saw a gun pointed right at him. The man was dressed in all black and wore dark shades over his eyes. Without hesitation, the man pulled the trigger, killing Brian instantly. He walked back to the car, climbed in, and drove off; watching the explosions through the rear view mirror.

~~~~~

Yoongi watched as his men, moved the body bags away from the burnt debris. A total of seven bodies and one car were all accounted for.

“Was it another explosion?” Yoongi asked Hoseok when he returned by his side.

“You would think so but apparently one of the bodies had a bullet through its head.” 

“Show me.”

When Yoongi kneeled down to unzip the bag, he immediately recognized the body inside. Brian Evans. He let out a deep sigh and zipped it back up, standing to his feet. Shaking his head, he looked back out at the scene. Luckily, they had arrived before the police did.

“Whoever this was, were here when it happened.” Hoseok continued.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “They wouldn’t have shot him if he was still in the car with the other bodies.”

After gathering up as much evidence as they could, Yoongi had the bodies taken away. He now had the task of alerting his father of what happened and also the families of the men they had lost.

~~~

Yoongi was sitting at his desk back in the club. He slowly spun side to side while his mind was absent. He couldn’t get Brian’s face out of his head. The same young man that looked out for him in jail was now deceased and it was eating at him. He had failed him. He had failed the young man who was looking for family that he didn’t get at home. First his own father and now him.

Yoongi released a sigh, rubbing his face; gaining the attention of his friends.

“You know what I think?” Namjoon began; causing Yoongi glanced in his direction.

“What?”

“You need a break. Take some time off to spend with y/n, she’ll like that.”

“I don’t know. We haven’t been speaking much.” He admitted.

“That’s because you are here all the time. Why don’t you go home and spend time with her?”

“When was the last time you planned something special for her?” Hoseok asked.

Yoongi thought it over. He knew you still waited on him to make you dinner but he felt as though it wouldn’t be enough to win you over. What could he do to not only make you happy but put the two of you at a good place?

“Her birthday is coming up.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to plan a party?” Namjoon groaned, making Hoseok laugh.

“And why not?!” Yoongi asked, getting up from his chair to confront his friend.

“The last time we threw a party, we gotten so drunk and the place caught on fire.”

“That wasn’t my fault! Some girl threw her drink at a guy and it caught the candle on the table. Who was the dumbass that brought the dumb broad?”

“Frankie.” Both men stated while laughing.

Yoongi chuckled. “That guy was such a fuck up.”

“Yeah, he really was.” Namjoon agreed.

“So do you think I’m capable of doing it?”

Namjoon padded him on the shoulders. “I think if any one of us could pull off throwing a party for their girlfriend, it’ll be you, my friend.”

“Good... now let’s get to work.”

~~~~~

You came home from work feeling sore and a bit tired. Due to another busy day at the bakery, you were practically on your feet all day. You drug yourself up the stairs, heading straight into the bathroom. Running bath water, you stripped out of your clothes, and climbed inside.

You relaxed against the jets of the tub, letting the warm water work you over. Your hands roamed over your body, gently rubbing over your stomach. Abortion was out of the question. It was too late and you knew it was. Now the only option you had was to tell Yoongi the truth. With the way he has been trying to make this work lately, has made some of your anger slip away. You didn’t want to fight with him and hated feeling disconnected but if the topic of Mina was ever brought up or if she was to randomly pop up, you weren’t sure how he would handle it. You want to believe Yoongi had good intentions; it’s just that he hasn’t given you any reason to.

You remained in the water for twenty more minutes before getting out and heading to Yoongi’s closet. Finding a large enough shirt, you slipped it over your head, examining your reflection in the mirror. As you walked back towards the bathroom, you felt hands ready to wrap around your waist but you had stop them, taking his hands in yours and wrapping them around your chest instead.

“I know I fuss about you wearing my clothes but dammit, you look so good in them.” Yoongi mumbled, kissing the side of your neck. You hum a response, leaning your body back against him to feel his body heat. “So I was thinking-”

“Oh no. That’s not good.” You joked sarcastically, causing Yoongi to bite your neck. You began laughing mixed with screaming when it tickled and started to hurt. You tried to move away but Yoongi had you rooted in place, squeezing you tightly in his arms. “Okay! Okay! I give up!”

“Good, now let me finish.”

“Go on.” You giggled.

“Since your birthday is coming up, I was thinking of having a get together.”

“I don’t know, Yoongi.” It wasn’t that you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday, you just wasn’t up for partying.

“Come on, y/n. It’ll be small, nothing but close family and friends.” When you still didn’t seem moved, he added. “How about this, I’ll turn off my phone and we do whatever you want afterwards.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Even the following day?”

“If that’s what you want.”

You nodded, closing your eyes the moment you felt his lips against yours. His hands slowly massaged over breasts, playing with your nipples under your shirt. He grounded his growing bulge against your ass, whispering in your ear.

“Do you remember the last time we had sex under the moonlight?” He teased and how could you forget? The last time he fucked you in that same scenario, you became pregnant; unbeknownst to him, but it was one of the most passionate nights the two of you shared.

“I remember,” you smiled, already knowing what he was hinting at. “But, I just washed up for the night. I don’t feel like undressing.”

“But its just one shirt. Are you really going to deny me because you don’t want to pull a shirt over your head?”

“Yes! I came home to relax. I didn’t feel like doing anything else.”

“How about I do all of the work? And you can keep on my shirt.”

You laughed. “Do you really want to get laid that badly?”

“It’s been a long day.” He mumbled, looking down to play with the end of the shirt. By the tone of his voice, you knew something had happened but didn’t ask him. Yoongi was never a person who likes to discuss his problems.

“Okay... but only if you do all the work and one more thing...”

“What?” He answered while turning off all the lights, rendering the room in complete darkness.

“You have to fuck me in one position only.”

Yoongi scoffed as he undressed. “Which is?”

“From behind.”

“Done.” The only word he said before he pushed you over with your hands on the bed. 

He stroked his cock hard while lifting one of your legs up. You felt his fingers trace along your slit and no surprise to either of you; you were wet. Yoongi ended up fucking you relentlessly for the next two and a half hours. While you came multiple times, Yoongi prolonged his orgasm for as long as he could, coming a total of three times. You weren’t even aware of what was going on due to being fucked out of your mind. It was safe to say that both of you went to bed that night feeling very relaxed and satiated.

~~~~~

“Ugh! I’m really not feeling up for this.” You sighed as you scrolled through racks of dresses.

Hyolyn laughed. “And why not?”

“I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood for big celebrations.” You moved to another section. “I just want to stay inside and have a romantic dinner, possibly cuddle afterwards.”

“With that belly, I don’t see it ending good especially when you haven’t told him.”

“Soon, I plan on telling him soon, okay?”

“Whatever you say, y/n.” She smiled.

“I will!” You yelled, but it only made her laugh harder. “Anyways, how was the honeymoon?”

Hyolyn stopped what she was doing to let out a loving sigh. “Majority of the time, it feels like I’m dreaming. I’m married, and not only that, I’m married to the guy I fell in love with since I was a kid. The relationship is everything I ever dreamed of and more. He’s so caring and thoughtful that I can’t help but smile when I think of him. Matthew is one of a kind. ” She giggled to herself. “We talked about it, you know.”

“Talked about what?”

“Having a baby. We both felt as though we were at a place in life that we are ready for anything thrown our way. So we are going to try out luck with having a baby. Actually we’ve been working on it since the honeymoon.”

Listening to your best friend talk about how supportive your brother is as a husband and how they planned on conceiving a baby, had you feeling much sadder than you were willing to admit. You were already pregnant, why couldn’t you have the support she had and not worry about anything else?

“Wow, it must be nice.” You mumbled.

Hyolyn wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “You’re headed in the right direction, y/n. Yoongi will be just as supportive, you just have to tell him. I mean look at him now... planning a party for your birthday.”

“I think he only did it because he doesn’t want me to be mad at him anymore.”

“Give him credit. You can’t stay mad at him forever, at least he is trying.”

“Yeah...” you stated, still not feeling one hundred percent convinced.

“Now come on,” She said, looping her arm around yours. “We’re supposed to be finding you a dress for tomorrow night. Let’s get a move on.”

~~~

It was now the night of your party and you still weren’t feeling all that great. You managed to find a loose black dress that covered majority of your stomach but you were still poking through slightly. You hoped that the sweater you wore over it concealed the rest. Putting on low pump heels, you looked the mirror one last time before heading downstairs to find Yoongi. 

Of course he was dressed in all black, looking handsome as ever. He was on the phone but when he spotted you, he ended the call and walked over giving you a kiss on the lips.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered in your ear, nibbling on it before pulling away. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You tried to smile. “Are you sure we can’t stay the night in?”

“Y/n, I promise you if we go for a little bit, we can come back home and do whatever you like, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He led you out of the house and to the car. The entire car ride, you tried to relax as much as you could before you arrived at his parents’ house. The fact of the matter was that you were feeling a bit lightheaded and nauseous but you didn’t want Yoongi to know, seeing how happy he was to plan this for you. A couple hours out of the house wouldn’t hurt and the faster you leave, the faster you could return.

The car arrived on his parent’s property shortly after. Yoongi had gotten out of the car first before coming around to open the door for you. When you both walked inside, you were greeted by many familiar faces.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They all screamed.

You smiled, thanking them all as you came inside. Everyone you both knew was there, even Yohan and Mr. Wu. All, except your parents who promised to make a visit soon. You were a bit upset but having Matt and Hyolyn there was good enough. 

Although you weren’t familiar with all of Yoongi’s associates, you still greeted and mingled amongst them. Jimin was there with a date, which shocked you. You weren’t aware that he was even seeing someone. Hoseok was there with his girlfriend and Namjoon, surprisingly, had a woman on his arm.

Yoongi would occasionally check up on you but he spent most of his time with his friends. Music lightly played in each room and the hired servers did a wonderful job, delivering trays of appetizers to all the guests. The night was going well for the most part except for the feeling of nausea you just couldn’t shake. You had excused yourself from the group of girlfriends and went to the kitchen to get yourself a drink of water. A minute later, Yoongi’s mother found you resting with your hands on the counter as you tried to control your breathing.

“How are you feeling, honey? Are you okay?” She asked, rubbing your back.

“Not really,” you admitted, taking a sip of water. “I feel sick but I don’t want to leave. Yoongi and the others are having fun and I don’t want to ruin it?”

“Why don’t you rest for a bit before returning to the party? If anyone comes looking for you, I’ll keep them away.” 

“Thanks but I don’t want to give them a reason to worry. I’ll be fine.” You gave her a reassuring smile.

But an hour and a half into the party, you began to regret not taking her offer. Your lightheadedness had returned and even after you had visited the bathroom from vomiting, you still felt ill. Yoongi, on the other hand, was drinking and partying as if the celebration was thrown for him. This, of course, irritated you a bit seeing how he told you; you were only staying a little while. But since you weren’t, you tried to grin and bear it as much as you could.

“When we get home, I’m going to fuck you all night so you might as well prepare yourself.” Yoongi whispered in your ear. Now any other time, this would have turned you on but at this moment in time, it did just the opposite.

How was it that your boyfriend throws a party for you and ends up having more fun? This was supposed to be about you and at first it felt that way but now, after three hours, it now felt like a party for his mafia friends.

“Knock it off, Yoongi.” You stated, nudging him away.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle it?” He placed his hand on your waist but didn’t notice the difference in size due to how tipsy he was.

“Me handling it isn’t the problem. I’m not in the mood for sexual jokes.”

“Here,” Yoongi offered you his glass of alcohol. “It will help you relax.”

“Yoongi...” You sighed.

“Just take a sip. It’ll loosen you up a bit.” He joked, bringing the glass to your lips but you pushed it away.

“I don’t want it.”

“Come on, just a tiny bit.”

“I SAID NO, YOONGI!” You screamed, knocking the glass out of his hand; letting it break over the floor. Your outburst not only sobered Yoongi up a bit but also gathered the attention of everyone at the party.

Yoongi’s mother quickly came over to defuse the sudden tension in the room. “Is everything okay, here?”

“I don’t know. Ask y/n.” Yoongi stated in anger as his eyes bore holes into your skull but you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were casted downward, avoiding eye contact as much as you could.

His mother looked at you before addressing her son. “Oh, she fine. Possibly just tired.”

“If she’s tired, couldn’t she have said so instead of behaving like a child? I offered her a drink, what’s fucking wrong with that?!”

“She’s just tired, that’s al-“

“Stop answering for her, mom! She’s a big girl, she can speak for herself.” Yoongi exclaimed, now turning his attention solely on you. “What’s wrong with me offering you a drink and what was so bad about it that you had to knock it out of my hand?”

“Yoongi.” His mother pleaded. 

“Y/n! Answer me!”

“I can’t, okay!” You finally cracked, meeting his eye contact with a glare of your own.

“Why the fuck not?!”

“Because I’m pregnant!”

Yoongi immediately went quiet, taken back by the sudden news. But he wasn’t the only one. The entire room had a front row view to the show and was now whispering amongst themselves. Hyolyn eyes held nothing but sympathy for you. However, you and Yoongi remained silent; angrily staring each other down.

“Come on, you two. Let’s not do this.” His mother offered. “Tonight, we’re supposed to be celebrating y/n’s birthday.”

He turned his gaze and anger to his mother. “And you knew about this, didn’t you?!”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Y/n was waiting to share the news with you first. She was just waiting for the right time.”

“This is fucking great.” Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe his ears to the excuses he believed were bullshit. “So the two of you knew and didn’t tell me. Why? Why was I the last to know that my girlfriend is fucking pregnant?! Who else should we add to the list, huh? Who else knows?!”

Neither of you answered and for different reasons. You just didn’t want to throw anyone else into his path of rage. Yoongi felt so blindsided that he couldn’t even speak. Instead, he walked away and outside on the patio. You took a deep breath before following after him, closing the door behind you; leaving everyone to witness the spectacle. While you both were away, his mother used the opportunity to change the atmosphere of the crowd.

“Does anybody need more food and drinks before we get the cake to sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

~~~

Yoongi’s shoulders were hunched over as he leaned against the rail; his fingers tightly squeezing it. Too many thoughts were going through his mind at the moment that he couldn’t think but the one thing he couldn’t ignore was the fact that you were having a baby. His child was something you chose to keep secret from him and not only that, you had others keep it from him as well. 

Of course his mother knew. He figured something was up when she mentioned a grandchild out of the blue, but who else? Jimin was the obvious choice. The way he waited on you, hand and foot made perfect sense; he was protecting you and the baby. He had probably gone shopping for baby clothes with you and even attending doctor appointments. The thought had Yoongi feeling sick to his stomach. 

When you approached him, you could see how tense his body was and knew he was furious. Nobody could calm him down when got like this.

“Yoon-“

“Stop,” he grumbled, rubbing his hands down his face and taking a deep breath. When he turned around to face you, you could see the body heat radiating off of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted-“

“No,” he interrupted. “You know what? We’re not doing this here; not in front of family. Matter of fact, we’re leaving... now.”

“But... the party. What about the guests?”

“FUCK THE GUESTS!” He yelled, trying like hell to control his anger. “You didn’t give a fuck about them when you yelled out our personal business! Say goodnight because we’re going home.”

Yoongi walked right by you and back inside, storming through the house and once again, gaining everyone’s attention. Hoseok and Namjoon wanted to approach him but also knew better. Yoongi was already angry; they didn’t want to make the situation worst by offering unwanted advice. Matt wanted to go after him to say a few words but Hyolyn stopped him. Neither one of them needed to be involved in a situation that you and Yoongi were perfectly capable of handling. Yoongi opened the front door and walked to his car, waiting for you from the inside.

When you slowly emerged from outside, you approached his mother apologizing for how the night had turned out. She brushed it off as nothing and gave you a hug. You thanked and hugged a few other guests before leaving. The moment you were seated in the passenger seat and the door had closed, Yoongi peeled off of his parents property and down the street. What was once supposed to be a small fun birthday gathering, had now turned into something far more worse.

You tried to remain as calm as you could even though your heart was racing in your chest. This was big news you chose to keep from Yoongi. How else was he supposed to act? What was going to happen once you both made it home? Glancing over from the corner of your eye, you saw that he was still very angry. His knuckles where turning white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel. 

When the car pulled up in front of the house, you got out of the car just in time to witness Yoongi slamming the door shut. Taking a deep breath, you followed him inside, ready to deal with the full on battle that was expected. Yoongi held the door open for you but closed it rather harshly once you walked through. You watched him walk though the house and out of sight. Meanwhile, you took the time to take off your heels and went to sit on the couch. When Yoongi came back, he had an open bottle of champagne in his hand, taking big swallows from it. He needed something to calm his nerves because he knew how the rest of the night was going to play out.

“Now, picking back up where we left of; why didn’t you tell me?”

You pleaded to him. “Yoongi-“

“No!” He yelled, causing you to jump. “I don’t want to hear anything other than the truth! Do you understand?!” You broke eye contact, looking down at your lap. Yoongi could read how melancholy you seemed and tried to control his fury but it was a hard thing to do.

“How far along are you?” He asked in a more leveled tone.

“Five months.” You mumbled.

Five months you chose to remain quiet, keeping him in the dark. Yoongi scoffed, chuckling at himself. How blind could he be? Now it all made sense. The way you dressed, the way you’ve been acting, even the way you chose to have sex. All of it was used to keep him noticing how you changed physically. He took another sip of liquor, this time, a large one.

“Show me.”

You stood to your feet and lifted your dress over your stomach. Yoongi just blankly stared at it before, scoffing again and taking another swig. You lowered your dress but you continued to stand.

“After you told me you weren’t ready for a baby, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t.”

“So you just chose to lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you, Yoongi.”

“Then what do you call it? You didn’t tell me the truth. Even when I asked you, repeatedly, if you were okay! Not once did you think about telling me!”

“I wasn’t ready to, okay,” you admitted. “You were busy with work and I didn’t know how to tell you the news especially when we had already talked about having a baby.”

“So that’s it, huh?!” He lashed out, stepping closer. “You didn’t tell me because you were afraid I didn’t want it?!”

“No! I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if I wanted it!” You finally screamed after reaching your breaking point. But after witnessing the look on his face, you tried to back track, lowering your voice. “Wait... that came out wrong. I did set an appointment to abort the pregnancy but I couldn’t bring myself to go. I still don’t know if I should go. I’m just so unsure of what to do but I promise, none of this was meant to hurt you.”

Yoongi couldn’t do anything but stare, the look of shock still present on his face. He had never felt more betrayed while being with you than he did now. It felt as though you not only slapped him across the face but also spit in it. Hell! You might as well had just set him on fire and watch him burn because that’s what it felt like. You, the love of his life, thought about and was now talking about aborting his unborn child. He didn’t know what hurt more. You sensed a change in his mood. The flaring temper from earlier had dimmed and the only hint that showed was unbelief and hurt.

“Yoongi, listen to me,” you pleaded after taking a deep breath. You tried to reach out for him but instead, he moved away before your fingers could brush the fabric of his clothes. This reaction, of course, stung but you also knew that it came from a broken place and you couldn’t fault him. “It’s not that I didn’t want to have your baby, I’m just scared to. I’m scared that everything will be perfect. That you, me and our child will live happily and then it’ll all be taken away. I’d get that call telling me that you are never coming home and I don’t want to experience that. I don’t want my child to experience that either.”

“That’s understandable, y/n,” Yoongi finally spoke. “But you didn’t even talk to me about it! I had to find out with everyone else and not only that, you had my close family and friends keep me in the dark!”

“It wasn’t like that. I asked them not to tell you because I wanted to be the one to do it.”

“And when were you going to tell me?! Where you ever going to tell me? No!” He answered. “You weren’t going to tell me and pretty much didn’t give me say in the matter. You thought it over and decided for me; never once checking to make sure if it’s what I wanted!” 

His anger had returned and Yoongi was beyond furious. He understood where you were coming from, he really did, and if he was honest with himself; it was something that also worried him. He had plenty of enemies and any one of them could kill him off at any moment in time. He understood that aspect but right now, he was more hurt than anything. You, out of all people, didn’t trust in him; you didn’t trust his love for you and for that, he wanted you to feel just as hurt as he did.

“You know, you all could say what you wanted about Mina, but she would have never done to me what you did. She wouldn’t have had second thoughts about having MY baby and being by my side.”

Hearing his words broke you in ways you never imagined. Your heart dropped, your eyes immediately watered, and you felt sick. Sick to your stomach about the situation and worse, about what Yoongi thought of you. Yoongi watched the devastation take over your form yet he didn’t stay long to witness the aftermath. He walked towards his front door and left, leaving you alone in his house. The moment the door closed, you broke down into tears. You covered your face in your hands, drowning in misery and sorrow all alone in his big house.

Yoongi didn’t know where he was going and honestly, he didn’t care. He just had to get away from you before he did more damage to purposely hurt you. He didn’t want to hurt you the way he did, he really didn’t but Yoongi couldn’t help the anger and resentment that was building inside of him. It was better if he just left until he gotten his emotions under control. 

Walking past his car and walking off his property, he had gotten a few feet away before his vision suddenly went black. A van pulled up and Yoongi’s unconscious body was thrown inside before driving off into the night. 

~

©2019 Silhouetted_Beauty

[green-writes-sanderssides]

Semicolon

Summary: He wasn’t hiding the marking on purpose; if the others saw it, they probably wouldn’t know what it means. But Logan knows.

Pairings: Romantic LAMP, kinda focused on Logan/Virgil

Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of minor character death 

Notes: Hi! This is my first time posting on this account. I’m gonna start posting my writing and art for Sanders Sides here. I also have an ao3 account under TheGreenMeerkat.

Read it on ao3

    He started doing it sometime after the Christmas video.

    He knew about the symbol long before then, but he never felt like he… earned it? There was this feeling to the marking, one of pride and strength. It said that, despite the odds against you, you fought through everything that plagued you and made it through, alive. It said that you were brave.

    And, well, Virgil didn’t feel very brave. He didn’t really have a choice to stay or not, with how his temporary absence apparently affected his host. That’s not why he stayed, though. He was selfish, all he wanted the approval of both Thomas and the sides. He didn’t even care if it was fake, or all out of pity and tolerance. He just wanted, for once in his cursed life, to feel accepted.

    He really didn’t believe it was real at first, but Christmas brought a new light. It was the first holiday season that Virgil wasn’t alone, worrying about Thomas buying gifts for all his friends and the inevitable, exhausting family gatherings. The videos didn’t even highlight the best parts for Virgil. It was at night, all of them huddled on the couch (practically in each others’ laps), watching old Christmas specials that Virgil secretly loved.

    However, It was the tiniest detail, the most mundane and unimportant thing that made Virgil draw the semicolon for the first time. In any other situation before that incident, he would have been on the end - or not on the couch at all. This time? He was sandwiched in between Patton and Logan. In fact, before he even had a chance to take his preferred spot, Roman and Logan had already claimed both edge seats without any complaints. When Princey ever-so-slightly smiled at him, he knew it was planned.

    When the others all fell asleep on the couch, Virgil discards himself from Patton’s arms and immediately goes to his room, conjuring up a Sharpie. That night, he changed the meaning of the semicolon in his head; it wasn’t there to say he was brave and strong, but instead that there were things worth keeping on for.

    (When he was done, he moved back to his spot in the living room. He wouldn’t want to worry the others by disappearing, after all.)

    The fact that he put it on his wrist didn’t actually mean anything. He’s just seen people put it there in pictures, and that made the most sense. He knows some prefer placing it on their neck, but Virgil didn’t tend to like things touching his neck, especially not a wet marker.

    He didn’t ever mean to hide it. Not the first time, not the fourth time, not even when he stopped using the marker and simply conjured it onto his skin like a tattoo. He just didn’t like showing skin. It was just a bad habit kept from teen years when he used to be covered in blemishes and zits - he was also almost always cold.

    In retrospect, though, he realizes that maybe it’s a good thing the symbol has stayed hidden. If the others knew what it meant, and he doubts they would, then they would start asking questions.

    He didn’t realize the sides didn’t know what Virgil truly meant by “ducking out” until Logan finally got curious.

//

    “Virgil.”

    The former dark side just about jumped through the roof of his own room. “Geez specs, would it kill you to knock?” It made sense that, at first, none of the sides knocked because he didn’t have a door. But now that Roman had added it, there was absolutely no reason for Logan to warp himself in.

    “Apologies, Virgil. I merely have a question for you that I have been rather curious about this last year and a half.”

    “Wait, you waited a year and a half to ask me a question? Why?” Virgil’s heart was beating fast suddenly, afraid and excited to hear what this question could be.

    “Yes, well, I had to wait until Patton gave me permission.” Logan rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “He told me it might be… impolite, to ask too soon after…” Logan trailed off, something he rarely ever did. It took a moment, but Virgil finally realized what happened about one and a half years ago and immediately felt tenser.

    “Get to the point, L.”

    “Right, yes.” The logical side decided that was an invitation to sit next to Virgil on his bedside. “Virgil, where exactly did you go when you, as you called it, ducked out?” (In the back of his head, he heard a voice say ‘quack’ that sounded very familiar.)

    Virgil ignored the fact that a chill crawled up his spine from the memories. His confusion from the question, thankfully, kept him from thinking about it. “The Subconscious. Where else would I have gone?”

    Logan’s eyes furrowed at that. “Why would you go there? I’ve never even been there intentionally. How did you know that it would separate Thomas from you?”

    Oh. Oh, they didn’t know. How would any of them know? It was the dark sides who spread the rumours about what could happen if you go in there. What had happened.

    “Don’t ever go in there,” Virgil warned. He knew that Logan’s curiosity could get the best of him. “Look, I’d rather not talk about it. Ever. Sorry.”

    Logan did not question him any further.

//

    He finds himself smiling just slightly at the memory. It wasn’t because he was fond of it, but he was fond of what he was feeling back then, less than half a year ago.

    It was only a couple weeks before they all got together, after all.

    Yet, still, none of them know what really happened so long ago, and none of them have seen the semicolon on his wrist. If they knew, they would all feel guilty, and Virgil doesn’t want any more guilt. It’s been almost two years now!

    Despite that, he tends to forget it's there, especially on a hot summer day in Florida.

    A year ago, probably even months ago, he would have bared through the heat with his hoodie on. Ice packs underneath were always an option, but if he really had to take it off, he would just lock himself in his room (it was always colder in there, anyway). That, however, wasn't an option anymore. Today was a well-deserved relaxation day for the four of them, and no one was allowed to hide away for these days.

    Not only did he end up taking off his hoodie, damn him, but he rolled up the sleeves of his shirts as well.

    “Ooh, what's that little symbol on your arm, V?” Patton was the first to notice it, currently sitting close to him while they all watched Disney/Pixar movies (they would have been cuddling if it weren’t for the heat).

    Virgil immediately felt his heart rate increase at the mention of it. At first, he instinctually moved to cover it with his hand, but he moved it away almost immediately, deciding that would be a bit too suspicious. Everyone was looking at him now, too. “It’s just something I did a while ago. Nothing special.”

    They don’t know. There’s no way they’d know what it means. Where would they hear it from? Where-

    While everyone else moved on, Logan was staring at him. “Virgil, may I speak with you for a moment?”

    He knows.

    When Virgil nodded in response, the logical facet stood up, slapping off imaginary dust from his clothes. He moved to the anxious side’s spot on the couch and extended a hand. He took it gratefully, getting himself up and preparing to follow Logan, but was surprised when he didn’t let go of his hand. It was a small gesture that, despite the panic coursing through Virgil’s veins, made him smile just slightly. Logan wasn’t one to initiate touch, but he was getting better at it.

    He was led to the hallway, far enough away to where the others wouldn’t be able to hear them. He was expecting Logan to jump right into the conversation as always, but he was surprised to find hesitation there. “...Virgil, what does that semicolon mean to you?”

    He couldn’t just say it, could he? Part of him wanted to spill out everything. He wanted someone to finally understand what really happened all that time ago, everything that led to it and everything that followed. Part of him hates that his own boyfriends don’t know his history, don’t know anything of what happened to him as a kid that shaped him.

    Maybe, just maybe, it was time to breach the surface?

    “Do you know what it’s supposed to mean?” Test the waters, first. How much could Logan know? If Thomas has ever simply passed over an article about it, then Logic could have, potentially, retained the information. If anyone knew…

    “A semicolon is used when an author could have ended the sentence, but didn’t.” Logan took in a shaky breath. He knew. “Those few months ago, you never told me what happens in the Subconscious.”

    Virgil was terrified, yes, but he needed to tell his tale. He needed at least one of them to finally know, even if it meant bringing unnecessary guilt to them. “Logan, let me tell you a story.”

    When Logan simply looked at him, curious and waiting and somewhat scared, Virgil swallowed a lump in his throat and continued. “When Thomas was only about seven, there was a dark side who went to the Subconscious to escape.”

    “Impossible,” Logan interrupted already. “We surely would have noticed.”

    The anxious side shook his head. “Just let me tell the whole story. The dark side didn’t make much of a difference in Thomas as a kid, but it was just barely enough for the other dark sides to notice his absence. When they went to the Subconscious to investigate, he wasn’t there anymore.”

    “Virgil…”

    He raised his hand up to cut off Logan. “But the Subconscious is not a nice place to be for dark sides. It’s this... constant push and pull of begging you to stay and hoping for you to leave. It shows your past, present, and potential futures. None of them stayed for long, but when they came back, they found the missing side.

    “Except he was different. He was much more simple physically, no longer having the extra details most dark sides did. Deceit went to question him, but he didn’t have any answers. He knew his function, knew who Thomas was, but didn’t recognize the faces of anyone in front of him.”

    “He was reset?” Logan asked puzzledly.

    “Possibly, but probably not. He had a name separate from his function name that he already knew, but it wasn’t the same name as the side that disappeared.” Virgil breathed in deeply, then let it out in a sigh. “So the theory spread that the Subconscious, if you’re in there for long enough, can not only separate a side from Thomas, but kill them in the process. And a new side with the same function will be made by the mindscape in a sort of homeostasis process, I guess. Every dark side knows this story. I-I went in there knowing what would happen.”

    “I…” Logan's eyes were wide in panic as he took in a shaky breath. “Virgil, I didn’t- I didn’t know that it was-”

    “It’s okay, Logan. No one did.” That probably wasn’t as reassuring as he wanted it to be, but the situation was making him increasingly uncomfortable and he couldn’t quite think of what to say. “It’s all in the past. Why should it matter now?”

    “You- you could have-” The logical side suddenly went silent. It was something he tended to do in highly emotional events. He still doesn’t quite know how to communicate his feelings, but he doesn’t have as difficult of a time showing them anymore. When Virgil sees a tear roll down his cheek, he immediately decides that is not allowed right now.

    “No, hey, come on. There’s no-” He decides not to say ‘there’s no reason to cry.’ That’s just something you don’t say to someone who used to be so emotionally distant. Instead, he moves to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, and Logan immediately returns the embrace desperately.

    “You could have died, V,” he whispers into Virgil’s shoulder. “N-none of us would have ever known what happened. We nev-never would have known everything you’ve been through. We never would have gotten to see you happy, n-never see the real you. God, Virgil, we were so blind.”

    “Lo, it’s-” The darker side realized too late that tears were now coming from his eyes as well. “I’m okay now. It- It’s in the past. We’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” It’s strange to think he ever could have wanted to leave. He’s finally grown so used to being genuinely loved by these sides, how could he ever think to leave them anymore?

    Logan pulled away, just enough to wipe away his own tears, then placed a hand on Virgil’s cheek. “Dear, I’m not saying you have to do it now, but Roman and Patton need to know what happened eventually.”

    “No, no. I’ll-” The anxious facet sniffed, wiping away the rest of his tears as well. “I’ll tell them now. I need to get it out. Just stand by me, okay?”

    His hand was taken by the analytical side once again. “Of course.”

    Hand in hand, they walked out of the hallway and back in the living room. Roman and Patton were still watching a movie, cuddled up together on the couch, but they perked up once the two returned and stood in front of them.

    “Virgil, Logan!” Patton exclaimed. “You two were gone for a while, what’s- have you been crying?”

    Virgil felt his heart rate increase once again. Logan seemed to pick up on his newfound tenseness and squeezed his hand in reassurance. No one knew everything, but it was a reminder that the darker side finally wasn’t completely alone in the memories that brought him down. “Virgil has something he needs to share.”

    With a deep breath, Virgil told them everything. He didn’t retell the story about the boy, but he told his story. He told them what the Subconscious could do, he told them of the many, many times he was so close to doing it. He told them what the semicolon means.

    Before he even had time to register the reactions in the room, he was being engulfed into a hug.

    By Roman.

    Who was sobbing.

    “Virgil, darling,” Roman was practically whimpering, clinging desperately to the back of his homemade hoodie. It was the kind of hug you would give to someone who you were afraid to lose, or someone you hurt. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. Please, please don’t ever leave us.”

    “Princey, come on,” Virgil noted he was choking up, hating to see his boyfriend wrapped up in that horrid guilt again. “You’re gonna make me cry again. We’ve talked about this, we were both idiots back then.”

    With that, Roman moved off of him and cupped his cheeks with a watery, loving smile. “You’re so brave, love. Please don’t ever forget that you didn’t deserve anything you had to face back then.”

    Brave? He certainly never thought of himself as brave, but he guesses only the prince would know what true bravery was.

    Seeing that Patton was right beside him, clearly wanting to show Virgil love as well, Roman moved to the side to let him in. The father figure immediately wrapped the darker side up in a warm, comforting embrace, less tight than the other two he received today - the only word he has found so far that properly describes a good Patton Hug™ is “home.”

    “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” Patton’s voice, though not weighed down by sobs, was still slightly heavy. He was definitely crying too, just a little bit. “You have no idea how much we love you.”

    “I-I think I’m starting to get the idea.” Morality backed away enough to reach up and place a sweet, chaste kiss on Virgil’s forehead, lingering just long enough to get the point across. They all tried their hardest, but Patton was always the best at communicating love in any form.

    Group hugs were shared between them, all forgetting about the heat of the day. Soon enough, they all agreed to move back to the couch, cuddle, and watch some of Virgil’s favourite movies. (He tried to convince them that he’d be happy with any movie, but they all remained stagnant. He’s also pretty sure Roman purposely turned down the temperature in the imaginary room so cuddling could be an option, but no one said anything.)

    By the end of the night, Roman fell asleep on the armrest of the couch, Virgil’s head on his chest, and Patton was snoring curled up on Logan’s lap and head on Virgil’s legs. He couldn’t tell if Logan was still awake until he felt a tap on his shoulder from him.

    “Yeah?” He whispered, not wanting to wake up his two sleeping boyfriends.

    “The boy in the story, the second one,” Logan said, cautious. “He was you, wasn’t he?”

    Of course, Logan always figured it out. “I used to be mad at him. I used to hate him for making me take his place, and I didn’t even know him.”

    “And now?”

    “Now I wish we could have both gotten our happy endings.”

    The semicolon wasn’t the only marking he had on his body. On his chest, right above his heart, was the name of a side, a brother, he had never met.

    “Edmon.”

(Please reblog if you can! I'm new so that's one of the only ways I'll get readers!)

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Update 

Story Post

“You're pregnant?!” Camilo was in complete disbelief when Nathan came into Korsgaard's office for their meeting. Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “With twins. I don't know if I'm keeping them, though.” “Scared?” Korsgaard asked. Nathan nodded and sat down. “Yeah. Terrified.” Korsgaard nodded. “Okay to be scared.” “Yeah.”

Camilo sat beside Korsgaard reading through Reid's update. When he was finished he looked up at Nathan. “‘Dawson Grace is the suspected father'? When did you have sex with Dawson Grace?!” “Cam,” Korsgaard said in a warning tone. “Calm.” “Three months ago, apparently,” Nathan answered, feeling really embarrassed just thinking being intimate with the bear man. “It happened when I was the wolf though… I don’t remember it and I didn’t have control.” Camilo tried to calm down. “I just… I can't believe that could even happen… You have a uterus but in this form, it's just not attached to anything?” “Yeah, I guess,” Nathan said. “No way out.” Korsgaard took the tablet from Camilo and looked through. “Reid says he'd do a C-section. If you’re human when you give birth.” Nathan nodded. “Yeah.” “Okay. Noted.” Korsgaard said. “That's it?” Camilo asked. “Just noted?” Korsgaard shrugged. “Medical stuff. Not our business. Just good to know.” “We're not going to talk about Dawson Grace's involvement in this?” Camilo asked. “What it can mean for Nathan if he keeps these kids? How this pregnancy will affect our research?” “Nathan talked to Grace,” Korsgaard said pointing out the note. “And Reid's handling the pregnancy research.” Camilo frowned and looked to Nathan. “Did he hurt you at all?” Nathan shook his head. “No, but I don’t remember anything. I mean, I can’t say my feelings were left unscathed when I talked to him today, but… Yeah.” “Well, he'll be gone in a few days. You won't have to worry about him upsetting you,” Camilo said. “Yeah,” Nathan said, though he really didn't know if Kent leaving was a good thing. “Plans for Nathan,” Korsgaard said nudging Camilo and handing him the tablet. “Right…” Camilo opened up their research. “So, we know from Grace that there is a pack of werewolves with an alpha female leader. He says that if the alpha bites a human then their wolf form will be female, regardless of their actual sex. We can only assume that's the truth since we see that kind of transformation in you. And then we have our footage of that female who attacked you. It's possible she could be the alpha trying to kill you to fix her mistake. Do you remember at all what the wolf that bit you had looked like?” Nathan shrugged. “Honestly, I don't… I remember it being big but that's all.” “Hmm… Well our plan is to locate and arrest at least one of these werewolves and interrogate them,” Camilo said. “They may have information on a cure.” “I don't know…” Nathan said. “Don't you think if they had a cure, they'd use it for themselves?” “I said ‘information on a cure',” Camilo reiterated. “It's possible they too have looked into it. They might be further into finding the answer. If so, it might be our technology and resources that bridge the gap to a cure.” “Oh. Yeah, I guess…” Nathan said. “But I'm not involved in this, am I?” “Not if you don’t want to be.” “I don’t want to be.” “Then you won't be.” Camilo marked it down in his notes. “How has sleeping over been for you?” “It's fine, I guess,” Nathan said. “I don't wake up in my backyard anymore which is nice. I'm a lot hungrier now though I guess because I can't hunt. But I get to have big breakfasts in the morning which is nice. The cafeteria bacon is a lot better prepared than I would expect. Prices aren't half bad either.” “Good. Have you visited the common area?” Camilo asked. “Not yet. Just the cafeteria,” Nathan said. “I'm kinda surprised… I expected the aliens to be more… I guess, less humanoid.” “Yeah, it's a galaxy thing,” Camilo said. “Nearby planets will typically have similar looking species.” “I guess that makes sense…” Nathan said nodding. “I guess since I'm used to Yulinians, I expected to see more of them down there but really weren't any…” “Yeah, Yulinians are really good at keeping up with immigration standards and requirements,” Camilo said. “You won’t likely see one get deported. Most of them are here on business and peacekeeping, too so they're not looking for citizenship.” “Lots of Eclulo,” Nathan said. “They're nice.” “Nice, but not familiar with taxation,” Camilo said. “Their planet is a very fend for yourself kind of place so when they get here they don't want to contribute to the wellbeing of strangers.” “But isn't the fact that you guys are helping them paid for by taxes?” Nathan said. “Yeah.” Camilo shrugged and looked through the Nathan's information. “So, it seems like that's it for now. If you're comfortable staying over night at APID then you're room is still reserved for you. Dr. Gardi made a request to examine you tonight to check in on the pregnancy…” Camilo rolled his lips. “You know, if you ever want to talk about the pregnancy, you can talk to me.” Nathan shook his head. “It's okay… I'm already talking to the doc about it and we're handling it.” “Okay…” Camilo smiled and passed the tablet to Korsgaard. “Then, I believe that's it for our meeting today. Oh, but how's work going? Korsgaard was one of the staff who really pushed for the school to be built. We're really excited to see how it's going for the kids.” “It's great,” Nathan said. “On the first day, I could tell the kids weren't used to being around other kids except siblings and it took a few days to get them out of their shells, but they're really getting used to it now.” “Woulda liked a school like that when my kids were little,” Korsgaard said. Nathan blinked looking at his caseworker. “Are you…are you not human?” Korsgaard huffed in the form of chuckle. “I am.” He turned around a picture frame on his desk to show a picture of a teenage boy with a baby girl in his lap. They both had dark skin and bright coloured hair, but with very European features and pointed ears. “My wife was en mørk elf.” “Oh.” Nathan leaned in and took a look at the pictures, figuring Korsgaard meant dark elf. “…Was?” “Lost her a couple years ago,” Korsgaard said. “I'm sorry.” “Mm.” Nathan squinted at the picture. “Have I seen your son before?” “Maybe,” Korsgaard said. “Korsy works here,” Camilo said. “But he does field work so he's often out on missions.” “I see,” Nathan said. “His name's Korsy Korsgaard?” “No,” Korsgaard stated. “First born Korsgaard’s all go by their last names,” Camilo said. “Regardless of gender. Weird tradition.” “Not weird,” Korsgaard corrected. “Family pride.” “I see.” Nathan put the picture frame down. “He looks exactly like you. Dark elf recolour.” “Yeah, he's very proud,” Camilo said. “Well, if you ever have grandkids, I'd be honoured to teach them,” Nathan said. “One day,” Korsgaard agreed. Nathan smiled. “I guess I'll get going. Is there anything else I should know about?” “No, I don't think so,” Camilo said. “Then we're all good here, I think. I believe, having Grace these late couple weeks has ben a benefit to our research for sure and we can be sure that progress is happening.” “Alright. Thanks, guys.” Nathan stood up and shook their hands. “When do you think we'll meet next?” “While we're in the wolf period, I believe we should meet weekly,” Camilo said. “You'll get an email,” Korsgaard said. “Okay. See you then.” “Yes. See you, Nathan. Stay strong.”

[shadowsong26fic]

Precipice Deleted Scene!

So, I have an AU outline coming up, sometime in the next couple of days depending on how quickly I finish it. But since that is a) Spite Fic(tm); b) not Star Wars and, in fact, based in a fandom I left a while ago that I’m pretty sure none of you are in; and c) a niche crossover on top of that...

Uh. Yeah. As a thank you to y’all for sitting through my self-indulgent nonsense later, I thought I’d post this! Which I’d been kind of thinking about sharing anyway, even before the Spite Fic(tm) came up.

Below the cut is an early version of Anakin’s half of the most recent Precipice chapter. Parts of this were written back during NaNo, and then bits and pieces over December and January. It’s also part of why this chapter took so long (almost a month as opposed to the 1-2 weeks I’d been shooting for)--the bulk of Padme’s half was actually complete last November, I just had to rework the opening and add a conclusion and a few other editing details. But the original version of Anakin’s half just...wouldn’t come together. And I think part of that was because it ended up feeling kind of redundant--it was Anakin, Obi-Wan, Rex, and Ahsoka meeting up and debriefing, so while some of the information was news to them, pretty much none of it was news to the reader. Also, braiding together the bits and pieces I’d written wasn’t working/the conversation wasn’t really flowing. Plus, the Anakin and Beru scene fit better with what was going on in Padme’s part. I actually made the decision to switch...I wanna say three days before I posted? And it just...flew. So, yeah, there’s that.

Anyway, there are a couple bits in here that I really like, and...well, if any of y’all wanted a look at my Process, so to speak, this actually might give some insight? It’s all pretty rough, and I’m leaving in my notes to myself so you can maybe get an idea of the kind of piecemeal ways I put together chapters.

Feel free to comment/ask questions/offer insights about your own process, if you wanna use this post as a jumping-off point for that!

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Leia didn’t meet Ahsoka and Rex at Dr. Naar’s--in the interest of protecting their emergency medic, as a rule, none of them went there unless they actually needed his help.

Instead, beyond a brief coded “all-clear,” they waited to properly check in until they were all back at the farm.

[Which was not easy, waiting that long to really confirm that Rex was okay. Not that Anakin thought he wasn’t, exactly--even with everything else that had gone on this week, he’d’ve sensed it if his friend were in serious trouble--but, yeah, there was a difference between knowing and knowing, even with the Force to help. And he had lost too damn many friends over the years to be comfortable waiting for news.] [POSSIBLY CUT. PROBABLY CUT.]

Rex looked more or less okay, which was a relief. He was leaning pretty heavily on a set of crutches, but upright and moving more or less under his own power.

“You all right?” Anakin asked, quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Back to normal in a week or two, probably. As long as I don’t do anything stupid.” This last, he said with a somewhat pointed look that was probably supposed to be a Hint, which Anakin blissfully ignored.

“Glad to hear it, Captain,” he said, with a brief hand on his good shoulder.

[TRANSITION]

“How’d everything go?” Ahsoka asked, settling in on the floor, cross-legged.

“Pretty much as well as we’d hoped,” Anakin said. “Padme and Luke are--they’re--amazing. And Padme sends her love.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Good.”

“And with Saw?” Obi-Wan asked.

“About as well as we’d expected,” Rex said, and Ahsoka nodded.

“He’s holding back a little, not interested in a full commitment right now, but he’s keeping lines of communication open,” she added.

“We also ran into a massive hyperdrive, half-built. We blew it up, and managed to pull some data on our way out,” Rex said. “It might tie into some of the leads you’ve been chasing down?” [REWORD A LITTLE]

“Possibly,” Obi-Wan said. “Likely, even. I’m still working on fitting the various puzzle pieces together, but this will probably help. It’s certainly something we should keep an eye out for. If we’re looking at a question of scale…”

“I agree,” Rex said. “I’m not as up on the latest capital ship tech as I’d like to be, but the drive I saw was bigger than anything that’s probably coming out for the next generation or two. Unless it’s not for a capital ship at all, but for something different.”

Not good. Whatever the Chancellor wanted to move en masse probably meant bad things for the rest of the galaxy.

“We should have Artoo sift through the data,” Anakin said. “We still might not have enough for the full picture, but if anyone can get there, he can.” Besides, they had left him with Owen and Beru while they were off on Alderaan, and Artoo had made it very clear that he had been hopelessly bored by the tasks the Larses had found for him, and was looking forward to having something more interesting to do.

Well, that hadn’t been exactly how he’d put it, but that was the gist, anyway.

[EHHHH REWORK A BIT. ANOTHER TRANSITION]

“Anything about the bombing?” Anakin asked. He’d promised Luke he’d find out as much as he could, after all.

“Saw knew who was responsible,” Ahsoka said. “He wouldn’t give us a name, said his friend was probably dead so there wasn’t much point. He wasn’t involved directly, but he was invited along.”

“That’s something, at least,” he said.

“Bail’s network didn’t have much, either,” Obi-Wan added, “other than a possible break-in at ISB around the same time. He wasn’t sure whether the kidnapping or the break-in was the feint.”

“That ties to what Saw was telling me,” Ahsoka said. “And from what he said, the kidnapping was the distraction. Or added bonus, or something. He said he told them to try for an actual target, one that was worth their time. Tarkin or somebody, not the kid.”

“Gerrera doesn’t have many limits,” Rex said. “And it’s even odds or better there’s gonna be a point where even those go away. But at least for now, he has a thing about kids. Pretty sure he’s concerned about setting a precedent.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “He has a kid with him,” she added, for Obi-Wan and Anakin’s benefit. “Couple years older than Leia. He focused on her every time the bombing came up.”

[EHHHH, SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES.]

[SOMEWHERE IN HERE GOES THE FOLLOWING:]

“We ran into Infernalis,” Ahsoka said, and the room stilled a bit.

Anakin found himself absently resting a hand on his left thigh, where the prosthetic met what was left of his natural leg. It hadn’t bothered Padme--which he hadn’t really been worried about, except that it bothered him more than his arm ever had. Not for any physical reason, exactly; while it wasn’t quite as high-quality as the arm, the neural mapping in the leg Bail had found for him was good enough that he didn’t have too many issues with phantom pain or other problems that lower-end prosthetics couldn’t help. But there was a difference.

Maybe it was just that there had been problems he hadn’t had the first time--complications, delays, accidentally terrifying Leia the way he had--and he couldn’t completely get those fuzzy, awful days out of his head. Or maybe it was just that Specter bothered him more than Dooku ever had.

It didn’t really matter, anyways. Generally speaking, it wasn’t enough to really cause him problems, except when he let himself start brooding about it. Which happened less and less often.

He shook it off pretty quickly--he didn’t think the others had noticed he’d gotten distracted, or that he’d missed any of the conversation. Good. I’m getting better at this. […NOT SURE ABOUT THIS ONE. ALSO MAYBE MOVE IT?]

“Did you engage?” Obi-Wan asked.

She shook her head. “Not directly. Ship-to-ship combat only. Rex took out his hyperdrive and we left.”

Which was what they were supposed to do, as bitter a pill it was to swallow. They had all agreed, after…after Specter, not to engage any of the Chancellor’s apprentices without backup, if at all possible. And, while Rex would have counted on a good day, he was hurt. Pursuing Infernalis, if they hadn’t been able to shoot him down and take him out that way, might have gotten one or both of them killed. Ahsoka had made the right call.

Even if it meant leaving Saw and his people, plus a planet full of civilians, at risk.

“There are too few of us left,” Obi-Wan had said; and Master Yoda had agreed. And they weren’t wrong, but at the same time… [MAYBE MOVE THE BIT ABOUT LEG/PHANTOM PAINS/SPECTER/WHATEVER HERE?]

“Were you able to warn the others?” Anakin asked.

She shook her head. “We didn’t want to draw attention with a beacon,” Ahsoka said. “But he had a couple evacuation plans already in place, and he’s not stupid. I think he’ll be okay.”

“He knows how to reach out to us,” Rex said. “We’ll find out sooner or later.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “We will hope for the best.”

There wasn’t much else they could do, other than head back as a group and try to hunt Infernalis down, but Anakin didn’t bother to suggest it. At best, heading back would accomplish exactly nothing other than wasted time. At worst, Infernalis had had time to set a trap for them.

[THAT…WENT SO MUCH BETTER IN MY HEAD UGH. POSSIBLY JUST REWORK IT FOR ONE OF THE OTHERS’ POV? AHSOKA MAYBE?]