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quojae · 11 days ago

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-where taking photos of idols turns into more that you ever would have guessed-

f!reader, sunoo x reader, fan x idol, fluff, meet cute, kissing

a/n: hello loves 𖹭 i hope you enjoy this fic i tried my best to make it cute and fluffy but it definitely gets raw and intimate towards the end, happy reading o(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)o

wc: 11.3k

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you went to school for photography, photography had always been one of the loves of your life, you would see a scene and just have the urge to take a photo. although looking back, you almost regret getting your degree in it, people always say not to mix your passion and your work. you should have listened, photography is one of those professions where finding stable work feels like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. the industry is oversaturated, and the competition is fierce. jobs hard to score, and the pay is often inconsistent, making it hard to rely on it as a full-time career.

at the time, you were stuck working part-time at a mcdonald's in a rundown part of town. the job paid just enough to cover rent and bills, but the hours were long, the work was grueling, and the atmosphere was depressing. you had a camera, of course, but it felt more like a distant dream you once held as a naive college student than something real. that is, until one evening, when one of your coworkers - someone you didn’t really know that well - approached you with an unexpected proposition.

they had an idea - a suggestion so simple yet so completely outside the box that, at first, it felt almost too good to be true. you’d never considered anything like it before, it wasn’t a big corporate gig, or some trendy magazine cover shoot, or even a commissioned project for a local business. it wasn’t even a photoshoot in the typical sense, but that was exactly the point. it was something raw, something spontaneous, and - most importantly - a reason to use your camera again, reignite your childhood passion.

your coworker, the one you barely knew and could hardly remember the name of, was a fan of a particular idol. the idol wasn’t incredibly popular, they rarely made headlines but was a recognizable, familiar face, you had been interested in idol’s at one point but eventually had to abandon the hobby in favor of paying your bills. this idol was attending a private, high-profile event - an exclusive gathering with limited access - where fans rarely got the chance to meet them in person, let alone snap a photo.

somehow, your coworker had managed to get tickets to this event, which in itself was a pretty rare feat, they had an idea: "why don’t you come with me as my plus one?" they asked casually, almost as if they were offering you a ticket to a normal night out. but then came the twist. "i’ll pay you for the photos you take while we’re there. you know, of the idol. if you’re up for it."

the offer caught you off guard. at first, you weren’t sure if you heard them correctly, pay you? to take photos? of an idol? you had spent years hustling to scrape by, working part-time jobs just to keep the lights on. you’d never even thought about something like this - photographing an idol for money on the spot. there was always official photos, and some fans took photos from their phones, but going into these events with a nice, high end camera taking candid photos of idols, the idea wasn't necessarily ground breaking, people have done it before, but it made your heart beat a bit faster.

the more you thought about it, though, the more it seemed to make sense. here was a chance to finally break out of the routine you’d been stuck in. you could do something different, something that didn’t involve working under fluorescent lights flipping burgers at mcdonald's. it wasn’t a perfect opportunity, but it was an opportunity. something real, something that could get you one step closer to doing what you loved for a living.

sure, there was a risk. not getting good shots or you freezing up under the pressure. you weren’t sure, but then again, there wasn't anything to lose. it was a chance to take your photography out of the mundane and into the world of exclusive events, star power, and actual exposure - something you’d always dreamed about but never quite reached.

you agreed, of course. you had to. the idea, while risky and untraditional, was too intriguing to pass up. it wasn’t the glamorous photoshoot you’d always imagined, but maybe this could be your shot. so, you packed your camera and tagged along, unsure of what to expect but knowing that this could be the break you needed.

when you arrived at the event, the energy was electric—idols sitting at their tables ready to sign posters and chat with fans, photographers buzzing around, and security everywhere. you were just another face in the crowd, but with your camera in hand, you felt a strange sense of possibility. the idol you were there to photograph was charismatic, surrounded by an entourage, but the moment you snapped the first shot, it felt like the world had opened up in a way you hadn’t expected.

sure enough, the photos you took that night were more than just decent, they were actually pretty great. the light was perfect, the atmosphere electric, and the idol looked natural in front of the camera, by the time the night ended, you had a batch of photos that would go on to be worth more than you had imagined. it was in that moment that you realized how little you had known about the potential of your work. you had been so focused on following the traditional paths, waiting for commissions, applying for jobs that never seemed to come through, that you’d never considered going outside the box.

your coworker was absolutely thrilled with the photos you took. they couldn’t believe how good they turned out, and the way the idol had looked so natural and approachable in each shot. the pictures weren’t just great, they were special. your coworker practically couldn’t stop talking about them. the excitement in their voice was contagious, and you could tell they were more than just happy with what you'd done; they were impressed. they handed over the agreed payment, which was far more than you expected for something that felt like a spur-of-the-moment gig. you’d never made that much from photography in one night, it felt like you were finally reaching your dreams, it felt like you were finally being acknowledged for your passion.

the real surprise came a few hours later, when your coworker posted the photos on their social media account. They tagged the idol, shared a few behind-the-scenes captions, and - just like that - the photos took off. almost immediately, the reactions started pouring in. fans of the idol who had been eagerly following the event began commenting on the post, captivated by the authenticity and energy you had managed to capture. the photos weren’t just snapshots - they were a window into a moment, and it felt like people were getting a glimpse behind the idols polished public persona.

at first, the comments were more along the lines of casual appreciation like, ‘my bby looks so cutee’ or ‘the lighting on these OMG.’ But as the hours went by, something bigger started to happen. fans were flooding the post, asking for more. a few commented on how they’d never seen the idol look so relaxed or how these photos felt so much more real than the usual, heavily edited promotional shots they were used to seeing. then came the requests: ‘i LiTERALLY NEED MORE RN’ or ‘can you post more pics like these… i love the style of these pics’ others tagged their friends, begging them to look how great their bias looks. then, more offers to purchase came through.

One day at work, you coworker was talking to themself “i mean, these are really good,” they said, scrolling through the growing number of comments. “i bet people would pay for these. like, seriously.”

they were right. what had started as a casual favor to a coworker had quickly turned into something much bigger. the more your coworker engaged with the comments and shared the photos, the more requests started to come in - both from fans and even other photographers who wanted to know how you’d managed to capture such a raw, intimate vibe with the idol.

your coworker, now buzzing with new ideas, suggested something that would change the way you thought about your photography moving forward: “what if you could do this more often? go to events, take these candid shots, and sell them to fans? it’s like, exclusive content. i know so many people who would eat it up.” it was a wild idea, but as they continued to scroll through the endless stream of enthusiastic comments, you couldn’t deny it - there was something there. something more than just a one-time gig, and secretly you looked forward to going to another event to take photos. seeing the idols was breathtaking. at the time you had been so caught up in your camera you forgot where you were, who you were actually seeing. you could feel the happiness growing in your chest as you thought about that day.

that moment, when your photos started to go viral, you realized just how much potential there was in capturing these raw, behind-the-scenes glimpses of idol life, it wasnt that you wanted to stalk them home or anything, but being able to capture their raw emotions at events, the real them, excited you beyond belief. it wasn’t about posing for the camera, it wasn’t about perfection - it was about getting a fleeting, authentic moment and making it available to the people who longed for it. you had even longed for it yourself, and sharing it with others was such a great feeling.

the more you thought about it, the clearer it became, why not take this momentum and build something on your own? you didn’t need a fancy studio or a corporate client to make a living as a photographer. the fans had spoken loud and clear; they wanted real, behind-the-scenes moments, glimpses of their favorite idols captured in an authentic way. So, you decided to seize that demand, and to evolve your approach.

the first step was creating an online platform - a website, a social media page where you could post and sell your photos directly. it was a relatively simple concept, but it gave you control over your work. no middlemen, no agencies, no waiting around for a call back. just you, your camera, and the people who appreciated what you were capturing. the platform would allow fans to request specific photos they wanted, and you could price them fairly based on the level of access and the quality of the shot.

you didn’t have to reinvent the wheel, there were plenty of online photography stores, but what made yours different was the personal, exclusive nature of the photos. the idea was to capture the moments that no one else was - candid shots, spontaneous interactions, and moments that felt intimate or unguarded. tt wasn’t about just selling any photo; it was about selling the photo, the one that told a story or showed a side of the idols their fans had never seen before.

the next step was gaining access to more events. you’d have to be creative, find ways into concerts, premieres, fan meet, maybe even award shows, or private parties where idols were likely to show up. this meant networking, finding connections, and sometimes even pulling a few favors, but you learned quickly that where there’s a will, there’s a way. whether it was through your coworkers, friends of friends, or even just by paying attention to social media and learning about events before they happened, you became skilled at getting your foot in the door.

once you were in, it was all about capturing those moments. you’d snap a few candid shots, focusing on moments where the idol was relaxed, in a natural environment. you’d also make sure to get a couple of highly polished, high-quality images to use as teasers. it was all about creating anticipation. you’d post a few shots on social media, teasing the full set of photos, and maybe even share a quick, behind-the-scenes video or an outtake to drum up interest. the goal was to make the fans feel like they were getting an inside look into the world of their favorite idol, something they couldn’t get anywhere else.

the best part? the fans responded just as they had before, eager, excited, and hungry for more. the teaser posts on social media would ignite the excitement, with fans commenting, sharing, and tagging others. requests would pour in, ‘he looks so hot here, i want moree’ or ‘i need the entire set or i might just break down’ the beauty of this model was that it wasn’t about a few one-off sales—it was about building a relationship with a community. as you gained more followers and more fans, it became a cycle. you would post teasers, people would request more, and you could offer them full, high-quality images for a fair price.

as time passed, your online platform began to grow. word of mouth spread, and more fans began reaching out. you found yourself getting access to bigger events, seeing familiar names pop up in your inbox, and even having idols or their teams inquire about using some of your shots for their own promotional purposes. each new photo was a stepping stone, each set you posted was not just a transaction, but an opportunity to connect with your audience and further build your brand.

being an idol fan yourself, this entire experience felt like a dream come true. you had spent so many years admiring these idols from afar, watching them shine in the spotlight, and now you were not only in the same rooms as them but capturing intimate moments of their lives through your lens. after being broke and not having any time to keep up with them, to being so close to them and actively in their world was incredible. the fact that you were interacting with the people you once looked up to - and even more incredibly, that they were appreciating your work - was surreal. it wasn’t just about taking photos anymore; it was about sharing the same energy, the same excitement, and being able to offer something special to other fans who shared that same passion. you were no longer just a passive admirer, you were now creating something that allowed others to connect with the idols you loved so much.

as your platform grew in visibility, so did your reputation. word spread quickly, and what started as a small side hustle became something much bigger. you became a recognized name in the idol photography world, known for your unique, authentic approach to capturing moments that no one else was able to.

one of the benefits of your approach to this whole new life was the anonymity it afforded you. no one knew your face, and that made all the difference. you could attend high-profile events, interact with the idols, and enjoy the atmosphere without the pressure of being recognized or approached. you were able to experience these moments as both a fan and a professional, without the hassle of the typical fan interaction. there was no need for the autograph hunts or trying to get the perfect selfie; instead, you had the freedom to enjoy the event, capture meaningful moments, and leave without the distraction of unwanted attention. it was the ideal solution - living the dream of being close to the stars, but still having the privacy and space to appreciate it on your own terms. it felt like the perfect balance between work and passion, what you had always dreamed of.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

it was supposed to be a normal event, just a fan meet, nothing too fancy, nothing too extravagant. you’d been to these kinds of things before, but this time you had put a little more effort into your outfit. you reached into the back of your closet and pulled out a blouse that felt just right, simple but elegant. you paired it with a cute black pleated mini skirt that gave off just the right vibe, mature, yet playful and cool. you accessorized it with a delicate necklace and some minimalistic earrings, thinking you looked polished without being overdone. you felt good about it, maybe even a little proud. this was your chance to blend in with the crowd but still stand out, to look like you knew what you were doing, like you belonged here.

but, of course, it was just your luck that, within the first five minutes of arriving, disaster struck. you hadn’t even made it past the entrance when you bumped into someone - just a girl in a hurry, not really paying attention. in the blink of an eye, her coffee went flying, splashing all over your pristine white blouse. your stomach dropped. of course, the one thing you had worked so hard to get right - your outfit - was ruined. the girl immediately started apologizing, her face flushed with embarrassment, but you waved it off, trying to brush it off as no big deal. "it’s fine, really," you assured her, even though your mind was racing. you just needed to get to a bathroom, quickly, before the stain set in and ruined your entire day.

you made your way toward the restrooms, hoping to fix things up. but, as luck would have it, the first two bathrooms you found were packed with girls, all standing in front of the mirrors, touching up their makeup, chatting, or taking selfies. there was no space for you to even get close to a sink, let alone grab some paper towels and start trying to clean up the mess. the minutes ticked by, frustration mounting as you realized that every second you spent standing around, the stain was likely becoming more permanent. finally, when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you spotted an empty bathroom at the end of the hallway - an oasis in your streak of bad luck. no one was around, the door was open, and you rushed toward it with relief, thinking you might still salvage your blouse.

in your rush to get inside and fix things, you completely missed the sign posted outside the door. a simple, overlooked word, mens. you didn’t even register it before you burst into the bathroom. you grabbed a handful of paper towels, dampened them with water, and began dabbing at the stain with the urgency of someone trying to undo a mistake. it was already too late - the coffee had soaked in, and now you could only hope to minimize the damage. You could feel your heart pounding, trying to keep calm as you worked, praying that no one would walk in and catch you in the middle of your panic.

a toilet flushed behind you, its sound startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet bathroom. you were so absorbed in your task, desperately rubbing at the coffee stain with a damp paper towel, that you didn’t even register the sound at first. your focus was on nothing but trying to salvage your blouse, one dab at a time. the stain seemed to mock your efforts, refusing to lift. you were lost in the rhythm of it - dabbing, dabbing, dabbing - when suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke your concentration. a man’s shoes tapped lightly against the tile floor, and before you could react, he was standing next to you, casually washing his hands at the sink.

it wasn’t until he looked up at the mirror that you noticed him. his eyes locked onto your reflection, and a squeak - more of a startled gasp - escaped his mouth. the noise was enough to make your heart skip a beat, and without thinking, you whipped your head around to see what had caused the reaction. the instant you turned, your eyes locked with his, and your stomach dropped, and you realized, you’re in the wrong bathroom. your pulse spiked as your mind raced, the embarrassing realization dawning on you at the worst possible moment.

for a brief, breathless second, there was complete silence between the two of you. your eyes widened, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a shriek of your own - a high-pitched gasp of shock and embarrassment that echoed off the walls. the man froze, hands still hovering over the sink, clearly just as surprised as you were. the realization that you had just walked into a men’s bathroom, had been standing right next to him, not even noticing until now, it hit you all at once. your face drained of color, and a flush of mortification spread across your skin, from your neck to the tips of your ears. you wanted to sink through the floor, to disappear entirely, but all you could do was stand there, paralyzed in the awkwardness of the moment.

the man, equally stunned, stared at you for a long, excruciating beat, before his face turned a shade of red that could rival yours. every fiber of your being screamed to just run out of the bathroom, but you were frozen in place, desperately trying to act like you weren’t a complete disaster. you slowly took a step back, hoping to salvage what was left of your dignity - and maybe just run away before you could cause any more damage.

"i-i’m sorry," you stammer out, your voice faltering as your face burns with embarrassment. "i was in such a hurry i didn’t realize..."

"it’s okay," he replies, still blushing as he glances down at your blouse, his eyes briefly lingering on the stain. "you, uh... look like you’re dealing with quite the mess there."

"yeah... today is just a disaster," you admit with a sigh, your frustration evident in your tone.

he gives you a sympathetic look, then hesitates for a second, as though considering the best way to help. "it probably won’t come out with just water at this point," he observes, his voice trailing off as if he’s thinking through the best solution. without warning, he unzips his hoodie and pulls it off, handing it to you with a slight, sheepish smile. "here, use this. it should cover up the stain," he says, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents as he smiles at you.

you blink in surprise for a moment, caught off guard by his kindness. "thanks," you reply, your voice soft, and you quickly slip the hoodie on, zipping it up. it’s a little big on you, but it feels warm and comforting, and you can’t help but return his smile, feeling a small spark of connection in the midst of your awkward situation.

"hey," he says, his voice hesitating for a moment, like he’s unsure of how to proceed. "i know this is kind of random, but… could i get your number? or, like, your instagram or something?" he looks sheepish, clearly embarrassed about asking, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.

you smile, feeling the awkwardness melt a little. "sure," you say, your heart beating just a little faster. he passes you his phone, opening a new contact, and you quickly type in your name and number. your fingers move quickly, but it feels like time slows down as you finish and hand the phone back to him.

"so, your name’s y/n?" he says, his eyes bright as he glances at the screen. "it’s pretty." he smiles again, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment.

"thanks," you reply, feeling a little giddy despite yourself. "well, anyway, it was fun meeting you." you let out a small laugh, trying to diffuse some of the lingering awkwardness between you two. "i’d better get going so i don’t miss the start," you add, raising your camera to gesture to the event outside. "i’ve got photos i need to take, and fans i have to feed."

he chuckles, nodding in agreement. "yeah, fans have been pretty starving for photos lately."

you hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to leave or say something else. you stand there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, but decide to settle on something that feels right in the moment. slowly, you back toward the door, giving him an awkward wave and a smile. "text me," you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can overthink it.

he grins, his eyes still crinkling with amusement as you turn to leave. "i will."

as soon as the door closes behind you, you collapse against the nearest wall, your heart nearly pounding out of your chest. the rush of adrenaline, combined with the sheer mortification of walking into the wrong bathroom, has your pulse racing, but now there's something else, too. the encounter - the way he smiled at you, how effortlessly kind he was, the way your conversation flowed once the awkwardness wore off—it’s all a whirlwind in your mind. and then, there’s the fact that you’d just met the cutest guy you’ve seen in forever, and he’d asked for your number. your face feels like it's on fire, but there’s a grin spreading across your face anyway.

you squint up at the ceiling and slowly squat down into a little ball, clutching the wall for support as your heart continues to beat like a drum. the hoodie he’d given you smells faintly like him - fresh, with a hint of something sweet and comforting - and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to savor the feeling. the moment feels so surreal, so unreal, but you can’t help but feel like it’s the start of something unexpected.

for a moment, you allow yourself to daydream, imagining the possibilities. your heart is still racing, and it feels like it might actually burst from the excitement. you can hardly believe it - what are the odds? a mistake, a coffee stain, and suddenly you're having this perfect, bizarre, heart-thumping interaction with someone who, in any other situation, you might have never crossed paths with. if this keeps up, you might literally die from a heart attack - your heart can’t seem to slow down, and you can’t stop grinning like an idiot.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sunoo collapses against the sink, heart pounding in his chest, face flushed from the unexpected encounter. at first, when he saw her - y/n - he had just assumed she was some overzealous fan trying to snap pictures of him in the bathroom, which, crazy as it sounded, had happened before. it was a wild situation to even think about, but it wasn’t totally unheard of. the thought that she might be after some candid shot of him in a vulnerable moment made his skin crawl. but then he had noticed something that completely threw him off: she wasn’t even looking at him. instead, she was fixated on something else—the stain on her shirt. there was no glimmer of recognition in her eyes, no sign that she had any clue who he was. the realization hit him in an instant—she wasn’t here for him at all.

the more he watched her, the more he saw her quietly trying to clean up the mess, the more he found himself charmed by her. when she realized she’d walked into the wrong bathroom, it was so obvious how mortified she was. her face turned the brightest shade of red, and she stammered out an apology, looking like she might just melt into the floor. it was almost adorable. instead of being embarrassed for himself, he couldn’t help but find her genuine discomfort endearing. and on top of that, the way she casually interacted with him - it was like she had no idea who he was. no fandom craziness, no over-the-top fan-girling. just... a normal conversation between two strangers. it was refreshing in a way he hadn’t expected.

on a sudden impulse, he’d asked for her number. it felt like the most natural thing in the world. how could he not? a stunning, confident girl who was totally his type had just wandered into his life by accident. dating someone while being an idol was looked down upon, but as long as he hid it well it would be fine, it wasn’t even like he was the first in the group to get a girlfriend. heeseung had had a girlfriend before, and the members had all been through their fair share of relationships. still, the thought of a girl not knowing who he was felt almost unreal. he hoped she wouldn’t find out and suddenly treat him like a celebrity, though. it would definitely complicate things.he hoped when she learned that he was part of enhypen, the group she was supposed to be taking photos for, things wouldn't get weird. he hoped she wouldn’t suddenly act awkward or distant. he just wanted to be seen as... well, just him, the real sunoo, and despite his usual confidence about his appearance, he found himself hoping she would find him attractive, something he had never worried about before.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. things had been going so well, but now the uncertainty was creeping in. would she text him back? would she even remember him the way he remembered her? maybe he was overthinking it. he was always so fixated on how he looked, how others saw him. but with her, it felt different. like it wasn't just about appearance, but about a genuine connection. the last thing he wanted was for that to get ruined by the whole idol thing. the thought of her walking away, thinking he was just another fan-chasing idol, made his stomach churn. but all he could do now was wait and hope.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

on your way to the main event, you spot a merch table tucked off to the side. surprisingly, the line is practically nonexistent—something that’s unheard of at events like this. on impulse, you decide to hop in the short line, intrigued by the merchandise on display. as you glance over the items, your eyes land on a pretty album titled simply ‘romance untold’. it looks cute, with soft, pastel-colored artwork and a sweet, romantic vibe. even though you have no idea what the idols look like yet, you feel a tug of curiosity. there’s something about the way the album is presented that draws you in. you’re sure you’ll fall in love with the group once you see them today, and it’ll be the perfect thing to flip through when you get home, a little memento of the day.

after making the quick purchase, you make your way into the main event space. you find a spot near the edge of the room, a nice angle where you can get some great shots of the idols. the excitement in the air is palpable, and the sea of eager fans around you buzzes with anticipation. you try to ignore the faint sense of discomfort as the crowd surges forward, pushing their way closer to the front. it’s always like this at big events - everyone wanting to be as close as possible, desperate for that connection with the stars they adore. you can’t help but feel a little bad for the boys, though. constantly surrounded by this intensity, always being viewed as more of a commodity than as people. of course, you know there are fans who genuinely care about their personalities, who want to see the candid moments behind the performance. but it’s hard to ignore the way others only see them for their fame. it must be exhausting, being unable to have a real, personal connection when you’re constantly on display.

the event officially kicks off when the boys walk on stage, and the crowd erupts in deafening screams, fans shrieking in excitement. you raise your camera instinctively, ready to catch the perfect shot. but as the boys make their way across the stage, your eyes widen in disbelief. standing right there, just a few feet in front of you, is the cute boy you met in the bathroom earlier. it’s him. the same boy, the one who had helped you with your coffee stain and awkwardly asked for your number. he’s up on stage now, dressed in a sleek stage outfit, his smile shining as the crowd goes wild for him. you freeze, your heart thumping as you realize the person you’d spoken to in such an unexpected, ordinary setting was a part of this incredibly popular group, standing in front of thousands of adoring fans.

your fingers hover over the camera, caught between snapping a picture of him on stage and trying to process the surreal realization. he's an idol. you can't help but feel a mix of emotions, shock, excitement, and maybe even a little disbelief. everything from the moment you met him in the bathroom suddenly feels like it was all leading to this. and now, as you watch him interact with the crowd, you can’t help but wonder if he remembers you - or if your interaction was just one fleeting moment, lost in the sea of faces he meets every day. either way, you can't deny it - seeing him up there, doing what he loves, surrounded by the energy of his fans, makes him all the more captivating.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You get home to your small studio apartment that night with a jumble of feelings in your stomach, you really aren't sure how to feel about this whole situation. you can’t help but smile, remembering how he’d been so cute, but also completely sweet, offering you his hoodie as you stammered through an apology. for those few minutes, he was just a friendly, kind stranger who made you feel like a bit of a mess.

seeing him later on stage was like looking at an entirely different person. the easygoing, endearing guy you’d met in the bathroom had somehow transformed into a star everyone had come to see. the cheers, the eyes on him… it was like watching two different versions of the same person, both mesmerizing but worlds apart.

you wander to the tiny kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water, glancing at your camera where all those shots are stored - photos of the day, of him, some of his group mates too, but while at the event your camera couldn't help drifting to take more shots of him. you’ve always had an eye for capturing people in the in-between, those glimpses when they forget about the camera and just are, having those photos of him felt intimate and you almost didn't want to share them.

you settle into an armchair by the window, watching the glow of the city outside. tomorrow, the photos will be waiting, and maybe when you look, you’ll find the boy from the bathroom shining through the idol on stage. for now, you close your eyes, feeling his kindness settle like a secret between you both.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

a notification on your phone startles you awake, and you realize you’d fallen asleep in your armchair while trying to detangle the events of the day. the screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, and you blink a few times, getting your bearings. ten pm. not too late, but late enough that you’d be dragging tomorrow. you pick up your phone and open the notification—a text from an unknown number. your heart skips, then flutters just a bit.

unknown: hey, it's late but i wanted to text you. i hope i didn’t freak you out too much when you saw me on stage today, and i’m sorry i didn’t say anything… it was just so nice meeting you without all the screaming, you know?

a smile spreads across your face as you read it. the way he texted was just like how he talked - a bit of a ramble, slightly scattered, but somehow so sweet. he was trying to explain himself, worried he might’ve left you confused, even a little hurt. but underneath the words was that same earnest charm you’d seen in his eyes back in the bathroom, that natural warmth he’d shown before you’d known who he really was.

you type back, fingers moving faster than your sleepy brain can keep up.

you: well, it was definitely a shock, but once i got over it, i think i actually managed to get some good photos haha

a pause, and then you bite your lip, feeling that tug of nervous excitement. he’d reached out - he hadn’t had to, but he did. part of you wants to say something clever, something that hints at how surreal the whole day has felt, but instead, you decide to let the moment be simple.

his next reply comes almost instantly.

unknown: can i see them sometime? the photos, i mean. it’d be fun to see your side of the day :)

another rush of warmth fills your chest. he wants to see your work. you quickly save his number, tapping in a name that feels right, even if it’s a little embarrassing: my cutie. maybe it’s cheesy, maybe even cringe, but it fits him somehow - the endearing guy behind the idol.

before you can think twice, you hit send.

you: absolutely! i’ll go easy on you and choose only the coolest shots… mostly.

my cutie: so merciful 😌

you laugh, covering your mouth as if he could hear you from miles away. the way he teased you, with that same lightheartedness, made it easy to forget who he was. at this moment, he wasn’t an idol, a star, or even the guy in your photos. he was just someone who’d crossed your path in the most unexpected way.

you lean back, watching the messages pop up one by one, each more endearing than the last. it’s not long before the clock creeps past midnight, and you’re still talking—about everything and nothing. he tells you about the foods he misses from home, you tell him about the weirdest photoshoots you’ve done. eventually, his last text appears on the screen, the letters a bit more spaced out as though he’s getting sleepy too.

my cutie: hey, don’t think too much about today, alright? i liked meeting you… just you. i hope you can think of me like that, not all this other stuff. sleep well, my photographer :)

you stare at the screen, reading the words over and over, your eyes catching on the last two words, my photographer. Maybe you were reading into it, but your heart raced and a blush creeped up your face

you: sweet dreams..

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you woke up the next morning with a dull headache, the kind that reminded you you’d stayed up way too late. the soft morning light filtering through your curtains did little to ease the fog in your mind as you sat up and rubbed your temples. you really shouldn’t have stayed up so late. the night had been a blur of messages and thoughts, and now, in the quiet of the morning, it all felt almost surreal. your mind couldn’t help but wander back to the previous night, replaying the texts and wondering if it was all real.

you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and unlocked it, scrolling through your messages. sure enough, there it was - your conversation with him, still fresh on the screen. your heart skipped a beat as your eyes scanned his words, and a flutter of giddiness spread through your chest. it was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time, something light and warm that made you smile to yourself like you were holding onto a secret.

you stretched and groaned softly, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep, but the thought of him made it hard to focus on anything else. after a few more minutes of half-hearted attempts to wake up, you started getting ready for the event you had scheduled today. normally, you'd feel excited to be at another idol meet, camera in hand, ready to catch those perfect moments. but today, something was different. you were a lot less excited about meeting the idols after meeting him. sunoo, with his sweet messages and even sweeter personality, had somehow made the whole idol experience feel less… important. how could you focus on anyone else when he was already occupying so much of your thoughts?

still, you pulled yourself together, slipping into your outfit and grabbing your gear. you left the house and made your way to the venue, your usual excitement returning as you walked through the crowds of fans, eager to capture the perfect moments for fans. you focused on your work as best you could, snapping photos with precision, but a part of your mind was always wandering back to the messages with him. your fingers hovered over your camera, your heart racing every time you thought of the next time you’d get to talk to him again.

the day passed in a blur, each hour slipping by faster than the last. by the time you got home, you could barely keep your eyes open, but there was something more pressing than rest now, you needed to go through the photos. you decided to post a few teaser shots on your instagram, and checking your website to see if there were any new purchases. it was something you did every day, a small ritual, but today it felt like the least important thing on your mind.

after a quick check of your sales, you set your phone down and settled onto the couch for a while. your excitement for the evening overtaking the exhaustion from the day, you picked up your phone again, your fingers itching to text him, to pick up where you left off. you couldn’t help but feel hopeful about the possibility of talking to him for hours, the way he made you laugh and made you feel seen - even if it was all still so new.

you jumped as the phone in your hand vibrated, the sudden buzz breaking the silence of the room. you glanced down, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw the name on the screen.

my cutie: hey, you free?

your heart fluttered. it was funny, you’d been just about to send him a message yourself, and now here he was, texting you first. you couldn't help but feel a little giddy at the thought.

you: yeah, what's up?

there was a short pause before his reply came through. you could almost imagine him typing, fingers hesitating over the keys, like he was still unsure.

my cutie: well, nothing really, just wanted to talk to you again…

your heart skipped a beat at his words. it was so simple, but the way he said it made you feel… special. he wanted to talk to you again. you smiled to yourself, feeling that warmth bubble up inside.

you: that's fine with me haha, so how was your day?

there was a brief pause before he replied, and when his message came through, it felt so… gentle. his words were easy, like you were two old friends catching up after a long day.

my cutie: pretty good, actually. spent most of the day rehearsing, but it wasn’t too bad. honestly, it was nice to have a quiet day after all the craziness, and i kept thinking how nice it would be to talk to you again. so here i am. 😊

your heart skipped a beat. the way he said it was so sweet, and it made you feel like you were part of his day, something he looked forward to. you couldn’t help but smile as you typed your reply.

you: haha, glad! my day was pretty normal - took a bunch of photos, posted some stuff online… just the usual grind. but talking to you now is definitely the highlight of my day.

you paused, then added another message

you: so, what did you get up to today besides being a super idol lol

a beat passed, and you could almost hear his laugh through the phone. when his reply came, it was exactly the kind of sweet, teasing tone you’d hoped for.

my cutie: oh, you know, just being a super idol... rehearsing, eating my weight in snacks, pretending to be a professional 😅 but honestly, i was kinda looking forward to this all day.

you laughed,

you: i bet the snacks were more important than rehearsal, at least they would be for me haha

my cutie: hey, snacks are an essential part of the idol lifestyle! gotta keep the energy up, right :)

you laughed out loud, feeling completely at ease now, like you’d known him far longer than you actually had. the conversation flowed easily between the two of you, natural and comfortable, and you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm of it. everything felt so normal despite everything that made this situation anything but.

you: i’m sure the snacks were well worth it. so, do you often just, like, have an evening off where you can do nothing?

my cutie: ha, you have no idea how rare that is. but, yeah, i get the occasional evening off. Although i usually just lay on the couch, eating snacks, and watching k dramas. sometimes i just need to forget for a bit.

you: sounds pretty perfect, honestly. no better way to recharge.

there was a brief pause, and when his message came through, it was a little more thoughtful than the previous ones.

my cutie: yeah, it is. but honestly, talking to you like this is kinda the best recharge i’ve had in a while.

he quickly sent another message

my cutie: actually… i was wondering… how would you feel about meeting up sometime? we could, you know, hang out. maybe grab some food or something, just the two of us?

you blinked at the screen, your heart racing. it was such a simple invitation, yet it made your stomach flutter with excitement. He wanted to spend time with you, just the two of you. you quickly typed your reply, your fingers moving faster than you could think.

you: i’d love that. when were you thinking?

the reply came almost instantly, his message light and happy.

my cutie: how about this weekend? we can pick a spot, no pressure, just a nice, easy time together.

your heart skipped a beat at the idea of finally meeting him in person. it felt like everything was falling into place, and you couldn’t wait to share that moment with him.

you: that sounds perfect. i’m honestly so excited for it. 😊

my cutie: i’m really looking forward to it too. we can pick a spot, no pressure, just a nice, easy time together.

his words felt so relaxed and sweet, and the thought of a simple, carefree time together made your heart swell with affection.

you: can’t wait! talk soon, cutie. 😊

my cutie: talk soon! get some rest, okay? i’ll be thinking about you. 😌

You blush as you realize you called him a cutie over text. it wasn’t just a passing thought - no, you actually typed it out and sent it to him. You basically called him a cutie to his face, albeit through a screen, and now you're not sure if you're more embarrassed by the words or how quickly they slipped out.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sunoo was lying on the couch, completely sprawled out, his legs draped lazily over the armrest as he kicked his feet and grinned at his phone. he felt like a teenage girl, the way he was giddily tapping away, heart fluttering with every message from y/n. it was all so… effortless. so natural. talking to her felt like slipping into a warm blanket, and no matter how many times they texted, it never felt boring or dull. she was just so perfect in his eyes, so easy to talk to. the way she made him feel special without even trying, how her words were like little sparks of joy that lit up his day... he couldn’t help but smile at the screen, his heart swelling in his chest.

the conversations were always light, casual - never forced, always just right. but beneath the surface, sunoo felt something more. every message, every response, was like a sweet little secret they shared, even if neither of them had said it out loud yet. he was starting to realize he was way too invested, maybe even falling for her without meaning to. it was becoming obvious to him, but he still hadn’t figured out how to make her see it.

his heart skipped a beat when he thought back to last night - he’d worked up the courage to ask her to meet up this weekend. well, he hadn’t exactly called it a date - he didn’t want to scare her off - but he had definitely dropped enough hints, he felt his face heat up at the memory of how nervous he’d been.

as excited as he was, there was a wave of uncertainty. he was so down bad for her, so caught up in these feelings that he couldn’t quite control. the reality of it hit him in waves, especially when he realized just how badly he was falling for this perfect woman. he couldn’t help but feel like he was a little out of his depth.

it had been so quick, but it felt so right. every time he saw her name pop up on his phone, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. and the best part was, she seemed just as genuine, just as real as when they first met, she always treated him like a real person, like he wasn't a global superstar, it was nice. and yet, there was still that little doubt gnawing at him. was she feeling the same way, or was he reading too much into their conversations? it didn’t help that his group members were starting to catch on. they’d tease him relentlessly, calling him out when he’d get all starry-eyed and distracted.

sometimes, when they all gathered together, they’d look at him with knowing smirks, teasing him even more. but it wasn’t just his groupmates that were noticing. he couldn’t help it, he just stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop replaying their conversations in his head, imagining how things could unfold if they really took a step forward. it was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

and despite all that nervousness, that overwhelming feeling of uncertainty, sunoo couldn’t help but get even more excited. maybe it was reckless, maybe he should take it slow, but when it came to her, all he could think was what if… what if she felt the same way?

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you woke up early on sunday, excitement buzzing in your chest. you knew today was the day. you wanted everything to be perfect - especially the way you looked. it was silly, you told yourself. you wanted him to like you for you, for the person you truly were, not just the way you looked. but still, there was that little part of you that wanted to catch his eye, make him think you were cute, maybe even a little alluring. just the thought of him noticing you in that way made your heart flutter.

you picked out a soft, fuzzy sweater that felt like a warm hug, paired it with a cute skirt and tights, something simple but put-together. it wasn’t over-the-top, just enough to feel confident, maybe even a little special. you took a few moments to do your makeup, just enough to highlight your features but not make it obvious. you wanted to look effortless, but also effortlessly cute. after a quick check in the mirror, you grabbed your bag, checked the time, and rushed out the door, heart racing with anticipation.

the coffee shop was just a short walk away, and you arrived a little earlier than you had planned. upon checking your phone, you realized you had arrived twenty minutes early. you smiled to yourself, relieved that you had plenty of time to settle in. you thought about grabbing a table to wait for him, maybe look over the menu or just check your messages, but when you walked in, your eyes immediately landed on him.

there he was, sitting at a small table by the window, already looking at you with those warm eyes, a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. just like the first day you saw him, he looked effortlessly cute - his hair a little messy in that endearing way, his smile soft and inviting. he’s already here? your heart skipped a beat as your own cheeks flushed, warmth spreading across your face.

for a moment, you just stood there, taking in the sight of him, suddenly unsure of yourself. was he waiting for you? was he nervous too? but before you could think too much, your legs carried you toward the table. you smiled nervously, trying to keep your cool as you sat down across from him. you sat down across from sunoo, the nervous energy in the air palpable. there was a slight flush on his cheeks, the same adorable color you saw the first time you met him, and the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter.

“hey,” you said softly, smiling as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’m glad you’re here.”

“me too,” sunoo replied, his voice a little breathless. he adjusted in his seat, fidgeting with his cup before looking back at you, his eyes soft. “i, uh… i hope i’m not making things awkward. i don’t really do this often, you know? go out on, um, dates…” he trailed off, clearly trying to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. it was endearing. the way his words came out, a little stilted and unsure, but with a warmth that made you feel safe.

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling your nerves settle a bit. “it’s okay,” you said gently, reaching for your drink. “i’m nervous too, honestly. but it’s nice, right? just getting to know each other in a quiet, relaxed place.”

sunoo nodded eagerly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, i agree. i like this. it’s nice not having to worry about people... you know, staring at us, or... getting distracted.”

the way he said it, so simple, made you feel a sense of calm. the pressure was off. it was just the two of you. the conversation flowed easily after that, like old friends catching up. you talked about everything—the coffee shop, your favorite books, movies, random little things that made you laugh. time seemed to slow down, and the more you learned about him, the more you liked him.

as the conversation continued, sunoo’s nervous energy seemed to settle, and he started to relax more, his gestures becoming a little more fluid. you noticed how his hands would gesture softly when he talked about something he loved, and how his eyes sparkled when he smiled at you. there was something magnetic about him, even in the small, intimate moments.

after a while, you both finished your drinks, and sunoo suggested moving on to the second part of the day. “so, i was thinking... do you want to go to the aquarium after this? i know it’s a little cliche, but i think it could be fun.” he looked at you with those wide, hopeful eyes, waiting for your response.

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth fill your chest. “that sounds perfect. i love aquariums. it’s kind of romantic too, don’t you think? all those beautiful fish, soft lighting... it could be peaceful.”

sunoo’s face lit up. “yeah! exactly! i thought it might be nice, too.”

you both stood and walked out of the coffee shop together, the air crisp against your skin. sunoo seemed to walk a little closer to you now, and you couldn’t help but notice how your arms brushed occasionally. you could feel the electricity in the air—those small moments of closeness that made everything feel more meaningful.

when you arrived at the aquarium, the dim lighting and soothing sounds of water immediately set the tone. it was quieter here, peaceful. the gentle sway of the sea creatures and the soft glow of the tanks made everything feel almost dreamlike. as you strolled through the exhibits, you found yourselves walking slowly, side by side. sunoo kept glancing over at you, a soft smile on his face.

“this is nice,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “i’m glad we did this. it’s just… calm. and we can just… talk, you know? no pressure.”

you nodded, your heart swelling. “yeah, i feel the same. it’s nice to be able to take it slow. no rushing.”

there was a slight pause, the quiet around you only amplified by the soft bubbling of the water in the tanks. you stopped in front of a large tank filled with glowing jellyfish, their bodies floating gracefully. the soft light made everything feel even more serene. sunoo glanced at you and then at the jellyfish, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i think i like that about you,” he said, his words a little hesitant but so genuine. “you make me feel like i can just be myself around you.”

you looked at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. your heart skipped a beat as you realized how much it meant to share this moment together, you responded softly, your gaze meeting his a slight smile on your lips, “i’m really glad i’m here, with you.”

sunoo’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a moment before his lips curled into a small, shy smile. “me too. i didn’t think it’d feel this… nice. i guess i was kind of nervous, but now…” he trailed off, taking a small step closer. “i don’t want this to end, you know?”

you could feel your breath catch at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out gently, brushing your fingers against his hand. his eyes flickered down to your hand, then back to your face, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “i don’t either,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “i like this. being with you.”

there was a moment of silence, the world around you fading into the background as you both stood there, just looking at each other. the soft glow of the aquarium illuminated his face, and for a second, you felt like you were the only two people in the world. everything felt so simple, yet so perfect.

sunoo took a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something. “do you maybe… want to do this again sometime? i mean, not the aquarium. but… you know. like, a real date. with you.”

your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “i’d like that,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. “i really would.”

sunoo smiled back, the shy, endearing boy you’d come to know so well, and for a moment, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place. the date was everything you had hoped for - and more.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you left the aquarium, your mind still buzzing from the experience, but there was something else now - an undeniable tension in the air between you two. it felt different, almost electric. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but every time your hands brushed, it felt like something more than just a coincidence.

then, as you walked side by side down the sidewalk, sunoo’s hand gently found its way into yours. the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours made your heart skip a beat. you didn’t even have time to process the action before a blush crept up your cheeks. looking over at him, you noticed his cheeks were flushed too, and his eyes were slightly widened, almost like he was still surprised by his own boldness. it was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen.

the two of you continued walking, your steps a little slower, savoring the moment. when you reached a quieter part of the sidewalk, you stopped and turned to face him. sunoo paused too, his eyes searching yours with a hint of curiosity.

you felt your heart race, your mouth suddenly dry. "i was wondering..." you started, unsure of how to phrase it, the words coming out more nervously than you intended. "would you want to come over and watch a movie?"

as the question left your mouth, you immediately felt heat rise in your face. it sounded so simple in your head, but now that it was out in the open, it felt much more vulnerable. “i-i’m just not sure i want today to end yet,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact, your blush deepening.

for a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath, and you were starting to feel like maybe you’d overstepped. but then you saw it—the way sunoo’s eyes softened, his lips curling into that familiar, shy smile you’d come to adore. he looked at you with a sense of warmth that made your heart flutter.

“honestly, i would love that,” he replied, his voice gentle, and there was something about the way he said it that made you feel like everything was falling into place.

your heart swelled with relief and excitement as you both continued holding hands, walking back to your place. the city lights around you were soft, casting a warm glow as you made your way to your apartment. it felt like the perfect end to a perfect day, and yet there was a sense of anticipation in the air, like something more was about to unfold.

once you got inside, the familiar comfort of your apartment seemed to settle around you. you slipped your shoes off and sank onto the couch, the soft cushions inviting you in. then, without really thinking about it, you moved a little closer to sunoo, leaning into him just enough to feel the warmth of his body against yours. you were suddenly aware of the way he tensed up a little, but it didn’t last long - he quickly relaxed into the position, and you could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he settled beside you.

you could both feel the electricity of the moment, the growing closeness that you both had been dancing around all evening. your stomach fluttered with nerves, but it felt right. it felt like you were both figuring out what this was. you grabbed the remote, trying to distract yourself a movie. you chose one of the first films that popped up on the screen—something lighthearted, you thought. but as the opening credits rolled, you suddenly realized you had made a terrible mistake. you hadn't checked the rating, and it was definitely not the kind of movie you’d intended. the film was rated R, and as the characters in the movie started to get closer, you felt the heat rise in your face again.

you tried to keep your focus on the screen, but every time the camera panned to the characters, your eyes couldn’t help but dart over to sunoo. you caught him quickly glancing away, a nervous chuckle escaping him. his whole body was a little tense, like he was trying to avoid acknowledging the fact that you were both watching an incredibly intimate scene.

the background noises from the movie only made things worse - moans and heated whispers. the tension between you two was palpable, like you could cut it with a knife. you were both blushing furiously, trying to ignore the scene unfolding, but it was impossible.

you tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a strangled cough. you grabbed the remote in a panic, fumbling with it as you quickly skipped ahead, fast-forwarding past the scene with a little too much force. but even as the steamy scene disappeared from the screen, the awkward energy lingered, and you both sat there, still feeling the weight of the moment.

for a long while, neither of you spoke. the movie played on, but it was clear that neither of you were really paying attention to it anymore. sunoo glanced over at you with a nervous smile, the soft lines of his face lit by the glow of the television screen.

you couldn’t help but lean in closer, the pull between you two too strong to ignore. you knew you probably shouldn’t, considering that whatever was going on between you was still undefined, and maybe rushing it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. but in that moment, it didn’t matter. the space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, and you just couldn’t hold back anymore.

you glanced up at sunoo, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart flutter. there was a quiet intensity there, a longing that mirrored your own, and in that look, you found something you hadn’t expected - he wanted this too.

without thinking, you shifted, positioning yourself so you were now facing him, your body comfortably nestled in his lap. he clearly hadn’t expected the sudden move, and you could feel his breath hitch in surprise, but there was no tension, no hesitation. he relaxed almost immediately, his hands gently settling on your waist, as though he was silently saying, it’s okay, I want this too.

you paused for a moment, just taking him in. sunoo wasn’t bulky, not like other guys you had met, but he was slender and graceful, his body still holding the quiet strength of someone who took care of himself. his frame felt right against yours, and his face - so beautiful, so expressive - made your heart race. there was something about him, something that made every word feel softer and every movement feel like it meant something more.

his eyes flickered to your lips and back up to your eyes, a silent invitation, and without even thinking, you leaned in slightly. in a moment of shared understanding, he closed the distance between you two, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was gentle. his lips were soft and warm, the touch sweet. everything about the kiss was tender, but you could feel the undercurrent of desire in it. it was like he was pouring everything into that moment - the way he pulled you closer, his hands now gently resting on the curve of your back, holding you to him as if you might slip away. it was a sweet, almost perfect kiss, just like him - full of emotion, but soft, full of warmth and affection, like he was telling you everything he couldn't quite say with words. you broke the kiss, your faces still inches apart, both of you breathing a little faster, hearts racing. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, but there was an understanding. whatever this was between you - however undefined or new - it was real.

he broke the silence with a simple sentence “i don't want to go on anymore dates that might not be dates,” he said with a laugh, “i really want to go out with you for real, i’m in love with you.”

you smile, your heart still racing, “me too, i'm in love with you too.”

56 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

Note

Nother Idea: Steve has a really bad migraine when he sees his parents for the first time post spring break from hell. He is still recovering from his injuries & his parsnts don't know how to help him. He is in tears begging his father or mother to get him Rob or Eds. And they have no clue who that is. The other parent finds a note by the main house phone and one by his bedroom phone with the names Robin & Eddie with their numbers. And they watch their adult son get coddled by a lesbian and a metalhead. Bsjsjcjdjd maybe they find out about the UD???

I TOOK A BREAK FROM PLANNING OUR WEDDING FOR THIS MY LOVE!!! You know how I feel about migraine Steve and you know how I feel about some good old hurt/comfort and how I feel about Steve's parents just being shitty always. It's like you wrote this request from MY BRAIN. It's a bit shorter than I could've done, but I am rushing out the door at this point and wanted to have it posted today in case I can't tonight. Hope you love it!!! - Mickala ❤️

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

Luck was never on Steve’s side.

He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in weeks, his brain and body constantly running through checklists of things he had to do and people he needed to check on.

It was catching up with him in the form of the worst migraine he’s had in months.

And now his parents were home.

He could hear them talking downstairs, their voices carrying and making Steve wince against his pillow.

He managed to close his curtains when he got up to use the bathroom this morning, but hadn’t managed to do anything else. Including close his door.

He hadn’t really expected that to be an issue since he was alone all the time.

His parents hadn’t been home in nearly six months. They hadn’t even bothered to call when the “earthquake” hit.

He kept his eyes closed in hopes that they wouldn’t bother him, maybe they’d even close his door for him if they thought he was asleep.

Wishful thinking.

His dad’s booming voice was suddenly right next to him, echoing around his room and his head.

“It’s the middle of the damn day, Anne! He can’t sleep his life away!”

Steve let out a groan, burying his head as far into his pillows as he could to avoid some of the noise.

His father would give up eventually, probably call him something terrible, be disappointed, the usual. But he’d leave, and Steve could bask in the peace and quiet again.

“Do you hear me, Steven? Anne, he’s ignoring me!”

Steve groaned again as he heard his mother’s voice from the doorway.

“Richard, he’s clearly hungover. We should come back later.”

Steve loved that idea. If they left, he could try to sleep this migraine off.

“I’m not just leaving him! He has to act like a responsible adult someday, Anne. We don’t pay for this house for him to spend his days hungover in it.”

“Not hungover.”

Steve’s voice was muffled against the pillow, his head pounding with every movement of his lips, but he knew he had to at least try to stick up for himself.

“So you’re just a useless sack in the middle of the day on a Thursday for no reason, then?”

Steve let out a whine at the sharp pains shooting through his head.

“Eddie. Call?”

Words were hard when your head was trying to implode on itself.

“Who is Eddie? Is that the person who got you drunk? I will not be calling this Eddie person, and I expect you to be up, showered, and dressed by the time we are back from our business dinner. Do you understand?”

“Robin.”

“Isn’t that your girlfriend? Is she responsible for this?”

Steve wanted to scream that the people responsible for this were dead or Russian spies who were hopefully dead and no thanks to either of his parents, he often spent days like this.

Not as often since he practically had Robin and Eddie living with him, but enough.

“No. Eddie.”

“Eddie isn’t your girlfriend.” Anne was closer now. “Do you need medical attention? You’re not making any sense. Oh goodness, Richard, maybe he’s having a stroke.”

His side was pulsing. Eddie said his did too sometimes, a casual reminder that they’d been nearly eaten alive. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as his head, though.

He needed to get to his phone so he could call Eddie.

Eddie knew what to do to help. He wouldn’t be scared of his parents.

Just as he started to move his head so he could try to roll out of bed, he heard his mom speak again, much lower, probably directly to his dad.

He had extremely sensitive hearing when he had migraines, though, so he could still hear what she was saying.

“This note has those names with phone numbers. Maybe we should call them?”

“It’s just a hangover. He has to man up.”

“It just seems like more than a hangover. He’s in real pain.”

“You do what you want. Coddle him if you must. I have a business dinner to get ready for.”

He heard his father leave the room, but didn’t bother moving.

His mom was suddenly talking into the phone.

“Is this Eddie? Yes, this is Anne Harrington. Steve’s mom, yes. He had your number written down by the phone. He’s asking for you and he seems to be quite hungover. It’s not? Oh. Oh. Okay. Well, could you come keep an eye on him, then? I would appreciate it. I could pay you.” Steve heard yelling on the other end and tried to smirk, but his face was in too much pain. “Okay, see you soon.”

“Steve? Eddie’s coming. He didn’t want any money or anything to sit with you, but I’ll leave some on the counter just in case.”

“Loves me.”

“What was that?”

Steve turned his head to the side so he could say it again, emphasize to his mother that people actually loved him.

“He loves me.”

He was met with silence, but he was happy about it, his head still finding new ways to hurt even after 100 migraines.

His mom left the room, but he knew Eddie was coming, so he rested.

When he woke up, Robin’s hands were in his hair. She was gently combing through it, from scalp to ends, being careful to avoid any tangles that may have been hiding.

“Robs.”

“Hey Dingus,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t handle normal talking voices when it was this bad. “Gave Eds and I quite a scare having your mom call, you know.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Eddie?”

“He’s downstairs giving your parents the riot act while he unloads groceries. He’s pissed.”

“At me?”

“No, never you. He’s got your extra strength pain meds that you were out of though.”

Steve had forgotten to get more last time he went to the store and he admittedly wouldn’t be this bad off if he had them ready to go when he woke up this morning.

But Eddie always took care of him and Robin always took care of him, and he was allowed to not have to do everything for himself anymore.

“It’s like you don’t even care that he’s hurt because of fucking government conspiracies!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Robin’s hand froze as they listened to Eddie and his dad go back and forth.

“The Russians almost killed him! Where were you? Not fucking here! The monsters almost killed him! Where were you? Probably on a business trip or whatever it is you rich fucks like to do with your time that should be spent checking in on your son.”

“Oh boy,” Robin slowly started to get up, causing Steve to whimper. “I’m gonna send him up here to cool off. Just breathe.��

So he did. He breathed in, then out, in, then out.

He did that until he felt Eddie’s hands in his hair, lips on his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered against his hair. “Brought you some water and meds.”

“Yelling?”

“They deserve it. But don’t worry about that right now. Just take these pills and sleep. I got ya.”

“Got me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, always got you.”

He could hear Robin yelling downstairs now, but he didn’t focus on it, following Eddie’s advice and sitting up just enough to swallow the pills and half a glass of water.

As he fell asleep, he heard Robin whispering to Eddie.

“He’s got us, at least.”

“Yeah, he does.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #platonic stobin #steve's parents suck #migraine steve again i know okay #but it's just so gd good #soft and protective eddie #soft and protective robin #requests

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years ago

Note

Can you maybe do a Wednesday and Enid x reader (platonic or romantic) where basically the reader comes from a very rich family and likes to spoil Wednesday and Enid.

(I hope this makes sense)

Is this what you wanted? Idk but I thought a headcannon format would be more sufficient for this but again idk. You tell me.

You spare no expenses when it came to Wednesday and Enid. You never bothered to try in fact because it didn’t really matter, as the money spent would eventually find itself back into your parents bank account anyways so why should you fret about accidentally crossing certain thresholds?

So when Wednesday’s typewriter starts having complications, hindering her writing time, you assured her that you would be able to get it fixed by the best people there was in fixing things. However it turns out that the typewriter was irreparably damaged and you had to buy Wednesday a new one that was personalised to be coated in a matte black colour and you even had her initials engraved on the front of it in gold cursive.

Wednesday may not have looked visibly thrilled at the new typewriter but her bland words of “I’m so ecstatic that my face can not comprehend how to convey it.” Were all you needed to know that she did in fact liked her new typewriter and began working on her book as though nothing ever happened. The next day you found a dead bird in front of your dorm, this was Wednesday’s way of saying ‘thank you.’

You even went out of your way to find enid a new part for her laptop when she complains to you that she couldn’t get anything do without it. So once again you went off to find the best shops available in Jericho that could help you in finding what you needed. Unfortunately due to it being the city of Jericho there weren’t a single good shop in sight that even had the part you needed in stock nor even in the back with the rest of the recent deliveries.

Typical.

With that you resorted to plan b and reached out online to shops elsewhere and ordered it for a next day delivery as to save yourself and enid the agonising waiting game. You even got her some other parts should this happen again but all of them were expensive and of state of the art manufacturing with the added promise of longevity and efficiency.

Enid was gobsmacked when she learnt that you did this all for her. “How can I pay you back for doing this for me?” She would ask but all you told her was that you didn’t need to be paid back for as long as she was happy and that the part was doing it’s job smoothly without any hitches, then that’s all the payment you desired.

This didn’t stop at fixing and or replacing their broken stuff but it also extended to their birthdays where you got enid more squishmellows for her growing pile, top of the range designer clothing that you’d knew she would look stunning in, new sets of nail polish, moisturisers, makeup and some new fairy lights should her current ones light their final night.

For Wednesday it was a little more trickier as she hated her birthday being celebrated in the traditional sense that you and enid were brought up with and instead you bought her an actual guillotine that she had set up next to her cello outside on the balcony of Ophelia Hall, dissection kits, things to keep her cello in top condition, some dark flowers that didn’t require much caring for, pacidermy animals much to Enid’s dismay as Wednesday would always seemingly have them face her whenever she said something that Wednesday wasn’t particularly fond of.

When Wednesday and enid try to repay you on your generosity, enid worries that due to your upbringing, you would be expecting diamonds, gold and the such thrown at your feet but Wednesday told her that she was exaggerating and that yes, you were born into an extremely wealthy family but the addams noted that you have a preference for the smaller things. So out they went to Jericho and chose a couple of things that they thought you’d might like.

Enid got you some cute toys that she though would add to your dorm along with getting you a matching snood with her and Wednesday that you could all wear to class together. Wednesday got you a necklace with a dead crow with a black Dalia sprouting from it’s heart with some of it’s crystal feathers dotted here and there up the silver chain as to give off the impression that this crow was shot out of the sky. She also got you some uncouth stuff like a hand mace or an taser for self defence for when people who couldn’t get the hint.

She wouldn’t admit it but even Wednesday was a little nervous that you might not like what they got you. However she didn’t have to continue putting belief into that thought as your eyes light up at each and everything that she and Enid got you that by the end of it you looked to both of them with the widest grin they’ve ever seen. “Thank you both so much! I love everything you’ve given me! Nobody’s given me things that I actually like!”

“What do you mean by that y/n?” Enid asks, confused.

“My parents think that splashing their money on expensive stuff for me is what I want but it’s not, I could care less about having the state of the art phone, tv, clothes, none of that matters to me but it seems that to them, that’s all that matters is to not only be rich but look rich too…so when they started putting large sums of money into my bank account, I spent it on the things that I want, on the clothes that I felt good in rather then what they think I’d look good in for their reputation. So I thank you both for these,” you told them as you squeezed one of the plushies Enid bought you close to your chest, “I love them a lot.”

“Even the taser?” Enid asked as Wednesday stared at her

You chuckled, “yes, even the taser. After all you can never be too sure when a creep is nearby.” You looked to Wednesday who’s lips almost uplifted into a proper smile but came back down into it’s neutral state just seconds later.

#Wednesday imagines #Wednesday imagine #Wednesday x you #Wednesday x reader #Wednesday fanfic #Wednesday fic #Wednesday Addams fanfic #Wednesday Addams fic #Wednesday Addams imagines #Wednesday Addams imagine #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams x reader #enid sinclair fic #enid sinclair x you #enid sinclair fanfic #enid sinclair imagine #enid sinclair x reader #Enid sinclair imagines

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carionto · 6 months ago

Text

Pressure and Release

Human: *hmm-ing at a set of dials and gauges*

Alien: What seems to be *translation unit catches up with the information they're displaying* OH MY GOD IT'S GOING TO EXPLODE!!! GET TO THE ESCAPE PODS NOW!!!!

H: Shh, it's fine, I'm just experimenting.

A: OH MY GOD WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE HORRIBLY!

H: Hey! Rude. *turns a dial causing a loud hissing noise* It's just air compressors and hydraulics.

A: *due to not dying, is beginning to relax* Why do you need up to 200 atmospheres running through these systems. We have invented alloy-specific magnetization mechanisms. Please, why do you keep insisting on these volatile and explosive means?

H: *turns the dial up* Because... *releases the pressure again, loud sudden hissing sound again* That's a cool sound.

A: Just because you think something is 'cool' doesn't make it-

H: *interrupts with another air build up and release sound without breaking eye contact*

A: *leaves*

H: *continues to play around*

_________________________________________

Okay, so I wanna get this off my chest. I find myself now for the fourth time starting a fun little activity, doing it for months on end, having a blast, and then almost suddenly dropping it entirely. First time I wrote some short stories or something every day for about six months and put it on deviantart. Then some longer form stuff started cropping in, sort of continuous narratives or whatever, and I stopped. Second was running a open D&D campaign with a persistent world but ever changing party, each session a sort of one-shot with a decision that would impact the whole world and what future sessions would exist. Not even 10 sessions in I felt under pressure to continue and build upon what I had already and just couldn't and stopped. Third was another kind of TTRPG, this time running my own server for Lancer. Again, open one shots, but less connected and I would hopefully get some of the players to want to run their own games within this freeform framework that I directly lifted from a D&D server I was in, even had some of the same people join as players. Few months later, I felt this massive pressure from myself to run games and come up with new scenarios that I just froze up. I cancelled game after game and just eventually abandoned the server and the resources I had made. Fourth time was here on tumblr itself. Back to writing some short form stuff on a fairly regular basis, almost daily for some time even. Had a blast, and then longer form content started creeping in. I thought I wanted to write some stories with an overarching plot and recurring characters and connected storylines, build up and pay off, that sort of thing. Again, I created this massive pressure by myself for myself of myself to do something I apparently can't. I created this sense of expectation of myself "Well, I started this, I should finish it, but where do I go, what do I do, how can I connect this?" And then this self-inflicted pressure got to me, again. And I stopped.

What I have known for a while, but couldn't put into words is that I don't want to tell a big long epic story or anything like that. I don't have one of those in me and forcing something like that only makes me shrivel up and run away. I have a world, several in fact, in my mind. Entire continents of a low fantasy character driven political intrigue and drama based world with tons of rules and restrictions, thousands of years of history, strong personalities for the main actors and so many individual scenes with them and the supporting cast, and a timeframe for when the overarching story happens and how it ends. But no story itself. Just scenes. I have a high fiction sci-fi world, again, with very distinct factions and races, most of the details I have written out back when I was a teen in a physical notebook with pen and pencil. Lots of historical points and events, how the races work, their domains if you will, near magical powers I try to explain with plausible science. Tons of specific details. Even drew each of their common symbols, how one of the languages is structured, schematics of how their cities are planned, and details on other planets in the system and how those might be important later. But, not a single individual character or story. Just dry facts. And then we have the loose sci-fi world I've created here. Bunch of different angles and perspectives, some comedic, some more serious, even put Cthulu in there. Many short and mostly self-contained stories and episodes of various humans doing things an exaggerated version of humanity would do. There is potential for a number of expanded and longer form stories here, some I attempted, and as mentioned, what ultimately made me stop. I don't have a book in me, and I don't want to write one. I just like to write little snippets and I want to get myself to accept this idea that, no, it does not need to become more than that. Because every time I start going down a path where it feels like it should be more than a one page thing, I seize up, start thinking that I need to do this, panic when I can't come up with anything, go silent, and give up. It just does not work for my brain. And that's fine.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto #introspection

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manicrouge · 3 months ago

Text

Episode Five: Bear the Burden

[𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || [𝙰𝚄: 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 10/09/24

[��𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Blake faces the consequences of his actions whilst you face the consequences of your association with John Price.

[𝙲𝚠]: violence, non-con touching (nothing sexual), blood/ gore (nothing too bad).

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 8.4k

[𝙰/𝙽]: I am so sorry this took so long... I hope this makes up for my absence !! Also please let me know if I've missed and warnings.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

He lurks like a virus, you find.

One you can’t quite shake. His annoying tendencies and loud mouth make him a villain – you can’t perceive him as anything other; whatever your mind attempts to conjure up always leads you in circles until you eventually find yourself back at your original assessment.

You're staring at a pretty woman sitting on a throne, although you cannot take your eyes off her eyes. They're haunting – primal. And despite her well-kept golden hair and the richness of the clothing surrounding her, none of the jewels she is adorned in can distract you from the rubies in her eyes.

Despite your assessment of the piece, you cannot help but sense his grin as it radiates like a toxin, infecting the area surrounding the pair.

It’s early and the general hubbub of the city is left behind you. And strangely, you find that the gallery's silence leaves you with a profound emptiness.

The Hindsight’s loudness as proclaimed by your old boss, was the one thing that was supposed to deter you from working there, and yet, you miss the calamity and feel the urge to rush out the doors all to hear the drunken babbles of the patrons you’ve become so accustomed to during the time you’ve spent there.

‘It’s quiet today,’ Graves says, turning his head slightly to glance at you, ‘you’re quiet too. Somethin' wrong?’

‘You’re not talking,’ you remark, looking down at the small purse in your hands, ‘there's been no mention of the guns. I haven’t heard a thing… I- I don’t think they took them.’

He scoffs. ‘That’s what they want you to think.’

You shake your head, your hands tightening around the handles of your small bag. ‘You told me that Ky– that Garrick said that–’

‘Oh,' he begins, 'we’re on a first-name basis with them now, ay?’ Graves chuckles, ‘I hope you’re not growing a soft spot for them, ‘need I remind you that they’re criminals?’

‘I know they are,’ you say, although your voice is unsteady as you profess their sins. ‘But I don’t think they have the guns.’

‘Then who has them?’

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug, ‘I’ve heard that the communists are planning on having a protest at the train station this afternoon. They’re demanding fairer pay and treatment… they think the government has abandoned them after the war.’

‘They made it home,’ Graves said, ‘they should be happy with that. The world isn't gonna fall to its knees for them; everyone’s lost something or someone. They’re being greedy.’

His words leave you thinking of Blake. The man is much too big for his personality, although you suppose he needs the extra space to fit the heart inside his chest. Greed isn’t how you’d describe a man like him and the war took more from him than most people; you can see it in his eyes.

‘The capital keeps this place running, same as the States. We lose that, we lose order – fall into whatever Russia has landed itself in. It’s unruly, unjust, and, quite frankly, a mess.’

You hold your tongue, fearing you’ll be guilty of speaking as your heart compels you to say, settling in the spot you’ve been standing in as you shift your feet, swallowing your heart.

‘Yes,’ you mumble.

‘I’ll look into it, have some police on the lookout. Speaking of which, I heard the owner of the pharmacy was attacked. Does that have something to do with Price?’

‘I don’t know,’ you speak truthfully, biting down on your lip, ‘I have to go.’

‘Your shift doesn’t start for another hour,’ he says, looking down at his watch.

‘I have nothing else to say to you,’ you answer, turning on your heel, and heading towards the exit.

You’re stopped as his hand clasps your upper arm. ‘If I find out you have been lying, Mr Churchill won’t be pleased.’

‘I’m not,’ you answer, ‘now let go of me.’

‘Promise me,’ he says.

‘Promise you?’ you scoff.

He takes offence to that clearly as he scrunches his nose up, and as he speaks again, you note that he is gritting his teeth – addressing you as though you have become the next target on his list. ‘That you’re not lying to me. You’re a good girl, it’d kill me to know you’re falling for their trap.’

Whatever he's talking about you're convinced is the byproduct of paranoia. No sane man ponders that hard and comes to such a demented conclusion.

Your stomach twists and you yank your arm out of his. ‘I’m being honest with you,’ you say, 'not giving him any more of your time as you rush towards the museum's exit. 'I don't appreciate your tone with me, I advise you fix it.'

'I don't appreciate your secrecy.'

'It's not secrecy,' you breathe, 'rather doubt.'

He sticks up his nose at your confession, turning his back to you as though to resume looking at the painting the pair of you were looking at but a moment before the outburst.

'He has the guns.'

'And what proof do you have of that?' He falls silent. 'You have no right to blame me for having reasonable doubt. Garrick had no idea what you were talking about.'

'People can lie,' he says firmly.

'I know,' you insist, 'I'm not a child, I understand how the world works. Stop treating me as though I know nothing.'

He grumbles something under his breath, shaking his head. 'So what do you want me to do? Pack up shop and tell ol' Churchy boy that his guns are gone because you think Garrick is telling the truth?'

His condescending tone is enough to have your heartbeat ringing in your ears. You ball your fists and chew so hard on the inside of your cheek that you almost bite through it.

'You keep doing your job, I'll have the boys raid the house of a few known commies, and see if they know anything about it. But if I find nothing, I'm meeting John Price and asking him in person.'

You know whether or not you're okay with what he is saying to you is pointless and you struggle to contend with what you acknowledge to be your personal bias against the man who has invited you to the races with him. If you speak now, you fear it will simply be word vomit – an attempt to justify a man beyond redemption (supposedly).

—

A profound concept is what you are to him and as he spies you, he’s unable to shake the thought that, for the first time in his life, he is doing something truly wrong.

His eyes feel too dirty to look at you and the occasional line in his peripheral vision acts like a clump of muck on you. He blinks quickly to chase it away, of course, he does, he wouldn’t leave you with the burden of his truth for longer than a few seconds.

You’re grinning at the man you’re talking to – he’s much too drunk, wobbling a little as you converse with him. The conversation is not secret either; he has a gob that could replace a foghorn and a laugh that could give a gunshot a run for its money. Your responses, however, remain a mystery as you sit; you’re much too gentle to return his drunken enthusiasm.

You eventually lift your head and your eyes lock for the first time since you poured his drink. You offer the man a smile before heading away from him and approaching Price.

‘You want a refill?’ you chirp.

A voice as sweet as the song of a bird, he thinks, nodding his head as he holds his glass up. ‘Fill me up, love.’

The cork in the top of the bottle squeals as you open it, pouring more drink into his cup. ‘You look tired, is everything okay?’

Your question is one he wishes he could answer, only, he doesn’t want to bear you with the burden of what his morning will entail. The request he had been provided with the day prior has been weighing on him monstrously and he’s left offering you a lopsided smile as he shakes his head, downing the drink you have just poured him in the blink of an eye.

‘Had a bad night's sleep. Nothing a drink an’ smoke won’t sort.’ Your skepticism at his claim is charming and he smiles. ‘Really, love, I’m fine. Don't worry about me.’

‘Do you get much sleep?’ you ask. ‘It’s just… I’ve heard a lot of people – especially men who were in the war struggle to sleep.’

‘I sleep fine,’ he says abruptly, nearly choking on his tongue, ‘just excited about the races.’ Your face lights up with the mention of the races. ‘You found a dress yet?’

‘You only asked me last night,’ you exclaim, ‘I haven’t had the time yet.’

‘Well that’s no good, is it?’ he says, ‘you can have a day off later this week – go get yourself something nice.’

‘Who will run the pub?’

‘Sure Johnny will do just fine until you get back.’

‘All the liquor’ll be gone by the time I get back,’ you laugh.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, glancing at his watch.

Despite a peculiar force keeping him seated in his chair, he pushes against it, forcing himself up and away from you. He catches the furrowing of your brows as he gets up to leave and a part of him wishes to stay all to engage in an empty conversation with you.

‘Keep this place safe whilst I’m gone, ay? Any issues, tell one of the boys about it.’

You grin. 'I can take care of myself, John, don't you worry about me.'

As though taking a page out of his book, you speak with a mocking gruffness in your tone. If you were anyone else, he very well would have taken insult to the words you're speaking to him. Only, he can't help but let out a small chuckle.

'Heard you loud and clear, sweetheart,' he says, not missing the bruising scarlet on your cheeks as he offers you one more smile before turning on his heel and heading towards the exit of the pub.

—

‘Simon Riley,’ Graves addresses the man as he slowly stalks the shadows in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the brooding man’s face. Only, his disappointment is measurable in the curve of his mouth as he catches the mask covering his face. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he confesses with a smile, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, and shifting on his feet.

Simon simply stares at him, not bothering to even muster up the strength to blink. Graves hums, filling the void of the silence. The man’s trying to intimidate him; he’s seen that old tired tactic one too many times to fall for it. Especially from a man like Simon.

‘I’ve been trying to get a hold of that boss of yours. Slippery man, ain’t he?’

Simon keeps his mouth shut.

Graves lets out a short laugh. ‘Not the talkative type, are ya?’

‘If you were tryin’ to get a hold of him, you wouldn’t have beat Kyle,’ he firmly says, crossing his arms across himself, rolling his neck seemingly in an attempt to cling to composure.

Still, Graves has never really been one to threat in the face of evil, rather, he compromises – plays their game. That’s how you get through to them; he’s done it throughout his career and he’s sure it wouldn’t keep him from succeeding now, even if he is in a foreign land- nothing has stopped him before and he doesn’t intend for anything to stop him now.

‘I wanted to scope the area out before addressing the boss,’ Graves answers.

‘Y’ scared of Price,’ he says, ‘cause, if you weren’t then you woulda just went straight to him instead of spying on one of his workers.’

‘Kyle is one of his closest workers, is he not?’ he responds, narrowing his eyes, ‘don’t tell me how to do my fuckin’ job, kid. I imagine I could teach you a thing or two about it.’

‘No,’ Simon says, shifting as he moves slightly closer to him, ‘you took one look at whatever files you got from the government and decided that he was the easiest out of all of us to go for,’ he corrects strictly, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m not a fuckin’ idiot, and neither are any of the lads, so don’t try an’ play me as one.’

‘Anyone in the right mind would believe that you are threatening me right now.’

‘I am,’ he states blatantly, uncaring for the consequences. ‘You gonna beat me like you beat Kyle, hey?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he says with a grin, all to burst into a fit of laughter, ‘I know I’m not fooling you, Simon. And, if you want my honest answer, I would say that you would just have to wait and see.’

The man hums, his unhappiness as prevalent as a gigantic pimple on someone's chin. ‘You’re here for the guns. Not for us. Keep it that way.’

‘And why would I do that?’

He’s silent for a while, his eyes dragging up and down Phillip’s face before he eventually relents, his eyes narrowing to form crescents. ‘Cause, otherwise, you’ll be goin’ back home in a box.’

‘I didn’t think men like you would have the decency to even send me home,’ he says with a laugh, raising his hand and bringing it against his chest, ‘I’m touched, Simon, truly touched.’

‘Don’t want the blood of someone like you spoiling the dirt around here.'

He leaves without another word, not stopping even after Graves calls his name. So, the man stands and observes his pathing, finding that he is walking right towards The Hindsight. Rolling his eyes, he crosses his arms over himself.

Wonder if he speaks to her like that.

—

Simon Riley is a peculiar case, one that cannot quite be answered. Every time you take a glance at the man, you're left more confused than the last time as questions swirl around in your head.

'You wanna ask me something?' he asks, startling you.

Slowly, you turn to see him staring at you, the glass of whiskey he's nursing being engulfed by his hands. Never had you ever seen a man so big in stature. He's similar to Blake in a way, only, quieter. Whatever troubles he's having are reserved for his mind.

'Sorry,' you mumble out.

Much to your surprise, he shakes his head, beckoning you to approach him. You're cautious at first, acting as though he is a stray dog who appears as though he's going to snap at any moment.

'John told me about the chain around the door last night. You okay?'

There's something in his tone which makes the darker inflexions soften as he addresses you and you're unable to hide the smile that forms on your face as you swallow down any prior doubts you had about the man.

'I'm fine,' you say with a smile, 'nothing out of the ordinary for places like this, I'm sure.'

He shakes his head. 'Yeah,' he breathes, 'Johnny's gone round to ask people if anyone's seen the fella who had something to do with it today. We know it's Fisher's group — just don't know who's in charge now.'

'I saw John this morning,' you say, 'he seemed like he was in a rush when he realised the time.'

'Don't worry about him,' Simon says, pulling his mask up to expose his mouth, taking a sip of his whiskey. 'Still acts like a Captain even though we're outta the war,' he snorts.

'Old habits die hard, I guess,' you say, grabbing the whiskey bottle, 'you want a refill?'

—

The pair walk side by side as though there is not a fault in the world, and for a while, Price allows himself to believe that. It’s kind to let the mind rest for a while, he remembers remarking that during their time in the trenches. It’s just a shame that Blake's mind never seems to stop. He’s walking with his hat in his hand, scrunched up in his hands as he stares at the ground, his head occasionally bobbing as he listens to John.

Life is greedy. But the business is bloodthirsty.

And it’s something he has come to terms with, at least in his execution. Admittedly, the difference between being a soldier and a businessman – in terms of the business he is in – is very little. His fingers are so used to wielding a weapon that he wonders if his hands would still close similarly if he had never been exposed to violence. But he’s a violent man and always has been one. And everyone sees him for what he is.

‘I was talkin’ to my lady this morning,’ Blake says, the rocks below them crunching as they tread closer to the water. ‘She’s real worried about me. A- And I’m sorry.’

His eyes steer clear of the man beside him as he spies two figures obscured by the fog of the early morning. Despite such, the pointed brim of their hats is blatant and even causes the outline of their figures to appear slightly rough around the edges. He spies danger in their exterior and he wonders if Blake sees it too.

‘You see those men,’ he asks, motioning towards the evasive figures.

‘Yes, Cap’n.’

He answers like a child answers a parent.

‘You killed an important man, Blake,’ he says, ‘their brother.’

‘I didn’t mean to, you know that, Cap'n.’

‘You think they care why you did it?’ Price asks, furrowing his brow, ‘scrambled mind or well one, it doesn’t matter. You killed one of theirs.’

‘I- I know I did and am sorry–’

‘You upset the wrong people, Blake,’ Price says, looking across the water at the two old men perched on the edge of old discarded crates.

The closer they get to the men, the more he can see of them.

One of them takes a puff from the cigar between their lips, the grey smoke whipping to the left with a harsh breeze. There’s the stench of the rotten water below them, reeking of sewage and whatever else has been dumped in there (John might have an idea, but he would never tell).

The world is a state, he knows that as his hand firmly grasps the gun sitting at his waist. Blake stands with his back to him, keeping his eyes trained on the billowing smoke from the factory, a short breath escaping him as he hears his Captain cock the gun.

‘I- I didn’t mean to, Cap’n,’ Blake says, glancing over his shoulder briefly, just long enough to capture John’s eyes. 'You know I didn't mean to... it's just me mind. There's something wrong with me.'

‘I know you didn’t,’ he said, rubbing his mouth with his free hand, ‘I know you didn’t, but you’re causing’ more and more trouble all because you can’t get your shit together, ey? And how does that look for me?’ he asks, ‘I’m your boss and I’m supposed to have all the power in the world and I still can’t control you, an’ look where that’s got us now.’

‘Cap’n, please, I- I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, please.’

His pleading leaves him dizzy as he addresses the two men standing on the opposite side of the dock awaiting what he has promised. The business is terrible, he concludes.

Even the war was easier than this.

‘I- I don’t wanna die, I got a little girl at home an’… I wanna see her grow, I wanna be there for her when she needs me.’ Blake sobs, reduced to an infant himself. ‘She can’t sleep if am not there, Cap’n. A girl needs her daddy to read her a bedtime story – she needs me to chase away whatever monsters are in the shadows. And if am not there, how am I supposed to do that? She needs me.’

‘Are they her monsters or yours, Blake?’

The sobs escaping him calm for a moment and he feels his heart breaking in the silence. ‘You’re a good man. But they don’t know that and they don’t want to know that. I can't force them to listen cause you killed one of theirs.’

He bows his head, not caring to look John in the eye. He’s quite sure he can hear his heart pounding from where he is standing and the gun in his hand feels heavy. Too heavy.

His big hands are balled into fists hanging on either side of him and in a small voice, Blake mumbles, ‘look after me girls f’r me, yeah, Cap’n?’

It’s so weak, something he expected to leave the mouth of a child – not a grown man. He manages out a grunt as he readies his finger on the trigger, sucking in a breath. To offer him a response seems unjust, there’s nothing he can say as of that moment as he’s all too aware of the eyes watching him.

He lands with a thud as the sound of his pistol rings out around the yard, his body falling onto a boat passing by. His pistol smokes as he moves his hand to station it back to his side. The men sitting across the window offer him a half-assed nod as they push themselves up off the crates. They offer him nothing else: no condolences, no ‘thank you’ for what he’s just done.

No.

Instead, they head on their merry way, leaving Price to watch as the boat drifts down the canal, red splayed across the back of Blake's head.

The sight leaves him feeling empty, like a de-gloved puppet. He has no purpose, simply sworn to a haphazard purgatory until the next time his violence is needed.

—

He's tired and he knows it.

Truthfully, he doesn't understand why he has even entertained your suggestion and the rudeness you exerted in the gallery has left him with a bruised conscience as he stands outside of the home, listening to the littered curses of the residents as they are pulled outside.

Tapping his foot against the ground, his mind is taken hostage by a woman across the street. Her blonde hair is tied neatly into a bun against her head and she seems much too disturbed by the fabric of her skirt. She walks with a sneer — uncommon for a woman as, typically, they know anything other than a smile is sure to make them an outcast.

And still, he's intrigued by her.

He's sure he knows her from somewhere.

And then he sees him. John Price, in person. He's walking with his typical arrogance: head held high, hands behind his back walking as though he's still in the position he favoured. The entirety of the man is a waste, he concluded. Nothing is redeeming about him and his desire to revisit the life he lost is simply pitiful to observe.

The woman he approaches looks at him and they share a few words before Graves notes that her eyes catch his own for a split second before turning back to Price. It's that that ultimately provides him with the go-ahead to approach the pair of them, uncaring for the commotion he's caused in the household behind him.

So, he crosses the street, putting on the brightest grin he can muster as he proceeds towards the pair of them. He doesn't need to be beside Price for the man to turn around and address him. Immediately, he's greeted by a casual coolness.

'Mr—'

'Detective Graves,' Price cuts off, narrowing his eyes. 'I've heard you've been looking for me.'

'That I have,' he nods, a smile plastered on his face.

'And to get my attention... you beat one of my men?'

'He wasn't cooperating.'

The woman beside Price pipes up. 'That's not what I heard.'

Her tone is thick and professional, and she seems to be just as much of a cynic as he is. 'Your men left him bloody and half-conscious in an alleyway. The barmaid had to help him inside,' Price says, 'I wouldn't call that not cooperating. If you wanted to speak to me, you could have asked me. But you didn't.'

'Forgive me,' he says through a huff, 'for not wanting to trust a criminal,' he adds, 'but I have reason to believe that you're the man who took a shipment of guns.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he says, 'an' Gaz told us about that. You wanna work with us.'

'That I do. If you're not a guilty man then it should be no problem.'

'No,' he says, 'not after how you treated him. You can take your deal and shove it right up your arse,' he says in an all too polite manner. 'I want no part in whatever it is you're doing.'

'But you'll gladly get your hands dirty for Blake, eh?' Graves asks.

The woman standing next to Price shoots him a confused look, her thin eyebrows bunching together in the centre of her forehead as her mouth hangs open ever so slightly. Rather than answer, Price places his hands on the woman's shoulder and begins to usher her away.

Graves watches as he does so, resting his hands on his lips with a grin. 'I look forward to our proper meeting, John!'

—

The coldness of the night seeps between the cracks of the pub as you ready yourself for your walk home in the dark. You give it little thought as you get ready to leave; it’s no different to any other night, aside from the one where John walked you home, of course.

You can’t seem to escape the thought of last night, and even though it was a measly day ago, you find yourself grinning at the idea of the pair of you walking side by side. Neither of you said anything, only offering a quiet ‘thank you,’ and ‘good night,’ when you reached your doorstep and left him.

And, as you’re turning off the lights inside the pub, you find there’s an ache in your chest that the pair of you didn’t fill the void with some form of conversation, although, you’re charmed that the pair of you could walk in silence and not feel the need to speak.

Not even Graves can give you that. And he isn't the criminal.

It’s odd and you feel like a schoolgirl again, bumbling and stuttering over yourself while daydreaming about the bad boy in school. It’s corny, you know it is (that’s the worst part, really), and it certainly isn’t what you’re here to do. You’re here to find the guns and nothing else. The weasel your way into the mind of John Price and crack the code of what exactly has happened to the weaponry. Yet, you’d be a fool to deny the thudding of your heart within your chest every time you heard his voice.

The pub is submerged in darkness as you shuffle towards the doors with a sigh, your bag slung across your shoulder containing the coins John offered you earlier today. There’s so much you could buy with the money he’s given you and you’re embarrassingly excited about the dress you’re going to get, even though you’re unsure as to what you’re going to purchase at this very moment. All you know is you’re dressing to impress, especially, if you’re going to be the woman who he has on his arm for the entire event.

As you pull the first door open, you close it firmly behind you, locking the latch at the top of the doors, and pushing them to ensure they’re both securely shut. You nod to yourself when the door doesn’t budge, proceeding to head out of the door stationed in front of you.

As you push the door open, you are still at the sound of footsteps to the left of you, slowly craning your head in the direction in which you hear them. Still, you keep a tight hold of the bar on the inside of the door as you do so. There’s a shadow which covers your frame and as you slowly start to pull the door to a close, you jump as a hand plunges from out of the darkness, taking hold of your forearm.

You’re pulled away from the door, a short breath escaping you as your forearms are grabbed. You stare the shadow right in the eyes, wincing as their hold on you grows tighter. You open your mouth with the intent of screaming to catch someone's attention, as, quite frankly, the sudden altercation has left your chest rattling and all your strength after a long day in the Hindsight has been sucked out of you. Only, the man standing before you quickly lets go of your arm, placing his hand over your mouth to keep you from crying out.

As he cranes his neck towards you, you feel his hot breath on your face as he forces your head backwards against the door, keeping you completely pinned. There’s the faint smell of booze and smoke on his breath and he offers you a grin, showing off his yellow teeth.

Your mouth runs dry as you look at him in the eyes, unable to even move in his hold. The flesh in his hold feels as though it is rotting, and the horrific grimness of this situation dawns upon you.

You’ve never been one to be played as a fool, however, as you look at the grotesque man standing before you, you feel as though you’re about to burst into a fit of tears. You’re exhausted, you’ve had a long shift and all you long for is your bed. Yet, even the universe cannot grant you that one simple pleasure.

‘I was hopin’ to catch you,’ confesses the man, his leg bouncing as he twitched with a peculiar excitement. ‘You’ve been the talk of the town, y’know? The barmaid. Everyone has been sayin’ how pretty you are and I wanted to see for meself… and they weren’t wrong.’

All you can do is stare as he addresses you as though you’re an apparition.

‘They’ve said that John Price is real fond of you,’ he says, ‘and you know what’s the best way to get to a man?’ he asks, leaning closer as he lets go of your forearm, still keeping a secure grip on your face.

He beckons his head as you watch his hand disappear into the night. So, in an attempt to keep yourself alive, you slowly shake your head, hoping he’ll leave you be.

‘Dumb girl – you got the looks but not the wit about you, ain’t that right?’ he laughs, moving closer and closer to you until his forehead is pressed against yours and you have no choice but to look him in the eyes.

You feel him shift against you, a worrying action as he’s obscuring your view so all you can see are his sharp features and his bloodshot eyes. Your breath is caught in your throat as your mouth runs dry, there’s no sense of security in the eyes of a criminal like him, you know it, and during your fit of panic, you feel your body begin to tremble. He pushes his hand against your mouth harder, forcing your head to press against the glass on the door to the Hindsight.

‘Lemme tell you a little somethin’ about this business,’ he sighs, ‘us men like three things, you take one of them away and… well, you might as well shoot us there and then, yeah?’

You feel something blunt press against your throat.

‘Money, power, and our women,’ he claims boldly, ‘take that away from any man and he has nothing. And I don’t intend on keeping you around just cause you’re giving me puppy dog eyes cause you’re a mutt who's in with the wrong crowd.’

If he knew the truth, you’re unsure whether or not he would have changed his tune or if he would remain the same cruel man he is right now.

'Does it feel good, hm? To work for a fuckin’ scamming lowlife?’ he asks, pulling away from you slightly, ‘bet it feels pretty fuckin’ good, ey? Since you’re choosing to stick around for him, anyway.’

An immediacy hits you as you note that you are going to die if you do not do something – anything: your mission would be all for nothing. Your spirit would haunt The Hindsight and an eternity roaming the ale-soaked halls of that pub leaves your blood cold and throat dry. You hear the gun beneath your chin cock.

‘Please,’ you whisper, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, allowing you to catch your breath. ‘Please just let me go; I- I won’t tell anyone anything.’

He chuckles, ‘The dead can’t speak, but the living can lie.’

A tear rolls down your face as you come to terms with what you’re going to have to do in order to escape him. You’re no killer, you don’t take yourself for one, anyway. Morality always comes first, however, when it’s between the choice of your life and someone else’s, should you really be calculating just how long of a stay you’re going to have in hell?

You wince at the feeling of the cool metal being pressed under your chin, a burst of adrenaline shooting through you as you lift your leg, driving it right into his crotch. The pressure from around your face is relieved as he staggers backwards whilst you sink your hand into your bag, holding the handle of a blade in your hand before driving it into his stomach. The man grunts, his skin suctioning around the blade – almost pleading to keep the hole you’ve just created plugged up to avoid his immediate death.

However you show little mercy in the eyes of the man you perceive to be the devil, and if you have sinned, you shall address that in the afterlife.

He falls to the ground, gripping his side and you stand over him, your hand falling from out of your bag as you hold your arms in front of you, teary-eyed.

‘I- I- I…’ your words waver as you stand, dropping your hand out of your bag. The gun he held to your throat lays on the ground beside him and you can’t take your eyes off of it. Truthfully, there was no innocence in what the man tried to do to you and you know that justifying his actions will only make you the villain.

You are not a monster, but you are a murderer.

The thought hits you like the first lick of light at dawn and you’re blinded by the sight of blood staining your hands. A voice rings from down the road behind you and you take that as your sign to leave. You have little time to rationalize where exactly you’re running to as you find your legs are carrying you before your brain fully processes the fact that you’re moving, resulting in a few clumsy steps as you rush up the road.

You’re winded by the time you make it to the top of the road, and instead of taking the turn to your house just a few streets away, you stop in front of one of the doors at the top of the street. You intend to knock lightly, knowing the people in the house will not take lightly to such a rude wake-up call, but your trembling fist simulates that of the pound of a bailiff. You knock three times, your fist hovering as you go to do it again, all for the lock on the other side of the door to click.

Much to your relief, you spy John Price standing at the door. He’s still in his typical business attire, only the top few buttons of his white shirt have been undone. Your eyes well with tears at the sight of him and you fight off the urge to throw yourself into the arms of a criminal as you stare at him with wild eyes.

You’re aware he can see your bloody hand, but he ignores it as he cautiously reaches his hand out to you, acting as though you’re a feral cat. You don’t move, only lightly flinching when you feel his coarse fingertips brush against your chin as he gently moves your head up to get a good view of your neck.

His face settles from concern to anger as his eyebrows furrow. A tear falls from your eye. ‘I- I’m sorry,’ you croak, ‘I know it’s late a- and–’

‘Don’t be stupid, love,’ he said, wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb.

You wait no longer, throwing your arms around him as a sob rips through you. Your rationality tells you one thing: you’re not better than he is now, although, you’re unsure whether or not that is such a bad thing. He may be a criminal in the eyes of the law, but with how he holds you, you wonder what else he is beyond the label. He’s respectful with the way his hands wrap around you, one in your hair, pressing your head into his chest lightly, the smell of a discarded cigar haunting the fabric, whilst his other hand captures the wrist of your bloody hand.

‘H- He was gonna kill me,’ you weep, your words muffled by his chest. ‘I didn’t know what to do, I- I wanted him away from me but I didn’t want to kill him.’

Your confession comes with silence, and you push your face away from his chest, looking up at him as though he is God, awaiting a punishment: eternal damnation.

‘Where is he?’

His tone is one of anger, one which desires retribution, a potent hunger which diminishes all signs of humanity.

‘Outside the pub,’ you mumble, holding his shoulders, ‘I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ he refutes quickly, not giving you a chance to change his mind.

Leading you inside of the house, he closes the door behind the pair of you, motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. You do as he says and take a seat, your blood hand staining the fabric of your cream skirt. He pours you a glass of whiskey, holding it out to you. You take it and bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip. The burning in the back of your throat causes you to wince as the sensation works to tell you that you’re alive: you survived.

‘I- I was locking up and he grabbed me and… and pushed me up against the door,’ you say dully, ‘he put a gun under my chin, said he was gonna kill me b- because I was associated with you.’

John’s face falls at your confession.

‘I didn’t know what to do. I- I couldn’t think straight and I panicked. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to kill him,’ you say, your voice cracking as you bring the glass back up to your mouth. ‘I- I promise I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want to kill him, but it was him… or me.’ He remains silent causing you to look up at him, your eyes creasing as you snivel, ‘I’m a murderer… a monster.’

The whiskey sloshes in the cup as it settles on your knee, more tears pouring down your cheeks. You're heaving for your breath, unable to keep your panic at bay. Strings of saliva cling to your lips as they part once more as your conscience seeks to defend itself further. Only, you close your mouth as John pushes himself off of the sofa, kneeling before you as he takes your blood hand in both of his, looking up at you.

‘You’re not a monster, love,’ he breathes, ‘far from it,’ he adds, letting go of your hand as he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a handkerchief, gently holding your wrist as he begins to clean your hand of blood. ‘I’ve met monsters. You’re nothing of the sort.’

You seek sorrow in his eyes as he wipes the blood away, the tenderness of his action momentarily deceiving you into thinking the pair of you are in your fifteenth year of marriage. In reality, the pair of you are barely friends – strangers.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’

The word strangers seems cruel.

You let out a small laugh. ‘You weren’t to know.’

He chews on the inside of his mouth like he’s chewing on a stick of gum. ‘Shouldn’t have left you to walk home alone,’ he refutes, shaking his head as he turns your hand over, continuing to wipe away the blood. ‘Especially not after findin’ that on the handle of the pub. That was stupid of me. I’m sorry love.’

‘It’s okay,’ you say quietly.

There’s silence for a while and you have no desire to break it.

‘Stay here for the night,’ he says, ‘you can have my cot.’

It’s as though he's offering you his life. You sense something – it’s exuding from his pores in the dim candlelight, the fire to the right of the pair of you leaving half his face illuminated with orange, specks of white meeting your eye as you stare at him. He seems afraid, whether it is for you or something else, you’re unsure.

‘Okay,’ you whisper, placing your hand over his with a smile. You close your hand around his, uncaring of any consequence.

‘Good,’ he says.

You feel compelled to answer him instead of falling back into silence, mustering up a quaint but firm, ‘It’s not your fault, John.’

You spy a brief moment of resentment on his face before it settles as he looks at you with thin lips and glistening eyes. All he can offer you is a curt nod, and you suspect that if he does open his mouth, the likelihood of him becoming reduced to a puddle of tears is startlingly high. There’s a peculiarity about the situation you’ve found yourself in, knowing the details of the man and the words that authorities have chosen to describe him as, criminal, murderer, failure.

If you possessed the paper right now, it would fuel the fire burning beside the pair of you.

‘I won’t let anythin’ like that happen to you ever again,’ he says, clearing his throat. In spite of his best efforts, the congestion of his tone is blatant and you know better than to blame his smoking habits on the sound.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘It is,’ he insists, ‘you shouldn’t have blood on your hands. You don’t deserve the burden of it,’ he says, closing his hand around your bloody one, ‘it changes the way your brain works and… well, I don’t want that for you.’

‘This isn’t your burden to carry,’ you say, ‘I held the knife, I pierced his flesh. His blood is on my hands.’

‘Whose name did he say?’ You bow your head, unable to shake the feeling of guilt. ‘It’s my name that’s deadly, not your actions, love. He wouldn’t have done that to you if you weren’t associated with me.’

‘It’s unfair.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he says, the tips of his fingers lifting your head so your eyes meet again. ‘I’m used to it, love. Don’t lose sleep over someone like me, yeah?’

You ponder your exchange while he leaves you to sit alone with your thoughts for a while. Expressing concern for your safety was one thing, you’re grateful for his words of course you are, however, when you hear the voices of two other men and busy footsteps down the stairs, you choose to nurse your dry mouth with the glass of whiskey he poured you a while ago.

Kyle appears first. Had it not been for the sound of his pounding steps you would have taken the smile he’s giving you at face value – but you know better than to do that. Whilst his anger is not on his face, there’s a potency in his eyes appearing in the form of a minuscule shadow.

‘Don’t worry, lovie,’ he says firmly, pulling the front door open, looking behind his shoulder as more footsteps fill the room. ‘You’re safe with us.’

Disappearing into the darkness of the night, you wonder what sort of sin he is going to commit because of your clumsy hand and desperation to live. Simon Riley is next down the stairs, paying you no mind as he walks through the door frame, nearly having to duck to keep his head from hitting the top of it. The door closes with a slam and you stifle a gasp, the whiskey soaking your upper lip as you bang your teeth against the rim of the glass.

Wincing, you pull your lips off the glass staring teary eyed at the closed door. You’ve never been so emotional in your life, an urgency striking you like a knife to the chest to flee from your vulnerability; to be a damsel in distress is to be everything you have desperately been trying to avoid. And still, when Price appears with a head of ruffled hair, you finish the last of the whiskey in your glass. It outstays its welcome, dragging its feet as it slides down your throat.

‘Where are they going?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Price says, holding his hand out to you. ‘Let’s get you up to bed.’

You choose not to fight his words and follow him up the steps. He stands guard as though there’s an enemy in the house waiting to strike as you wash your hands in the water basin in the bathroom, your reflection split into fragmented pieces due to the shattered mirror on the wall. Your cheeks are stained with the tears you have cried throughout the night, your bloodshot eyes challenging the redness of violence in the remnants of the mirror. You spy your soul in pieces and your chest aches.

Who am I?

The blood is officially off of your hands after a generous amount of scrubbing and when you turn around, you’re greeted by the sight of one of John’s shirts sitting atop the closed toilet seat. You take it into your clean hands, staring at it. His kindness is striking and you feel little remorse as the straps of your ruined navy dress fall from off of your shoulders, permitting the white fabric of his shirt to wrap around you.

Pulling open the door, you step out onto the landing with your dress balled up in your arms. ‘I’ll have Kate fix it,’ he says, taking it from your hands.

‘No, it’s fine.’

‘Blood’s difficult to wash out, love,’ he says gently, ‘rather you keep your hands clean.’ The dress slips from your grip and he rests it on the banister. His statement is a reminder of who exactly you’re in the presence of – that the reports aren’t rumours but facts.

But you don’t care.

Not when you slip into his bed, and not when he sits in a chair beside you, refusing to take the space you possess. Any other bad man would have been between the sheets with you in a heartbeat, and despite your attempts to protest, he insists on leaving you alone in the bed he sleeps in. So you settle with your head against his pillow, his hand resting just above your head, mindlessly brushing his crooked fingers through your hair.

‘You thought any more about what dress you're gonna get for the races?’

A smile forms on your face, ‘no.’

‘I’ll give you some coins, get you a pretty dress.’

Your mouth forms a frown. ‘Because you want to or because you think you have to because of what happened?’

‘Because I want to, love,’ he says, the chair creaking as he shifts. ‘I was thinkin’ red.’

‘Red?’ You ask.

‘Looks good on you.’

Your cheeks are stained with scarlet and you lean further into the pillow. ‘You think?’

‘I know,’ he hums, the tips of his fingers resting atop your head. ‘But it’s your choice.’

‘Red it is,’ you say.

The pair of you sit in silence as you grow tired, and when you feel his hand begin to pull away, you move your hand from under the sheets, grabbing his wrist. He understands and, without a word, he continues to brush his hands through your hair, sweeping stray strands from out of your face as you slowly succumb to slumber.

John doesn’t sleep, however.

Instead, he spends his time watching you. Every sharp breath from you is reminiscent of the gunshots in the trenches. How brutal the mind could be to one. He supposes it is simply his punishment for being unable to save Blake from his own. The destitution of the mind leaves the body with too little to spend. He wishes he knew that without bearing the burden of his actions and faults – without getting you involved. It’s a difficult life, but he’s a difficult person.

The sight of you quells the beating in his chest, and as you sleep you pull your hand from out of the sheets. Sitting idly, he taps his foot against the ground while staring at your hand. The red under your nails, while subtle, sounded the scratching in his mind and he fell queasy at the sight. Reaching out his hand, he took yours in his, leaning forward as he did so and resting his head upon his free hand.

To bear burdens is his job: to hear the scratching in the walls before bed, to brutalize his men, to keep secrets. And now you’re here, he fears all his efforts for money and reprimand have been nothing but a waste of his time.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

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(Once again I apologise)

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malikaidith · 25 days ago

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I'm from watching Woman of the Hour and it brings to light the devastating reality that, for many women, a sense of physical and emotional safety is often out of reach, especially in their encounters with men. It's heart-wrenching that women constantly have to worry about their safety in the most ordinary situations, hoping that an interaction with a man won’t end with them getting hurt, manipulated, or even killed. Watching this film, you're faced with a blunt, uncomfortable truth: that women often navigate life with a lingering sense of dread, a hope that every man they meet will turn out to be "safe," but always carrying the terrible weight of possibility that he won’t be. It reveals how, in these situations, women are forced to read every shift in body language, every change in tone, every uncomfortable glance, constantly calculating how to respond so they can make it home alive. The awareness of an energy shift, of a moment when a man’s demeanor turns from kind to cold, or when a friendly conversation starts feeling forced and tense, is a brutal reality. Women feel that change instinctively, and the unease can quickly transform from discomfort into fear, knowing that the wrong word, the wrong look, or the wrong reaction could set off a chain of events that end in violence. It's a tragic and exhausting experience, one that's deeply ingrained in the female experience.The fact that women feel pressure to "entertain" men, to always appear sweet, polite, or funny, is itself exhausting, often feeling more like survival than simple social interaction. It's heartbreaking that so many women find themselves in situations where they have to be agreeable, even when it’s uncomfortable, because showing irritation or anger could be dangerous. They might go as far as to sleep with someone simply because he’s "nice," or out of pity, feeling they owe it to him to avoid confrontation, and because they have been conditioned to see politeness as a form of safety.

The concept of the "friend zone" has often been wielded as a tool of emotional pressure, shaping a narrative where men feel entitled to romantic or sexual interest from women simply because they’ve been "nice" or "supportive." It’s as if the term was created to frame kindness and friendship as some kind of down payment on a relationship. For some men, the "friend zone" suggests that a woman’s friendship alone isn't enough and that, if she doesn’t eventually “pay back” his kindness with romance or intimacy, she’s somehow wronging him. This idea implies a transactional approach to relationships, where the efforts made to be close to a woman such as acts of kindness, companionship, or attention,..are seen as investments that ought to yield a "reward."

The "friend zone" narrative creates a damaging mindset, one that can foster resentment and blame against women for setting boundaries or valuing a man’s friendship without romantic interest. It suggests that by not reciprocating feelings, women are “leading men on” or being ungrateful, when in reality, they’re simply respecting their own feelings and agency. The pressure this creates is unfair, reducing a woman’s worth to her willingness to return affection, regardless of her own emotions, and dismissing the validity of any friendship that isn’t rooted in romance or sexual attraction.

This concept reinforces the notion that women "owe" men something for being present in their lives, which can be deeply manipulative and guilt-inducing. It suggests that if a woman is not romantically interested, she’s rejecting more than just romantic involvement, she’s failing in her role as a friend. The expectation underlying the "friend zone" myth pressures women to question their boundaries and can lead them to feel guilty or even question their own self-worth. It’s a framework that shifts blame onto women for simply following their feelings, which in reality, should be met with respect and understanding, rather than frustration or entitlement. The "friend zone" is ultimately a term that devalues genuine friendship and imposes unfair expectations on women, making it all the more crucial to challenge and dismantle this narrative.

Watching this movie, you get to see a woman facing a life-threatening situation with Rodney Alcala(he's serial killer btw) She could sense the threat looming over her, yet she managed to escape by performing a heartbreaking act of self-preservation. ( I literally cried in this scene..the way she told him "it's okay baby. We are okay" after finding herself SA'd and bleeding and having wounds all over..)By being "sweet," keeping things calm, and even comforting him, she put his emotions first, all while fearing for her life, just to buy herself a chance to survive. That desperation, that terrifying choice to soothe someone even after they’ve committed unimaginable violence, is a survival tactic no one should ever have to use.

The film underscores just how exhausting and painful it is to carry this kind of fear, knowing that a man could become violent at any moment. To be forced into adopting a "safe" demeanor when threatened—acting as if everything is fine to keep the peace—becomes a tragic survival mechanism. It’s heartbreaking that many women have to live like this, balancing on a razor’s edge, feeling like their words and actions are constantly under scrutiny, needing to be careful, needing to be "nice." And it brings a painful realization to the surface: being a woman often means carrying an internalized set of survival strategies simply to coexist in a world that doesn’t always value or protect women’s safety and autonomy.

Watching this movie ,you see the courage and resilience women have to summon just to navigate their lives, but it’s a courage born of necessity, of the hard reality that, for many women, safety is never guaranteed. It’s a haunting, deeply tragic insight into how hard and, at times, terrifying it can be to simply exist as a woman. Anna Kendrick really played her role well, all women did. Then the producers and directors did well by not going so deep into the graphics. I would never get why some feel the need to display these act of violents like SA or torture. It's so unnecessary to show the viewers such. Sometimes I feel I'm losing my mind and my heart is breaking and I just wanna let out a blood curdling scream every single time I think about what happens to women. The injustice.

It’s devastating to witness how the justice system and law enforcement have, time and again, failed women by not addressing violence and abuse against them with the urgency and seriousness they deserve. For countless women, reporting incidents of rape, domestic violence, or even feeling unsafe doesn’t lead to protection or justice but often to dismissive attitudes, skepticism, and even blame. Far too often, women are questioned, doubted, or shamed for coming forward, as if they’re responsible for the crimes committed against them. This dismissive culture within law enforcement can make women feel as though their pain, fear, and trauma are trivial, as if their safety simply doesn’t matter as much. It’s heartbreaking and infuriating that cases of assault and abuse are frequently minimized or dismissed, leaving many women unprotected and without a path toward healing or justice.

#woman of the hour #anna kendrick #rodney alcala #feminism

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bmtillerbabe · 1 month ago

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Ooo, would you be interested in writing some super whumpy Ghoap where one of them is captured (maybe by Graves?) and the other one is forced to watch in person or sees over a live feed until they can break them out?

Oooooooo yes!! This sounds fun! 😍

Hope you enjoy, dear 😘

✨

CW : People getting beat up, some torture, blood, hitting, kicking, Angst, Ghost is gonna have Hella revenge..... 🫢

Take care of your mental health! I tried to keep it descriptive, yet vague - because torture is one of my triggers and I typically get so pissed at the character inflicting it!

But rest assured - Ghost is gonna kick this mother fucker's ASS off! ❤️

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

Ghost rattled the chains that bound his fists behind his back, thrashing against the metal that locked him in place.

He growled loudly, pulling his arms with every bit of strength he could muster - screaming, yelling, crying out as he tried to break free, but to no use.

His jeans were filthy and his knees ached, strained from the Heft of his weight being on them for so many hours; mud and shit and sludge caked into his denim and the patches of skin that poked through the holes torn from the concrete beneath him.

Distant sounds of creaking and groaning gave him no clues as to where he was currently being held, and the room itself was dome-shaped and dark with no windows and no views of the outside world.

If he even was outside.

It was dark, dirty, damp and disgusting - meant to isolate and incite panic.

Meant to.

Ghost cussed himself with a grunt, trying to concentrate on getting at least one of his wrists free, (debating on how stupid is would be for him to break his wrist or a couple fingers to slip free....), instead of counting each steady drip-drip-drip of the leak overhead.

He should have known better than to hesitate when he and Soap got to the Exfil location, and nothing was there. He'd sensed something was wrong in his gut right then, but ignored it; choosing to be ever the obedient solder instead of following his gut.

And now he was paying the price for it.

He'd been in situations like this before, sure. He'd been trained on how to remain calm, and trained in hundreds of ways to break free of traps and bonds. He'd been trained to keep his mind cool, and his breathing in check.

He'd been trained not to fear for his life.

..... But it wasn't his own life he feared for, now.

It was Johnny's.

And he hadn't been trained for that.

Ghost yelled in anguish, pain evident in his voice, eyed locked onto the staticky, cracked screen on the curved wall above of him.

And Johnny - his Johnny - was on it.

And it was his fault.

"Soap!" Ghost screamed at the top of his lungs, wondering, hoping that maybe, just maybe, their rooms were close enough for the to hear the other. "Johnny!"

But the Scot didn't move, his eyes darting around, taking in his surroundings and struggling against his bonds much like his Lieutenant.

Ghost was left helpless, angled in such a way that he was forced to watch Soap breath heavily and anger flash over his features.

He could see the fire in his Sargeant's eyes, could see his mind racing with plans of his escape, and taking in anything he could about his surroundings.

Any other day, Ghost would have beamed with pride at seeing just how far the Scot had come in the short time he'd been enlisted.

But today was not the day.

Ghost was just about to make the decision that a broken wrist could heal eventually - when the flourescant green light of the room, and the TV screen, suddenly shut down.

He froze his movements, going still and quiet in the shadows.

Drip..... Drip..... Drip....

A power play, no doubt, he knew. Just reminding him who was really in charge, and that it wasn't him.

Several seconds later, only the TV flicked back on, fuzzy feedback whistling and crackling through the empty space. Ghost's eyes were locked to the screen, and he felt his face flush with rage when he saw another face appear as it adjusted the angle of the camera and came into focus.

"Well, lookie here."

Ghost would recognize that nasty, southern drawl anywhere.

"Seems I've managed to catch both the Ghost and his little guard dog."

Graves.

Ghost released a heavy, throaty growl at the mere sight of the blonde traitor who flashed a crooked grin at the screen, yanking against his chains like a rabid beast ready to maul him to shreds. He wasnt sure if the American could hear him, so he didn't speak.

But it didn't take long for Grave's twisted lilt to fill the space.

The man loved to hear himself talk.

"Now. I bet you're wonderin' why I got you both tied up an' bound like this." Graves proclaimed, almost proudly, sauntering over towards Soap. The Scot eyed him with pure disdain, his face twisted in a putrid scowl as the man neared.

Ghost watched through the screen as Graves went over and gripped Soap's chin, tilting it side to side, up and down, like he was inspecting goods.

"Well, see..... We caught you snoopin' round where you shouldn't be." Graves smirked as he leaned near Soap's face with a devilish grin, knowing damn well that Johnny could do absolutely nothing with his hands chained to the ground behind his back.

He could spit though.

Making a sound as he did so, Johnny reared back and spit a huge glob into Grave's eye, glaring at him. Graves reared back in shock, but once he processed what happened, his brow furrowed and he reached down to give Johnny a good slap across the cheek - hard enough that spit flew from his mouth.

Ghost yelled as he watched the impact from his side of the screen, his eyes wide and pained, trying again to break free of these damned chains---!

"Is that all ye got, ye pussy?" Johnny managed to chuckle darkly, shaking his head and spitting out a good bit of blood. He stared Graves down without an ounce of fear. "I've had new recruits hit harder than tha'."

Graves shook his head, but returned the smile to the Scot before facing the camera - facing Ghost.

"See the disrespect in this one?" he shook his head. "Should've kept this dog on a tighter leash, there, Ghost."

Ghost couldn't help but bite out an angry yell at the screen, though he knew it was probably useless. "Graves, I'll fucking kill you!"

Johnny kept his eyes trained on Graves as the man circled him, his breathing heavy and lip oozing a tiny trickle of blood. The American stopped and stooped down to Soap's eye level and clicked his tongue.

"Now, lookie here, Soap, the way I see it, we got two options."

Soap didn't respond.

Graves continued.

"We can either do this the easy way, and you tell me just where that laptop yall stole from that K-27 base is...... Or I can just rip the answer right from your throat. Quite literally."

Ghost was breathing heavily, watching the crappy screen helplessly, knowing exactly what Soap was about to say. His heart ached and time seemed to stop around him. He watched Johnny lean in to Graves and utter,

"Go ta hell."

Graves let out a barking laugh, licking his lips as he stood up full height.

The without warning, reared his leg back and kicked Soap right in the gut with what looked like his full strength.

Ghost screamed in the dark silence, willing the chains to break free so he could get out and punch that fucker face through the back of his skull - might even wear it over his balaclava after - eyes locked onto the screen, unable to do much else but watch.

Graves walked behind Soap as he was catching his breath, gripping his mohawk and ripping it back to Soap was now looking directly at the screen.

"See, we thought you might choose the hard way." Graves drawled with a grin, patting him on the cheek several times. "And that's why we're making your buddy there, watch...... And why I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this."

Soap didn't even have time to prepare or react before Graves was in front of him and punching his jaw, landing blow after blow on the bound man.

Ghost had done his fair share of torture. Hell, he was typically the one that most people feared based on reputation alone. He himself could withstand any amount of pain inflicted upon his body, or mind. Had the years-honed ability to dissociate, even welcome the pain.

But never had he been subject to a torture like this - - being forced to watch his Sargeant, his best friend - his lover - take the wounds that should be going to him instead.

It was his job to make sure this didn't happen, it was his job to make sure that his team and his men got home safe and alive. And yet, here we was, yelling angrily at the expanse as he was forced to watch Graves pummel into Johnny.

It pulled his heartstrings when Soap, already beaten bloody, spit out what looked like a tooth, and eyed the man before him.

"All this time, and ye still fight like a bloody girl."

Graves seemed to have had enough and landed another series of blows across his face and chest. Gripping Soap's cheeks, he forced him to face the screen again.

"You about ready to talk yet?" He drawled with a pant.

Ghost knew he wasn't talking to Soap.

Graves was talking to him.

When no answer came through, Graves just shook his head and sighed, turning back to Johnny.

"Sounds like your friend there don't much mind if you die in here."

Soap glared at him through a swelling eye already turning purple, thrashing against his chains. Graves merely chuckled and looked into the camera again.

"You just let us know if you decide his life is worth that laptop of yours."

Soap coughed up blood when Graves kicked him again, no doubt having broken a rib.

"N-no! Ghost! Simon! Don't listen to him! I can take it, I can---!" He ended with a kick to the gut before Graves walked over to a shadow in the background and soft clinking sounded through the fuzzy speakers. He pushed over a small cart full of different knives and..... Tools..... Lifting each on in the air to inspect them.

Ghost couldn't remember the last time he cried.

Hell he couldn't even remember the last time he even felt sadness.

But this sight damn near broke him in two - a single tear slipping through his long, blonde lashes, obsorbing into the balaclava.

The cries and screams of pain from his friend - his Johnny - kept his eyes glued to the screen, forcing himself to watch; taking a mental note of each and every injury Graves inflicted onto Soap :

Because not only was he going to get himself and Johnny of here alive - he planned to inflict every wound back to that fucker tenfold

. Hope yall enjoyed, reblogs and comments and hearts are SO appreciated - always! ❤️

#Answer #Whump #Whumpy #tw torture #ghost and soap #Ghoap #Soap and Ghost #Cod #Call of duty #Fic #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #Graves is a fucking jerk #Writing #Dead dove #Maybe? Idk

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x-other-souled-x · 1 year ago

Text

No. Nope.

Using language that systems may also use in a medical setting to describe their expereinces and go through treatment is not appropriation. Full stop.

There is no culture being exploited, unless you want to argue that the medical-industrial complex is a closed culture somehow.

Which I have definitely seen posts saying something dangerously close to this, and I urge you to not base your entire sense of self on the guys making money off of you. Even if they're helping, there's intentional siphoning of money from poor patients.

Secondly, language is a tool used to communicate. Words exist as "bodies" to a concept, and sometimes this concept is interpreted a little differently from person to person. There are a lot of words that mean several different things depending on the context. The most important thing is the setting which they're used in. A good ammount of medical terms are also words that are used by laymen in other contexts, meaning something different.

A system is a group of interrelated parts working together as a whole.

An Operating System (OS) is a system of code and software that tells the hardware what to do in order to make your computer run. There's agricultural systems, government systems, the solar system itself. Are these things appropriating the medical-industrial complex by existing as parts that make one whole thing work?

And before anyone splits hairs about this, I am not equating human life to computers or the government. These are examples of things that are literally defined AS SYSTEMS. The main takeaway you should be having here is that system is a broad term with many many applications outside of the medical-industrial complex. That one institution does not own the word nor the concept of being multiple parts (headmates/alters/whatever) working together.

The concept still exists and system still is a word outside of a medical context.

In other words, people would have eventually came to the conclusion of calling themselves systems regardless of if it was used in a medical context or not. It's not hard to put 2 and 2 together, to see parallels in concepts and expereinces and decide those words work just fine. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

This is a post online, made by a trauma-formed system. I'm not going to have the time and foresight to cover every little nuance, and I don't care to be pedantic and pick apart small case instances. At the end of the day, this does not actually matter to how I live my life, how I get therapy, how we as a system have to work together. Endos using terms that are also used in a medical setting (but also used outside of medical settings) is not harmful to me in any way. And quite frankly, I think anti-endo witchunting has done more damage to us as a system trying to figure out how to navigate life than any endo friendly post has. I'm not arguing semantics, I'm going to go live my life and go outside and do my job and pay my bills like everyone else.

All this discourse around stealing terms and what you can and can't call yourself is so seriously unimportant in the grand scheme of things. You all sound so comfy and privileged to be worried about something so trivial as a word or three that is used in multiple contexts accross human language.

#syscourse #<- once again tagging bc yall need to see this and read it and really get it into your heads #im tired of boring terminology “”debates“”#theres no debate language exists and people use it too bad so sad #theres more important things to talk about #LIKE THE EXPLOITATION OF THE VULNERABLE IN THE MEDICAL INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX MAYBE ?????

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popatochisssp · 1 year ago

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Hi!! If the Papyri are knights what are the Sanses? Also you should totally make an AU of this, you beautiful brain

You have no idea, none of you have any idea how absolutely insane I went about this goofy little one-off AU concept

...Some of you have an idea. And some of you maybe know me well enough to have just guessed I would go off the rails the way I have lol

Anyway, this is the first, but absolutely not the last of The Court AU:

Sans (Undertale): The court jester, in possession of a quick wit and a cutting sense of humor and with no desire to let either go to waste. He’s much beloved at court and prides himself on his ability to make even the stuffiest of courtiers chuckle with his jokes and pranks—and his jester’s privilege makes him nigh untouchable to those who somehow aren’t amused by him. It’s a good life…

Papyrus (Undertale): A proud knight of the kingdom and a member of the Royal Guard! Er…well…eventually, he will be. The Captain won’t make him a full member of the Guard until he’s proven his valor through a series of knightly quests…but she won’t tell him what the quests are, so he travels the kingdom as a knight-errant, helping those in need and solving problems that may or may not have needed solving! You’re welcome, good citizens!

Sky (Underswap Sans): A squire, or knight-in-training, attendant to the Captain of the Guard until he properly earns his own knighthood. …Frankly, he’s already capable and qualified to be a knight now, but he’s aware that the Captain has some reservations regarding his health and is hesitating to just give him the job because of it. He fully intends to prove himself to her in the line of active duty, and someday be recognized as a fully-fledged knight of the realm.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): The court archivist, most at home amidst shelves of tomes and records and far away from the social obligations of the court itself. He tracks and preserves all kind of documents, from agricultural reports to genealogies to romantic poetry, and is on call to locate specific texts for any nobles or otherwise literate folks seeking to reference them. It gets a bit musty sometimes but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): A mercenary, traveling the kingdom in search of people to sell his sword to for a bit of coin—and then traveling in search of satisfying ways to spend that coin. He does occasionally venture outside the kingdom for both of these things, but he has quite a few connections to well-paying opportunities within the borders, so as much as he avoids putting down roots, he tends not to stray too far from ‘home.’

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A knight in the Royal Guard, touted as a black knight for the scorched and stained armor he wears—a marker of the many deadly, heroic feats he’s conquered. No quest is too dangerous, no enemy too great for him to overcome, and he bravely takes on what lesser knights fear to risk. He’s quite accomplished dealing with dragons, and wildfires, and even mages, who always seem to cast fireballs and…well, perhaps that’s the reason his armor is so blackened…

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Personal guard to the Empress herself, nominally part of the Royal Guard as well but far from the front-lines of battle as his duty to her highness’ safety comes first and foremost. He’s involved in a lot of the structuring and scheduling of patrols for the lower ranking guardsmen, and his opinion is often sought in matters of state and military, but his primary concern is accompanying the Empress wherever she goes, or standing post just outside the door. Only on rare occasions does anyone else fill his role, and that’s just the way he likes it.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s a nobleman who used his wealth and free time to pursue a passion in painting. His passion paid off in the form of a bit of notoriety for his work and several offers of patronage from other nobility seeking portraits and frescoes and the like done in his hand. …Or as he sees it, rich people paying him to do what he loves instead of some sort of actual job. As long as he can comfortably afford his paints, he’s happy.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s a stableman at the queen’s castle, looking after the horses and hunting dogs kept there. He isn’t as quick as he used to be, and his memory hasn’t been the same since his head injury, but he was graciously employed elsewhere rather than dismissed and it’s…fine. Well enough, at least. It’s dirty and often thankless work, but he is fond of the animals, and much prefers their company to anyone else.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s a medic in service to the knights of the Royal Guard. He actually used to be among their number…sort of…but there were some changes, in his life, and his eye-sight isn’t really what it used to be anyway, and… Well! He spent some time learning from the court physician and got very interested in ways to treat illness and injury. He’s not as skilled and knowledgeable as a full-fledged healer but he’s happily on hand for minor training accidents and sicknesses or injuries in those coming back from patrols. He loves to be able to help!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): A musician who plays his trusty horn for the court during all the feasts and festivals. He’s only one player of many but enough of a talent to be selected for the job and pleased that his music should entertain the king and queen and all their noble guests. It’s not the most glorious of positions but he’s happy enough doing it and lives well for his station.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Head cook in the castle kitchens, a station he worked up to from the bottom as a lowly kitchen boy. He has a lot of experience making meals for the royal couple and for all the nobles that regularly attend court gatherings and he knows how to give the people what they want. There are several other cooks and kitchen attendants that work with him but it’s his job to make decisions and keep everything running smoothly, which keeps him busy but happily so.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He sticks exclusively to the royal court these days, not as a hired sword but as a wealthy and rakish duke of the kingdom. His brother gave him the title and it’d be stupid not to take advantage of the perks—though he does have to earn them. He’s less a hired sword now and more a hired axe, performing the duty of the royal executioner whenever he’s called upon to do so. No need to wear a hood, everyone knows who he is and what he does to enemies of the crown.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): The king of the castle, in a very literal sense. Some may call him a usurper or a traitor to the crown to have seized the throne for himself without proper claim… and for those people he arranges a meeting between their necks and his brother’s blade. He seized the throne because he’s loyal to the crown and the queen he deposed was wearing it quite poorly. If he could, he would’ve stepped down by now and given way to the true queen, but the people have been through enough upheaval—so he will remain as their king, as long as is necessary.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): A cursed king who lives an austere, lonely life in a desolate castle by the sea. He fled from his true realm in disgrace and now awaits an end to his curse or his shame—whichever comes first—in the ruins of a fallen kingdom as degraded as he is. He doesn’t expect to be found, or saved from the curse that his own choices wrought upon him, and just tries to bear his fate with the grace expected of him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Prince-errant of his kingdom, meant to be ruling his people but instead gallivanting off across the countryside in search of his missing brother. He wants to find him and know he’s well about as much as he doesn’t want to go back and be the ruler of a kingdom, for which he was never properly trained and is wholly unprepared! Maybe in his search and his hardships, he can find the strength and maturity to do what the kingdom needs him to do…but he’s not there yet, and finding his brother is his priority.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Every knight in the Royal Guard is hand-picked and trained by him. He held a high office among the guardsmen once, but a severe injury put him out of commission and without his sight, he was no longer fighting fit, as they say. Still, his strength and his skill didn’t abandon him and while he could be a liability on the battlefield, he’s nothing less than a powerful asset when it comes to training the knights up to his own exacting standards. Only the best make it through his gauntlet.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He walks the wall of the castle at night, standing guard for any threats to the kingdom that might otherwise go unseen. He takes his duty very seriously and refuses to let any night pass without a watchman on duty, even in foul weather or nights of great feasts and festivals. His vigilance has protected the kingdom from many a threat and he feels certain that his job is of much higher importance than any frivolous pastimes he absorbed himself in before.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A courtier of…mysterious origin. He’s often at court, making conversation and telling colorful stories to anyone whose ear he can snatch—and he manages to snatch quite a few—but no one can manage to figure out quite where he came from or what he ought to be doing. Mostly, he entertains himself and others with various leisurely pursuits, games, hunts, dances, songs, and as such he’s a well-liked person at court…wherever he came from.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Another man of mystery who appeared at court on the heels of his brother, though far less flamboyantly. He’s obviously a learned man, well-educated and well-spoken, and though he wasn’t as warmly embraced by the courtiers at large, he was eventually welcomed into the king’s confidence as a royal advisor. The backing of the king being what it is, he’s accepted and respected as probably some sort of nobleman, regardless of his unclear origin, and continues to advise the king on matters of state.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): A wanderer, uprooted from his life and former kingdom and left to walk the land in search of meaning. Some say his kingdom was destroyed but for a small handful of survivors. Some say he turned to dark magic and sold his soul for the chance. to take revenge on the one who desolated his home. Some say he’s ageless, bones turned to cold iron and chest empty of breath to contain the power he now holds. …They’re all right. But his quest is long over, and all that’s left to do now is wander.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a proud knight of the kingdom! He may not have been in the Royal Guard when he was tragically cut down before his time, but he did come back from death as a ghostly semblance of himself at the same time everyone else did—and when your Captain is no longer worried that you might get yourself killed in battle because you already did, promotions are in order! So, he now serves his phantom kingdom as a phantom knight, valiantly and eagerly, but of course, taking time every now and then to visit his (mostly) living family member, to keep him from brooding too hard.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): It’s…slightly unclear what he does. He’s seemed strange for a time, a bit touched, but the queen seems to hold him in high esteem and never fails to consult him (among others) before any major decisions are made. Sometimes he’ll appear in unusual places with cryptic messages, or look into peoples’ eyes and divine their intentions (should they be ill ones), and for all this, though he holds no specific title, he’s at least informally called the court mystic. There are rumors that his strangeness and that of those closest to him is because he made contact and some sort of bargain with the faefolk…but those are surely just rumors.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): The royal falconer, primary trainer, keeper, and handler of all the hawks and falcons owned by the queen. It wasn’t a job he was born into, but one he sought out of the blue one day, and he earned his way by demonstrating a remarkable affinity for the birds even prior to any training. By now he’s a figure of great respect for the command he has over the flighted beasts, and he happily demonstrates it during the queen’s feasts and king’s hunts.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He’s earned his way at court with talent, performing dazzling displays of bullets and other magic for nobles and royals alike. He’s a standout from other such entertainers in that his well of magic never seems to run dry and he can keep showing off his juggling and his light shows and his dancing bullets from sun-up to sun-down without ever tiring. He doesn’t talk much about his life before coming to court, but he’s happy now so it’s just as well.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He was trained from a very young age to be a soldier, a paladin meant to fight in a holy war and raised to believe his greatest purpose was to die on the battlefield and bring glory to the cause. That all…never happened. He was freed from the grip of the zealots and reunited with the brother he hadn’t seen in ages, but then left at odds for what to do now—a warrior with no war to fight. Eventually he becomes apprenticed to a carpenter in town in the hopes of learning a trade to live on, and…he’s starting to be content.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): Spymaster to the crown, head of a small network of covert informants, assassins, thieves and the rest of their ilk. It was a career he…inherited…but also one he carried out diligently, carefully, and above all, secretly. At least, until his brother married and he left to join him in his new kingdom, where he serves much the same function at court—with the added responsibility of wrangling and occasionally nominally filling in for the crown prince. All according to plan.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He was in the same family business as his brother, but when he caught the eye of a visiting monarch and won an invitation to their kingdom, to marry, well… how could he refuse? And when, after an unsuspicious amount of time, his spouse is found dead under mysterious—but not too mysterious—circumstances, and no one from the proper line of succession seems to be coming to take their place… He really has no choice but to go from the prince consort to the crown prince, for the sake of his late spouse’s people. He’s far from a proper or responsible prince, and certainly has some kind of reputation, but he’s pleased enough with how everything’s going.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He minds the royal dungeons. It’s not what he started out doing, but somewhere along the way he lost the humor for anything else, and it’s as good a job as any. Not too many strangers make it into the kingdom these days, but plenty have foul intentions and it is something he takes some pride in, keeping watch over those ill-meaning outsiders and making sure they stay put, where they belong. He’s not the kindest of dungeon-keepers, but quite frankly, since when was ‘kindness’ part of that job description?

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): His brother keeps the dungeon and he keeps the grounds. While a groundskeeper isn’t anything close to what he thought he’d want to be, a lot has happened—to him personally and to the kingdom as a whole—and well, he’s providing a very valuable service with his work, humble though it may be. Anyone with skin would have a horrid time pruning back all the wicked, cursed thorns that keep trying to consume the realm, and unchecked, they could probably run wild in less than a fortnight, where would they all be if he let that happen?

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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silverynight · 5 months ago

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Underworld

<---Previous

Part XX

Izuku suddenly wishes there was a way to communicate with Ashido directly. He still is going to try to contact Iida and even though he talked to him in the Olympus and found out he's a very nice god, Izuku still feels like he's not in the position to ask him for a favor because Izuku is just a demigod.

But he has to do it because he wants to deliver gifts to the immortals who were nice to him while he was staying there.

He has made a natural chewing toy (three actually) for Dynamight; it'll repair itself so the cute hell hound can play with it as many times as he wants.

He has a lot of flowers and flower crowns for his friends and a very special necklace for Katsuki. That one doesn't have any flowers but leaves, orange ones because Izuku has always thought that's Katsuki's color.

It also has a very special type of thorn for protection; Izuku designed it himself and applied a little bit of his powers to make it harmless to the user.

By the time Iida answers to his call, Izuku is nervous and slightly blushing.

The messenger is nice; he's a powerful and very efficient god who's polite with everyone so Izuku is not flustered because of him.

He's nervous because he hasn't gotten over the crush he has for the king of the underworld.

And, if Izuku is being honest, part of him hasn't made a real effort to get rid of it because having a crush feels nice and warm; it's like endless spring inside his heart.

"That's it, Midoriya?"

Izuku has to blink a couple of times in order to focus on the god in front of him.

"Yes, just tell her I'd like to see her," he nods, smiling at Iida before handing him a flower.

"There's no need!" Iida assures him, moving his arm up and down repeatedly. "This is basically my duty. You don't have to give me anything in return!"

"But I want to because you're my friend now!" Izuku insists, beaming at him.

"Oh... okay. T-Thanks."

"You're welcome!"

***

Izuku doesn't expect her to respond the same day, much less to visit him herself just a couple of minutes later.

He gets startled when she appears on his field, but gets over it quickly and rushes towards his friend to hug her.

"I'm glad to see you again too," she chuckles, pulling him a little bit closer before taking a few steps back. "Everyone misses you."

"I miss them too," Izuku nods, beaming as he adds, quite excited: "Would you take me to the underworld to pay them a visit? It doesn't have to be today..."

"I'll take you now!" She grins back.

"Really? But I don't want to... I mean we can schedule so I don't interrupt–"

"Nonsense!" She cuts him off, taking his hand. "You're always welcome in the underworld! Anytime!"

"Okay. Let's go then."

There's a sensation of familiarity as soon as he opens his eyes and realizes he's back exactly where he met Ashido for the first time.

It's been a while and he'd be lying if he didn't admit he missed that place more than anything... or maybe it's not just the place.

For a moment it feels like home.

"Do you want to go to the castle?"

"Not right now," he blurts out, looking around excitedly. "I have a lot of flower crowns for the little kids! Let's find them!"

As he did back when he first stayed in the underworld, Izuku spends a lot of time finding kids and putting flower crowns upon their heads to cheer them up.

They start calling him Queen, like the other ones did. He's still not sure why children always mistake him for the Queen of the underworld.

"Maybe they sense that we need a Queen," Ashido mumbles after Izuku says that last bit out loud and he can't help but blush when his friend winks at him.

"But I'm not..." He stops suddenly; the painful idea of Katsuki looking for and eventually finding some pretty goddess to marry crosses his mind.

Izuku shakes his head. No, it's fine; Katsuki is his friend and he deserves to be happy, he should be happy for him as well.

He really needs to get rid of his silly crush on him.

"Are you alri–"

"Izuku?"

"Kacchan!" As soon as Izuku says his name, the god of the dead rushes towards him and takes him in his arms as if they hadn't seen each other in ages.

"I thought you hated this place..."

"I don't," Izuku pushes him gently so he can see his face. "I told you I wanted to go back!"

"You did, but–"

"I brought you a gift!" The demigod cuts him off because he doesn't like to see him sad. He knows his gift will cheer him up. "Look! I made this necklace for you. It won't hurt you and you can use it as protection against–"

Katsuki puts it on immediately. He looks from the gift to Izuku like it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

"Is this in response to the gift I brought you the other day?"

"Well, of course..."

Katsuki's face lights up. He looks really handsome when he's absolutely happy. He takes Izuku's face in his hands and presses their foreheads together, prompting Izuku to blush.

"I'll give you your second gift soon, Izuku."

Second? Why would he give him a second gift? Izuku is suddenly confused but he doesn't have time to ask about it because Katsuki pulls him closer again and makes them appear inside the castle.

"Dynamight has missed you a lot."

Just right after he says that a huge hell hound comes running down the stairs, wagging his tail. He must've picked up Izuku's scent as soon as he entered the castle.

"Oi, be careful!" Katsuki warns the dog.

"It's alright, Kacchan!" Izuku smiles right before Dynamight reaches him. No, he doesn't manage to push him to the ground because Izuku is way stronger than he looks.

He can help but chuckle as he tries to give all three heads the attention they deserve and as much pats as Dynamight wants.

After a while Izuku finally gives the dog the toy he made for him.

"Midoriya!"

Both Kirishima and Kaminari embrace him at the same time, prompting Izuku to grin.

"I've missed you guys..."

"Are you going to stay?" Kaminari asks, almost hopeful.

"I just came to pay you a visit."

"Alright, that's enough," Katsuki growls, before pushing Kirishima and Kaminari away from Izuku.

When he feels Katsuki's hand on his waist, Izuku is glad he doesn't have his own flower crown on him otherwise it would have given him away. His cheeks turn slightly pink though.

"Come on, Bakubro... don't be that possessive! Midoriya is our friend!"

"SHUT UP!"

Izuku can't help but chuckle as soon as he hears them arguing and notices Ashido rolling her eyes at them.

He had missed this. All of it. And he has the feeling that even though he knows he has to go back to the mortal realm soon, this time it'd be even more difficult to leave his friends.

***

Next--->

Patreon

#my hero academia #mha #bnha #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #bkdk #bakudeku

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middleearthpixie · 7 months ago

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Four

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass

@xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically

@notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

@ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

@glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

@sazzlep @night-ace @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Darkness crept into Dale and Nina tried not to notice the passage of time, even as she lit the lamp on her bedside table. A sense of unease swept through her, especially when she went out into the sitting area, where she found Sigrid at the battered kitchen table, knitting.

Sigrid said nothing, but merely arched an eyebrow and that somehow made her feel even worse. Had she been a fool? Had Thorin sought to get even with her by using her, making her think he felt something, and…

No. She refused to even consider the very notion.

“It’s almost eight,” Sigrid remarked, lowering her knitting.

“I know.” Nina sank onto the arm of the sofa with a low sigh, a feeling of idiocy swirling through her. “Perhaps my faith was misplaced.”

“I had hoped not.”

“So did—” The sudden rap on the door cut her off and her spirits rose as she did. Nina smiled over her shoulder at Sigrid. “Perhaps it wasn’t after all.”

Sigrid smiled. “Only one way to find out.”

Nina drew a deep breath to quell the thousands of butterflies that had taken up residence in her belly as she reached for the door handle. But when she pulled it open and her gaze alit on Thorin on the far side of the threshold, those butterflies multiplied tenfold.

He offered up a sheepish smile. “I know I’m late, but I do have a good reason.”

“Come in, Thorin. And then you can offer up your reason.”

He bobbed his head. “Fair enough.”

She stepped back to allow him room to enter the flat and as he did, he said, “Miss Sigrid, how do you fare?”

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Sigrid rose from the table, scooping her knitting into her arms. “I will allow the two of you—”

“No, there’s no need to leave, Miss Sigrid.”

“That’s fine. I have a book waiting for me and you two don't need an audience.” She smiled. “It was nice seeing you again, Thorin.”

With that, she swept into her room, and Nina turned to Thorin. “I’m listening.”

“Oh, right. I was waylaid in Erebor.” He offered up a sheepish smile. “Balin was working on something for me and he was supposed to have finished it by now, but did not.”

“What was he working on? Something to do with Esgaroth?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.” He gestured to the door. “Now, I believe I promised you supper, didn't I?”

“You did.”

“Then come along and we will enjoy a meal not cooked out in the open by Dwalin.”

“We enjoyed several like that in Mirkwood,” she reminded him.

“And not surrounded by elves, either.”

“Fair enough.”

Once they were outside, he reached for her hand, linking his fingers with hers, and as they touched, Nina felt the snap of electricity between them and wondered if she would always feel it. Thorin looked over at her, his eyes soft, and without a word, lifted her hand to his lips.

“You felt it, didn't you?”

“Felt what?” He winked and his fingers tightened about hers. “Where should we go?”

“Anywhere but the Black Swan.”

“Agreed.”

They made their way along Stone Street, and out to the main street, which was twice as wide, but far more quieter at night than it would be come morning. Some shops had closed for the night, but plenty more remained open, their brightly colored awnings still unrolled over the doorways and soft warm light within welcoming any and all shoppers.

“This city has come a long way,” he said, gesturing to the buildings to his right. “Half of these were in ruins a year ago. Now look at them.”

“The first few weeks here were terrible,” she told him as they strolled toward the low wall at the far end of the street, overlooking the plains, and in the distance, Erebor. “Thranduíl had been somewhat generous, bringing much needed food and clothing, but there were still so many people and so few resources. Bard proved his gift for leadership during that time. And it’s amazing what people can accomplish when they work together.”

She looked over to the west, where some buildings had been restored, but others were still in various stages of ruin. “An enormous troll lumbered through here, just swinging this equally enormous club this way and that. I’d never seen anything like it. He was horrifying, and so ugly, you couldn't help but stop and stare at him for a moment.”

“I did not see the one who tore through here, but I've battled trolls before,” he replied, pausing to sink against the rough stone wall. “Before we reached Rivendell the first time. We’d stopped for the night and mountain trolls made off with several of our ponies. Fíli and Kíli took Bilbo in an attempt to get them back and we all almost ended up on the troll menu.”

“Ew. They are foul creatures.”

“That they are.”

In the distance, pale gold light spilled through elegant bay windows and she nodded toward it. “The Provincial House. That’s what Sigrid gave up to share a tiny little flat with me.”

“I’ve spent more than my share of time there since Smaug.” His thumb brushed along hers. “The bowman has done well for your people.”

“He has,” she nodded, then gazed up at him. Moonlight danced lightly along his hair, glinted off the ornaments woven into the black strands, and gleamed off the silver streaking it. Without thinking, she reached up to brush her fingers through it.

She let her fingertips trail along the braid woven at his left temple. At its end, a silver cube had been woven it. It lay heavy in her palm as she said, “What is this?”

“This?” He caught the braid from her, catching the small cube between his thumb and forefinger. “It was a gift, from my father.”

“An odd gift, that.”

“To Men, perhaps.” He smiled, letting the braid go slack. “But to dwarves? It is not odd at all. To dwarves, hair is sacred. That’s why you will not see a clean-shaven dwarf, nor one with what you would call a sensible haircut. We take great pride in our hair, and we protect it as if it were a living being.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “You’ve seen even the women have beards, and most of them are decorated and almost all of the decorations have meaning behind them. No one touches a dwarf’s hair unless he or she has proven themselves utterly trustworthy to the dwarf in question and has been given their permission to touch it.”

“I didn't know that. I just thought you felt it made you look more threatening.”

He grinned then. “Am I so threatening to you?”

“Well, not now. But when you first came through Esgaroth? It was easy to see you making someone uneasy. But at the same time, it was also easy to see why your men followed you all the way from the Shire. I’ve the feeling they would willingly die for you, if necessary.”

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, only just barely visible in the moonlight. “I owe my life to them, all of them. But especially the hobbit.”

“Bilbo, right?”

He nodded. “Bilbo Baggins of Bag End in the Shire. At first, he had no desire to join us, no desire to leave his home and all of its comforts. And to be honest, I don't know why he changed his mind, other than he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.”

“You never asked him?”

That color along his cheekbones deepened. “I—uh—never got the chance. We had a bit of a falling out and it wasn't until I thought I was dying that we—that I apologized for my role.”

A hint of sadness crept into his voice. She moved to ease herself between his thighs and let her hands come to rest upon his powerful shoulders. “If you don’t wish to speak of it, I understand.”

He gazed up at her, his eyes soft and pale. “The memories are unpleasant. I put many lives at risk. I cost so many innocent people so much. You don't need me to tell you this, you know it firsthand.”

“I do, but… just… now you’re atoning for it. Look at this place,” she swept one hand out behind her, at the buildings that had risen from the ash, “and see for yourself. It was a ruin and now, it’s not entirely reborn, but it’s getting there. You’ve kept your word, Thorin.”

He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, his thumbs grazing along them as he murmured, “I love you.”

She smiled, then leaned in and caught his lips in a teasing kiss. His hands tightened on her hips, pulled her snugly into the vee of his spread legs, and when she drew back, she murmured, “I love you, too.”

“We should go find someplace to eat.” He rose without releasing her. “Before the hour grows too late and every place is closed.”

****

After a quiet supper in a cozy little cafe on the eastern side of Dale, they strolled back along the promenade, toward Stone Street. Her fingers laced with Thorin’s, her head resting against his shoulder. Nina was certain she’d never known the happiness, the contentment, like those swirling through her then. Everything was right in her world, more right than she could have ever imagined.

“What’s on your mind?” Thorin asked, his voice low and gentle.

“Not much, really.” She lifted her head to peer up at him. “I’m happy. I mean, I’m still sore, but I’m happy.”

He released her hand, easing that arm about her shoulders. “Happy, eh?”

“Very happy. Why? Shouldn’t I be?”

“I didn't say that.” He pressed her against his side. “It’s a nice sight to see, you happy.”

“What about you? What’s on your mind?”

Thorin stopped then, stepping before her. “I am also happy.”

“Good. I’ve the feeling it’s been a long time since you were happy, Thorin.” She reached up to curve her hand against his bristled cheek. “And you should be happy.”

He blocked out the moon as he leaned in and their lips met softly. Nina melted against him, easing one arm about his neck and the other about his waist. He bent her back, his lips parting, his tongue meeting hers and her heart sped up at the slow teasing.

Thorin broke the kiss slowly, pulling away to sweep his lips along her jaw, toward her ear, where he whispered, “I should see you home, mesmel.”

“I hate to see this evening end,” she confessed, tucking her head against his chest.

He wrapped her in his embrace, pressed a kiss into the top of her head, and murmured, “There will be more like this.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“There will. I promise you this.”

With that, she slowly pulled out of his arms, but caught his hand once more and in comfortable silence, they strolled back toward Stone Street.

At her door, she smiled. “I had a lovely time this evening, Thorin.”

“As did I.”

“Would you like to come inside?”

His eyes glinted and his grin grew feral to send heat spiking through her, but then he slowly shook his head. “As much as I would love to, I should be going. But, if you are free tomorrow afternoon, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

She nodded. “I’m free. I have to work tomorrow night, though.”

“I will have you back in time. I’ll be by around noon.”

“I’ll see you then.”

He leaned in, brushed her lips with his once more, and then stepped back. She opened the front door and reluctantly stepped inside and as she closed it, she heard a soft, faint whistle as Thorin strolled back down Stone Street.

“You look happy.”

Nina turned to see Sigrid at the table, this time a book open before her, and she smiled. “That is because I am.”

“Because of your dwarf?”

“Because of my dwarf.”

Sigrid chuckled. “I must admit, you could do far worse than him. Perhaps he is not so terrible after all. Should I give him another chance?”

“I wish you would.” Nina crossed to the table to draw out a chair and sank into it. “You’re my dearest friend, Sigrid. I would like it if you and he could at least be civil to one another.”

A hint of color appeared along Sigrid’s high cheekbones. “Da did say he was keeping his promise, the one he’d made that night he and his company broke into the armory.”

“He is. At least, as far as I know, he is.”

“And we are out from under the Master’s incompetence as well. Did you know his lackey made a pass at me once.”

“What?” Nina couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice. “When?”

“I had gone to speak with the Master about something, something my father asked me to take care of for him whilst he was out on the water. And while I was there, in that gaudy house, Alfrid happened upon me and thought he might take a liberty or two.”

Nina couldn't help the shudder that rippled through her. Alfrid Lickspittle was every bit as sleazy as his name suggested and she did not envy Sigrid’s having to deal with him. “Tell me you punched him straight in the nose. Or somewhere it would hurt even more.”

“I wish. No, actually, I burst out laughing at him, which was terribly rude of me, I suppose, but somehow, I’m not at all sorry for it.”

“He was a horrid little man. If he touched me, I think I’d have to lop that body part clean off.”

Sigrid burst out laughing. “Nina, that’s terrible!”

“So was he.”

“I’ll not argue that with you at all.” Sigrid sat back in her chair. “Why do I think His Majesty does not make you wish to lop off any body parts?”

Nina could hold back her smile, heat spilling through her at the memory of her and Thorin in the infirmary the previous night. “No, he certainly doesn’t. Not one bit.”

“Well, I am happy for you. But know this, if he ever hurts you…”

Nina reached across the table to give Sigrid’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”

The trek back to Erebor was uneventful for a change. Still, Thorin did not leisurely stroll home, despite his good mood. It was a clear, cool night, and the walk was pleasant, but even so, he felt no little relief when he crossed over the obsidian bridge spanning the narrow river before Erebor’s main gate. Perhaps one day he’d once again be able to travel without always looking over his shoulder, without wondering who out there might be taking aim at him, but it would not be today.

A sigh bubbled to his lips. In so many ways, being just Thorin Oakenshield was far easier than being king. Oakenshield could come and go as he pleased, without worrying about any bounty on his head.

He frowned. No, that wasn't entirely true, as Azog had put that bounty in place long before Thorin ever crossed Erebor’s threshold. He just hadn’t known about it until his not-so-chance meeting with Gandalf at the Prancing Pony in Bree that led to his decision to retake Erebor.

So much had happened since that rainy night. So much, indeed.

“Ah, there you are.” Balin strode toward him.

“You’re waiting up for me?”

Balin chuckled. “Yes, but not for the reason you might think.”

“A relief, that.” Thorin met him about three-quarters of the way across the Great Hall. “For what reason, then?”

“I’ve finished.”

Thorin halted his stride. “Already? You thought it would take several more days.”

“Well, I did at first, but then I figured out what was giving me such trouble and then, I finished it.” Balin offered up a proud grin. “Would you like to see it?”

“I would, yes.”

“Then come along. Your lady will be here come tomorrow, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me and I hope you approve.”

Thorin fell into step alongside Balin to trek down to the lower level, where Balin’s workshop was located. “Why do I think that won’t be a problem?”

“Well, it probably won’t be, but still…”

“Balin, you know I trust you.”

“I realize that, but this is an important piece.” Balin glanced over at him as they descended the main staircase. “It is not every day the king is betrothed, you know.”

Thorin couldn't hold back his smile. “I do like how that sounds.”

Balin let out a soft chuckle. “I have to admit, they are not words I thought I’d ever utter, but here we are.”

“Here we are.” As they reached the landing, overlooking the treasure horde, he paused, hands on the marble rail. “Tell me, do you think anyone will have concerns where Miss Carren is concerned?”

“They might,” Balin admitted with a slow bob of his head, “for she is unknown to us. But, your people trust your judgement, so in time, if she’s won your heart, I’ve no doubt she will win the hearts of the others as well.”

Thorin turned back to the treasure, glinting beneath the flickering candles in their sconces high up on the stone walls. “Balin, there is something I think you should know. But,” he looked over at the dwarf who was his conscience personified, “what I am about to tell you must never leave this room and it must remain between you and I.”

“This sounds serious.”

“It is. And that is why you must give me your word.”

“Of course. You needn’t even ask, really. I keep what we discuss between us as a rule, unless you say otherwise. So, what is it?”

“It’s about Nina—er, Miss Carren—and how she and I came to be together.”

“Well, I know that already. Dís told me. She offered herself in service as a bodyguard of sorts.”

“Well, yes, she did,” Thorin hedged, linking his fingers. “But, that’s not quite the whole story.”

“Thorin?”

“You know of the bounty, do you not? The one Azog set upon my head.”

“Yes, of course. The Goblin King was quite sure he was going to collect on it.”

Thorin chuckled, remembering their time in Goblin-town. “Aye, quite sure, indeed. If only Gandalf had been in agreement with him.”

Balin joined him in his laughter for a moment, but then, his expression grew serious. “What about that bounty?”

Thorin hesitated, then drew in a deep breath and went into the story of how Nina came to be in his company outside of Rivendell. He waited for Balin’s shocked expression and was not disappointed as the older dwarf stared up at him in wide-eyed surprise. “Are you so certain marrying her would be wise, Thorin?”

Thorin scowled. “I told you, she has no intention of claiming that bounty any longer and of everyone, I’ve come to know her best. I’ve been alone with her, I’ve slept alongside her, and—”

“Here, you mean. On dwarven territory, within your kingdom.”

“No,” Thorin shook his head, “not only here. The first time we were together, we were in Mirkwood. And I was as vulnerable there as I would be anywhere. And yet, here I am, alive and well and in one piece.”

“Thorin, you cannot let this be known,” Balin told him, his voice low, “for should anyone else learn of this… the consequences could be dire.”

“And that is why this will remain between you and I,” Thorin replied evenly.

“Well, yes, of course, but does anyone else know?”

“Only you and Dwalin know. No one else does, not even Dís. And I fully intend to keep it that way.”

“I should hope so,” Balin told him with a stern look. “It would be disastrous, should this get out.”

“I know. In time, perhaps it won’t be, but for now—”

“It will be kept under wraps.”

“Good. And do not let it color your perceptions of Miss Carren. I assure you, she is not going to slice my head from my body any time soon.”

Balin shot him a long look, then resumed down the second staircase. “I certainly hope not.”

“Trust me.”

“I do. But I know you. I do not know her.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Give it time, Balin. It won’t take long for her to win you over as well.”

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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