#so. when i wrote the original piece for this au.

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

I hope it’s okay to take a related but different turn on this. I have this happen sometimes, but I have a fun D.I.D. experience with it that I want to share.

I (Nico) write a lot of stories. It’s my primary coping mechanism for stress & trauma. That means a lot of OCs, a lot of AUs, a lot of outlines or plans for stories.

(acronyms here: Dissociative Identity Disorder (D.I.D.); Original Character (OC); Alternate Universe (AU))

However, we also have D.I.D., and because I find the most comfort in fictional stories & in characters I relate to, I often split my own OCs.

Sometimes they take over their story. I’m leaving Nightwalker’s Dream to Harley & Azure; it’s their (love) story. (Harley & Azure are fully taking over; it’s out of my hands now (/not upset).)

Sometimes people front to add something & then let me continue. Sometimes they add notes in my document/notebook of where they want the plot to go.

But sometimes, something even funnier happens. (Or something really sweet.)

I start writing a new piece, and they pop into co-con to make commentary on what I’m writing. They critique, they laugh (/supportive, positive), they smile at the sweet parts.

(co-con = co-conscious, AKA they’re awake/able to communicate but not in control of the body; co-front/front = taking over the body)

It would probably be startling to anyone without D.I.D. if your characters started talking to you / literally writing their own story. But it’s quickly becoming my favourite part of writing LucKai.

LucKai is a ship name, like in fanfic, but they’re both my OCs - Luciano (he/him) & Kairo (he/they).

Sometimes Luciano takes over. He usually adds a line or corrects phrasing (I automatically write in first person, & sometimes he’s like ‘I understand what you mean, but I’d say it like this’). Honestly that’s rather in character (he tends to be very logical, in part to hide from/avoid emotional vulnerability), so it makes sense.

But usually it’s Kai, and he’s a sap (/affectionate). He takes over to gush about his partner*. He’s a poet and his emotions spill all over the pages (/metaphor, positive). On occasion he’ll contribute something factual, especially something on trauma-informed psychology that he remembers researching for us**. But usually he’s here to brag about Luc. (That’s also in character.)

(* using partner because whether they’re mutually-crushing-in-denial, dating, or fiancés varies by story, & they’re married in our system 🤷‍♂️)

(** Kai & Spirit do most of that research so I forget the specifics 😅)

Their (Kai’s) rambles are my favourite part now. I got a whole paragraph out of him when I wrote a confession scene for one of my pieces (I can share if people wanna see). They’re the sweetest lover (/sincere, positive).

(And of course now LucKai are in the background grinning sheepishly (/amused, affectionate). They love to gush/brag about one another, but get shy if it’s acknowledged. (Not in a please-don’t way but in a yeah-I-do-that-but-now-I’m-extra-aware-of-it kind of way (/affectionate, supportive).)

But yeah, this is a thing. I get to witness my OCs write (or chime in to critique) their stories in real time. ☺💜

~Nico (he/they)

the best part of writing is when your characters start ignoring your outline and you realize they’re better at this than you.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 15: i don't need you to help me, i can handle things myself

"I'm fine." + Suppressed Suffering

2335 Words; Raz Gets A Nap AU, based off of this ask answered by @erigold13261

AO3 ver

Mirtala shifted her grip on the portrait, trying to keep it from falling out of her hands.

She wobbled, a bit, as Queepie shuffled forwards—the heavy portrait was not working in her favor. And the straightjacket hanging off her shoulders wasn’t helping, either. It was long enough to cover Queepie’s face, and it was screwing with her balance just as bad as the portrait.

At least Queepie was the one holding the trophy. And at least they’d been able to close the jacket so that Queepie had enough of a gap to see through it. He shuffled forwards, Mirtala using every trick she had to hold her balance atop his head. Maybe she should be standing on her hands and holding the portrait with her legs?

“Greetings, Dr. Loboto.”

Well, too late to change positions now. Mirtala did her best to hold still as Crispin continued.

“Good to see your face.” Crispin drawled. Mirtala couldn’t see his through the portrait. “I see you’re wearing your favorite jacket, and if I may say so, your claw is looking especially menacing today.” It sounded like he fell for the disguise, though, and Queepie wasn’t making any moves to start running away.

“Up to the secret laboratory then, is it?” Crispin stepped to the side, coming into the edge of Mirtala’s view. She angled the portrait towards him as the sound of metal hinges grating sounded off in front of her. The elevator gate? Queepie shuffled over to it, careful not to ruin Mirtala’s balance as he spun around.

“Taking her up yourself this time, eh Doctor?” Crispin’s voice continued, and Mirtala did her best not to wobble. “Less work for me!” Mirtala heard the sound of the gate closing, then—

“Inmate Whytehead.” Oh, was that Fred? Fred was nice. Mirtala and Queepie got to play the board game in his head.

Whatever Crispin said in response was drowned out by the grind of the elevator going up, up, up, the sudden motion making Queepie stumble. Mirtala wobbled, the portrait threatening to drag her to the ground. She let it fall, not caring about the way it clattered. Crispin wasn’t here to see it, anyway—she didn’t need it anymore.

As the elevator came to a stop, Mirtala flung off the jacket. “Let’s go.” She urged, hopping off of Queepie as the gate opened.

Queepie followed after her. “It looks like a hospital.” He commented, as they crossed over the wooden bridge onto checkered tile.

“That’s because it is, dummy.” Mirtala replied as they continued through the twisting hall. Light floated down from a hole in the ceiling, the chunks big on the floor. Mirtala clambered up over them, Queepie jumping up with the help of a glowing brain ball. “It’s a…” She tried to find the exact words for it, and settled on, “hospital for brain stuff.” That wasn’t the word that she’d heard for it, but it was close enough.

“Yeah, well, it’s a sad hospital.” Queepie decided, using his brain ball to jump over a pile of mattresses. He came back over them after a moment, “It’s all dirty.”

“Because it hasn’t been cleaned, duh.” Mirtala skipped up the steps to the next floor, Queepie keeping pace. Ever since he went into Miss Milla’s head, he’d been hopping and gliding around on his brain ball like it was the coolest thing.

Mirtala wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. So what if she wasn’t a weird fortune teller like Queepie (or Raz or Frazie)? She was an Aquato! She was a proud acrobat! She didn’t need silly mind tricks.

Mirtala nodded. Yeah. Even with his brain ball, she could easily keep up with Queepie. So really, he just needed the extra help.

They continued on, through poorly-lit halls that twisted around and around. They had to leap over a hole in the floor once, Mirtala grabbing onto a swinging light to get herself across while Queepie boosted his jump with his brain ball. He kept ducking into side rooms, searching for Psi-Cards as he went. Mirtala followed once she realized that the campers’ brains were similarly scattered around.

“It doesn’t squeak like a mouse…” She murmured, holding Benny’s brain. It also wasn’t who she was after—but it wouldn’t make sense for Lili’s brain to be left out in the open, Mirtala decided.

Something squeaked.

Mirtala and Queepie turned to the source of the noise. A rat stood before them, shaking in place. Its head was swollen in two shaking lobes, and it squeaked once more before bursting.

Mirtala wailed. Green gas pooled out from where the rat’s body remained, and Queepie ducked away. The world spun, everything swirling together as Mirtala shook—

And then the confusion faded away, and Mirtala had to run to catch up with Queepie. “Wait up!” She demanded.

Mirtala didn’t glance back at the rat as she continued. More rats came, and it wasn’t long before Queepie switched to shooting at them as they advanced, ducking in and out of rooms and over debris and old beds. A rusty wheelchair rolled past them, pushed by one of the rats exploding, its wheels squeaking and making Mirtala jump.

Queepie jumped higher, though, so at least Mirtala wasn’t the only one startled.

“I hate this place.” Mirtala muttered. She kept hearing weird sounds and squeaks, everything was dangerous and run-down, and the rats kept coming at them and exploding. It was awful. Absolutely awful. Mirtala wanted to find her friend and get out of here as soon as possible.

“Stop being a baby.” Queepie responded, already moving on. “We gotta find Lili.”

“I’m not a baby!” If anything, Queepie was a baby. Mirtala was a big girl! “This whole place is just awful!” It was poorly lit, the shadows crawling around the halls like icky sticky bugs, and Mirtala had seen no sign of her friends. Just more twisting halls going up and up and up.

Worse than the rats, and the broken floors and walls, worse than the dark and the fog—

It was quiet, outside of the rats. The only footsteps were their own, padding up and down the halls. Mirtala could hear her own breathing, hear every whimper when one of the rats startled her.

Which meant Queepie could hear it, too.

But Mirtala could also hear Queepie’s breathing, the way it sped up the further in they got. Mirtala wasn’t stupid—Queepie was just as scared as her. Her little brother was scared and the only thing Mirtala could offer was her own fear, the fear they shared as they climbed.

They went up another set of stairs. The floor was tilted, up here, off-kilter. Mirtala danced across it to the next door, ignoring the unease forming in her gut. Queepie clambered up onto the broken wall, the outside world spilling out before them.

“We’re so high.” Mirtala breathed, staring out at the night. A large part of her was thrilled—not even the trapeze in the Aquatodome could go this high! She could see across the lake from here!

But the reason they were up here clung to her like sweat, cold and slimy in the small of her back. Lili had been taken. Chloe had been taken.

Everyone had been taken, and Mister Sasha and Miss Milla were too busy doing something else to do anything about it. It was up to Mirtala and Queepie.

(Even though Mirtala had scarcely any idea what she was doing. She had to do it, because there was nobody else but Queepie.)

The next jump was too high for Mirtala to reach. Queepie stood on his brain ball, the light of it cutting through the gloom. “Get on.” He held out his hand, and Mirtala only frowned a little before taking it. She wasn’t jealous. Not one bit!

They jumped up together, the night air cold against them. The wind whistled through, and the tower as a whole groaned, like some giant monster waiting to swallow them both up—

Everything was getting more and more twisted. Mirtala wasn’t sure how it was all still standing, at this rate. The spiral staircase was twisted in on itself, the stairs sideways at the top.

Still, Mirtala and Queepie continued. They used an old bed to spring up to the next floor, walking along the wall—the whole hall was twisted onto its side.

“Grrk!” Something ahead of them squeaked. Something peeking down through a doorway in the ceiling-wall, long white curls hanging down below them.

Mirtala flipped forwards. But they were already gone.

She and Queepie continued, into a room so twisted that the floor curled up onto the walls, a pool of bubbling green in a hole in the floor at the bottom. They continued, up broken stairs and onto black and white checkered tiles, overlooking the outdoors once again.

The rest of the tower loomed before them, impossibly tall. A huge chunk of wall was missing, as was most of the floors, revealing an open space that seemed to just go up and up and up. But Mirtala was an acrobat! She and Queepie could handle this, no matter how high they had to climb!

(Even though Mirtala had never climbed this high before, even though this was nothing like the Aquatodome—

She’d make it. She had to.)

So they climbed, jumping up over broken concrete and swinging from bits of rebar. Mirtala ducked through a small window, and—

“Dogen!” Mirtala hugged the brain tight against her chest, “It’s good to see you again.” She’d get his brain back to him. She’d get all their brains back!

“C’mon!” Queepie urged, somewhere above her. Right.

Mirtala ducked back inside and clambered up a pole. She had to be careful—she couldn’t slow her fall like Queepie could. Knowing how to fall was all well and good, but it wouldn’t protect her completely. Not at these heights. Mirtala climbed up exposed rebar like it was a ladder, meeting Queepie at the top of it.

“I saw the thing again.” Queepie whispered. He pointed at a hole in the wall blocked by criss-crossing metal. “It was right there, and it was blue!”

So the thing they kept seeing was blue. Good to know.

Mirtala nodded, then started climbing. The metal went up, up, up, Mirtala and Queepie finally reaching the end of it and hopping off onto the concrete.

The tower still continued up, up, up, impossibly high. Mirtala wondered if she and Queepie would ever reach the top, or if they’d be climbing up it forever.

(The brains in her bag all seemed to pulse in tandem with Mirtala’s worry.

She’d get them all, and bring them back. She had to.)

The tower was quickly becoming near-unnavigable for her, the gaps too large for Mirtala to clear without the help of psychic powers. She was relying on Queepie more and more, and part of her grated at that fact.

(Family was supposed to help and support each other, though—Mirtala knew this.

But it felt like she was somehow inadequate all the same.)

The rats were coming in droves, now, their squeaking loud against the quiet of the night. Mirtala felt her throat tighten.

They made it up, and saw the thing again. “Scram!” They shouted, before disappearing up the hole in the room. Mirtala slapped the glass. “Wait!” But it was already gone. Was that Dr. Loboto?

She and Queepie continued on, clambering up whatever handholds were available. Mirtala grabbed Clem and Nils’ brains—she didn’t hug Nils’ brain as firmly as she hugged the others, opting to push it into her bag. Only four brains left to find—Vernon, Mikhail, Elton, and Lili.

Mirtala turned around—

The thing loomed before them, white curls spiraling above their head. They wore a bright red dress, and their voice squeaked as they spoke.

“This is your last warning! Go back down right now or you’ll be very very sorry!”

Mirtala flinched as lightning flashed through the sky. When the light cleared, the mysterious person was gone.

“Scary.” Queepie mumbled. His eyes flicked to Mirtala, “I mean—” He backtracked, “That wasn’t scary at all. Not at all. I’m not scared!” His voice echoed out into the night, his hands balled up into fists.

Mirtala side-eyed her brother. “Liar.” He was just as scared as her, and she didn’t need to be a fortune teller to tell. She could see it in the way his hands were trembling, in the way his shoulders were taught, his face scrunched into a stony frown.

(Mirtala was scared, too.

But she wasn’t going to say that aloud—not when it would only make the fear real.)

They clambered out onto the stairs that the mysterious person had been standing on, following them down towards another elevator. This was it.

“Big girls don’t cry.” Mirtala muttered. “It’s showtime, and big girls don’t cry.” Her eyes stung all the same.

Mirtala shook her head. She could do this! She was strong!

(She didn’t feel very strong at all.

But there was nobody else who could do this—not with all the campers brainless and the agents gone. It was just her and Queepie, and there was no way Mirtala was going to let Queepie do this alone.)

She was an Aquato. She ate danger for breakfast!

(She’d never been so high before. The wind tugged at her braids, at her clothes—would she be able to fall right, if she was knocked off?)

And Queepie had all those cool powers he’d picked up since coming here! They could do this!

(Queepie was a baby. He was strong, sure, but he wasn’t much taller than Mirtala.

And Mirtala wasn’t that much older than him, either.)

“I can do this.” Mirtala stressed. Her eyes stung, and her throat tightened, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t—big girls didn’t cry when the show started. She looked to Queepie, who stared back at her with wide eyes.

(Mirtala wasn’t crying. She was scared all the same.)

Her hand slipped into his. “On three?”

Queepie nodded, squeezing Mirtala’s hand. “On three.”

Right. Mirtala brushed her fears aside “One… two… three!”

As one, Mirtala and Queepie stepped onto the elevator. Show time.

[daddyplasmius]

hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

-

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

-

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

-

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

-

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

[pennedbylisse]

INTELLECTUAL CRUSH

ep. 2 | ep. 3 | ep. 4 |

a multi-part series centered around the anonymous exchanges of namjoon and a literature girl. a separate but related installment of the halley universe (see Cupid Operation)

Books Nine Lives Company

Eco-friendly and sustainable trade of old books. Where we repurpose the neglected.

Namjoon pushes his weight into the swinging door and the store sign rattles.

A bell rings overhead - a jaunty, youthful chirp - as he enters the familiar bookstore to be encased in the scent of aged leather, the subtle-sweet vanilla essence of lignin wood-based parchment and the musty scent of carpet that has endured soiled shoes, coffee spills and bladder accidents from the part of the resident senior dog sleeping by the shop window.

He takes a practiced sharp left down a thin hall lined with mahogany-variation shelves, all crammed with books, without a single cubic inch to spare. The walls seem to encroach in on him, the further he disappears into the shop. Hardcovers and paperbacks - some surprisingly intact in condition, others faded, sun-bleached, tearing at the spines - spill from the shelves, pour into unstable, uneven stacks on either side of his legs.

Over the terrain of an old tapestry carpet, his worn logger-lace-up boots part a sliver of shuffling space.

His eyes dart over the labels meant to trim the seams of unrelated sections. During some point in the lifetime of the store, it proved effective. Now there's impractical irony to it. The books spill over their borders, congregate into uncategorized mounds, beg assortment and the inquisitive human graze.

Non-fiction, Poetry, Modern Poetry, Classical Philosophy . . .

"Kant...Kant...Kant," he recites beneath his breath, whilst drawing the tip of his forefinger over the lined spines. The ribbed feel of it in conjunct with the continued drum of his touch reminds him of sliding a hand across piano keys. An unattended grand piano on the courtyard of a local mall, the sound inflating beneath his hands, swirling up and around, diffusing through empty space and through an idle mind.

"Ka-" his finger halts, and shortly after, so do his steps.

He shuffles back to trace down the spine.

Namjoon saunters towards the front desk, skimming the dorsal face of the book cover with a furrowed brow.

There's a golden - well, once-golden, now-rusted coppery bronze - call bell that he would have once rang and been met with silence. He would have questioned ringing it once more at the risk of irritation.

Now, he only sets the book by the register and folds down to greet the senior dog curled into a ball over its dented, worn pillow. Grey, melanin-deprived hairs shade the corners of its snout, and highlight its brows, the tips of his billowing ear-lobes.

"How are you today, Apollo?" he whispers.

The dog lifts its head groggily to sniff Namjoon's outstretched palm. It scrunches and wrinkles its cracked nose and slightly parts the drooping lids of its eyes. Murky white clouds greet Namjoon.

"You make twenty the new twelve."

At the beep of the scan gun, Namjoon starts to rise.

The shop owner, Ruki, has a near-psychic ability to sense the presence of a customer within the maze of shelves. The call bell is for formalities, as is the dainty one hanging off the entrance frame. Uses them as fail-proofs while he disappears into the storage closet towards the rear of the store and pastes barcodes onto the covers of new arrivals.

Namjoon fishes a hand into the internal pocket of his winter coat for his wallet.

Ruki, behind the desk, mirrors the grey, melanin-deprived complexion of the dog, who once had been golden. The old man drums his knuckles on the wood counter and stares out the shop window contemplatively. It looks like it might snow today.

"Stray dogs," he voices, puckering wrinkled lips into a slight frown. "Invincible little creatures, aren't they? At this rate, I fear the damn dog will outlive me."

Namjoon thumbs the lined green bills nestled into his brown wallet.

"2.50's the sum, kid."

Namjoon folds the cash onto the counter and slides it into the man's wrinkled, patchy, outstretched hand.

"Everything alright, Ruki? With you, your family?"

"Yeah, I suppose." He shrugs. "Cancer's back." In a swift and practiced motion, he slips the receipt between the book pages like a bookmark. "I guess I can't be too upset with this fate. I only ever wished to live 'til 85. 84's not bad. Not bad at all." He slides the book face-up toward Namjoon, lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. It doesn't quite reach the point of crinkling the lines strewn around his eyes.

Namjoon grabs the book, taps it on the edge of the counter, as if gathering a deck of cards or a pack of printer paper. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, kid," he slices right through the platitudes, having felt sorry for too long, having learned how much of a waste it is to live in regret and pity. "We all die at some point. It's nature. No use defying it."

"What about treatment? Technology, nowadays, is so advanced. I read a paper discussing the transplantation of a pig heart into a human recipient. Promising developments."

Ruki shakes his head markedly. "Can't go through that all over again. I won't spend whatever time's left - months, maybe a year, if I'm lucky - rotting because of chemo, not being able to tolerate my favorite foods, bleeding from my gums, in hospital rooms surrounded by people in the same death-bound state as me. I wanna be out here, where life is, all types of it. The pretty kind, sweet kind, the ugly, the morose, rude, and real kind. I wanna make memories with my daughter while there's still time."

Namjoon absent-mindedly frays the edges of the book with his thumb, liking the fluttering friction of the thin corners against the pads of his fingers. Tries to think of something better to say but realizes that sometimes silence holds more meaning. Ironically, his words fall short of any value, even amidst a bookstore overflowing with them.

Instead, he voices his unbridled curiosity. "What'll happen to Apollo?" He looks down at his left, at the dog. Very faint golden strikes up its flanks, transitioning into colorless white. "The store, too?"

"Ask myself that daily." He lifts his brows and lets them fall just as quickly, as if he's at a loss for a response himself. "I've been trying to persuade my daughter to assume my position. I even offered her the compromise of opening the shop only two days a week, so that she'll have the rest of the time to dedicate to her studies - wants to be a doctor, my little girl. I have no doubt she will be. Unfortunately, I likely won't be there to see it, to see her pledge her Hippocratic oath, get her white coat."

Namjoon sits at the bus stop, string earbuds in his ears, the book held splayed by the sturdy hold of his right hand over his crossed lap.

He draws the flame of his lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips before slapping the case over the amber, extinguishing it swiftly.

Ashes descend onto his denim lap.

When the snow starts to glide through the sky, the grey nicotine ashes blend with the pale blanket by his feet. It is clean and fresh, yet untarnished by scruffy boots or bicycle tracks.

He'd read once, a statistic accusing nicotine as the leading cause of lung cancer. Quickly and half-mindedly brushed it off, like burdensome lint on a freshly-washed sweater. Plucked the doubts from his mind one by one before they could poison the rest of his thoughts.

It wasn't because he found it hard to believe. He was certain of its validity, the statistics were convincing, as was the logic, rather he didn't care. Cared more for taunting death a little, daring the universe to kill him the way he predicts. It's a little morbid but something deep inside him knows that life is rarely predictable or tamable.

He could do one action, and the opposite would unfold. It's not hypothetical. He'd tried to refute his hypothesis with trials; the amount of times it was supported soon became too burdensome to track.

Life isn't straight-forward. Good people get sick, die; the evil persist. The talented go unrecognized in the shadows, ghost writers; the connected thrive. It's all pointless to try and make since of any of it. It's all absurd, as Albert Camus would put it.

He tosses the butt of the cigarette to the ground as the bus pulls up, comes to a screeching halt before him, and squanders the faint amber with the sole of his boot pressed into the snow.

It fizzles a little through the worn-thin sole.

The bus shudders to a halt, and Namjoon shakes the slumber from his head, unfolds his lap, stuffs the book into his back pocket while he starts up, swaying clumsily, sleep-drugged. It was a routine practiced enough that he didn't need to count the stops, or read the street signs to know when to hop-off. There's some internal clock in his subconscious that starts ticking away at the minutes as soon as he climbs the steps up the bus before Nine Books.

The gates unfold and slide across the frame of the bus. It drives away with a long draw of its engine, and a squirt of inky smoke from its exhaust.

Replacing its sight, a vintage-style diner comes into view across the street.

Namjoon crosses the striped pedestrian markings towards it.

At the door, he tugs on the sign, hung around a snagged nail, twists it from displaying a scribbled "Closed. Come Again!" to a "Welcome!"

He strolls in, heavy boots echoing dully across the vacancy. Dispersing muddied snow on impact.

On the trajectory towards his quaint square office space towards the rear of the facility, he can't resist the nagging urge to flip the chairs resting on tabletops. He's got a chronic case of twitchy hands, likely a result of the incessant nicotine crave. Makes his mind race, his legs unsteady, unstill.

At first, he means only to flip one, and scratch the mental itch.

It persists.

After the second chair he starts circumferencing the table, figure eights in swift motion towards another table.

The chatter of the legs on tile is enough to fill the buzzing vacancy of his mind. Enough for his hands to clasp onto and anchor themselves.

But just as quickly, his focus starts to blur. Eyes skit over the distant counter in search of the next thing to occupy his time. His mind.

He's been down this road before. Has made it until noon stil in his winter coat, robust keychain clanking rhythmically against his belt clip. Goes hours without eating anything of substance. The gnawing of an empty stomach numbs before he circles back around to the first intention of the day: visiting his office.

"Office first," he reminds himself today. Inhales deep into his diaphragm and holds it lest it escape his dominion, like the rest of his thoughts and intentions.

He slips the jagged teeth of a golden key into the lock and twists the rusted knob. The door lets out a long groan as it swivels on tired hinges.

Nearing the disheveled surface of a wooden desk pressed against a wall, he plops down his latest read over an assortment of folded papers, receipts, stacked notebooks of moleskin and annotated promotional pamphlets. Try as he might to assign each item its designated square space, it never remains organized long enough. The universe tends towards entropy, he'd justify, it's just the law of nature.

Upon shrugging out of his winter coat, he drapes it over the backrest of his office chair.

His eyes habitually trail over a circular frame standing on the desk's edge. The textured frame accentuates a black-and-white image of his grandpa and grandma caught in a side-embrace, hands clasped over one another's at grandpa's breast.

Gingerly, his tremoring hands collect the frame. He draws his pointer finger over the smooth glass preserving the image, the single moment solidified in time.

He shakes his head clear of some dense sensation and places it back on its designated place, indicated by a square frame of gathered dust.

Shutting the creaking office door behind him, he fishes the carton of cigarettes from his back jean pocket. Plucks a single cylinder from its place and plants it between the groove where his ear adjoins his scalp.

He meanders into the vacant kitchen. Starts a pot of coffee. Nostrils flare as the acidic aroma starts to permeate the empty lot.

The brew drips and bubbles as he strolls to the dormant jukebox on the far end of the establishment. He bends down to plug its chord and starts up. Digs a spare coin out from his front pocket and slips it into the slit on the machine.

In response, it illuminates to life, flickers neon in a hypnotizing pattern.

Pressing a neon green button, he flips through the title slips. He's not registering any of them, though. Just lets his eyes become oversensitive by the mechanized motion of the slips. Defaults to inputting "1-2-4" on the selection panel.

Inside the glass, a wheel of two-hundred discs spins in search of the selection. It slows until it halts and a robotic arm upends a record disc from the rest, lays it out over a turntable.

In a synchronized choreography, as the record is laid over the turntable, a needle descends over its grooves and holds steady pressure.

The machine emanates a crackle that falls into a single voice: [The Song]

Namjoon shuts his eyes in that moment. Allows the familiar tune to send him back in time. An easier time, a more innocent one. Where his only worries consisted of finishing school assignments and coming home by the parent-designated curfew.

His grandparents would dance circles in the diner, hands clasped together, heads leaned to this very song. The customers would cheer, eyes sparkly. They'd submit petitions for the next songs by holding up a shimmery silver coin.

Namjoon would collect them, have them whisper the desired track into his ear. He'd skip back towards the illuminated machine and recite the corresponding track numbers until the current song would come to a cadence.

He sighs. Thinks, I should visit them while they are still there to visit.

It's not something he looks forward to, however. To come to terms with how much time has changed them. To accept that those fond moments are never coming back.

Circling around the kitchen, he procures a metal bowl from the cabinets. Tugs open a drawer and clasps a whisk, its metal cool to the touch.

Opening the fridge door, and bathed in its sterile light, he grabs a couple of eggs, skims the container counting the ones that remain. Provisions should arrive today.

While there, he grabs the tub of butter. Flings the door close with his boot and swivels to pour the ingredients over the counter space, next to the shimmering bowl.

He turns and leans over his head, grabs the flour and sugar from a high shelve. A bit of flour escapes a tiny hole on its bag and dusts his cheek.

Instinctually, he crinkles his eyes, coughs. Shakes his head.

As the batter inflates under the warm luminance of the oven, he grabs a broom propped against the wall inside a storage closet.

His boots clunk rhythmically over the tile floor when he makes his way towards the entrance. Props the door open with its embedded door stump. Starts to part a walkway through the compacted snow. Can't have customers slipping.

It's a cold day in January. The merciless kind of cold that can't be nullified by the festive spirit of the holidays. There's mutable wind changing directions immediately as it blows into him. Delivering the caress of winter and just as quickly withdrawing it.

The muscles of his back and shoulders tense in anticipation for the next gush of frigid wind. The hairs on his exposed forearms prickle.

He starts to envy the batter heating in the kitchen.

He thinks of burning the cigarette nestled over his ear. Imagines how the smoke would warm him up from the inside out. As though a steaming chimney lived inside him.

When he balances the cigarette between his chapped lips, he becomes aware of an approaching figure, strolling up the walkway. She's bundled in a coat, hunched in on her small figure. Raven black hair blowing in the wind.

Namjoon nods in her acknowledgement as he digs around his pocket for his lighter. It's clumsy and desperate and hurried, so the lighter slips his grasp on multiple occasions.

The incomer doesn't slow or detour.

"Morning, boss" the girl quips. Plucks the white cylinder from his lips.

He grimaces at the sensation that a part of his dry lips had been torn along with it. Cups his mouth to verify it isn't true.

"First time I actually get here before you light it."

"You owe me a pack."

"Yeah, well, you owe me the two years of extended lifetime I've gathered you."

"I don't think that's the actual math."

"I've saved you time. Can we just leave it at that."

Namjoon resumes brooming. Still cold. Still tense and prickled. Nicotine deprived.

She shrugs her shoulders out of the billowing coat to reveal at least three more layers of clothing beneath. Long sleeves tugged over her wrists to keep her fingers from tingling.

Norah's armored herself with a black apron, her name affixed to the collar with a pin. She pops out of the doorframe long enough to hand Namjoon a mug of steaming coffee, no sweetener, light milk, but not long enough to allow the wind to ripple a shiver through her.

Namjoon gratefully accepts. Holds the broom handle beneath his arm to allow himself to cup the mug with both hands and derive warmth from that. "Where's your partner in crime? Sleeping late, again?" He mumbles against the ceramic rim, steam billowing up his nostrils.

"En route," she responds over her shoulder. She rounds into the kitchen. Grabs the glass coffee pot and pours herself a black.

Namjoon chortles, accidentally inhaling a gulp of the hot drink. Dissolves into a coughing fit before he's finally composed enough to verbalize "From where? Mars?"

"Actually..." she sets down her drink on the counter. Loses her gaze out the front windows, ravaging her mind for recollection. "No. I think he mentioned it was from Saturn." She angles her head pensively. "Got caught in the current of those spinning rings or something like that."

Namjoon translates, "He's stuck in rush-hour traffic."

[thought of henry's place in addy larue while writing this so thank v.e. schawb for the imagery inspiration]

[calocreek]

OK here it is, a ton of 'production' stuff for the Hot Guy Comic Zine! I've never been part of a project like this. Even though I was working on my comic mostly solo (shout-out to my editor Violet!), the world-building and story arc planning was completely collaborative. For example:

We started out on the world-building by voting on character's superpowers! Plenty of powers were almost unanimously agreed on, but Cuteguy was a HUGE campaign. We were pretty much 50/50 split between can fly/can't fly. Propaganda was exchanged LOL, like this piece where I campaigned for limited flying capabilities 😂 And thats what we ended up settling on!

From there we worked on a ton of brainstorming/world-building that I mostly spectated with an occasional doodle like these haha. I'm new to such elaborate AUs!

Pitch time!! I had pitches for each era and they were all pretty light and banter-y, so my year 1 pitch ended up fitting the vibe the best. My original pitch was 'HG + CG learn some key things about each other and plan to set up a base they can use together.' But when I started my script, I got really caught up in how they were navigating a partnership without knowing each others identities. The more I wrote through that, the more I wanted my story to be ABOUT that! So thats where my script started coming together.

Designs! I'm definitely not a confident costume designer. I was trying to go for low-tech + practical since it was early in their careers, and of course, easy to draw 😂

Process went more or less like this! Full color comics take a LONG TIME but it was a total labor of love. I had the graffiti bgs in mind from the very start since I knew it was dialogue heavy, I wanted to make sure the art was interesting and worth spending time looking at. Oh lord did I get carried away. I'm OBSESSED with the symbolism the fandom has put to the life series and so I tried to sneak in as much meaningful symbolism as possible. AND THE RESULT:

Guess I did pretty well! 😂😂😂

Anyway, I can't overstate how proud I feel to have gotten to work on this project. My whole goal as a hobbyist is to get to work with other artists I look up to and respect so this was a dream come true! Thank you everyone for reading, for 15k downloads (!!!), and for just being an awesomely creative fandom space to make art in! I hope to do more stuff like this again some day 💕

[kiszjuli]

↳ trust me the way i trust you .ᐟ n.jm

— in which you and your lifelong best friend have one of your traditional sleepovers, yet something about you two is different this time. he’s more clingy, you’re more bold..it’s just simple bantering..what could go wrong? oh yeah, and you have an immense crush on jaemin but he doesn’t feel the same- you think.

— parings: childhoodbestfriend!jaemin x afab!reader

— w.c: 4.6k

— warnings/tags: none really, just mc is a little frustrating lmao bare with her (not proofread), jaem is a total flirt, calls reader love, somewhat unrealistic lowk, no angst yippie, non idol au, (kinda) college au

j.note: hi luvvs!! this is my first post and piece of writing so pls don’t bash it too much, i wrote more than i thought i would and i think it turned out pretty good but constructive criticism is always welcome (and needed)!! hope you enjoy :)

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jaemin, your best friend, was over at your house for your monthly sleepover. you had been friends for as long as you could remember. your parents had told you years back that you two originally met at the park and immediately became attached at the hip. everyday since then you two were seen together. he was your best friend. you went to him about anything and everything, as he did, you.

since you had known each other so long and your families had grown close, they let you have sleepovers as of about 2 years ago. during these sleepovers, you would always start with a movie, having your quirky traditions of rating the movie afterwards and voicing your comments and opinions as if you were professional reviewers.

then you would move on to something else as your attention span had grown shorter. usually you guys would go for a walk, or try to learn some random choreography, or even just talk.

this time around was no different; you were both upstairs on your bed. you, sitting crisscrossed typing away on your laptop, and him laid out diagonally on his side facing you scrolling on his phone.

every now and then you would look up from your screen and see him looking down at his phone, seeing the light illuminate his handsome face.

oh yeah, you also had an excruciatingly huge crush on jaemin.

it started back when you were in 5th grade and he stood up for you from boys teasing you at recess. there was something about it that made you see him in a different light ever since that day (now being a sophomore in college) but you would never tell him. you liked what you had with him; it was something not everyone got the chance to have.

breaking you from your pause in typing, your mind having wandered, you hear his phone it the bed and a frustrated groan from him.

you looked up questioningly.

"could you please give your attention to me now?" he sat up and scooted next to you looking over your shoulder to your laptop. he leaned his head on your shoulder, causing your heart to twinge with affection. he had always been comfortable being affectionate with you which only made it increasingly harder to conceal your feelings all these years.

you grinned at ahis pouty tone.

“you sound like a child,” you said and tried to focus on your laptop again.

you heard him scoff next to your ear. "even still, you've been on there long enough," he countered. he shifted his head and rested his chin on your shoulder now. jaemin glanced at your screen seeing a bunch of words typed that he didn't care to read.

"just let me get this done, it's for school, and right now is the only time i have the tiniest bit of motivation," you groaned yourself, knowing that you really didn't want to do it either.

jaemin raised a brow at your words. "is it really that important that you can't even spare a minute to talk to your favorite person?" he said as he slowly shifted closer trying to get comfortable. he didn't really care if you were trying to focus or not.

you sighed. "just 10 more minutes, then my attention is all yours, okay?"

he let out an overdramatic groan before reluctantly leaning away. "fine. 10 minutes, that's it," he pointed a finger at you. he watched as you went back to typing, trying to focus and understand what you were doing, but failing miserably. his main focus was on the digital clock in the corner of your laptop watching as the minutes slowly passed by.

soon enough, the promised 10 minutes passed by and he spoke up. "finally," he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "times up, now your attention is all mine," he smiled like a kid.

you sighed as well and stretched your back. "yeah, yeah." you brushed off and glanced on him. seeing the way his brunette hair fell so perfectly over his eyebrows, you looked away.

shutting your laptop, you put it on your small nightstand, while he moved to sit in front of you mirroring your position.

"at least now i don't have to share your attention with a damn laptop," he grumbled, causing a laugh from you.

"since you wanted it so bad, now you finally have it," you teased smiling at him.

"alright, you make it sound like i was begging," he scrunched his face.

"weren't you?" you asked. you both always enjoyed the playful banter between you guys. there was almost never a day where you didn't.

he thought for a moment. "okay, and your point?"

you shook your head with a content smile before moving to get off your bed.

"where are you going?" he asked sounding almost fearful of your leaving.

"to the kitchen, jaem, i'm hungry," you said motioning to the door of your room.

"you would rather go get food, than be with me? i'm hurt," he said in a dramatic tone, putting a hand to his heart.

you rolled your eyes and started to walk out of your room, "i'll be back in a minute,"

he watched you walk away until you couldn't be seen anymore and leaned back on your bed. laying on his back he waited (im)patiently.

while you were in the kitchen, your parents told you they were going out to see some friends over dinner, and would be back around 10pm. saying goodbye, you took your plate of snacks back up to your room.

by the time you returned, jaemin had flipped over on his stomach with his feet hanging off the bed. you smiled at the sight, seeing his face squished against a pillow. moving towards the bed, you set the plate down and climbed onto the bed sitting over his legs.

him not reacting, prompted you to scoot up further and sit over his butt, with your hands on his back lightly. this is what made him speak.

he lifted his head to look back at you and rolled his eyes, yet making no effort to move you off. he secretly enjoyed the way you were sitting on him all casually. "𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 are you doing?" he asked feeling your weight on his butt.

"sitting? what are you doing?" you asked with a slight smile, playing coy.

jaemin rolled his eyes again, shifting a little to get comfortable under you. "do you not realize that you're heavy? if you were anyone else, i would've complained and made you get off,"

you raise a brow. "i am not heavy," you say hitting his back.

he let out a pronounced 'ow!' then looked back at you through the corner of his eye. "don't hit me! and you are heavy, especially for my poor back," he whined in a mock-suffering tone.

"maybe you're just weak," you said shrugging and slightly rubbed his back instinctively.

he perked up at this. "i am definitely 𝘯𝘰𝘵 weak," he argued suddenly getting an idea. was it a good one? maybe not but he'd figured he'd risk it anyway. somehow, he managed to swiftly roll over onto his back, keeping you up right. the movement catching you by surprise as you now sat straddling his lap. he hands casually going to your hips, keeping you stable.

"i think you forgot who the stronger one was, love," he smirked up at you, as you stared with a dumbfounded look back at him.

you decided to keep your cool as best you could. 'whatever," you brushed off before reached to the table to get your plate. you assumed he thought you were trying to get off, as his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

you leaned back how you were, missing the way his face contorted a little at the movement. placing the plate on his stomach, not wanting to hold it, he speaks up.

"admit it, you weren't expecting that were you?" he continued to smirk up at you.

"no, i wasn't," you admitted, but your expression not faltering.

he watches intently as you start to eat some of your snacks, as if you were sitting at the kitchen table.

"you know you really have no idea what you do to me sometimes," he trailed taking in your details. your shorts, which had ridden up due to the way you were seated, your hair that was in what you called your 'signature style', and the way you seemed so unbothered.

"what are you talking about?" you question keeping your eyes on the plate, not daring to look at his eyes in fear of heat rushing to your cheeks. even you couldn't believe how calm you seemed on the outside, compared to your heart that was currently racing.

he chuckled at your obliviousness, his hands fighting the urge to move to your thighs.

"you're sitting on top of me right now, looking like that, eating food, and you're still gonna ask me that question?" he questioned with a slight hint of disbelief in his tone. he tried his best not to let his eyes roam over your body.

you think his words made it all actually click. the fact that you straddling your best friend's lap right now finally making you realize the situation. usually being something a couple would do you pursed your lips. "well you seem perfectly fine," you deflected.

he watched as the realization sunk into your face and scoffed at your words. "i look perfectly fine to you?" he chuckled glancing at the plate conveniently on his stomach for you.

looking down, you noticed the slight difference in his eyes. choosing to ignore it, you spoke again. "yeah, you look like normal jaemin to me," you shrugged.

he snickered. "well thanks for letting me know i look like myself," he said sarcastically before moving his hands up just slightly, almost as if to test the waters.

"always here for you," you smiled. you felt his fingers move, trying to ignore it. feeling his touch there was not something you weren't used to, yet it was different this time. which again wasn't something friends did.

jaemin chuckled at your words, his thumbs still gently caressing your clothed skin. "when did you become so snarky, hm?" before you could come up with a rebuttal, he spoke up again. "you know, best friends don't usually sit on each other like this, right?" almost like he read your mind you paused.

"i'm aware, which is why when i'm done eating, i'm getting off," you said, as if it made the situation any better. and to be fair, he was the one that put you two in that position.

smiling at your response, he raised a brow. "and what's stopping you from getting off right now, if you're so aware of our situation?" he teased, his hands tightening on your hips slightly.

you motioned to the plate that was still on his stomach. "i'm eating, duh,"

laughing at your casual attitude and excuse, jaemin kept his eyes on your face.

"most people also don't eat sprawled out on top of their best friend?' he kept his tone light and teasing, finding the whole thing amusing. he definitely wasn't complaining about the slightly intimate situation you were in.

once again shrugging you glanced at him. "since it seems to bother you so much, why haven't you told me to get off?" you raised a brow.

jaemin looked back up at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he replied. "who said it bothers me? i was simply pointing out the regular best friends sit," he shrugged in return. though, his thumbs still stroking your hips, betrayed his more innocent words.

you paused thinking for a minute. "if you think about it...a lot of things we do, other best friends- probably don't," you trailed thinking of the countless other times you two could've appeared like a couple.

he chuckled, nodded in agreement. "yeah, you're right.. we're almost too comfortable with each other for 'just best friends'," he said, knowing in his mind that he didn't mind.

you spoke up quieter this time. "maybe we should...change that," you said, almsot done with your assorted plate of snacks.

raising a brow in curiosity, as he spoke. "change what, exactly?"

"the way we act, idiot. what else?" you glared playfully.

"you're awfully sassy for someone who's sitting on top of me, you know that right?" he said with a small smirk, his fingers tracing little shapes on your hips.

seeing you only shrug in response he speaks again. "you're so casual...acting like it's the most normal thing in the world to sit on your best friend,"

"you're casual too," you pointed out, locking your eyes on his. "letting your best friend sit on top of you like this,"

"touche," he narrows his eyes.

looking back down at your plate, you give him the last of your snack, him opening his mouth to take it from you. (again something a little too intimate for people that weren't a couple)

"that felt awfully intimate, too...almost a couple like thing?" he added with a playful hint in his tone. he knew that he silently enjoyed that too, though.

you laughed lightly. "we just cross all kinds of boundaries, don't we?" you asked while picking up the plate from his stomach and setting it aside. as you were done, you reluctantly started to lift off him.

jaemin's hands gripped your hips a little tighter, silently telling you not to get up.

"you don't have to get up just yet, you know..." he trailed.

"don't i?" you asked, however, stopping your movements.

"he shook his head no. "not really, no. i don't mind, love," he said with a smug look on his face.

"you should," you countered, but nonetheless, sitting back how you were.

jaemin, chuckling at your response, moved his hands up a little to rest on the area just below your shirt. "why should i? you were perfectly comfortable where you were,"

you rested your hands on his stomach, which you noted that was quite toned. "it should bother the both of us actually...friends don't do this, not even the close ones like us," you somewhat rambled.

he smiled at your slight denial. "you're right," he paused. "but then again, we haven't ever really been a normal pair of best friend's have we?"

you tilted your head. "what do you mean?"

jaemin held a soft smile o his face as he spoke. "well, we're extremely close, to the point we don't mind being physical with each other like this, i could go on," he squeezed your hips a little before continuing. "we both know that we act more like a couple than just friends,"

"hm," you hummed before looking down, and picked at a piece of lint on his t shirt. now lost in thought, you don't hear him until he squeezed your hip. "what's going on in that pretty mind of yours?" he asked, his usual tender yet slightly flirty tone present.

"nothing really...it's just- it's nothing," you said keeping your eyes down. your conflict evident in your words.

watching you for a moment, he took in your expression. "well then it's obviously something. c'mon, talk to me," he urged, gently coaxing you into telling him what it was.

pursing your lips, you looked back to his eyes, thinking for a moment. "well, like...hypothetically, i was just wondering if...like- if this is how it would be if we were a couple...or dating,' you revealed, struggling to find your words. "that's all,"

he was intrigued, yet surprised to say the least. a small smile hanging on his lips, he asked, "and what was the conclusion of your 'hypothetical' wondering?"

smiling a little yourself you looked up at him again. "i didn't get that far,"

"well, if we were a couple, would you be sitting on top of me like this?" he asked wanting to continue the thought.

after a moment of quiet, you spoke softly. "probably...would you let me sit here if we were together?"

he smirked thinking about your question. "yes, of course i would. as often as you want. you wouldn't even have to ask, honestly." his words making your stomach flip. you couldn't believe you were having this conversation right now, much less while sitting on his lap.

you laughed and thought looking up. "let's see, what else?"

chuckling along with you, jaemin thought too. "well, for starters, i'd hold you like this even more...and touch you whenever i wanted to,"

rolling your eyes you spoke. "you do that anyway,"

he chuckled at your reaction. 'true, but it would be different with you as my girl rather than my best friend," his thumbs still continuing to trace small circles on your skin.

you felt your heart flutter at the mention of being his girl., even if it was hypothetical. "hm," you hummed and straightened your back, sitting up a little.

"you were imagining yourself as my girlfriend, weren't you? you liked the sound of that?" he teased, catching on to your reaction.

you scoff and countered him. "obviously, i had to with what we're talking about right now,"

chuckling, jaemin knew you were deflecting from the truth. "oh c'mon, don't deny it, you know you liked hearing yourself being referred to as my girl,"

"you're full of yourself," you teased, fighting the flush you felt rising in your cheeks.

he laughed along with you before teasing again. "can you blame me when i have a pretty girl sitting on top of me?" he was shamelessly flirting at this point.

"shut up, and stop flirting," you point.

jaemin shook his head with a smile. "no i don't think i will. not when i have you all flustered right now from that flirting,"

"oh, so you admit you are flirting?" you asked raising your brow.

"of course i am, that's what i do," he admitted. there was a short silence before he spoke again eyeing you closely. "i want you to admit something too, though"

you felt your heart beating a little faster. 'okay.." you narrowed your eyes. "then i'm gonna put my plate up,"

he nodded once before speaking. "alright, answer this then: do you like the thought of being my girlfriend? hypothetically speaking, of course," he asked looking up at you.

you looked to the side already knowing your answer but trying to find a way around admitting you liked it, even not hypothetically. "i don't particularly mind it, no,"

smiling warmly, jaemin caught on to your attempt to down play your answer. "yeah? i think you like it more than you'd like to admit," his fingers pausing then slowly tracing along the skin of your thighs. the feeling making you breathe in.

you shrugged. 'maybe i do, but it doesn't matter because it's all hypothetical," you smiled sarcastically and quickly got up from his lap before he had the chance to keep you there.

"wait-" he called and grabbed your wrist just as soon you stood up from the bed. you turned back to him, with the plate in your other hand. "why can't it be real? not hypothetical, but real. us dating," he asked searching your face.

'jaem, are you crazy? it's me, you don't wanna date," you laughed brushing it off. you didn't know why but you couldn't accept the idea that maybe your crush on your best friend wasn't so one-sided.

you moved out of his grip and started out of your room down the hall.

jaemin's expression faltered a little as he got off the bed to follow you. "why wouldn't i wanna date you? you're my best fried. i know you better than anyone. and not to mention, you're incredibly attractive-"

"we're not having this conversation," you cut him off, as you walked down hall to the staircase. jaemin followed close behind, determined to talk about this. he caught up to you as you made it down the stairs into the kitchen. "yes we are. why are you so against the idea of us dating? i don't understand." he crossed his arms.

putting your plate in the dishwasher you spoke. 'because we're best friends," you said before standing back up straight and looking at him across the counter.

jaemin let out a frustrated sigh, his expression still firm. "that's not a valid reason. why does that have to get in the way of us being together? we're already so close and comfortable with each other," he paused walking around the counter to you. " plus, think about it, wouldn't being best friends make it better? we already know each other so well, so that gives us a strong foundation to build from," he explained.

you sighed. "it's...what if it didn't work out? i don't want that to be the reason i lose you...our friendship means too much to me to take that risk," you said breathing out. you said that, but you knew this conversation would change your friendship no matter what.

jaemin's expression softened at your response, understanding the thought and point behind it. he took another small step closer, his voice softer now. "i get that, i really do. the thought of risking our friendship is scary. but you have to think about the fact that we already risk our friendship by flirting with each other. and blurring the lines of friendship and something more." he paused, his eyes locking onto yours. it's already there- the risk," he added. you knew he was right but still. sighing you rubbed your forehead. "that's...different," you still argued.

he shook his head chuckling. "no, it's not different. and i think you know that." you looked up at him conflicted, yet you still didn't know why.

"deny it all you want, but what we're doing already has the potential to ruin our friendship. so why not take the chance, and go all the way?"

you tilt your head. "what? and i mean- are you saying you would have a relationship with me? a romantic relationship. you would want that?" you asked needing the clarification.

jaemin's expression stayed earnest and and serious as he spoke. "i would love to have a romantic relationship with you. i wanna spend more time with you, take you out, hold your hand, kiss you-" he listed. "is that what you wanna hear?"

you shook your head. "no, you don't jaemin.." you denied it for some reason, despite the flutter in your heart.

he sighed, getting frustrated with your denial. "yes i do. i really do. you keep telling me how i feel, as if you know better. but the truth is i have never wanted to be with someone as much as i wanna be with you," he confessed. you froze. he stepped forward again, now standing so close, he could feel your body heat.

you didn't understand why you were going against him. against your heart. you knew you wanted it too, if not more. but you just couldn't.

jaemin watched you close, seeing the turmoil behind your eyes. he could read you like an open book, knowing that you were struggling with your thoughts.

"you know we want the same thing. why are you fighting it? what is holding you back?" his voice holding frustration, but still gentle. he brought his hand up slowly putting it on your cheek.

you wanted to lean into his touch. instead you continued to fight it. "i can't do this with you, jaemin. we've already talked about it too much," you sighed and stepped away from him, moving out of the kitchen.

jaemin watched you you walk away, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. he followed after you, voice firm. "why can't you? why are you so determined to deny what right in front of you? what we could have together?" he asked almost sounding hurt. you turned around, now at the bottom of the steps. "because i'm scared, jaemin!" you raised your voice a little. ""i'm scared it won't work out, and i could lose you. or that, i'm not gonna be good enough and someone better comes along, or i won't be a good girlfriend, or-"

"hey, hey...shh," he cut you off, grabbing your arms grounding you. his face softened. "you have nothing to be scared of, okay? i'm not gonna get tired of you and there isn't anyone better for me than you. do you hear me?" he asked, searching your eyes.

keeping your eyes on his, you nodded slowly but didn't speak. at your lack of response he gripped your arms a little tighter.

"i need you to believe me. you have to understand that you're everything i've ever wanted. we just need to take that leap," he paused, his thumbs rubbing your skin soothingly.

"trust me, love. trust me the way i trust you,"

looking between his sincere eyes you nodded more sure this time. sighing you speak. "okay," goosebumps rose on your skin from his touch.

a small wave of relief washing over him as you spoke. "good, that's good. i promise you have nothing to worry about. we can take things as slow as you want, but i wanna be with you. i want you to be mine," he said full of emotion.

feeling your heart thumping loudly in your chest you keep your eyes locked on his. "i wanna be yours too.." you mutter softly.

jaemin couldn't believe that he was finally hearing those words from you, as his own heart raced. "say it again," his voiced just as hushed as yours. his hands slowly moved from your arms to your waist, pulling you closer.

leaning into his touch, you spoke. "i wanna be yours, jaemin..and i want you to be mine,'

his heart soared as he heard your words, his arms wrapping around your waist fully and pulling you even closer to where your bodies pressed against each other.

"you have know idea how long i've waited to hear you say that," he confessed looking down at you, admiring your features. you smiled up at him, finally feeling your tense resistance from before, slipping away.

"yeah?" you asked with a small smile.

"yeah," his voice filled with certainty. "now, you're mine, and i'm yours. only yours," his beautiful smile flashing, as he gazed down at you.

after another couple seconds he spoke up again. "can i do something, i've been itching to do for a while now?' he asked with a, now teasing, smile.

"what?" you tilted your head looking up at him, your arms having found their way around his broader shoulders.

"promise you won't hit me?" he says with a cheeky expression. his tone was kept light, yet there was a hint of something else. a desire; a want.

"depends," you narrow your eyes at his change in tone.

he chuckled then spoke as he leaned closer. "guess i'll have to take my chances," he said while glancing down at your lips before crashing his to yours. the feeling catching you slightly by surprise, but nonetheless, you melted into him.

feeling his lips move against yours, creating a spark in your stomach. you broke it leaning back slightly, his forehead leaning against yours. his eyes still looking down at your lips before leaning back in, capturing your lips again. before you knew it, his hands moved from your waist and hooked under thighs, pulling off the ground. you broke the kiss once again with a small gasp as he carried you the stairs with a teasing smile on his lips.

"what are you-what are we doing?" you laughed, clinging to him.

"exactly what we talked about earlier," he smiled as he made it you your room shutting the door with his foot.

let's just say, ‘sitting’ wasn't the only thing that happened.

[namisweatheria]

Sorry but I'm growing more and more fascinated in my head with how this would change (and eroticize) Nami and Luffy's relationship. It wouldn't happen all at once. At what point does Nami start seeing Luffy as a girl? She'd start treating her much, much nicer. I think this would be pretty confusing to Luffy, because as intuitive and emotionally genius she is, as I said before, gender is nothing to her. She doesn't get it!

Also, it might be a little saccharine, but I really do think Luffy would become at least a bit attached to being a girl because of Nami and Robin. In canon, he always wants his crew to be laughing and having fun as much as possible, and he seems to try a bit harder with them, because they (especially Nami with her grouchy anxiety) can be more difficult to get to relax and (especially Robin with her restrained demeanor) goof around.

When he finds something funny, he often tries to show Nami first. For as much as he often shows Usopp stuff first too, this might be a bit confusing since she's not an easy audience like he is. I think that's exactly why, though. He wants her to laugh more! And I suspect it's more rewarding to get a laugh out of someone who doesn't do it as much.

Plus, he often doesn't understand why Nami is upset over the things she's upset about. AU Luffy still wouldn't understand a lot of Nami's anger and worry, but I think with the parts she finally would understand she would value that very much. And be angry over, if it's someone's fault.

She'd be a bit of a trans power fantasy, because she wouldn't need to worry about her gender being invalidated and being targeted for it, and she also hasn't internalized some of the harmful gender norms that I think Nami and Robin both have.

Imagine the emotion Nami would feel seeing Luffy beat up Sanji for saying something rude to her and getting up in her space. This isn't something that would happen right away either. At first she'd be thrilled and unquestioningly accepting of the sudden influx of special food. It wouldn't be until she's had too many strangers on too many islands get up in her space and say rude things that she'd react when Sanji does it.

Ough imagining this hurts a lot actually... Nami...

At first Nami is shocked. That's not right! "Sure, it's annoying, but Sanji does a lot of nice things for us, and we know he'd never hurt us, so it's fine!" You're supposed to tolerate it, laugh it off, take advantage of it! "What are you doing?!"

Luffy had punched Sanji, and it wasn't playful. Sanji had been launched across deck, landing on the ground with a loud thud, blood on his face. And Luffy's anger hadn't abated.

"It's not fine! He's pissing me off!" Her gaze is single-minded and unforgiving as she stomps towards him.

"Woah, take it easy!" Nami tries to pull her back. The words ring in her head, and something catches in her chest, but she tries to focus on stopping the fight. This isn't right. This isn't how we're supposed to act. She thinks it, and she knows she doesn't mean the crew, but she doesn't know what she means. She doesn't like it, and it's too much.

"Why should I? You hate it too don't you Nami? Robin?" Luffy's gaze bores into her before she turns and tries for another swing, but not very hard, and Nami holds her back. She clutches tightly. Her eyes burn, and the knot in her chest is getting bigger and harder to breathe evenly around.

She looks around wildly and her eyes land on Robin.

"Robin, help me!" There was a catch in her voice that embarrassed her. Surely this situation wasn’t serious enough to warrant hysteria. But she just couldn’t feel calm.

Especially when Robin doesn’t acknowledge her, staring on at Sanji still on the ground, her eyes very far away.

"Ugh! Luffy!" Nami's face scrunches up in frustration, her mind was in a hot haze she was desperately trying to work through. She tries to plant her feet but Luffy manages to trudge both of them right over Sanji.

"He doesn't even see how tired you are!" Luffy says to her. She gets down in his face. "Sanji! We're tired! Stop it!" She yells, as he looks up at her with wide eyes.

"Okay." Sanji is glancing furtively between the three of them, blood dripping down his chin, and not from a nosebleed. He's confused, but he nods anyways.

There’s a beat, and Nami doesn't know why, but she bursts into tears. She puts her head down and runs off deck toward her room.

"Oh.." Sanji's face is shocked watching her go, before it turns into stupid delight. "See!" He exclaims up at Luffy. "She doesn't want me to stop!" Luffy gapes for a second before her face contorts into a furious snarl. She rears back, but-

Slap!

Silence. They both stare open-mouthed at the hand that had appeared in front of them, before jointly looking up towards Robin. Where she had before been in a typical lounging position, she had stood up, and looked down at Sanji with a dark expression.

Her face trembled with anger. She opened her mouth and closed it again, struggling. After a few moments she walked off-deck, following Nami.

Her gesture had been enough.

"Oh.." Sanji said again. This time his face became grim, and stayed that way. Tears started to well in his eyes, and he got up and walked off deck the other way, lighting a cigarette as he went.

Luffy stood up straight. She huffed. There was no sound now but the waves.

"ZORO!" She yelled. She didn't need to yell. The whole rest of the crew had been right there.

"Uh, yeah?" He answered. He was trying not to show it, but he was shaken by what he'd just seen. I mean, he'd always told that stupid cook off for being annoying, so it wasn't like it was his fault. But. If he had known how it was apparently weighing on Nami... Goddamnit. Why hadn't he noticed? What kind of crewmate was he?

"I'M STILL MAD!" Luffy yelled.

Zoro huffed slightly with amusement despite himself. "Yeah?"

"LET'S FIGHT!"

"Ha! Okay."

Usopp wandered over to Franky while Zoro and Luffy launched themselves at each other. Franky looked perturbed, but pulled a calm cheerful look as he noticed Usopp coming towards him.

Chopper ran over too and leapt into Usopp's arms. "I don't get anything!" He wailed, his furry face a mess of tears and snot. Usopp patted his head sympathetically, trying not to let himself tear up in response. "So Danji wab being mean to Nami bis whole timeb?" Chopper cried. Usopp frowned, unsure of what to say for once.

Franky stepped in. "I guess so little bro." He never minced words when it was serious. Chopper stared up at Franky. Usopp thought if his little eyebrows furrowed any more they'd be able to hold coins.

"But WHY?" The question seemed to come out of him with the sudden force and unpleasantness of a hairball. Neither Franky nor Usopp could take this much pathetic sadness for much longer without breaking down themselves. Franky resisted the urge to look away, but Usopp started finding the sky very interesting, unrelatedly.

"He didn't mean to. Sometimes things like this happen. They'll work it out. We always do on this crew don't we? Cause we're suuuuperrr!" Franky couldn't quite manage to finish saying something comforting without getting silly, but it was for the best, because when he lifted Chopper from out of Usopp's arms and up above his head with the word “super”, Chopper giggled a bit among his tears. He demanded to be let down right after, since as much as he likes to be babied sometimes this was a bit too much now. He is a nearly-grown pirate, after all.

"Should I go see Nami?" Chopper asked, standing now and looking thoughtfully towards her cabin.

"Nah, she just needs some time with Robin. Why don't you hang out with us while we wait for them to come out?” Franky said. Chopper looked a bit doubtful, looking between him and the door.

Usopp added, “Let’s play cards! I’m sure when they come back up they’ll want to join us!” Chopper looked up at Usopp hopefully. It was true both Robin and Nami loved cards.

Usopp struck a pose in response, swiping some cards from his pocket and making a fan in front of his face. "I'll have you know I've cheered up countless people with my show-stopping card playing tricks!” He shuffled the deck as he spoke. “The Amazing Card-Counting Usopp is a name known throughout all The East Blue! They'd take people dying of sadness to see me and they'd be so happy they'd live for hundreds of years!"

"Really? REALLY? Wow!" Chopper seemed to have stars in his eyes.

By the time Nami and Robin came back on deck, the four of them were deeply engrossed in a brand-new game that somehow blended card tricks, dancing, and hitting each other with sticks. Well, mostly Franky was dancing, but it seemed to all come together somehow. They managed to join in without any tension.

Before Nami sat down next to where Luffy was (gently) throwing sticks at a dodging and laughing Chopper, she knelt beside her and hugged her tightly.

"Hm?" Luffy said, glancing at her while switching to her other hand to continue throwing.

Nami pulled back a bit to look at Luffy. "Thank you." She said. When's the last time she took a moment to say that to her, so seriously? It had already been said, a long time ago.

Luffy stared at her intently for a few moments before breaking out in a giant pink-faced grin. Nami felt her heart skip a beat. Had those big brown eyes always been so beautiful? Frozen, she stared longer than she'd meant to. Her face suddenly felt very warm, as did her arms where they were still holding Luffy. Quickly, she pulled away and picked up a stick, throwing it immediately at Zoro. Luckily it was very light and didn't travel well, because she didn't spare any force.

"Hey! What was that for?" Zoro yelped it like a grouchy dingo, but his eyes seemed serious. Was this my fault? He was thinking. Nami smiled at him, overwhelmed with sudden affection for her steadfast, loyal friend.

"How'dya play this game?" She asked with a grin. His shoulders relaxed before he threw it back at her. Bonk. It hit her head.

"Figure it out!"

Thinking so much about an au where Iva's hormone poison treatment also transed Luffy's gender as a side-effect. The way she would simply not care.

Things I'm imagining happening

Her typically refusing to explain how it happened while thinking she's giving a perfectly adequate explanation. "It just happened." "What do you mean??" "It just happened! Jeez." "Well do you want to change back??" "Who cares??" < usual bursting out laughing at Luffy being Luffy >

Everyone just accepting it after that single conversation

Her suddenly finding Sanji more annoying than weird/funny and beating him up until he starts acting normal

Relatedly becoming a lot closer with Nami and Robin in a new way because they keep getting treated the same way by strangers

Meeting Yamato in Wano and being like "Woah you can do that??" and Nami, gently, understandingly, being like "Do you want us to start referring to you as a man again?" and Luffy thinks for a second and is like "Nah, I like being a girl now. It's the same but I understand you better!!" < classic Luffy heart-attack-giving grin > Can you imagine Nami's face. T^T

Nami x Luffy friends-to-lovers slowburn

She'd look basically the same but the difference is enough to confuse the navy for awhile. Shenanigans.

Boa's lesbian awakening.

[sweetchillipeppers]

Heads or Tails?

Jason Todd x Reader - Teacher AU Pt 2

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

While on a school trip, Two Face takes you and your class hostage in the Gotham Museum. After realising Damian is missing, you sneak away to find him, running into the Red Hood instead, who is of course, Mr Jason Todd, your colleague and forever rival, behind the mask. TW: Hostage-taking, guns, violence, blood, bad language

A/N The fic that started it. yeah I wrote this one first lol. I have not yet started writing part 3 and I have exams this week so it might be worked on next week. I don't plan on this series being longer than three parts but if inspiration strikes me, we'll see.

Tags: Rivals to lovers, mutual pining, teacher AU Word Count: 3716

Pt 1 Pt 2

Your students were rowdy on the bus. You could hardly blame them, it was far too early on a Saturday for your liking but you’d offered this history trip as an extra credit option open to your freshman class as part of your Ancient History topic and a surprising number of students were interested. So you, your teaching assistant and your 15 pupils all piled out the bus and into the Gotham Museum at 9am on a Saturday. The exhibition you were visiting was from Themyscira. Jewels, weapons, art: all very rare and very valuable. It was of course a walking advertisement to be robbed but the exhibition had been untouched for days so you had convinced your school board that this was a safe opportunity for the children to see some of the things you had been learning about in class. 

The exhibition room itself was large. It had clearly been styled to replicate Themyscira’s Greek architecture, with tall marble columns and large braziers lighting the room dramatically. Your class settles near the start of the exhibition and a tour guide who introduces themselves as Sammy begins the talk.

“And this is the original axe that Wonder Woman used. Beside it you can see some of the armour pieces she donated when the exhibition was first organised. Later you might even get to hold some.” The students all started chattering excitedly at the prospect. Your group was then led around the large room over to a tapestry depicting the history and movement of Themyscira into the international community. “Themyscira is now a thriving nation with Wonder Woman acting as their UN diplomat.” The guide then turns, “And over here we have some pottery shards depicting different parts of her life.” The first half of the tour wraps up shortly after that and the students are given some free time to explore the exhibition themselves. 

You make your way around the room, listening in and helping out the students with their worksheets until you overhear a group near the entrance. 

“It’s a pity Mr Todd couldn’t come,” you hear a student say. He wasn’t there, you’d made sure of it no matter how much your students begged. It’s unfortunate that the trip was scheduled the same day as an important rugby tournament. “Wonder Woman is his favourite superhero.”

It’s a pity that you now have to hate Wonder Woman for the rest of your life. Okay that’s dramatic but now she’s been ruined. Why would he do this to you? 

“My favourite is Batman. We’re Gothamites, remember?” One kid grins.

“Wonder Woman is an admirable hero but I must agree with Charlie, Batman is superior.” Damian interjects. You were glad he was starting to be more social in his classes after your conversation.

“I like Green Arrow.”

You can then hear raucous laughter as your student tries to defend her choice, until she locks eyes with you and decides that her safest bet is to offer you as a sacrifice instead. “Who’s your favourite hero?” 

Well you can’t say Wonder Woman anymore- even if that was a huge part in why you wanted to come to the exhibition. “Well I quite like Superman. I think he’s an inspiration to us all.” Safest choice. You get a few nods, and a couple eye rolls, of course you made this into a teaching moment. “But my favourite is Robin.” you finish.

Damian gleams at that for a second, puffing his chest out like a preening bird. He then checks his phone. “I must go to the bathroom. I will be back soon.” 

“Do you want someone to go with? The museum is pretty big.” 

“I do not require assistance. Besides, the next half of the talk will begin soon. I will not be long.”

The next half of the talk started soon after Damian left. The next speaker was very informative and the kids were filling out their worksheets diligently. The guide brought out a couple pieces of real Themyscerian armour when it happened. It started with gunshots near the front of the museum. Then silence. You ushered your kids quickly to the one side of the room alongside other museum visitors, getting them all to crouch low while you and your teaching assistant, Ms Anderson, peered into the corridor. The two security guards in the exhibit had their guns drawn, watching the front entrance double doors with bated breath. Silence. Too silent. The emergency exit door flung open behind you. You turn swiftly, using your arms to corral your kids close together by the wall in a huddle. More gunshots have you flinching. Then the spray stops. You look over at the two guards. Dead. A voice grabs your attention instead. 

Two-Face, flipping a coin absent-mindedly. “You will all be fine so long as no one plays the hero while we collect from this lovely display.” He says languidly. 

Multiple armed thugs walk into the room pointing guns at the civilians. Now hostages. 

“I would hate to hurt any of these cute kids” You scowl at him, not your smartest move but who could blame you. Two-Face smiles and flips his coin. Your eyes widen and Ms Anderson squeezes your hand. “Safe.” 

Two-Face replies. “Anyone else want a go?”

You sigh in relief, forcing yourself to swallow your pride and your anger. Your kids are here and you will not be the reason any of them die today. He had almost killed you. Your life was tethered to that stupid coin. 

Two-Face then demands everyone’s phones be handed in. You collect your classes. That’s when you notice it. Shit. You settle your class down, praying you miscounted,  sitting them on the floor and doing a quick headcount. 14. Double shit.

“Cathy.” You whispered but it came out almost like a breath. Your teaching assistant turned to you. “We’re one kid short.”

“What?” She frantically replied, “Who?”

“Damian. He went to the bathroom, just before the attack started.”

“Shit.” Cathy paused, doing a quick headcount of her own. “Shit. When Batman gets here we’ll tell him.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Batman.”

“You really think they'd hurt him? We’re hostages, how would shooting a child help?”

“I am not taking that chance. I’ve got to find him.”

“During the active hostage situation? How do you plan to do that?”

You have no idea. You suppose you’d need a distraction. Something to draw attention to the rest of the museum so you can sneak out and find Damian. 

A distant bang can be heard. More gunshots. Some of your students cover their ears. Two-Face directs three men to come with him when they leave to investigate. 

“Batman will be here soon,” Ms Anderson says with an encouraging smile to the class. Some of your students nod to each other. 

“Come on guys,” You chime up, “Do you really think Wonder Woman is going to let someone just steal all her stuff? I’m sure the entire Justice League is on their way” 

Your students seem more relaxed by this. There are only two guards left in the room both with heavy weaponry. Some kind of assault rifle you’re sure. But you still need a way out to find Damian. Now more than ever seeing as Two-Face has left the exhibition.

You take a deep breath and stand up. “Um, excuse me, Mr Guard sir,” You ask, hoping you sound very innocent, “I really need the bathroom. Like super bad.”

“Hold it.” He grunts.

“Oh um, I can’t. I have IBS?”

“Fine. Come on. Where’s the toilets?” Well, he sure changed his opinion quick. But you know what they say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“What, you're just gonna take her?” The other guard groans. 

“Uh yeah. I have a wife with IBS. When they got to go, they got to go.”

“So you’re gonna leave me by myself for the Batman?”

“One: Batman's nocturnal. It’s lunchtime. I don’t think he’s coming.” Some of your students snicker at this but Cathy silences them quickly. “And two: you are the only one in the room with a semi automatic gun. And the emergency exit has two guards right outside. But I guess if you can’t handle it I can call in one of the boys from the prehistoric section.”

“No I can handle it… just be quick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The goon turns to you, “Come on.”

Okay. Stage one complete. And you’re going to the toilets towards Damian which is good. Unfortunately you don’t know how to lose the guard you have. You want to observe him but he’s walking behind you so you have no idea if he has any back up weapons. You reach the nearest toilets quickly and you strain to listen for any noise coming from the men’s bathroom. Nothing. Either Damian was hiding very well or he wasn’t in there anymore. You still needed to check for yourself, just to be safe. 

“Um sorry, can you go grab my bag? I don’t have my medication on me, they're in my purse. I left it in the other room.” You ask the guard, begging for a miracle.

“Oh no problem.” You breathe in full of hope that he’s just going to leave you unattended until he pulls a plastic sandwich bag with medication out of his suit jacket and hands it to you. You blink. 

“They’re for my wife. Always good to be prepared. What kind do you need?” 

You blink again.

“Uhhh. The anti-diuretics?”

He hands you the pill pack. “I’ll wait here, be quick.” He orders.

You walk into the bathroom.

You must be in shock. Yeah, that must be it. This is the strangest hostage situation you’ve been in. But you still needed to find Damian. 

You’d only just started pacing in the bathroom when the door slams open and the goons body falls to the ground. Your eyes widen as the Red Hood stalks in. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands. The Red Hood is as imposing as one would expect an ex-crime lord turned vigilante to be. But you don’t have time to consider the politics of vigilantism. 

“It’s one of my kids. His name’s Damian. He wasn’t with the group when the attack started. He was in the bathroom. You need to help me find my kid. Please.” You beg.

Red Hood stands there for a second stunned. Jason wasn’t really used to anything but cold and snide remarks from you, and maybe the occasional light-hearted jab. Aside from that heart to heart on parents’ evening that started sincere and well-meaning, when you remembered yourself, you returned to harshness or just plain avoided him. To see you so worried over Damian was a breath of fresh air. He stood unmoving for far too long so you decided you would at least check the other bathroom while his brain rebooted or whatever. Jason only saw a glimpse of you leaving the room, when he ran out after you, and watched you enter the neighbouring door. 

“Damian.” You whisper-shouted “Damian. It’s me. Are you here? Tell me you're here.” 

No reply.

Then you spot it. Damian’s backpack on the floor of a locked cubicle. “Shit. Damian!” You pull yourself up to look into the cubicle, praying to any and all gods out there that there was a perfectly good reason he wasn’t responding. You breathe a sigh but you don’t know whether you should be relieved or not. The cubicle was empty.

“He’s not here.” You say, absentmindedly as you pull the backpack out from under the cubicle door and swing it onto your shoulder.

“You can’t just run off like that.” Red Hood chastises. “You could get hurt.”

“So could my student.” You whip back at the man. “Who is not here and could be bleeding out somewhere. I need to find him. I have a duty of care to these kids.”

This was the version of you Jason was used to. An angry spitfire, although he hadn’t seen righteous fury before. The protectiveness you have over your students, his brother in particular, made him feel something. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what.

“Look, you need to calm down. Describe the kid.” he of course knew what Damian looked like. He also knew that you wouldn’t find him because he was in his Robin costume fighting Two-Face. He was sure Alfred would be having a conversation with him about smuggling his Robin costume onto a school trip in his backpack. But he needed to calm you down and convince you that Damian was safe. 

“Damian Wayne. 5”4, dark black hair, green eyes.” You paused, thinking for a moment, “Angry eyebrows.” 

He choked a laugh back.

“I already found him. He’s safe, outside with the GCPD.” 

“Oh thank god.” Jason watches you release 10 years worth of stress from your body at that admittance. “We need to get back to the group. If I stay away too long the guards might get suspicious and something might happen to the kids.” 

God, Jason had misjudged you. You had a heart of pure, shining gold. He feels bad about all the misunderstandings now. He promises himself that he'll be nicer to you on Monday but first he needs to focus on getting you out. 

“There’s one guard in the room with the hostages and two outside the emergency exit. Do you think the GCPD has dealt with the two outside?”

Jason is attracted to competence, and holy shit you're competent right now. Making plans, working to protect the kids. Maybe his colleagues were right when they said you were amazing.

“No but Robin will have. Robin report.” He orders, pressing his fingers up to his earpiece.

You wait for a moment as he talks with Robin.

“Wait here.” He orders, “I need to deal with the one guard in the exhibition hall. Lock yourself in a stall. I’ll be back in less than five.”

And with that, the Red Hood leaves you alone. 

You move into a stall, locking the door and pulling your feet onto the toilet seat. Five minutes feels like forever. And it can’t have been more than three minutes when you see the light of the outside stream in through the open door on the floor. You get down and unlock the stall. “That was hardly five minutes,” you start as you walk into the bathroom. Then you stop. That’s not the Red Hood. 

“Fuck.”

Jason dealt with the last guard easily. No problems in the slightest. He got everyone out the emergency exit and reassured the nice old lady called Cathy that you were fine and Damian had been rescued earlier, that he was going back out for you in just a moment. He opened his com line: “Exhibition room secure, hostages with GCPD.”

“Hood, you did not save my teacher.” Robin’s voice was shaky down the line.

“Ms Anderson is with the paramedics and the rest of your class, I left (Y/N) in the bathroom with your backpack, I’m going back for her now.” Jason rolled his eyes and walked back into the building.

“Hood, building entrance. Two-Face has (L/N).”

Jason hasn’t felt this guilty in a while, running through the corridors of the museum and taking out at least 7 more goons on his way to Robin. He can’t believe he didn’t leave you somewhere more secure or at least with a weapon. Now he has to be the most nicest he’s ever been on Monday. If you make it to Monday. He spots a barely contained rage of a Robin trying to reason with Two-Face, who is holding you against himself, gun to your temple. Jason is glad he can’t see your face. He doesn’t know if he can take it. To see you so terrified when you were so strong just 10 minutes ago.

“Heads? Or tails?” Two-Face asks.

Robin is scanning for any way to disarm him, all his guards are gone but with you in the firing line there’s nothing that can be done. He starts to sneak toward the group.

“I know you’re back there, Red Hood. Stop sneaking around. Or this cute teacher gets it” Two-Face’s rough tone softens mockingly, “Make a bet, start a gamble, heads or tails?” Jason comes out of his hiding place and stalks towards his brother. He would blow Dent’s face off if he could. All he needs is an opening. He’d probably have to fight Damian for the honour though. 

“Did my class make it out okay?” It’s the first words you’ve said since Jason entered the room and judging by Damian’s barely sealed expression it’s the first they’ve heard you talk as well.

“Yes.” Jason responds.

You smile and take another breath, adrenaline spiking. “Flip the coin.”

Jason’s eyes widened, he figured they could get at least a few minutes before you’d be forced into the 50/50 but you’d sped up the process. Why? Was this confrontation really so hopeless? 

Two-Face flips the coin and as it arcs through the sky Jason shoots it, sending it careening of course toward the front desk. Two-Face lets out a wail and begins dragging you both toward where the coin landed while the vigilantes watch.

He pushes you down onto all fours, gun still at your head, “Find it.” You gulp and start searching for the coin that held your fate. There you see it, angled in a grout line and you see the coin's scars marked upwards. 

Jason didn’t think Two-Face noticed your flinch, and if he did, he probably put it towards the general anxiety. But Jason saw. Jason knows you’ve seen that coin. And he knows you didn’t make it. He knows you’re playing on borrowed time now and borrowing from the house never ends well for anyone. He nods to Robin. They have to strike now. He waits for anything that could work as a distraction, he hopes to the Gods for anything but the Gods are silent. It’s you who takes charge again. “I think I see it, I just need to stretch more.” Two-Face moves his gun back as you flop onto your stomach and army crawl so you can reach that bit further. Maybe you could flip the coin, change your own fate. Would two-Face know? Your breathing wasn’t even anymore. Your thoughts didn’t make sense. You just want to go home. You shut your eyes tight and as you grasp the coin and cry “Got it!” Hood launches himself at Two-Face, who fumbles, not having seen the results of his coin and fires instead a warning shot next to your head. It doesn’t matter though because Robin has you and is dragging you towards the doors saying something that sounds like “You’re okay, you’re fine, everyone is safe.” and prying the coin away from your hands but you just don’t know anymore. He brings you to the paramedics but doesn’t head back inside. He doesn’t leave at all. Instead he stands silently next to you like a guard dog or loyal hawk. “Don’t you need to help Red Hood?”

“No.” He responds immediately.

The two of you sit in silence until Cathy comes stumbling over. “Oh my goodness we were all so worried. Are you okay? And before you ask if the kids are all fine, don't worry, everyone is accounted for.” She rambles.

“Even Damian?” You ask.

Robin tenses.

“No but I was assured by Bruce Wayne himself that he made it safely home when I called earlier.”

“Oh thank god. I’m so glad. How are you feeling?”

“Me? I think I might retire next week. I won’t be on any field trips for a while after this. I think it’s too much excitement for my heart.” Cathay laughs, “Do you have a ride home? I’m just getting everyone picked up or sent home and was going to head off myself. You are more than welcome to join me.” She offers, probably feeling somewhat guilty over your ordeal. For no reason of course. It was hardly her fault you were held at gunpoint.

“Don't worry Cathy, I’ll be fine getting back. When the last kid is gone, go home. I’ll do all the paperwork and incident report tomorrow.”

“Oh honey you are an angel, I’ll bring in a lovely cake for you and the class on Monday, we certainly deserve it.” She grins and heads off past the police tape and back to the stragglers of children who haven’t yet gone home.

It’s barely even a minute or perhaps it’s an hour before Red Hood drags Two-Face out of the museum, tied up. The police move in to gather the various unconscious thugs scattered around the building and the vigilantes walk toward you. 

“Are you alright?” Red Hood asks, modulated voice heavy.

“I’m fine, no injuries.” You say. You’re really just tired. It’s been too long a day. You want to go home. “I’m sorry for leaving you in the bathroom by myself. I figured Two-Face was busy with Robin.”

“He was busy. It was some goons who dragged me there. It was just dumb stupid bad luck, don’t blame yourself. Besides, if I hadn’t left the group none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry for making the fight harder.” You curl inwards.

Robin speaks up.

“Do not apologise. You were noble and brave searching for your missing student. I’m sorry you were not informed of his safety.” 

“It’s okay Robin, you guys don’t have control over everything that happens in a situation like this.” You try to encourage the young hero.

“You have a good attitude. You would definitely be my favourite teacher.” Jason can’t help but bristle at Damian’s favouritism, wasn’t he the brother?

“Aww thank you. You’re my favourite hero, Robin. Superman’s got nothing on you.” You smile. God that smile would knock Jason out. He’s honestly quite glad you hate him at the school. He doesn’t think he could manage if you treated him so kindly. Unbeknownst to Jason of course, you suppose that, secretly, Red Hood was also your favourite. He had changed your fate. And after saving your life it didn’t seem that Wonder Woman could really compare to the Red Hood.

Dividers made by @/cafekitsune

Taglist: @theendofthematerialgworl @salvatt1 @insideoutjulie

[ivi-prism]

✨✨Mcytblr ask game for writers✨✨

Let's start the new year by prompting the writers in the fandom so they infodump on all of us <3

1. Where do you write? (notes app, Google Drive, word, a notebook, directly onto ao3, another word processor, etc.)

2. What was the first SMP or cubito you ever wrote for?

3. Which SMP do you find is the most fun to work with?

4. Anything you like in particular about writing for this fandom? (the setting, the aus, the people,etc)

5. How do you translate the world of Minecraft to fit into your fanfics when you keep the original setting?

6. Do you like using the mcyt multiverse as a concept? (all SMPS and MC content exists in the same universe)

7.How long does it take for you to go from an idea to the end product? (be it drabble in tumblr or fully published multichapter fic in ao3)

8.Do you edit and proofread your works yourself or do you have someone else to help you with that?

9.How do you worldbuild?

10.How do you do character arcs?

11.Are you more of a planner or an improviser?

12.Funniest comment you've ever gotten in a piece of work?

13.Any segment of your work that made you cry while writing it? (because it moved you deeply)

14.Most fun and/or engaging character voice to write in?

15.Writing in first, second or third person?

16.What do you think is the signature aspect of your work? What do you think readers see and go "Ah of course! [Writer] made this!"

17.Favorite dynamic to write? (ship, familial bond, friendship, qpr, rivalry, etc)

18.How similar are the things you enjoy writing to the things you enjoy reading?

19.Do you tend to take into account hybrid characteristics (avian, enderman hybrid, dragon hybrid, etc) when you are writing cubitos?

20.Which project have you poured so much of yourself into that it resembles more an original work than a derivative mcyt work?

21.What cubito have you stared from afar like a weird bug and thought "If I knew what was up with you or your world I'd try writing for you"?

22.Any popular fanfic you heard a lot of buzz around and thought "eh it's fine" just to read it later and decide "oh it does deserve all the hype it gets!"

23.What work of yours would you like to have the biggest impact on the fandom?

24.What work would you like to talk more about?

25.What works and/or authors in the fandom do you recommend?

[signanothername]

firstly: AAA YOUR ART AND COMICS AND STUFF ARE SO AMAZING!!!!

secondly: do you have any advice on how to come up with comics and then get them out of your head and onto paper?

BZHXHXHD THANK YOU SM!!!

And ooh that’s a good question

I usually come up with comics in one of two ways, either seeing something (whether another artwork, a text, something irl, etc) that inspires an idea for a comic, or via artworks I made that I expand on

Other times, it can actually be both

For example, the “A little life update” comic was actually inspired by this beautiful artwork, I saw it, and I immediately thought of Killer, idk something something about the despair of being stuck between a rock and a hard place etcetera etcetera (yes the comic that shows Killer to be in such a better place in life and show the hope he has, was inspired by crushing despair in actuality)

It made me wanna do something with Killer trying to call someone on a public phone, and so the first page came to be

Here’s the twist tho, I originally was gonna just make it into an artwork (yes, one single decision could’ve meant that comic wouldn’t have ever been made)

But a lil habit of mine is ask myself a shit ton of questions when it comes to my own artworks (it actually helps me turn what’s supposed to be artworks into comics), and that’s another way of how you can come up with comics, ask yourself questions, why is the character doing this? What are they doing? What if character did this? Etc

so I saw what was originally gonna be an artwork, and asked myself, who would Killer be calling if he ever did and why?

And the answer to those two questions that made sense to me most was Nightmare, but that led me to two more questions, when would Killer be calling Nightmare and for what?

And that led me to have a basic idea of how I wanted the comic to go

So it was basically like

Who would Killer be calling? Nightmare

Why would Killer be calling Nightmare if he ever did? That actually had different answers, to taunt him, to inform him of something, cause he misses Nightmare in his own fucked up way, etc

When would Killer be calling Nightmare? After he’s saved, or while still under him? After he’s saved makes more sense

What would Killer call Nightmare for? To give him an update about his life with Color

How would Killer be calling Nightmare? Through a public phone

Where would Killer be calling from? Somewhere in an AU in the surface

These six questions, what, why, when, who, where, how, are important to think of, they give you a basis to work on when it comes to comics in general

You don’t need to have a very clear answer to each of them to be able to work on a comic, but if you can at least answer 3 of them, that would give you enough information to work with in a comic

Now that I have a tiny bit of a clear idea about what I wanted to do (it doesn’t have to be perfect or completely concise) let’s talk about how you take these ideas out of your head and into paper

You can do that by imagining the dialogue in your head and then immediately putting it into paper, as I mentioned here, I actually struggle a lot with dialogue, art? No problem, I can easily imagine the art, but dialogue? It’s hell (please take the time to read the linked post, I talk in depth about how I handle dialogue)

That’s why you shouldn’t worry about perfection at this stage, just put every little piece of dialogue you imagine into paper, even if it feels like it makes no sense or is out of character, that’s something you can worry about later

Put in the dialogue, every little bit of it, and draw the panels that feels right for the dialogue

Here’s a little bit of example about what I mean when I say put the dialogue in then draw panels that make sense for it

This is a comic I plan on making, I actually drew that first panel as a stand alone artwork, then that inspired the dialogue, I wrote the dialogue down immediately, it’s a rough version of it, maybe I’ll keep it the same, maybe I’ll change it up as I work through the comic, but so far, I’m drawing the panels based on the dialogue so far, see what I mean by write the dialogue down? It helps IMMENSELY

It doesn’t have to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t have to be the final version, but writing it down will help you imagine the art that comes with it

Does that mean you can never start with the art then think of the dialogue? NO

You absolutely can start with the art for the comic first, in fact, sometimes, doing that actually helps you imagine the dialogue better, other times you can’t really think of a dialogue but have a very clear image in your head about certain character interactions, draw that it’s ok, silent comics focusing on character interaction, is a thing that you can do without worrying about dialogue

Now when it comes to the actual making of a comic, first tip is find your own footing when it comes to comic making

Like listen, people are gonna tell you that the correct thing to do is that you have to make thumbnails for the comic before you make the actual comic to make sure the flow is good and you have room for speech bubbles and what not

Here’s the thing, making thumbnails for your comic is a life saver, it’s great, if you can do that go for it! But for a person like me with little to no energy, I can’t do that without losing interest and immediately abandoning my comic, I can’t do that without becoming frustrated and hate art for it

That’s why I say find your footing, if making thumbnails before working on the actual pages works for you go for it! or you can immediately just work on the actual comic itself like I do, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with and what makes more sense to you

That being said, when it comes to the panels themselves, always aim for less panels and more pages than the other way around

Sometimes, emphasis on certain emotions or aspects of the comic can only be done with fewer panels

That’s why my own comics would sometimes have pages that are either one or two panels max

The less panels you have in a page, the more concise, clear, and easy to follow your comic is, one of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginner artist, is that I focused on cramping the story in as few pages as possible rather than focus on the clarity of the comic

Here’s an example

Good luck reading that dggxgdgdh

This is a very old comic I made back in 2018? 2019?, I wanted the comic to be one page so bad I cramped everything into it without thinking about the fact people are gonna have a very hard time reading it, like this easily could’ve been 3-5 pages but old me couldn’t imagine doing that many pages (if she could see me now with 15 pages comics dhhdhdg) not only that, but the panels’ arrangement makes 0 sense

So when you make your panels there are 2 things to keep in mind:

1- less panels and more pages = clear easy to follow comic, as well as a better emotional impact

2- panel arrangement has to make sense and should be easy to follow, you can make sure it’s easy to follow by reading your own comic over and over as you’re making it, if you find difficulty following the dialogue or art, then it’s best to refine, change or edit your panel or dialogue arrangement

Another thing to keep in mind when making the comic is the flow, the best way to go about making sure that the flow makes sense is by thinking of the comic as you would an animation, how did the character go from point A to point B?

For example this page

Killer clearly has a bit of a distance from Nightmare in the second panel, so how did Killer go from being at a distance (point A), to right in front of Nightmare in the last panel (point B)? That’s what the two panels in between the these two points are for, is to show you that 1- Nightmare is using his tentacle, and 2- that tentacle wrapped around Killer’s arm, the rest would easily be filled in by your brain that Nightmare basically pulled him closer

Now for the ending of a comic, not every comic has to have a clear ending where it marks the end of a story, but rather, you can go for whatever satisfies you as an ending, or keep an ending ambiguous or open, to expand on a comic later

I say that the perfect ending for a comic is what gets the point of a comic across, if the point is made, then it’s a good panel to end the comic with

Don’t be afraid to scarp any page or panels if they make the comic awkward or if they don’t make sense or if it seems out of character don’t hesitate to change, edit or completely delete it

An example is the “choice” comic, it actually originally was 4 pages, I just decided to scrap the last page cause of two reasons

1- it added nothing to the comic

2- it was out of character for Stage 2 Killer

My last advice is don’t force the process, sometimes, the best way to go about making comics is to make them on your own time and slowly, sometimes, you get stuck with certain things in the comic, other times, you need a bit to figure out how to proceed with the comic, completely normal in the process, that’s why it’s important to work on comics in a way that suits you, but you can’t find what suits you without trial and error, so go and test the waters, you can never learn until you practice it yourself

Good luck, hope this helps, lemme know if you need more clarification or help, i’d be happy to help where I can <333

[rowdyluv]

Mothers Know Best

summary: it’s luke’s off morning and he’s home alone with emersyn who isn’t acting her usual bubbly happy self. it’s when he puts her down early for her nap he notices something is actually wrong

warnings: soft dad!luke, fluffy -> angst, sick baby, stressed parent, parent feels they aren’t doing right

word count: 1.56k

notes: this was originally wrote for the single dad version of the au so if i missed any name changes please let me know

Emersyn was not the same today. Her usual bubbly giggles were replaced with whines that pierced the quiet afternoon like a siren. Luke had never seen his little girl so clingy and fussy. She was a ball of pink and white, sticking to him like a piece of gum to a hot sidewalk. It was a rare moment he had that she was distracted by her blanks or a toy next to her.

He tried everything to calm her down—his usual go-to distractions of peekaboo, Winnie the Pooh and even the tickle monster. Nothing worked. Her eyes searched for him, wide and desperate, every time he tried to sneak away. The house felt like it was closing in on him, the air thick with the weight of her cries. The moment his body crossed the threshold to the kitchen from the living room she was screaming for him. Mousey little calls for “dada.” Rattled out of her mouth just as the cries rattled her body. Tension was tightening in Luke’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

What was wrong with her? Why was she acting like this? She’s ate, barely, but he fed her. She has a clean diaper. He’s checked numerous times. They’ve played or he’s tried to play and she wasn’t having any of it. She has her blanks and her Finn plushie from Quinn. Luke pulled his hands through his hair and huffed out.

Emersyn drew him out of his thoughts by pulling on the hem of his shorts. She had blanks and fin in one of her hands and the other grasping his shorts. Her bottom lip stuck out quivering.

“Okay, okay, baby girl, let’s go for a nap, yeah?” Luke’s voice was strained with worry. He scooped her up into his arms, the softness of her skin burning against his. She didn’t protest, a sign that something was seriously off. Usually, she’d fight naps like a champ, insisting she was a big kid. But today she just snuggled into his neck, the heat from her forehead seeping into his skin. He carried her to her room, the hallway seeming to stretch on forever. The gentle squeak of his shoes on the floor was the only sound except for her shallow breaths.

Her nursery was a soft explosion of pink and white, but today it felt like a prison cell. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a sliver of light that painted the room in a sad, yellow glow. He laid her down on the crib mattress, her favorite blanket underneath her. He could hear the faint rattle in her breathing, and it was like nails on a chalkboard to his overworked nerves. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, and that’s when it all clicked. He realized how hot she was against him. She was a little furnace that had been running on overdrive. When he had picked her up first thought was she was warm from overworking herself. All the crying she had been doing was what made her warm. But no. This was definitely different.

Panic took over him like a wildfire. He knew that sound all too well. It was the same sound he heard last winter when she had croup. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the feeling in his gut was heavy. He grabbed the thermometer and quickly scanned her forehead. The beep was like a gunshot, echoing through the room. He checked the display. 102 degrees. His heart plummeted.

With trembling hands, he picked Emersyn up again, cradling her closer to his chest. He didn’t know what to do. Was this just a cold or something more? His mind raced with all the worst scenarios. He needed Rosey, she’d know what to do. He fumbled with his phone, his thumbs slipping over the screen as he typed out a frantic text. “Come home. Emmy’s not okay. Something’s wrong.”

But as he hit send, he knew that wasn’t enough. He needed advice now, and his mother, Ellen, was the next best thing. He dialed her number, his voice wavering when she answered.

“Mom, Emersyn’s not right. She’s so warm and... I don’t know. Her breathing is funny again.” The words tumbled out of him like a waterfall.

Ellen’s voice was calm and soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos in Luke’s mind. “Okay, sweetheart, just breathe. Tell me what’s happening. Is she still crying?”

“No, she’s just... listless. And her breathing, it’s like she’s fighting to get air in. And she’s so warm, Mom. So warm. What if I’ve missed something? What if I’m not doing this right?” The doubt in his voice was palpable, even through the phone.

Ellen’s calmness was a balm to his fear. “You’re doing everything right, Luke. You’re a wonderful father. It’s probably just a fever, but we’ll figure it out together. Has she had any other symptoms? Runny nose, cough, anything?”

Luke’s eyes searched Emersyn’s face as he talked to his mom, looking for any sign of distress she might be trying to hide. “No, nothing like that. She’s just been clingy and whiny all day. And her breathing... I.. I didn’t notice it until I tried to put her down for a nap but I swear..it’s like she’s fighting for every breath she takes. Just like last winter.”

Ellen’s voice remained calm, her years of experience as a mother and grandmother steadying him. “Alright, let’s not panic. It could just be a summer cold, but you’re doing the right thing by keeping an eye on her. Give her some children’s Tylenol to bring down the fever. It’s in the medicine cabinet, right?”

Luke nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yes, but I’m scared, Mom. What if it’s more than just a cold?” His voice cracked, and he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears.

Before his mother could respond, he heard the sound of the front door bursting open, followed by the thunder of quick footsteps. “Luke? Emmy?” Rosey’s voice echoed through the house, filled with urgency. Relief flooded him, and he rushed out of the nursery, Emersyn still in his arms.

Her eyes searched the room, finding him in the hallway. They widened when she took in their daughters state. “What’s wrong?” She demanded, breathless.

He met her gaze, his eyes pleading. “Her breathing, it’s off. And she’s so warm. I don’t know what to do. I called you because...” His voice trailed off, his throat tight with emotion.

Rosey took Emersyn from his arms, her eyes scanning her daughter’s flushed face. She felt her forehead and nodded gravely. “We need to get her temperature down. Did you give her anything?”

“No, I just took her temperature and texted you. I didn’t know what to do. I called my mom too. She reminded me to give her medicine but then you got home.. God Ro. See I can’t do this without you here I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Rosey’s heart ached for the fear etched on Luke’s face. He was a fantastic father, but she knew he had moments of doubt like anyone else. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for not being there when he needed her most, but he only has a couple free mornings and errands were demanding her attention. But now was not the time for self-recrimination. Emersyn’s health was the priority.

“Let’s get her some water and meds,” she said, taking the lead. She moved swiftly to the kitchen, her shoes slapping against the cold tile floor. Luke followed, his eyes never leaving their daughter. Rosey grabbed the children’s Tylenol and a sippy cup filled with lukewarm water. The kitchen was bathed in the yellow glow from the nursery, a stark reminder of the concern that now filled their usually cheerful home.

Back in the living room, she placed Emersyn in her play pen, surrounded by her favorite toys. The play pen had seen countless moments of giggles and growth, but today it was a makeshift sick bay. She unwrapped the fever reducer, and with a gentle touch, gave it to Emersyn. Their daughter’s eyes searched hers, full of trust despite her discomfort. With trembling hands, Luke gave her the water, his eyes never leaving hers. They watched as she took a sip, the medicine quickly following. Emersyn’s tiny hand clutched the cup, her grip tight.

Once the medicine was down, Rosey turned to Luke, her eyes softening. “Thank you for texting me. You did the right thing. We’re in this together, okay? Everything with Em is on both of us, not just on you or on me. It takes two, or an army as momma Ellen says.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The tension between them eased slightly.

“Thank you, believing in me, Ro,” Luke murmured, his eyes never leaving their daughter. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about every moment he felt inadequate as a father. Every time he didn’t know what to do, every time he second-guessed himself, every time he thought he was failing. Her belief in him was like a beacon in the fog.

Rosey leaned her head on his shoulder, her hands intertwined with his. “Lukey, I’ve believed in you since we were kids, of course I’m going to believe in you with our baby girl,” she whispered, her voice a balm to his fear.

[krizariel]

Oh don't tell me... you are f*cking my ex?!

(crack, not-fic, jaytim with past timsteph) Talking with friends about how a friend - who was into jaytim and was a tim fan before he was even registered in my radar - unintentionally got me into jaytim; but then he moved on pretty much as I came in and now he has to put up with me and my never-ending duck giggling butt emojis. Or how he eloquently put it: "I'm literally like a tragic dramatic irony mythical Greek MC, just a plaything of fate" Anyway, I remembered this vague idea and then this took shape:

No-capes AU in which Tim was never adopted by Bruce, but the rest (including Steph and Jason) were. Jason is very protective of his family, especially his sisters. And yes, Steph is a gremlin and gets in trouble more often than not, but damn it no one messes with his sister.

Tim and Steph started dating during mid-school; Tim tends to be asked out more often than not and he has trouble saying no. Often times he does not feel truly attracted to anyone; but he does not want to be seen as uptight or impolite or worse... questioned. He often accepts his dates until eventually they get bored of him. Steph was a change of pace of him and at some point he genuinely was feeling attraction to her; but maybe not to the extent she deserved. She asked him out and was always the one initiating anything, and he'd often go along with it. She was amazing, full of life, funny and so pretty; Tim didn't know what exactly she saw in him. However, she'd quickly notice his lack of enthusiasm/interest and often they'd fight. Why say yes when you aren't truly into it? They were on and off for a year until they broke things off for real. Jason of course hated Tim's guts; be that way whatever, but making his sister cry and mistreating her was a different story. After breaking up, Tim tried to reach out to Steph later, to try and explain himself better and be honest with her. She deserved that much. Except Jason found him before Tim could reach his sister; punched him hard enough to send him off-balance, grabbed him and pushed him against the wall to make it very clear he should not get near his sister again or else... (and Tim was scared to shit because danger danger but also creepily turned on when Jason grabbed him and raised him off the floor so easily. He needs to consult a therapist as to why Jason threatening turned him on and somehow that started his bi awakening) Eventually Steph and Tim moved on with their lives, continue dating other people, and given that they still have friends they reconnect, reminiscence of the past and talk it out. They also eventually come out and bond over both being bi. Fast forward years later, neither Tim or Jason had seen each other again; but Tim stays in touch with Steph. Tim is a well known editor at a big publisher and Jay is an aspiring book writer. Steph had given Tim her brother's original novel draft and he actually loved it. Steph: So, remember my brother Jason? Tim: Your hot brother who kicked my ass in front of half the school hates my guts? how could I forget. Steph: Yeah! He is the one who wrote this fabulous piece. Think you can help him? Tim *internally trying not to scream because what are the odds*: ...Sure. If he agrees to meet, I have time tomorrow. But you better be there, in case he remembers he told me not to get near you. I fear for my life. Steph: Don't be dramatic, he probably doesn't even remember you.

---- Steph: Sooo... I have a friend who is an editor at X publisher. He read your work and loved it. He actually thinks it has high chances to be published. Jason: Really? Steph: Yeah! Told him we could meet with him tomorrow for coffee and go over the details. Jason: Wait who is this friend? Do I know him? Steph: Well... remember this boyfriend I had back in mid-school... Jason, as he stops what he is doing, turns to Steph and glares: The one I hit and pushed against the wall and told to never get near you ever again? That one? Steph: Yes! Jason: Wait, he got actually near you again? *starts cracking knuckles* Steph: Yes, but not that way! I wouldn't take that human disaster for a ride and I'd pity anyone who'd date him. Plus I'm perfect with Cass, thank you very much. But we made peace long time ago and we've been good friends since. I'm sure he doesn't hold grudges, after all he knows the work is yours and had no trouble! It's been years, we have all grown up and moved on.

Jason: Fine. ---- The meeting was awkward at the beginning (especially due to Jason's perpetual scowl) but Tim is clearly very professional and jumps right into business. They exchange contact information. It's clear Tim genuinely likes Jason's work. He puts a lot of effort in navigating Jason through the process, giving detailed comments/notes and Jason is happy to see someone catching on the little details and talk excitedly about them. May not be much but internally he is preening. They start meeting often for coffee, at first they'd talk more about work rather than chitchat and then their meetings started evolving into less work and more random talk, getting to know each other. Sometimes they don't finish talking about the book because they got too distracted. Tim opens up about his teen years, how he was (and still is) too dumb for relationships. He didn't know better but as he matured he learned to accept himself. Jason realizes Tim wasn't that bad of a guy as he thought; just someone making mistakes, learning and growing.

Tim finds he hasn't enjoyed someone's company in a while. He has dated guys before and has matured enough to be better and accept what he wants. But as years went by he poured himself into work and has been so busy, he doesn't exactly have lasting relationships so he stopped altogether. This time around, he feels like he genuinely is giving his all. He decides that he will see that Jason's book becomes a reality because Jason is talented, he is amazing and deserves this. And then, he will gather the courage and ask him out. Jason is also troubled because he is developing a fat crush on his sister's ex and he did NOT see that coming.

The day Jason's book is finally out, they celebrate and Tim asks Jason out on a date. ----

Later: Steph: SMH I can't believe you! Jason: ... it's your fault

[seasonal-writes]

Hey there! So, it’s been a while. I have done a lot of thinking, some writing, some attempts—but I have come to the conclusion that I do not think I will be writing out the continuation and end of When Fate Finds Golden Rings. It took me a while to get to this point, and I'm so sorry to anyone who was hoping or expecting me to eventually come back to posting it on ao3. You know, you just.. don’t write on a fic for over a year-ish and surprise! Maybe you really lost the energy and passion for this piece after all. Which is okay. 

BUT. Instead,

Welcome to: Ro gives away the plans for the ending, rambles about that process, and gives other weird notes about their first big boy AU. Because I saw a post about bullet point-ing fic and realized I am, in fact, allowed to do that. 

Strap in because this is going to be a Big Post. Sorry in advance. And if it wasn't very obvious, um. Spoilers for When Fate Finds Golden Rings below the cut. <3

It’ll probably be starting at chapter 14. 

So, I want to disclose, before we begin: the ending is not totally up to my current standards as a writer. And this isn’t going to be me bashing my own creative process or my burnout or anything like that. I just feel like noting that… had I thought about the ending in more detail instead of flying by the seat of my pants, I think that it would be more put-together and interesting. I think that applies to the entire story, honestly. So. Yeah. If the ending falls a little flat, that is why. I was too busy daydreaming over my epilogue—which I will be talking about as well!! It's honestly my favorite aspect that came from continually thinking about the fic rather than writing it. LMAO.

Interestingly enough, I originally wrote that there were going to be at most like, 7-8 chapters left. realistically, that would probably not have happened. Considering this outline was in SHAMBLES, I can safely say it would’ve been a whirlwind last few chapters. sincerely, future Ro after writing out the mess you’re about to see.

The place where Joel, Lizzie, and Etho live was going to be the place where the ending took place. All the chapters in this “arc” as I'd call them—even though that’s not really what they are—were going to be here and were originally intended to be a deeper dive into Tango’s background. Since the first half of the story is really steeped in Jimmy’s world, it had only felt right to give Tango his own section and exposition as a character.

This was going to become the part of the story where it’s like, Jimmy and tango are in a more stable place for a moment so it gives them more time to reflect. It also would’ve given them time to be away from each other, which I thought was important for two guys who had been subjected to good ol’ forced proximity and were finally given little outs to be apart; i.e. Etho taking tango away for a day, Jimmy spending time with Lizzie and/or Joel. That was a chapter idea I had: both basically kinda being like: yeah! no! I can be alone. I don't miss him at all. not even a little. it feels weird without him here though, right- and just dealing with that. Plus the fear of getting caught, the fear of the OTHER one getting caught and not knowing. yeah. <3

Something I had planned on happening between Tango and Jimmy was that Jimmy was basically going to very much avoid his own feelings all around. He’s so attached to this guy, very much falling for him, and convinced that he is in the way despite it all. He’s kinda… under the impression that maybe he’s in the wrong for not wanting to stay, because OBVIOUSLY Jimmy knows better than to stay in one place like this after the whole journey thus far, when Tango seems so happy. So Jimmy, flawed as this idea is, just assumes Tango will be better off if he stays close to his home and Jimmy doesn’t want to make Tango feel like he has to keep running. The best way i can describe this is like

Jimmy: Man. Tango seems really happy here. I don't think he needs me. I bet he wants to stay. No, I'm not gonna ask him, that’s crazy. What I WILL do, however, is leave without telling him. 

and then he did. :) 

That was basically going to lead into a chapter where Jimmy is ~kidnapped~ on his way out of town by ANOTHER set of characters I was excited about: the mercenaries, Ren, Martyn, and BigB! Golden Rings!Ren is fun to me because he keeps the Red King aesthetic. For some context of why they exist: the three stooges mercenaries heard through the grapevine that if the two princes were captured and returned alive, there would be a big reward. I never actually decided if they’d been tracking Jimmy and Tango for a while, or if it was a coincidence that the reward went out and they happened to stumble into town. but all that matters is that Ren ‘n Gang are in fact successful, and smuggle Jimmy off to a camp somewhere along the road headed back to the palace with full intentions of bringing him home, with or without tango. 

behind the scenes, tango is actively losing his mind. so, fun fact here: I never actually…wrote down how this next bit happens. please forgive me i haven’t touched this outline in like a year and a lot has happened since then- but OoOoh wow! Tango manages to find him!! at the camp!! at night. please note here that golden rings!tango has reflective animal eyes. like cats at night when light shines on them? that’s tango. 

I had this whole scene planned where I would riff off the Tango Rage and make him go nuts on these guys. The funny thing is that Tango can’t really fight, but I think he would do an effective job on scaring the shit out of them and chasing them out of camp. Like, spooky story level shit—crackling twigs, snapping branches, etc.. At the end, Tango manages to untie Jimmy and they make a quick getaway back to town. 

When I tell you this was gonna be one exciting chapter after exciting chapter, I mean it. The next big part, dear rancher enjoyers, was going to be the confession scene. 

Basically, imagine. Tango and Jimmy are walking home. tango is really quiet, won’t look at jimmy except to make sure he’s still right there. There is a storm brewing in the sky, and they’re trying to get back as soon as possible. but suddenly, tango freezes in place. Jimmy gets a few feet ahead, but stops and turns when he notices tango isn’t in pace with him. tango looks hurt. more hurt than jimmy’s ever seen him. which makes Jimmy feel awful. and it’s like:

T: If you wanted to leave, you should have told me.  J: …Tango. T: If you wanted to leave, you should have come and told me. We are friends— a team, you've said it yourself. I would’ve been ready to go.  J: I wasn’t…I was hoping you wouldn’t follow me.  T: Why wouldn’t I follow you? J: I just thought it’d be easier on both of us if I left you to your devices here. I’m sorry.  T: You’re sorry? You think that’s gonna just- just make this better for me? After you just up and left me there, worried that you’d been taken back to your family? T: And- And you almost were, too! You were this close, Jimmy! If you were that scared of staying then- J: You know, there was nothing forcing you to come get me, I could’ve just gone and you could’ve stayed and lived the life you wanted back in the palace! I thought that was the plan! Freedom for both of us! T: ….You really just don’t get it, huh? Are you that dense? J: What? What don’t I understand? T: I am in love with you, you idiot! J: …You.. you what? [dialogue taken from the scene i started writing but never finished<3]

And then more things happen and then they KISSSSSSSS !!! 

Realistically, I want to note that the transition between here and the ending was very finicky and not written down. so, instead, i will be giving you a general run down of what the ending was supposed to be. 

With tango and jimmy now having confessed and acting upon those feelings, they think they’re safe for the moment. However, soon after, etho finds them and basically alerts them of an uptick of Nether Guard, having heard that the mercenaries reported their sighting and now, rather rapidly because ~portal transport~, the kings were sending search parties out once more. etho suggests they get out of the city, and the two agree, prepping quickly to leave what became a very good few allies and safe place for the roads once more. 

The day they are supposed to flee, the overworld’s royal party arrives; Grian heading the way, seeming to be the one sent to find his little brother. 

This part got really fuzzy for me because I don't think I ever actually plotted out the transitionary period between "you two need to run" and "we're running, it's bad."

What I do know, though, is that the final scene would’ve been a confrontation with Grian, who attempts to convince them to come home. but when Jimmy explains, begs his brother to try and understand (i also think he uses his secret relationship with Scar as a bit of an example. leverage, even); Grian eventually wishes his brother goodbye, and turns a blind eye to let them run. 

Epilogue: Tango and Jimmy, fittingly, escape to the countryside. When they eventually outrun search parties and the call for their return dies down, they settle on a tiny cottage out on a tiny farm with wishes to expand it and make it their own. Jimmy tends to the animals. Occasionally, he sends a letter under a false name, and he gets one in response; a brother, far away, still keeping him in on happenings in the kingdom and in his life. Tango dives into his redstone, creating and building and making things he never would’ve had much time to while being a king. He thinks of a guard, long left behind, and wonders if he thinks of him too. 

The two never marry, as marriage doesn’t leave a very sweet taste in their mouths—but they do make vows, whispered promises to stay together forever. A prophecy haunts them; but they were never really the type to obey any plan laid out for them, anyway. 

Some years later, a quiet life has been established—but one day, someone arrives. Tango has gone out to gather supplies, so when there’s a knock, Jimmy answers the door. 

Before him, there is a tall figure with a familiar set of eyes. Impulse, knight and ex-personal guard of the Nether Court, stands before him. When Tango returns to find him, a beautiful reunion is had; one with tears and relief and all the love in the world so present in one moment. 

GUESS WHAT !!! TANGO/JIMMY/IMPULSE CANON IN GOLDEN RINGS EPILOGUE!! IMPULSE COMES BACK TO HIS BOY AFTER ESSENTIALLY GIVING UP HIS GUARD POSITION BECAUSE IT’S NOT THE SAME!! THEY CAN BE SO SILLY TOGETHER NOW!! AAAAAAAAA I’VE BEEN WAITING TO SHARE THIS GOD-

please god someone ask me about this dynamic i’m not okay

And, yeah! That was kind of it for the story. As I said, it falls flat to an extent. It’s not the ending that I would give it today. I still wanted to share it, even if it wasn’t the best or most detailed. I love this story, I love this universe and its characters and all the work I did on it. I still want to think about it, talk about it, etc. I’m not letting it go completely, just.. the fic won’t be finished. I am of the firm belief that I could’ve done a lot of things differently, that the story could be even better if I rewrote it entirely. But that’s not a project for right now. :) Because holy shit this fic is at 65k and that would be… hoooo.. a lot of work. Just like picking it back up and finishing it would also be quite a bit of work. It’s hard—I’ve had people tell me just to do it, just to finish the damn thing for the sake of finishing it and not quitting. So, this is my version of that, even if it isn’t the same. I don’t feel like I’m quitting, I'm only a little sad about how it's ending for now, but it feels right. I’m just like 99% sure I won’t enjoy writing the rest out. And, like I said at the start, that’s okay. Passion and motivation changes. People grow.

Anyway, that’s all! Thanks for listening to my silly little ramble about this AU that is old but still lovely. If you guys have questions or wanna chat about the AU at all, my ask box is always open even if I am terrible at answering them. If I find anything else or think up anything, maybe I’ll post about it! But, for now, I hope you all enjoyed my sillies. I love everyone who set foot in this space and read what is still my most favorite fanfiction I've ever written. :)

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2024 - Proud Author Spotlights

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2024

Here are some recommendations from 2024 sent in by our fandom's authors themselves. Make sure to give them much love. PS: Authors, don't be shy! Submit more Proud Author Spotlights!

~*~

I published the latest extra off my dynasty fic in March 2024, and it might be my favourite so far! Feat a lot of politics in the Wen Sect, wwx being his badass self, some ocs and a lot of Yiling siblings feels.

💙 Hope is a discipline (Something you choose)

by One_eyed_God (@oneeyedoctogod)

T, 15k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Under the harsh and merciless sun of Nightless City, Wen Ruohan falls. But even with its leader is dead, the Wen Sect must live on, to avoid the dreaded future Wei Wuxian has already lived once. And though he never expected to be the one to lead them, he will carry this duty without fail. Or: The aftermath of Wen Ruohan's death.

~*~

Hello! ☺️ First of all, thank you for running this wonderful blog!!

This is for Rewind 2024 Proud Author Spotlight. It is a 29k story I recently finished translating (I'm also the author of the original version) and I'm really glad to have been able to do this within less than a year.

It will not please everyone as it is mostly CQL-based (CQL post-canon) but it is first person Wei Ying POV and I haven't read a lot of that in this fandom, so I hope maybe some people would enjoy it!

Thank you again for everything!

Léli.

The Unsung

by Leilwen (@leilwe)

E, 29k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Zhan... would you come over the mountain with me one day? … … I would have liked for him to give me a real answer and I cursed the Lans' nocturnal almost-hibernation. … … … When Yunshen Buzhichu no longer needs me, you will be my only horizon. When I returned and lay down beside him, the crescent moon no longer looked so sickly pale.

~*~

Hi ! This is for the remind 2024, I don't know if authors can boosted their own work. But I wrote this fic for my very first RBB, and even if it ins't perfect I am very proud of it.

Convergence

by Czeriahx (@czeriah) & Sirendipity (@lwjsbedtime)

M, 77k, Wangxian

Part of Yuyu Respectarium's Reverse Big Bang!

Summary: In a world governed by the Wen Empire, the Wei Coven's Oracle prophesize the coming of a new sun. Together with its moon counterpart, they are to bring back balance to the world. That is, until the Wen Emperor send assassins to take care of the threat against their rule. [Art by Siren, Embedded in the fic !!]

~*~

My submission to the TopXian RBB event that was boosted here a few months ago. I got a wonderful prompt and art piece to write for. Links in my fic!

An AU Canon Divergence where after the betrothal with JZX is broken off, JYL becomes betrothed to WWX. The plotline is retold with this twist, leading to events both familiar and not. JYL is the pov character, navigating her new life after devastation and war, with WWX at her side. But let no one forget LWJ - WWX and JYL certainly can't, though for very different reasons.

Come along for character study fix-it fic, with a happy ending for all the main characters!

Not Unwilling

by somevariationofgay (@somevariationofgay)

E, 48k, Wangxian & Xianli

Part of the TopXian RBB

Summary: The young mistress of Yunmeng Jiang clan, raised to marry out for the benefit of her family, dutifully waits for her parents to arrange another match after her troth with the young master of Lanling Jin clan is broken. When her father decides the new betrothal will be to their sect's head disciple, she finds herself not unwilling. But the ambitions of Qishan Wen clan surge and a bloody flood overtakes Lotus Pier, changing the course of her life forever.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[cowboydisaster]

* ˚ ✦ Compass * ˚ ✦

chapter one: La Belle Fleur Sauvage

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 7.9k

summary: modern au; Living out your dreams on a ranch in Colorado; Arthur finally proposes.

a/n: This is a little gift for @margowritesthings. I originally wrote this for you a year ago, but I've rewritten it for you for this christmas. xx

Arthur is nervous, his palms clammy as he pulls a Carharrt t-shirt over his head. The dark hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet as he slowly pulls his clothes on, layering up to defend against the harsh weather. You sleep comfortably in his bed, unaware of Arthur's absence from your side. He slowly approaches, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You smile in your sleep. 

"Gonna be a good day, darlin'.” He murmurs, pulling the white, fluffy blanket up over your shoulders before stepping out of the room, trying to keep his footsteps quiet.

The coffee machine beeps twice, notifying Arthur that the morning pick me up is finished. Two mugs sit by the machine, as always. But today Arthur doesn't grab his usual, opting instead for a travel mug. It's an old one. One that he'd gotten from some random bank event a while ago, "Strauss Financing" it read. 

He'd used that bank to get a loan for the house and the barn. God– nearly ten years ago now, Arthur realizes. 

The coffee is black and hot, steaming as it's poured into the mug. Arthur leaves the pot on for you before opening the door, and whistling in the direction of the bedroom. He can hear Copper jumping down off the bed, and then he rounds the corner, trotting towards Arthur and out the door. 

"Hey there boy!" Arthur laughs and gives Copper a few pats. He's had the old vizsla about as long as he's had the ranch. Copper follows Arthur outside, happily trotting after the man. Everything outside is coated in a dusting of white. It's the kind of snow that looks like diamonds, where ice clings to the trees and rooftops, but the sun shines down, making everything sparkle. 

When Arthur gets about a hundred feet from the house, with Copper circling around him, he stops and turns around. The log cabin stands proud before him, even after all these years. Arthur had built the place with his bare hands, just him and Copper. 

The Colorado mountains stand proud behind the house, hues of purple and blue painting  their cliffs, the morning rays of sunlight reflecting off of the snow on their peaks.  When he looks at the slowly aging wood of the house, and the warm glow of the porch lights he can't help but smile. It's not the house itself that he is so fond of, it is what you have made the house– a home. 

When the walls were bare, and the house was empty, save for the few pieces of furniture that Arthur could afford, it was incredibly lonely. He tended to the animals and worked on the ranch all day to avoid sitting alone in the house. He spent his evenings at the only bar in town, Pearson's Pub, drinking to forget and to ignore the empty house. 

Things got better once you moved to town, working as a bartender. You warmed the man's cold heart. You were like a breath of fresh air in this old town. You still are. You managed to take his frozen, barely beating heart and melt it in the grip of your soft hands. 

Arthur began to chat with you while you worked. After only a few interactions, he started coming in on the days he knew you would be there. 

Then, one day, he offered to cook you dinner, and you accepted. Now, you lie in his bed, cozy and happy while he plans for the future. Funny, how things work out like that. All those years when Arthur was young, he'd hoped for someone to love. As an adult, he was content with his solitude, until you came along, of course. Divine intervention, you are. 

Copper barks, stomping his paws in the snow, pulling Arthurs attention back to the present. The poor dog is probably cold. The nip in the air makes Arthur's cheeks and nose red, and his breath lingers in the air like a morning fog. 

The truck isn’t far, sitting halfway between the house and the barn. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking some snow off of his hat as he makes his way towards the old rust bucket. Snow and ice fall from the door frame as Arthur swings it open, leaning in. 

He reaches across the steering wheel, jamming the key into the dash and turning it. He mutters a small prayer when the engine starts to stutter and hiss, but after a few seconds, it turns over. Once the engine is running, Arthur turns the heat the entire way up, setting the knob towards the windshield. 

“Should be right as rain, now, huh, boy?” Arthur smirks, stepping down from the truck, shutting the door. Copper barks, running into the wooden barn where Arthur is heading, stalking the chickens, as Arthur slides through the wooden door. 

He shakes the snow off of his hat, boots clicking on the floor as he grabs a few scoops of feed and dumps them into each horse's trough. Arthur greets each one, scratching behind their ears, patting their necks. He feeds, avoiding stepping on loose hens, until he reaches Boadicea's stall. A warm smile graces Arthur's face at the sight of the old chestnut mare. She brightens up at the man's arrival, and not just because of the feed he carries. Her head tosses as she whinnies for him..

“There's my girl." Arthur hums, dumping the feed, soothed by the sound of her chewing. Arthur scratches the underside of Boadicea's jaw, earning a slight whinny from the older mare. 

"S’a big day today, y'know." Arthur releases a shaky breath as he strokes the mare's neck. Boadicea lips at Arthur's jacket, searching for treats that he doesn't have. 

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

He huffs through his nostrils then, smiling as he pats the mare one last time. 

"You're gonna be a part of it. I'm countin' on you, girl." 

He then looks to the black quarter horse in the stall beside Boadicea. The horse has a star on his forehead, and a thick dark forelock that covers his eyes. When Arthur had gifted you the gelding, you'd named him Whiskey. It was both an homage to the bar where you met Arthur, and your preferred poison. 

"Hey there boy. You better be good for the lady today, ya hear?" 

He pats the horse who is hungrily lapping up his grain and then brings his wrist up to check his watch. The watch ticks quietly, showing the time as being 6:17am. 

Arthur decides that the truck has had plenty long enough to heat up as he makes his way out of the barn, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Copper has gone off, probably chasing birds in the woods, or attempting to play with the cattle. Once he's done playing he will come into the barn for shelter, at least until you wake up and let him back in. 

Arthur's hands are tinted pink with cold as he opens the truck door, sliding in and shutting the cold out. The heat from inside the cab is nothing short of cathartic as it begins to thaw his frozen features, slowly melting away the ice and causing his nose to turn pale again. 

Arthur turns the radio up a bit, driving down the long road towards the city. He tries to avoid Denver as much as possible. The tall, leering buildings are suffocating, reminding him of a very dark time in his life. 

When Arthur's ma and pa died, he was placed into foster care. When he was twelve, he fought with the other kids, even beat a few nasty boys that were older than him. Arthur learned quickly that anger and aggression were the best ways to protect himself. 

He ran from every foster home he was placed into, never having anywhere to go, just running. Arthur slept outside many nights, surrounded by vermin– both rats and people. He was spat on, cursed at, and kicked down by many of the people he encountered. It wasn't until he was fifteen that he found shelter- a home. 

— — —

Arthur's feet pound against the pavement as he runs. The door remains open, swinging, as Arthur barrels down the driveway without shoes. The blacktop is rough on Arthur's feet, scraping and cutting into his heels as he scrambles, but he pushes through, determined to get away from the outskirts of Denver. 

He follows the driveway until it meets gravel, avoiding it by running through the grass, into the forest. Tears stream down his cheeks, rough gasps for breath mixed with raspy sobs erupting from his chest. 

Arthur bolts from yet another foster home– another abuser. He can barely see as the street lights get farther away, but he pushes on faster at the sounds of sirens. Sticks and rocks dig into the soles of his feet, but he continues, terrified. 

In his hand, Arthur clutches a small bag, carrying the few things that remain of Arthur's childhood: his momma's ring, and a photo of her when she was young. His knuckles are white in their grip.

Horror trickles up his spine, sickness twisting his guts and making him sick. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to send him to the ground 

Did he just kill a man? 

Disgust bubbles up in Arthur's throat as he searches around in the dark forest, looking for somewhere to hide for the night. Not far in the distance is a building with a light on outside, it appears to be a barn. Arthur tries not to think about anything as he stumbles towards the barn, feeling like he may collapse at any second. His arms are wrapped around himself, and he shivers as he parts the barn doors, stepping inside, sheltered from the cold winds.

A few animals grumble at the intrusion, but Arthur can barely hear them. His vision is blurry, breaths coming in quick pants as he trips. He makes it a few steps to a pile of hay, mind fuzzy and body cold. Arthur is exhausted and unable to breathe.

Suddenly his feet are falling away from him and he collapses. The impact is made softer by the pile of hay, but it still knocks the wind out of him. Arthur stares at his blood stained hands as they clutch his mother's things. 

— 

There is a shuffle. A door? Footsteps? They stop. 

"My, my… What on earth do we have here?" A man says, his timbre deep enough to rattle the barn walls. Arthur's eyes flutter but he is not able to open them. 

"Christ, Dutch– the poor boy's covered in blood, he can't be more than sixteen." A second voice chimes in. 

Then Arthur is being hoisted into the air. He tries to fight, but slowly begins to lose consciousness again. 

"Well take him inside, have Bessie and Annabelle fix him up… Once he's awake, we'll find out who he is, and.. what he needs."

— — —

Arthur thinks back on that time with distaste as his truck rumbles loudly through the crowded streets of Denver. Things got better after he found Dutch and Hosea. He stayed with them, working on their ranch for many, many years, and once he turned twenty-five the two gentlemen gifted him one hundred acres, enough to start a small ranch of his own. 

Arthur sits at a red light, not far from his targeted destination. His fingertips tap the steering wheel impatiently as he thinks of that bag, his mothers contents inside. His stomach twists with anxiety. He hasn't been down this street in fifteen years. Muscle memory tightens his lungs as he pulls his truck along the street parking, brakes squealing before he pushes it into park. 

Arthur sighs, eyes glancing up to the ornate, tall buildings before him. It makes his stomach turn. All this money poured into concrete structures when kids are starving in the streets. 

He gets out the truck, straightening his shirt and jacket out of habit, before approaching the golden gate outside of the apartment building. 

It's not long before he's in the elevator.

Arthur goes to knock on the ornate door, knuckles hesitating for a moment before rapping on the wood twice. It's the only barrier between him and the penthouse. 

Arthur plans to make the trip as quick as possible. He’d vowed not to come here ever since the verbal assault had been thrown at him during an expensive dinner. He’d left in shambles, still young and naive. Arthur places his hands behind his back and pushes his shoulders back out of habit when the door swings open.

"Mary." Arthur acknowledges. 

Her voice is soft, her southern accent spilling from her lips, "Arthur?” She seems worried, shocked. Her eyes scan him quickly, identifying that he's not hurt, “Is everything okay? Dutch? Hosea?"

"Yes Mary, everyone's fine." 

Arthur takes note that Mary's father mustn't be home, and he instantly relaxes. His shoulders come down and his hands rest at his sides. 

“Come in.” Mary says, opening the door, gesturing to the white couch in the middle of the living room.

Arthur hesitates at the door, but complies when she starts leading the way. Nothing has changed in all the years that he's avoided this place. The carpet feels the same as he walks across it.  The couch dips under Arthur as it used to when he sits. 

Mary sits on a chair across from him. The couch he's sitting on is far more comfortable than the one at home, but he prefers the quiet oak house compared to this busy modern apartment. 

She looks to Arthur, her eyes curious. He hesitates, eyes unsure where to land– dancing between Mary's eyes and the floor. 

"I-” He starts speaking and then stops a few times, before taking a breath, getting the words out, “I've met a woman…” 

A pang hits Mary right in the chest, but she hides it well. 

“Happened a few years ago." Arthur speaks low and quiet, his timbre is deep as he explains. Mary remains quiet and allows him to continue, eyes drifting towards the windows, mind caught up in memories that threatens to pull her under.

"She's a fine woman Mary, and… Well, I'm gonna ask her to marry me." 

Arthur looks up to Mary then, her dark eyes contrasting his own. She has a puzzled look on her face as she replies, 

"Arthur, I'm happy for you, but I’m afraid I don't understand…? Did you come all this way just to tell me–”

“Mary…” Arthur whispers, cutting off her snowballing thoughts, redirecting her to the point that he is trying to get across without being harsh. Without demanding. 

She stops in her tracks then, realization dawning upon her, “Oh. I see.” She smiles, bittersweet. Arthur can see the regret in her eyes. He is quick to ease the tension, leaning forward, trying to soothe the old wounds that Mary has yet to heal. 

"I'm sorry, Mary, I am– that things didn't work out between you and I, but– it means a lot to me, and there's no other-”

Arthur is stopped in his tracks as Mary raises her hand to stop him, “It belongs to you, Arthur. She should have it, really.” Mary smiles sincerely. 

She loves Arthur, though she'll never admit it. She loves him enough to let him go, to let him be loved by someone he deserves. Mary doesn't know you, but she knows that since he came here, for this– you must be deserving of his love.

Mary places her pale hand up, signaling Arthur to wait as she stands and disappears into the doorway towards her room.

Arthur fiddles with his hands, emotion bubbling up as he waits. This is the final obstacle. Once he has his this item back he will be able to give you what you deserve, and if you accept, Arthur will be the happiest man alive. 

Mary rounds the corner, her lips pulling into a bittersweet smile, a few tears dripping down her cheeks. There is a small black box in her hand, extended out to Arthur.

His green eyes transfix on the box. The one he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years. Arthur places his hands on his knees to push himself off of the couch, staring in disbelief at the old thing. 

It is carefully placed in his hands, and he slowly creaks the lid open, staring. It's a gold band, with a ruby placed in the center, and intricately placed diamonds on either side of the gemstone. It’s the one thing he has that ties the man he is now, to the happy young boy he used to be- when he was good. It was his momma's. One of the only things he has left of her. Arthur closes the box, tucking it away into his pocket. 

“Best of luck to you, Arthur.” Mary whispers, a sad smile on her lips. 

“Thank you, Mary.”

The ride home is quiet, for the first half anyway. As soon as Arthur is out of the city, back on dirt roads, he switches the old truck stereo on. A familiar song is playing, one that's been bringing him quite a bit of comfort in the past weeks. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need”

He smiles. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other rests on his jean pocket. He palms at the box as he drives, making sure it doesn’t slip away. 

“Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

His voice is deep, rumbling in his chest as he taps his left foot against the floorboards of his truck. He thinks of you, riding your horse, smiling, of your hair in a messy bun and you in his too-big t-shirts. He thinks of how you love him, with a passion and a fervor. 

“Now I know the only compass that I need Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

He thinks of when you met for the first time, your fates tying together in ways you never could have imagined.

— — —

Arthur enters the old bar, same as he does most every night. It's the same bar he's been going to for fifteen years now. Contrary to some of the other fools here, he doesn’t always drink when he comes here. Sometimes, he just sits at one of the tables, drawing the scenery.

Arthur comes here to drown out the silence of the house, to get away from the loneliness that he refuses to admit is swallowing him whole.

Tonight, he walks around the tables that adorn the small place, straight up to the bar, sitting down in his usual seat. The place is busy tonight. Arthur assumes there's a game being played, or a rodeo on the tv, but he doesn’t ask. Plenty of patrons sit around the bar, most with women or men in their clutches. Laughter and the sound of glasses being slammed on the bar fill the air, and a neon light flickers on the wall.

Arthur is all too aware of the familiar atmosphere around him, and yet somehow, he misses the new bartender serving tonight. Typically Pearson himself is behind the bar, but tonight someone else is handing out drinks. 

Arthur knocks on the bar once, eyes watching the TV in front of him, a bulldogging competition. Suddenly, a form slides in front of him, blocking his view of the television. He adverts his attention to the person blocking his view, and his eyes go wide. 

You stand in front of him, smiling and whipping a bar towel over your shoulder. 

“What can I get for you, mister?” You ask, wiping your hands against each other. 

Your eyes twinkle like they're among stars, and Arthur is sure that he’s never seen a smile so bright. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, basking in your beauty. Your hair is not tied up, and it falls down, cascading over your shoulders.

Your black long sleeved shirt is tight, clinging to your figure, but Arthur is caught up in your eyes. He shakes his head lightly before responding. 

“Yeah, uh… Sorry– just get me the strongest drink ya got. Make it neat.”

Arthur's typical order is a bourbon on ice, or a beer, but tonight he's going to need something stronger. Everyone knows everyone in this small town, but you're a new face, and Arthur can already feel the singe of the hot brand, burning you into his memory.

“Coming right up.” You raise a curious eyebrow, wondering about this man’s choice of drink. With your interest piqued, you grab a rocks glass and a bottle of patrón, pouring a few fingers of golden liquid into the glass, sliding it across the bar. 

“Have one for ya’self too.” Arthur tosses a bundle of cash onto the bar. 

“Thank you, mister.” You smile, pouring yourself the same drink. 

You eye the mysterious cowboy curiously, noticing the softness hidden behind his rough features. He is attractive, very attractive, with dirty blonde hair, and a five o’clock shadow that exaggerates the scars on his lip and chin. His eyes are hidden from you by a dark cowboy hat, until he peers up and you are met with the most strikingly beautiful, bright, blue-green eyes you've ever seen. 

You have to look down to hide the blush that creeps up on your cheeks from being caught in the act of staring. If he notices your gaze, he doesn’t say anything. Both of your crystal glasses are set on the bar as you lean onto it with your elbows. 

“You ain't from around here, are ya?” Arthur asks. You smirk. The ruckus from the bar seems to die down in your ears. Even your busy mind quietens as you focus on the peculiar man before you. 

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, “No, I'm not from here, just moved.”

Arthur hums, content. There's an amused sparkle in his eyes. 

“How'd you know?” You ask, wondering what gave it away. What's making you an outsider? You moved here to get away, to blend in. Anxiety curls in your stomach at the thought of being found. 

“Well, miss, you’re far kinder, n’ far prettier than anyone in this old town… Don't help that everyone knows everyone here. We don't come by new faces much.”

Your anxiety quells, cheeks blushing a deep crimson, and after a moment, you raise your glass slightly, angling it towards his. 

“Well thank you kindly, mister.” You hum. 

“Arthur.” He corrects, clinking his glass against yours, swallowing down a swig of the burning liquid. You cock your head, not tracking at first. 

“My name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He reiterates, and you smile. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur Morgan.”

— — —

Your eyes flutter open slowly. The first thing that meets your eyes is the vase of purple flowers on your bedside table. The morning light hits them beautifully, reflecting off of their vase, refracting on the deep purple petals. 

A wave of realization dawns over you.

Sunlight? What time is it?? 

You sit straight up in bed, eyes immediately seeking the alarm clock on Arthur’s nightstand. It reads 9:25am and your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit!”  You curse, swinging your legs out of bed, body barely covered by your cotton shorts and cami.

You feed the horses at 6am every day. Today your alarm mustn't have gone off.  You feel terribly, knowing that the horses must be starving. You frown, hair messily falling around your shoulders as you hurry to your dresser. 

A piece of paper sits on the mahogany, and you hesitate in your rush, placing your pointer finger on the paper and reading its contents. 

Fed the horses so you could sleep in. I had to run into town real quick. Should be back before lunch. Call if ya need anything, Sweetheart. Coffee is hot in the pot for you and Copper is outside. - A

The panic leaves your chest, replaced with warmth as you pocket the note, pulling your slippers on as you move towards the kitchen. 

Arthur is always doing this for you, taking on little tasks to remove some weight from your shoulders. Doing anything he can to ease your troubles. He knows that you've been crazy busy with work lately, as horse training always picks up in the winter, and he's been doing everything he can to help. 

You hum a tune as you round the corner, hand trailing along the smooth oak wall. Your slippers are soft and quiet against the floor as you enter the kitchen, eyes trained to where the black coffee pot rests on the counter top. 

You grab your clay mug, the one you'd made back when you were taking pottery classes, and you fill it with black coffee and a splash of cream.

Wrapping one arm around your torso, you move to the glass french doors in the kitchen, overlooking the barn and the pastures. You sip at your coffee, eyes slipping closed as the coffee wakes you up, the warm liquid heating down your cold bones. Your eyes trail over your farm, the brown and black cattle, starkly contrasting the snow. Snowflakes flutter past the glass as you watch the sun peeking behind a few pine trees in the yard. 

Copper runs through one of the pastures, throwing a stick up into the air and then grabbing it in his maw. You can’t help the smile that graces your lips. 

You head back towards your room, pulling out a pair of jeans. They hug your hips and waist, but leave room for your boots to lay under your pants at the hem. You pull on a long sleeved black shirt and your beige ranch coat before leaving your room and pulling your boots over your socks. 

With one last swig, you finish the last sip of your coffee and set it in the otherwise empty sink before opening the glass door and stepping out into the elements. 

You expect the cold to wind-whip your face, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sun shines down, adding some resistance to the cold weather. It causes the snow and ice to sparkle like diamonds as your boots crunch through the snow. 

You push the barn door aside, heart humming at the warm sound of nickering horses. 

“Alright. Who's up first?” You hum, looking to the chalkboard on the wall. It's outlined with feeding schedules, medication times and dosages, and your training schedule.

You find the designated box for today, seeing that today you'll be getting your work cut out for you. You're working with Doob, a seal brown thoroughbred, off the track, with more energy than he knows what to do with. His owners had brought him in for a bucking problem, one that you're already beginning to curb. 

You make your way down the aisle until you find his stall, promptly grabbing his dark green halter and slipping it over his head. 

“C'mon, boy.” You whisper, petting behind his ears, “You're just a big sweetheart, aren't you?” You chuckle as he nuzzles your palm. Of all the client horses, he's definitely carved a home in your heart. He’s a funny little horse, a character. You'll be a bit sad to send him back when you’re finished, but you know his owners will treat him right. 

A short walk through the snow leads you both to the round pen. You leave him loose in the small pen, and he immediately starts running. 

“Yeah, here we go.” You hum, cold biting your nose. You grab a green lasso from the fence post, moving him up with it, pushing him forward as he runs around the pen.

“Good boy.” You call, “Easy does it.” 

Doob gets his energy out, running to his heart's content, wind flying through his long black mane. You just let him run, only correcting when he tosses a buck or kicks. After a long while of working, he eventually becomes tired out.

“That's a good boy, whoa now.” You cue, and he stops on a dime, turning towards you, walking into the center of the circle. Your head turns at the sound of a rumbling truck, and your eyes brighten at the familiar sight of Arthur coming down the lane. 

“Good job, Doob. That's all for today. You go on and play now.” You smile, handing a treat out to the thoroughbred. He takes it happily before you remove his halter, letting him out into the pasture with the other client horses. He'll surely run off more steam out there. 

A few snowflakes are stuck in your hair, and your nose is already turning red as Arthur steps down from his truck. You make your way to him, ignoring the chill in your bones, and leaning towards the warmth before you. 

“Hey, baby.” You smile as he turns to you, shutting the door to his truck. Arthur smiles back, his hands extending as he grabs your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips are cold compared to his, and he runs his hand up and down your arms to warm you up. 

“Shit darlin’, you’re froze. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to go for a ride but-” 

His eyes go wide as you jump a little, gripping at his coat with your cold hands, interrupting him.

“No, I wanna go for a ride! I'm not too cold, I've got more clothes in the barn.” 

He chuckles, his warm breath creating a fog in the air as he hugs you tightly. You've never turned down a trail ride, not in all the time you've known him. 

“Alright, why don’t you start tackin’ up the horses. I gotta run in the house quick. I'll grab some food too. We can have a picnic.” His deep voice rumbles against your ear as he holds you in his embrace. 

“Okay, I'll grab the horses. Oh- grab the chocolate, okay? The good kind. There's some in the cupboard above the sink.”  

Arthur chuckles, “Sure thing, darlin’.” 

You go to pull away from Arthur, but before you're fully released from his grasp, he gently pulls you back by the chin, catching you in another kiss. He hums against your lips, and you relax into him, allowing him into your mouth. He chases after the taste of you.

After a few seconds, another light peck– or two– you pull away from each other. When your eyes slowly flutter upwards, you see intense emotion in Arthur's eyes. Love. 

Arthur loves you, and he always makes sure to display it, but he's being extra affectionate today, which has your eyebrow raising in curiosity. 

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you chuckle, hands resting on the thick blue fabric of his wool coat. You look up at him with those sparkling eyes, and he falls in love with you all over again. The snow has made your nose pink and cold, and Arthur leans down to kiss it.

“Cause I love you,” Arthur pulls away, “Now, go tack up those horses. I'll grab us a snack.” you peel away from him then, shaking your head. 

One whistle for Copper, and the orange flash is running down from the pasture. Then, he's at your feet, whining happily. The snow crunches and creaks against your boots as you lean to pet the dog, and you both look at Arthur’s back as he opens the door to the house. 

“Your daddy’s actin’ weird today.” You whisper, curiously eyeing the blue coat that moves through the door. Copper barks, as if he is trying to explain, but Arthur had sworn the dog to secrecy. 

You pet Copper before standing up and brushing the snow off of your knees. When you step into the barn,you’re immediately surrounded by the soothing smell of oats and hay. The warm scents envelop you, and wrap you up like the warmth of the barn. 

By the time you have both Boadicea and Whiskey fully tacked up, Arthur is walking through the front barn doors. He pushes the door open wide enough for your horses to step through. 

“So where are we ridin’ to today? Maybe we could trail down to the creek? It's beautiful this time of year.” You ask, pulling yourself up into the saddle. The cold leather sends a chill down your spine as you rub at your thigh in an attempt to make warmth.

Arthur shakes his head lightly as he climbs up into the saddle, “Actually I was thinkin’ we’d go on up to the overlook today…”  

The overlook? You hum. Typically you and Arthur only go to the overlook for special occasions. The last time you'd gone up there was about a year ago. It's a special place. 

You both had said your first admissions of love there, let the words pour down into the plains below. Your first kiss with Arthur was at the overlook. 

But the overlook doesn’t just house good memories. You and Arthur had split up, briefly, a few years ago. The separation took place there. It’s a place of much love and heartache, it's you and Arthur’s spot. 

“Okay, sure… It’s been quite a while since we’ve been up there.” You respond quietly, curiously. Anxiety swirls in your stomach, but you push it down. 

You and Arthur trot beside one another, carried by your mounts. The air is chilly, but your heart is toasty warm as you and Arthur chat, laughing and smiling as you go. The ride to Horseshoe Overlook is a long one, and you make the most of the time as you and Arthur ride through the bright snow. 

“I'll race ya cross’ this hill up here.” Arthur drawls, his lips ticking up in a smile as he looks at you from under the brim of his hat. 

You eye the hill in front of you. It's open, probably over one hundred yards. The snow isn’t deep over the grass and it doesn’t appear to be slippery. Adrenaline seeps through your veins as you eye it, swirling and pumping through your heart, flicking the hairs on your neck up like static electricity.

“Alright then…” You adjust yourself on Whiskey, preparing to run.

“Get ready…get set–” You are cut off as the wind whips your hair and Boadicea starts charging forward. Your jaw drops and you watch Arthur barrel ahead of you. Quickly, you spur Whiskey and kiss and cluck to move him forward. 

“You cheated!!” You scream loudly, trumping the sound of pounding hooves. 

Determination sets in your bones then, and you lean forward, spurring the horse forward with every ounce of might in your body. Whiskey shoots forward until he is running side by side with Arthur’s mare.

“I don't play dirty, mister!” You yell in Arthur’s direction. Hooves are pounding loudly against the snow. The two horses are breathing heavily, each determined to win their own races. You see Arthur laugh, but he stops when you spur Whiskey, charging forward. 

Arthur curses as you shoot ahead of him and Bo. Whiskey's hooves kick up snow as he passes, sending it flying into Arthur's face. It slows him down, giving you the advantage. 

You and Whiskey run hard until you reach the top of the hill, and Whiskey slides into a deep stop right before reaching the tree line. After ten seconds, Arthur and Boadicea are at the top as well, stopping hard and breathing heavily. 

“Dammit woman, you can ride, I'll give ya that.” Arthur pants, face wind-whipped as you ride up beside him and lean over your saddle to kiss him. 

His lips are cold, as are yours, but the kiss is still alight with warmth. You grip onto the collar of his shirt, not releasing when your lips pull away from one another. If anything, your grip tightens on his collar as you eye him.

“I know.” You smirk, winking at Arthur as you pull away and canter your horse away from him, and towards the entrance to the overhang.

He watches you canter on, shaking his head. 

“You are somethin’.” He jests, trotting after you.

When the trees break, you nearly gasp. Though you have been here a handful of times, it always steals your breath away. You can see the house and barn in the distance, separated from you by miles and miles of white snow. Evergreens stand tall, dusted white, with a few herds of elk at their trunks. You can see for miles, past the house and to the tall blue mountains far in the distance. 

“So beautiful.” You murmur, eyes bright with wonder. 

“Sure is…” Arthur whispers, eyes not on the landscape, but on you. 

You hop down from Whiskey, patting him for his good work, and offering him the same treats that you'd offered Doob earlier. You always keep a few extra in your pocket. 

You walk towards the cliff, keeping a safe distance from the drop. Your eyes flutter over the rolling hills and plains before you. Everything seems so quiet up here. Troubles seem so far away. Unique snowflakes slowly drop from the sky, dusting your hair and coat with white diamonds. 

Boots crunch in the snow behind you, stopping just a foot from your back. You smile, but don't turn around when Arthur's chest presses against your back. One of his hands wraps around your middle while the other, unbeknownst to you, rests on the small black box in his coat pocket. 

The serenity of the overlook envelopes your senses as you breathe in deeply. The cold air carries notes of pine and sap, familiar scents that comfort you.

“Love you, y'know.” Arthur hums, leaning down, pulling your hair away from your neck, kissing the soft skin under your ear. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you turn in his embrace, chest to chest. 

“You’re actin’ strange, Arthur. Are you feelin’ okay?” You chuckle. 

Arthur exhales sharply, otherwise ignoring your question. Instead, he pulls you up onto your tiptoes, your boots on top of his as he kisses you. 

You melt under his touch, kissing Arthur feels like your muscles relaxing after a long day’s work, like rain after a drought. Kissing Arthur feels like coming home. He's been kissing you all day, unable to pull himself away from you. 

You pull away only for a quick breath before your lips meet again. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, straining on your toes to remain in contact with his lips. Arthur pulls away with a bite to your lip, smiling when he sees how yours are plump and swollen. 

The wind brushes Arthur’s hair into his face as he backs up, pulling you by your hand. He has placed a thick wool blanket on the snow for you two to sit on. You plop down on the blanket beside Arthur, your head resting on his shoulder. Your head rests on his shoulder. Heat radiates from the man, and you are glad for the extra protection from the cold.

“So what snacks did you bring, baby?” you ask, curiously peaking into the bag that Arthur has laid on the blanket. 

“Alcohol.” He says plainly. You laugh, smacking Arthur in the arm as he chuckles. 

“And your chocolates.”

“Arthur!” You chide as he hands you a bottle of golden liquid. You peer at the label. 

It's patrón. You quirk a brow at the drink of choice. Arthur rarely buys the expensive tequila. Curiously, you pull the round cork out from the neck of the bottle and take a small swig. The alcohol burns its way down your throat, warming you from the inside. 

You don't mind the burn, watching as a pair of pronghorn bucks fight in the hills below you. Their hooves slip in the snow as they each attempt to win their battle. Your hands numbly grip the neck of the bottle as you pass it back to Arthur. 

You huff before you speak, “I can’t believe we’re here Arthur. After everything we’ve been through we can just… live now…” You pull your knees up, curling more into his chest. Your past hangs over you, haunting you like a dark cloud. Bit by bit, Arthur has been helping you to push it away, to heal and move on. Today is a good reminder of that progress. 

His hands place the tequila in yours, and you down a swig.

“S’ like your readin’ my mind, sweetheart.”

You smile up at Arthur then, placing your hand on his stubble.

“Y’know this is the first place you told me you loved me…” Arthur says, low and quiet. You smile, the good memories filling your heart as Arthur continues,

“Also the first place I kissed ya…  a lot ‘a memories up here.” 

Your stomach flutters at his words, your brain is flooded with warm memories of Arthur and you in the overlook. 

“C'mere.” Arthur whispers, smiling, taking a shaky breath. Your eyebrows furrow together. but as he stands and extends his hand, you take it. Arthur pulls you up, hands in his own. 

The overlook is beautiful in front of you, serene and perfect. A moment he'd capture with a camera if he had one with. Whiskey and Boadicea watch on from the treeline, ears perked up. They know what's about to happen. Arthur's been telling them about it every day for months. 

“I love you.” Arthur whispers, deep and serious. His eyes soften, and your heart begins to pump loudly in your ears. A delicious red flushes into your cheeks.

“I love you too, Arthur… but why are you.. what's going on?” Your voice is higher than usual, eyes sparkling bright with wonder, reflecting the sun and the white snow.

It isn’t unusual for Arthur to admit his feelings to you, but there are too many factors for this to be a coincidence. Arthur was ‘shopping in town’ all morning, but had come home empty handed. He brought you out to your special spot, bought you your favorite expensive tequila– and is treating you with such delicacy, and love, that butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Arthur huffs, letting out a humorous chuckle and looking up to the sky, projecting a short prayer, before he holds your hands a little tighter and begins.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He looks away from you for a split second, staring at the ground, before anchoring himself in your eyes again, and continuing, “I didn’t think my life was goin’ nowhere before I met you… I gave up in my twenties, said I wasn’t gettin’ attached to anyone.” Arthur admits, and you frown. You know about his past. You've talked about it, and now you're trying to show him how much he deserves to be loved. 

“I stood by that for a long time…” Arthur's lips crack into a beautiful smile, a chuckle falling over them, “And then you stumbled along.” A single tear drips down his cheek, and landing in the snow below. Your eyes are threatening to overflow with tears of your own.  

“Arthur…?” You whisper, voice cracking. He squeezes your hands reassuringly. 

“You showed me what it felt like to be loved. And love ain't somethin’ I've felt in many a years.” Arthur pauses, gathering his words. A few tears trail down your cheeks, and Arthur’s thumb wipes them away.

“You make me want so much more outta life. You make me wanna wake up every day and work on this ranch, take care of these animals. You make me want a family. I wanna wake up n’ watch our kids playin’ from the window.” 

“But what I want most in life? More than anything…?” A pause ensues, his loving, green eyes locked onto yours, “I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of my life.” 

Arthur thinks back to the song he had been listening to earlier on the way home from the city.

“As long as my compass keeps pointin’ to you, I’ll be where I belong… I’ll be home.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you gasp as Arthur reaches into his pocket, kneeling down on one knee in the snow. 

He looks up at you, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other extending out the black box. Arthur snaps the ring box open, presenting a stunning gold ring to you. The band is adorned with a ruby, and several small diamonds decorate the sides of the gem. Your hands come up to your mouth, as Arthur looks up to you, smiling. 

“This was my Momma's…” Arthur explains, and your eyes flicker down to his, “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive… and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you… So, would you do me the honor–”  Arthur chokes up, “Would you marry me?” 

He looks into your teary eyes, holding the ring box a little higher as he asks the question. You wipe the tears away from your eyes, sight locking onto the scene, wishing you could etch it into your memory forever.

Your head frantically nods, tears flowing down your cheeks as you cry tears of joy, “Yes, Oh, Arthur–of course. Yes, yes!” 

Arthur smiles the brightest that you’ve ever seen, standing before you and slipping his mother’s ring onto your ring finger. The band fits you perfectly, and you marvel at it for a second before Arthur’s arms wrap around your waist. He lifts you up into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist, laughing and crying, overcome with a happiness unlike any other. Your heart leaps with love and passion for the man in front of you.

His lips crash against your, wet tears dripping down your face as you kiss him. Your hands entangle into the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck as you both kiss, pulling apart only to breathe or to laugh. The kiss is deep, bodies singing with love, energy overflowing from the both of you. He keeps kissing you, over and over again, never wanting to leave the taste of your lips. 

You pull apart, foreheads pressing against eachother's, his hands on your thighs, keeping you off the ground. 

“I love you so much darlin’.”

“I love you too.” You whisper against him, the happiest you have ever been. 

The ring rests on your finger as you kiss Arthur again, senselessly. The band of rubies and diamonds holds promises of a future, of a marriage  and a life with him.

As the wind rustles through your hair, carrying your joy so far down the mountains that it can be felt radiating even miles away, you can’t think of anything you could ever want more than that promise.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[cinnamostar]

02: self-fulfilling prophecy

part one.

pairing : jisung x gn!reader

summary : han jisung, the man who is incapable of maintaining a relationship for more than a few months. han jisung, the man who is in complete denial that maybe he is the problem. han jisung, the man who has convinced himself he isn’t meant for love.

wc : 4.6k

cw : not proof read, nonidol!au, angsty, sad, discusses insecurities in romance, sappiness, very dialogue heavy

a/n : if you haven't read part one, pls do! i hope you guys enjoy part two :') i didn't have a p2 planned when i originally wrote this, so i hope this is still good and an ending you guys will be happy with! <3 as always feedback is appreciated

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Tears rolled down your cheeks as you exited Jisung’s apartment building, your body on the verge of collapsing as your emotions choked your breathing, your heart feeling as if it had just fallen and shattered inside your chest. Each breath you took caused the emotional pressure on your chest to hurt more, feeling as if your airways had been constricted by your own agony. 

The dreary, rainy weather matched your mood as your legs carried you into the direction of Minho’s apartment, knowing it was the only place close enough for you to walk to at this time of night. The rain began to strengthen, the drops attacking your skin as your hair and clothes soaked it all up, a cold wind causing your body to shiver as you stumbled up the steps to Minho’s apartment. Your fists hurriedly knocked against the door, hoping Minho would somehow be able to sense the urgency behind it as your lips trembled in a poor attempt to stifle your cries.

Minho opened his door, his eyes widened at the sight of your distressed face, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside his home without a second thought, “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?”

You tried to respond, but all that came out of your mouth was a gut wrenching sob, your body finally deciding to give up on maintaining appearances as you conceded to the stabbing pain your heart just suffered.

Minho stood there with panic rising in his body as he tried to piece together what could’ve left you in this state, unsure on how to comfort you in this moment. “Hey, it’s okay now, I’m here. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll let you borrow some clothes? I’ll make you some tea in the meantime and then we can talk.”

You nodded thankfully at Minho, sniffling as he led you to the bathroom, handing you a bag to place your drenched clothes in, as well as a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes and a towel. 

You entered the shower, letting the water warm your shivering body that had just been brutalized by the cold rain. Your tense muscles slowly began to relax under the heat of the water, giving you a much needed respite from the weight of your emotions. Despite the momentary calm the shower gave you, tears still escaped your eyes, blending in with the water that cascaded from the showerhead.

After drying yourself and changing into the clothes Minho had given you, you found him sitting at the kitchen table with two mugs of tea waiting to be drunk. He smiled when he noticed you approaching, almost relieved to see how significantly calmer you had looked. As you sat down, he slid one of the mugs towards you, motioning for you to take a drink. 

“Did the shower help?”

You brought the mug to your face, blowing it gently to cool it down while nodding, “It did, thank you,” tears still pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You placed the mug down on the table, taking in a sharp inhale as your chest tightened at his question as you recalled Jisung’s words, tears, once again, making their presence known. You did your best to get through your words, but your quivering voice revealed the hurt you were experiencing, “Well, I was with Jisung before I came…”

You squeezed your eyes shut in a feeble attempt to hold back a sob, “And I thought everything was fine, but out of nowhere,” you tried to rush through your sentence, but the overwhelming anguish you were feeling took control as you began to bawl.

Minho instinctively reached for your hand that was resting on the table, rubbing his thumb on your hand to soothe you, “Take your time, we have all night if you need, okay?”

Taking a few more moments to collect yourself, you continued on, “Out of nowhere, he told me he didn't think we were going to work and I… I don’t know, I just left. I feel so stupid right now,” you cried, your eyes puffing up from all the tears you were shedding. 

Minho remained quiet for a moment, confused at his best friend’s actions while trying to find the right words, “Did he say why?”

You sighed while shaking your head, feeling guilty that you had let your panicked mind take control of you in that moment, “N-no, I didn’t even give him the chance, I just… Left… I don’t know, I just didn’t want to hear it. It was only going to make me feel worse and it just felt like he led me on, like all the rumors were true,” you weeped, “I should’ve listened to Hyunjin and Seungmin.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, it must’ve been a lot to take in at once,” he spoke softly, still leaving a comforting hand atop of yours, “But I don’t think you’re stupid, there’s nothing wrong with taking a chance at love.”

“I don’t know, I’m just really sad right now.”

“That’s okay, you’re allowed to be. Is there anything I can do that would help you? Do you want me to call anyone over? Get you something to eat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head, “Could you see if Hyunjin and Seungmin can come over? But please tell them what happened, I don’t wanna say it again.”

“Of course, I’ll do that right now.”

“And can you check on Jisung? He was… he was crying a lot when I left. I want to make sure he’s okay too.”

Minho smiled, “Okay, I’ll have the boys come over and then I’ll head over to his place once they get here. Sounds good?”

You nodded, feeling grateful for Minho’s kindness and patience, but also relieved to know that Jisung would have someone to talk to soon enough.

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Minho lightly knocked on the door of Jisung’s apartment, anxiously waiting for the younger boy to open the door, his phone in hand ready to call if he took too long. From the other side of the door, he could hear hurried footsteps scramble towards the door as Jisung swung the door open, his face red and swollen from crying.

Jisung’s eyes widened in surprise and confusion, the hope he had in his eyes disappearing, “Minho? What are you doing here? I thought you were Y/N-”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Huh?”

“They showed up to my place crying and told me what happened.”

“Oh,” Jisung’s face fell into a somber expression as he tried to stammer out an explanation, “Look, listen, please don’t be mad-”

Minho shook his head, letting himself in and gestured to Jisung to follow him in as he sat on the couch, “I’m not mad, I’m worried.”

Jisung gulped, unsure where this conversation was leading as he sat next to Minho, his brain exhausted from the millions of emotions he had been flipping through.

“Jisung, I thought you loved Y/N-”

“I do! I really do, I love them more than anything and anyone, I know that for a fact,” he sighed heavily as he felt his heart tremble in his chest, the pit of guilt growing deeper and deeper, “But I’m scared, I’m really scared.”

Minho let out a deep breath as he ran his hands through his hair, perplexed at his best friend’s words, “Of what exactly?”

“Of hurting them! Of not meeting their expectations, failing them, all of it. I’ve never been a good partner in the past, everyone knows this,” he muttered out each word with shame, “And I just didn’t want to ruin their image of me, I didn’t want to risk hurting them like I’ve done to everyone else… They’d be much happier if we were just friends.”

Jisung tried to blink away his tears, struggling to put in everything he was thinking into a coherent string of words as he nervously scanned Minho’s face, trying to figure out what the older boy was feeling.

“Okay, I can see where you’re coming from, but didn’t you just hurt them anyway? Didn’t you just do the opposite of what you wanted to?”

Jisung stood silent for a moment, not being able to deny any of Minho’s words, “Well, yes, but it was for the best. It’s better to end it now than later because it would hurt more then, right? I would rather hurt them like this than fail them as a partner.”

“I say this with all the love in the world, but Jisung, you’re being an idiot.”

The two stared at each other, waiting for one to make a move. On one end, Minho was hoping Jisung would be able to realize the stupidity in his behavior, while on the other, Jisung was completely dumbfounded and awaited Minho to further explain himself.

Realizing Jisung was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, Minho continued on, “Jisung, look. Everyone knows how much you love Y/N, okay? It’s so obnoxiously obvious, plus I’ve never seen you be so caring and attentive to anyone before. Clearly, they hold a special place in your heart, right?”

Jisung nodded timidly, letting out a small hum in agreement as that was all he could manage while he silently wept.

“It’s okay to be afraid, especially with what you’re struggling with, but just because you’re afraid doesn’t give you the right to make that decision for Y/N,” Minho leaned forward as he looked into Jisung’s eyes as he tried to convey the importance of his message, “Did you even think to consider how Y/N would feel? They know about your past,  Jisung. Even Hyunjin warned them about you, but you know what? They still took that risk with you, and you were quickly proving them wrong before now.”

Minho sighed once more, “Jisung, it’s okay to be afraid, but you cannot make every decision so selfishly when there are other people involved. Y/N isn’t dumb, but they like you and want to take that chance with you. They like you despite your insecurities and flaws. You should’ve told them how you were feeling, but most importantly, they’re allowed to make their own choices. Let them choose to love you, don’t take that away from them.”

Wiping his tears away with his hands, Jisung jutted out his bottom lip in a pout as he sniffled, “They… they probably hate me now, I think it’s best I leave them alone.”

Minho rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch, still looking at Jisung, “Jisung, why don’t you stop assuming things for other people and find out from them directly?”

“But-”

“Y/N told me to check on you because they were worried. Just talk to them. If you truly love them, you’ll talk to them.”

With hands in his pockets, Minho made his way to the front door, “I have to go home, but you better talk to them. I’ll be really disappointed in you if you don’t.”

After Minho’s sentence, all that followed was the sound of the door shutting and the soft cries of Jisung, who was being eaten up by both guilt and anxiety, fearing how angry his friends must be at him. Part of him felt relieved that Minho was the first person he spoke to as his words brought him some sort of comfort, yet the overwhelming remorse and humiliation roared loudly in his mind. 

Doubt and confusion lingered in him as he processed Minho’s words, unsure if you’d even be willing to talk to him after this. In his world, he thought after the hurt he had just inflicted on you, he was even less deserving of you. His irrational behavior and his instinct to react based on his fears and insecurities served as more proof that he was not fit for a relationship, that you were better off with someone who had a better grasp of who they were and what they wanted.

Yet, while he thought what he was doing was for your benefit, he hadn’t considered once how you’d feel and how this would impact you, especially considering how you both were practically acting like a couple at this point. Especially after he told you he needed more time, but then completely flipped that on its head and left you out in the cold with no real explanation. Minho was right, he was only thinking of himself, this wasn’t him being merciful and saving you from him, this was entirely him avoiding to confront himself. He was fleeing his own vulnerability and masked under some sort of self-righteous sacrifice for you. Much like in the past, he allowed his own selfishness to blind him from reality of his emotions and actions, but at least he was somewhat aware of it.

While Jisung cannot find it in him to forgive himself, he wondered and hoped whether you would, whether you’d look past his mistakes once more and accept him for who he was. He prayed silently that you’d still give him the chance he so desperately craved, yet so foolishly pushed away in the name of fear, wishing you’d still choose him when he didn’t know how to do that himself. Maybe what he needed all along was your neverending affection to finally learn how to love the parts of himself he hated, maybe he needed your gentle hand to guide him through love, maybe he should’ve trusted you while he learned to trust himself again. Just maybe, he would be able to learn what love was truly about if he had just listened to his heart, not his own negative self-hating mind.

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Meanwhile, an extremely rageful Hyunjin and Seungmin sat with you on Minho’s couch as they tried to comfort you in sweet, hushed voices, doing their absolute best to keep their anger to themselves. Hyunjin held you in a tight hug as you cried into his chest, his chin resting on top of your head as a comforting hand rubbed your back in gentle circles. Despite the kindness of his actions, his face was a stark contrast as a scowl painted over his features, mentally cursing at himself for letting you get involved with Jisung and not doing a better job at deterring you from it.

Seungmin, on the other hand, was holding back as he bit his tongue, keeping any thought he had to himself because he knew if he opened his mouth, a fountain of expletives would pour out. He knew the last thing you needed right now was him speaking poorly of Jisung, even though he thought he deserved every angry world he had in his arsenal right now. 

Through gritted teeth, Hyunjin softly mumbled, “I’m sorry, Y/N, this isn’t fair to you. You deserve better than that.”

Hiccuping, you whispered, “But I don't want anyone else, I still want him even if he’s being a stupid idiot.”

“Well, he made his choices. A bad one, but all you can do is move forward from it,” he sighed, silently communicating with Seungmin through indignant looks.

All Seungmin could do was hum in agreement, not trusting himself enough to keep his thoughts to himself as he cracked his fingers in frustration, thinking about how he was going to rip Jisung a new one the next time he saw him. 

The front door clicked open, signaling that Minho had gotten back which caused you to sit up from Hyunjin’s embrace as you looked at Minho, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of your face had only made the flames of anger flicker more, serving as the perfect fuel for his seething body. 

“Before you ask, yes, he’s okay,” Minho ressaured you as he made his way to the living room, shooting both Seungmin and Hyunjin a warning look as the two boys quickly hid their vexed expressions from you. You gave Minho a grateful smile as you, for the nth time that night, wiped your tears away.

“I talked to him too, he’s probably going to message you sometime tomorrow to talk things over if you’re open to that.”

You were about to respond, but Seungmin spoke before you could, “Is that a good idea?”

Minho glared at him, “Seungmin, think before you speak.”

Seungmin shrugged, choosing to look down at his phone, but then Hyunjin added, “I mean, he isn’t wrong… I think Y/N should have some time to process their feelings at the very least.”

“Are you Y/N?” 

Both Hyunjin and Seungmin shook their heads nervously knowing they’ve upset the older boy, “Then that isn’t your decision to make. Let Y/N do what they feel is best. We all know how you guys feel about it, so please don’t make this any more difficult for them than it already is.”

The two boys muttered a quick apology to you, not wanting to add any more stress to your current situation, but you knew they only had your best interest in mind and wanted to protect you from any more hurt. 

“It’s okay, thank you for caring for me, but I’d like to talk to him,” you said gently, giving the two boys a reassuring smile, “I’ll be okay, I can hold my ground.”

Seungmin sighed, “Whatever, just say the word and I’ll beat the shit out of him if it doesn’t go well.”

“I’ll verbally beat him,” Hyunjin added, causing you to giggle at the seriousness of their tones since you could never imagine them physically harming any living being.And, as if on cue, your phone vibrated, lighting up with the message:

hi, im sorry about earlier. can we talk tomorrow?

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Across from you sat a nervous Jisung, who was fidgeting since the moment he entered your apartment, his fingers tapping the table anxiously as he struggled to find the words, not knowing if there was anything he could say to truly convey how sorry he was. You stared at him from his seat, arms crossed with an expectant - yet patient - look on your face.  Ten minutes had gone by since he had arrived, and not a single exchange of words had been made, and you were growing tired of it. 

“Jisung, please say something.”

The boy froze his seat, his body tensing, not expecting you to say anything to him, “I-...” he paused for a moment, taking a shaky breath in, “I just do not think there are enough words in the world to express to you how sorry I am and how ashamed of myself I am.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes, his legs once again bouncing as he tried to get the words out, “It’s just a lot for me, I don’t know. I know my feelings for you are like nothing I’ve ever felt before, I know that I want to be with you more than anything in my heart, but…” he sighed heavily, running a hand through his soft locks, “I’m really scared,” he whispered so softly, you barely caught it.

It was your turn for your eyes to water, your heart taking a hit as your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically at Jisung’s words. Although you can recognize his fears and could only guess where he was coming from, it didn’t take away from the pain he caused you and how much it affected your trust in him. 

“Could you explain to me what you’re scared of? I want to understand.”

The concern etched on your face and the genuinity behind your eyes makes Jisung fall in love with you all over again, seemingly making him melt under your gaze as his heart swells. But just as quickly as the affection rushed into his heart, also came the insecurity and negative thoughts that endlessly reminded him how undeserving he was of someone so considerate and selfless.

Jisung shook the thought out his head, reminding himself of what Minho had told him the day before, “I’m scared that I’ll hurt you. I have… well, you know, I’ve hurt my previous partners in the past and I’m terrified I’ll do the same to you,” he murmured, guilt lacing each word, “I’d hate to do the same thing to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself and even now I don’t know if I can.”

Part of you felt relieved to hear those words from Jisung, now knowing his reasonings were not due to a lack or loss of feelings, or did it have anything to do with your looks or his attraction to you, but rather he was battling his own bouts of insecurities. The other part of you felt guilty for assuming the worst in Jisung and not giving him a chance to explain himself initially, you felt terrible for thinking he was only having fun with you and leading on. The expression on his face told you everything you needed to know about him, and that was him being sincere with every word he spoke. He truly did care for you, he wanted the best for you, and was genuinely struggling with his own complex emotions.

“Jisung, it’s okay to be afraid. Trust me, I am too. I know about your past, even way before I even met Minho or you, but the person I’ve come to know is nothing like that. You’ve changed in the best way possible, I fell and still am falling in love with you everyday.”

Jisung’s eyes widened in shock when he heard your words. All his mind could focus on was how you heard about him way before you joined the team, you knew about every horrific thing said about him when you two first met, yet… You didn’t treat him any differently like others had, you gave him a chance to fully know the kind of person people thought of him as, you still… fell in love with him? Wait, did he hear that right? You love him too? Love?

How could it be possible, how could someone like you possibly love someone like him? How did you manage to see past all his ugly personality traits and still managed to fall in love with him? Oh, no. Did he trick you? Had he accidentally fooled you into thinking he was a better person than he actually was ever capable of being? Oh my, Jisung’s brain was short-circuiting as he started to panic, losing any sense of rationality he had.

Your warm hand resting on top of his caused him to break out of his stupor, his wide eyes softening around the edges at your loving expression and oh, how much he adored seeing himself in the reflection of your eyes filled with affection, a sight he swore he could die in.

“Talk to me, Jisung. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’m here for you, I won’t leave your side as long as you let me listen.”

“I… You’ve heard about me before you even met me?”

You laughed, “Yes, I did. Honestly, I thought you were a real asshole, but I’m glad I gave you a chance anyway. I don’t regret meeting you for a moment.” 

His mouth fell open, still processing each word, “Even after I hurt you?”

“Well, I know now you meant no harm. This is hard for you, I can understand that. I also understand being afraid. What you did hurt me, but I love and care for you too much to let that ruin something between us so long you give us the chance too.”

Each word you spoke was as if a love spell was being casted on him, bewitching him completely as his heart began to pound faster, butterflies warming up the pit of shame he had been carrying with him this whole time. Your words enveloped him into a gentle embrace, so tactful and ginger with his soul, so perfectly chosen that it felt like you were healing cracks in his heart he didn’t even know existed. Oh, how could he have ever been so stupid to push away love so saccharine and addicting? He never knew love was truly like, but now he didn’t want to ever let it go, he wanted to relish under his warmth as long as he possibly could. 

“Really? Do you really mean it?” Of course he knew the answer to that already. Just one look into your eyes, and he could see that you were offering him every part of you and a lifetime of love, and he’d be a fool to ever doubt you.

“I do. I mean it with everything in me.”

Your honey-coated words left him in a blushing mess, nervousness still present in his body, but all for a much different reason. Your sincerity excited him, yet it also filled him with anxiety, the fear of disappointing you looming over him, convinced he had tricked you into falling for a false image of him.

“But… What if I hurt you again? What if I disappoint you? What if I turn out to be as bad as everyone said? I’m not as good as you think I am, Y/N, really I-”

“Jisung.”

He stopped in his tracks, biting the inside of his cheek as he felt your hand squeeze his reassuringly.

“We are two different people, with two entirely different life experiences. Yes, eventually, you’ll hurt me, and I’ll hurt you too. In relationships, we are bound to upset one another, but what matters is how we approach those situations,” you whispered softly, scooting your chair closer to him, “I don’t care who you think you are because I love you for you, and I think you’re the most wonderful experience I’ve had. You can be afraid all you want, but I promise I’ll hold your hand through it and show you that you’re worthy of that love.”

As you scooted your chair next to Jisung’s, both your hands reached to cup his face, wiping away the tears he had shed, “I promise. As long as you let me, I’ll be here for you. Even if you don’t trust or believe in yourself, can you trust me? Will you believe me when I say you’re an amazing human being? Will you let me teach you how to love and be loved?”

All Jisung could do is marvel at the sudden closeness, his cheeks and ears flushing the instant he felt your touch. Your words only sent him further down into a frenzy, goosebumps forming at your declaration as he felt himself swoon in his seat, his head dizzying from the overwhelming sensation of both nervousness and affection. He had so much to say, yet his mouth could barely utter out a sound as he shrunk in his seat, your boldness taking him aback. 

Even though he hadn’t moved from his seat once, he felt himself become breathless as he admired each of your features, he swore he heard wedding bells in the background  as you spoke. Oh, c’mon, Jisung, you need to say something. He was panicking, much like he was during your first meeting, struggling to find the words as he became entranced with you, capturing every detail of your face in his mind so he’d never forget this moment.

“I love you.”

That was all he could say, all he could muster up, but that was enough. That was all you needed to hear as you let out a giggle, your eyes crinkling as you smiled, “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot. I want to try my best for you. I promise I will.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize, and I know you will.”

“Can… Can I kiss you?”

His question caught you by surprise, heat rushing to your cheeks while nodding, mumbling a quick ‘of course you can,’ as you pulled his face to yours, planting your lips onto his.

Maybe Han Jisung wasn’t so bad after all.