#not so much because of the way its written. which i actually find fairly irritating at points

[chemsexholmes]

fave vonnegut novel??

I get this question like once a month, which is understandable I suppose seeing as I seem to have made being a kurt vonnegut enjoyer my entire internet personality. Breakfast of champions 👍

[mejomonster]

I finished final fantasy vii rebirth and. Some mixed opinions.

The main good points: as a Sequel to original FF7? Its good. The women are all written well (which was a concern considering Kairi and Lunafreya in past games), and everyone was in character just fleshed out more (with 2 slight exceptions). What the game did best was accomplish an open world game, world spanning adventure, stick fairly well to some main highlights from original ff7 (which is what people wanted for ages) and with new stuff thats fun if you like the world, very little wasting of player time (so much better than ff7 remake). It did open world well, pacing well, side quests and mini games well, characters well, combat well, and overall gave the feel of what square enix was maybe Hoping and Wishing to successfully accomplish in a mainline game for years but either hasnt been able to achieve on a technical level or fumbled in the past. (So no time wasting dungeons like ff7 remake, fleshed out open world with stuff you enjoy doing so more than ff15, open world so more than ff13, and combat that feels like things theyve learned and improved on well). How it feels to play? Great, fast paced, no dead time, all enjoyable game you came to play. (With the exception maybe of Cait Siths box mandatory mini game and the aerith in ancient temple magic platforms thing but they both werent too difficult to push through if you dont enjoy them).

The bad? Mostly... if you treat Rebirth as a SEQUEL to original ff7, these arent major issues. They just annoy me as a player of the original ff7 game. Because i know plenty of people will ONLY play ff7 Remake and Rebirth etc, and never know the original characterizations. So 2 characters were slightly unlike their original ff7 selves, and instead more like their Advent Children (and general non ff7 appearances) selves: aerith and sephiroth. Sephiroth's character being NOT like ff7 originals is more irritating personally. Because yeah... i get it. As a sequel to original ff7, this Remake/Rebirth Sephiroth might be from the future (so he is Advent Children esque version of himself), hes had time post losing his way to really get all mysterious and hyperfocus on cloud and be a looming vague pest. But the thing is... in the original ff7 the reason we learn hes used to be a SOLDIER war hero, is so the cast and you are confused why he kills Shinra people. Then you and the casy figure: well cloud remembers sephiroth finding out hes a monster cause of shinra, justifiable for sephiroth to hate shinra. Unflrtunately Sephiroth also decided to hate ALL HUMANS. Then you later find out maybe Jenovas controlling Sephiroth/one with him etc. But the key here is you find out at some point in original ff7 that sephiroths goal is mainly Destroy World because Hes not Human. Rebirth... does not clarify this very important and very BASIC point ever. Maybe it assumes its so basic that as a ff7 fan you should know.. but plenty of new players wont. Rebirth clarifies yes sephiroth may be Jenovas kid... but the whole MOM, im an ancient like Jenova! Oh Jenova isnt an ancient oh well fuck humans anyway! Either way fuck humans ill kill them all! None of those Very basic sephiroth motives are clarified much. I felt Rebirth did good explaining the Gi and the black materia. But to make Sephiroths motives so vague, why he wants to end the world SO VAGUE, why hes in clouds head (the black robes are everywhere but the game HINTS theure sephiroth clones but never actually spells it out eevn though its a BASIC KEY DETAIL). Now... because Rebirth is a sequel, it makes sense... if hes Advent Children Sephiroth he already knows he isnt an ancient, knows hes Jenovas kid, knows he wants to fuck with Cloud specifically now and the world generally but not necessarily so singlemindedly desperate to just kill all humans. So yes, Sephiroth is in character for his future self... but i feel like even with him less SINGLE MINDED and freshly with Jenova, clarifying some basics of his Original old timeline motives... would be helpful to new fans. So it annoyed me. I think the biggest Not Good writing decision in Rebirth was to never fucking clarify Sephiroths original basic goal: im not human like mom, hate humans, kill world. I suspect the writers either thought players KNEW so hinted instead of being on the nose (but to new players theyll just be CONFUSED), or they plan to explain those basic things in game 3. Which seems stupid to me and shouldve been explained earlier.

And Aerith. As a sequel? She remembered the other timeline which explained some moments she was calmer than original ff7. She forgot, then toward the end of Rebirth she seems to have remembered the other timeline again and that she needs to die and X happens etc. So her being calmer based on the plot they wrote for Rebirth? Makes sense. However... i deeply miss her Original FF7 personality where as an Ancient she freaks out a bit LIKE sephiroth, paralleling him, that shes not human, a freak, that it all rests on her as only one ancient left. Their overwhelm parallels each other. Aerith is more scared in original ff7 of being the only ancient, of what it means, of finding out more. That fear is slightly there in Rebirth but WAY LESS. its only a little in cosmo canyon and almost gone in the Ancient Temple. In ff7 expanded universe theyve changed her character over time to a calmer wiser goddess type like in Advent Children, and so yes in Rebirth when she remembers the alrernate timeline it makes sense she'd be calmer like her future self. However... i miss original ff7 aerith. I miss her initial shock, loneliness, fear of the weight on her shoulders, not being sure what to do. Her and Sephiroth, because of Rebirth writing them to know more, act more like their future selves and so. While it is in character and logical to the Rebirth plot. Its also sad to me that anyone who only plays Remake and Rebirth simply wont see what they were like WHEN these revelations were brand new shocks to them, forcing them to react and grow and fear. I dont think Aerith is written bad, i just think because this game is in reality is a Sequel im just personally mourning that it didnt have that as much of the original Aerith's personality who was afraid and discovering. Mostly her Rebirth personality is similar to original ff7s. But in some high tension moments shes way calmer and wiser than in the original. I miss getting to see some of that before to after character growth.

Oh and. The aerith dies scene. Does it make sense in context of Rebirth written as a sequel? Sure. Is it impactful? Not as much as the original. In Rebirth, theres a scene where Cloud is losing control and listening to Sephiroth and attacks Tifa, causing Tifa to fall into mako. That scene is high stakes and emotional and lands WELL. Later in Rebirth, when Aerith actually dies, Cloud has not lost control and isnt the one who killed her. Its fine, as a sequel to ff7 i get the choice to make him able to stop himself from hurting her. But it does make the scene less impactful: now cloud will NOT be blaming himself for her death, will not be struggling with the guilt and fear, and will not be as terrified of losing control again. Since he wasnt the one who attacked her. And since he saw her ghost/something post death, hes not even sad or grieving her. He thinks shes fine. These 2 things will result in a WILDLY DIFFERENT cloud moving forward than the original ff7 one who very much was distraught and horrified he did that. So like... as a sequel its fine these changes were made. But death wise... i wouldve prefered like, cloud drops her from up high qhile struggling with whispers, or doesnt get to her in time and sephiroth stabs her when shes too far away. The way Rebirth did it, cloud was near her, she gets stabbed anyway. It seemed to me almost like the writing was trying to vaguely or softly kill her, like somehow making it vague would make it hurt less. Yeah it did hurt less... but id rather if a character i love dies that its a Worthy Scene for them to die in. A strong meaningful scene that makes me cry, that felt like the loss it is. The Rebirth scene... couldve done its plot as intended and just make Cloud farther away or something and it wouldve been better to me. Maybe the writing point was Cloud thinks its fine, and its still not, and he cant even feel distaught because he cant tell if she died or if things are fine? Thats the only angle i can see where maybe the death scene did what the writers wanted? Anyway. Aeriths moms death made me sob, Aeriths death did not. It is what it is. I feel like Tifa, crying in my heart off screen, the game acting like Cloud like its fine and it looks fine to him but im confused like Tifa aa to why hes (the game) treating it that way. Lol.

Overall? Um 4/5. 8/10? Really solid square enix game, Amazing as far as final fantasy 7 SEQUELS go. It has one main weak spot in treating Sephiroth fully mysterious when a few clarifying details could help the game stand on its own Better (and make Sephiroth a stronger enemy character instead of a vaguer one). The other weak spots are more my personal preference and mourning the parts of ff7 original i miss and had wished were in this, but as this is a Sequel in a parallel timeline i dont feel the parts effect Rebirth on its own merit. It IS the best Square Enix game ive played in ages, at least since Final Fantasy X or XII. I thought it was better than FF13, FF15, definitely better than ff7 remake (i hate time wasting dungeons and bad pacing its a dealbreaker), and than kh3 (although kh3 was quite good for a kh sequel). I get to play FF16 next, which will hopefully be as good as Rebirth or better! Since its also on the PS5 and clearly from Rebirth, the square enix main team can do excellent combat, open world, level design, mini games, side quests, and good pacing now. So i'll just have to see if ff16's story is better. And i am guessing it hopefully will be, since Rebirth as an ff7 sequel has some weirdness to its plot quite typical of ff7 extended universe stories like Crisis Core and Dirge of Cerberus. Whereas ff16 is a brand new plot, so they have nothing preventing them from a tight excellent written story except themselves. I am curious how BIG ff16s world will be though. Because ff7 Rebirths world was MASSIVE and very full of stuff, tons of mini games, cool stuff to find or do or little character side quests. If ff16 also takes me 60 hours to beat the main story its gonna be thw longest final fantasy main title ive ever played.

Rebirth is very replayable if you enjoyed it. I will probably replay ff7 original soon.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

-

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

-

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

-

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

-

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

-

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song i.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, not really much to warn in this first chapter, there’s some flirting, oc doesn’t want to admit she finds seokjin dishy, she’s possibly in denial that there’s a spark there, jimin and soobin appear 🥰 words; 11,028 

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii  • ix • x • epilogue  (+ drabbles)

You hated being late. Not only did you pride yourself on your impeccable time management but sleeping through your alarm always threw you out of whack for the rest of the day. You blamed the annual student reports that had to be written. No matter how organised you were, every year they seemed to sneak up on you and disrupt your prompt 11pm bedtime. You’d been still awake past 1am last night, determined to give each student the report they deserved. The yearly parent-teacher meetings were tomorrow (Friday) and Monday evening; it was officially the end of the school year countdown, which was ironically the most difficult time of the year. 

No wonder your stress levels were so high lately. You felt like a ticking timebomb, wondering what on earth would set you off – because it was inevitable. This morning it could have been a number of things… Your inability to awake when your alarm went off, the fact your clothes were still slightly damp from insufficient drying time, your forgotten lunch still at home in the refrigerator, or now, your current predicament – you couldn’t find a space to park your car. 

You always got to work an hour early, that way you had enough time to get ready for the school day before the student’s turned up and the teacher’s parking lot was empty. You had your pick of spaces. Today however, with just fifteen minutes to spare before class began, you didn’t have much choice. The spot that required you to reverse in between two cars, or the one that was secluded but came with a price – the sun’s hotspot. 

You were stopped idly between the two, mentally making you decision while also damning this day to hell, when suddenly there was a thud and you jerked forwards, a gasp escaping your fallen mouth. Your hands had unconsciously clenched around the steering wheel so you ever so slowly eased up, straightening your back as you caught a look in the rear-view mirror. 

“Oh, my god.” You breathed quietly, reaction time delayed greatly. Shock probably. 

You watched as a black car – twice the size of yours and almost blindingly shiny – pulled away from the side of your vehicle, back into the space they’d just reversed out of. They’d hit you. You’d been hit. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. It wasn’t even 8am. 

There was a clunk of a car door and then a man in a suit came hurrying into view, as fast as he could manage, a look of pure horror on his face. Still on autopilot, you felt your hand reach for the handle of your door, pushing it open to find yourself getting out. 

“Are you okay?” The well-dressed man asked, panic evident in his voice. The very well-dressed man. His suit was a three-piece, black and white houndstooth. It looked expensive. Which just seemed to piss you off for some unexplainable reason. 

You were fine of course, dazed maybe, the blow hadn’t been that serious at all, but that was besides the point. This man, in his very obnoxious suit (even if it did hug his body in extremely cruel ways) had not been concentrating. He’d reversed straight into your poor little car that was no match for his hefty thing. Your shock was shifting. In its place grew anger. 

When you didn’t reply, than man carried on. “I am so sorry, Miss.” An annoying shrill sounded between you both. The cell phone in his hand. He ignored it – or at least tried to. “I really am. I was–” 

He stopped abruptly midsentence, letting out a huff. Whoever was calling him wasn’t relenting. He picked up, talking quickly, an air of authority to his voice that caught your attention. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I – I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” A pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke. They weren’t given much time. “Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.” 

The man – Kim Seokjin apparently – hung up, attention immediately back on you. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” He made his way over to the place he’d hit, just above your back wheel, crouching down, and grimaced. “Oh god.” 

You followed, coming face to face with the black scratches that now marred the white paint of your vehicle. It wasn’t so bad, he hadn’t sped out of the space, but something had definitely scraped the steel, and again, that was beside the point. He’d still reversed into your car. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself. Your answer. He looked across at his car, brushing a hand through his hair. It stayed perfectly in place, pushed back above his forehead. He was a striking man, you’d give him that. Features made up of, what you could only describe as soft angles. Actually, thinking about it, he was pretty intimidatingly beautiful. That just made you angrier. How dare this stranger unnerve you with his good looks.  

“What happened?” You asked hotly. 

He looked up at you, taken back by your tone, but composed himself fairly quickly. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–”

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” You looked down at the device still in his hand. On cue it started ringing again. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, shoving the phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He straightened up, head and shoulders above you. You crossed your arms and waited for his explanation, straining as tall as you could get. His cologne smelt amazing, you tried to ignore it. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” He seemed flustered. A far cry from the authoritative figure he’d been on the phone call. “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped, as if he suddenly realised something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?”

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive, hands waving about animatedly as you explained  “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

You hadn’t been aware there was someone occupying the vehicle. No one left the staff parking lot in the morning so there was never any worry about somebody reversing into you. This was all on him. He wasn’t going to try and turn it around on you. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” This school was small, he definitely wasn’t a teacher here, and you doubted he was a substitute. He was too well-dressed for a start. Who the hell was he?!

He looked momentarily confused. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” Your arms were folded across your chest again. 

His eyes widened in horror, realisation setting in. “Oh no. I didn’t realise...” 

“It’s signposted.” His mistake seemed genuine, but that really wouldn’t cut it. Because of his mistake your car was now scratched. You’d have to contact your insurance company and god only knows if they would pay out seeing as the damage was really only cosmetic, and if they did, it would probably take an age. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising you probably didn’t care about his morning. So what? He was having a shitty one? So were you! 

“There’s no excuses for this.” He lowered his head in apology. “I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” 

You found yourself softening. He did sound extremely genuine. You opened your mouth to reply, to accept his apology, but he spoke up again. “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you told him immediately, horror stricken. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” 

“No, thank you.” Your anger was growing again. Irritation itching your face. Who did this man think he was? Money didn’t solve everything. Most people didn’t have that luxury. 

“No?” 

His bewilderment made you see red. “I don’t need your help or your money.” 

You could be very stubborn when you wanted to be. You’d been told so throughout your life; family, friends, exes… No, you’d just pay for the repairs yourself. You’d rather wake up late for an eternity than take his money. 

“But I did this.” 

He really wasn’t getting it. “It’s fine, just –” You were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone again. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” You turned your back to him, glancing at your watch. You had just under two minutes to decide on a parking space and get to your classroom. 

“Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car to dive back into the driver’s seat. 

“But – Argh!” You heard him let out a yell, his phone still shrilling loudly. He sounded frustrated when he answered. “Soobin, what is it?! Yes, I already told him I’m – What? He said they were…” 

He became inaudible as you slammed your door shut, using his distraction to drive off – straight into the easiest parking spot available… You guessed your poor car would have to turn into a damn sauna for today. 

.

.

After the morning you had you were thrown all out of whack. All day you didn’t know whether you were coming or going, your students seeming more hyper than usual and by 3pm you were ecstatic to see them leave. Your head was throbbing by the time half 4 rolled around, the final touches to your student reports complete at least. Not long after you trudged in the direction of your boiling hot car, stomach still queasy from the canteen slop you’d been forced to eat today and stress levels now barely manageable. Only one more day until the weekend, yet now you’d be forced to deal with finding an affordable mechanic with your free time. 

You were still in disbelief over today’s events. That frustratingly handsome stranger with the concentration levels of a two year old and more money than sense. You scoffed to yourself, how dare he try to flaunt his wealth around like that. What had his name been again? He’d said on the phone… You couldn’t remember, your temper had been too distracting…

Whelp. You were having second thoughts… Maybe you’d been too harsh earlier… You hadn’t been overly rude at all, but you had been quite curt. He did seem genuinely sorry after all, and maybe you’d misjudged what you guessed was an act of kindness. After all, you had been on stop behind him, and while he should’ve double checked before backing out, it wasn’t all on him. You were both to blame. You felt guilty for not thanking him for his apology. For your preconceived opinions on him. You didn’t even know the man and there you were making judgements – 

You stopped dead in your tracks as you got closer to where your car was parked, thoughts immediately interrupted. “What the –?”  

Stopped in front of it was small towing vehicle, Park Esteem written along the side in bold orange font. A man rounded the corner of the truck, a clipboard in his hand as he looked around, presumably for the owner of the car he seemed so eager to tow. You. He was looking for you. 

You jumped to action, breaking into a run. “Excuse me, Excuse me!” The guy with the clipboard looked up at the sound of your strained voice calling out. It was shrill as you came to a halt right in front of him, demanding an explanation. “What are you doing? Why are you towing my car?!”

“You’re the owner of this vehicle, Miss?” 

“Yes!” You exclaimed in disbelief. “What’s the problem?” 

He looked down at his notes, visibly confused by your reaction it seemed. “Uh, Mr. Kim has requested I pick up your vehicle and take it to be fixed for the damage he caused?”

Mr. Kim?! Who the hell was – wait. Kim Seokjin. His name came back to you instantly. He’d gone behind your back after you explicitly said you didn’t want or need his help. How dare he. And there you’d been feeling guilty for the way you’d treated him not two minutes previous. 

“He said to be here at 4pm as you should be finishing work around then…” The mechanic carried on, voice softening, as if he was about to bear bad news. “I’ve been here for thirty minutes, Miss. I’m afraid I’ll have to bill him for that separately. Time is money after all.” 

You checked your watch on autopilot. It was coming up to twenty to five. Shaking out of it, you straightened your shoulders, back to fighting mode for the second time today. “You can’t just take my car without my permission.”  

The man grimaced slightly. “Well see, he’s already paid for the towage, and Mr. Kim is a very valuable and trustworthy customer.” 

“Trustworthy?” You scoffed. “He’s stealing my car! I’m sorry but no, I refuse this…” You paused to think. “This service.” This was so absurd. Not only had this Mr. Kim totally disregarded your wishes, the towing of your car was incredibly over the top. The damage was cosmetic, everything was in fine working order. It didn’t need to be helped to the workshop. The thought of something so dramatic was infuriating. 

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss. Mr. Kim already paid for the towage upfront so I can’t actually do anything about it now…” 

You stared at the man, telling yourself to take deep breaths. It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing his job. “So I have to let you take my car?”

He gave you a gentle smile. “I’m afraid so…unless…” He hesitated. “Unless you pay for the reversal…” 

“And how much is this reversal?” Your arms were crossed for what felt like the hundredth time today. 

You nearly keeled over when you were told the price. Damn that arrogant handsome man. Damn him straight to hell. Kim Seokjin, you would never forget that name now. What a complete and utter d–

“I’m sorry for the confusion, Miss. I was under the impression you knew Mr. Kim.” The mechanic apologised. 

You found yourself softening. He had a gentle voice. A gentle face too. It was that conceited so-and-so you were mad at. You were glad you’d left the classroom late today, not many cars left in the parking lot which meant less chance of a co-worker seeing this embarrassment. 

“So, I’m going to need to take your details now.” He continued, holding his clipboard out, sounding hopeful that you’d calmed down. “Just so I can arrange drop off at your address tomorrow.” You nodded slowly, watching him stretch out a hand. “I’m Jimin, by the way. Park Jimin from Park Esteem Car Services.” 

You shook it, introducing yourself automatically. “I’m Y/N.” 

He gave you a dazzling smile. “Lovely name. How do you spell that?” 

Ten minutes later your poor car was hooked up to Jimin’s truck, ready to go, just as a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up alongside you. Out rushed a tall young man. He looked a little frazzled as he straightened out his suit jacket but smiled your way. “Hello, are you the owner of this vehicle?” 

“Yes,” you replied rather woodenly. What fresh hell? 

He smiled wider, outstretching his hand. “Hi, lovely to meet you. I’m Mr. Kim’s personal assistant, Mr. Choi, but you can call me Soobin.” 

You completed your second handshake of the day – two too many and introduced yourself too.  Inside you had a million and one questions. It began with ‘Why was his personal assistant here?’ and ended with ‘When would this day finally be over?’ 

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” The young man – Soobin – apologised. “Things have been incredibly hectic at the office today. I’m so glad you’re still here.” 

Jimin appeared by the side of you then. “Hi, you work for Mr. Kim?” Soobin nodded, tilting his head in curiosity. “Well, there have been a few misunderstandings this afternoon. Mr. Kim said he knew the client but she really has no idea who he is. Other than he was the one who hit her car.” 

Soobin grew flustered, bumbling over his words. “Oh, well, um…” 

“It’s fine,” you shook you head, not wanting to put the poor boy in an awkward position. This Mr. Kim seemed to like passing the buck onto innocent people. 

Jimin nodded. “Maybe just let your boss know that next time he should probably inform the person whose car he’s having towed…” 

Soobin laughed then, making light of an awkward situation even if it was forced. “Sure, sure.” 

“Okay, well, nice meeting you,” Jimin turned to you. “I’ll have this done by tomorrow, shouldn’t take too long, there’s not much damage at all.” You had the sudden urge to apologise for wasting his time but you stayed quiet. “You said you’ll be home by 7pm?” You nodded. “Great. Someone will drop it off shortly after that.” He tapped the side of his truck and smiled. “Have a lovely rest of your day, Y/N.” 

“Thank you, and you.” You waved him off – waved your car off too as Jimin started to drive and it disappeared into the distance, then you turned your attention back to Soobin. What was he doing here? 

On cue, he began to explain. “So, Mr. Kim is giving you a temporary loan of one of his cars for the time being, as apology and, well, a gesture of good faith. He really is awfully sorry about this morning.” There was silence as you made sense of his words. “The tank is full, no need for any expense on your side.” 

You forced yourself to speak. “Wait, hang on, he’s loaning me his car?” 

“One of them, yes,” Soobin smiled. One of them. How many did this man have? “He really doesn’t use this one, so don’t feel like you’re an inconvenience, it’s really no bother at all.” He pulled the key fob out of his pocket and handed it to you with a kind but awkward smile. “Here.” 

“So… I’m just riding his car home?” You’d told Jimin you’d call your best friend to pick you up when he’d offered you a ride home. You could still very well do that, but refusing this young man just seemed plain mean. After all, he had driven here despite a busy schedule. You didn’t want to waste his time. Poor boy was just doing what he was told, this Mr. Kim’s dogsbody. 

“Yes,” Soobin nodded, looking a little confused now. As if he was wondering why you weren’t understanding what he was saying. “Oh, wait,” he suddenly remembered, pulling a piece of paper (cream wove) out of his breast pocket. “Here’s a contact number for him to arrange the pick-up of the vehicle tomorrow evening. It might be me, but it depends on my schedule.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, still a little dazed, looking down at the number. You folded the paper and dropped it into your purse, suddenly realising something. “Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Hm?” He wasn’t expecting that question. “Oh, subway probably.” 

You anger flared once again. “So this Mr. Kim instructs you to ride one of his cars to my place of work, loan it to me and then expects you to just walk to the subway station?” 

Soobin blinked slowly a couple of times, hearing the attitude in your voice. “Well, when you say it like that you make it seem…bad. Your tone...” He shrugged and then gave a small laugh that wrinkled his nose. “I’m happy to walk, you know, exercise, get that blood pumping…” He finished with a few nimble stretches just to emphasise, before looking comically aghast. “Sorry. Ignore my unprofessionalism.” 

You jerked your head towards the car. “Get in.” 

His mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

“I’ll give you a ride home. Do you live far?” 

“Not too far, Miss.” 

He waited for you to get into the driver’s seat and then followed quickly, getting in beside you. He couldn’t have wanted to walk that much then... “Call me Y/N.” You told him with a kind smile. “I don’t like all this professionalism. Besides, I get called Miss all day, every day. It gets tiring after a while.” 

He nodded dutifully in reply, back straight. 

.

.

You were on pins driving all the way home, eager to drop Soobin home so you could let go of your composure. This car was way too nice for you. Why did this stranger trust you with it?! His car. He didn’t know you. You could be the worst driver in the world for all he knew. You weren’t, but you could be. 

After you’d pulled up in your driveway you stayed there for a few minutes, needing some silence, just to calm yourself down, because you knew soon enough you’d get bombarded with questions. Sooner than you thought actually, because there was your front door ripping open, your best friend and roomie, Soojung, rushing out. “What is going on?” She demanded as you pushed the car door open. “Taken up car theft in your spare time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sighed, already trudging to the house. 

She followed behind closely. “Um, you’re talking about it alright. You can’t just park up in a car worth more than both our salaries a year and expect me to not bat an eyelid.” 

You scoffed at her dramatics, hanging your purse over the coat rack. “It’s not worth that much.” 

“Y/N, I mean this with the least possible offence, but you know absolutely jack shit about cars.” You had no time for a comeback. “Now tell me where the hell did you get that car?!”

After the third degree from Soojung for over an hour, you managed to shut her up with an in depth description of your car thief (as you were now calling him), which included in no particular order: what he looked like, his estimated age, his outfit and how rich you thought he was. You insisted you were in no way bothered by any of these factors and you were only humouring her for some much needed peace and quiet. She spent the next ten minutes begging you to call him and put him on loudspeaker so she could hear his voice, but you outright refused. You were not calling him tonight, you couldn’t trust yourself not to raise your voice. It could wait for tomorrow, when your first round of parent-teacher meetings were over and you had your own car back in your driveway. Mr. Kim could wait for his, it was the least he could do after all the trouble he’d caused today. You bet he had another six cars anyway – one for each day of the week. 

Soojung made you both a late dinner and not long after that you crawled your way to bed, exhausted and not at all mentally ready for tomorrow. You did wake up ten minutes before your alarm though, which you chose to take as a good sign, remembered your lunch too, and you hated to admit it, but your loaned vehicle drove like a dream once you weren’t so scared of accidentally careening it off a cliff, or something equally as impossible. 

You day actually went by without a hitch. All the children were well-behaved, much more subdued than yesterday, but maybe that was because your stress levels had rapidly decreased with the positive signs from this morning. They had raised a little when Mrs. Jeon from third grade had enquired about the new car she’d seen you driving into school, but after giving her a very much condensed version of yesterday’s events you both had a little laugh together, where she then proceeded to joke around and tell you that you shouldn’t give the car back… or at least you thought she was joking… However, other than that, the school day breezed by. 

Better yet, all the parents scheduled for meetings today were on time, and despite the rush end of year reports brought, you genuinely did love the opportunity to talk with your students’ parents one on one. You’d been teaching the first grade at the same school for over seven years now and despite the ups and downs being a teacher brought, it really was the most rewarding and fulfilling job. Especially at a school like this. This place was like a home to you, all you had ever known, and your students meant the world to you. Each and every one. Class sizes were always small at Primrose Hill, and that always made your connection with the kids even greater. 

There was always a sadness in your heart when May rolled around, the school year nearly over and you had to get ready to bid goodbye to the children who’d been a part of your life for over nine months. Of course, come September you would greet a new class of students once again, but it was always so bittersweet… 

It was just gone half past six now and you were waiting on the last parent of the evening. 5/6 parents on time was still a success. Hopefully Monday you would see full marks. You were waiting on the father of your newest student, Kim Arin. She’d only been with you two months, and it was very unusual that a child joined you so late into the year. You didn’t know all the details, but it seemed that her parents were divorced and she’d recently moved to live with her dad. You liked Arin, she was a sweet little girl, quite timid at times, especially in the beginning, but that was to be expected of course. It was always nerve-wracking to start a new school. She’d gradually come out of her shell, made friends and she was incredibly gifted in storytelling for such a young age. In a few years, if she kept it up, who knew what she’d be creating. You couldn’t wait to tell her father that. You’d grown very fond of her very quickly and you would definitely miss her come September. 

“Come in,” you called, a knock on your classroom door breaking you from your thoughts. Your back was to the entryway, preoccupied with collecting Arin’s report and classwork on your desk, so you didn’t see who entered, although presumably it was her father. 

“Oh, hello again.” 

You froze at the sound of the voice. That voice. Why was it so familiar? Why did it get your hackles up? As if you needed to prepare for a fight– Oh.

You turned abruptly, eyes wide as you came face to face with the car thief. What on earth was he doing here? Had he come to collect his car?! Maybe you should’ve rung him last night, but it seemed a little unbelievable that he was chasing this up so keenly. You weren’t the thief in question. He was. How insane was it to track you down like this. Who had given him your name? Who had told him what class you would be in? Surely it was forbidden? 

“If this is about the car business, we’ll have to sort it out later on, I’m expecting a parent of a student any minute now.” Straightening your back you held eye contact. He was very amused, eyes twinkling as he smiled at you, cheeks rounded. It made you feel slightly unnerved, but by damn had you forgotten how infuriatingly handsome that face of his was. Jerk. 

He held up his hand slightly and laughed. “I’m the parent in question.” 

“What?” 

You stood there limply like an idiot, blinking slowly as you tried to mentally put the pieces together. Kim Arin. Mr. Kim. Kim Seokjin, the arrogant, money can solve everything so-and-so was Arin’s father? Great. Absolutely gr–

“You’re Miss. Y/L/N?” 

“You’re Arin’s father?” It was obvious by now, but maybe there was that 0.001% chance he’d gotten the wrong classroom. Maybe. 

“Such a small world,” he grinned, all hope lost. He held out his hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

There was a teasing to his tone, it got you pissed again, but you had to take it. You were in a professional setting now, you were his daughter’s teacher. His hand was warm, soft, grip gentle. Maybe you squeezed too hard, maybe he didn’t notice. “Please take a seat, I won’t be a minute.” 

Your tone was clipped, unable to sound at all breezy like you had with the other parents, and you turned back to your desk, rifling through more papers even though you had everything you needed. In all honesty, you just needed some thinking time. Get through this twenty minute meeting, you told yourself. Pretend like he wasn’t the man who hit your car and then got it towed a few hours later. You could do it. 

You felt him take the seat behind you, amusement still strong as he asked you a question. “So, are we just going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen?”

You collected Arin’s work and rounded your desk, taking a seat directly in front of him, careful to keep your expression neutral. “Right now’s not the time to discuss personal matters. Let’s just wait until this is over.” Twenty minutes and then he’d have it. He wouldn’t be smirking then. 

Although surprisingly, immediately after you said that he grew serious, nodding his head in agreement. “Of course. My apologies. Sorry I was late, by the way, I couldn’t escape the office.”

Taken back by his sudden change in demeanour you shook your head. “It’s fine.” You weren’t expecting it to be so easy, but he listened. 

“So,” he prompted when you didn’t follow up with anything. “Should we get started?”

You jolted, unaware you’d been lost in thought and silently cursed yourself. He was going to think an idiot was in charge of teaching his daughter. Not that it mattered what he thought, but still, you needed to snap out of it. He was here to talk about Arin and as her teacher you had plenty to say. 

Seokjin was highly focused throughout the whole meeting, taking on bored everything you had to say with earnest. He wanted to know how his daughter was getting on at her new school and was interested in all the work she had completed in the short amount of time she’d been here. He didn’t have to, but he gave you a small explanation about why she’d had to switch schools so late into the year, and even though you already knew it was because she’d moved to live with him, you stayed silent, letting him carry on. He sounded so genuine, so worried about what the move could’ve done to Arin’s education and mental health that it ended up touching you. It was visibly obvious how much he loved and cared for his daughter and that was refreshing to see. A lot of the time it was the mothers who attended these parent-teaching meetings, you rarely had the chance to speak to the dads, so you did relish in this opportunity, discussing Arin’s talent in creative writing in depth, showing Seokjin the collection of short stories she’d written, and giving him tips when he asked on ways she could improve. 

That would come with age, you said, but there was one small thing she may want to stop now rather than later. Her most recent story, a beautiful and creative fantasy piece that she unfortunately ended with the ‘it was all a dream’ trope. 

“What’s wrong with that?” Seokjin asked. You instantly sensed that his defensive was up. It made you smile as you gave a slight shrug. 

“Nothing per se, it can just be a little cliché. There’s much better ways to end a story.”

“Sure, but she’s only 6. It can’t be that serious?” 

Your smile grew. “I understand that, Mr. Kim. Like I said, Arin is truly gifted for her age, it was just a pointer that you asked for.” You wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, but he seemed thoroughly into this discussion now. 

He tilted his head in thought. “What if it was the legitimate ending of a story? There’s obviously famous novels with such conclusions.”

Amused, you mimicked him. “For instance?”

“Hm?”

That caught him off guard. “What novels? Name me some.” 

His eyes grew comically wide at your request, and just as you suspected, he couldn’t answer. He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. Was that a little colour on his cheeks? “You’ve put me on the spot.” 

You were both so engrossed discussing Arin that the time seemed to fly by. It was near to 7pm by the time you wrapped things up, and you’d enjoyed yourself so much you almost forgot you’d made a deal with yourself to start chewing Seokjin out the moment it was all over. He ever so kindly reminded you. 

“You know, I was expecting a very angry phone call last night. I was quite surprised when it never came.”

Both of you were now stood up, your desk still between you. Seokjin held copies of Arin’s stories that you’d given him to read over in his free time and you with nothing to fiddle with, folded your arms across your chest. Ah, here we go again. The playful lilt to his voice back from earlier, that infuriating smirk too. 

He was dressed in a much less flashy suit today. A simple slate grey two piece, his dark hair styled against his forehead, the smallest peek of forehead visible. It made him appear younger – not that he looked old anyway. Your guessing was mid 30s maybe, but this hairstyle made him appear softer. The faintest of lines around his eyes provided the slightest of giveaways, but then again, you only noticed them because you were searching for any clue to his age. His hair was still thick and dark and it definitely didn’t look like he dyed it. His body was… hm, he was built well. He certainly seemed to look after it. Not that you were looking, of course. 

You could definitely see the resemblance between him and Arin. Their eyes were the same almond shape, both deep brown in colour, and while their noses were slightly different, Arin’s cheeks obviously rounder, their plump lips were uncanny. 

Despite very much in thought, you kept your expression unreadable, nose in the air as you replied. “Perhaps I was too mad for words.”

He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. If they were natural, life was incredibly unfair. “And now?”

“It would be unprofessional of me to start yelling at my place of work.” 

“You want to yell at me?” His eyes twinkled with silent laughter. It was obvious he was holding it in. 

You were glad he found this funny because you didn’t. No matter how much he’d impressed you as a father it still didn’t change yesterday. “You had no right just stealing my car like that.” 

He scoffed. “It was hardly stealing. Who steals a car to pay for the damage he caused?”

“I didn’t want you to pay!” 

He still looked baffled by your stubbornness. “That’s just absurd.”  

“You’re calling me absurd?”

He sighed. “Of course not.” He was getting flustered now, similar to yesterday. It was funny to watch. “I just…” He trailed off, catching the grin on your face. “You’re enjoying this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I love a complete stranger backing out into my car to then subsequently steal it from right under my nose.” 

He eyed you hesitantly. You knew he couldn’t tell if you were joking around or not. Your words and posture said no, but your eyes and lips gave it away eventually. “We’re still on this stealing business?” He paused, lips quirking. “Besides, I’m not a stranger. I’m your favourite student’s father.” 

You laughed in disbelief. This man was so full of himself. “I’m a teacher, I don’t do favouritism.”

“Oh?” He seemed sceptical. 

You shook your head, he really was unbelievable, but you couldn’t stop the smile that creeped its way to your mouth. “If that’s all, Mr. Kim.” You pointed to the door. It was getting late now, your car should be getting dropped off soon too. 

He chuckled as he started to make his exit, you following closely behind. When he stopped abruptly, turning back, you weren’t expecting him to be so close. You could notice the beginnings of stubble growing above his top lip, a sure sign you were in too close a proximity.

“She likes you a lot.” He murmured, serious once again. You wished he’d stop doing that. Was he an obnoxious rich jerk, or a caring, hardworking father? You would have gone with the former right before this meeting, now you had no clue. Maybe you’d gotten him all wrong. That would teach you for judging a book by its cover… 

“Arin,” he added, as if it wasn’t obvious. “She’s always speaking about you when I ask how her day went. You’re her favourite ever teacher.” He grinned then, laughing, amused by himself. 

You groaned. “Stop trying to guilt me.” He laughed harder, throwing his head back. Was all that true? Arin talked about you? You were her favourite teacher? Or was he just making it up for reaction? You didn’t ask. 

“Although, I will say it’s nice to put a face to the name now.” Maybe you didn’t need to ask. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be the woman whose car I drove into yesterday morning…”

No, neither were you. 

“I really am sorry about that.” 

He sounded nothing but sincere, you couldn’t not accept his apology, despite being still annoyed by what he had done afterwards. “You keep saying.” You gave an accepting sweep of your hand. “Let’s just forget about it, accidents happen, right?” 

“Right.” He gave a quick nod of his head, followed by a shrug. “…aand I guess you were parked behind me so…” 

You opened your mouth to refute such a claim but his laughter was so loud, so unlike his outer appearance, if that made any sense, (all high-pitched and squeaky almost), you were dazed for a moment, couldn’t help but join him – quietly so, but it was something. This man obviously thought he was hilarious. 

He opened the door, hand resting on the handle as he spoke again. At this rate the janitor would appear for his shift and you’d still be here talking to Seokjin. “Listen, I can’t find anyone to pick up my car tonight so how about tomorrow? Is that okay for you? You can give me a call in the morning and we’ll arrange a time suitable.” 

Oh yes, you’d forgotten all about that. Too distracted. By what? Him? “It’s fine. I can drop it off myself tomorrow.” 

He raised that perfect eyebrow again. “You can?”

You gave him an affirmative hum. Why was that so surprising to him? 

“How will you get home?”

Shoot. “Subway,” you thought quickly. 

“Are you sure?” He looked even more surprised, was about to suggest something else it seemed, until you spoke again. 

“Saves that kid wasting his weekend.” 

“Kid?” 

“Soobin.” No doubt he’d be the one to pick the vehicle up, being Seokjin’s personal assistant after all. You needed one of those. They could mark the children’s homework and plan your lessons…

“Oh. He really wouldn’t mind,” Seokjin reassured. 

“Really?” It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. Both of them actually, but they weren’t as devastatingly shaped as his. That reminded you, you needed to get them threaded again soon. “Poor boy was about to trek to the station yesterday before I offered him a ride.”

“You took him home? He didn’t tell me that.” Seokjin sounded surprised. 

“I wasn’t going to let him walk after he went to all that trouble for me.” 

He nodded in understanding. “You’re very kind.” 

You felt a little panicky, unable to read his reaction very well. “He won’t get into trouble?” You couldn’t see why he would, but you never know. 

“No,” Seokjin laughed. “Is that what you think of me?”

You shook your head. “Of course not, I was just…” You stopped, unsure what to say.

“I wonder what you do think of me,” he pondered, voice low, lips curled. 

“I don’t think it really matters what I think of you.” You replied cryptically. 

He liked that, chuckling softly. “Can’t a guy be curious?” You remained tight lipped. “My employees love working for me, for your information.” He added. Maybe as damage control, who knew. 

You rolled your eyes for the second time this evening. “You’re very full of yourself, Mr. Kim.” 

“Please, call me Seokjin,” he requested. 

You nodded, but you still didn’t think you were at that type of pleasantry yet. You could think of him as Seokjin but to say it aloud felt wrong almost, you didn’t know him. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t really matter come tomorrow anyway.

You watched him pull out a small notebook and an expensive looking pen from his inner jacket pocket, holding the copies of Arin’s stories under his arm as he used the door for support to write his address down for you. Ripping out the page perfectly, he passed it to you with a smile. “Drop the car off around 3pm. I should be long done at the office by then.” 

He was working on the weekend? He certainly was a busy man. Who looked after Arin while he wasn’t there? These curiosities you had couldn’t very well be asked, not unless you wanted to appear nosey and overstep the mark… 

“Okay,” you replied. “Then we arrange repayment.”

“Repayment?” He looked bewildered. “You’re not paying me back.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” His tone was stern. You could be sterner, you were sure of it. 

“I am.” You insisted, staring him down. “The mechanic informed me yesterday that you’d be charged separately because he had to wait an extra half hour.” 

“Oh, that.” He shook a hand. “I knew that might happen because I was uncertain when you finished work. It’s really no bother.” 

No bother? Was this man adamant to hear you raise your voice? “I’m paying you back.” 

He feigned confusion, teasing you. “I don’t think you are.” 

“I – Look, we’ll sort this out tomorrow.” You’d be here arguing until Monday otherwise. 

He scoffed. “There’s nothing to sort out.” 

You shot him glare. It was a warning. Tomorrow you’d let him have a piece of your mind if he continued to refuse. You didn’t think he took it seriously. 

.

.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just sit here and I say he wasn’t flirting with you.” 

“He wasn’t.” You were adamant. Soojung had made you relay your whole conversation with Seokjin as soon as you’d let slip this evening’s revelation. You were regretting it now. You were trapped on this couch forced to listen to her insane claims. There was no way in hell that man had been flirting with you. 

“You were definitely flirting back.” 

You felt yourself flush, voice raising as you insisted that she was wrong. “As if.” She shot you a look that told you she didn’t believe a word. “He’s rich and arrogant.” 

She laughed. “You say rich as if it’s a bad thing.” 

It wasn’t a bad thing, it just wasn’t your thing, but if rich made him smug and think he could throw his money around when you’d explicitly stated you didn’t want him too, then yes, it was a bad thing. 

“I wonder how loaded he really is…” Soojung thought aloud. “Millionaire status? He didn’t say where he worked?” 

“Didn’t come up,” you replied shortly. You were done talking about him now. In your eyes it was nearly over. Your car was back in its rightful place on your driveway and Seokjin’s would soon follow in its rightful place – surrounded by a handful of others. You would never have to see that frustrating man ever again – hopefully. 

“Find out tomorrow.” 

“I am not finding out tomorrow,” you exclaimed. It wasn’t important. He worked in an office, nothing out of this world amazing. “I’m just going to drop off his car, write out a cheque and be on my merry little way.” 

Soojung snorted. “Bitch, you’re going to be repaying him back a dollar a week.” You glared at her but she wasn’t fazed. “There’s no way you can afford it. He probably uses the most expensive mechanic in the city.” 

“Shut up.” You didn’t care if you had to use your savings account. He was getting his money back one way or the other. You refused to be indebted to him. You were a little nervous though… “It can’t be that much. He only had to repaint some scratches,” you worried.

Your best friend ignored you, nestling in closer, an overjoyed grin on her face. “Tell me again, is he dishy?”

You sighed – loudly. Why couldn’t she let the topic drop? “I’ve already described him to you, and besides, that’s not the point.” 

She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. “So that’s a yes then. You’re into the Dilf!” 

You didn’t bother replying, instead choosing to throw a cushion at her. She was unbelievable. But why did her teasing annoy you so much right now? 

Saturday and Sunday’s always allowed you to sleep in, although 8am probably wasn’t what most called late. You liked to make the most of your weekends and today was no different. After breakfast you showered and got ready, putting aside an hour to go over the student reports for Monday instead of wasting your Sunday night instead. You and Soojung had made plans to go out for coffee late morning as it was rare to see her free on a Saturday. She worked hectic and last minute hours as a department store manager, but she’d finally bargained her first full weekend off in months. 

Somehow your coffee turned into a little bit of a shopping spree, your credit card violently cursing you, but after the past few days you’d had you couldn’t find it in you to give a damn. You ate a late lunch at a one of your favourite cafés and then sadly, it was time to rush home and drop off Seokjin’s car back to him. You were very much dreading it – happy it would soon be over, don’t get you wrong, it was just the thought was making you all fidgety and nervous. Soojung wasn’t making it any better, she wouldn’t shut up about it, trying her best to get you give his address up. As if. You knew better than that. She’d be straight on her phone, google maps up in an instant. 

You said a begrudging goodbye to her half 2, promising you’d call her straight away with all the details once you were done. She was spending the night at her boyfriend Taehyung’s house tonight but that still wouldn’t stop her innate need for gossip. Your phone acted as GPS on the way to Seokjin’s house, having no idea how to use the fancy one in his car. Not that any of it helped. His house seemed impossible to find. It did not take the predicted twenty minutes your phone told you. No, it was near forty by the time you finally found the concealed long road you’d driven past three times that led to it. 

You came to a stop outside a pair of intimidatingly large gates and nearly choked when you saw his house. Well, you couldn’t really call it that. It was a mansion. Eight times the size of the house you and Soojung rented together, maybe more. He really was loaded. You just hadn’t realised how loaded until now. You felt a little sick as you spotted the intercom system on the wall, wondering if you could just ditch the car here and run as fast as your legs could carry you. Why had you not just let Seokjin arrange someone to pick it up from your house? Why were you always so stubborn?! 

Taking a deep breath you got out of the vehicle and walked over to the intercom, feeling partial relief to find it didn’t have a camera attached. You would absolutely die of shame otherwise, hopelessly unphotogenic and camera shy. Your teacher’s ID card would forever haunt you. 

It rang for a few moments before a woman picked up. “Hello, may I ask who it is?”

You weren’t expecting the female voice so you were stumped for a moment, stumbling over your words before you managed to settle on something helpful. “Hi, yes, this is Arin’s teacher, Miss. Y/L/N. I’m here to return the car Mr. Kim loaned me…” 

“Hello, love” the woman greeted sweetly. “Drive up to the front of the house. I won’t be a moment.”

“Okay.” You were thankful she hung up first because you let out a shriek when the gates started automatically opening. You dreaded to think if there were security cameras near. 

With a delay you got back into the car and started it up again, thoughts a little preoccupied now that it wasn’t Seokjin who’d picked up. You’d taken it he lived alone, not that he’d told you that. Maybe he had a new girlfriend, you were unsure how long he’d been divorced for. Although you didn’t recall Arin mentioning a woman’s name when she talked about her father. Not that you’d like to admit it, but you’d spent a generous portion of time last night while you waited for sleep trying to recall times when Arin had mentioned Seokjin. You didn’t know why, curiosity you guessed. 

But anyway, if Seokjin in fact did have a new partner, then you also guessed Soojung’s theory was incorrect. He had not been flirting with you. Which wasn’t a surprise. It had been a long time since a guy had flirted with you… You were probably to blame there, but it didn’t particularly bother you. Your life was busy enough as it was, throw in a man and you’d hit your breaking point. 

The woman who’d answered the call was waiting for you outside as you pulled up, older than her voice had made her seem. You stopped the car and got out, greeting her. 

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Arin’s Nanny, Misook.” 

Oh. That made sense. You guessed your imagination had run wild with you for a few unexplainable moments. You felt almost embarrassed as you stood there awkwardly. Was she going to take the keys? Could you leave? 

“Please come in.” She smiled kindly. “Seokjin won’t be long, he’s just showering, work ran late.”

Come in?! Oh no, no, no. That wasn’t part of the plan. It was drop the keys and run. However, like a fool, you were unable to say no, looking behind you at Seokjin’s vehicle. “Is the car okay here?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “He’ll place it in the garage later. Follow me.” She turned her back and started making her way inside. 

You followed with heavy feet, not quite ready for this. Your first three encounters/dealings with Seokjin had been interesting to say the least. How would the fourth go? You felt a little rude entering your way inside his house (mansion) but Misook wouldn’t have invited you inside if it wasn’t okay, right? Maybe Seokjin wanted you here… 

“Make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Misook said once you’d taken off your pumps and she’d led you to the room nearest the entryway. The living room? The lounge? The family room? You didn’t know what else to call it, descriptions too basic for this grand home. 

Not that the décor and furniture were too elaborate. In fact, everything looked so homely and cosy inside. The couch was definitely leather but the throw draped over it and the cushions out of place made it look lived in. The colour scheme was minimalistic, walls cream, accents mostly teal blue and grey. Seokjin had style, or perhaps he’d hired an interior designer. You suddenly wondered what the rest of his home looked like. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat? I’m just making Arin a snack.” Misook offered, but you immediately shook your head, not wanting to put her out. 

“Oh, no thank you. I ate before I left.” 

She nodded and left the room, leaving you to your own devices in a stranger’s house. The stranger who had hit your car and then proceeded to steal it from right under your nose. The stranger who had let you borrow his car and the stranger who was Arin’s dad. The world worked in mysterious ways. Or it was just mere coincidence, whatever. 

You perched yourself on the end of the teal love seat nearest the large bay window, fluffing up the cushion behind you to at least look a little comfortable. You looked around the room casually, spotting a hardback book on the coffee table – The Rough Guide to the 100 Best Places on Earth. Did Seokjin like to travel? With a seemingly busy lifestyle and a child it seemed pretty impossible. Maybe he just liked to dream? Maybe he’d travelled in his younger days? Wait, why were you thinking about these things? You looked over to the impressive brick fireplace, the obvious focal point of the room; it was stunning. A chunk of waxed driftwood sat above it, acting as a shelf and in the middle of it was a photo of Arin and Seokjin in a silver frame. Both their faces filled the image, grinning widely and they really did look so alike. You found yourself smiling, jumping a little when you heard your name. 

“Miss. Y/L/N!”

You followed the tiny excited voice, finding Arin in the doorway smiling shyly at you. She gave you a little wave. 

“Hi, Arin,” you greeted. 

That was all she needed to skip inside, sitting on the end of the couch closest to you. “Daddy told me you were coming today.” Well, at least she wasn’t surprised to find you in her living room. “He told me what he did. Silly daddy.” 

You let out a polite laugh. “It’s okay, accidents happen, huh?” You couldn’t very well say your daddy was an idiot, could you? “How are you today, Arin?” You asked, changing the subject, finding yourself in teacher mode instantly. “Do you have any plans?” 

“I’m okay,” she let out a comical sigh. “Daddy is taking me bowling.”

“That sounds like fun. Why are you sighing?” 

“I was supposed to see my mom but she was too busy…” She answered rather dejectedly. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You tried to think of something to say to reassure that little sad face of hers. “I’m sure she’s just as disappointed.” 

Arin gave a little shrug. “She’s always busy.” 

In the two months you’d been her teacher you’d never seen her mood like this. Yes, for her first week in class she’d been quiet, but that was because of nerves, today she looked deflated. You found yourself struggling for something to say, which was unlike you, especially with all your training. It was your job to reassure children after all. 

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” 

Your head jerked up at the sound of Seokjin’s voice. There he was in the doorway, smiling your way. There was something different about him. What was it? Oh – his clothing. You noticed eventually. He was dressed incredibly casual today – normal. A beige coloured sweater and dark blue jeans. His hair wasn’t styled, flat to his forehead and still partly wet, his skin flushed from the heat of the shower.  You still couldn’t place his age. You were sure he was older than you, but by how much was difficult to say. 

“Mr. Kim, hi,” you greeted, standing up for some reason. You still couldn’t bring yourself to call him Seokjin unless it was in your own head. 

He walked towards you, in slippers. You didn’t know why but the thought was so bizarre. You were being ridiculous. Of course he wore slippers, why wouldn’t he? 

“Daddyyy,” Arin sung, running towards him and hugging his legs. She looked up at him, asking sweetly, “Are we ready to go?”

He chuckled, rubbing her hair. “Soon, sweetie. Go and find Misook in the kitchen so you can have your snack before we leave.” 

She looked at him coyly. “Can we have pizza later?”

He laughed again and gave a small shrug. “Sure. As a weekend treat.” 

You watched on, not realising there was a smile on you face. They were cute together. You noticed Arin peeking at you, then she looked up at her father again. “Is Miss Y/L/N coming too?”

Seokjin had the brazenness to look across at you, raising his eyebrows expectantly, as if it was your call. Was he insane? Not only was it implausible, it was downright unprofessional. You were Arin’s teacher. Yes, for just a few more weeks, but this interaction was already out of your comfort zone. 

“Uh,” you started, feeling awkward. “No, sorry, Arin. I, um, I have plans today.” 

You didn’t want to let her down, but luckily she didn’t seem to mind, giving you a roll of her shoulders and a cute smile. “Okay. See on you on Monday, Miss.” And off she skipped, out the door and to where you presumed was the direction of the kitchen. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokjin chuckled, stepping closer, as if he hadn’t pretty much invited you himself. What if you’d said yes? He’d have been okay with that? 

You felt yourself begin to heat up at the close proximity. You had no idea why he made you feel like this, especially now. You’d handled it so well yesterday, but then again, maybe that was because there’d been a desk separating you. In a professional setting. Right now you were out of your comfort zone, out of your depth. In his home, in his living room, a mere few inches between you both. Why did you find it so intimidating? Why did you find him so intimidating?!

That face… That face with that infuriating smile, and those eyes that seemed to twinkle with amusement, as if there was a joke you weren’t aware of. Multiple jokes. What did he find so funny? Was it you? You felt instantly defensive. He probably used those good looks to unease people, to make them do as he wanted. Not you. 

You took a step back, your legs brushing the love seat behind you, and reached for your purse, pulling out your cheque book. “So,” you began, hating the way your voice faintly shook. “Let’s settle. How much do I owe you?” 

His smile instantly disappeared as he rolled his eyes slightly. You caught them and it made you want to fight. “You’re still on this.” 

“Yes, I am,” you bristled “They washed my car too.” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. “It was part of the service.”

“Just tell me how much I owe you.” You were adamant. 

“No.” So was he. 

“Mr. Kim.” 

“Seokjin,” he corrected, a small smug smile on his face. 

“Tell me!” 

He brought a hand to his temple, tapping the skin with his fingers as he let out a grunt. “You know what, I can’t seem to remember. It’s been a busy week, memory’s a little fuzzy.” The grin on his face told he was messing with you. 

What an exasperating bastard. You didn’t swear often, but he’d just driven you to it. Any more and it was out loud. Maybe your face gave something away because he soon changed his tune, falling serious, like he could so magically do sometimes. “Look, it was my fault, so I paid.” 

You wanted to scream. “What if I had an accident in your car? Would I have to pay the damage?” 

Instantly he looked worried, those perfect eyebrows furrowing in alarm. “Have you? Are you okay?” 

It looked like he was about to reach out a hand to comfort you, and you panicked, rushing into explanation, taken back by his concern. “No, I’m fine. I-I was just being hypothetical.” He looked confused. “By your logic, I would have to pay, right?” 

“My logic,” he mused, chuckling softly. “I’m just doing the correct thing. But yes, I suppose you’d have to pay.” He gave a shrug, that annoying smile back on his face. “Good thing there were no accidents then.” 

He was probably right. You weren’t that angry to prove a point. You’d probably have to take a lifetime loan to pay the damage off. You felt defeated. What more could you do? Write out a cheque for a guesstimated amount? Imagine the humiliation if you totally undervalued it. No, maybe you should just let it go. Bite your tongue and take this “gift” from a stranger. He had backed out into your car after all, regardless if you were hovering there, he just hadn’t been paying attention. He felt a guilt, a need to repair the damage caused so you’d just let him, even if it went against everything you believed in – your morals. He could obviously afford it and never miss the money. 

So you let him win this one, let him walk you to the door before you were late for those important plans that may or may not involve being sat in front of the television all evening watching sitcom reruns on the comedy channel. (He didn’t know that of course.) 

“Alice in Wonderland,” he said suddenly, just as you were coming to a halt by the grand wooden door. You turned to see him grinning and looked at him questioningly. What on earth was he on about? “A famous novel that uses that ‘it was all a dream’ trope you hate.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “I think someone may have been on google last night.”  

He held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.” 

You let yourself laugh, genuinely amused. You weren’t so nervy now, as comfortable in his presence as you were going to get. “Goodbye, Mr. Kim.” 

He tutted. “If you call me that one more time I’ll be forced to take that cheque from you.”

Really? Interesting… “Mr –

“I take it back,” he interrupted quickly, realising his mistake. “But please, call me Seokjin. I get called too many formalities within the week, I hate it.” 

You had to agree with that, you knew that feeling all too well. “Fine,” you gave in. “Goodbye, Seokjin.” There, you’d bitten the bullet. Calling him by his name aloud made you feel funny. “Thank you for… everything.” 

He mulled over your gratitude, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll take that.” You ignored him and turned to leave. He stopped you, his hand touching your elbow and warmth spread throughout your body instantly. “Are you really taking the subway home?”

You nodded. 

He looked dubious. “The nearest station is quite a walk from here.”

“How far?” Now you were too. 

“Let me give you a ride there.” He offered. “I’m taking Arin downtown anyway. Her plans with her mom got changed last minute so I’m trying to cheer her up.” At the mention of his ex-wife  his voice became tense, his expression darkening for a moment before he shook himself out of it, a smile back on his face. “So, what do you say?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, smiling back. “You can drop me off.” In all honesty, you had no clue where you were going anyway, this part of the city unfamiliar to you. That, and your cell phone had only 20% battery life left after the palaver of trying to get yourself here. Driving you to the station wasn’t going to put him out so it was fine. 

“Great. Oh, by the way,” he slipped in, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. Or maybe he was just trying to sound casual. “Are you ever going to tell me your name or do I have to live in mystery for the rest of my life?” 

You grew surprised. Of course, he didn’t know your name. You’d never told him. Maybe subconsciously you’d imagined Soobin would’ve relayed that piece of information back to him, or maybe, and most likely, you’d never actually thought about it at all. No wonder you hadn’t realised. You felt almost rude. 

“It’s only fair,” Seokjin said, mistaking your silence as indecision. “You know mine, and I can’t keep referring to you as Miss. Y/L/N. It’s a bit strange, don’t you think?” 

That was interesting. When was he planning to refer to you again at all? Not that you needed to be persuaded. But you were being polite, that’s what you told yourself. You knew his name so like he’d said, it was only fair. There was no other reason, and of course the idea of him being curious about your name made you feel nothing whatsoever. Okay? 

You gave him a quick smile, feeling a little coy for some reason. “It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated, murmuring it softly as the mystery unveiled itself. 

That was dangerous. Hearing the syllables roll from his tongue so gently sent a rush of heat through your body. It settled on your face, tingling, and you prayed it wasn’t visible. 

What the hell was wrong with you?! 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[aminiatureworld]

Damocles

Characters: Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,211

Warnings: Hanahaki disease – depictions of a fictional illness with symptoms mimicking tuberculosis, mentions of coughing up blood, talking a lot about death

Premise: In which the reader thinks Zhongli doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, and fears the consequences.

Author’s Note: Ngl, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about this trope before, except maybe in passing. So if it’s a little weird that’s why.

I ended up taking the story in a bit of a macabre direction. Hopefully not too melodramatic, but I kinda like how it turned out.

Zhongli

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings. I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

 In truth you couldn’t decide whether or not you had expected your feelings to be returned. You and Zhongli had been friends for years now, and you had grown closer to him than you had to most of your previous friends and acquaintances. Indeed, you had grown closer to him than you had to many of the people you’d been in previous relationships in. You called upon him in some form almost every day, whether it be to discuss something of importance or simply bask in his presence. When there was something new you found about, whether it be a story in a book or a particularly funky looking shell, you almost immediately sought out Zhongli to share your find with.

For Zhongli’s part, he also liked to share experiences with you. At the very least you couldn’t say that your friendship was one sided. He often would be the one to walk up to you on the street, a new brand of tea written down on a piece of paper in his pocket, or a location where one could find particularly beautiful glaze lilies on his lips. He never seemed to mind when you peppered him with endless questions, or talked his ear off about your own day; something which you often asked if he found annoying. No, you were very sure that Zhongli wasn’t simply spending time with you out of pity.

In truth it was your friends who guessed the trajectory of your personal feelings before you did. Though you often found their poking and prodding intensely irritating, they had the common sense to keep the questions to a minimum – perhaps in hope their silence might guarantee that your affections would reveal themselves naturally one day. Now though you had to admit they had been right. You had fallen for Zhongli how long ago? It seemed so difficult to say when, so gradually had your feelings changed from viewing him as a confidante to viewing him as something more. Once you had finally come to terms with it you’d put off revealing your feelings as long as possible.

It wasn’t just the chance of rejection, something that would already cause emotions to run high. You had seen what sort of disease could ravage those who were unlucky in love. One of your own friends had suffered from such a disease, a fellow member of the Liyue Qixing had died from such a thing only a few months ago.

It was a terrible disease, everyone at least could agree about that. The origins of such an unfathomable sickness was much less understood. Most saw it as a curse from the gods, a punishment to the humans who would love a fellow mortal more than those who ruled above them, who gave their protection, their mercy, and their gifts to the people below. Others argued that it was simply a result of stress, for what heart could take the shock of a truly deep rejection. A rare parasite, a curse from malevolent demons, all these theories made little difference when it came to the actual disease. You were fairly sure anyways that people dying of it couldn’t care less why it happened, only that it was happening to them.

First came the coughing, easy enough to ignore in a land where the common cold truly lived up to its name. Then you couldn’t run as fast or as far as you had once, at least on the days were you weren’t fighting off crippling fatigue – the night sweats doing little to help you in your desperate need for rest. Then the fever set in, then the blood that stained the porcelain sink. By the time the first few petals would appear emaciation would already begin to claim your muscle mass and the precious body fat that kept you alive. Some people didn’t even get to the point of regurgitating fully formed flowers. Those people were usually considered lucky, for when one must deal with an incurable disease, well, surely it is better to go sooner rather than later.

You wouldn’t lie and say that wasn’t one of the reasons it took you so long to confess. After all, what you don’t know won’t kill you, right? You weren’t actually sure about that, but it sounded right in your mind, regardless of its actual veracity. However, as with most people in love, you’d found a growing recklessness inside you, paired with the sudden desperation for a happiness which you would certainly never obtain at this rate. So you’d made up your mind to tell him, deciding that perhaps the certainty would be better than the ever growing cloud of anxiety that surrounded your thoughts.

Now you’d been rejected. You had to admit that your first reaction was utter panic, the distinct feeling of having made a terrible sort of mistake. Oh sure, your feelings were undeniably hurt, but that was less important than the virtual death sentence you’d been handed. Why oh why had you decided to do this? The world seemed to swim in front of your for a moment, as simultaneously everything came into sharp focus and faded away into the recesses of your mind. What would you do now? There was nothing to do, you just had to wait for the inevitable, wait for the cold embrace of death to welcome you to its abode. You took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. Tears were forming in your eyes, but you knew that they weren’t from romantic distress. Ironically romance was the last thing in your mind right now.

“I, I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

It was all you could manage to make out. Turning around, head light from fear, you bolted down the streets of Liyue, desperate to be in your home, desperate to ignore the sword of Damocles that now hung dangerously low over your head.

 Zhongli watched you go, watched as you stumbled your way through the crowd that always packed the streets of Liyue in the daytime. He was fine, he was perfectly fine. He had seen it through, had done what he knew was right. There was no reason to regret. Surely the small stab of pain he felt was temporary, a pinprick compared to all that the ex-archon had suffered over the years.

Zhongli had suspected that a confession like this might’ve been on the horizon for quite some time now. Not that he was dreading it out of a personal inability to reciprocate. No, in his heart Zhongli already reciprocated your suspected feelings. He loved you, adored you even; within the stony heart that had atrophied over years of war, suffering, and personal duty, grew a love that Zhongli had not felt for a very long time. He cherished every moment with you, knowing that his long life would try to compress the memories that were so precious to them. Seeing you whenever he could, dragged out conversations as long as he possibly could, Zhongli was practically desperate for time with you. He was also intensely aware of how short that time would ultimately be.

How could Zhongli push the curse of loving an immortal being on you? For it truly was a curse, to both parties involved. His side was painful of course, the knowledge that your memory, you lifespan even, would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He would always be wondering whether or not the two of you would be experiencing a “last”. Last visit to the sea, last time to climb up the Huaguang Stone Forest to watch the sunset together. Last, last, last. Always the shadow of death would hang over you, so palpable in Zhongli’s mind that he might almost reach out and grasp the gossamer veil that would eventually steal you away. Yes, it would be a truly painful experience. Not nearly as painful however as your own experience.

Zhongli had long ago come to the conclusion that mortals had no true concept of the passage of time. You were young now, the world was your oyster. Zhongli’s immortal status would be nothing more than a passing thought, an anomaly and nothing more. Then your 40th birthday would pass, then you 50th, then you 60th, 70th, 80th. By the time you reached the end of your life the difference between you and Zhongli would stretch out like a chasm between the two of you, something to never be reconciled, for the old rarely forgave the young for their youth. Not to mention the other scenario, the one that Zhongli would never allow the freedom to truly cloud his thoughts. Your death of old age would be a tragedy, the alternative a catastrophe.

He knew all this, had seen it time and time again. Zhongli was hardly the first immortal being to fall in love with a mortal, would not be the last. Adepti, archons, all walks of immortal life were drawn to humanity, drawn to the freedom that came with mortality. Humans did things because they died; they had no forcible tie to nature, no innate duty other than to themselves. Humans could be wicked or kind or cruel or merciful as they wished. To those who were chained by their destiny, well, there was something very anomalous in such a choice. Perhaps it was no surprise then that an immortal being would inevitable find themselves interacting with those supposedly below them. Perhaps it was no surprise that this often led to love.

All that being true, Zhongli still refused to give into his needless selfishness. He loved you, yes. Knowing that was enough. He wouldn’t push such a burden on you, wouldn’t cause you resentment or pain. It would be better if you thought that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be less painful.

Nor would you have to worry about the curse to which many less lucky fell. Zhongli still loved you, still cherished you deeply. You would never have to worry about that, for archons and adepti do not move on from love the way humans do. Zhongli’s love for you would long outlast your lifespan, one which, the archon prayed, would be very long indeed.

Yes, everything had been handled well enough. Perhaps you would never wish to speak with him again, perhaps you would grow to resent him even, how quickly love can turn into hate. It didn’t matter though. Zhongli had shielded you from long, drawn-out suffering, and that was all that mattered. He should’ve been satisfied, should have felt relief. Instead however he only felt a great sadness pressing down, a sadness combined with the pain that accompanied a love that must never truly be realized.

 It had been nine days since you’d been rejected by Zhongli. Crossing off another square on the calendar which you had dug out of your old stationary you sighed. The nine days succeeding the encounter had been utter hell. At first you were convinced that the worst thing that could happen was the symptoms of the wretched illness showing up quickly, so convinced you were that the next day you would wake up with blood on your pillow. Soon however, you’d come to a completely different conclusion. There was nothing worse than waiting.

Every day was spent in the agony of anticipation, every day waiting for the coughing to begin, for the night sweats to begin ravaging your sleep, for the breathe to be stolen from your lungs. Yet every day you woke up with none of these things, though your fatigue was real enough.

You should have been relieved, should have been glad for the opportunity to live even a few more days. Yet instead of relief you only felt deep, unrelenting dread. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, so crippled were you by morbid anticipation.

Not that your thoughts were particularly worthwhile either. Perhaps it would be one thing if your ruminations had brought up something profound, something that you could write down in a book for your family or your friends. Though it still would be poor solace, well, at least it’d be something. But your thoughts had all turned to mush, replaced by a paranoia so strong it confined you to your bed most days.

You thought that the death sentence would in some way be freeing, that you might be able to recklessly throw yourself at all the things you had avoided out of fear for so long. Instead you found yourself depressed, waiting for an inevitable so terrifying you found yourself disconnecting from the people around you. What did it matter anyways? You’d be dead soon enough.

This gross neglect of your wellbeing was at least somewhat allayed by the routine that had been drilled into your body from so many years working for the Liyue Qixing. Though you didn’t go to work, something you were sure you were going to hear about eventually, you still dared to venture out to the market. At the very least you would eat your fill in good for before the end was nigh. No need to worry about your health after all. Besides, your definition of good food didn’t necessarily always align with completely unhealthy.

Walking through the familiar streets you stared at the people around you. How odd it was to see people so close you could touch them but so far they might as well have been in Inazuma. Was there anyone else here suffering like you were? Anyone who could understand the thoughts that now flooded your brain? You stared at the ground, trying not to think about it. You’d be confronted with these thoughts the minute you got home anyways. Might as well delay it a bit.

Turning to find the fishmonger you spied a familiar silhouette. Stopping in your tracks you stared unabashedly at Zhongli. The man seemed to be carrying himself much as ever, but the unapproachable atmosphere which he’d blanketed himself in seemed somewhat more prominent. Perhaps it was your imagination, he seemed to be talking to the butcher easily enough. Not that it was any of your business. Zhongli wasn’t any of your business anymore. It would be better if you could forget him, if you could erase this feeling in your heart that refused to go away. Even now Zhongli was beautiful. Even now you wished to run up to him, to hug him, to make pretend everything was right with the world. You couldn’t do that though. Just as you couldn’t forget him, you couldn’t love him. Not in the way you wanted. Turning away you trudged back home, good food utterly forgotten.

It was day eighteen since Zhongli had rejected you, and by now your emotions were running almost unbearably high. You’d sunk into an odd reverie of adrenaline, anxiety, and utter disbelief. What in the world was going on? This was a familiar illness to you, something that had almost claimed the life of your friend and had felled your coworker. You knew everything about symptoms, timeline, etc.; and what you knew was you were supposed to be falling ill ages ago. Eighteen days between the initial rejection and the beginning of symptoms? It was unheard of! You didn’t know what to think. Were the rumors about the gods true, had Zhongli imposed some divine protection on you for the sake of your friendship? Were you somehow a superhuman who had the white blood cell coding to defeat the bacteria that caused this disease? Why hadn’t your descent begun yet?

You lounged on the couch, having moved out of your bedroom on the thirteenth day, three days after the latest possible showing of symptoms. Though you still felt deeply afraid, you found that curiosity was a surprisingly good deterrent when it wanted to be. Your fears hadn’t disappeared, but mixed with them was a disbelief so great that you often found your thoughts drifting to questions of how rather than questions of when.

Of course your initial instinct had been to seek out Zhongli. Pride mixed with fear however had kept you firmly at home. Really what was the point in even seeking out the answer to your miraculous reprieve at this point? It wouldn’t really change the outcome. Instead you might as well enjoy this unexpected extension of your life. Besides, you didn’t want to tempt the fates a second time.

 Zhongli stood at the window of your first story apartment, a glaze lily in hand. He hadn’t meant to do this, but the urge refused to leave him.

He’d noticed you a few times at the market, face drawn, eyes empty. Zhongli wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but certainly this wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t suffering from illness, your pace was strong, if slightly erratic, your general aura not that of the sick that Zhongli was all too familiar with. Why then did you look so terrible? The doubts that had plagued Zhongli began to rise again, jeering at the mistake he had made. He was supposed to protect you, right? Why then did you look as if you had experienced a total health collapse?

At first Zhongli tried to ignore it. You had not come to him for help, it was not his place to try and insert himself back in your life once more. The more he thought of you however, the more he found himself uneasy. He had to have some form of communication, some way to enquire about your health. At least one last time. If you explicitly rejected all forms of contact, well then Zhongli would leave. He would never defy your wishes in such a way. Until then however, he felt like he needed to ask.

The idea of walking up to your apartment and asking you was utterly off the table. Who knew how that might end? No, he wanted a subtler way. Glaze lilies had always been a favorite of yours, sneaking out into the evening to see them bloom even more so. He would simply leave one on your windowsill. If you took it, then he would enquire about your health. If you left it, well Zhongli would have his answer.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the windowsill, causing the gold ribbon tied around the lily to tremble slightly. At first Zhongli wanted only to give you the flower. He realized soon however that you might be confused, wondering if someone had not simply dropped a flower on your windowsill, or had the wind blown it there? The ribbon would hopefully clear things up. Even if it looked a little silly.

Slowly placing the flower down onto the open window Zhongli sighed. Turning around he did not dare spare a glance backwards. He would have his answer soon enough after all. Until then, well, there was no point in looking back.

 You exited from the kitchen, having finally felt the energy to make yourself that good food you’d been promising yourself. Going to look at the sunset you let out a soft gasp.

On your windowsill was a single glaze lily, wrapped in gold.

[oldfritz]

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one. 

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’  Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire.  And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all,  but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now.  He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself  in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

[fangirlandiknowit101]

12, 14 and 18☺️

Thanks for asking <333

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

There's lots to be honest, but something I still can't believe I haven't written is a horse riding au. Like, that's half a lie bc I have a few thousand words written for a Simon/Baz horse rider au that I might never finish, but I'd really like to write one for Naruto. But I always decide not to because I don't know all the words and I hate googling stuff while I write. But one day! Surely!

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Honestly? Kirk and Spock. They'd find a way to get us out of there. And if not, it would at least be cool to meet them.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

You really had to pick such a difficult question... I can never decide on any particular line/scene. So I opened up The sun within me and looked at the chapters and thought I'd pick something that could be interesting to comment on. And in this case, it's a bit about how Naruto, Sasuke, and Charasuke have changed and their different relationships with each other. So! Here's a bit of commentary for a scene in chapter 40 (under the cut bc it's fairly long lol):

[For clarification, this is right after Naruto and Sasuke come back home from Sasuke's mission where he fought Menma and Menma then disappeared. I'm skipping ahead to the part where they arrive at the orphanage and Charasuke is waiting in their room (Naruto's POV). My comments will be written in bold text.]

The clone’s memories dropped into his head like a puff of smoke, and he groaned out loud, making a face. Sasuke gave him a concerned look, but Naruto sighed and shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he said, feeling very reluctant as he grabbed Sasuke’s arm.

He supposed he could have teleported them somewhere else, but Charasuke had seemed prepared to wait until they returned. Maybe Sasuke could deal with him while Naruto sort of… drifted away and hid in the kitchen.

Naruto is acting very childishly in this scene, mostly because he's still wary of Charasuke, and also because he's just spent two days in Sasuke's company but pretending to be Menma, which means no cuddles/kisses or anything. He's kind of clingy, isn't he? Haha. And also, he doesn't really want to admit to himself that Menma disappearing for Charasuke is the parallel to his worst fear, that Sasuke will disappear.

“Where is he?” Charasuke demanded the second they arrived in the bedroom.

“Ah, Sasuke, maybe you can explain?” he suggested, inching towards the door, but Sasuke nailed him to the floor with a single glare.

“He could be anywhere,” Sasuke said, continuing to glare until he was sure that Naruto wouldn’t escape. “I didn’t manage to get a good look through the portal.”

“The portal?” Charasuke seemed to waver, arms wrapped around himself as he looked between them. “Tell me what happened.”

You can tell that Sasuke has really started to care about Charasuke here. He's not entirely open with him yet, but he recognizes a lot of himself in Charasuke and he puts himself in Menma's position, thinking about when he left the village and Naruto was left behind. He doesn't want Charasuke to hurt the way he knows Naruto was hurting back then.

While Sasuke described the mission, including what he called ‘Naruto’s dumb interference’, Naruto dug through his closet for the shirt he would make Sasuke wear. He was absolutely sure that Sasuke would argue about it – especially since he’d sent a clone to Akatsuki and not himself – but if he talked fast enough and relented that it would be enough if Sasuke slept in it for one night…

“He really is gone, then,” Charasuke said, his voice toneless. “I’ll never see him again.”

“I’m sure you’ll see him again,” Naruto said, contemplating the pros and cons of a t-shirt versus long sleeves. “Whoever grabbed him and hauled him off probably just wanted to keep him out of Sasuke’s reach. He gets awfully strong when he’s irritated.”

Naruto is definitely acting a bit heartless here, again, because he doesn't want to think about his own feelings or feel forced to recognize that Charasuke is a person Sasuke cares about, that he should also care about. I think he can get a bit closed off when there's too much going on in his own life, and that makes it hard to focus on other people, especially since he still wants to leave the other dimension and doesn't want to think about Sasuke caring about his family here - meaning Sasuke might want to stay.

When he turned back from the closet, he found Sasuke giving him a disappointed look.

“What?”

“You’re taking this lightly,” he said, glancing at the shirt in Naruto’s hand and apparently deciding to ignore it.

“Well, unless we figure out how to dimension-hop after him, I don’t think there’s a lot we can do.”

Now that he was back to being himself, all Naruto really wanted was to curl up in bed with Sasuke and not think about the outside world at all. Charasuke, on the other hand, seemed on the verge of tears.

“And what would you have done if I was the one who disappeared?” Sasuke asked, an icy note to the question.

“How would I know? It hasn’t happened yet.”

A bit of foreshadowing lol. Except Sasuke is the one left reacting when Naruto leaves, but Naruto really is trying to keep a tight grip in his emotions here and absolutely not think about the fact that Sasuke could have disappeared with Menma, and he wouldn't have known what happened to him.

“You could have let me follow after him and we’d know where he went.”

Naruto straightened up, face hardening.

“No, you might have known where he went, but the rest of us wouldn’t. Besides, he was trying to kill you. I went through too much trouble to keep you alive to just let you jump into some unknown enemy territory.”

As you can see, putting a lot of emphasis on Naruto's fear of losing Sasuke again.

Silent tears now streaming down his cheeks, Charasuke sat down on the bed and clenched his fists over his lap. It was obvious that he didn’t like what they were saying, but Naruto pushed his feelings of sympathy aside. Sasuke was his top priority, and that hadn’t changed simply because there was another one of him now.

“I told him I never want to see him again,” Charasuke sniffled, and it was really disturbing to watch someone with Sasuke’s face – well, a version of Sasuke, really – crying out in heartache.

Meanwhile poor Charasuke is having a background breakdown. To Naruto, it's hard to see a version of Sasuke like this. Charasuke is coming face to face with the realization that he's A: definitely not over Menma, B: he really handled things badly and never even stopped to think about why Menma was doing things.

“If he survives, you can apologize,” Naruto told him, trying to sound comforting. “Hell knows Sasuke said a lot worse stuff to me.”

To his great surprise, Sasuke went over to sit beside Charasuke, frowning as his hand twitched to reach out to him.

“This isn’t about you and me, Naruto,” he said, settling for an awkward hand on Charasuke’s shoulder. “And it could be our fault, anyway.”

“You know, Sasuke,” Naruto said as the initial shock wore off, “that sounds scarily like you’ve started caring about other people.”

Naruto and Sasuke having a small fight about Charasuke... Naruto knew Sasuke cared about Charasuke, but this is when he realizes that Charasuke is becoming a person that Sasuke wants to protect. And for Sasuke it's a small step towards opening his heart for more people than just Naruto. Sasuke is honestly mad at Naruto for taking things so lightly, for treating this other dimension as something that doesn't affect them. Besides, I really wanted Charasuke to be comforted by Sasuke haha.

Charasuke kept crying, and the look Sasuke directed at him clearly said what he thought of Naruto right then.

“Moron. I care about other people, just not anyone in our own dimension.”

Naruto knew that to be a lie, but decided not to say anything. Having Sasuke admitting to something like having feelings was a huge enough step on its own. Instead he sighed, grabbed something to sleep in, and headed for the door.

“I’ll just sleep on a couch,” he mumbled.

Does Sasuke care about anyone back in their own dimension? Maybe, but you wouldn't really see him act like this with canon Sakura, not before they left for the RTN dimension at least. It's a big thing that Sasuke is starting to voice his feelings out loud, and acknowledge them more. Naruto is feeling jealous actually, because he wanted to finally have Sasuke to himself, and also he feels guilty for being jealous, and also he's hoping that if he pouts enough Sasuke will comfort him instead of Charasuke lol. Not always the most mature person, but who is?

Coward, Kurama accused as he headed towards the living room, but Naruto was too tired to argue with him. Something about Charasuke always rubbed him wrong, and maybe it had to do with how he displayed his emotions openly and so obviously thought of himself as weak. If Sasuke wanted to handle it, fine. Naruto didn’t have the patience for people who sat around crying, and a small part of him didn’t like that he had such problems with caring about Menma, either. Menma had everything, a loving family, a Sasuke who cared about him, but he was still feared and treated differently. Even in this world people treated the bijuu as something dangerous, and he wondered how much of the whole story of them losing consciousness and turning into beasts was true, and how much was justification to treat them badly.

It's a bit of 'my problems are worse than yours so you shouldn't be so upset'. In the movie, we really got to see how much it hurt Naruto to see this other world where he had everything he wanted, and then acknowledge that it wasn't real. Even if he can recognize that the bijuu were still treated badly here, he can't quite make peace with the way Charasuke and Menma can't appreciate what they have. It makes it really hard for him to sympathize with them.

Am I supposed to feel touched? Kurama snorted as Naruto rearranged pillows into an acceptable bed on one couch. You didn’t care much for us either before you figured out the truth.

No, but everything was supposed to be the opposite here, right? Well, this part isn’t the opposite, it’s the same.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Naruto blinked his eyes open in front of Kurama’s open cage. There was water sloshing around his ankles, and everything was clouded in some sort of yellowish haze.

“Oh, come on,” he complained, but Kurama tsk’ed at him with his head supported by one giant paw.

“I hate to admit it, but you might be onto something, kid.”

“Uh-huh, well I don’t know about you but I want to sleep.”

Kurama reached out and poked him in the stomach with a sharp claw, eyes narrowing to slits. Even if they were friends, Naruto didn’t feel like testing the limits of that friendship with those claws so close to him.

“Sometimes you say things in such a stupid voice that I miss how important it might be. Now shut up and listen,” Kurama growled, three of his tails swishing angrily behind him. “This world is supposed to be opposite, right?”

“I don’t know, but everything seems opposite.”

“Let’s pretend we know it’s true. So, everything and everybody is the opposite more or less. But, the prejudice against the bijuu is still there. And we were told that it was only recently that they became unable to control. So, where does that leave us?”

Naruto pouted, not bothering to answer. Obviously Kurama already knew what he wanted to say.

“I think it means that anything that is the same, is something that somebody has tampered with.”

I was going to do more with this, but it was also a bit of 'what sort of theories would they have for what was really going on?' and this one is accurate in a way, because Hagoromo did tamper with the bijuu which in turn made them become feared and badly treated. So it's definitely hinting at there being someone behind the scenes manipulating the bijuu.

“Huh?”

Kurama rolled his eyes, sighing so deeply that Naruto felt the wind from it tear at his clothes.

“Think, boy! If this is a mirror-world or whatever, people shouldn’t be afraid of me and my siblings. But they are, and it only started a while ago. Obviously someone made us go crazy. And Menma has me inside him, but a crazy version of me, so wouldn’t it be logical that whoever did something to the me inside Menma, could also do something to Menma?”

He thought about it, hard enough that his head started hurting. Sasuke would probably know, but he was busy with Charasuke.

“I guess,” he said eventually, huffing a little. “But even if you’re right, it doesn’t help us figuring out who’s behind it all.”

“Does it matter?” Kurama scoffed, and then his lips spread in a terribly evil grin. “We’re going to kill them anyway, aren’t we?”

“This is why you have such a bad reputation,” Naruto sighed.

Kurama only laughed.

I really love Kurama... His and Naruto's weird friendship gives me life. His solutions to problems are always very straightforward heh.

Well, that's that :3

[aurorawest]

⭐️ ooooh! can you please give a "director's commentary" on chapter 2 from "Foundations" where Loki and Thor are in a pub and get confronted by these two awful guys??

Yeah! Gosh it feels like a long time ago that I wrote Foundations!

Some general commentary about this fic - one of my struggles with writing Loki was how to get into his head and make sense of the fact that in Thor 1, we have that deleted scene where he tells Thor that he loves him, and to never doubt it. Obviously that scene was cut, but Loki’s entire arc really does bear out that he loves Thor, so I really needed to find a way to reconcile, “Never doubt that I love you,” with Loki’s douchebaggery in Thor 1. So that really was the impetus for this fic - what are some things that have happened between them that could lead to Loki’s love for Thor never wavering, but would also convince him that keeping Thor from the throne was a good thing, so good that he should resort to fairly extreme measures to achieve it? I wrote this fic a bit out of order—chapter 3 came first, then 1, 2, and I wrote 4 and 5 more or less simultaneously.

The men watching him didn’t seem like a concern anymore, either. They were the princes of Asgard. Who would dare attack them?

“Drinking by yourselves, princelings?” a voice said from above them suddenly.

So in chapter 2, I wanted to show Thor’s hot-headedness, and I wanted it to involve Loki, because I wanted to show a conflict between Loki loving Thor for looking out for him...but also hating Thor for looking out for him.

Spoken too soon. Loki’s head snapped around much faster than Thor’s did. It was the two men who had been watching him. Surprise.

With a smile that he hoped was charming, rather than sloppy, Loki said, “Well, I wouldn’t say we’re alone.” Wait, was that supposed to be clever? The drink was getting to him. The drink had gotten to him.

Thor scooted his chair over and slung an arm around Loki’s shoulders. “Only because we haven’t found company yet!” he thundered. Loki tried to slither out from under his arm but Thor’s fingers clamped around his shoulder, so he resigned himself to his brother’s drunken clutches. “Join us, friends. And well met on this beautiful evening!”

I tried to mimic the dialogue patterns of Thor 1 and TDW for this fic much more than I typically do. Since most of my fic takes place post-Ragnarok, and I really love the tone of Ragnarok, I draw a lot of my style and tone from that. But I wanted to give this fic a feeling of being set in the past, long before Loki and Thor encounter 21st century humans.

[...] The men looked at each other and Loki felt another twist of uneasiness. One of them, his hair a fiery ginger that Loki couldn’t help letting his eyes linger on, 

This is a very subtle (like so subtle that I’m sure literally everyone missed it) reference to Theo Bell in the novel Loki: Where Mischief Lies, who’s a redhead. I have a head canon that Loki has a thing for redheads.

elbowed the other, who was brawnier and uglier, with a nose that looked like it had been flattened by someone else’s fists on more than one occasion.

Could I have just said his nose had been broken? Probably. I still kind of like the way I worded this.

“Perhaps if it was just you here, Your Highness,” the uglier one said. Loki stiffened, but Thor didn’t react. Either he didn’t get it or didn’t care. But Loki wasn’t so far gone in drink that he didn’t understand, nor did he miss the way the redhead’s eyes narrowed at him. It sparked a flash of irritation in him—he was the prince, they had no right to look at him that way. But he looked down at the table, a habit honed in court, where it was easier to bow his head and dig his nails into his palms rather than argue with Father.

Loki digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood has become one of his tics, the more I’ve written of him. This...may have been the first time I referenced it?

With a chuckle, Thor said, “It is just us here.”

The man laughed too. It was much less nice than Thor’s dumb, likable laugh. “Aye, Prince. You and your greasy brother.”

Head canon: Loki’s hair looks greasy because he hates its natural curl and he dumps product on it. He would rather it looked bad in any other way than be curly.

The smile fell off Thor’s face and he removed his arm from Loki’s shoulders. “What?” he said, suddenly sounding far less drunk.

“It’s not the grease we mind,” the redhead piped up.

Loki raised his head, sensing danger. It was best not to be looking at your lap when you knew it was coming. His daggers were a comforting weight on his forearms, but Thor hadn’t brought a weapon tonight. Why would he? Loki went out into the city by himself all the time, and he never had any trouble. And if one of them was going to have trouble, it would certainly be Loki—less trusted, less loved. Too pale, too quiet. Unnatural.

Loki is definitely an unreliable narrator here. He sees hatred and distrust everywhere he looks. There’s obviously an element of truth to that (as we’re about to see), but on the other hand, he’s been drinking at this pub for ages with no trouble. He knows the bartender. Loki’s mind really prioritizes negative experiences (I guess most people do but Loki, anxiety and depression ridden Loki, really does).

“No, not at all,” the man said. “Who hasn’t skipped a bath now and then? No, the thing is, we don’t drink with faggots.”

I remember after I posted this fic, I went back a few days later and added the tag ‘period typical homophobia’ because of this line.

The room didn’t actually fall silent, but it might as well have. There was a loud ringing, and it took Loki a second to realize it was in his own ears. His chest felt like something heavy, like the hammer Mjølnir that was kept in the weapons vault, was compressing it to nothing, and he was fairly sure that his heart had stopped beating.

Thor hasn’t been given Mjolnir yet.

The man’s grin was practically ghoulish. “Probably thinks no one sees him going into that whorehouse, the one where they keep the lads—”

I purposefully left it vague whether this is true. But since this is the director’s commentary, I can tell you - it’s true! Loki does frequent a brothel with male employees. He actually has sort of a long term relationship with one. The guy is in love with Loki. Loki is...not. There comes a point where the guy confesses his feelings to Loki. Loki never comes back after that. Later, on The Statesman after Ragnarok, Loki finds out the guy was killed in Hela’s purge. He feels pretty awful.

The scrape of Thor’s chair on the wood floor was deafening. [...] “That,” he said in a dangerous voice, “was not a very nice thing to say.”

Kind of an understatement, Thor.

The redhead took a step back. The ugly one, who’d just aired Loki’s—dirty laundry? Skeletons?—didn’t. He was mixing metaphors. This was something he’d preferred to think of as simply a thing that he just didn’t talk about, but now that it had been announced to a roomful of people, it seemed like something he should have been much more ashamed of. Surely people didn’t stare like that otherwise.

Loki is...not exactly uncomfortable with the fact that he’s attracted to men. He knows, or thinks, that it’s outside the norm, but he doesn’t think that he’s doing something wrong. I have a reference in some fic...somewhere...I can’t remember which one, about how Asgardians live such a long time that most of them will try having sex with someone of the same-sex, even if they don’t really think they’re attracted to people of the same sex. It might be in one of my fics for the Loki Rarepair Bang? Anyway, later, Loki will come to understand that. At this point, he’s still kind of like...I don’t know anyone else who likes this. I was really trying to walk a line between him being ashamed and him knowing, deep down, there was nothing wrong with him.

Then again, they may have been staring because of the look on Thor’s face. “Apologize to my brother,” Thor said.

The man looked at Loki and grinned. Loki folded his wrists inwards and fingered the hilts of his daggers, but he said in a low tone, “Thor, it’s fine.”

[...] “Best listen to your brother,” the man said with a leer. “Or maybe I should say ‘sister.’”

Personally, Loki didn’t find this insulting, 

Probably because it’s a terrible insult.

but Thor clearly did. 

Loki isn’t entirely comfortable with this fact. Thor sends mixed signals. He doesn’t have a problem with anything about Loki, and yet, he still gets mad about an insult like this. Obviously, it’s meant as an insult, which is why Thor gets angry - it’s not the content so much as the fact that these assholes are attacking Loki.

[...] Loki knew that a normal Asgardian should be offended by all of this. The disrespect, if not the accusation itself. [...]

But all Loki could see were repercussions spidering out from this moment, repercussions from getting angry, from standing up for himself, for fighting back. An Asgardian was supposed to fight back. But Loki knew that he couldn’t win either way. If he fought back, his father would say he should have calmed the situation. If he didn’t, everyone would think he was weak. And in any case, the fact that there’d been a confrontation in the first place would be blamed on him.

At the heart of a lot of Loki’s issues is this idea that he can’t do anything right. He knows what he would naturally do, but knows it’s not acceptable. He knows what he “should” do, but he also doesn’t think that’s acceptable. He feels caught in this impossible place where it’s literally impossible to win the approval of his father...which is the one thing he wants.

[...] In a blur, Thor’s fist swung out, connecting with the man’s face with a wet crack of bone and cartilage. The man dropped like a stone, but when he hit the ground he tried to roll away. His red-headed friend stepped forward, bringing a fist up.

I remember really, really not wanting to write a fight scene here, haha.

In a second, Loki was on his feet, holding out a hand that was suddenly grasping a dagger. The redhead jolted to a stop as Loki extended it so the point rested inches from the tip of the other man’s nose. With an icy smile, Loki said, “I wouldn’t.”

I very much love writing Loki wielding his knives.

The redhead’s face twisted in a snarl, but he lowered his hands to his sides. There was that taken care of, at least.

Thor kicked the other man out from the table he was trying to crawl underneath, grabbing him by one of the pauldrons on his shoulders and hauling him to his feet. The man took a wild swing at Thor and missed. In return, Thor head-butted him, smashing his already ruined nose to an unrecognizable, bloody pulp. Then he slammed the man down on the table, one hand around his neck. The tabletop splintered and bowed with the force of the blow. Their ales splattered everywhere.

“Thor,” Loki said warningly. “That’s enough. He’s an idiot—let him go.” But Thor was too far gone. The rage of battle, he liked to call it. Loki preferred to think of it as dumb, animal bloodlust. The man’s face was turning red while he wheezed, and his attempts to hit Thor were growing weaker.

“Thor.” Loki took a chance, lowered his dagger, and stepped forward. He wrapped a hand around his brother’s shoulder and pulled him back, though of course his strength was no match for Thor’s. If Thor wanted to kill this man, he could, and Loki would be powerless to stop him with mere strength. Sorcery, yes. But that was what had gotten them into this in the first place. And besides, Loki didn’t think Thor would thank him for magicking him. “Stop. It’s not worth it.” Thor bared his teeth and squeezed his fist tighter around the man’s neck. The man’s eyes popped and his wheezing became a thin whistle, then the absence of anything in his gaping mouth as Thor cut off his air supply.

For a moment, Loki studied the man. He’d thought—he’d assumed—that he would feel a bolt of horror, of a desperate need to stop this so a life could be spared. But as he looked down and searched for that feeling, he just found a cold emptiness. What did he care if this man died?

I believe that Loki is a deeply sensitive person, who cares and loves with absolute abandon...if you make it to the very inner reaches of his heart. Otherwise, he probably doesn’t give a shit about you. I want to show that here, that Loki has this very cold-blooded side. It’s not that he likes killing people or inflicting pain, but it doesn’t bother him.

What he cared about was not causing more trouble than had already been caused. About making sure Thor didn’t do something rash and stupid. And about not getting the blame himself for something that he hadn’t started, because for his whole life, people had been ready to believe the worst of him.

Here’s some set-up for Loki’s eventual scheme to prevent Thor from taking the throne. Loki knows Thor acts without thinking. Here, he wants to stop it. Later, he’ll use it against Thor. Here, Loki is very much fighting against people’s perception of him. He wants to be loved. This flips for him later, where he embraces what (he thinks) people think of him and really tries to become the villain. It’s not a natural fit on him.

“Brother, please,” Loki hissed. “Stop. Think.”

This is an intentional echo of Loki’s dialogue to Thor on Jotunheim in Thor 1.

And why should this work now, when it rarely did? But Loki felt the tenseness go out of Thor’s shoulder, and after a second, he released his hold on the man, pushing him away. The force of the push slid the man across the table and headfirst onto the floor, but he was moaning, so clearly he wasn’t dead.

For the first time, Loki glanced around the alehouse. If there hadn’t been silence before, there certainly was now. Everyone in the place was staring, and not in a friendly way. The look in Birger’s eyes was unmistakable. 

I used the name Birger for the bartender because I figured I wouldn’t want to use it for a more important character.

[...] He [...] smiled as though nothing was wrong, met Thor’s eyes, and walked to the door. Spine straight, shoulders back, the half-smile on his face that he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know how much he was breaking inside.

Loki is a practiced actor. There’s far more going on inside his head than he’ll ever let on.

He didn’t even know why this, of all things, should crack one more piece of him. Certainly, it wasn’t the idea of gossip about him. There was already gossip about the fact that he liked men as well as women. Mother already knew, anyway. She’d sat him down one day, several months after she’d noticed his eyes following not just some of the attractive serving girls, but also boys, and had the excruciatingly awful Talk with him that he was sure Thor had gotten from their father, not from her. “You know to take precautions to prevent disease, not just pregnancy?” she’d asked, and he’d managed to stammer, his face bright red and burning, “Yes, Mother, of course.” Honestly he hadn’t thought much about it, but the only thing that could have made that moment worse was admitting ignorance.

“Will you be my fester-man?” has Loki remembering talking about his attraction to men with Odin, and how absolutely mortifying it was. Odin’s side of this talk is telling Loki that whoever he wants to sleep with is fine, but he needs to marry a woman and produce an heir.

But Thor was here to witness this, and maybe that was what made it seem so awful. Thor, who meant the world to him, but whom he worried saw him as lesser. Lesser than his friends, the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, lesser than every other Asgardian. Lesser than Thor himself. Why wouldn’t he see Loki as lesser, when Thor was going to be king? When despite this display tonight, he’d receive no more punishment than a stern talking-to from Father?

Loki had kept his cool, Loki had defused the situation—they were walking away from this with everyone alive because of him. And yet he was the one who everyone would see as the one who hadn’t done things quite right, while Thor, who’d nearly killed a man out of anger, would have his actions waved away. Loki’s circumspection was a flaw, while Thor’s hot-headedness was a virtue. Loki would never hold the throne because he wasn’t Asgardian enough, and Thor was too Asgardian for his own good.

Really the core of this section and Loki’s bitterness—Loki can do nothing right, and Thor can do no wrong. Loki sees his outsider status as both a flaw, but also as an advantage. He does feel he did the right thing in this situation, but he knows no one else will feel that way. Thor’s reaction was maybe not good, but it’s what everyone would expect.

It wasn’t that Loki didn’t appreciate that his brother had almost killed a man to protect him. It was just, he didn’t need to be protected, and he could see the outcome of this writ large as though it was scrawled across the front of the palace. It made him want to scream. It made him hate Thor with such a scalding fierceness that it scared him. He couldn’t hate Thor. But nothing was fair, and Thor never did anything about it.

He hates Thor. He loves Thor. One thing this fic really taught me about Loki was how he lives with cognitive dissonance every moment of every day. He holds these massive contradictory feelings inside him and they just sit next to each other, totally irreconcilable. 

The two of them walked the dark streets of Asgard in silence, Thor’s heavy breathing quieting the farther they got from the alehouse. [...] “I suppose you want to know if what they said is true,” he said, staring straight ahead into the dark. His eyes found the palace, shining golden in the distance.

Thor made a noise. In his periphery, Loki saw his brother look towards him. “I know it’s true,” Thor said. “I mean, maybe not the part about the…um, establishment, but you liking men, I already knew that.”

Swallowing, Loki said, “And?”

“And what?”

Loki stopped walking and it took Thor a couple steps to realize it. As Thor turned back to him, Loki asked, “And… [...] Do you care?”

[...] “Why would I care?” Thor asked. And then, “Did you think I would care?”

“I…” Loki hugged his arms over his chest until he realized it looked childish, like he had something to hide, something to be ashamed of. Dropping his arms to his side, he said, “They cared in there.”

Thor snorted and shook his head. “They were fools. I’ve never known you to put any stock in the opinions of fools, brother.”

“So you don’t,” Loki pressed. It seemed of the utmost importance that Thor actually say these words. Loki needed him to prove it, not with his fists, but on Loki’s territory, by saying it. Out loud. Unequivocally. Plainly.

Loki needs to be told things verbally. He needs people to tell him, straight up, ‘I love you.’ ‘You’re worthy.’ Etc. Which I think is why Odin’s ‘No, Loki,’ is so devastating to Loki. Loki places so much important on words and doesn’t really look at people’s actions (Thor, incidentally, is the opposite).

Shaking his head, still looking befuddled, Thor said, “No. There’s nothing to care about.” Then he paused and took a step closer. Reaching out to put a hand to the back of Loki’s neck, he said, “Loki. Even if there was, you’re my brother. And I still wouldn’t care.”

I remember really wanting to get this right. I think when I first wrote this line, I had Thor say, “You’re my brother; of course I don’t care.” But I wanted Thor to just...not care. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Loki, Thor just isn’t a bigot. But I also wanted the sense of like, even if he did care, the fact that it’s Loki would make him rethink this.

Loki wanted to hug him. But that vein of resentment was still there and it stopped him. Instead, he swallowed hard and just stood there for a moment, Thor’s hand cupping the back of his head while he felt something inside him splintering.

And for the first time, he identified it. It was the feeling of his jealousy and love butting up against each other, two immovable forces that wouldn’t yield to the other. With a flash of insight that felt more like seeing into the future, like a faint hint of his mother’s witchcraft (none of which had been passed down to him), he realized this battle was going to shape his life.

He’s right.

And right then, he wasn’t sure love would win.

Nooooo Loki, it will!

“Loki?” Thor said, sounding unsure.

He forced himself to smile, and as he met Thor’s eyes, the resentment receded. Reaching up, he wrapped a hand around Thor’s forearm and said, “Thank you.” There was more to say, but it was beyond him. It was too much.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Thor said, sounding relieved. Then, he ruffled Loki’s hair, which he knew Loki hated. But this old, familiar argument was safe, and they retreated to it as they continued their walk back to the palace. Loki smoothed his hair down and wished he could do the same with the cracks in his life. Something felt changed, and it was frightening, and he felt in his bones that there was no going back to safety, no matter how much he might try.

Safety is an incredibly important feeling to Loki. I return again and again to it in my fics. There are certain people that make him feel safe, and these are the people he loves above all others. You can count them on one hand: Thor. Frigga. Stephen Strange. There’s an element of physical safety to this, but mostly it’s emotional safety. There are people who will let him be who he is, and he’ll do anything for them because of it.

Thank you so much for asking!! It was really fun to return to this fic.

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

[diavolodigitale]

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Andromeda Galaxy - pt.1 Aya

Okay, hear me out. I know nobody wanted this, but here it is: a fairly short story about m!Ryder/Evfra that consists of 4 parts and most likely will not have any continuation. 

Beware though, this is the first piece of fiction I’ve ever written in English. I did my best to make it sound less awkward, but I’m still not sure about the results. But it will get better, I promise. 

Genres: comedy, romance (vaguely), friendship maybe, nothing serious, really.

Pairing: m!Ryder/Evfra (be careful, it’s slash if you didn’t realize it yet).

Rating: PG

Size: around 5 pages

Pt.1 - Pt.2 - Pt.3 - Pt.4 ----- All chapters in PDF

Ryder entered the Resistance HQ accompanied by light clanking of his gear. Weeks of travelling non-stop and picking up challenging fights made him sturdier and more skilled, meaning he would usually carry more than just a sniper rifle and an asari sword. Less sneaky, yes, but who cared if he was able to survive in the wilds of unknown planets however long it was necessary.  

“Evfra,” muttered he in an indifferent voice. Obviously, the office of the Resistance leader was always his one and only destination point on Aya.

“Ryder,” forwarded Evfra as inhospitably as he always did, seemingly not paying any attention to his guest. Ryder knew that he did it on purpose every time and tried to do his best to disregard this act of covert hostility.

“Why are you here?” asked the angara, realizing there was no way Ryder would leave after simple greeting.

“I had some business on Aya, so I decided to come by and say hi.”

Evfra’s face showed a clearly annoyed and dissatisfied expression similar to when humans roll their eyes. He sucked his teeth, becoming more and more aggressive with every second he and Ryder proceeded to be in the same room.

“There’s no need to be so unkindly, you know I never come without a cause,” said Ryder apologetically and awkwardly laughed.

“Actually, you always do,” said Evfra disapprovingly. “Intercoms exist for a reason, and that reason is communicating with other individuals remotely. I’d rather you didn’t come here every time you want to chit-chat.”

“Believe me, I have a whole crew available for that. Moreover, none of them is so incredibly unwilling to speak to me, which is a great plus. And also, they’re all on my ship at any time so I don’t have to fly anywhere. Oh, and—”

“Get to the point, Ryder,” rudely interrupted Evfra. “I don’t have all day to suffer through your chattery,” he added and started scrolling reports more furiously than Ryder had ever seen him do, appearing as if he was enormously busy. Most likely pretending.

“Right, so… About that favor you asked me for… You know, on Voeld,” mumbled Ryder, looking at his feet. “So… I did everything I could there. People saved, data found, a-and…”

“Mhm.”

Ryder stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. He expected at least some kind of reaction to his words, but if his help really meant so little to this man, he struggled to think of what could really support the Resistance and its cause and, more importantly, give humans some advantages in negotiations with angara.

Realizing Ryder didn’t have much else to say on that topic, Evfra struggled to make an effort to continue their conversation.

“I’ve seen the reports. The scouts you rescued can become significant assets in the war with kett. The information they possess can turn out to be useful for all of us in the long run.”

“You’re welcome.” A self-satisfied smirk appeared on Ryder’s thin lips as he felt that at least something he had done was appreciated.

Evfra casted a long unemotional glance at Ryder, unintentionally forcing him to hide his barely visible smile in confusion.

After a few seconds of odd staring, Evfra finally broke the oppressive silence.

“Is there anything else worth discussing? As I said, I still have other matters that need sorting out.”

“Not really, but…”

Ryder was shuffling around, trying to think of a decent ground for staying and continuing the talk for at least a little longer when he noticed a fresh cut wound on Evfra’s arm.

“What’s that on your arm? What happened?” he asked, sincerely worried.

Evfra immediately pulled back his wounded arm when Ryder tried to grab it and took a step back.

“None of your business, human. Since we are done talking, I recon you should leave.”

Ryder, having by this time developed a habit of not obeying Evfra’s orders, was surely ready to start protesting, when SAM’s monotonous voice echoed in his head.

“Pathfinder, it is highly unadvisable for you to dispute with the Resistance leader. He is infamous for his wild temper and unpredictability.”

“Everything’s fine, SAM,” murmured Ryder, “just let me handle it.”

“That… thing in your head. What is it saying?”

Evfra looked interested and a little repelled at the same time. That wasn’t the first time the Pathfinder faced such a reaction to the fact that an AI had a free access to his body and thoughts. The majority of the people he met were more than sure that nothing good could come out of it.

“That your wound should be treated as soon as possible or else...” he responded mysteriously.

“Or else what?”

“Consequences.”

The leader of the Resistance frowned, but managed to calm himself down and just let out a loud sigh instead of giving way to his emotions and becoming rude again. He now looked composed, although the undertone of hostility was still in the air.  

Ryder stood still only for a moment, and then, using Evfra’s unpreparedness, dashed towards him in a desperate attempt to get closer and check the wound himself. Being a trained and experienced soldier, Evfra reacted a little quicker than Ryder anticipated and managed to evade the intrusion into his personal space, causing Ryder to lose his balance for a split second.

The understanding of where the potential scuffle was going came immediately, so Ryder didn’t try to counterattack and instead darted into the direction opposite to Evfra’s. Angara’s puzzlement by Pathfinder’s behaviour, however, didn’t influence his combat abilities and tactical thinking in any way. He decided to attack before his opponent would try to take him by surprise once again. He clenched his fist and made an abrupt movement with his uninjured hand, targeting the belly of the human.

Ryder was thrown away for almost a meter just to dramatically land on the floor, generating a cacophony of noises produced by the whole array of his gear hitting a hard surface.

“Pathfinder, you could have dodged that punch without much effort. Your intentions remain unclear to me,” rang SAM’s voice in Ryder’s head.

Ryder ignored him completely and continued to lie on the floor with little to no motion. His stomach almost didn’t hurt because he had actually been prepared to take that blow.

Having not many other options, Evfra called out Ryder’s name to check if he was alright. He consciously chose not to punch with all his force, meaning it obviously couldn’t be fatal or even do much damage to a person wearing full set of armor.

Receiving no response, Evfra called out again.

Silence.

The Resistance leader, thinking about how many problems the human Pathfinder really brought with him, moved closer to inspect the injured. Harming him could possibly ruin the alliance between their species so it was preferable that the Pathfinder left safe and sound. Even if Evfra genuinely wanted him to suffer a little bit for how irritating and importunate he was.

He moved closer and knelt before the seemingly unconscious Pathfinder. He heard him breathe slowly and steadily which, from Evfra’s knowledge of human physiology, meant that he was most likely okay.

The moment Evfra started leaning to take a closer look at the fallen opponent, he noticed a slight movement of Pathfinder’s hand. This time his instincts didn’t serve him so well, and Ryder suddenly hit him hard in the forehead with his own head.

Evfra’s vision flickered and, disoriented, he brought his hand up to his head to cover the damaged area.

Using the advantage he now had over his opponent, Ryder made a few maneuvers with something that he took out of a tactical compartment on his leg piece. Before Evfra realized that he did something to his wounded arm, Ryder had already rolled away, out of his reach.

“I’m done! I’m done!” yelled the human Pathfinder, raising his hands up in the air as if surrendering. He knew perfectly well that in a real fight with the Resistance leader he had almost no chances, so tried to pull out of it as soon as possible.

Evfra stood up abruptly, still touching his aching head. He was somewhat dizzy, but the wish to make the intolerable creature pay gave him strength and determination to act at once.

Seeing that his words had little influence on Evfra’s perception of reality, Ryder pleaded once again.

“It was medi-gel! Just medi-gel, I swear!”

Confused, Evfra looked at his injured arm. The cut was indeed covered with medi-gel that was slowly absorbing into his skin.

“Just wanted to treat it, that’s all,” muttered Ryder, finally rising from the floor. “A simple thank you would be enough.”

Lost for words, Evfra groaned and rubbed his temples.

“I better leave. Hope the next time we meet you’ll be in a better humor.”

The Pathfinder turned around and headed for the door. Only moments before his exiting Evfra addressed him one last time.

“Ryder!”

“What is it?” The Pathfinder stopped, intrigued.

“You have your whole species at your disposal… you have asari, turians, salarians, crogans… You have this whole galaxy with all the angara inhabiting it. Tell me, why, why do you have to infuriate only me all the time?”

“There’s one reason you’ll find out about later, just hold on for now,” answered the Pathfinder and grinned. “Oh,”—after making only one step, he stopped once more—“I also hate it when everybody always calls me Ryder. I have a name, you know. It is not very polite, especially since I do use your name in conversations.”

Evfra raised his head and took a deep long breath, feeling fed up with everything that happened during the last ten minutes.

“Ryder…” he started in a voice full of weariness.

“It’s James. For you it’s James.”

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Does this count as angst? :3

I was listening to Nier music today, and my mind decided to vomit with sadness. So, as is my obsession, have some idiots bickering like idiots! :3

“Hey, old man. Got you that book you were looking for.”, Fane announced as he pushed the door to the rotunda with a broad shoulder. “I don’t get why it was so hard to..find..”, he trailed off as he was met with a stern, bored expression from Solas, who was standing just in the archway with his arms crossed.

Fane raised a snowy eyebrow in question which only caused Solas’s eyebrow to twitch in irritation. That only made Fane more confused as he looked down into the other man’s hard stormy eyes.

“Well, it would seem the sky is cloudy today.”, he said, watching as Solas’s eyebrow twitched again before the mage snatched the book out of his hand. 

“Don’t.”, Solas warned with a clipped tone, thumbing through the pages delicately despite his early abuse of it to quickly scan the pages before snapping his shut. “Thank you, Inquisitor. Now, if you will excuse me..”, the mage turning away with a fluid motion, but Fane could see a stiffness in the elf’s shoulders as he walked away.

Fane blinked at the terseness of Solas’s tone, as well as the use of his title. Snowy eyebrows furrowed as he watched Solas retreat back into the rotunda, the book in his hands reopening as hard blue eyes roamed the pages, but Fane could see from the hue of grey that they weren’t retaining anything written on its surface. 

Not only is the sky cloudy today; there is a storm brewing within deepened blue. He’s pissed off. Fane’s mind supplied helpfully before he heaved a heavy sigh, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he attempted to decipher what had his sky so gloomy today. 

There were generally a number of reasons as to why Solas could be in a bad mood; not sleeping well which meant the mage’s ventures into the Fade were proving troublesome instead of comforting, another bout of arguments with either Vivienne, his sister, or Dorian about the nature of magical theory, or in the case of Mhairi, elven culture and the religion linked to it, practical frustration towards chinks in a seemingly well thought out plan, or - and this was Fane’s ‘favorite’ - the elven god was simply in. a. bad. mood. Why was that his favorite? Well, it was the most difficult one to attempt to reconcile, of course. Everyone knew how much Fane loved complexity, which is to say, he didn’t love it. Not at all. 

And judging by the way Solas’s usually relaxed stance was rigid and restrained, Fane had a thought it was that particular instance of gloominess. Wonderful.

A gloved hand ran through bleached messy hair as Fane let out another sigh. “I’m going to get struck by lightning in this storm, aren’t I? Well, it wouldn't be the first time.”, he mused before letting his hand from his hair to make his way further into the room. “Solas.”, his voice calm despite the exasperation he was feeling.

Fane’s call got no response, Solas merely flipped through the pages of the book as he finished a passage. He crossed his arms across his broad chest before making his way to the side of Solas’s desk.

“Solas.”, he tried again, attempting to coax the elf’s gaze to his own by coming into his line of sight.

Again, Solas gave him no acknowledgement, not even a twitch of an eyebrow this time. Fane let out a low growl, running his tongue along his teeth in mounting frustration. Oh, so this was the game that was being played right now? Fine. 

Emerald eyes shut themselves softly as Fane took a deep breath to steady himself before uncrossing his arms to place his hands on the table, leaning forward a bit to get closer to the other man.

“Hey, are you planning on ignoring me or telling me what’s crawled up your ass today?”, Fane asked crudely, his own agitation starting to rear its head. 

That, Fane noted, elicited a response - a fairly prominent one, too, as Solas snapped the book shut with a harsh gesture of his hands before steely eyes immediately met his fiery emerald ones to give him a furious glare. Fane could only sneer faintly at the sight - both amused and annoyed at the same time. 

“Oh, deigning to acknowledge me now? Maybe your hearing is starting to go, after all.”, he bit out with a small snarl before the hard slam of a book had him jolting slightly - the force behind it making the table rattle.

“Or perhaps it is your eyes that are starting to go, vhenan. Since you cannot see that I wish to be left in peace.”, Solas spat out harshly, eyes like lightning as they pierced him with an electrifying glare. 

“You’re anything but peaceful right now, my sky.”, he stated, leaning forward a bit more to meet Solas’s electrifying glare with an icy one of his own. 

“That is because you are pestering me.” Solas leaning forward as well to show he wasn’t about to back down. 

“Pestering?”, he scoffed in disbelief before laughing dryly, “I came to give you that damn book and you treat me like I’m some kind of nuisance! Does my existence continue to bother you that much?!”, he snarled out fully, his tell tale rage starting to take hold as insecurities began to crop up.

Fane regretted the words that tumbled from his lips the moment he heard them as the a flash of guilt shone in Solas’s softening glare, the mage leaning back with a pensive expression. He frowned at the action. Shit. He hadn’t meant to.. Damn this body and its wayward emotions!

“Solas, I--”, he attempted to apologize to the hurt man in front of him, actually moving around the desk to get closer to him.

“The possibility of your nonexistence is a far worse bother to me than your living existence, Aterian. It seems you have forgotten that as well.”, Fane’s draconic name coming out as an anguished hiss as Solas shoved past him to exit out through one of the doors - preferably the one leading directly outside, the door slamming harshly upon the elven man’s departure.

Fane stood stock still in the middle of the rotunda, faintly hearing the resounding slam of the door as guilt and anger bore down on him. He plopped down like dead weight in the chair that Solas usually sat in to put his head in his hands, letting out an enraged snarl around his fingers before his body slumped back in defeat.

“I could never forget the agony that I caused you, Solas. But your existence is the reason I exist at all..”, he whispered into his hands brokenly, letting the walls of grief and the weight of actions borne of love crush him in their descent.

[the-wintershade]

never believing in things unseen

pairing: loki x reader summary: you don’t need anyone but he still needs you wc: 2.9k+ genre: a little angsty, not much else

Mirage: mini series  —  01 | 02 | ... |

“We think he’s after the Tesseract.” A holographic projection hummed a shifting blue in front of you. “And we don’t know why.” 

It seemed pretty easy to you. The Tesseract could guarantee infinite access to space and anything it encapsulates. It would mean control over galaxies upon galaxies of life, minerals, and whatever else he demes useful. Noteworthy. 

It was power, a desire rooted in the very essence of humanity, passed from bloodline to bloodline in a never ending spiral. Of course some were better than others in resisting its pull but everyone had to face the hunger of power at some point. 

But Loki wasn’t human. He was a god. And gods always wanted fame, power, adoration. 

It made sense. 

“Agent?” Your eyes shifted back into focus to find fury’s dark eyes watching you intently. You felt bare, like he could see the events of last night written all over your eyes. Clearing your throat, you took a breath.

“If we consider the idea that he’s a god, and inferior to his brother, it could explain his greed for the Tesseract.” You splayed your hand on the table and propped yourself up on it. 

He scanned your features again and you tried as best as you could to keep from shaking. You’d passed many simulations that included lying, heavily, but nothing unnerved you quite as much as fury’s stare — even with only one eye. 

He crossed his arms and turned towards you. “I’m listening.” 

You brought his attention to the Tesseract. “We don’t really understand the full potential of this object — and, to be frank, I’m not sure we ever will — but it’s likely he does. That makes it valuable to him. He has information we don’t which makes him valuable to us.” 

He frowned and he peered at you. “Your point?” 

You took a shaky breath, still surprised at you were about to do. 

“How about we offer a trade?” 

Fury visibly bristled at the idea and took a step back. “That’s not an option.” His tone, clipped and firm, deterred you a bit, but you needed him to at least listen. 

“Look, no one said anything about actually giving him what he wants — it’d be like giving the nuclear arsenal to a power hungry terrorist — but a disguised trade. We give him something that mimics the Tesseract, it’s glow, feeling, sound, and in order to exchange ownership of it, he has to tell us what the Tesseract is.” 

You watched his eyes shift, speculatory satisfaction flickering across them. You’d seen that look before; it always signaled how impressed he was. 

“Say we go along with this plan of yours, what makes you think he’ll fall for it?” He peered over to you, expectant. 

“I don’t think he will.” A flash of shock appeared in his features. “But if we give him something else to focus on, he’ll fold. All it takes is a distraction. Something to draw his attention away from the slight flaws in the fake Tesseract enough that he’ll cave. It’s like dreaming. You’ll never truly realize how strange it was until you’ve awoken.” You finish with what you hope is seen as reassurance. 

He seems pleased and his arms unfold. “Okay, officer. What will the distraction be?” 

You breathe before looking him in the eye. “Me.” 

…

It wasn’t your finest moment. But it could be doable. 

Loki’s promise still echoed in the recesses of your mind. The words raised initial anger but eventually traveled further than mere surface emotions and buried themselves in a place meant for very delicate feelings. 

It was a place you hid because who likes wearing their heart on their sleeve to let it get crushed over and over again?

But to win Loki, to win his open honesty, you’d have to make him believe that his words unlocked something in you. 

Which they didn’t. You were a thinker and a force of nature; you don’t have time for silly feelings and emotional attachments. 

Hurricanes never stopped turning because their favorite bar was in the path of their destruction. Brilliant scientists worked better alone and lived in blissful solitude. 

You didn't need someone in your life. 

You never did. 

…

You knew the click of those heels. You also knew the probability that you probably wouldn’t hear the end of this. 

“Well, well, very inspiring.” She popped her bubblegum and took a seat next to you at the bar. “Another hero, ready to save the day. Life on the line.”

You smiled into your glass of whiskey. “Good to see you too, Nat.” 

She ordered her usual — brandy, neat — before turning to you, smiling. “So, how’s my favorite fledgling spy doing? Kiss anyone yet? I hear it’s very effective.”

“Unfortunately, no.” You sighed as you set your glass down on the polished mahogany. “I think I’ll leave the part of the temptress up to you. You’re better at it anyway.” 

She watched you as she drank. “You do realize, if you take this mission, you’ll be doing the same thing I am.” She ordered another drink. “The only exception: you likely won’t have to kill him.”

You swallowed, slightly uncomfortable. Her eyes, always analyzing and observing, no doubt picked up in the slight shift in your demeanor. 

Natasha and you collaborated on a few projects here and there, nothing too exciting or noteworthy. But over the years you’d developed a friendship and, something you allowed yourself, trust. 

You chuckled, trying to cover a bit of your worry. “I’ll try not to aim for the chest, or head, for that matter.” 

“I get it.” Your eyes snapped to her only to find her brandy swirling in small circles in its glass. “I know that you don’t like the thought of killing someone and I know you have disguised emotions.” She smirked. “I know that this is going to be much harder for you because of it.” She took a sip of her liquor, giving you a minute to mull over what she said. 

“But I don’t have any feelings for him.” You protested, leaning over to her as she drank. 

She snorted. “Of course you do. When I even brought up the notion of killing him you immediately stiffened.” She gently put a hand on your shoulder. “But that’s okay. It’s alright to acknowledge your emotions, it gives you power over them. But you have to keep the end goal in mind.”

She kicked back the rest of her drink and a question you wanted to ask her for a while bubbled to your lips. 

“How do you do it? Work past the emotional thing?” 

She paused and sighed. “I stick to the plan. Even when it hurts.”

…

 Overnighters sucked.

Especially when the only work you had left you feeling more tired than awake. It felt as if every word you read sucked more and more energy out of you. You were fairly certain there was a fine line of red rimming your eyes and the pouches underneath them were puffy and irritated.

But the longer it took you to return to your house the better. Loki would be prowling around your building again — as he always did every couple of days — and, without its inhabitant, he would begin to question, to worry.

He’d never seen you not available to him. You were always there, always available. The truth was you liked routine, you liked predictability, and because he was the least predictable being on the planet, that was confusing for you: and insanely irritating.

Natasha couldn’t have been right. You didn’t have feelings for him, far from it. It was annoyance and his childish disposition that bothered you when it concerned him. Feelings were never involved and would never be involved. 

Besides, if those feelings came along you wouldn’t know them anyway.

You let out a groan as your head fell to your desk and onto your crossed arms. This wasn’t going to be easy and you knew you couldn’t change the way you acted as soon as he showed up. You hated admitting his intelligence but he was smart, really smart. 

A slight change of attitude would tip him off to your intentions. 

Besides, this was only pretend. This thing you were going to do wasn’t real; this was all imaginary. How you would convince him off the authenticity, you had no idea.

But maybe you could start with his idea of falling for him, slowly and gradually, and make him believe his witty charm was actually attractive. 

Tricking him in the end though would be your best reward. Then he could finally leave and get away from you. And then your life could return to as normal as possible. 

No distractions. 

No tricks. 

No deception. 

And definitely no men breaking in at god knows when in the morning. 

…

Your clothes cling to your skin and rivets of cold, wet rain slid down the sides of your neck.

In all fairness, you had no clue it would rain. But you were always prepared, your father always made sure of that. 

You could see your black umbrella in the car underneath the seat as if you were staring right at it as you jogged down the street, arms crossed, hands digging into your biceps. 

But what better a damsel in distress than a freezing cold, slightly sick one. One that let her walls slide down for a moment, an instant, before shielding herself again. 

Didn’t he want to play the role of a noble knight, fierce protector? Wasn’t that his goal, to make you feel as though you needed him as much as he needed you? 

He would get his sampling. 

Slightly coughing and ringing wet, you slipped through the apartment doors. Just as you turned on the light, you heard the sound of a window seal popping and feet on the floor. 

“Can’t I have just one second? One! To myself before you come running into my…” you couldn’t recall a time pure worry stood openly on his face and your complaint died on your lips. 

His eyes, opened and slightly blue, conveyed fear and he seemed to walk to you in a slight daze. His fingertips felt like liquid fire as he gently stroked your face, moving your wet hair out of it. 

“Where have you been?” He mumbled, deeply. Your brain turned off for a second and you started to lean into his gentle touch. Think. You snapped out of it and turned away. 

Kicking your shoes off, you brushed past him and laid your things down on your couch. Just as you’d moved past the island of your kitchen, he was right in front of it, pressing you into it. 

His nose hovered near your forehead and you felt your body heat respond to the closeness of him. “Don’t run away. I’ve only just begun to see the full picture.” His wall appeared again, the wittiness a deflector for your lack of response. 

Loki made a good habit of using his charm and wit to cover up his concern. His open display of it at your door was new, but you couldn’t entertain it yet. 

He holds your face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly across your cheeks. They feel soft but tough and strong and you try to keep reminding yourself about the mission. 

“You have to take better care of yourself, you’ll catch a cold.” He takes a towel from the counter and starts to gently rub your hair. His eyes are still concerned but arrogance crept in and slowly you see his wall starting to harden, to take shape. 

You feel his fingers acutely, as if they’re actually on your scalp and no separated by a towel. It almost feels as if they burn. 

His finger covered towels press into your head and move around, collecting the beads of rainwater lying in your hair. You let him have his moment, relaxing slightly, then you slide the towel out of his hands and do it on your own. 

You can’t appear to let your guard down completely. This is only step one in a long process. 

He sighs and traps you with his arms, a smirk covering his face. “What took you so long? And why are you drenched? It’s a bit out of the ordinary to see you so unprepared.” 

Tilting over slightly, your fingers nimbly gather your hair into the towel and with a twist, your hair sits in a cotton plop on your head. It gives you something to do as you try to think of a response. He lets you walk away as you turn from him and move towards the kitchen sink. 

You could say you forgot it but he would know you were lying. You could say you were in a hurry to get home, but that would bring its own set of problems and concerns requiring sets of lies to cover — much too risky. 

If you could somehow make him believe it was an emotional issue, that might work. 

He wants to believe he can solve your enigma. 

“I needed the walk.” You turn to him and find electricity in his gaze. It’s unnerving; it makes it hard to focus. “I…wanted a walk in the rain.” 

He looks unconvinced but you hold your ground. If you’re going to lie, you’re going to do this right. “That seems to be out of the ordinary for you.” His footsteps remind you of the shackles on the ghost of Christmas past. They clang together, a metallic ringing of imminent doom. 

“Yeah, well…” you lean against the counter, palms down and try to keep your voice calm but make it waver. The more angst you can create, the better. “Things haven’t been easy lately. They’ve been...nevermind.” 

You move away and there is no surprise when you’re trapped against the counter again. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.” He smiles down at you, satisfied and triumphant. Then his eyes shift, worry coloring them again. “What’s happened?” 

You create a forced laugh as if you’re trying to make light out of a difficult situation. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing I can’t handle. I really don’t want to get into it right now.” You try to escape his restraints, but his arms don’t move and they now move up to your arms. 

His gaze deepens and he draws yours up to his as he slightly squeezes your forearms. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, swear it.” 

You smile, half-fake, half-real. As much as you want to believe him, you know who he is. Just as he only lets you see what he wants you to see, you’ve been controlling his perception of you the whole time he’s been here. 

This is a game for two. 

This is a battle of the mind, not of the heart. 

You’re pretty sure his care isn’t totally sincere, that there’s some ulterior motive; you expect it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing here badgering you about an issue in Loki fashion if there wasn’t something else on his mind. 

“What are you really here for, Loki?” His smile drops a bit and you giggle, finally seeing victory. You know he’s been controlling what you see; now he knows too. 

His smile returns at your giggle but only with half the perfection it contained before. “To check on you.” 

You ignored the small flutter in your stomach and focused on the facts. The facts would protect you. The facts would never lie to you. The facts would keep you safe. 

You smiled again, tilting it to appear slightly saddened, your eyes drooping. Removing your arm from his hand, you reach up to his face and touch it like it could break. “If only that were true.” You mold your voice to sound sad, hurt. 

His barrier is breaking, you can see it in his eyes. As he opens his mouth, you turn away and trod toward your bedroom. “But that’s what I’m here for. You didn’t come home till late and you're drenched, you're never this unprepared. This isn’t like you.” 

You don’t respond and just keep moving. He hates it when you don’t respond. 

Soon enough — you even have to suppress a smile — he’s in front of you. “Say something. Please.” 

You have to stop because he blocks your path but you stare at his boots, looking despondent. 

He tilts your chin up. “Say something.” He whispers in an open plea. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” His eyes explore your face but you keep yours straight, attempting to look far away. 

When you do speak, it’s a real question, one playing around in your mind for a while. “Do you just come here for information?” Your eyes slide over to his and he watches you with sadness and pain. “Is that all I am to you?” 

“No,” he breathes out. He reaches out and pulls your foreheads together. “No, that’s not all that you are.” He sighs and tries to speak again “I-”

You sigh and move away from him. “No, that’s okay. You don’t have to force yourself. I only see what you want me to. I get it.” You move around to your bedroom and closed the door just as he called out your name. 

You'd only noticed now how cold your clothes are. You’d only just noticed the salt mixing in with rain droplets on your cheeks. 

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 1

Fandom: What We Do In The Shadows

Rating: Will be M, eventually.

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Word count: 1892

Summary: You wake up to find you have no memories of the past year...

A/N: I have this outlined, but not completed. Bear with me here, people. This is crossposted to AO3.

You opened your eyes to sunlight streaming in through your bedroom window. You sat bolt upright. You’d overslept and were late for work. Grabbing your phone off the nightstand, you stopped when you realized your phone background wasn’t a picture of that gorgeous actor from your favorite movie, but was instead a photo of a crescent moon. You didn’t remember changing it. As you puzzled over your lockscreen, you realized that the date was wrong. It said April. But it was May, not April. And the year was wrong. It’s May of the previous year.

Your phone is telling you almost a year has passed.

“Dawn!” you threw yourself out of bed and ran into the living area. “Dawn!”

Your flatmate, Dawn, sat on the couch, watching Netflix on the large TV. “Nice of you to finally join the living,” she joked. Glancing up and seeing the look on your face, she muted the TV. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday. Why? What happened?”

You ignored her questions. “No. What’s the date?”

Dawn paused. “It’s April 10.”

“What year?”

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. Come here; sit down.” She moved aside and gestured to the couch cushion beside her.

“What year!” You knew you shouldn’t be yelling. You knew you were panicking. But being aware of your panic didn’t mean you could stop it.

Dawn told you what year it was.

You collapsed on, rather than sat on, the couch beside her. Your heart was racing and you felt lightheaded. “I lost a year,” you exhaled.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I lost a year.” You looked over at Dawn. “I don’t remember the last year.”

~

You looked around the strangely dressed man, Viago, he’d introduced himself as, and into the house. It was a bit of shithole. But you steeled yourself as you stepped over the threshold and into the lounge. You’d been prepared for this. Anything that was both in your price range and available at the last minute was going to be subpar at best.

The place looked fairly tidy, though you suspected that might not be the norm. Your potential new flatmate was odd. He spoke with an accent you’d never heard before, maybe some sort of eastern European? And he wore clothes you didn’t think you’d see outside of a period drama. He was jittery, seemingly on edge, but he was friendly enough.

“Vladislav and Deacon are out for the night. Petyr is here, but he’s a bit of hermit, so I don’t think you’ll see him around too often, anyway. But all three gave me permission to make a final decision on the new flatmate. We could schedule another interview with Vladislav and Deacon if you’d be more comfortable with that, though.”

You’d been hoping the other three weren’t as odd as Viago. But a flatmate so antisocial you might not see him? That’s the extreme of eccentric. And someone named Vladislav? You chided yourself for being xenophobic. It was probably a common enough name in parts of Europe. Still, you found yourself really hoping this Deacon character at least was normal.

As Viago led you through the house, the chore wheel on the kitchen wall gave you some comfort. Maybe the place was well kept, after all. Though, the spelling of Petyr with a “Y” gave you pause.

“And this would be your room,” Viago said, as he opened a door to a bedroom, isolated down it’s own hallway. The room was surprisingly big, with huge windows on the far wall. It had its own attached bathroom, which was actually a big step up from sharing one with Dawn. This might work out after all.

“It’s nice,” you offered, upon realizing Viago was waiting for a reaction.

He smiled. “Great! I do have a few questions for you.”

“Of course.”

You migrated back downstairs to the kitchen table, where Viago pulled out a notebook, writing your name at the top of a blank page in the most gorgeous script you’d ever seen. You felt self conscious, despite the fact that you hadn’t written anything anywhere where Viago could see it and compare.

“Ok,” he began. “Will you be able to pay your share of the bills? Rent and utilities?”

You nodded. “That shouldn’t be an issue. I only work part time, but the hours are regular.” True enough, though you were transitioning to working remotely. No need to let him know you might be a constant presence in the way just yet.

He jotted something down. “Reason for leaving your current living situation?”

You tried not to let your irritation show on your face. “My roommate’s boyfriend is moving in, so she asked if I could find somewhere else to live.” And at the very last minute, you thought bitterly.

Viago made a face and muttered under his breath as he wrote in his notebook, “…a little rude.”  He was right. It drew a faint smile from you.

“We are all awake at night,” he paused, “for, uh, work. So, we sleep during the day. We’re willing to keep the noise to a minimum after midnight for your sake. Would you be able to mind the noise level during daylight hours?”

You thought about it. Inconvenient, but not unmanageable. Especially on the days you still went into work. “I think so, yeah.”

He nodded. “And finally, would you be willing to clean up after yourself and help with communal chores?”

“Definitely. I like a tidy home.”

“Great!” He scrawled again in his book before flipping it shut with a flourish. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Just a few. Why the vacancy?”

“Well, we never had a fifth flatmate. But the bills keep increasing and there’s a spare room, so we decided it might be time to bring in a st-, uh, another steady income.”

You nodded. Makes sense. The utilities costs in Wellington had been climbing through the roof. You and Dawn had been struggling a bit. Sure, this place was bigger, but utilities split five ways was guaranteed to be cheaper nonetheless.

“Four guys all flatting together. Are you sure you’re all comfortable with me moving in? I don’t want it to be an issue.” You personally didn’t see much of a problem in living with men, but you wanted to make sure that feeling was returned.

“We discussed it. There may be a bit of an adjustment, living with a… woman, after all these years. But, we’re willing to make any necessary adjustments.” Viago offered you a large, sudden smile, alarming you both with the gesture and with his pronounced canines. “Any other questions?”

“Uh, no, I think that just about covers it.”

“Wonderful! Then I would like to offer you the room! Unless, of course, you wanted to interview with Vladislav and Deacon first?”

You shook your head. In an ideal situation, obviously you’d want to meet the people you’d be living with. Unfortunately, time was of the essence in getting out of your current place, so you were willing to forgo the interviews to expedite the process.

“Ok, well I have a key already made up for you. You can move in as soon as you like, but remember to be quiet if you move in during the day.”

You took the key and shook his smooth, cool hand. “I can move in tomorrow afternoon.”

~

“I moved out?” you asked. “And Zach moved in?”

Dawn nodded, though her lips were pursed. “Yeah. He did. Didn’t last very long. He was a useless excuse for a boyfriend.”

You gave her a questioning look.

“He was cheating on me. God, it’s weird telling you this again. But, yeah. We broke up. I ran into you about six months ago. We caught up, but never got as close again as we used to be before I kicked you out.” She reached for your hand, and you let her grab it. “I apologized already, and we made up, but since you can’t remember; I’m sorry for how I handled that situation, and for letting us drift apart like that.”

You weren’t mad at Dawn. You felt like you should be. The offense seemed fresh in your mind, recent. But it didn’t feelfresh. You didn’t feel hurt anymore. “I forgive you,” you told her honestly. “Again. And I’m sorry for whatever role I played in letting us drift apart.”

She brushed off your apology. “I already forgave you.”

“Ok. But if we never got close again, how did I end up living here again? How long have I been living here? What happened this past year?”

“Since you and I made up six months ago, we’ve only seen each other three times. The last time was almost two weeks ago. We had lunch. You seemed fine, though. No memory issues. But yesterday morning, really early, you texted and asked if the spare room was still available. It was, clearly, and you were here in bed when I got back home last night.”

You were more curious than confused. There was so little information that your brain couldn’t even throw around unfounded theories or become frustrated by unsolved puzzles. There was nothing to clarify even the biggest, most important, or obvious pieces yet.

“Why though? What happened?”

“All the text said was ‘I need to move out ASAP. It isn’t working out here anymore. Can I move back in?’”

“Dawn, I don’t-“

“I really, really don’t know what you’ve been up to this past year. You’ve been closed off the few times we hung out. Secretive, almost.”

“Me? Secretive?” you asked incredulously. You had never been overly private, especially not with friends.

“I don’t know. Maybe not secretive, I guess, but definitely less open than usual. I figured it was because we ended up drifting apart. You just weren’t as comfortable with me anymore.” The thought made you sad. “Whatever it was,” Dawn continued, “I really only know the most basic information on the past year.”

You didn’t say anything, waiting for her to fill the silence with whatever it was she knew. She obliged.

“You were flatting with a few guys, four or five, I think, from Europe. You were seeing one of them though.”

“What!”

Dawn nodded. “You were head over heels. Even I could tell, but again, you weren’t giving me too much info to work with in our limited interactions, so that’s really all I got.”

“Right. Sorry.”

She ignored your interrupting apology. “I figured that’s why you had to leave in such a hurry. ‘It isn’t working out.’ I figured you guys must’ve broken up.”

“Were we together long?”

“I think so. When we reconnected that first time, you already seemed pretty serious, and that was six months ago.”

A boyfriend. An ex-boyfriend, technically. An ex-boyfriend you didn’t even remember. How could that have happened? How could any of this have happened? How could you just go to sleep one night, and wake up the next day without remembering the past year?

“Did you ever meet him? Or any of the flatmates? Anyone at all I interacted with?”

You had forgotten Dawn still held your hand until she gave it a gentle, encouraging squeeze. “I never met anyone. You didn’t talk about the others too much, just Vlad. That’s his name, by the way. Vlad.”

Vlad. Okay, then.

[sunsetinmyvein]

I Know That I’ll Lose - Chapter Ten - It Took a Little While to Recognise

A/N - This chapter was heavily inspired by this tune.

By the time he walked off of the stage that night, her brain was mush. He really did seem to know how to push her buttons and the amount of effort that it had taken to not cave all day to his tormenting was starting to take its toll. She should just tell him. Just tell him that she was, indeed, into him and then she could go back to living a normal life without Matty hell bent on destroying what little remained of her willpower. Hell, maybe she would even get something out of that obnoxious boy in exchange. That might be nice. It would probably be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and sends her into a coma, but it would be nice until then. However, before she even had the chance to find Matty in the green room after the show, Ross informed her that he’d already gone back to the bus. And by the time they’d gotten back to the bus, celebrations of ending the tour were already in full swing and the man of the hour was being pulled in every which direction. It irritated her that by the time she was finally in a mental state to want to get it over with and just tell him, she couldn’t. But, for Matty, that was the whole intention. He had realised while he was on stage for the final show that his solution to not knowing what to do when she finally told him, was to not let the bet end when the tour did. If he could draw it out, he had a reason to draw out their time together. Even if the bet felt dumb at this point, it was his best reason to ask her to stay in his life. What excuse did he have once he didn’t have that? Nothing. And the thought of not getting to see her anymore stung a lot more than the thought of not winning the bet. So, this would have to do. He’d avoid her until they went back home and then play dumb about it. That sounded reasonable enough. Which left her ending up deciding to hang out with the other friends that she had made on tour for the rest of the night instead, much to her displeasure.

But just like that, tour was over. She’d survived. Matty hadn’t won the bet. She got her pay packet for the merch work that she had done. Her bags were packed. It was time to go home. The flight that she had to catch to get back home was leaving sooner than Matty’s was, which left her with the awkward situation of having to be the first to say goodbye. Most of her proper farewells with the band and crew had been exchanged last night at their closing party; that way she didn’t have to try and get around to seeing all of them before a mid-morning flight. But other than still being a bit bitter about not seeing much of Matty last night, she didn’t overly want to say goodbye either. Saying goodbye was hard. Especially to someone who you didn’t want to leave, but also didn’t want to admit to them that you didn’t want to leave them. It was literally as she was standing on the street, waiting for her taxi with her bags in hand that she finally realised she had no time left to continue putting it off.

“It, uh…” She turned to the boy beside her, trying desperately to find half-decent sounding words. Should she tell him now? It didn’t feel like the right time. There probably would’ve been a ‘right’ time last night if Matty wasn’t so annoyingly popular. But it was too late for that now.

  She let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding as she finally just bit the bullet. “Thanks for inviting me out on tour. It was really fun.” She said, trying to give him a genuine smile despite finding the moment quite bittersweet.

“I’m really glad you came out. Was nice havin’ you here.” He nodded as he took a drag on his cigarette. There was a lot more that he wanted to say, but he needed more time to think on the most eloquent way to express those thoughts.

The silence hung between them for a moment. “So… um…” A deflated sigh was all she could muster as she watched her taxi roll up to the curb. “Guess this-”

“I’ll see you soon.” He interrupted, dropping his smoke onto the ground and extinguishing it with his shoe.

Will you? “Oh, okay. Cool.” She finished, unable to stop herself from grinning a little bit at the thought. “In which case, see you then.” She chuckled as she hugged him briefly. He hugged her back tightly, trying not to dwell on it too much. As he moved back, he flashed her a bright grin, before wishing her a safe flight and watching her cab drive away.

  It was difficult for Matty to stamp his progressively harder to ignore feelings into the dirt and just disregard everything until after she had left. But he felt that if he made this tour as final as it was about to be, then that’d be it for their friendship. And as much as he struggled to work out exactly what he wanted; he knew he definitely didn’t want that. So, he said his half-goodbye, packed his bags and flew home with his friends hoping that he could work through all of his messy thoughts in the comfort of his own home. Except, his thoughts only seemed to end up even more muddled as everything gradually came crashing down around him over the next week after arriving at home. He knew that he’d been giving a few mixed messages in their last 48 hours together, but despite that he had sort of expected to hear her from her a decent bit within the few days after they got home. What he hadn’t expected was radio silence. He’d received a few messages from her when she landed, confirming that she was at home safe and sound, and then nothing. No texts. No calls. No social media posts. Nothing. She had mysteriously dropped off the face of the planet. Even her last online times had been offline for so long that they no longer displayed anything. It wasn’t like her. Had he been wrong in hoping that their social withdrawal would be mutual? It was slightly easier to deal with the lack of company when he had been expecting it to drop off a bit, but it still wasn’t sitting great overall that he had been forced to give it up cold turkey. He didn’t want to say that he was worried about her per se, it was just very uncharacteristic and it had him on edge. He had to keep himself distracted. 

  So, he hung out with the band as much as he could, caught up with family, saw friends. Anything and everything he could think of to do now that he was back at home - he crammed into his schedule. But it was at night when his thoughts plagued him the worst. When his friends finally went to bed and he was left by himself, scrolling through his phone. What had he done wrong? It was after about six days of no contact that a photo had been put up on Instagram that she was tagged in. He frowned down at his phone as he opened it. It was a photo of her with some dude in a field somewhere. They were looking awfully… close. Matty inspected the photo carefully. They weren’t kissing, or hugging, or doing anything couple-y, but they were both clearly having lots of fun. Was this why she hadn’t spoken to him in days? Because she was off with some guy she was seeing? As soon as the thought entered in mind, he felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. He clicked on the uploader’s profile; it was the guy that she was with. But his account didn’t exactly reveal who he was. It was just a few photos of various shows that he had been at, a heap of fancy beers and photos of some dog. Who was this guy? Was she dating him? Had she been dating him for a while? His mind quickly spiralled down the rabbit hole of endless questions as he stared at the photo.

  Where did he fuck it all up? He had thought he was doing fairly well. Things seemed to be falling into place and he felt like he was on the verge of getting her to actually admit her feelings for him. But… Wait… Did she have feelings for him? Was the reason she hadn’t told him because she actually didn’t? Surely not. He eyed the notebook sitting on his coffee table. More often than not what he wrote down in that was a lot more thoughtful than he felt it was at the time of writing. Maybe something he had written down would give him a clue. As he flicked through the book, he felt like maybe he could find the answers scrawled into the pages. Had he missed something? Was there something he wasn’t picking up on? But everything in it just seemed… happy. Was the photo just all in his head? Or were the last six months all in his head? He couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t exactly have her around to verify the answers right now. Normally she was very good at keeping him grounded so that he didn’t spiral out about things like this. But she wasn’t here. And she wasn’t talking to him. And the burning in his chest suggested that maybe this was why. He stood up and made his way into his kitchen, rifling through his cupboard. There was a bottle of cheap vodka sitting in the back of it somewhere, he knew it, and he needed something to numb this sinking feeling. He found the bottle, screwing the cap off and letting it fall to the floor as he took a swig of it. Really, nobody was to blame for this except himself. He supposed he was just the boy who cried wolf, wasn’t he? He kept dangling the carrot just out of reach. Kept stringing her along without any indication whether he was reeling that string in or going to cut it. Why should she believe that he was anything worth holding out for when he’d never actually proven it? As much as he liked to think he walked that fine line well, he just couldn’t seem to get it right. He’d taken too long to work out what he wanted and she’d finally given up. Fuck. He took another swig from the bottle. It felt like the vodka wasn’t working, he wanted to feel better but he just wasn’t feeling anything.

  * * *

  The door slowly clicked open as George turned the handle. He’d been trying to call Matty for the last hour and had no response, so he figured it would probably be best to check in on his friend. As he opened the front door, he spied the curly haired boy lying on his kitchen floor, next to a mostly empty bottle of vodka. “Hey Matty…” He started slowly. “What are you doing?” George asked carefully, taking a few apprehensive steps towards him.

Matty let out a long sigh before answering, “Moping.”

“About what?” He asked with an eyebrow raised as he pulled a chair over to sit near him. He grabbed his phone off of the floor and held it out to George, knowing full well that it would still be open on the picture. George looked at it for a few moments in silent contemplation before speaking, “Who is he?”

“Dunno.” He mumbled.

“Then how do you know it’s anything worth worrying about?” He asked as he locked it and handed it back.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He huffed, leaning up on his elbows to look at the drummer better. “I haven’t given her any reason to keep on waiting for me to sort my shit out. I’m just the asshole who can’t make up his damn mind. Surely she’s been able to find a guy in the time it’s taken her to work out that I’m a lost cause.” Matty scratched at his forearm as he spoke. George watched the movement carefully.

“You taken anything?” He asked bluntly.

“No. You’d already know if I had.” The more he spoke; the more George was able to hear the slur in Matty’s words. That bottle must’ve been full when he started. But it was better than the alternative. He picked it up, taking it into the kitchen and tipping the rest out. He certainly didn’t need any more hard liquor tonight.

  “Why don’t you just, y’know, ask her?” George questioned with a pointed look as he walked back over and stared down at his friend, deciding to skip over the self-deprecating comments. The silence hung heavy in the room.

“She hasn’t spoken to me in a few days.” He eventually admitted.

“What did you do?” He wanted to be mad that that was the first question George asked, but it was a pretty fair accusation to make. Matty had accidentally fucked up his fair share of relationships through his antics. He’d also fucked up plenty intentionally, as well.

“Nothing!” He said defensively. “I think.” He added with a frown. “I hope.” He said quietly as he ran his hands down his face.

“Well… it sounds like maybe you need to have a chat with her, and make sure you haven’t blown it somehow.” He pointed out. Matty just groaned loudly as he flopped back onto the floor. George nudged the frontman with his foot to get his attention. He waited until he was looking at him to speak, “And if you haven’t, you probably need to reconsider that bit about not having your mind made up. Because it seems pretty fuckin’ made up to me, mate.” Matty didn’t really seem to register the comment. The gears seemed to be turning behind his eyes, but it didn’t look like anything clicked into place. Maybe it would be a conversation better had in the morning. “But in the meantime, c’mon.” He held his hand out to help Matty up. “Let’s get out of here.”

  George took him to the bar down the street, forcing him to drink a glass of water between every drink and to eat the bowl of peanuts sitting on the table. As much as the conversation and company were nice, it didn’t fully pull Matty out of his thoughts. He felt like his mind was playing tricks on him. Surely everything couldn’t have just been in his head. He hadn’t felt this conflicted in a long time, and the last time he had, he had pretty unhealthy ways of getting his brain to shut up about it. The mildly healthier coping mechanisms that he had been relying on recently suddenly weren’t talking to him. Though, he never really told her anything about that, so he was the only one at fault for the lack of it now. He felt like if he told her how much he depended on her being around then it would make her realise that he wasn’t coping as well as everyone told him he was. Which might mean that she’d leave. Had he forgotten how to be alone? Maybe he should tell her. Maybe it would make her talk to him.

  Eventually he excused himself from the table, telling George that he was going to the bathroom. He stepped out through the back door of the bar, feeling the cold night air hit his face as he glanced around the alley. It was thankfully empty. Before he could think too much about it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled her number. If he could just speak to her, she could fix this. He was dying to hear her voice. But as expected, there was no answer. It rang out and went to voicemail.

“I, uh…” He started thinking about what he wanted to say. He had a million things he wanted to tell her, but a million things wouldn’t fit in a voicemail message. And what did they matter? It didn’t matter how much he wished she was here, because she wasn’t here. She was never his, as much as he pretty much felt like it, so he really had no right to be so torn up about the thought of her leaving. And she didn’t have to be here, because her purpose in life wasn’t to look after this junkie wannabee musician. “Actually, don’t worry.” He slurred with a sigh. She didn’t have to deal with this, he didn’t have any right to dump his 2am drunken thoughts on her. “Goodnight. Never mind.” He hung up the phone, sliding it back into his pocket and pushing his way back into the bar for another drink.

  * * *

  The next day he woke up to a missed call less than half an hour old. Had she finally decided to talk to him? He frowned down at his phone, wondering why now and mulling it over for a few moments. Should he call back straight away? His mouth felt like ash, he had a splitting headache and he felt pretty nauseous, but those were all things that he could hide somewhat well through a phone conversation. After a few passing moments, he decided to call back. He had spent most of last night feeling like shit for being the jerk who kept stringing her along, he figured it was probably time to start showing some reciprocation. Assuming he still had the chance. It was a few rings before she picked it up.

  “Hey!” She answered enthusiastically. He winced at the instant reaction he had to hearing her voice. He forgot how much he missed this.

“Hi.” He replied, clearing his throat nervously, “How’re you?” He continued, trying to keep it as casual as he could manage.

“Yeah, good! Tired, though. The festival was really great but it’s such long days to work.” She answered.

“The…” He frowned as he played those words over in his head again. “The what?”

“The music festival. The one out in the country that I told you I was working this weekend. I didn’t have any reception out there; it was so boring whenever we weren’t working.” She said these sentences like they meant nothing, but they suddenly made everything in Matty’s brain make sense.

“Oh. Oh. That music festival, yeah.” He lied with a laugh as he scratched at the side of messy curls, trying to remember when she had told him about that. “Who was playing again?” As she started rattling off the setlist, the information came back to him. He hadn’t committed that festival to memory because he hadn’t known any of those band names. “Were they any good?” He asked offhandedly, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I didn’t really catch many sets; we were pretty flat out.” She answered.

  Silence filled the call as he planned his next move. He figured this was his in to try and work out who she had been with. If he knew who he was up against, maybe he could prove he was better. “So… Who were you out there with?” He asked with as much nonchalance in his voice as he could muster.

“There were a couple of people I knew that I worked the show with last year. It was good to catch up with them. Um… my manager was one of my brother’s friends from high school. He’s really nice, sorted out a holiday house for all of us and gave me a lift to and from the show. Oh, and my brother of course.” Her brother. Bloody hell. He had never actually met him, had he? It all made sense now. That explained the closeness in the photo without any actual intimacy. He found himself laughing at how quickly he had spiralled all that information into something it wasn’t. “What?” She asked, confused by the hysterics he was caught in.

“Nothing. Glad you had a good time.” He answered, finally feeling the weight lift from his shoulders.

“So, that voicemail you left-” She started, and just as quickly as it had left, that weight was right back on there. He left her a voicemail last night? Fuck. He didn’t remember that. What had he said? Could he pretend the call got cut off and reverse access voicemail messages? Probably not. “You never actually, y’know, said anything.” She laughed. Phew. “What was it that you called for?”

He thought about this for a few brief seconds. Fuck the bet. “Stay at mine this week.” He blurted out before he could think too hard on it.

  Despite her initial surprise in the offer, she had ended up agreeing to fly over to London this weekend and stay at his place. For a week. In his home. With him. His mind fucking reeled at what he had just done. Both ends of the spectrum were running rampant through his brain. Things could potentially go very, very well, and maybe having her cooped up with him for a week would be amazing. Or, maybe it would go terribly and everything that had run through his brain last night would come true and suddenly his whole way of thinking for the last six months would turn out to all be wrong. As he laid in bed and tried to work his way through this existential tug-o-war, he eventually heard his bedroom door open. Before he could roll over to see who it was, he felt as massive weight start crushing him into the mattress. Now he knew who it was.

  “George, get off me.” He growled, his face pressed into the duvet. “Why are you even here?”

“I crashed here last night after we got back. How’re you feelin’?” George’s voice called out as he shuffled around a bit to get comfortable.

“I’d feel a lot- ow, fuck.” Matty yelped as he received an elbow to the ribs. “-lot better if you fucking stopped flattening me.” At that, his best friend rolled to the other side of the bed with a laugh and allowed Matty some space.

“Do you remember our talk from last night?” He asked as their conversation took a more serious tone. Through his groggy brain he tried his best to remind himself of what conversation he would be referring to, before remembering George’s words about his mind ‘already being made up’. He was right. Had Matty not been too caught up in his own ridiculous thought spirals, he might’ve seen it sooner. He couldn’t believe that he’d been mistaking his feelings for dependence for this long. But that was about to change.

Last Chapter

Next Chapter

[scrunchie-face]

My ranking of TS8 based on absolutely nothing but my personal opinion

From least to most favorite:

peace: this is the only song on the album i really don’t like. her accent/cadence sounds a little affected to me and there aren’t any lyrics or musical moments that really resonate.

invisible string: i feel like i might get some pushback on this since so many people seemed to LOVE this one but hear me out. This one is clearly about Joe and their relationship and for me, there is not a single song about him that she has written that has been as good as “Call It What You Want” and “New Year’s Day.” Every other song she has written since then about being happily in a relationship with Joe has fallen flat for me. Also, I’m not gonna lie, the more cynical and less romantic side of me finds the whole concept of the “invisible string” to be a bit trite and saccharine. “Isn’t it just so pretty?” To me, yes, it is a pretty thought and that’s all it is.

mirrorball: this song is pretty, and reminds me very strongly of the Speak Now era, but with the complexity and maturity that she’s obviously acquired since then. That being said, to me the metaphor feels like it’s trying to go in two different directions at once and neither one quite gets there, leaving a song that feels somewhat unfinished. It’s either a very pretty love song or a darker reflection on identity, but it never feels like it commits to either.

august: this is where we really start to get into “there’s nothing really wrong with it, I just like other tracks better” territory. Lyrically, I think it’s very poignant, with its reflections on love, time, and memory. Unfortunately, I think the whole “Teenage Love Triangle” hint actually does this song a disservice by indicating that the speaker is the “other woman.” Since the bent of the other two songs (”cardigan” and “betty”) seems to indicate that those two singers/speakers are the couple that is “meant to be” it gives the poor unnamed “august” singer a bit of an uphill battle for sympathy in context. That’s not to say I don’t have any sympathy for her; I have by far the least sympathy for James. Unfortunately, James gets a catchier song (more on that when i get to “betty”). Which brings me to the real reason for this low-ish ranking: I just don’t find the song as musically compelling as most of the others on the album.

this is me trying: as I suggested in the previous paragraph, a lot of the way I rank songs personally is by how much the music resonates with me. I can forgive a lot lyrically if the way the music moves gives me goosebumps. With “this is me trying,” there are several lyrics that I love. The repeated “I have a lot of regrets about that”? PERFECTION. Musically, however, the song as a whole doesn’t really impress itself upon me, making all but the couple lyrics I really love forgettable to me.

mad woman: this song, and the two on either side of it, were ranked somewhat arbitrarily. higher than “this is me trying” for having a little more edge and a more engaging tune, lower than “hoax” because I generally prefer sadness and angst to anger. This is by far the most vindictive track on the album, and while I understand it and think it’s executed very well, the tone isn’t totally appealing to me personally.

hoax: this song, to me, has a very strong Hozier vibe that I enjoy very much. As i said in my blurb about “mad woman” I connect more emotionally with the sadness and turmoil here, hence its higher ranking. “stood on the cliffside screaming ‘give me a reason’“?! Gorgeous, and if you’ve ever felt that way, the line resonates in your bones. “the only hoax I believe in” is such a complex line that I could probably write paragraphs about it; it’s got psychological, emotional, and even religious elements to it that I think are part of what makes such a sad and personal song still feel universally relatable. It asks you, what are your hoaxes? Which ones do you believe? Is it because you want to? Because you have to? betty: ranking this song was difficult, because i find the character of James to be incredibly irritating. Unfortunately, the questionable nature of James’ behavior and attitude towards Betty and the unnamed girl is not enough to condemn the song to a lower ranking because the tune is just so catchy and fun. It’s got one of the best hooks on the album: the rhyming of “Inez” and “she says” just delights me every time. The “--most times--” caveat is amusing and very in character for a teenager trying to explain himself. And then “the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you.” It sounds super trite, yes, but it would’ve probably gotten my forgiveness when I was seventeen. Also I love “will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?” Bold words for someone in James’ position but I love the bravado and the way it pairs with the music. The triumph here may be premature but it’s SUPER contagious. epiphany: so this one is perhaps the most arbitrarily placed because I realized when I got the the end of my list that I had forgotten  it.... BUT that being said, I really like this song. It seems to be one of the more divisive on the album; people either love it or think it’s boring. I like it a lot. When we talk about big events--wars, pandemics--it’s very easy to distance ourselves from them and forget that those more affected than we are are people too. This song gently rehumanizes the people we see in books and newspapers and tv reports, reminding us that they are suffering, they are trying, and reminding them that they are seen and loved. It’s extremely beautiful and moving.

the 1: based on my previous claims that the music is  my most important factor in song ranking, this one may seem unfairly high. Like with “peace” I find the accent/modulation of her voice in this song to be somewhat affected and irritating. The tune, while fun and catchy, doesn’t really have much power behind it. But I enjoy it just enough that, paired with some absolutely spot-on lyrics, this becomes a song I was deeply attached to from the first listen. Anyone who has ever had an important relationship that came to nothing will recognize the brief emotional rollercoaster of “I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though,” and feel absolutely convicted by the bridge. “persist and resist the temptation to ask you/ if one thing had been different/ would everything be different today?” If you’ve lost a friend or a lover, you’ve tormented yourself with that question, I guarantee it. Even off her musical A-game, she absolutely nails the emotions here, and I love it.

my tears ricochet: this song actually started out pretty close to the bottom and slowly made its way up. Honestly, the reason for its low ranking was that I still can’t quite figure out what it means. Taylor occasionally writes songs that are very hard to tease out into any sort of linear narrative or neat metaphor; you feel them more than you understand them. And for that reason it usually takes me a little more time to get to a point where I appreciate them. The relationship here is tangled; it’s not the simple bad guy/good girl that we would’ve seen in the Speak Now era, and I would argue that at times it’s unclear which party is even the speaker. Once my analytical mind got past that hurdle, I remembered that this is one of the most musically powerful songs on the album. The bridge? GOOSE.BUMPS. The way the music builds and pounds at “just not home... in your bones.” Shivers. Even if I don’t totally understand what the song means, i can feel the conviction and emotion in the words and music and that is what makes it such a pleasure to listen to.

cardigan: this song is simply beautiful. just lovely. sad and nostalgic and hopeful and it just hits on some stuff that is absolutely true. “when you are young they assume you know nothing./ But I knew you.” I recently had a conversation with my husband about this very concept. This idea that adults look down on young people simply because they don’t have “perspective.” But the truth is that young people know something very important: what it is like to be young and to experience things AS A YOUNG PERSON. Not as an adult looking back on being young, but as a person to whom these experiences are fresh and real and important. “cardigan” takes that whole concept: the struggle between youthful experience and adult perspective, and absolutely NAILS IT. Add in a touch of the sentiments from “the 1″: “i knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs.... i knew i’d curse you for the longest time,” and combine it with a melody that rises and falls and slows down and speeds up and you just have this gorgeous tribute to youth and life and love.

illicit affairs: i love this song so so much. I’ve never been in an “illicit affair,” but the regret and the confusion and the attachment and the love and the hate and the feeling of being trapped are all so raw and visceral that even if you’ve never felt anything like this before in your life you can feel it now. Underneath the fairly simple melody of “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby,” you can hear the screaming anger and heartbreak. “look at this idiotic fool that you made me!” Gah. I can’t even. It’s just so real. So there. This is a song that you both understand AND feel and it’s so powerful it’s almost overwhelming. Taylor and her killer bridges absolutely ending me every time.

the last great american dynasty: this song is so fun. The story is funny and sad except the indomitable Rebecca doesn’t for a moment let you feel sorry for her. As soon as you see her pacing the rocks looking out over the ocean--a wistful, often angst-ridden position--the song turns right around and informs you that she stole a neighbor’s dog and dyed it green. And then, “and then it was bought by me.” The story has been so definitively about someone ELSE this time until suddenly SURPRISE! The twist at the end is delightful; every story we tell, every story we love, we tell it and love it because it’s about us too. And like i said, there is a quiet undercurrent of sadness and loneliness that never becomes the focal point of the song but is there giving it depth and something more to think about that facts and funny anecdotes. This song is a unique one in Taylor’s discography, and it stands up very well to that status.

exile: is my love for this song partially colored by the fact that Justin Vernon’s voice makes me swoon? Probably. The duet between him and Taylor is hair-raisingly beautiful and heartachingly melancholy. But that aside, I think the thing that first caught my attention was Taylor’s verse. The “staring honey/understudy/knuckles bloody” rhyme drives me absolutely WILD. It’s SO GOOD. It flows perfectly and poetically and honestly i transcend my body and scream with delight into the ether at those three lines every time. That is not an exaggeration. Also, “I’m not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?” And of course the juxtaposition between “never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)” is this perfect description of how, to quote another, much older, lyric “miscommunication leads to fallout.” This song reminds me very much of “Story of Us.” In case you couldn’t tell from previous comments, this whole album, for me, recalls Speak Now, very strongly in many ways. I see her revisiting a lot of similar themes and stories with a more mature perspective and a different sound. Red  as well, actually, but I digress.

seven: i knew from very early on that this would be my favorite song on the album. Taylor’s voice goes places I have NEVER heard before, evoking something elemental and primal. “Before I learned civility/ I used to scream ferociously/ any time I wanted.” Her forays into actual childhood in her songwriting are periodic but relatively rare, and this is unquestionably the best of the lot. Here we see children, almost too young to remember exactly what happened, but marked forever by their experiences of nature and relationships. “I can’t recall your face/ I’ve still got love for you.” This song evokes all the things that dance around the edge of your memory: faces from long ago, the feeling of flying, the fear of falling, the irresistible impulse to plant yourself on the ground and fling your existence out into the world with your voice. The need to feel safe. The references to a friend’s troubled home life are oblique: “your dad is always mad... you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet,” and the solutions are childlike: “come live with me...and be pirates,” “move to India forever.” The song is an immersive experience, charged with feelings you can’t quite express, but that you know and remember, although they are perhaps faded a bit around the edges.

[necer0s]

Web Serials Rec List

Recently I went on a bit of a rant about the state of web serial fandom and community, and people seemed to be interested in the idea of a rec list of web serials I enjoy when I brought it up, so... here we go!  This’ll be a little long, so I put it under a readmore.  Also, I got into web serials because I was looking to read more litRPG stories that weren’t horribly sexist and bad, so fair warning that you’ll see a lot of those in this list.

Before talking about specific stories, I should mention the few sites I know which do organize and recommend web serials.  First is obviously Top Web Fiction and its sister site, Web Fiction Guide.  These two are a great first stop if you’re looking for something popular, or something in a specific category, or something similar to what you’ve already read.  They’re not hosting sites, though-- you go from these two to whichever page the serial is on.  

Second on my list of sites is Royal Road.  A hosting site for all sorts of stories, but focused on original LitRPG fiction, Royal Road is a great place to find interesting stories.  This is where I usually go these days when I’m looking for something new.  

Finally, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the Spacebattles forums.  This site hosts a lot of original stories, but it’s not really set up to help you find new stories.  Feel free to explore, though-- this is where much of the web serial community lives.  

Now, on to the promised rec list!  Let me start with the first web serial I ever read:  Super Powereds!  Set in a superhero universe, Super Powereds is the story of five Powereds (people with uncontrollable superpowers) who, through a sketchy experiment, are made into Supers (people with controllable superpowers) and go to school to become Heros (government authorized and trained superheros).  If you’ve ever read BNHA or Civil War or X-Men, this is the story that will make you go “ah, so that’s how it should be done.”  Cannot recommend highly enough.  Regrettably, however, it seems that at the time of writing this, the first three volumes of the series have been removed to comply with Amazon regulations.  With luck, they’ll be back soon.  

Next, Mother of Learning.  One of the best-regarded series I know, Mother of Learning started as a worldbuilding project for the author, and grew to become an absolutely magnificent story where a young irritable student of magic stumbles into a time loop and is forced to gain maturity and power in order to escape... before the dangers of the time loop catch up with him.  Recently completed, this story is perhaps my highest recommendation.  

Threadbare is a fantastic LitRPG story starring an intelligent teddy bear golem (the eponymous Threadbare) and his magnificently bizarre family and friends.  With a story that initially appears stereotypical (if well-written) but which grows complicated, mysterious, and even quite dark, this story currently spans three different arcs, each focusing on a different character in the same setting.  Start with Threadbare, then read Small Medium, and then Dragon Hack in order to follow along as the mysteries of the world of Generica are slowly revealed.  Just be ready for a lot of puns along the way...

Everybody Loves Large Chests is the first of these stories which I hesitate to recommend, though not because the quality is in any way bad.  But it is a rather fanservice-filled story, up to and including sexual content (although that’s usually clearly marked), which may be offputting to some readers.  I will say only this-- of all the fanservice-filled stories I’ve ever read, this is the one where I most felt that the characters, not the author, were making the decision.  If that’s tolerable to you, then let me recommend the delightful story of a mimic who’s power-hungry, money-hungry, and just plain hungry.  The very best kind of power fantasy, ELLC is a hilarious delight to read.

Black Blood Tales is actually a site with two different stories by the same author, and it’s also the only rec on this list which is both unfinished and abandoned.  For that reason, and also because it’s rather dark and occasionally a touch sexual, I hesitate to recommend this one as well, but what the hell, why not.  The two stories are Taint and Trials.  Taint is a xianxia power fantasy story with an antivillain protagonist, and my favorite of the two stories.  It also leaves off at a pretty good point, so it’s definitely worth a go.  Trials, on the other hand, is much lower-powered.  It’s your standard “protagonist dies and goes to another world while getting to choose new powers” story... except the world she enters has no magic, only slightly better technology than ours, and the protagonist can barely choose anything that even qualifies as a power.  If you don’t mind abandoned stories, both of these are well worth a read.

There is No Epic Loot Here, Only Puns.  Among the various kinds of LitRPG stories, a fairly popular one is the idea of the “Dungeon Core”-- stories where the main character is effectively a changing, evolving dungeon with a mind.  Of those stories, this is probably my favorite.  It stars a Dungeon Core who’s terribly bad at being a dungeon, but pretty darn good at finding friends and making family.  Adorable, funny, and occasionally heartwrenching, this is definitely a story worth trying.

Vainqueur the Dragon is the most recent of the stories on this list, but I definitely feel it’s worth including.  “Dragon wakes up to discover a thief raiding his hoard” is a cliche start, but everything that happens after that is about as far from a cliche as possible.  Constantly hilarious, frequently fascinating, and on rare occasions deeply touching in a way I did not expect.

The Wandering Inn.  Even among web serials, which are often extremely long, this is The Big One.  The Wandering Inn is the story of Erin Solstice, a girl from our world, who walked into a fantasy world... one that she’s almost completely unprepared to survive.  Stumbling into an inn, she attempts to make her home there and gains her first level as an [Innkeeper].  This magnificent portal fantasy LitRPG stars a huge world, a huge cast of characters, a huge story, and a really, really huge wordcount.  Settle in for a long ride with this one, but I promise it’s worth it.  

Finally, I should say that this list is obviously incomplete.  It doesn’t even include everything I’ve read, let alone all the stories that I haven’t read for one reason or another.  No list of web serials is complete without mentioning Worm, for example, but that story is too dark for me to deal with, and so there’s nothing I can say about it.  If you have recommendations of your own, or even just want to add something about one of the stories I mentioned, then please say something!  After all, I’m always looking for new stories as well.