#recognizing it in each other sometimes even trying subtly to coax it out of each other

[mechawolfie]

UH.. chucks this at u and runs

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Azul Ashengrotto of Royal Sword Academy || Chapter 3: A Little More Part of His World

Summary

While shopping for what to wear at the Autumn Dance, Jamil runs into Azul.

They decide to spend more time together and gain a better understanding of each other’s lives. After a particularly relaxing day, Jamil takes a step to make sure that Azul becomes a little more present in his life.

Word Count: 5,437

Jamil is walking along the aisles of the department store, idly looking at the rows of suits hanging on the racks.

Crowley announced yesterday that NRC is invited to the RSA Autumn Dance, and Jamil is looking to see if he can find anything he'd like to wear.

As he gets closer to one corner of the store, he hears soft music. There's a piano set up here that anyone can play if they wanted to, so that wasn't a surprise.

Jamil looks at the suits hanging in one aisle, and he catches a glimpse of the piano player on one of the mirrors on a wall.

He's wearing a dark purple hoodie and black pants with white sneakers, pretty normal clothing. What caught Jamil's attention is the purple-silver hair and the glasses.

Is that Azul?

Jamil curiously turns to see if it is, and quietly walks towards him to watch him play.

As he steps closer, he can see that it's definitely Azul. He has a look of calm concentration as his slender fingers smoothly glide over the keys, coaxing out melodies that floated in the air.

Azul looks completely in his element. He's subtly swaying to the music, and when Jamil listened closer he could hear Azul humming.

Jamil wonders if he recognizes the song.

Regardless, though, he closes his eyes and basks in the soothing melody.

The lyrics come to him as the song reaches its end.

The parade traveled on With the sun in my eyes, you were gone But I knew even then In a crowd of thousands I'd find you Again

Jamil lets the silence settle before speaking.

"You can play the piano as well now? Smart and talented," he teases. "You're never going to run out of tricks up your sleeves, are you?"

Azul turns to him in surprise, then chuckles as he recognizes him.

"I used to be in a band with Jade and Floyd in middle school. I still play from time to time." He turns in his seat to face him properly.

"A band with Jade and Floyd?" Jamil repeats, incredulous at this revelation. "How did that even come to be? And what was it like having those two as bandmates?"

"We all liked music," Azul shrugs. "And there was a music club so we all joined. Jade played the bass, Floyd the drums. We had fun, mostly. The trick was trying to get Floyd to cooperate during rehearsals, because sometimes he gets in a mood where he would just hit whatever notes he wanted on the drums. Jade was the one in charge of gauging when Floyd would be most cooperative, and we learned to manage with Floyd's capriciousness, more or less," he smiles in amusement.

"That must've been fun," Jamil sarcastically uttered. "Wish we had our very own Jade in Basketball Club to gauge his capriciousness there."

Azul chuckles. "What brings you here?" He slides to one side of the cushioned bench, looking at Jamil with a silent invitation that he can sit down if he wants to.

Jamil nods towards the rest of the shop. "NRC's been officially notified of the dance so I'm here buying myself an outfit to go in. What about you? Do you work here or something?" he asks, taking the invite and sitting next to Azul.

Azul shakes his head. "I just come here from time to time whenever my schedule allows it," his smile has a certain sadness to it. Before Jamil could even wonder if he should ask about it, Azul changes the subject.

"I'm guessing you haven't found an outfit yet? Given the absence of shopping bags?"

Jamil glances down at his empty hands. "You guessed correctly. I got distracted by someone playing so, if anything, you're the one to blame." He playfully smiles. "How long are you gonna be stuck here playing piano?"

Azul smiles back, then he turns to the piano and sighs.

"I suppose I'm done for today." He looks at Jamil again. "Should I make it up to you, then, by helping you find an outfit?"

"Sounds fair," Jamil simply says, standing up. "So… 'you suppose you're done' with the playing? Do you do this as a hobby?" He glances around. "If so, why this particular shop?"

Azul closes the lid of the piano and stands up as well. "I play in RSA during programs, but yes, I also do it as a hobby sometimes."

He's quiet for a moment before he continues, like he's choosing his words carefully.

"And I like playing here because… well, no one knows me here. Until today, of course," Azul smiles playfully in an attempt to mask the melancholy in his eyes.

Jamil looks at Azul, confused, but a little concerned. "If you want, I can go and leave this store be. I know what it's like to want a place to yourself."

"Oh, no, it's all right," Azul says. "This is a public mall, after all, I don't have the right to tell anyone not to go here. Besides, I don't really mind if you know." He nods to the direction of the clothes. "Shall we?"

Jamil's cogs begin to move, trying to piece the things together. In the meantime, he moves to the side and lets Azul lead the way.

"Final question about your hobby: how come you don't mind if I know?" He decides to try asking as he follows him.

Azul hums thoughtfully as he begins to walk in no particular direction. "I don't know… I just never felt like… you expected anything from me, I suppose?" he lightly scratches the back of his head. "Too often when my professors or schoolmates hear me play, they ask if I'll be playing that song in a program or in one of our volunteer works. Meanwhile, you called me smart and talented," he looks at Jamil playfully. "And I don't mind your questions either," he shrugs. "Whether it's about my hobbies or not."

"Oh…" Jamil mouths, before his brows furrow at Azul's response. He knows all too well what it's like to have expectations heaped upon you. Many of them come from people all around him whose opinions he never usually asks for. Some of them come from his own self. "...I'm glad you didn't mind me prying a little." He clears his throat. "Anyway… Do you already have a suit?"

"Not yet," Azul says. "I'd been so busy with the preparations that I hadn't even thought about it. Maybe I can find one here," he looks around. "What about you? What kind of suit are you looking for?"

Jamil eyes the jackets on the rack, absentmindedly thumbing through them. "Oh, well... I'm not looking for anything special in particular. I'm not much of an expert when it comes to formal wear... Possibly nothing too restricting since I still gotta put Floyd on the ropes on that upcoming dance-off, but… does this event have a dress code?"

"Dance-off?" Azul raises an eyebrow in amusement. "I'd like to see that. And the dress code is relatively just the usual: dress shirt, slacks, possibly a coat, any shoes that aren't open-toed nor sneakers. That's the minimum. Anything beyond that such as capes, boots, and accessories are allowed. Who else is competing in this dance-off?" he asks curiously.

"Just me and Floyd, unless someone else joins in," Jamil replies. He already has a white dress shirt: his school uniform (that he barely wears, anyway), so a suitable tie or a coat might work—

His eyes catch some vests across the room and he wordlessly makes his way over, looking through them to see which ones are both affordable and stylish.

He turns to Azul. "Speaking of dancing, how about you? Still feeling little less than confident about your skills there?"

"I think referring to it as 'skills' might be a little generous," Azul says lightly. "Oh, and I certainly don't want to follow after your dance-off with Floyd. I don't need that comparison. I believe you're quite the good dancer, then? To participate in such a competition in public?"

"I'm decent enough," Jamil decides to try to put up some air of humility, though it's clear by the confident tilt of his chin how he truly thinks of his talent. "Though I can't have Floyd getting too smug on me without a fight..." He pulls out a dark-grey vest. "Do you think a dark tone of color would be appropriate?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?"  Azul steps closer and gently takes the fabric of the vest in his hand to look at it closer.

Then he looks up at Jamil. "This looks good, and it does match your eye color," he smiles.

Jamil stares right back into Azul's eyes, taking note of their close proximity. He then tears his gaze away to the fabric, thinking and getting an idea. "... Hey, how often do you wear dark outfits?"

Azul considers it. "Very rarely. This hoodie is one of the few dark outfits I own. I admittedly wore it so there's a less likely chance that I'd be recognized," he smiles sheepishly. "Why do you ask?"

Jamil makes a conspiratorial smile, lightly waving the vest around. "Wanna try switching things up a lil', then? We in NRC rarely get to wear any light-colored ensembles, so what say you to wearing something dark while I don the exact opposite?"

"Oh," Azul says with interest. "That does sound appealing. How does this work? Shall we look together for our ensembles, or do we split up to find them and then meet back at the fitting rooms in 30 minutes?"

"The latter one sounds preferable," Jamil replies, giving Azul a two-fingered salute as he places the outfit back and heads over to another part of the store. "Try not to be late."

Thirty minutes later, they're at the fitting rooms. No one else is trying clothes at the moment, so they had the viewing room to themselves, surrounded by vacant cubicles.

"Jamil," Azul nods to him. "I trust you found something tasteful?"

Jamil's quite content with his own fashion sense, so with fabrics draped over his arms, he simply shrugs. "I'll let you be the judge of that, Mister Committee Member. In the meantime, how was your haul? Did you have any trouble?"

"I'm not used to shopping for dark clothing, but it is quite fun," Azul says. "I realized I have more options now. And I know it's not a competition but," Azul looks up at him playfully through his eyelashes. "I must say that I'm far more confident in my fashion sense than my dancing," Azul says, playfully smug as he disappears inside a cubicle.

Oh? Well now... It's good to see that Azul's spirits seemed to have returned.

With Jamil's natural competitive streak provoked, he heads into his own respective cubicle and went for a classic white tux and slacks. It's not what he'd personally go for, but it was worth a look at.

"I look like I'm going to star in a winter wonderland display," he comments aloud, checking himself out in a mirror. "How do you guys handle getting stains on your school uniforms? I always figured white clothes are harder to don around in public on account of potential dirt or stains becoming much easier to see."

"Ah, that's part of RSA's education," Azul's voice replies. "We always have to be careful on how we move and go around places, because the slightest mistake could show on our uniforms. The same goes as well for our table manners. If we spill food on our clothes, it would be quite noticeable. The uniforms help enforce best behavior, apparently…" Azul's voice fades out for a moment. "How about your dark uniforms? Doesn't it get uncomfortable in hot weather?"

"As someone who's grown up under an arid climate, the weather in Sage's Isle is actually quite cool, which is why it's still comfortable for me to wear a hoodie under my blazer." He replies, a tad grateful for the change of focus from RSA's… intriguing mindset over their uniforms. "By the way, do we show each other our prototypes too, or do we only limit ourselves to our final choice?"

"I don't see why we should set a limit. Unless you picked a lot of outfits and it would be quite troublesome to show all of them. So it's fine either way," Azul replies.

"Hm, alright, let's show these," Jamil heads out of his cubicle, waiting for Azul to come out. "All I'm missing now is a top hat and a monocle to really complete that old-timey gentleman whose clothes have been bleached of color."

There is a splash of color, though. Underneath the buttoned-up white jacket is a dark blue undershirt and a red tie.

"And maybe a cloak, too," he adds. "They probably had long cloaks back then."

Azul chuckles. "I would certainly like to see you in that. Meanwhile, I look like a vampire."

The door opens and Azul steps out. He's wearing a black dress shirt with a lighter shade of black vest on top of it, black pants, and a black coat with wide collars and shiny buttons. The coat's long cuffs are folded back at the wrists, showing the red lining that matches the collars. A red bow tie sits neatly by Azul's neck, and a silver buckle cinches the belt that's almost entirely covered by the coat.

"A vampire who is also a pirate's intern," Azul concludes.

"You do look like you'd be hosting a banquet in a haunted manor somewhere," Jamil jokes. "I'm not gonna go with mine, it's almost too white. Scrubbing the dirt off of these is gonna be a nightmare. But hey, for what it's worth, you don't look too bad in black."

"Thank you," Azul tips his head in playful politeness. "I'm not wearing this to the dance either, though. I'm not entirely fond of the wide collars and cuffs, and it being mostly black makes me look paler than Mr. Idia Shroud."

"What look do you wanna go for, then?" Jamil asks.

"Something a little above the minimum requirement for the dress code, I don't want to look like I'm just half-baking my outfit. And I'd like a coat as well, though not as long as this one. And another color besides red, perhaps, I don't think this shade in particular is for me."

He looks at Jamil. "How about you?"

"I think I'm gonna go for somthing a little simpler," Jamil states, prioritizing flexibility in the fabric. "Meanwhile, why not go with a color related to the ocean? Or maybe even purple, like the Sea Witch's thing? Wasn't she a cephalopod, too?"

"Yes, and I do like purple," Azul nods. "And best of luck with finding a suit worthy of winning a dance-off. Meet back out here in 20?"

"20," Jamil repeats, nodding and making his way back to the pile he had picked out for himself.

Though he was going for something as simple as a vest, he can't help but think about Azul's comment.

He certainly doesn't want to seem underdressed in comparison.

In the end, he settles with a buttoned coat of white and light grey over a dress shirt and a scarlet cravat. Below his waist, his pants are dark, and he figures that though he may not have completely followed an all-white ensemble, it was still more white than any of his clothes back at school, so it could still work.

Now all that would be left are boots and he'd resemble a stylish ringmaster of a circus. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he does a spin to see if he could still breathe and move around.

"All right," He announces, walking out. "How does this look?"

The cubicle across from him opens and Azul walks out.

He looks at Jamil's ensemble and a smile appears on his face.

"Ah, scarlet is a good color on you. And the fabrics look flexible enough, I imagine you'd have no trouble dancing. Impeccable taste, Jamil Viper," Azul nods playfully.

"How about this?" he looks down at this suit and smooths it out. "I took your advice on the purple, and I think the gold patterns balance out the black and keeps me from looking too pale."

He's wearing a black dress shirt and pants, and the purple coat has gold patterns swirling out from the middle. The design is tipped at the shoulders, almost resembling the wings of a butterfly spreading out. The patterns on the bottom fall down in softer waves.

There are also gold patterns on the sleeves, and when Azul slowly turned once, Jamil saw that the wing-like pattern continues at the back, though at a smaller scale.

Jamil's eyes widen at Azul's appearance.

Beautiful, his brain thinks.

"Expensive," his mouth says before he clears his throat. "It looks nice on you, though. I can see why you're so confident with your taste in fashion."

"And a good thing, too. I wouldn't be embarrassed dancing with someone as beautiful as you. Well, at the very least, my outfit wouldn't be embarrassing. My dancing, we are yet to see," Azul says playfully. "Shall I get this one, then? I'm not entirely sure if the dress shirt fits right."

Azul removes his coat and looks down at the black dress shirt. It hugs his body enough that Jamil could see that it's more toned than it looks when Azul is wearing the more loose RSA uniform, and he could see the outline of Azul's biceps when he flexes his arms to adjust the cuffs of the sleeves.

It's not like Azul is buff like that Savanaclaw freshman Jack Howl, but the sight does remind Jamil that Azul had mentioned last time that his fast reflexes are "part of the training". He wonders just what kind of training Azul does.

"Not that it's uncomfortable, I'm just not used to wearing such a tight fit," Azul continues.

Jamil was already at a loss for words when Azul complimented him so earnestly, but then as he looks at Azul's torso without the coat, he can't help but let his eyes linger.

"It fits you just fine," he mutters, looking away. 

"I must hand it to you, Jamil, your idea of switching up our usual colors turned out much better than I thought, and I already thought it was quite the good idea in the first place. Now I'm even more glad that you're my date to the dance," he says playfully. "I shall have them wrap this up before I wrinkle it further," he turns and disappears inside the cubicle again.

Jamil had kept his gaze away, so when he looked and saw that the other was no longer there, he hastily made his way back to his dressing room and changed.

"Any other errands you have to run for today?" Azul asks Jamil as they make their way out of the department store.

"No, that's about it," Jamil shrugs, a shopping bag now tucked in his arms. "I had been planning on heading straight back to NRC… Unless… "

He gives Azul an inquisitive look. "What about you? Any errands you gotta run today, for yourself or for your school?"

Azul shakes his head. "No. I'd just been planning to play the piano there and possibly roam around to look for something else to do. Do you have any recommendations? Perhaps a bird café this time?" he smiles.

Jamil rolls his eyes. He can't tell if Azul meant for that to be sarcastic or sincere, but he's not feeling particularly hungry. "Some time away from the hustle and bustle of people might be nice. Maybe a cove or a beach somewhere... Ah, although that might be more of the usual for you, since your school's right by the shore from all sides."

"I wouldn't mind it," Azul says. "I actually go to the beach at RSA quite often. The waves sound different here on the surface, and I like listening to it. It makes me think of home while at the same time reminding me of where I am now. How about you? Where do you go when you want to be somewhere by yourself? Or is it somewhere classified like my top-secret corner of the department store?"

"Considering I intruded on your classified sanctuary, I think it's only fair that I tell you mine, just so you know where you can plan your revenge someday," Jamil smoothly replied. "Back then, it'd be the front yard of the Asims' palace, since it's usually spacious and quiet. But ever since Kalim kept on finding me during my breaks, I started hanging around the rooftops, higher than anyone can reach. So unless you're willing to scale a random building to the top, mind leading me to the closest cove around here?"

Azul made a face. "I don't plan on scaling any building. You're right about the suit being expensive, and I'd like to be alive enough to actually wear it."

He turns to Jamil. "How am I supposed to plan my revenge when your sanctuary is exceedingly difficult to reach? My Flight professor will tell you that you don't need to worry at all about me bothering you anywhere high up."

Jamil playfully pouts. "Aww, that's too bad. Guess you'll have to really want it to get to me."

Azul rolls his eyes with an amused smile, then he looks around the area. "I do know a good cove around here. How long before you have to go back to NRC?"

"A few hours, and the bus terminals can get crowded around the evening, so I can only hang around up until..." he checks his wristwatch. "4 in the afternoon, at most."

Azul nods. "The cove is near enough. We should be there in a few minutes."

They arrive at the beach, and Azul leads him to a small cave to the side. The sand is soft under their shoes, and the breeze from the ocean is refreshing.

A few people are there, but they're far enough away that their conversations don't reach them, and the atmosphere remains quiet.

The sand slopes slightly upward into the cave, giving them a view of the ocean if they were to sit in it.

"How's this?" Azul asks smugly.

Jamil makes a low whistle. "I gotta admit you picked a nice spot… Is this your usual go-to when you're in need of a private beach?"

He makes his way over to a smoothed stone jutting out of the sand, patting it down to give himself a seat before lounging back to relax.

Azul doesn't bother with a stone and sits right on the sand next to Jamil, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands.

"One of them, yes," Azul nods. "I have several, in case one of them gets compromised and I have to move somewhere else," he smiles. "This is one of my favorites, because it faces east and the sunrise is really something to behold. We don't get sunrises—or sunsets—in my hometown, and it's one of the things I really enjoyed upon coming here."

Jamil gazes at Azul's face, looking out into the distance.

"What was it like? When you first became human?"

Azul takes a moment to answer, still looking out at the horizon.

"The light was the first thing I noticed; it’s so bright up here compared to the Coral Sea. In hindsight, that's probably why I need glasses here when I never needed them back home. And walking hurt. I had been used to walking on eight legs my whole life. Learning to just use two was incredibly difficult, especially since gravity here is much different; air is much lighter than water.

Balancing was a little trickier for Rielle, since he's a merman and had no legs at all underwater. Though he and I think it was more painful for me, having all my eight legs compressed into just two.

After we got used to it, I was able to better appreciate other things about land, like the cuisine, for example. My mother owns a restaurant, so I'm no stranger to various foods, but there are a myriad of dishes that simply cannot be cooked underwater without extensive use of enchantments.

Then there's the fashion. Clothes are non-existent back home, so everyone pretty much looked the same all the time, aside from accessories that they might wear. Here, there are a lot of different options with how one would like to present themselves. Oh, and rooftops back home are much easier to access, since we can just swim up there." He turns to Jamil and smiles playfully. "If your rooftop sanctuary is underwater, it'd be much easier for me to get my revenge."

Jamil chuckles. "I first would have to learn how to breathe underwater before I do all of that, unfortunately for you."

He gazes out to the ocean. "... Although I wouldn't mind the idea of traveling to the underwater kingdoms someday. It sounds like a vast place to visit, especially considering how our world consists of about 70% water. It must be a whole new landscape down there, regardless of its dangers. That's probably how you felt about the land, huh? How long have you wanted to go to the surface?"

Azul hums thoughtfully. "Ever since middle school. I've heard stories of the Sea Witch granting merfolk legs, and I thought that it must be quite the dream to reach for if even merfolk back then wanted to do it. Fortunately, the organization that helps merfolk migrate to the surface is owned by Rielle's ancestors, so we had our applications processed even before we received our invitations to RSA."

He turns to Jamil curiously. "Do you plan on traveling a lot after you graduate?"

Oof. What a question.

Jamil remains quiet, imagining himself sailing on a boat heading for that far horizon.

"It's... certainly a dream to consider," He mutters, reminded of what he's trying to set out to do when he got to this island. "Do you plan on sticking around after RSA? Where do you wanna go?"

Azul looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "You know, Jamil, I've noticed that ever since we first met, you've asked me quite a lot of relatively personal questions. And while I've answered them with my rambling tongue, your answers to my questions remain short and vague."

He playfully narrows his eyes. "You're not a spy sent by NRC, are you?"

Jamil's cheeks darken before he brushes a fallen strand of hair from his face. "I'm… just not used to people asking questions about me, that's all."

"You're not used to hanging out with RSA students either, yet here we are," Azul amusedly points out.

"I never thought about RSA at all until I enrolled into NRC and got swept up in the rivalry; whatever disdain I may have developed towards your school is pretty new and doesn't really carry much weight. But prioritizing everyone else before my needs had been a thing since I was a kid, so it's much easier to hang out with an RSA student than talk about my feelings," Jamil replies. "Of course I wanna get out there and travel, but it's not like anyone's given me the option before. Even now, if there's even one bad report about Kalim, it's more than likely that I'd get saddled with him again. Pretend as much as I like, this arrangement of having us separated is fragile and temporary."

He hugs his legs and tucks his chin atop his knees. "So how am I supposed to care about my dreams when no one else has?"

Azul stares at him for a few moments, the waves gently lapping at the shore filling the silence.

"Kalim has mentioned that he intends to free you," Azul says. "Once he has the power to. And for what it's worth… I care about your dreams. Even if I'm not entirely sure what they are," he gives Jamil a small smile before looking out into the ocean again, letting Jamil know that he isn't expecting a response.

Jamil reels from the new revelation that he gets rendered speechless for several moments.

Kalim intends to set him free? It's certainly possible once he's inherited his father's position.

But it's hard to believe when Kalim's wanted nothing more than to have Jamil at his side throughout the years they've been together.

What changed?

And what Azul said about caring…

When Jamil speaks again, his voice is small. "Do you really mean that…? You're not just saying that to be nice?"

Azul looks at him fondly. "Of course I mean it. You deserve true happiness and achieving all of your dreams. I'm not just being nice. I… I care about you," he shrugs. "Do you think I bring just anyone to this beach?" the playfulness is back in his voice.

A smile begins to crawl its way back to Jamil's face. "I wouldn't know, so I guess I'll just have to take your word for it... Thanks. You prolly hear this a lot but I hope you get to achieve whatever dreams you got, too."

"Thank you," Azul smiles back. "You make for much better company than that department store piano."

Jamil holds up his hands. "Hey now, have mercy on your piano companion. It's been there for you when you needed it in the past. Don't cheat on it just for a guy you met."

Azul laughs at Jamil's remark, and they fall into the comfortable silence of each other's company, with the ocean breeze ruffling their hair.

Time quietly passes as they just bask in the warmth of the afternoon and the chill of the sea breeze.

Throughout that, Jamil has his eyes closed, letting the thought of Kalim's promise and growth sink in. A portion of him has begun to feel lighter the more he realizes what this means for him.

Maybe he should call Kalim up later.

"Hey," Azul says softly, as if not wanting to disturb the peace. "It's almost 4 PM."

Jamil blinks himself awake, realizing he fell into a nap at some point.

A part of him is alarmed since he never really falls asleep in public spaces. Doing that back home often led to immediate danger.

But after a few seconds, he recognizes that he isn't in any danger, and merely finds Azul and the orange sky behind him.

"... Oh, right," He mutters, rubbing his eyes. "We should prolly get going, then."

"Indeed." Azul stands up and brushes sand from his pants. Then he looks down at Jamil and offers a hand.

Half-awake, Jamil takes it and helps himself up, hoisting the shopping bag along with him.

"I gotta admit—did not expect to fall asleep in a beach cove when I went out today. It was nice."

"And I didn't expect to buy an outfit for the dance. If you hadn't brought it up, I might have forgotten it altogether and showed up to the dance in my uniform," Azul says playfully, still holding Jamil's hand.

Jamil doesn't let go.

"Guess we're even, then."

They leave the beach area and silently walk hand-in-hand towards the main road, looking at anywhere else except each other.

Jamil stops right where the streets split up for the two bus terminals heading to the different schools. 

They'll have to go their separate paths from here but before they do, he takes out his phone.

"Hey, why don't we exchange numbers? Yanno, just in case there are more 'dance preparations' you'll almost forget to do again," he says playfully, still holding Azul's hand.

Azul chuckles and takes out his phone with his other hand. "Right. I can't afford to forget anything else now, can I?"

He turns his phone to face towards Jamil, showing his number.

Jamil leans close to see the screen, his shoulder brushing against Azul's.

After double-checking that he typed the phone number correctly, Jamil calls it so that his number would be saved in Azul's phone as well.

Then he pockets his phone and lets go of Azul's hand, giving him a friendly pat and a wave as he walks backwards for a few steps.

"Welp. See ya around, Piano Man."

The corner of Azul's lips turns up in a smile as he raises a hand to wave back. "See you around, Viper."

And Jamil heads off, relishing in the joy of a peaceful day, a blooming bond, and a future looking brighter than ever.

Author's Note: The song that Azul was playing on the piano is "In a Crowd of Thousands" from the musical Anastasia~

<-- Chapter 2

Chapter 4 ->

(Masterlist)

[strawberry-nugget]

Ugh bringing asshole Kirishima up again as I'm writing a new fic because Im obsessed with this concept, also I found this in my drafts from months ago and just added a few things before posting

Manipulation kinda, 18+, tell me if i should tag it with anything else

Kirishima is really not all that nice when his feelings are not being reciprocated in the way he wants. And I think he wants to work on himself so he can have better responses because youre supposed to cannot find anyone less problematic than him. He is always praised for being the pro hero that breaks all toxic masculinity stereotypes, he is the nicest with his fans, is always there for his friends, but i guess everyone has a bad side right?

He doesn't normally let it show because he recognizes it's toxic but the moment he decides he likes you and wants to give you his affection and you don't reciprocate his feelings then it's like a hit to whatever ego he's tried to build.

Because conversations with you roll smoothly from the very second you two meet and you end up talking to each other every single day, you go and grab coffees together all the time, you spent lunch breaks at the agency together and sometimes he texts you during his patrol and even if he knows you're only hanging out with him because you are going out with one of his friends that doesn't make him hold back at all.

You want to be his 'friend'? He hides all of his advances behind the flashy just-a-friend label. If it's his birthday he'll try to coax a birthday wish out of you, if he has something significant going on he's going to try to make advances for you to hug him, he's going to try and make you touch him-but he's never touchy when he shouldn't be.

You're mad because your situationship or relationship is going really bad at the time? He suggests you get coffee and pays for yours too and does his best to cheer you up while trying to be distant in a bakugo like way (because he thinks it's mysterious and that he'll win some ground by doing so). This is his big break and if he plays his cards right he can make you drop onto your knees for him

You have to know you're doing a number on him, with your nipples poking out of your tanks, with how you show up one day telling him that you finally got your nipples pierced as a gift to yourself after breaking up. His dick is always hard around you and he has to feel you want him too.

Flexes his skills to an egotistical extend too but very very subtly and (hypocritically) calls out people who are too 'bragging'. You need help to see how good of a hero red riot is and how you should swoon over him and next thing you know he so happens to point out his new action figure that's coming out in the following months. He insists you accompany him when he has to visit the artist in charge of the figure to make molds out of him in the heroic pose that he's chosen and he makes sure he flexes his muscles in a way thatll have you drooling.

And yes, he's still Kirishima, the sweetest fucking person, the one person everyone wants as their friend, and you are dazzled by him and he knows it. He works so hard to win ground with you that people will think you two are dating. He always has you attached to his hip. Until any other name surrounding you has been erased and morphed into his.

And that's where he starts trying to make his moves. He'll lean in to kiss you -or maybe that's him trying to whisper something in your ear- or give you compliments that could also not really be compliments. You'll think you're making a mistake and you'll be thinking about it and before you know it his thoughts will occupy your mind. Always. So much that you won't be able to not think about him. And when he stops texting you you'll be the one texting him despairetely.

And because he is Kirishima you always share things with him and he goes out of his way to make you see what you're missing when you're not giving him a chance. No one has eaten you like he has but he slams the door to the women's toilets when you tell him you're upset and he proves to you that you can cum in any position. You just haven't bad the right person to help you get your mind off things and bring an orgasm out of you.

No one has made you cum with their dick before but Kirishima makes you squirt on the first try, with his fingers teasing your clit and rubbing sticky circles around it. And you don't have to fake it this time, youre pulling him in deeper with weak knees and a hazy head and maybe it's the excitement about feeling that it's so wrong to use dear Kirishima like this. But he knows this is exactly what you're thinking, he know you want it to feel like this and he gives in to all of your fantasies.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Fealty

Reader x King!Yoongi Oneshot

► Royalty!AU

Smut

Warnings: Vaginal Sex, Concubines, Mention of Political Murder and Beheadings

↳ Summary: Your king is beautiful. Twisted, perhaps, sometimes dark, and ever impossible to predict. But beautiful. 

Masterlist 

“The king is overseeing the beheadings now, lady.” 

You pretend your heart doesn’t leap into your throat. Instead of reacting, you hide it with a well-practiced duck of the head, fixing your steely gaze to the opposite pillar. You sink a little further into the bath, subtly inhaling the aroma of roses, feeling the soothing herbs on your skin. Your toes stretch beneath the water and the motion disturbs the surface.

“I’m aware,” you reply, tone cold.

“Begging your pardon, lady. Are you not feeling well?” The handmaiden continues chattering as she keeps up brushing your hair with all the delicate touch of a much younger, more innocent girl. She gathers it back from your shoulders with such nimble, sweet fingers, drawing the brush through the strands as though the sheen of your hair determined her fate. Come to think of it, it might—depending on the mood of the king once he returns. 

“I am feeling perfectly well,” you reply. You’re aware that your voice is somewhat robotic, and you can sense from the way she shifts behind you that her concern hasn’t abated. 

“Hyesun,” you say after a beat. When you crane to meet her eye, you make sure to smile as gently as you can manage. “I’m fine.” 

She returns the smile with a warmth that you envy, returning to her task in diligence. When you first met Hyesun, she was a quiet thing. Young, too young, prone to mistakes and stuttering apologies. But over the years she’s served you well, and in turn you’ve served your king. She knows better than to press matters too far. 

“They finally captured the dissenters from last spring,” she continues, her voice airy and light. “Thank the gods.” 

“Their heads will make for fine decorations, I’m sure.” 

You allow your comment to linger, floating on top of the air like the petals in your bath. You sigh and move to stand up, feeling the water pull at your legs and arms, trying to suck you back into the warmth. 

“He’ll be back soon,” you murmur, stepping gingerly out of the bath. Hyesun immediately parcels you into a soft cloth, assisting in patting down your body.

“The king will be in a good mood,” she chirps. 

“He always is after an execution. Would you fetch my—”

The door to the bathing room suddenly slides open, interrupting you mid-sentence. Hyesun smoothly drops her arms from you to dip into a bow, and you follow suit as best you can with nothing but a cloth wrapped around you, struggling to keep it pinched at your chest for the sake of modesty. 

Min Yoongi stands in the doorway, and what little you glimpsed of him has anticipation firming your stance. It quickens the beat of your heart within your ribs. Silvery hair high on his head, falling in a long ponytail behind him, dark eyes steely. You can feel him watching you with the perception of a hawk and all the vulnerability of stone. 

“Out,” he rasps. 

Hyesun bows again, deeper, turning briefly to you with another demur nod of her head. Even with your own head inclined, you can see the professional glaze over her downcast eyes. She doesn’t even blush anymore. You can’t tell if that makes you proud or saddened. You hear the slightest tap of her delicate footsteps as she scurries past you, past the king, closing the door behind herself as she goes. 

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. His feet make barely as much noise as the handmaiden’s had when he circles closer to you, like a bird of prey high above the mountains. Motion in the corner of your eye, and you recognize it as one of his pale, long hands drifting towards your chest. Gentle, but insistent, he slips his cold fingers past yours, and you relinquish your hold on the cloth, allowing him to tug it down, away from your body. 

He steps closer again, and you can feel the warmth from the sun outside radiating off him. You can almost smell the blood past his expensive perfume. 

“Did the beheading go well, your majesty?” you murmur. 

He hums, and his arm moves. You feel fingers carding past your neck, your ear, into your hair. He grasps a handful of the strands, tugging slightly to tilt your head upwards. You finally meet his gaze. 

Your lord has always been beautiful. Dark, slanted eyes that sparkle with boundless, sometimes cruel wisdom even in the low light. Finely crafted cheekbones. Lips so elegantly painted with the softest brush in the gods’ possession. Even the scar that cuts down through one eye does little to mar his face, leading only to his carefully crafted mysterious air. He watches you take calm stock of his expression. A ‘good mood’, indeed. 

When he leans to take your lips, it’s deceptively gentle. Almost kind, if possessive. Fully naked, limp at his disposal, you do little more than kiss him back, leaning into his grip. Neither of you breaks away from your locked gazes, even when his hot tongue slips across your mouth, demanding entrance. He licks past your teeth like a lover, tasting like lavish wine, eyelashes fluttering closed for a brief moment of seeming enjoyment. He groans, deep in his throat, as he kisses up your lip and parts from you with a lingering suction and a slick noise. 

He steps forward again, pulling your hair as he goes, encouraging you to walk backwards with him until your back meets the unforgiving wood of the wall behind you. Instead of stopping, he continues, and cages you in. His body claims what little space remained between you. He relinquishes his grasp in your hair to trail his hand down your skin, his eyes following its path with an almost mildly curious look. As though he’s never seen you before. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he hikes your leg up around him, pulling you impossibly close. You hook your ankle into the small of his back, obliging.

“Are you wet for your king?” he murmurs, low, his voice rubble and damnation. Your response is cut short by a gasp when you next feel pressure, feather-light, exploring between your legs, drifting upwards past your thigh, dragging a single digit through your core as if only to get a feel for you. A shiver runs through your body when he brushes past your clit, teasing. 

“Always, my lord.” 

His pleased smirk is dark, crooked, eyes trained on yours. 

“All day I’ve thought of you. I thought of fucking my seed down your throat,” he says, conversational. “Does that not please you, whore?”

“My lord is gracious,” you whimper. “My lord is giving.”

“Is he ndeed?” He pets at your clit, digging the pad of his thumb into your skin, watching the way you twitch with all the intensity of a general reading war maps. And half the warmth. His grin slinks into the corners of his mouth, replaced by a faux mask of curiosity. Concern. 

“Allowing your king’s gift to waste in your greedy maw,” he tsks. “It would serve your country better in your belly, would it not?” 

You know the answer he wants. “I crave my lord’s taste,” you stammer. “I desire it. His Majesty is oft generous enough to gift me with it.” 

“Is he?” When his hand slips from you, you huff a whine despite yourself, craning to chase his touch. He reaches to grip your chin, pursing your lips, your own arousal sticky against your skin. “Insatiable thing. You would have had my cock sheathed between your lips, had I allowed you at the beheadings.” His tongue flits out from one corner of his mouth to the other, his head tilting to peer more closely at you. Though he looks careless, his tone calm, you can see the manic light in his eyes. You are too familiar with it. 

“At my meetings, with my useless advisors, bare to the world but for a mere slip of modesty,” he continues, “draining me for your worth.” He readjusts his grip on your face, forcing his fingertips into your mouth, pressing into your tongue. You taste yourself on them when you suck.

He shuffles at his formal attire, caring little for the mess he might make of it. His length, feverish, already half-aroused, traces your inner thigh with the velvet of his cockhead. Your hand immediately flies to him, darting between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his member, coaxing him to full hardness as the two of you exchange heady breaths in the limited space he’s allowed you. His grin dissipates slightly. His eyelids fall to half-mast, his breath hitching when you twist your fingers underneath his head. When he rocks forward, purposeful, you angle him to meet you, guiding him easily into your cunt. He presses past your walls slow. His warmth sinks into you with a breath drawn decadently through his teeth. He removes his hand from your mouth to better brace against the wood behind you. 

A thrust, two, before he finds his rhythm, sheathing himself deep and fucking back in with a snap of his hips. The sounds of your coupling fill the otherwise dead space of the bathing room around you, the shuffle of clothes and the slick noises of his penetration. Your lips hang open, each inch he feeds you coaxing sharp inhales and subdued moans from the depths of your chest. He gathers your other leg, lifting your knees, pressing even deeper, closer, his mouth attaching to the column of your neck to pepper hot kitten licks and the wayward bite, his pace growing harsher, more desperate. 

“Ah, fuck,” he seethes into your ear, grunting with exertion. He slams into you, pulling back to watch you cry out in interest, eyes dark. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead, his neck, his face beginning to shine. 

“This is why you have your king’s favor,” he adds, breathless, tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth, brows creasing. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yes, lord,” you purr obligingly, rolling into him, clutching at his arms, careful not to tear at the expensive fabric between your fingers even as he pounds you up the wall.

“Cock-hungry whore,” he continues to babble. “You would do anything for your king.” 

He presses deep, too deep, and prods a spot inside you that thieves the air from your lungs. Your response is delayed by half a second, stammering, but it’s too long, and he punishes you by surging forward, grinding his pelvis against your clit with a snarl. 

“Y-Yes, my lord!” you choke, pleasure escalating inside you despite the misgivings beginning to seep into the corners of your mind at his tone. 

“Dissenters, even authorities,” Yoongi pants, his face screwed in concentration. “Nothing would stay your hand. If I wished it.” 

You try to peer at him, agape, unsure even in your lustful haze of where he’s taking this, but his quickening pace means he’s closing in on his end. It is not yours to think, you remind yourself, craning your neck back when a forceful thrust impales you on his shaft so far, you swear you could feel him on your tongue. 

But again he snatches your chin, demanding you turn back to face him, a manic grin pulling his lips crooked even as he grunts through his teeth. “Advisors,” he breathes, hollow, “these days are so prone to drinking from the wrong cups,” he adds, a dark glee swirling in his eyes when you fail to disguise your confused horror. 

His pace stutters, and again his face contorts, brows pulling together. He presses closer. His thrusts turn static, rushed, desperate for your heat. You help him as you can, tightening around him, turning his next question into a strangled moan. 

“Who is it you answer to?” he growls, releasing your face to lean into the crook of your neck. There he bites against the column, sharp, unforgiving, to match the delving of his hips against yours. “Is it your country? Is it your god?” 

“My lord is my god,” you whimper, arching, trying to pull him ever closer, mind racing. “I-I answer to my king.” 

His entire body shudders with a feral groan, strained taut through his throat, pulsing cock fucking into you once, twice, thrice more, forcing his hot seed further into your cunt with every movement. For a moment, the two of you still. You can feel sweat dripping down your back, the blazing heat of your king trapping you against the wall. 

When finally he pulls away, leaving you with a lewd noise, you realize his shoulders are shaking. At first, you worry for your life. Have you displeased him somehow? Upset him? But no. As he meets your gaze once more, it’s another twisted smile that touches his lips, narrows his eyes. You squeeze your thighs together to try and hinder the trickle of his release down your legs, hoping to soon lie down. You can’t do so until he leaves, and he seems more intent on savoring your concern than letting you go. His words sink further into your skin and you shiver.

He pulls his lips through his teeth, still chuckling, before he finally ducks away. He shuffles his clothes back in place, uncaring if they are crumpled, uncaring if his hair is sticking to his neck with sweat, his face still flushed. He looks back to you and though you bow your head, you don’t miss the shift in his expression. 

“So hard to find good concubines,” he murmurs. You can feel him come close again. Can smell him. Fingers, carding through your hair, almost convincing as a pantomime of affection. “Ones who serve their lord so well. Who know their place.” 

“Yes,” you quake, “I will serve my lord.” His semen is oozing as you speak, sneaking out of your used cunt. 

“Good.” He laughs again, quiet, hiccuping. Finally, he leaves you. You next hear his voice coming from the doorway. “I will pray for you to bear a son.” 

You bow, forcing down the bile threatening to rise in your chest. “And I, my king.” 

[todokanai-suishou]

April 7th

Pairing Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

WC: 2,5k

Quality: Not yet golden Raspberry, but definitely rotten Tomato worthy

A/N: "April 7th, but it's longer now" finally managed to post the full thing TT_TT. It's still my first ff and I still apologize for the outcome of this, since I usually do music reviews and (bad) poetry:

Inspiration for it & pt2 were Sticky & April 7th by a Band called The Maine

__________________________________________________________

When you first saw him, he was dancing like nobody was watching

when in fact, everybody was.

You were no exception to the other people staring at him while they were shouting names, singing along to the lyrics sung by the 7 people dancing on stage, so stable and well.

And this man? This man didn’t seem to miss a beat. He moved so effortlessly through every song, having the time of his life, dancing and singing and rapping his heart out

- until he first spotted you in the crowd, watched in awe as you got lost in stereo, eyes shut to enjoy the music

- until you opened your eyes to look back at him.

And suddenly the man who was just dancing along to a fun song that luckily had no choreography, froze just like someone who’d be busted dancing with a mob.

He didn’t know what had hit him when your eyes made contact with his, but he just stood there, unable to move until the eldest came and hit him on the head jokingly, followed by the youngest jumping on both of them.

The Dancer snapped out of it at this point and you didn’t have a single ounce of understanding for what just happened. Usually it was Jungkook lagging, but not during performances and out of all the people you’d suspect to stop moving, Hobi would be the last one to.

Until he was. And he looked baffled when he came back down to earth, whispering to both of his friends as they were finishing the song before leaving to change clothes. He couldn’t help from looking back and subtly pointing at your part of the crowd a few times though

and as he kept on, you started to sense something. From the way he looked back. From the way he pointed in this direction..your brain meanwhile got the bizarre idea that it was you who got him that stunned. Maybe he saw someone else in you? Maybe a fansite? “Oh god please not a fansite.” you whispered, barely audible but turning the heads of the girls in front of you as you started shaking...or maybe an ex? You couldn’t pinpoint it but you also couldn’t stop thinking of the possibility that it was indeed you he reacted this way to.

and you were right about him freezing because of you, but dead wrong about him recognizing his ex, or a fansite, or anyone for that reason.

It was cliché but all the thought at that moment was that, even in this dimly lit room - you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever come across.

The way you danced like nobody was watching, because there probably really was no one watching you, all the while lip-syncing to boyz with fun, you were glowing and the way you suddenly stared at him, with adoration in your eyes, that had him overwhelmed.

“You really fell in love at first sight, huh?” Jin laughed in between changes as the younger one told him about what just happened. “I might” Hoseok fell into a stare at the realisation,. “This is crazy,” he whispered to himself. “You might never see them again though.” Namjoon exclaimed drily from across the room. “I’ll try...I guess?” - “What are you going to do, hunt that person down?” The leader raised an eyebrow and Hoseok sighed. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t until Yoongi - who currently fought with his leather pants - spoke up from the corner “just tell the staff to keep them here. Say Hi, see where it goes afterwards.” and while the leader and Hoseok agreed that this could come across as kind of creepy - the dancer gave it a try. He pointed to you, with the glowing green bracelet on your arm, gave them info of where you approximately were or could possibly come out. He did all he could do for them to keep you there and although you were confused, and quite frankly a little scared of what was happening, you stayed.

And god were you ready to fall on your knees and beg not to be sued with every second that passed, making up critical scenarios and what ifs in your head.

All of them were dead wrong.. You didn’t know how exactly he came to be there, but you remember him coming out in baggy pants, a loose shirt, hair that was still somewhat sweaty but at least brushed properly and he had the biggest smile as he came closer while you and a staff member were still jokingly debating whether ketchup was a smoothie or not. With a breathless “Hi.” he almost scared the living shit out of you.

“Hi” you replied, just as breathless and quite frankly confused. Both your Anxiety levels flew through the roof with each awkward second the two of you didn’t speak. It’s ironic how he wanted to tell you so much, but eventually when you were in front of him, sweat still somewhat glistening on your face and exhaustion written on it in tiny letters, he lost all his words.

It was you who, while still holding eye contact, spoke up. “So...you froze before...are you okay?” You nervously rubbed your arm, but he saw his chance. “Yeah, I’m sorry, it was kind of your fault” an awkward laugh followed from his side, making you nervously rub your arm and look down before he followed up “I got mesmerized by looking at you.” and boom, he had all your attention again. Eyes growing big at his comment. “Wait what?” - “I saw you vibe along and somehow, I don’t know. You just amazed me.” Everything after that was rambling as he tried to explain in a way that didn’t seem too forward or make you uncomfortable and apparently it worked when you let out a chuckle “You’re cute, you know that?” - “Cute enough to go on a date with me?” His sudden question left you as surprised as it did him. He didn’t think he’d do it like that, but judging from you freezing like a deer in the headlights, it was too straight forward and pointless. “Ah you kn-” - “Okay.” This time around he was the deer. And your answer? Just hit him like a car. “okay?” he replied in disbelief. “Yes, unless you don’t want to anymore?” you raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. “no, I’d still love to! How does tomorrow sound?” he asked so cheerfully the change of Aura almost threw you off. “Tomorrow sounds great, I think. Afternoon or evening?” - “Brunch?” - “Could work, might not. I usually sleep in on weekends. My body just naturally ignores every alarm clock I have until 13:00…but... I could get my roommate to wake me up with water I guess.” You said sheepishly.

“So...in case your roommate DOES wake you, how does 11:30 sound?” he smiled, screaming on the inside, hoping, praying, putting all of his trust in your roommate. “Sounds great.” You smiled back and at this moment he was a goner. Almost literally, since Jungkook called for the living, breathing sun to come back, because he wanted to go already. “Wait, give me your number so we can figure more details out.” a phone was pressed into your hands. You didn’t take long to type in your number and call yourself, his smile only growing as you handed it back to him. He had your number. He did it. You gave him his number and if tomorrow was going well, he was convinced that he could die happily.

When JK called for a second time he went away though “Well, I guess I really gotta go. I’ll see ya.” he waved at you and you just copied the action, smiling widely at him. “BY THE WAY” he called out after you “YES?”- “Y/N.... The Name fits you.” - “How?” - “A BEAUTIFUL NAME FOR A BEAUTIFUL HUMAN” and with that he was out of the room, and you and the staff member went out in the other direction, with her clearly laughing as you turned as red as a tomato. A warm feeling spread all throughout you, as you walked into the cold air, excited for what was to come, while the man who just asked a total stranger out just ended up happy dancing the entire night, leaving Jimin internally screaming for deciding to room with the manic squirrel and in serious conflict of whether he was just gonna head into Taehyung's room instead. In Hindsight, he probably should have.

Back then, on that first April 7 in the Arena, you met the man who lights up even the darkest days of your life. You learnt pretty fast that it wasn’t all fun and games, and relationships with Idols are hard. Big Hit bought out dispatch when it came to you, but still, not being able to see each other properly..sometimes was difficult, when all you wanted was to cuddle.

So he left sweaters at your place, and you saw each other whenever the other was near, you two made the, partially rough, two years worth the wait and god does he love you for holding on like that.

But exactly you, or the lack of your presence, made it hard for him to concentrate on rehearsal today. Knowing it’s the same day, the same arena, but someone else in your place. You usually took the time for important dates, 100 day anniversaries and birthdays were shared. Hell, the first anniversary you took leave to visit him on tour, but the second one, you informed him you couldn’t watch from the stage like you did so many times before. “Important family stuff.” you told him and the boys knew he wasn’t his usual self. Still whooped the professional part - except for the facial expressions and while the younger ones tried to coax the sun into shining again after the first Rehearsal, it wasn’t until Yoongi snuck up behind Hoseok with a phone in hand.

While the younger ones were still occupying Hoseok, Yoongi facetimed you and held the phone close to Hobis ear and before he could register anything, he heard “HOBI!” from the other line. Resulting in the dancer getting half a heart attack before turning around, resulting in Yoongi just handing him his phone and leaving. “Baby..” you pouted as you looked at his face. “Jagi, I miss you” a pout leaving him too. “You’ll see me soon, baby. I’m sorry I can’t watch like we planned.” - “ I know, I know” he sighed on the other line and you could feel your heart break. Dying to see your man already.

“I’ll see you soon, baby, don’t worry. We can celebrate after the concert tonight. Just give your best today, and if you won’t, you know I’m gonna find out from Jimin, right?” he chuckled at that comment, giving you a bright smile afterwards. “I know, I know. I’ll try.” - “You don’t need to, you were born to do what you’re doing baby. You’ll do great as always. Just picture me in the crowd, I’m always with you in spirit when I can’t be there - and you’ll get endless cuddles and everything else in the world when we’re home so cheer up.” Needless to say, you weren’t the best in cheering people up but weirdly enough it worked as he sighed out “will do.” giving you a smile afterwards. “Good, now go practice and then - go get 'em. I’ll be off too.” - Wait. Jagi?” You raised an eyebrow. “I love you.” He grinned and you could barely get out “I love you too” before he hung up and brought Yoongi back the phone. Somehow falling into a happy dance again.

“What’s with him?” Namjoon cut in, seeing Hoseok dance between doors “Talked to Y/N” Yoongi just replied and the Leader just nodded. This was normal by now. If he wasn’t everyone else's vitamin e - on days like these you were his and while he was still bummed, the sadness was pushed back by him deciding to just do as you told and picture you there. You’d be off work or family duties or whatever emergency came in between by the time he was done. You’d still see each other. It wasn’t what he had planned and you knew it wouldn’t be, but he’d be happy either way. He was happy with everything as long as the end result was you.

So the rehearsals continued. You headed out the house shortly after facetiming him and he put on clothes, got makeup done and set on a smile, all the while still texting you “I love you” being reciprocated with “I love you too, have fun out there.” It was the last text you sent him before you shut your phone off for now. It was also the last thing he read before he got onto that stage.

And while he loved the crowd, he thought the only thing he wanted to happen tonight was for the concert to end. For now.

Until, suddenly, two years after that last April 7th, he froze up during the choreography when he saw a big green heart during Boys With Fun. He couldn’t help but giggle as he read “Hey, sorry I just got kind of mesmerized by you.”

You, ass, stood there, waving that big heart, with that same green bracelet from years ago. Leaving him as amazed and defenseless as you did exactly two years ago and the grin he had on his face as he came to his senses again was second to none. Neither was your surprised reaction as he suddenly came close to your end, jumping over the barricade and pulling you, who stood just close enough to touch, in his direction. Placing his hands on your cheeks, greeting you with a kiss as the people beside you gasped, awed and the Maknae who saw the whole thing just wiped away a fake tear whispering “they grow up so fast.”

That was definitely not how you planned on your relationship being outed, but then again, he didn’t plan to see you here tonight and you, you had a way of melting his brain and making him do things. “Hey” he then said, almost breathless, still entranced and only looking at you. “Hey” you replied smiling. “So, you kinda mesmerized me and..would you wanna..you know, date?” he whispered in your ear, ignoring the music.. “I’m sorry, I kind of have a boyfriend.” you whispered back, laughing afterwards. It was only seconds until your face was in his hands again. “Then what do you say about moving in with him?” Deer in the headlights hobi? More like deer in the headlights Y/N - and this time the truck hit you. You didn’t know much to say, just frantically nodded and he took the time to kiss you again, softly, with all these people still around, and yet, for him you were the only one.

You’ve been the only one for the last two years. You’ll stay the only one for this little eternity he gets to stay with you..

[k-writer1998]

Who Said Love Was Easy (3/12)

      There are many different kinds of people who come and go from your life. Some will stay constant and sturdy like a river, growing alongside you, others will come like a whirlwind who wreaks havoc and leaves just as quickly, then there is everything in between. In this twisted maze of connections, that is where our story begins. A steadfast boy, a girl with a past, a little bit of alcohol, mistakes, and some love. Where can you go wrong with that?

angsty fluff

w.c: 2.1k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Summer lectures, design deadlines and no focus because of that brat. It’s been three years, they shouldn’t have this effect on me anymore… Even if I tell myself that, that woman has such a strong oppressive energy. I always feel like I’m suffocating. Ugh just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Needing a change of pace I decided to walk to the pub to wait for Changbin. The bustle of the city was a comforting white noise to drown out my thoughts since I really needed to just… not think for a bit. That is, until I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand. With this new sense of anxiety I finally noticed the black car, not so subtly, following me. Luckily the street the pub was on was too narrow for cars and it was entering my line of sight. I checked my phone reflection as a man got out and of course it would be him. Picking up my pace to get away did nothing as he still caught me and forced me to turn around, keeping a hold on my wrist.

“Why are you running away from me?”

“I don’t know, maybe because some random car was following me, a girl who is alone, for over five minutes?” I reply sarcastically.

“I’ve been calling you but you weren’t answering.”

“Call? I probably blocked your number. Look, I’m not interested in pretending to rekindle some broken bond.”

“Y/n… don’t be like this you know I-”

“Don’t pull the remorseful brother act, Youngho-oppa. If you really cared you would have looked for me after I left,” I spat.

      Unlike his sister Younghee who openly showed her indifference, not hearing from him was worse than being thrown out. Youngho was the only one in the entire family that showed me a smidge of kindness, let alone acknowledging my presence when no one else did. It wasn’t until a year after being kicked out did I learn I was nothing more than a stray puppy he played with cause he was bored.

“Don’t be like this y/n. Mom hasn’t been in the right state of mind since dad died. She didn’t mean to hurt you and she’s trying to make it up to you,” he coaxed, pulling me in to stop the wandering ears from hearing.

“That’s a load of shit and you know it. That woman never liked me the minute I was brought in and she made sure everyone but dad knew that. Will she give back the shares to dad’s company that are rightfully mine?”

      His eyebrow twitched and I caught the crack in his facade. Every single one of them are selfish creatures and they will never betray their true nature, a fact I learned the hard way and will not underestimate again.

“Y/n things are sensitive now as is, you can’t just ask for something like that. Why would you want something like those? Aren’t you studying design?”

“Wow, someone did their research. If design doesn’t work I should at least have the shares to give me some support. It was a decent portion wasn’t it?” I pushed.

“Stop acting like a child there are bigger things going on so just cooperate. The faster you do the less we have to see each other. Do you think I have time to chase you around like this?”

      And his true color shows. By now his hold on my arm had turned into a vice grip and it hurt like hell but I couldn’t show weakness now, they don’t get to win after everything.

“Ha… I can’t believe I waited six months to hear from you like you actually cared. Sometimes you really are worse than your mother.”

      My head snapped to the side in an instant and it was numb for a moment before the stinging settled in. I knew something of this caliber would happen… for his own reasons he hated his mother. Who knew it would tick him off that much? Before either of us could come back from the shock, a hand broke the hold on my wrist and my line of sight was covered by someone’s back. The mystery person shielded me from my brother and I immediately recognized the ring on their pinky. Should I be glad or panicked that Jeongin’s here?

“Sorry I’m late, is this person bothering you?”

“Oh? Is this your boyfriend?” Youngho smirked, eyeing him up and down.

“No.” I roll my eyes, trying my best to mask my unease. Jeongin doesn’t need to be dragged into my family drama. I tug at his hand lightly and he turned to look back at me, “Come on, we’re late meeting the others. This conversation is over anyways.”

      Once in front of the pub, Jeongin turned to examine my face. Seeing such concern in his eyes I couldn’t stop the surge of emotion that came over me as tears started to fall.

“Are you okay?! You must’ve been scared…” he panicked and I shook my head.

“Thank you,” I sniffed.

“You still got hit… I can’t believe-”

“It’s whatever.” This was not the first time someone from that family raised their hand to me, I expected nothing less… and I did purposefully push his buttons. “I deserved it. I provoked him.”

      In an instant my gaze that was trained on the ground was forced to meet his piercing eyes by the gentle force of his hand nudging my chin. He had leaned in so that we were eye level and my brain nearly short circuited at his close proximity. Well that’s one way to stop tears.

“It doesn’t matter if you provoked him, that shouldn’t have happened y/n. No one deserves that, do you understand?”

      It surprised me how serious he was about this. I don’t know if it was the butterflies from how close he was or the unsettling feeling of being… perceived, but I couldn’t think. Instead I numbly nodded, my eyes never leaving his as if under a spell. The corner of his lips quirked up at my response before he ushered me into the pub and sat me in my usual seat. He tossed a bag to Chan, that I hadn’t noticed he had, before disappearing to the back. Jeongin re-emerged with some ice and placed it on my face causing me to wince a bit. Taking it from his hands, he reached for my arm but I instinctively pulled away.

“Is your arm okay?”

“It’s fine. Probably slightly bruised at most but nothing serious.”

      He eyed me suspiciously but before he could say anything Jaehyung barged over, worry written all over his face.

“Y/n! What happened?!”

“It’s nothing,” I smiled. He immediately whirled on Jeongin and gave him a pointed look.

“I caught some guy bothering her when I was out buying Chan-hyung some Advil and he… slapped her,” he responded guiltily. 

      I don’t know if I should admire or be annoyed by his honesty. I tiredly rubbed my forehead, already feeling the anger rolling off of Jaehyung. 

“Don’t feel guilty Jeongin,” I smiled before turning to Jaehyung. “Thanks for getting mad for me but it’s not worth it Jaehyung-oppa.”

“Was it your fam-”

“Yes,” I cut him off, but that was more than enough for Jeongin to put the pieces together. Not wanting to hear anything from either of them I add, “I’m fine, really. Plus Changbin is coming so don’t worry okay?”

“Not worry? You usually end up home drunk and always make bad decisions with him.”

“Ninety-six percent of the time it’s me, bad decisions help relieve stress you know,” I smile like a child trying not to get in trouble.

      Jaehyung ruffled my hair with a resigned sigh before telling me not to come home too drunk and went off. Jeongin kept me company but I had to ignore his eyes that were filled with questions I didn’t want to answer. Luckily Changbin came soon after but his eyes zeroed in on my cheek and was ready to square up with Jeongin before I intervened.

"Nope. I'll explain later, let's go." I gave him no time to argue as I waved Jeongin goodbye and sped to the door.

      Knowing that I’ve come from a deprived childhood, Changbin’s lenient with me and my impulses. That being said, tonight is a total bust. Instead of somewhere fun, we’re at some restaurant because as Changbin puts it, he needs to “gage my recklessness” since I “act up more” when my family is involved.

“I ordered some food… and alcohol since I promised to take you out to have fun but before that, what the hell happened? Who hit you? Wh-”

“Are you going to keep going or do you actually want me to answer the questions?”

“Obviously answer them you smart ass. ”

“Long story short it was Youngho and the guy from the pub basically saved me more or less.”

      His eyes softened at the mention of my brother. The first six months I was kicked out I stayed with Changbin until Hyorin, my mom's best friend who had been acting like an actual guardian for me since my dad died, helped me find an affordable place. He’s the one who saw the emotional toll it took when the one person I believed to be on my side threw me away. 

“I would’ve thought he would be too busy with company stuff to come out, especially since he is under a microscope right now with the chairman’s health issues and all.”

“That’s why wicked stepmother and her children are on my tail. They’re trying to exploit our relationship, tied by nothing more than my father’s blood, to try to win grandma over cause she is fond of me and has a big share.” I ran an annoyed hand through my hair before whining, “so can we go clubbing?”

“Yeah… no. I’ll be having to pry off some guy from trying to take you home because you’re wasted.”

“No. That only happened like… four? times…”

“Four times too many. But drink your fill here and let Mr. Neighbor know that you’re staying at mine. If I bring you home drop dead drunk again I think he would actually kill me.”

“You’re probably right,” I laugh before shooting a quick text to Jaehyung. Once I put my phone down, the waitress came in with our order and I pointed at Changbin, “no talking about the unholy trinity or I’m leaving to go be unsupervised.”

“Yes, yes. I spoil you too much,” he sighs before adding, “how is the chairman anyways?”

“Grandpa still wants to believe I don’t exist and last I heard from grandma was that his heart isn’t in good health. It’s hard to treat when they’re trying to hide it from the company. Everyone knows he’s sick but not how bad,” I respond flatly.

“... Okay one question and I’ll stop. Who are the other runner ups other than… you know who?”

      I downed my second shot in annoyance. Changbin and Jaehyung could be good friends if they let it happen, they’re both so nosy… I could care less about company drama though so I tell him. Not like I’ll get in trouble.

“I- Are you asking me to leave?”

“Oh come on, if they’re this desperate that means there are other strong candidates right?”

“Fine.” I glare, shoving some food in my mouth before answering, “They’re looking into my cousin Wooin and a long-term director Jihyo. They have high performance with successful big projects under their belt in addition to having the favor of various important people.”

“Okay, so what’s this about finding Loverboy? It’s been what? A year with no contact?”

“Of course I do. That was the first time I formed a fat crush on a guy I just met,” I roll my eyes. “It’s the guy you wanted to beat up, Jeongin. It’s been a few months but he’s been working at Jaehyung’s pub.”

      I don’t know if it was the alcohol doing its job but I started to get sentimental as I thought back to our first meeting. That night was during a relatively low point in my life and I was losing touch with the world around me, but he was the first thing I found interest in after a long time. As if my brain wanted to torture me, the image of his face mere inches from mine popped back into my mind.

“Did something already happen?! Your face is red!”

“Shut up. He still has a girl he likes so no.”

“Still?” Changbin whistles in surprise, “That’s what I call devotion. Does he remember you?”

“Nope. To make matters… interesting, she works there too and has a crush on Jaehyung-oppa.”

“Wait that cute new waitress? On that old man? And I thought you had problems,” he laughs.

[edie-k]

Conflict - R/Hr Fanfic

Today, I mentioned my dislike for one Ginny Weasley on the Romione Discord and I was met with polite side eyes. It made me remember this fanfic I wrote in 2004 (pre-HBP) in which I challenged myself to write a story where I liked Ginny but kept her fairly in character. Looking back at it 16 years later, I see all the cringe but I did accomplish my goal so I thought I would share.

Obviously, this is AU after OOTP.

Title: Conflict

Pairing: Romione

Rating: PG (I think I say hell once or twice, which is par for any conversation with me)

Disclaimer: Characters aren’t mine.

Ginny Weasley was a woman of divided allegiances. Her heart belonged to two separate factions: institutions that had been in place since almost the beginning of time. As Ginny Weasley was a loyal person, she had a difficult time choosing a position when these two sides went to war with one another.

You see, Ginny Weasley was a girl and a sister.

Of course, one may think these two went hand in hand. In order to be a sister, you must be a girl. True as that was, there were so many instances when it was difficult to be both a girl and a sister.

Ginny had six brothers and she loved them all dearly. Bill and Charlie regarded her as all significantly older brothers regard their younger sisters - she was innocent and young and could do no wrong. Apparently, Bill and Charlie did not remember much of the girls they knew at fifteen.

Percy… She was a bit reluctant to talk about Percy. She could never truly hate him, not even if she wanted to. When Bill and Charlie went to Hogwarts, Percy took on the role of the eldest child. He treated her as though she was his personal responsibility. Part of her wished he would return to the family just so she could drive him mad again.

Ginny’s relationship with the twins changed constantly. Some days they wanted Ginny as their protégé. Other days they wanted her out of the way. She was excellent in both carrying out their plans and schemes or as their unwilling test subject. Beyond that, she was a bit of a pest in their eyes. They had each other and did not see a need for anyone else’s company.

None of her five oldest brothers posed any problems when it became obvious she was a girl. They allowed guilt-free participation in girly activities, like gossiping and giggling with other females her age.

Ron was the one who always brought conflict and strife when it came to her roles as a girl and a sister. Ron was not her “favorite” brother or the one she “loved the most”. None of her brothers were. That was just not how the concept of family worked. Ron was her closest brother, and they had grown closer this summer.

The two of them spent the first month of holiday at the Burrow where the only real company was each other and it had been very enjoyable. Ron really seemed to have matured the past year, and it showed in their conversations. Ron actually listened to her, even when she could tell he thought she was being ridiculous or nosy. She found they could talk about almost anything. Ron even managed to muster up the maturity to listen to (some) details about her past and present relationships, although every time, he, not so subtly, hinted her perfect match had messy black hair and glasses.

Yes, some people may think that having one’s brother as a close friend is a bit pathetic, but something her mother said long ago stuck with her. Her brothers, especially Ron, were the only ones who knew what it was like to grow up a Weasley; who knew the holidays and memorable events the family shared. There were things her friends could never understand and the same went for Ron’s friends. They could not know what it was like to be poor or grow up in the magical world or as the babies of a large family. For that reason, Ginny was not ashamed of her friendship with her brother. He was a great person and even when Ginny was angry with him, she always found herself rooting for Ron. Therein lay the first half of the problem.

Not all areas of Ginny’s femaleness conflicted with her sisterly obligations. Ginny had plenty of friends who were girls. In fact, all of her roommates could be counted among her girl friends. They were not the pour-your-heart-out-to-and-tell-all-your-hopes-and-fears friends. No, they were more of the stay-up-late-giggling-about-boys-and-gossip friends. Yes, Ginny recognized that giggling and gossiping were not the most sophisticated of activities, but she enjoyed the frivolous time she spent with these girls.

There was a girl who was slowly becoming the heart-and-soul sort of friend. Hermione Granger listened in the same genuine way as Ron. She was trustworthy and faithful. They could discuss the serious matters in life, as well as the more entertaining aspects. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger was the other half of her problem.

Ron and Hermione were best friends. Of course, in saying that she rolled her eyes or raised a suggestive brow. Because while Ron and Hermione were just friends, neither of them actually felt that way, and more and more people caught onto that fact, Ginny especially, because she was the only one who had managed to coax confessions from them both.

Hermione already confessed the prior summer at Grimmauld Place that she possessed feelings beyond friendship for Ron. Consequently, Ginny made it her goal to obtain the same confession from Ron that summer. It was not half the challenge Ginny originally anticipated. Two weeks into holiday, she spoke a few carefully chosen words about Hermione’s impending arrival and Ron caved. Irritatingly enough, neither one of them made a move to step past the line between romance and friendship.

With the stalling of their relationship, the bickering remained. Harry remained distant and removed from the whole situation, designating her as the go-between of choice. This brought out Ginny’s two personalities, Ginny the Sister and Ginny the Girl. It actually got to the point where Ginny could visualize miniature versions of herself perched on each shoulder. Sister Ginny wore a Weasley jumper with jeans and her hair was such a bright red that it could not exist in nature. Girl Ginny wore way too much pink and an extraordinary amount of makeup. And the two of them never agreed on anything. They bickered almost as much as Ron and Hermione. What made it even more difficult was they both always had valid points.

So when Hermione exploded into the fifth year girls’ dorm, where Ginny sat on her bed, organizing pictures in her album, she was not surprised to see Sister Ginny appear on her left shoulder and Girl Ginny on the right to see what the problem was.

“Oh Ginny, sometimes he is just so awful!” Hermione cried, flopping on Ginny’s bed.

“What did he do?” demanded Girl Ginny.

“What did you do?” hissed Sister Ginny.

“What happened?” Ginny sighed. It was a beautiful October afternoon and the last thing she wanted to do was discuss her brother with Hermione and her two personalities.

“Well, Ron and Harry came down with their brooms and I said, ‘Ron, I thought you were going to work on your Potions essay with me this afternoon.’”

“She nagged him about that yesterday!” Sister Ginny huffed.

“Encouraged!” insisted Girl Ginny.

“Oh please. Are you telling me that Hermione doesn’t nag?” asked Sister Ginny.

“Didn’t you mention that to him yesterday?” asked Ginny.

“Well, yes.”

“Ha!” said Sister Ginny.

“Only because I - well, because I care about him. I want him to do well,” said Hermione.

“See, she means well!” said Girl Ginny.

“It’s because he’s much smarter than he gives himself credit for and if he just worked a little harder…”

“Well, I guess I have to agree with her there,” conceded Sister Ginny. “He is smart.”

“For a man,” agreed Girl Ginny.

“And then, he says, ‘Don’t nag!’ I told him that I, of course, AM NOT nagging and -”

“Hermione, might I ask why you’re so upset over an argument that seems so typical for the two of you?” Ginny prodded.

“Oh, good point! Now we’re getting somewhere!” said Sister Ginny.

“It’s not very nice to corner someone,” Girl Ginny huffed, crossing her arms.

“I told you; I just want Ron to do well!” insisted Hermione, but her pink stained cheeks told a different story.

“Ooo, she’s got a secret!” squealed Girl Ginny.

“Must you squeal?” asked Sister Ginny.

“Hermione,” Ginny prodded, her voice tinted with disbelief.

“Well,” she said, sitting up and primly straightening her skirt. “He just made a comment yesterday and I thought that - I obviously took it out of context.”

“What did he say?” asked Ginny.

“It’s not - it’s not a big deal. In fact, I obviously made a big deal out of something that was not.”

All three Ginnys patiently stared at her.

“Well, yesterday, he told me that he thought that I looked nice,” she said quietly.

“Good going Ron!�� Sister Ginny said.

“What, she doesn’t look nice everyday?” asked Girl Ginny.

“And….” Hermione stopped and blushed.

“Hermione,” Ginny prompted.

“Well, yesterday when we were playing chess, he said it was sort of nice to spend time together by ourselves and - he kind of put his hand over mine. Of course, before I could respond, Dean and Seamus came in needing Ron to settle some sort of Quidditch argument. So I made some excuse and left.”

“She fled the scene?” asked Girl Ginny.

“See, she was in the wrong!” declared Sister Ginny triumphantly.

“Maybe his hand was clammy,” Girl Ginny said.

“Hermione, it sounds like he was complimenting you and trying to show some more than friendly affection. I don’t think my brother would do that unless he was attracted to you.”

“Ginny, I don’t know,” Hermione said as she rose from the bed. She began to pace back and forth. “All I wanted was to - to spend some time with him alone again this afternoon and so that’s why I pressed the issue, I guess.”

“Oh Hermione,” said Sister Ginny. “Homework is not the way to seduce my brother.”

“Food works well for seduction,” piped up Girl Ginny. “Or cleavage.”

“Okay, I can handle some things but let’s all please remember that this is our brother and I would prefer we never have the word seduction be uttered in the same sentence as his name,” Ginny told her two alter egos.

“Hermione, I bet if you just told Ron you wanted to spend time with him, he would happily oblige,” Ginny suggested gently.

“Hmph,” scoffed Hermione. “Why would he want to spend time with me?”

“If you want to bang your head against that wall, we’ll hang on tight,” suggested Sister Ginny.

“Because he just told you he does!” Ginny exclaimed.

“He’s just… making conversation,” Hermione said. Ginny glared at her. “Oh Ginny, I wish I knew for sure!” Hermione sank back into bed and sighed.

“I wish I could just tell her that Ron told me and this whole damn thing could be over with,” Ginny thought.

“Well of course you can’t,” said Girl Ginny. “And neither can I. But you can!” She pointed directly at Sister Ginny.

“What!” said Sister Ginny.

“What!” said Ginny.

“What?” asked Hermione.

“Just - just hang on a second. I have to think for just one second,” Ginny replied. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen. We can’t tell Ron Hermione likes him because Hermione is our friend and you cannot betray a friend. We all agree on that, right?” said Girl Ginny.

“Right,” confirmed Sister Ginny, looking a touch confused. Ginny herself was a bit confused as to where this was going.

“Now, you’re his sister. That means you can’t allow anyone to put him down or humiliate him or anything like that, right?”

“Correct,” answered Sister Ginny.

“But as his sister, it’s your job to embarrass and annoy him!”

“So,” Sister Ginny started out slowly. “I can tell Hermione that Ron likes her and it’s not really breaking a promise to Ron -”

“It’s being a little sister!” finished Girl Ginny.

“Wait a minute!” cried Ginny.

“This is perfect! I can’t even feel guilty because this is helping Ron. He can’t even be mad!” Sister Ginny exclaimed.

“Shouldn’t we stay out of this whole thing?” Ginny asked weakly. She needed to regain control before she was completely overruled.

“NO!” shouted Sister Ginny and Girl Ginny.

“Well, at least you two are getting along,” Ginny sighed.

“This has gone on long enough. It’s time for some serious interloping,” confirmed Sister Ginny.

“Just tell her. She’s your best friend and you should not keep secrets from your best friend,” pushed Girl Ginny.  

“Don’t you want to do what’s best for your brother?” Sister Ginny asked.

“Ginny? What should I do?” asked Hermione.

“Tell her!” Girl Ginny urged.

“Say it!” pressured Sister Ginny.

“FINE!” yelled Ginny. Hermione jumped two feet in the air at sound of Ginny’s outburst. Ginny took little notice as she launched into her speech. “Hermione, Ron likes you. He told me himself over the summer holiday. He wants to tell you but he was just too scared to say it so I helped him develop a plan. He was going to try and slowly change your relationship. That should explain the decline in the rows and the increase in compliments and touching. Ron was going to see how you responded, and if he thought you liked him too, he was going to tell you on Halloween.”

“Halloween?” said Girl Ginny, wrinkling her nose. “Not very romantic, is it?”

“At least he was going to make a move,” said Sister Ginny.

Hermione was looking at her with wide eyes and a slight smile. “Really? He thought up a plan? It’s more than I managed.”

“Well, I did help him come up with it,” Ginny reminded her. “Anyway, with Halloween right around the corner, your bolting away from him last night probably made him doubt all the other responses he had been getting.”

“Which explains the fight earlier,” finished Hermione. “Oh Ginny, thank you! I’m sure it was hard for you to give up something Ron told you in confidence.”

“Well, it’s for a good cause,” Ginny said. “You are going to fix this, right?”

“Oh yes! I’ll - I’ll - I’ll meet him down at the Quidditch pitch right now,” she declared, standing up from the bed with a look of determination on her face. Suddenly, she deflated slightly. “Oh, but Harry will be there.”

Ginny chuckled. “I’m sure Harry will leave you alone.”

Hermione looked at her. “Does he know as well?”

Ginny was not sure if Ron had told Harry or not but Harry’s increased eye rolling and smirks in Ron and Hermione’s direction seemed to indicate he figured it out. “I’m not sure,” Ginny shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll leave you alone. He’s not as nosy as Ron.”

Hermione smiled as she glanced in the mirror, smoothing her skirt repeatedly. “Do I look okay?” she asked as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean, obviously my hair is a fright but it hasn’t picked up anything between here and the common room, has it? No stray quills, right?”

Ginny laughed. “No, your hair is fine.” While her friend’s hair was bushy, it wasn’t quite the disaster Hermione imagined it to be.

“Well, I suppose it’s okay,” she said, still smoothing it down. “It’s not as if Ron likes me for my looks.”

“Oh Merlin. She either has horrible self-confidence or she is completely blinded by love,” said Girl Ginny.

“Even I am not that delusional about my brother,” said Sister Ginny.

Ginny snorted. “Hermione, you do realize Ron is a teenage boy? I mean, yeah, he likes loads of noble things about you, but he definitely likes looking at you. Believe me; I’ve heard all about it. His eyes even glaze over when he stares at you, and you know he’s picturing you naked.”

“GINNY!” exclaimed an outraged Hermione, face burning red.

“Isn’t that a little too much information for you?” Girl Ginny asked Sister Ginny.

“I have five other brothers. I figured out a long while ago what they think about the majority of the time.”

Ginny ignored the two and turned back to Hermione. “Go on Hermione! You’re a beautiful girl; just go out there and tell Ron how you feel. While you’re at it, make him forget I was the one who let his secret slip.”

Hermione giggled. “I’ll try,” she said as she hurried out the door. Ginny sank back onto her bed.

“I hope I did the right thing,” she muttered aloud. “I feel a bit guilty for giving Ron away like that.”

“It had to be done,” Girl Ginny reassured her. “The arguments, the constant need for your advice…”

“It wasn’t good for your sanity,” finished Sister Ginny.

“My sanity? I’m in my room, talking to two aspects of my personality that have taken on distinctive voices and physical forms. Ron and Hermione were not the ones causing me to question my sanity. So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go down to the common room and fill Harry in when he comes back up,” Ginny finished, standing up and walking towards the door.

“Harry?” Girl Ginny asked excitedly. “Is that open for discussion again?”

“You cannot date your brother’s best friend!” insisted Sister Ginny.

“And why the hell not?” asked Girl Ginny.

“Oh Merlin.”

[klaushargreevesofficial]

call my bluff, call you “babe”

steve harrington x robin’s best friend!reader

requests: heeey could you write steve harrington x fem! reader where she is robin’s best friend and she had a crush on steve during high school but he never notified her but one day she went visiting robin during her work and steve falls in love with at first sight (like she has a different personality from robin, she has like a bubbly personality) ijkohghjjkk thank you so much !!

Steve falling for robin’s best friend and her being skeptical bc she liked Steve in high school

title from taylor swift’s “it’s nice to have a friend”

word count: 4,381 (!!)

warning for cursing because i have the vocabulary of a 12 year old boy

“so you don’t care about me, is what I'm hearing.”

“god, you’re dramatic, y/n,” robin laughed, trying to pull on her shoes while navigating around her room. she was failing to maintain her balance, and every clumsy hop around her room served as punctuation of your premature loneliness. Robin was heading to work, an early morning after your late night sleepover. curled up to your ears in her sheets, your eyes followed her around the room. 

“I can't believe you’re leaving me to go hang out with steve harrington.” you punctuated your statement with a faux gag. Robin replied with a noncommittal hum and leveled her eyes with yours, serving to agitate you more. 

“I'm not hanging out with him. I'm trying to make money so I can afford all of the expensive candy you like for movie nights.” finally dressed and ready for work, robin sat on the edge of her bed. “and you,” she poked your head, “would like him, he’s not that bad anymore! annoying? yes! but an asshole? not at all.” 

listening to her lift steve up made you uneasy. all through high school, steve had been your dream boy. hadn’t he been everyone’s? with the hair, the eyes, the swagger in his step as he walked past you in the hallway...you just about died thinking about it. how embarrassing, you thought. having a crush on steve, the untouchable asshole of your formative years, was about as out of character and cringey as you could have gotten. he never spoke a word to you except to ask to copy off of your homework, and even then, he called you by the wrong name. but god, that boy was pretty. 

after graduation, you did your best to avoid steve at all costs. not that he would notice or care, but rather for your sake. it was embarrassing to recall the amount of times you had imagined him choosing staying at your house over a party, or fantasized about running your fingers through his hair. it was your character flaw that you decided to ignore and actively suppress. steve was an asshole, and you recognized that. thus, the active forgetting of steve harrington.

 the plan to gradually forget about your schoolgirl feelings for steve had been working, working really well. you’d stopped obsessing over that one time he had accidentally bumped your shoulder in the hallway (and walked away without apologizing, thank you very much), and you couldn’t even remember what color his eyes were. then robin sauntered into your house with her spare key and an unperturbed way about her, proclaiming she landed the mall job and “y/n, you’d never believe who my co-worker is.” and then the humiliation that came with liking steve came rushing back.

 did you resent steve? not at all. but at certain points, when you were at your lowest, you wished he could feel as lowly and unimportant as him and his adolescent goons had made you feel. sometimes, though you would never admit it, you wished steve harrington would pine after you, simply so you could brush him off and crush his pretty boy heart as he had crushed yours in high school. but thoughts like that made you feel bad, and were definitely not feasible. the only time nowadays that you had a vague hatred towards steve was when robin went to work. screw him for winning over your best friend too. 

“go to work, buckley. when you come home, i’ll be here, in this spot, borderline comatose. wake me up then.” you turned to your side and closed your eyes.

“maybe you could come see me at work, y/n! i’m sure my parents would much prefer that, rather than you lounging in my house all day.”

 “mmm, they love me,” you replied, already slipping back into a half-asleep state.

 ------------------------

“y/n!” robin exclaimed. “wait, is that my shirt?” you stalked into scoops ahoy, dark circles under your eyes. you had awoken after another 3 hours of sleep, and after 30 another minutes of being alone in robin’s house, you decided to finally bite the bullet and visit her at work. there was no motivation besides boredom, loneliness, and the hope that robin’s offers of free ice cream when trying to coax you to come still stood. 

“i’m exhausted. can i get a vanilla cone?”

 “i don’t see you opening your wallet to pay, y/n,” she said, her motions towards the freezer contradicting her words. she scooped a cone for you and one for herself, and you guys chuckled at how quick robin was to shell out ice cream that would probably come from her paycheck. leaning against the counter, you reveled in the silence that settled as you ate your ice cream. you cherished these moments with robin, where you guys could just enjoy each other’s presence, words unnecessary. for as much as the two of you talked, they didn’t occur often, but when they did, they were peaceful. 

robin and you both were enjoying the serenity of the moment, and then there was steve. loud, doors swinging, calling (or shouting, rather) for robin. instantly, you were on edge, and robin sensed it. she was aware of your past feelings towards steve, but unaware of how vast and intensely they spread. she was there when you’d comment quietly to her how nice he looked in his jeans, but absent for the doodling of “harrington” in hearts on the margins of your papers. 

seeing steve was a gust of wind in your hair and a suckerpunch to your gut, simultaneously. rigid, ice cream dripping down your hand, you turned to robin, who, despite being engaged in a conversation with steve about their break schedules, was subtly keeping an eye on you, making sure you were okay. “uh, robin?” both heads turned towards you, the first time steve had acknowledged you. the “ahoy” on their sailor hats was so aggressively there and ugly, it only served to make you more anxious. 

“is this…?” steve gave robin a look as if to communicate something to her, something secret, and you knew immediately what---or who, rather---he was referencing. stacey.  he thought you were stacey. stacey was robin’s beau, who you had listened robin talk about, cry about, gush about, for weeks. you felt blessed, as robin’s best friend, to be able to coach her through her first relationship, which you understood must be extra difficult as a closeted gay woman. robin never had any shortage of stacey related topics to talk about, and you were glad to serve as a sounding board. you’d always just assumed you were the only one robin could bounce her thoughts off of, especially because of her sexuality.

 steve thought you were stacey. which means...steve knew robin’s best kept secret. of course steve knew. robin had been preaching about how great and un-assholey he’d become since graduation, something that would only be tested and tried by robin’s candid confession of who she loved. you felt stupid for not having figured it out earlier. steve knew.

 “no, harrington,” you piped up, finally regaining your ability to speak for the first time since steve had kicked open the door to the Scoops backroom. “my name’s y/n, and we actually went to high school together. i’d say i’m surprised you don’t remember me, but you were an asshole back then, so….” you let your voice trail off, expecting a snarky remark back from the boy in front of you. steve knew. 

the only person behind the counter to pipe up was robin. “steve, this is y/n, my best friend, who is acting, surprisingly, much like one of those assholes she constantly proclaims to hate.” although she was addressing steve, her eyes were locked with yours. there was a jovial tone to her voice, she was clearly not upset with you, but you tilted your chin out in defiance, and tossed the remainder of the ice cream cone away. steve knew. he was quiet. “y/n,” robin began, her voice calm, “i’ll meet you at the Gap on my break. 2:45. go cool off, please?” you took a peek at your casio calculator watch. you had 45 minutes to kill. you gave her a curt nod, and completely disregarded silent steve as you walked out of the ice cream parlor. what had just happened? 

no, you didn’t mean to completely be a dick. it was hard to dissect your feelings. it certainly wasn’t fair for you to be upset that robin told steve her secret. you were proud she felt safe enough to share that important part of herself with him. if anything, you were more upset that of all the people in Hawkins, she chose your self-proclaimed, one-sided enemy.  but still, unfair. and...you sighed. steve hadn’t even said anything to you. could you blame him? he didn’t remember you, y/n, get over it, you thought. how long were you going to let your internal struggle with steve dictate your actions? especially now that there was a chance at a...mutual friendship of sorts, through robin. had you not fucked that up by the scene you’d just caused.

 seeing steve dredged up a lot of negative emotions, you realized. it was embarrassing, especially because everything you and steve “had” was fabricated in your brain. one sided, imaginary, call it what you want. and yet, here you were, harboring real, genuine hurt. at what point does an adult let go of these childish fantasies and quit playing the victim? had you only hurt steve’s feelings (which you weren’t entirely sure you did, seeing as he was just so quiet), maybe you wouldn’t have had the mindset shift, but you could tell robin was upset with your petulant behavior. and quite frankly, you were tired of holding on to high school. you turned on your heel, chuck taylors squeaking against the shiny mall floor, and walked back to scoops ahoy.

 the parlor was empty. no one lounging at the tables, cheerily eating a sundae. you assumed this was why steve and robin were huddled in the back room, having a hushed conversation that you could only hear remnants of. you chose to ignore steve yet again, but this time simply to give you the guts to ring the service bell repeatedly. if you pretended only robin could answer, it was easier to be annoying. she was used to you. so, with a heavy hand, you rang the bell. ding. ding. ding. ding. as you poised to ring it once more, steve opened the backroom door, scooper in hand.

 he let out a breath of what you marked as relief. maybe he’s just glad you wouldn’t actually be ordering ice cream, you thought, until he said, “i was hoping it was you.” 

“oh?” you spluttered, forgetting your whole purpose for returning to the ice cream shoppe. 

“yeah, y/n, i just,” he sighed as if to organize his thoughts. “you were right when you said that i didn’t remember you from high school because i was a pompous dick.” 

“i didn’t say those words!” you defended, then gestured for him to continue. 

“well, you might as well have. i just wanted to apologize, because i really sucked back then. i’m working on it.”

 were you ever expecting an apology from steve? no. maybe a few months ago you would have revelled in this, would have eaten it up and made him beg for forgiveness. but at this point, you had changed, and you felt that he didn’t even have to apologize. well, for much, at least.

 “you’re good, steve. i’m sorry for caring so much about social hierarchy. it probably isn’t even fair for you to apologize to me.” you shrugged.

steve leaned his elbows on the counter, next to the register, and thought for a moment. “fairness is subjective though, isn’t it? like, what’s fair to you might not be fair to me, or vice versa.” 

--------------

after you and steve had apologized to each other in the parlor of Scoops Ahoy, you, him, and robin had been inseparable. no outsiders would ever be able to tell that there was ever a time when you and steve weren’t on good terms...or on any terms for that matter.  as time progressed, you’d now easily call steve one of your best friends. you rarely were not at scoops ahoy, hanging out in the backroom and avoiding their managers. steve had an open invitation to your movie nights, now, although he wasn’t yet granted key privileges like robin was. (you were sure your parents would kill you if you ever gave steve harrington a key to your house.) you’d sat backseat in steve’s car as he and robin scream-sang songs you didn’t know the words to. steve and robin had a bond that you could never begin to understand, and you and robin had one steve could never understand.

 where did that leave you and steve? working on it, for sure. he was funny, intelligent, and quite personable. he was a great friend to robin, and a great friend to you. you felt bad for writing him off so soon. nothing was difficult with steve. you guys had split and shared plenty of burgers at the local diners, and often the two of you would go to the video store, where you educated steve about movies and their importance. steve was clingy, more so onto you than robin. he always wanted to come over, or wanted you to come hang out, or begged for you to tag along when him and robin went on an adventure. 

once, steve had sat you down with a very serious look in his eye, visibly nervous, and declared that you were his best friend. he didn’t know what a best friend felt like, he said, but since you were the person he liked to spend time with the most, it must be you. before you could reply with a similar sentiment, he had added “and robin. but she knew that.” 

so, yeah, things were good. and they remained good for months.

and then the switch flipped, and steve started skipping trio adventures, and calling off of work on days robin worked. calls were fielded, and whenever you caught him in the streets, he brushed you off with a “hey y/n” and a “gotta go.” you were worried, because he was isolating himself with no explanation. there was hardly a ghost of him in the spots the three of you frequented “what’s wrong with steve?” you had asked robin when you first noticed his prolonged absence. robin hadn’t brought steve up for a week, which was odd. normally conversations were peppered with his name, although you and robin had always tried your hardest to pass the in real life bechdel test. 

robin’s response of “i don’t want to talk about him,” confirmed your sneaking suspicion that something had occurred for steve to become so cold. robin and steve were two of the most easy going people you had ever met, so for them to have had an argument seemed far fetched. robin’s stoney features after you had mentioned his name, however, made it obvious to you that an altercation had happened. 

----------------

“what are you doing here?” steve stood behind his door, keeping it open only a hair so you couldn’t wedge yourself inside. 

“what is going on with you?” you asked coldly. the time for reaching out gently had passed.  “you’ve been absolutely ignoring robin & i, and for what, you asshole?”

 “oh shit, is she here?” his eyes scanned his front lawn frantically, in search for robin. “you shouldn’t be here, y/n.”

 “good thing you aren’t in charge of telling me what i should and shouldn’t do, dad. if you don’t talk to me...i’ll..i’ll scream!” 

“go away.” he motioned to shut the door. 

surprising him by how compliant you were, you turned on your heel and trotted down off of his front porch into the lawn. pleased with himself for getting you away so easily, he closed the door and turned the lock. as soon as you heard the lock click, and watched steve skate away through the window, you planted your feet and took a deep breath. 

and then you were screaming. god, you hoped his parents and neighbors weren’t home, because here you were, in steve harrington’s front yard, wailing. you were screaming bloody murder, pausing to catch your breath with all of the cadence of a baby’s cry. you started from a yell and transitioned into a scream. you screamed in every musical scale known to man. you screamed loudly, and you screamed even louder than loudly. your voice box was your portable “ring for service” bell. so, you exercised it.

it felt like years, although it was only 30 seconds of sound until steve came running out into his front yard. he was trying his best to be angry, asking you “what the actual fuck, y/n,” but he was stifling laughter. 

“i told you i would, steve.”“you’re so infuriating!” he let out a frustrated chuckle, and carded his hands through his hair, tugging. “and i’m,” he sighed, facing you with a hollow look in his eye. “i’m in love with you. god, i’m in love with you, and robin’s pissed. so i took a step away for her to cool off, and for me to,” he shrugged,”i don’t know, for me to get over it i guess.” 

for all of that screaming you had done earlier, you were now speechless. moments and moments, it felt like a million moments passed and there was nothing but silence. what were you to say? how do you respond to such a candid confession? finally, after what felt like three years of silence, steve cut his sad and unwavering eye contact and headed back into his house, leaving you there, feet planted, stunned into silence and stagnance.

 you waited a beat in his lawn, processing. then the only thing on your mind was robin. you made a mad dash to your car, shaking your key ring in an effort to start the engine faster. after speeding an ungodly amount, you reached robin’s house. you parked haphazardly in her driveway, shifting into park before you even braked to a stop.

 as you unlocked robin’s door, with your key labeled “robin’s” in big bold letters, she heard the lock jingling and came to the door. “y/n, i was just about to leave and come to your house! i want to go to a movie, is there anything good out?” 

“steve’s in love with me?” you spoke silently, feeling small, the gravity of the confession finally hitting you.

 “well, that’s not exactly a movie,” she tried to joke, but noticing the sullen look in your eyes, she sighed and took a seat on the couch. “yeah, he is.” 

“what the hell, robin?”  you took your usual seat to the left of her, sprawling your limbs out. “he told me you were pissed off.” 

“well, yeah! you broke your own heart in high school over him, and you were sick for years. imagine if he actually broke your heart? you’d be inconsolable.”

 “for him to break my heart, i’d have to feel the same way, dingus.” you poked her arm. 

“are you stupid?” she deadpanned, causing you to let out a shocked laugh and sit up straight.

 “robin!” you gaped. “i am not in love with steve!” 

“okay, you’re stupid,” robin said again, sending the two of you into a fit of giggles. you loved robin so much, that sitting there, laughing and talking about boys was enjoyable, and you almost forgot the two of you were talking about steve. your best friend steve. robin always knew you better than yourself, though, so her implications about your feelings for steve made you think. were you in love with steve? every memory the two of you had shared flashed through your brain like a movie montage. you and steve ordering two different entrees, and then splitting them. steve sneaking you into his house, past his parents, so you could lay in bed and read comics. steve letting you cling onto him during scary movie night, robin calling the both of you pansies in the background. that one time steve called himself daddy and your stomach did a little flip. 

“oh fuck, robin, i think i’m in love with steve,” you groaned, burying her head into her shoulder. everything was made complicated by this realization, you knew. robin and steve weren’t even on speaking terms because of this, and you hadn’t even been involved at that point. and you didn’t even respond to steve when he told you. he was probably so upset. further than that, what would robin think if you and steve were to like...try and get together? would she be mad? what would that mean for the three of you as a unit?

you relayed all of these feelings, thoughts, and questions to robin. although she was close to the situation and probably biased, you still trusted her the most to give you accurate and smart advice. her answers always were right, because she knew you better than you knew yourself. robin assured you that her and steve hadn’t explicitly fought, per se, but she had let him know how she felt about the situation and advised him to step away and sort himself out. but no argument had occurred, contrary to your imagined idea. there were no “bad terms” between the two of them, and robin said she felt like if she saw steve this weekend, they’d fall back into their normal relationship and banter. this soothed you. 

“but if...if steve doesn’t hate me, and something like, happens, how would you feel?” 

“first of all, y/n, you’re dramatic,” you nod in agreement. “as long as he’s not an idiot, and you’re not an idiot...i suppose i will be okay. as long as you’re not, like, gross or anything. but i trust both of you.” 

and that, honestly, was all you needed to hear. after pinky promising you would come back to robin’s house later and tell her everything, you left as quickly as you had come, whipping out of the driveway and going back to where your day’s adventure had first started: steve’s place.

 you felt like you were walking on eggshells around steve, and although you were so excited you wanted to scream (again) and bang on his door, you channeled all of your nervous energy into a doorbell ring and rocking back and forth on your heels. when steve came to the door, he looked sadder than you left him. his hair was wild, his eyes red.

“i love you,” you stated simply, but you felt like your words fell short. how do you put so much emotion into 3 words? there was no way that this could encompass what you felt for steve. you paused. “there’s no way that those words can encompass what i feel for you.”

 ------------

“you’re fucking annoying, steve,” robin stated, tossing a piece of popcorn at him as she stood up to leave. it was movie night at his house, and although he wasn’t really doing anything, him and robin were engaged in some playful banter. steve had made some comments about the poor cinematography of the movie robin had chosen, and she was displeased. you were situated snugly in steve’s lap, his arms wrapped around your waist. you vocally agreed with robin because, yeah, steve was annoying, and he gave your hip a pinch, making you jump.

 “asshole!” you yelped, peeling yourself off of him. 

“you love me,” he commented, not incorrect. 

“yeah, but you’re annoying.” you and robin were a united front, always, despite what you and steve’s relationship status was. you wrapped your arms around her tightly. “drive home safely, please.” she nodded and tipped an invisible hat. 

“i always do, y/n. you two lovebirds have fun, but not too much fun, because we have work tomorrow morning, steve!” she made a hand motion indicating that she was watching him, moving two fingers from her eyes to point at him. 

“aye aye, captain! get some rest, you’ve got a lot of ice cream slinging to do tomorrow. i’m thinking i’m going to hang in the backroom for a little bit.” he grinned as robin groaned, letting herself out of the front door with a sing-songy “goodbye.” 

“c’mere, love,” steve said, looking up at you from the couch. you gave him a big smile and returned to your seat in his lap, straddling him. 

this was the only thing that was different about movie nights now. you and steve would spend the night together afterwards. steve was your boyfriend now. could high school you believe it? you ran your fingers through his hair, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead. “i know you have work tomorrow, and i wanna spend as much time as possible with you, but i’m really tired,” you mumbled, laying your head on his shoulder.

 he nodded with a smile. “that’s okay, baby. let’s lay in bed, we’ll kiss a little, and i’ll let you sleep.” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

 as soon as the two of you were situated, face washed, pajamas on, covers pulled up to your chins, steve turned to you and pushed a piece of hair out of your face. “i can’t believe i have the coolest girlfriend ever.” “i can’t believe you’re this cheesy, harrington,” you replied, but his words made your chest warm. you were the farthest thing from cool, and all you had ever wanted was steve to think you were cool. although he was, at this point, not a very good judge of being “cool,” because he had evolved into less of a high school king and more of a loveable dork, you were still elated to hear this from him. steve thought you were cool. and you weren’t, clearly, but he wasn’t either. you pressed a kiss to his lips gently, a smile permanently etched onto your face. “i love you, dingus.” 

[setinprovincialbohemia]

ON SELF-RESPECT 

Joan Didion (1961)

Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself. Although now, some years later, I marvel that a mind on the outs with itself should have nonetheless made painstaking record of its every tremor, I recall with embarrassing clarity the flavor of those particular ashes. It was a matter of misplaced self-respect.

I had not been elected to Phi Beta Kappa. This failure could scarcely have been more predictable or less ambiguous (I simply did not have the grades), but I was unnerved by it; I had somehow thought myself a kind of academic Raskolnikov, curiously exempt from the cause-effect relationships which hampered others. Although even the humorless nineteen-year-old that I was must have recognized that the situation lacked real tragic stature, the day that I did not make Phi Beta Kappa nonetheless marked the end of something, and innocence may well be the word for it. I lost the conviction that lights would always turn green for me, the pleasant certainty that those rather passive virtues which had won me approval as a child automatically guaranteed me not only Phi Beta Kappa keys but happiness, honor, and the love of a good man; lost a certain touching faith in the totem power of good manners, clean hair, and proved competence on the Stanford-Binet scale. To such doubtful amulets had my self-respect been pinned, and I faced myself that day with the nonplussed apprehension of someone who has come across a vampire and has no crucifix at hand.

Although to be driven back upon oneself is an uneasy affair at best, rather like trying to cross a border with borrowed credentials, it seems to me now the one condition necessary to the beginnings of real self-respect. Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception. The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that well-lit back alley where one keeps assignations with oneself; no winning smiles will do here, no prettily drawn lists of good intentions. One shuffles flashily but in vain through ones’ marked cards the kindness done for the wrong reason, the apparent triumph which involved no real effort, the seemingly heroic act into which one had been shamed. The dismal fact is that self-respect has nothing to do with the approval of others – who we are, after all, deceived easily enough; has nothing to do with reputation, which, as Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara, is something people with courage can do without.

To do without self-respect, on the other hand, is to be an unwilling audience of one to an interminable documentary that deals one’s failings, both real and imagined, with fresh footage spliced in for every screening. There’s the glass you broke in anger, there’s the hurt on X’s face; watch now, this next scene, the night Y came back from Houston, see how you muff this one. To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, the Phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commissions and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves.

To protest that some fairly improbably people, some people who could not possibly respect themselves, seem to sleep easily enough is to miss the point entirely, as surely as those people miss it who think that self-respect has necessarily to do with not having safety pins in one’s underwear. There is a common superstition that “self-respect” is a kind of charm against snakes, something that keeps those who have it locked in some unblighted Eden, out of strange beds, ambivalent conversations, and trouble in general. It does not at all. It has nothing to do with the face of things, but concerns instead a separate peace, a private reconciliation. Although the careless, suicidal Julian English inAppointment in Samara and the careless, incurably dishonest Jordan Baker in The Great Gatsby seem equally improbably candidates for self-respect, Jordan Baker had it, Julian English did not. With that genius for accommodation more often seen in women than men, Jordan took her own measure, made her own peace, avoided threats to that peace: “I hate careless people,” she told Nick Carraway. “It takes two to make an accident.”

Like Jordan Baker, people with self-respect have the courage of their mistakes. They know the price of things. If they choose to commit adultery, they do not then go running, in an access of bad conscience, to receive absolution from the wronged parties; nor do they complain unduly of the unfairness, the undeserved embarrassment, of being named co-respondent. In brief, people with self-respect exhibit a certain toughness, a kind of mortal nerve; they display what was once called character, a quality which, although approved in the abstract, sometimes loses ground to other, more instantly negotiable virtues. The measure of its slipping prestige is that one tends to think of it only in connection with homely children and United States senators who have been defeated, preferably in the primary, for reelection. Nonetheless, character – the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life – is the source from which self- respect springs.

Self-respect is something that our grandparents, whether or not they had it, knew all about. They had instilled in them, young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible, comforts. It seemed to the nineteenth century admirable, but not remarkable, that Chinese Gordon put on a clean white suit and held Khartoum against the Mahdi; it did not seem unjust that the way to free land in California involved death and difficulty and dirt. In a diary kept during the winter of 1846, an emigrating twelve-yaer-old named Narcissa Cornwall noted coolly: “Father was busy reading and did not notice that the house was being filled with strange Indians until Mother spoke out about it.” Even lacking any clue as to what Mother said, one can scarcely fail to be impressed by the entire incident: the father reading, the Indians filing in, the mother choosing the words that would not alarm, the child duly recording the event and noting further that those particular Indians were not, “fortunately for us,” hostile. Indians were simply part of the donnee.

In one guise or another, Indians always are. Again, it is a question of recognizing that anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the Indians will be hostile, that the venture will go bankrupt, that the liaison may not turn out to be one in which every day is a holiday because you’re married to me. They are willing to invest something of themselves; they may not play at all, but when they do play, they know the odds.

That kind of self-respect is a discipline, a habit of mind that can never be faked but can be developed, trained, coaxed forth. It was once suggested to me that, as an antidote to crying, I put my head in a paper bag. As it happens, there is a sound physiological reason, something to do with oxygen, for doing exactly that, but the psychological effect alone is incalculable: it is difficult bin the extreme to continue fancying oneself Cathy in Wuthering Heights with ones head in a Food Fair bag. There is a similar case for all the small disciplines, unimportant in themselves; imagine maintaining any kind of swoon, commiserative or carnal, in a cold shower.

But those small disciplines are valuable only insofar as they represent larger ones. To say that Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton is not to say that Napoleon might have been saved by a crash program in cricket; to give formal dinners in the rain forest would be pointless did not the candlelight flickering on the liana call forth deeper, stronger disciplines, values instilled long before. It is a kind of ritual, helping us to remember who and what we are. In order to remember it, one must have known it.

To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out – since our self-image is untenable – their false notion of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gist for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course I will play Francesca to your Paolo, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan; no expectation is too misplaced, no role too ludicrous. At the mercy of those we cannot but hold in contempt, we play roles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the urgency of divining and meeting the next demand made upon us.

It is the phenomenon sometimes called “alienation from self.” In its advanced stages, we no longer answer the telephone, because someone might want something; that we could say no without drowning in self-reproach is an idea alien to this game. Every encounter demands too much, tears the nerves, drains the will, and the specter of something as small as an unanswered letter arouses such disproportionate guilt that answering it becomes out of the question. To assign unanswered letters their proper weight, to free us from the expectations of others, to give us back to ourselves – there lies the great, the singular power of self-respect. Without it, one eventually discovers the final turn of the screw: one runs away to find oneself, and finds no one at home.

[boltsandashes]

@victimplagued​ || random drabble

There’s something about spending a thousand lifetimes with a person that somehow softens you up to them. That turns the boil of frustration in your gut to a boil of anticipation. Resignation into almost fucking relief when, after years of keeping half an eye out, almost unwillingly, he finally swaggers into view.

Negan. He’s always been Negan to Daryl, whatever his name might actually be in that lifetime, back as long as Daryl remembers that face. Subtly different sometimes. Weathered by the world, the times, or ethnicity, but always that same smug self underneath. Daryl’d know him anywhere.

Daryl’s own name that stuck came on later, in a little English town too small and too out of the way to ever bother keeping track of the year. That lifetime they’d met each other too young for the old memories to even start filtering in yet, when they’d just been two boys feeling drawn to each other by something they couldn’t quite place. He’d been an asshole, even then, but in a way that kept pulling your gaze back over. Persistent, and challenging, and interesting in a way that’d grown on Daryl, hooked him right the fuck in until he’d woken up one morning with the memory of Negan slitting Rick’s throat a lifetime before out of sheer fucking boredom.

And yeah, Rick was there sometimes too, through Daryl’s lifetimes, along with a few other souls. Connected by fate or whatever the hell, all of them, filtering in and out. None of them ever remembers, though. No one but him and Negan. No one as often as Negan, either. Daryl could go a dozen lifetimes without running into Rick, or Carol, or Aaron. And sometimes it takes Daryl a while to recognize their souls in their new skins.

Negan, though? Negan’s always there eventually. Always giving Daryl some kind of hell or another. Trying to coax him into fucking crime sprees in some lifetimes, just for the hell of it. Trying to kill him in others, ‘cause why the fuck not, right? One time he’d asked Daryl out for coffee, and that’d thrown Daryl for the worst loop since he’d gone and sat by Daryl’s bedside during the plague. (And if I catch it? A careless shrug. That broad, shit-eating grin as he pressed a damp cloth to Daryl’s forehead, playing nursemaid like he hadn’t shoved a sword through Daryl’s heart during the war three decades before. Fucker couldn’t take one damn stupid thing in their lives seriously. I’ll see you in the next one, won’t I?)

Goddamn prick, a fucking whirlwind. Thorn in the side of Daryl’s eternity.

But there’s something about a thousand lifetimes together that softens you, somehow. And in the horror of that dark clearing, the scream of the bullet wound in his shoulder, the endless nightmare of the days and years leading up to this moment... when Daryl’s wrestled from the back of that truck and sees Negan standing there, leather jacket and a barbed-wire bat in his hand and that fucking smug smile, the resignation almost feels like relief.