#the job i have now i really just stumbled into. years of freelance work. did the part time Normie job thing for a while too.

[chickenhawke]

genuinely so glad i didn't end up in games or animation like i wanted to be!! too many friends & peers (in the industry, from uni, from tumblr, from other social media) have been caught up in the current rampant instability & lack of shits given from studio execs/shareholders and i dont have to worry about any of that!! thank fuck!!! it's soul-crushing to hear about let alone experience first hand!!!!!!

[heliza24]

The Radical Act of Quitting (and Wilhelm)

This is a little more personal than my Young Royals metas normally are. It’s really one-half personal essay, one-half show analysis.  It’s something of a spiritual successor to my post about radical acceptance and Simon’s arc in season 2. And it’s also about the reasons why I want Wilhelm to renounce the crown by the end of season 3. (I am stating that early, because I know many people disagree. Feel free to engage but please do so with kindness; a lot of this is quite vulnerable for me.)

I’m disabled. Specifically, I have a chronic condition that began in my early twenties, and slowly got worse and worse until I was finally diagnosed at 28. I’m 31 now, and I’ve had to grieve the person I once was many times over. I used to be a dancer, I used to be an adventurous eater, I used to love to travel. My chronic pain and restrictive medical diet have taken those things away from me, piece by piece. But the thing I mainly want to talk about right now is quitting my job. At the time of my diagnosis, I had worked at my job full time for three years. For a few years after my diagnosis, I tried to remain at my job part-time, because I loved it. I worked in the music industry, and I had the best team of coworkers. I had a great work/life balance, I was never stressed about work. I looked forward to each day in the office. When I went to events and had to introduce myself during an ice-breaker, I would usually include a fact about my job. I found a lot of my identity there. All of my work directly supported musicians, which was something I was very proud of.

So I tried very, very hard to hang on to my job. My company gave out these ridiculously heavy plaques for employees who had been at the company for 5 years, and I was determined to get one. But it was really hard. I could no longer type sitting up for more than a few minutes, so I did every day from my lap desk in bed. (This is still where I write all of my fic and meta!) I struggled to talk to customers on the phone while I was in pain. The office was closed because of the pandemic, but I would have had to work from home regardless because I couldn’t handle the commute.  Every day was a slog. And my pain and fatigue weren’t getting better. In fact they were continuing to get worse as time went on. Finally, my five-year work anniversary arrived. I made it, but I felt like a runner barely stumbling over the finish line. It was the end of 2021. I talked with my friends and my therapist and my disability benefits lawyer. “I don’t think I can keep working,” I would say. And then I would cry, because the thought of letting go of this last part of my identity, when my illness had already taken so much, was so horrible.

After several months of deliberating and grieving, I quit.  My boss begged me to reconsider (God bless him, honestly). Was there anything he could do to better accommodate my needs? Could I work a different schedule to let me sleep more? Could I work freelance on specific projects they really needed me on? I wanted to say yes so badly. But I knew. The longer I held on, the more I fought, the worse my health would become. And the worse my health would become, the more I would struggle with work. The joy I had felt during my first three years in that office had already drained away. I was fighting just to get through each day, and I didn’t want to fight anymore.

I recognize that having the resources and disability benefits to even consider quitting is a huge privilege. There are a lot of disabled and chronically ill folks who struggle through work at great detriment to their health because they can’t afford not to keep working.  So I recognize how lucky I was to be able to quit. I am so grateful for that option, even as I mourn all the things I have lost.

In my meta about Simon, I talked about radical acceptance and how it has been my guiding light as a disabled person. Embracing radical acceptance means that I have done my best to accept what I can and cannot do, and what I can and cannot control, without judgment. I accepted that I needed to walk away from my job. But how was I supposed to define myself without it?

Capitalism defines most peoples’ self-identity, whether they realize it or not. We identify with our jobs, or with the “grind” culture, or with the moral goodness associated with working hard. But here I was, without a job. And I had my whole adult life ahead of me. I had to find a way to make a new identity outside of work.

Around this time, I started to gravitate towards stories where characters are faced with similar decisions, even if I didn’t realize it yet. And let me tell you, there aren’t many of them.

@bluedalahorse and I talk about this a lot. In our ultra-franchised world, the point of stories, even those that are supposedly about rebellions, is often to return characters to the status quo, so that the next movie/comic/episode can pick back up where the last one left off. And when there is a significant change in the status quo, it is usually because the characters worked, and pushed, and struggled to achieve that change. It’s very rare to see a story about someone who walked away from something that was harming them. It’s rarer still to find something that deals with the aftermath, as characters work to re-establish themselves.

I’ve found a lot of comfort in true stories of people leaving cults and high demand religions, and of queer people forced to leave their conservative families behind. In all of these cases, people are consciously abandoning a predominant belief system that is harming them, and have to start over as they craft their new sense of identity. (I am also queer, which adds an additional level of connection). Often people in these situations come to rely on their found family, a thing I have also found to be true in my own life.

I quit my job in between seasons 1 and 2 of Young Royals, and I don’t think I realized how many themes connected my experience to Wilhelm’s until I was watching season 2. Wilhelm is the protagonist of Young Royals, and his central dramatic question has always been: will he fulfill his duty as a royal? Or will he quit, and discover who he is beyond the system he was raised in? Simon is a huge part of this decision, obviously, but the question has never been strictly about Simon.

While I have no personal experience with the monarchy, I do know what it’s like to consider walking away from a role that you assumed you would fill for the rest of your life. I know what it’s like to think about quitting your job.

There’s so much pressure on Wilhelm to assume the role of perfect Crown Prince. He’s told constantly—by Kristina, by Jan-Olof, by the court-- that he can’t let his family or his country down by deviating from this role in any way.

This is a pretty common experience for people who are trying to quit something. They are told that they will let down those around them if they leave. People who are leaving high demand religions are told that they will not be able to enter heaven.  Queer people in conservative families are told they can’t come out because “it would break [elderly relative]’s heart and kill them.” When I quit my job, I thought a lot about how I’d be letting down my coworkers and everyone who knew me as a hyper-competent career-driven person.(This included some of my doctors by the way, who expressed their disappointment in my failure to adhere to their idea of a “worthy” disabled person, i.e. someone who soldiered through the pain and continued to work. Some withdrew care because of this and honestly I will never forgive them). And maybe I was letting people down, and maybe ex-Mormons really will spend the afterlife in outer darkness, and maybe all the grandmas of queer people will be so upset that they kick the bucket when their grandkids come out. But ultimately, if your happiness or safety or well being depends on leaving, it doesn’t really matter. You have to do it anyway.  You have to abandon the things that you can no longer carry. You have to discover who you are on the other side of religion, of the closet, of capitalism.

I think about this every time people in the fandom talk about how Wilhelm leaving the line of succession will create a constitutional crisis, or impact all of Sweden negatively. I am personally pretty anti-monarchist, but I honestly can’t even tell you if I think that Wilhelm removing himself from the line of succession would bring about the end of the Swedish monarchy or not. Honestly, I don’t really care.  I care about Wilhelm. I want him to seek happiness, to search for the future that must live on the other side of this oppressive system he finds himself in. A constitutional crisis? That’s Kristina’s problem, that’s Jan-Olof’s problem, that’s the government’s problem. Radical acceptance means focusing on the things you can control, and Wilhelm can only control his own happiness.

When this issue gets debated, I often see people argue that Wilhelm is too young to make the decision to give up the throne. But the reality is that we ask teenagers to make decisions about their futures all the time. @bluedalahorse wrote a great piece of meta about that here. I love what she said so much I’m going to quote it directly:

Nonetheless, we ask teenagers of Sara and Wilhelm’s ages to think about decisions that affect their future all the time. We ask them to consider what career they’ll pursue or what university to attend. Teenagers who grow up in various denominations of Christianity consider whether they’re going to go through with Confirmation or sometimes Baptism. Other religions (ones where I can’t speak from as much personal experience) have various other rites of passage around this age, and various cultures have coming of age rituals. For some teens, they do these things willingly and with their whole heart, whereas for others, they do it to please their parents or families or for the social norms of it all.

And if Wilhelm is too young to decide to give up the throne, how can he be old enough to decide to keep it? Surely the decision to take on the governance of a country, even in a symbolic way, requires as much, if not more, maturity than the decision to pursue a less high-powered career elsewhere.

When people in the fandom claim that Wilhelm is too young to make this decision, I hear Kristina telling Wilhelm to wait until he’s 18 to come out, because only then will he be responsible enough to deal with the consequences. That’s a delaying tactic, and nothing more. People who don’t want you to leave will ask you to delay your decision over and over again, because they think that if they can kick the can down the road just a little farther, they’ll never have to lose you.

I also see people argue that Wilhelm isn’t qualified to make a decision because he doesn’t know enough about the “real world” to know what he is choosing. To be honest I don’t think most teenagers know much about the “real world”. I definitely didn’t. But we ask them to make decisions that will affect their futures anyway. And here’s another way to look at this: Wilhelm has plenty of places he can look to for examples of how “ordinary” people live. He can find out what it’s like to be from a noble but non-royal family from the students at Hillerska. He can talk to Simon and Linda about what their lives are like. He can read the millions of books, or watch the thousands of movies and TV shows that feature non-royal protagonists and were created by non-royal artists. But only Wilhelm knows what it is like to be Crown Prince. No one else has had that experience. So I would argue that actually, Wilhelm is the only one qualified to make this call.

Ultimately, the agency and mental capacity of people who are quitting is often doubted, usually by the people who have the most to gain by keeping them in place.

So many people have so much invested in maintaining the status quo. And as soon as you invest in a system, someone daring to leave puts your world view into question. Why are you dealing with so many oppressive rules if someone else can just leave? We see this a lot with high demand religions and cults; if someone threatens to break free, the members often join ranks and work together to pressure them to stay. What has your sacrifice as a woman in a patriarchal religion meant, for example, if another woman can decide to simply walk away? Does Kristina’s grim life of duty and sacrifice matter, if Wilhelm can just opt out and seek happiness instead? 

Then of course, there are all the benefits that an oppressive system confers on its most privileged members. Those benefits are in danger of disappearing if enough people quit, so high ranking people will work to keep others in line.  Think about all the people who benefit from the monarchy: all the staff who work for the royal family, all the nobles who get their reputation by proximity to the monarch, and everyone in Sweden who in general benefits from the image that a long-standing institution of white, straight, conservative power projects.

And those aren’t people Wilhelm needs to be responsible for (or should be concerned with placating, to be honest). If the monarchy fails because Wilhelm leaves, it’s because there’s always been a fault in the system. Those relying on this outdated system have signed their own fate.

No one knows fully what life will be like after they quit. That’s the radical acceptance part of quitting. You have to make a blind leap, and discover a whole new world once you land. Wilhelm is no more sheltered than anyone before they take this leap. Everyone who quits—a religion, a cult, a job—has to go through this process of rediscovery.  You have to learn by doing. People do that successfully all the time, and I believe that Wilhelm can too.

When I was talking about this meta with @bluedalahorse, we talked a lot about Plato’s allegory of the cave. That story goes something like this:

Several prisoners have been kept inside a cave their entire life. They are chained to the spot, and cannot move. They are facing the back wall of the cave. Behind them is a fire, and in between them and the fire, their captors walk back and forth, casting shadows on the wall. Because the prisoners have been kept in the cave their entire life and have only ever seen shadows, they think the shadows are real. They think the only thing that exists in the world is shadows. Until one day, one of the prisoners is set free. He goes outside for the first time, where he is blinded by the sun and overwhelmed by stimulus. But he discovers the real world. He now knows that the shadows he was used to are pale imitations of the real things. He’s so excited that he goes back to tell his fellow prisoners what he has learned. But the prisoners get angry at him for challenging their world view. They don’t believe him, no matter what he says.

There are a lot of ways you can interpret this story. Some people think that Plato is talking about the role of philosophers in society. Some people use it to explain a philosophical concept he writes about elsewhere called “forms”. But I think one thing is clear. Plato didn’t write the allegory of the cave (and it didn’t stick around in human imagination for thousands of years) because he thought you should stay in the cave. Leaving the cave is hard. You will be met with resistance. But discovering the real world, when you were only seeing shadows before, is worth it.

I want Wilhelm to leave to be happy, to see the real world instead of shadows. But I also believe it’s what the story demands. It’s the only answer that makes asking the dramatic question—should Wilhelm conform or rebel?—worthwhile to me.

To be king, but to be the first gay king, would be such an unsatisfactory ending for me. It reminds me of how hard I tried to keep my job—by working from bed, by reducing my hours. My boss could do the best he could to be accommodating, but ultimately working was harming me. You can’t adapt the monarchy enough to make it a non-damaging space for Wilhelm, because there will always be people pressuring him to conform to its straight, stoic ideals. Those ideals have been around for hundreds of years, and to put all of the burden of reforming them on Wilhelm is unfair and unrealistic. If he does stay, I see him struggling to change a system that is not designed for him. Even if he does make small victories for representation or inclusion in that context, it will come at an enormous emotional cost. I just don’t think it’s worth it. Not when there’s a whole world where Wilhelm could be doing good, important work– in whatever arena he chooses– that won’t also come along with inherent emotional trauma. 

Believe me, there’s a whole world to be discovered after you walk away from something that’s damaging you. You grieve, yes, but you also grow. Since quitting I’ve been able to love my friends harder, to treat myself better, to give back to the disabled community.  I think if you talk to most people who have committed a similar act of radical quitting they’ll say the same thing.  I want this future for Wilhelm, but I also want this kind of story to exist for all of us. I want there to be a story that represents those of us who have had to make these kinds of decisions. I want there to be a story that can encourage people who are currently wrestling with their desire to leave and the pressure to stay. And I want there to be a story that shows the hope, the bravery, and the self-belief that is required to walk away and seek a brighter future.

[uncannychange]

The Man & Woman from C.O.U.S.I.N.S.

Late in 1968, Caesar Stag and June Danseuse, agents of C.O.U.S.I.N.S. (Covert Organization Uniquely Specializing in Neutralizing Spies.), were able to break into one of the secret hideouts of their arch-rivals, WOOD ROBIN, a hard to define conglomeration of disgruntled scientists, rogue engineers, and spies (mostly industrial espionage truth be told being as The Illuminati, Hydra, Spectre, the Thirteenth Directorate, World Association of Girl Guides & Girl Scouts, The Guild of Calamitous Intent and F.O.W.L had, had all of the really serious stuff locked up for years.)

“What do you think this setup is all about, Caesar?” asked Danseuse, taking in the super science lab they had stumbled onto on a small Caribbean island.

“Doesn’t matter,,” said Stag. " Our job is to shoot lots of stuff and then blow the place to bits and get back to COUSINS HQ for the closing banter and vague `will they, won’t they’ innuendo.

“But what if it’s useful? Why don’t we try to take the plans back to HQ.”

“Not our job,” said Caesar.

“What if it does something interesting?” said June, persisting

“Like what?” asked Caesar, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable.

“SIZZLE CRACKLE ZIIIG!” Went the super-science device in the WOOD ROBIN laboratory in reply.

That was when Stag and Danseuse found out that they had been observed the whole time when they had first landed on the hideout island. And had been deliberately guided in secret to find the room they were in, which housed a WOOD ROBIN innovation called the Ultimate Disguise Chamber, which was used to give their agents the perfect mission undercover disguises. And had been used by those watching the COUSINS again to turn them into a pair of spry healthy women in their 60s.

So the daring man and woman from COUSINS were left with two possibilities, destroy the device, shoot the place up and return to COUSINS HQ and stay as they were forever, or agree to join WOOD ROBIN and, after a time, be returned to their former selves.

Of course, there was only one thing such dedicated and well-trained agents could do.

A month after joining WOOD ROBIN, after all, the groups weren’t in the grand scheme of things all that different. (WR, however, did have a much better dental plan.) saw the debut on the world stage of two new super-spies, Carmille (Caesar) and Juliette (June), known now as the Glissante Sisters, with a contract to work for WOOD ROBIN for five years before they could return and step into the Ultimate Disguise Chamber to be returned to their former selves.

And a wild five years it was, too (oddly, it seemed that June Danseuse was the one most anxious to get it all over with while Caesar went with the flow.)

In 1973 at the end of those five years, The Glissante Sisters returned to the island.

Unfortunately, in the clandestine world at large, WOOD ROBIN had never really been all that much and so didn’t have that large a budget, so the Ultimate Disguise Chamber wasn’t the thing of wonder it once had been, and they just couldn’t return them exactly as they had been. They did the best they could, however.

The results were that they were remade into copies of June Danseuse as she had been when she was 23 years old (in 1968, when it all started, she had been 34, so… you’re welcome!)

Cashiered out of WOOD ROBIN, the pair found themselves at their wits end, they could hardly return to C.O.U.S.I.N.S., but what to do next?

They tried freelancing for a while, but the cost of replacing ripped, skin-tight bodysuits was just too costly.

Then Julie Danseuse, as Caesar Stag now called herself, had an idea.

It was not long then until the world was introduced to…

Julie and Juliette Danseuse, The Disco Detectives.

Their first job was The Serial Disco Inferno Case.

Then came "Blame it On the Boogeyman" and "Can’t Stop The Murders."

"The Bad Girl, Dancing Queen Kidnapping,” "Macho Manslaughter in the First Degree." and "Will I Survive." followed.

All the way to their biggest case, “We Are Family” (as in the mob)

In 1985 they just got into accounting and opened an H&R Block.

[thewaybackcloset]

Market In The Alley: A collective of creators, designers and makers

Ever since moving to Las Vegas, I sought out to find a gathering of small business owners and generally anyone who is side hustling in some sort of way. With Vegas having a stigma and allure of being the Sin City to satisfy your vices, I want to remind visitors (and myself from time to time) that it also is an actual place with actual people. This year I have become more invested in how I spend my time. I have been freelancing much more than actually going to my "day job", which graciously allows me to work as part time as I want. So, with various copy writing projects filling my time, I thought what better way to ignite my right brain then to seek out the passion projects of Las Vegas and unveil some buried inspiration.

After a few years of exploring places I would normally go to "get out of the house" I stumbled upon a daytime event this past January. On a random Sunday I went to Market In The Alley in downtown Fremont across the street from the abandoned Fergusons Motel, which has been a vacant space for many years, except for the Burning Man Big Rig Jig sculpture towering above the desolation.

Now, the downtown Fergusons is a bustling hub in the making. It has finally undergone a major makeover to become a co-working space for various workshops, boutique hotel rooms, main offices for Market In the Alley and other downtown businesses. At the last Market I wandered over to take a look at the progress and there are few units already in operation, like the new Hatsumi Japanese Restaurant and a space proposed for a coffee shop.

The Downtown Fergusons collective also started a monthly event in the evenings that focuses on tasty libations: alcoholic and non-alcoholic called Pour in the Alley.

The Pour in the Alley event is usually during the week before the next Market, which occurs every third Sunday. In the past they have had tasting events focused on tequila, coffee and most recently, mezcal. Next month's will be rum focused. For future Pour in the Alley events peep the Fergusons Downtown Pour in the Alley Calendar.

Vulnerable moment PSA: The first time I went to Market In the Alley, I was feeling pretty down and out after getting into a car accident the week prior. I really needed to GET OUT and be around people doing cool things: making, creating, moving on, working towards their goals, letting their creativity flow and flourish, instead wallowing in the event that had just occurred. I'm so happy I did, because not only was it a distraction, but it ignited something in me to keep going and keep brainstorming ideas on how to resolve the situation. And walking through the Alley is inspiring...

So, with friends from work we have made Market Sundays a regular day date. Each time we go, I always meet a new person who wants to collaborate; whether it's cosmetology, photography, music or film production. This area is full of creatives that are wandering around looking for their next inspiration. This is what makes the wheel turn: a community of individuals that hustle for their dreams and aren't afraid of collaborating for free.

My hairstylist I now see, I met her twice at the market! Once at the January market and then at the February one; it was fate. She coaxed me into getting a fresh look from her along with makeup for a photo and video shoot. Out of that one collaboration, I now know a Vegas based fashion stylist, hairstylist, makeup artist and photographer. And we all have regular Market Sunday meet ups.

As for the event vendors, there are always so many. It's hard to list my favorites. Vendors change monthly depending on if they can snag a booth in time before the deadline or if the event sells out. A few lovely vendors I frequent have been there regularly and always have an assortment of their own goods: from vintage wrestling tees, jewelry, coffee, organic home products, and so much more.

Each month I feel like there are more vendors than the last. Market in the Alley is definitely growing in popularity and it's fun for everyone. There is always a rotation of live music outside nestled in the middle of the Market greens.  The Bunkhouse Saloon has specials all day, plenty of food trucks to satisfy every different diet, coffee, animal adoption and morning yoga some days. As we move into the 'hotter than hell' of desert summers, Market in the Alley will most likely transition into a Night Market.

Hope this helps anyone in Las Vegas, visiting or stationary, that is looking for another way to socialize, take in the local scene or get those creative juices flowing... ✌️

[iraprince]

okay okay fine hold on i AM gonna get a little sappy/excitable here. literally just last night i was having a long talk w my wife abt art and what i want to do next and stuff and i was talking abt how like.... i started tvrn at a time when i had honestly given up on the idea of art being my job, so i was like "fuck it i'll just do something really silly and stupid and self-indulgent, who cares," and then (bc it turns out this is how these things work) it was the first time since acid soup i felt like. people were like. really really suddenly paying attention to what i was doing and appreciating it and like, Getting me, as an artist. which was really revitalizing and encouraging and ended up having a domino effect of me deciding to give patreon a go -> being gobsmacked that ppl were actually pledging -> starting to go "okay hey whoa maybe it is not time to give up on art yet."

(ppl did respond really passionately to acid soup and i've always appreciated that, but i also have some really complex/tender feelings abt acid soup bc it's like... so raw, and so without the boundaries i have now abt what to share, and a lot of times i have had a relationship with acid soup that hasn't been healthy. if it makes sense to talk abt having, like, a relationship w specific parts of your own work. so that's why like, tvrn isn't the first time ppl have tuned in to what i'm doing in a very real way, but it's the first time it's been like... uncomplicated and something i was just super happy about instead of it being mired in a bunch of like, unavoidably very layered personal stuff.)

ANYWAY all this to say that like.... the thing about going fulltime is u think "great now i will have UNLIMITED TIME to work on [passion project] now that my DUMB JOB is out of the way!!!!!" and then u very quickly realize like. actually no because this is your job now!!!!! and so in the past few years of me stumbling thru freelance and trying to figure things out i felt like i haven't had the time to really do something like that again, where i'm just like, throwing my whole heart into something with abandon and being really REALLY good at it, and. the upcoming webcomic i'm working on feels like returning to that, and i'm really excited for the way it's going to let me share art that's important to me really enthusiastically and freely with you guys again in a way that i think is unique to my original fiction, and. agh!!! i'm just so excited!!! i feel like i'm BACK, kinda.

it's scary because this shit is like, not going to make me any money. i don't wanna host on tapas or webtoon for a variety of reasons. but i hope -- and pls forgive me for talking shop here, but it's just realistically something i have to consider when i'm deciding what to spend my time on -- i hope that what i make is exciting enough that ppl will want to help support me doing it, like via patreon and stuff, so that it can stay viable for me. i am gonna try anyway either way though bc i'm really excited about this story and i think it's going to be beautiful and really good. also i have to scream abt it like this bc i can't just dump all the concept work i've been doing between comms on you guys!!! it has to stay a secret!!!!! i'm eating myself from the inside out. ANYWAY. thanks for reading. i like to draw

[dorotharry]

tiny dancer ; chapter two

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: torture, nightmares, angst, let me know if there's anything else :) 

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: honestly I have no clue where I’m going but I’m hoping you’re all still following. There’s still soooo much to go into readers past and yep, it’s gonna take a while but I hope you enjoy this. Please feel free to give feedback, like and repost it would mean a lot! :)

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

1943

Your head felt groggy, as you woke up. Not enough energy from an ounce of your body to open your eyes for the time being. The more your body woke up from the darkness of slumber the more the pounding of aches and pains became less subtle and started to fill each and every muscle. You weren’t sure where you were or what had happened, but you suddenly became aware that your surroundings weren’t familiar. The air was too cool and there was an eeriness from lack of noise.

Finally, you were able to pry your eyes open. The colours swirled around you into one, until they became to create recognisable shapes. Although this wasn’t somewhere you recognised, just as your mind had thought even before getting to look around.

You were laid down on a metal ‘bed’ if you could even call it a bed. The coolness of the metal began to get to you a shiver running down your spine and you attempted to get up. Only to be restricted. It was now when you noticed you had straps holding your ankles, down, but not only this; there was a limpness to your form. In fact, you didn’t have any real connection to your muscles. As if a switch had been turned on in your head you realised, this wasn’t a bed. It was a table.

Suddenly your anxiety rose. In an ill attempt to do something you turned you head groggily to the left, only to be met with machines, and hospital devices. You took in a sharp breath. This definitely wasn’t a hospital so why the machines? Rolling your head to the right with just as much difficultly as last time you were met with darkness. The faint sound of feet shuffling in the distance, and the whirring of more machines.

Almost as if whoever it was had realised you were awake, a bright white light turned on above you causing you to groan from the sudden contrast to the previous darkness. The footsteps became louder, as whoever it was approached you from their hiding spot.

“Ah you’re awake,” the voice started, “you know you gave our men quite a difficult time back there. Are you going to behave this time?”

Your voice barely was able to respond, only a hushed whisper came out, “Who are you? Where am I?” This worked to rejog your memory as you saw flashes of men running after you, as you had leapt from this same table. You had gotten pretty far and fought back fairly well but this place… whatever it was; was a maze. Realising now that amongst being kidnapped and knocked unconscious. Your first attempt to escape was probably why you were in pain all over. A vision of a few men jumping on top of you and beating you unconscious. Again. That must have been why you were tied down this time.

“I think you know the answer to that.” the small man with glasses responded appearing finally out of the darkness. “…We’re HYDRA, and you y/n...” He spoke reaching under your chin in a condescending manner. “…Were firstly going to be a pawn against your stupid Captain America. But you’ve shown promise, something our other soldiers don’t have.  Neither your American ones. My guess is it comes from your ballet training.” He shrugged as he moved away from you, turning and looking for something. Suddenly his hand was on a switch and machines began to rumble.

“Please,” you responded choking on your own words, “please just kill me!” You knew something was coming, otherwise why would be so aloof.

He chuckled at your words as he stood behind you. “The red skull doesn’t want me to do that, he needs more soldiers, and that’s exactly what we’re going to make you.” And with that you saw a metal machine slowly being dropped down over your left eye, and below your right jaw, causing your panic to rise. As quick as the unbearable pain started, so did darkness.

Present day ; 2017

You woke up screaming as the pain of what had happened almost a century ago shot through your entire body. You fumbled out of bed in a sweat like you did most nights. Heading towards your small kitchen in your small apartment. It was filled with greys, no life within in, you felt there was no need, why celebrate a life with no life?

Your life had changed in so many ways after 1943. You were one of HYDRA’S many toys, the many men that surrounded you called you tiny dancer, but not in a kind way, in a misogynistic arrogant way. Most people at that time though saw you as a weapon, something to be feared of, and they should have.

After you had stumbled upon the Winter Soldier on a mission in 2014 working as a freelance agent having cut your ties with HYDRA mere months before hand, it was only a few months when so had Captain America. From what you had heard amongst assassins under the radar living in Madripoor like you, it hadn’t gone well for HYDRA and now the Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found, invoking fear within many who had made themselves enemies to him. But you were sure his best friend would be looking for him. Whilst you had decided to go against helping him, Steve was not that kind of person.

Time had not been kind to you, you were no longer the frail girl who could fall in love in a week. In fact, you weren’t sure if you actually could feel love anymore. HYDRA had to make sure there was no collateral. Still once you saw him that night you wondered how amongst your many years with HYDRA, how you had never run into Bucky: The Winter Soldier. You had heard of the winter soldier, but you never knew it was Bucky behind the ghost of a person. Probably on purpose, HYDRA had been in your mind. Tthere was no doubt they knew who he was to you back then.

Not only did it invoke these thoughts, but it had led to your retirement. Well not your retirement, you were still about 25 years old on the outside, and though nor Steve or Bucky knew you were alive you knew how it felt to be in their position.

Hiding out in your small apartment in Madripoor was where you had spent most of your life since 2014, staying on the down low in case HYDRA somehow re-emerged, looking for revenge on a project they had wasted so much time on. You.  

You weren’t sure why they were so surprised people like you hated them with so much anger. They had taken your life, Bucky’s life and made you weapons against your will. You didn’t hold their values, it was forced upon you.

You shook yourself from your thoughts again. You only got sentimental after nightmares, and the nightmares had been pretty continuous after seeing Bucky those few years ago, so really you were sentimental most mornings. You think it had something to do with seeing him and how it brought back memories you didn’t even know you had.

Reaching for a bottle of water, you took a sip looking over at the clock that read 3am. You groaned, knowing that you’d probably never have a good night’s sleep again. Terrible payback for a terrible past. No sleep for the wicked.

You shuffled yourself back to your room getting into bed and turning on the tv as a way to mindlessly distract yourself until you actually had to do stuff.

A few hours past until it was 7am, and you decided you could at least go for a shower before your day at work. Working at a bar that opened at 9am wasn’t exactly high class living; especially when you had to deal with drunks so early in the day, so it definitely required more motivation than most jobs. You couldn’t do what you were originally good at, dance. And you’d decided you probably shouldn’t be doing what you were trained for. Killing people.

Turning on the shower to allow it to warm up, you rid yourself of your clothes, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles were after another bad dream. Stepping in you let the water try and wash it away, and though it did help you knew it would only reappear tonight in another form of a nightmare. You closed your eyes sighing in content, and it did last for a brief moment until you heard banging on your front door.

At first you tried to ignore it, but it got louder and more aggravated and suddenly your heart had fell to your stomach, resorting to thinking of the worst that could be behind that door. Getting out you threw some clothes back on. You reached under your bed grabbing your shot gun, holding it close to yourself as you slowly walked towards the door that had started banging again. Times like this you wished you had a peep hole to look through.

You turned on your best poker face and opened the door abruptly to be more hostile. Only you were met with someone you didn’t know, though for some reason you felt you recognised. On the other side of the door stood a woman all in black, her hair was in a blonde bob and for a brief second you thought you saw a reaction flash across her face like she knew you too.

“Is this y/n?” she spoke firmly and with poise.

You raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Is it?” she returned her poker face staying on her face.

“Yes.” You huffed, the half-amused face falling from your face, returning back to the glare you constantly wore. “Who are you?”

She raised her hand for you to shake her face accompanying it with a small smile, which you hesitantly took.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

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Taglist: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@maybe-a-marvel​ @thatredlipped-classic​ @flightsandfantasy​ @7minutes-tomidnight​ @rebelemilu​ 

[amesliu]

i have to ask what ur job is and how you got it bc a freddy mercury graphic novel sounds really cool (i do not ask this to be creepy if it comes off that way im so sorry)

ahahaha not creepy at all i would love to talk about my work

im a freelance comic illustrator and art school alum and i've been sort of networking since before my junior year. around Dec of my senior year i stumbled across the person who ended up being the editor for the FM project on twitter when they just got hired and were asking artists to put their portfolios in the replies (so i did) and than many months later they reached out to onboard me for the project!

it was my first real comic job ever which is insane tbh

i ended up getting my second graphic novel project (with Emily Hampshire of schitts creek) through the same publisher! and im working on both in tandem right now.

This is the FM project (the article was written before i came out as non-binary so it uses my legal name, not that i care that much but jsyk I'm Amy) and this is the Emily Hampshire one (I did the cover illustration that's being used in this article as well haha)

[whump-town]

In With The New, Out With The Old

Hotch packing Jack up for college

None of it feels real.

For two years after he and Haley divorced he lived in an apartment of boxes. It was some sort of punishment he created for himself while also creating a dissonance he could be lost in -- that he didn’t need to unpack just in case. He had his suits in the closet, his work would not take the fall for his personal life’s failings. The coffee maker sat on the counter, one of the only appliances hooked into a light socket. The necessities followed -- two mugs for coffee, a glass tumbler for the whiskey sitting on the counter, and one plate for when he ordered take-out he couldn’t just eat out of the box.

It had taken him months to buy a mattress, he was perfectly miserable sleeping on the couch. He had only taken Jack to the apartment once, needing to switch into more park-appropriate clothing. Between them, he and Haley agreed that the best thing for Jack was consistency so he would spend all day with Hotch but he would always go home to Haley. He knew this could be used against him in court, Haley could take Jack from his so easily it terrified him but he also knew he’d let her. He was more powerful, he had more strings to pull and more people on his side but the thought of getting on the stand and having his friends call her a bad mother made him feel even worse. So he knew that if it came down to it, he would let Haley have Jack rather put either of them that sort of grueling case.

This was a shared thought between them. Both are aware of the other’s power over the other. Neither will act on their own.

He had only bought a mattress because of New York. Limping home he’d sunk down into his old faithful couch only to wake up the next morning with achingly stiff sutures in his leg and his face stuck to a throw pillow, the blood drying like glue. He had to call Emily and Derek that afternoon. Unable to drive himself with his concussion and consequential blurred vision Emily had come over to pick him up, never said a word about what he’d been sleeping on in the months before. Neither did Derek when Hotch got too dizzy coming up the stairs, the stitches in his leg bleeding through his jeans and so pale Emily had to hold him upright to get him to the bench in the lobby. He was left there, listening to Derek and Emily bicker their way into forcing the mattress into the apartment through the pounding sound of blood rushing in his ears.

That was years ago and yet they’ve created its mirror image once again in his living room.

All of Jack’s belongings in boxes spread out in every room of the house. Packing up to leave.

“Art?” Emily mumbles disapprovingly. She’s knelt down in front of Jack’s bookshelf, dismantling the organized shelves to pack them into boxes. It’s a different method than the one that Hotch uses. Jack has them categorized by author and general theme and as Emily takes down all the books she’s gotten him about cults and psychology and crime she can’t help but feel a little cheated. Jack knows all about crime. He’s had Macdonald’s Triad memorized since he was five -- could give that method of thought its critical analysis as not a precursor to antisocial or serial killer behavior but more as a demonstration of a child’s poor coping skills or as the indicator of a dysfunctional home environment. He’s a well of information about cults, knows the “B.I.T.E.” system.

And he’s throwing all that away because Hotch took him to too many museums as a child?

Jack doesn’t say anything when he hears her grumble about art again, he’s had this conversation so many times. He knows she’s not really mad and she’s not even that irked but she needs to do something with the feelings she has about him leaving and this is just the best way she’s come up with. Better than crying -- which she’s also done far too much of.

“I think art is a great idea, kid.” Derek teases his hair as he passes, sweaty and hot from dragging Jack’s belongings around the place.

Hotch works slowly where he’s been assigned. They all work around him. He’s more freelance than the others. His job is to do what he can and leave the rest for someone else. Today his physical capabilities are not in the way. Derek does all the heavy lifting that Hotch knows is supposed to be assigned to him, it’s his duty as the father of the freshman moving away. He finds himself in the living room, one of Haley’s old photo albums on his lap. Thumbing pictures he can remember going with Haley to print. Pictures he can remember being in. Ones that he took.

He’s crying again.

Emily comes out with a box of books on her hip, having figured out the perfect ratio of books to box to prevent them from falling out the bottom. She sees Hotch wiping his face with a tissue, hiding away but unable to fully pull away right now. The hurt raw. The fear is too much.

The second that Hotch got the chance he left home and never came back. Over the years he returned to his hometown only when he had to -- when Haley’s parents couldn’t be convinced to come to see them. It didn’t matter how down bad he was, Hotch did it on his own. When his mother died when he was thirty he’d talked to her only once since moving out. Then it had only been for the benefit of Sean, who he had driven all the back to Virginia to collect and drove to college.

He fears Jack will do the same and it terrifies him in so many ways.

His own death will come quickly, he knows he’s only made it this long because he’s not alone. Without Jack, there’s no reason to keep going on, not with the way his body aches from years of abuse and neglect. More than that, he knows what growing up that fast did to him. As a child, the things that happen to you are out of your control. Children are sponges, not yet able to take control and mold themselves. So their reactions to abuse and neglect and even just trivial everyday things are but a reaction they are taught to form or never corrected on. But Hotch never corrected his behaviors as a young adult. He couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone, not at twenty, or thirty, and still at forty.

He spent his twentieth birthday on the side of the highway in a broken down car freezing his ass off with negative twenty-three cents in his bank account. No one to call because he couldn’t bring himself to believe anyone would come -- but Haley would have, or Jessica, or the sociology professor who gave him his number for emergencies or “just anything you can think of, just in case you need me”.

He doesn’t wish anything like that on Jack.

The cycle of self-destruction and fear and loathing.

But Jack knows how to form healthy relationships with people. He’s more worried about Hotch.

The car ride is nearly silent.

Jack cranks his window down and lays his head on the seal, lets the wind blow his hair back from his skin, and closes his eyes. There’s no air conditioning but it’s not that bad. The air has cooled off, the thunderstorms taking over the area sucking the humidity from the air as the wind picks up. It’ll get bad again in a day or so but today is nice and Jack wants to enjoy it. To sit contently with his dad and just try to soak it in before he’s thrown into the world of college.

Emily had promised him several times she’d make sure that Hotch didn’t turn himself into a hermit. Jack has grown up watching those two spar off so he knows she’s perfectly capable of getting Hotch out of the house. More than that, Jack knows he’s just going to miss his dad.

“Please--” Jack’s in the middle of trying to reorganize his stuff when he sees Hotch come in with one of the big boxes, one of the heavy ones. “Dad!” Jack takes it from him, not listening to Hotch’s complaint about being able to carry a few boxes. That he won’t break that easily. “Please, just leave the heavy stuff to Emily and Derek. Help me put my clothes away? Please?”

He nearly cries again folding Jack’s t-shirts away. Once upon a time, Jack’s shirts were about the size of his hand. Tiny delicate little things about the size of rags. Now he’s wearing the same size as Hotch, a grown man standing there racing to beat Emily to the heavy stuff because he doesn’t want her lifting it all either.

“Well,” Derek announces, setting the minifridge down, “that’s the last of it.”

Emily offers Hotch her hand and he takes it, grunting as he moves his body back upright.

“Well,” he declares, looking around the room. “We’ll leave you to it. Let you get everything sorted out how you like.” Hotch smiles and Emily and Derek step in to take their hugs, imparting half-wise ideas and a no-questions-asked ride home from anywhere.

“I love you,” Hotch says, he’s quick because he knows he can’t keep his composure if he stays here for too much longer. “I’ll send you care packages, you’ll just have to text me if you think of something I don’t send.”

Jack nods, pretending to make himself busy putting away the rest of his clothes. Trying to downplay his own feelings.

“Ok.”

Hotch nods and they leave, he doesn’t want to make a scene. They’ve hugged and Jack needs to unpack. He’s done. He’s only two doors away when he hears Jack’s door gets thrown open.

“Dad!” Hotch turns and stumbles, an armful of the little boy who was once the size of his forearm. He squeezes Jack tight, laughing through his tears when Jack holds on. “I love you too.”

Hotch holds him for a solid minute, just balanced there with his hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Alright,” he whispers. He sniffles a little, smiling as he cups Jack’s cheek wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m just a phone call away, okay? Any time of the night, you know where I am. You’ll be fine. You’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to fail tests and cry over boys and drink too much but you’ll be okay. And-- And if you’re not…”

Jack nods, smiling as he says, “I’ll call Emily.”

Hotch smirks, “well.. After a certain hour, yeah I suppose you’ll have to but yeah. Just call, okay?”

“I’ll call.”

Hotch nods and he has to force himself to let go and walk away. To let Jack do this.

They’re halfway down the hall, far enough away now that Jack won’t see or hear when Hotch starts to cry. He forces himself to keep going. Not to look back. Emily takes his hand, squeezes his fingers and he looks over at her tears in his eyes, and tries to smile.

Emily drives his truck home, she plans on feeding him chocolate and ice cream, and wine this afternoon to improve his mood. He gets a text and he smirks, he actually laughs.

“Let me know when you get home, old man. Tell Emily not to keep you out too late.”

[imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper]

Everything you never thought to ask and never wanted to know about my Josépan playlist/history with and opinions of the ship.

Intro:

The journey of this playlist has been a long one, starting on Amazon Music and my old, janky and now defunct Ipad.

STRAP IN, CHILDREN AS I TAKE YOU BACK TO A MAGICAL TIME WHEN NEITHER LEGENDS OF THE THREE CABALLEROS; NOR THEIR CAMEO IN DUCKTALES HAD BEEN ANNOUNCED YET, MY BLOG ON TUMBLR DIDN’T EXIST (THOUGH I WAS LURKING) AND PANCHITO WAS STILL THE LEAST POPULAR CABALLERO, otherwise known as around late 2017.

A word on the origins of the playlist:

The playlist was not initially Ducktales focused because the two didn’t exist in Ducktales yet. I was rather unenthusiastic back in the day about this ship (oh how the times change) but I had stumbled across a song that didn’t fit them and Donald but fit just them very well and wanted to make an animatic of it. So, I cobbled together some songs I thought fit the vibe and made a playlist.

The history behind the story that inspired it:

I’ll spare you from starting at the very beginning. But, when “The Town Where Everyone was Nice” premiered I was already thoroughly and utterly obsessed with the cabs; I remember how beyond ecstatic I was for the episode. My hype for the Ducktales versions of José and Panchito continued far beyond what seems to have been normal for the average cabs fan. I found myself drawn to the ideas put forth by those versions of them. I don’t really remember what the tipping point was for me to break down and make my own college AU but eventually I did. It was affectionately dubbed “The TV Show That Will Never Happen AU.” José and Panchito were enemies to lovers or at least to friends. And it was around that time I began to go CRAZY with the headcanons as I got more active in the fandom. While my ideas for the Ducktales versions of them grew and grew, so too did the time between them appearing in “The Town Where Everyone was Nice” and their alleged next appearance in the show. When fans noticed the distinct lack of José and Panchito in the season two finale of Ducktales, Francisco Angones, @//suspenderofdisbelief on Tumblr answered these two separate asks that I might have engraved on tombstone one day:

I was GONE for the ship after that. I developed another AU for them based around their time in Baia trying to get people to fund their attempts to become famous musicians. Also, slowly falling in love... It was affectionately titled “The Fan-Comic that Will Never Happen” but not yet connected to my college AU. I don’t have much of a timeline for it after this point, but with that AU I really hit my stride for interpretations of the two characters and their dynamic. The version of them I hold dear in my heart and headcanons came to be. Then “Louie’s Eleven” came out and absolutely destroyed a lot of my headcanons (just kidding, just kidding). Since the new canon material didn’t really jive with a lot of the wholesomeness I had built up I was left with a lot of something else: angst. I LOVE angst, but the two’s bitterness and arguing...It was hard to accept at the time. Me and @cartoon-lizard on Tumblr, my IRL best friend, wound up writing a Josépan fic fueled on a bit of that angst and by her grace, a lot of my headcanons. I titled it “My Reverie is Being Haunted by That Ass.” In it Panchito makes an ass (rimshot noises) of himself by running off with a producer he met by chance during a visit in Duckburg to try to become famous. And doing so without so much as a second thought to the person he’s been living with/sort of dating for over a year. It took me a while but eventually I figured it out. These weren’t three separate AUs, these were three separate pieces of the same AU. And so my masterpiece never meant to be made came to be: “The Trilogy: College/Baia/Reverie.”

“The Trilogy” Itself:

The story will never be written for a variety of reasons, personal and practical. But if it ever were to be written it would be three separate fics, aka: College, Baia and Reverie.

College encapsulates their college years (duh).

To set the stage:

Panchito: A friendly, arrogant and easily excitable musician with big dreams, good grades and a whole lot of anxiety and insecurity. He has complicated feelings towards his identity as both trans and pan and how that might affect his dreams of becoming famous, but is overall bright eyed and innocent enough.

José: A lazy (depressed), charming, pessimistic, tbh kind of a douche and deep in the closet gay man. He tends to push forward a very “Manly man” persona to make up for his own deep seated internalized homophobia brought on by a shitty upbringing. He just got away from said shitty upbringing and doesn’t really have any hopes for his future...Maybe to travel a bit?

José and Panchito start as enemies, both fearing losing their one real friend, Donald, to the other. Despite this the three start a band and the two’s rivalry becomes far more friendly. They get particularly close during the trip down to Acapulco for spring break where the general feeling of being disconnected from life and reality leads to several rather romantic moments between the two...They almost become a thing several times but never quite do. However, they are very good friends by the end of college. The three stay in contact for a while after college but eventually lose touch…

Baia timeskips forward 13 years later (I know it's only 10 canonically, I always say 13 for reasons) to a conversation between Panchito and José on the Sunchaser at the end of “The Town Where Everyone Was Nice.”

Panchito: Life hasn’t been kind to Panchito...His need to be famous, to be something in order to be someone has led him to push a lot of people out of his life so he can better focus on “Work.” Or drive them out by constantly asking for their support, financial or otherwise. He has no friends and even his relationships with his loving and supportive family are strained. Currently, he’s working freelance as a performer at childrens’ birthday parties (in his eyes: a clown) and goes home to a sad, empty apartment every night to stare at a notebook full of half written songs and muster enough energy to eat cereal for dinner for the third time in a row. Needless to say, his optimism is wearing thin.

José: A lot of hard work on his part, some good therapy and mmm; drugs have put him in a pretty good place. He’s more or less got his life together now, is way less of a douche and is more of a realist than a pessimist. He’s also pretty much completely comfortable in his identity as a gay man. He’s been trying to explore romantic relationships, but unfortunately (likely due to the loveless marriage between his parents making him strive so hard to believe that love is real that he puts the unrealistic goal of true love above all else) feels incomplete without one and double unfortunately has a tendency to be drawn to toxicity and abusive situations. So other than a string of (short lived) bad relationships, he’s actually doing great!

Panchito has already asked Donald to drop everything and stay with him down in Baia to try to get funding for the band. Donald said no. José has a steady job, a decent apartment and a supportive friend group back home. He's also long since lost interest and hope in their college dreams of being famous...José says yes. The two have a bunch of wild and wacky shenanigans trying to get funding and both dance around their growing feelings for each other until it explodes and overwhelms them. They rush into a romantic relationship head first with no real ground for it to be built on and unrealistic expectations of what the other can give them. Despite all this, things seem quite happy...for a while…

If you've made it this far, <3, CONT. in pt 2.

[hardcasey]

Better than Watching Paint Dry

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 3

Pairing: Blackout x F!Reader

Summary: As a requisitions officer in the GAR, things can be boring sometimes. That is until you happen to meet a certain handsome clone commander who asks for your help repainting his helmet. 

Word Count: 3.6k 

Rating/Warnings: T, Most of this is just flirting, but things get a little spicy at the end. 

A/N: This fic is actually based off of this artwork of Commander Blackout by @cacodaemonia. 

[Edit - I wrote this fic when I was still relatively new to the fandom, and as such, did not realize that this artist supports cl*necest. I want to make it clear that I do not support that at all and removed any comments promoting their other artwork. It felt wrong to remove credit for this fic entirely, as this fic is based on it, so I will leave up the credit with a warning to my readers] 

Also, it’s one of my headcanons that the clones know about memes, but only really old ones since it takes a while for them to filter down to them. It’s like talking to your grandpa whose only meme knowledge is from Facebook. (Would the clones like the minion memes? Who knows) 

Mando’a Translations:

vod’ika - little sibling (affectionate)

di’kut - idiot 

~~~

You sighed as you leaned on the counter to rest your chin in your hand. You glanced first to the right and then the left, hoping to find anything other than the same boring grey walls staring back at you as they had been for the past five hours. Unsurprisingly you found nothing new. A piece of hair flopped between your eyes and you tried to blow it away, only for it to flop back down after a few moments. You threw your head back and groaned. 

You were so bored. 

For whatever reason, your bosses decided to put you on a double shift even though it was usually dead at this time of day. Most of the clone troopers were either asleep, on lunch break, or just starting shifts of their own, so there was not a lot for you to be doing.

You were a requisitions officer attached to the 212th Attack Battalion, a job which normally tended to be fun… or at the very least fulfilling. If you asked yourself a year ago what you would have been doing now, joining the military wouldn’t have even cracked the top ten, but it was funny how life worked out. This time last year you were a fresh graduate from one of Coruscant’s top art schools. Unluckily for you, with the war kicking off, there was not much demand for graphic design and you struggled to find a job. You’d stumbled across a freelance job with the GAR designing posters to drum up support for the war effort. Your friends had teased you for becoming a sellout, but you’d been so low on money that you ended up taking the job anyway. The job paid well and you started doing work for them on a semi-regular basis. You still wanted to have a bit more financial security so when they posted an opening for a requisitions officer you jumped on it despite not having much relevant experience. Apparently they’d been as desperate as you since they hired you within 24 hours. 

As a requisitions officer, you were in charge of keeping the ship’s inventory stocked as well as procuring specific items for officers upon request. Most of the time that meant simply booting up the holonet and placing an order, but sometimes you got really strange requests. Like the one time General Kenobi tasked you with tracking down a rare blend of tea only found on the planet Gatalenta. It seemed like a big waste of time and money (not that you were opposed to wasting the government’s time and money) until he’d explained that it was known for its relaxing effects and he wanted to give it to Commander Cody. You’d seen for yourself just how stressed the commander was, everyone giving him a wide berth as he marched rigidly down the hallways. It had taken many calls and you’d even had to hop on a shuttle to meet with the supplier, but you’d been able to procure the tea for him, and you’d been happy to see the ommander seemed much more chill in the days following. 

Focusing back on the present, you busied yourself by shuffling things around on the counter. Eventually you got bored of shifting pieces of flimsy around and started to fold one into an origami frog. At least it was something to keep your mind off of how hungry you were. Right now was normally the time you’d be eating lunch, but you had at least two hours until your shift was over. You’d meant to bring a snack to tide you over but had forgotten it in your room this morning. As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly. You groaned. 

This was torture!

The Maker themself must have taken pity on you, because right then two clone troopers rounded the corner and made a beeline to your counter. You grabbed your origami frog and tried to hide it before they could see, but you were too slow. 

“Working hard, I see,” One of the troopers teased as he poked at the frog in your hands. His helmet was grey with white markings, the most distinctive of them a white sunburst painted on the forehead. It was distinctive enough that you knew immediately who was under there. After all, you helped him come up with the design. 

“It’s hard to work when there is no work to be done, Spark,” You sighed as you showed him where to press down to make the origami frog hop. He let out an awed noise as it jumped across the counter  and you shoved it into his hands. “Keep it. It’s a bribe so you don’t rat me out for slacking off on the job.”  

“Can you show me how to make them? That way I can make a whole army of little frogs.” Spark asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“The clankers won’t stand a chance.” You replied with a laugh that he joined in on. The other trooper behind him cleared his throat. You didn’t recognize this one, though you couldn’t be blamed for that. Any design previously on it had either been rubbed away or covered by the mess of scratches and carbon scoring across the surface. He must have been in a pretty gnarly accident. 

“Oh yeah,” Spark straightened up, “We actually came here with a bribe for you.” The other clone trooper pulled a plate piled high with food taken from the caf. You practically drooled at the sight. “I know you’re working a double shift today and won’t get to eat for a whi-” 

He was cut off as your greedy hands tried to snatch the plate from him. He managed to pull the plate out of your reach without spilling anything and tsked at you. “Now, now. You don’t get the bribe until you agree to our terms.” 

 He waggled a finger at you as if he was a parent scolding a child and you made a face at him. “You sound very familiar with the ins and outs of how bribes work. Too familiar.” 

The two troopers in front of you shared a glance between them that confirmed everything you needed to know. “Well we are spec ops… it comes with the territory.” Spark said with a chuckle. He must have caught the way you opened your mouth to ask for more details since he continued, “Sorry, all classified information.” 

“Hmph, you’re no fun.” You crossed your arms and spun around in the swivel chair you were sitting in before planting both palms down on the table and fixing them both with a serious look. “Okay, lay out your terms. And introduce me to your friend, too.” 

Spark looked over his shoulder at his companion. “Oh right, sorry. I just thought you’d met before. This is Blackout, my commander.” He put an emphasis on the word commander as if to silently warn you not to say anything that would get him in trouble. Spark was the newest member of the spec ops team attached to the 212th, only having joined a month after your first day. Both being newbies, or shinies as the troopers liked to say, the two of you gravitated towards each other and became fast friends, often eating meals together when your schedules allowed. Spark had mentioned his commander in passing, but had never gone into much detail. From what he said though, you could tell he had a lot of respect for his commanding officer and was constantly working to impress him. 

“Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of stories about you.” Blackout greeted you, extending his hand out to shake. You were (pleasantly) surprised at how firm his grip was. It wasn’t painful by any means, just strong and purposeful. It must be a commander thing. You’d shaken Cody’s hand once when you were being shown around the ship and it had felt similar. You found yourself wondering if all the commanders had to take classes on proper handshake techniques back on Kamino. 

“Oh, have you? Hopefully all good ones.” You flicked your eyes over to Spark, who looked like he was regretting introducing the two of you. 

“Only the best. The boys were all asking him about the new paint job on his bucket and he said that you helped him with it. My bucket, well...” He motioned down to where his helmet rested between his arm and his hip, “It’s seen some better days. I was hoping you could help me repaint it.” He flashed a grin at you that made your heart flutter. Stupid sexy troopers. You silently thanked the Kaminoans for choosing such a sexy template for their army. 

“And the bribe is for?” You questioned, inwardly thanking your voice for keeping steady despite the butterflies in your stomach (though those might have been from hunger). 

“So you can let him use the non-standard issue colors too!” Spark added excitedly as he waved the plate of food in front of you once more. 

“Deal.” You agreed without even mulling it over, your stomach doing all the thinking for you. He placed the plate in front of you and you immediately shoved a dinner roll in your mouth. As you were chewing, you pushed off from the counter and rolled over to where you kept the paint swatches. You’d taken the time to paint little pieces of plastoid with all of the available colors so the troopers could see how they would look when dried. With that in hand, you wheeled yourself back to Spark and Blackout and gave it to them. “Here are all the colors we have. Let me know which ones you want and I can grab the bottles for you.” Blackout took it from you and you tried not to think of the way his fingertips brushed against yours, instead busying yourself with stuffing your face with food while the two men discussed what colors to pick. 

Procuring the paint that the troopers used to customize your armor was one of your duties as requisitions officer, and one of your favorites as well. You’d learned early on that earning the right to paint one’s armor with their unit’s colors was a right of passage for the men. Nothing brought a smile to your face more than handing a former shiny a can of paint as all of his brothers stood around him, patting him on the back and asking him how he was planning on painting his armor. Sometimes you would offer up design ideas or coach them on the best techniques to make the paint look neat and smooth. At one point you had even suggested a new brand of paint that would adhere to the plastoid of their armor better. And your mom said your art degree was useless. Ha!

Since you were attached to the 212th, most of the paint you handed out was the standard orange, but you also kept stocks of other colors available as well. Some of the regular troopers liked using other colors as accents and there were many specialized units aboard the Negotiator. Pilots, clone commandos, and the spec ops troopers liked to get very creative with the colors and designs of their armor. Honestly, you’d always thrown around the idea of taking photos of all the different helmets you saw and creating some sort of collection, maybe even putting it in an art gallery at some fancy fundraising party or something. 

You shoved the last piece of cafeteria slop in your mouth before flicking your eyes up to Spark and Blackout. “Have we made any decisions?” 

Blackout made a noncommittal sound as he shifted on his feet, his eyes flicking between the swatches in his hands. “I know I want to paint the base grey like Spark’s, but I can’t choose between red or yellow.” 

“Why not both?” You suggested. You always encouraged the troopers to get as wild as possible with their armor. After all, it was one of the only real outlets they had to express themselves, besides their hairstyles and tattoos. 

“Wouldn’t that be a bit...busy.” He said, waving his hand through the air. 

“Well, what are you thinking for the design? Depending on how intricate it is, you could get both red and yellow in there. Maybe even some black and white for accents too. If the design isn’t too complex, the multiple colors won’t look busy at all.” 

You finished your explanation and started expectantly at the troopers who both just gazed at you without speaking for a beat. You were starting to think you had food on your face until Spark broke the silence. “See, I told you she went to art school!” The proud way he said it gave you a warm feeling in your chest. 

“That you did.” Blackout responded, flashing you a dazzling smile. Ugh, it should be illegal to have such perfect teeth. All the clones had perfect teeth, but somehow Blackout’s seemed...perfecter? They were so straight and white, like something out of a toothpaste commercial. Between that and their words of praise, you found yourself blushing furiously and averting your eyes.

You were trying to figure out what to say when one of their wrist comms went off, the staticy voice of another clone trooper echoing through the empty hallway. 

Blackout sighed. “We’re needed on the bridge. Are you free tomorrow around this time to help?”

Technically, you didn’t have a double shift tomorrow and had the time off, but he didn’t need to know that. And as much as you loved Spark, you were very interested in spending some alone time with this handsome commander. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” You told him, managing to recover enough to flash him a big smile of your own. 

“Great,” he responded, still holding your gaze and making no move to leave.

“Great,” You said, also not breaking eye contact. You felt like you could stare into his beautiful brown eyes for the rest of your life. 

Spark glazed between the two of you and rolled his eyes. “Okay, come on commander. We don’t want to get there even later than General Skywalker. Commander Cody will wring our necks.” As he spoke, he stepped behind Blackout,  and started maneuvering him down the hallway by his shoulders. 

You giggled at their antics and gave them a little wave. As they disappeared down the hallway, you rested your cheek in your hand and indulged in fantasies of what tomorrow would bring. 

~~~

Spark didn’t let go of his shoulders until they reached the elevator bank. He went to press the button and the two of them stood back as they waited. 

“She’s cool, huh?” Spark said smugly. He was always bragging about the cool civvie friends he had. Spark just had a way with people and always made friends easily. Which worked well for Blackout, since he could just wait to get introduced to said cool friends. 

“Yes, very.” He responded, rolling his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to give Spark even more of an ego. But his civvie friend was incredibly interesting, and quite pretty. He’d definitely felt a connection with her at the end, like there was an electric current passing between the two of them. Suddenly, a thought came to his mind. “You and her… you aren’t… involved, are you?” He cringed internally at his words. He couldn’t have asked that any more awkwardly, could he? 

Spark leaned back, resting both hands behind his head. “Nah. I had a crush on her when we first met. And we kissed each other once when we were both drunk at 79’s, but after that we both realized we only liked each other as friends.” Spark turned to wiggle his eyebrows at his commander. “Why, do you wanna get ‘involved’ with her? ‘Cuz I saw you two practically eye fucking at the end there.” 

“Shut it.” Blackout said, but there was no weight behind his words, he simply smiled as he shoved his annoying vod’ika out of the way. Spark only laughed harder and Blackout just knew that he’d never hear the end of this. 

~~~

Later that night, you were sitting on your bed, wrapped up in a cozy blanket and sipping at a mug of tea as you chatted with your childhood best friend over holovid. 

“Okay, spill it.” She demanded after you’d finished catching up. 

“Spill what? My tea?” 

Your friend rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve known you for almost two decades now and I know that dreamy-eyed look on your face. So spill it. ” 

You sighed dramatically. As much as you loved your friend, you hated how easily she could read you sometimes. “I met this guy today, and he was really cute.” You smiled to yourself as you replayed your brief encounter with Blackout in your head. 

“I knew it! You can’t hide anything from me! So tell me everything. How did you meet? What does he look like? I need details, sister.” Your friend sat up straighter in her bed, her blanket falling off her shoulders. 

“Well, he came to the requisitions counter today because he needed to repaint his helmet-” You started. 

“Woah, woah. Helmet? Is he a clone? You know what I said about getting involved with soldiers.” You could already sense the lecture coming, one that you’d heard many times before. 

“Ugh, just because you had one ex who happened to be a nat-born officer doesn’t mean all soldiers are bad. And besides, he’s different. He’s so handsome and has the nicest smile.” You told her, and okay, maybe you were getting a dreamy look in your eye. 

“Don’t they all look the same though?” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you would say something so ignorant,” You scolded her playfully. “If you spent time with them you’d see that they’re all different. And this one just happens to be especially handsome and charming.” 

“You’ll have to send me a picture of him. You know, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen a clone without their helmet before.” She mused. 

“Let’s just say, the Republic chose an absolute dreamboat of a template.” You laughed, and your friend joined in with you. 

“When are you seeing your Prince Charming next?”

“Tomorrow, I’m helping him repaint his helmet.” You said, barely able to contain your excitement. 

“Maybe you can drop a paintbrush on the floor just so you can pick it up and give him a good view of your ass.” She snickered. She was always the better one when it came to flirting with guys. Though you weren’t sure that kind of move would work on Blackout. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“You love me though.” She paused to yawn. “Okay, girl, it’s getting late, so I’m gonna jump off. Good luck with your boy tomorrow. I expect a report with all the details to be on my desk by tomorrow night.” 

“Of course. G’night.” You gave her a little wave as you clicked the holo off, flopping back on your bed to continue what you were doing before she called you, searching the holonet for inspiration for the design of Blackout’s helmet. You wanted to help make a design that was extra special, for one because he deserved it, but also, selfishly, because you wanted to hear him praise you again. 

Tomorrow couldn’t come any faster. 

~~~

By the time you made your way back to the requisitions counter the following day, Blackout was already there, sitting at a table towards the back of your office, meticulously applying a coat of grey paint to a shiny new helmet. 

You quickly threw your bag down on your desk and made a beeline to him. “Hey, there. The new helmet is already looking good.” He was clearly in the zone and didn’t notice your entrance because he jumped slightly at your words. But then he turned his head towards you and his eyes - no his whole face - lit up in a way that made you feel about ready to melt into a puddle on the floor. 

“Hey! I’m glad you're here. Training ended up finishing early and I got here a little before we planned. Another requisitions officer let me in and gave me this paint. I hope it’s okay I started without you.” He told you, leaving out the part where he almost turned down the other officer’s offer to get him supplies and a workstation because they weren’t you, and it had felt like a betrayal of sorts, and the part where he debated with himself for five straight minutes whether or not to start without you. He knew he was being a lovestruck dumbass, a condition he’d seen a few of his men fall victim to before and one that he’d vowed would never affect him, but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent all night thinking about how today would go, and this sort of start was not at all what he’d expected. But he was a special operations trooper, and adapting to changing situations was his specialty, so he eventually shook off his hesitation and got down to business. 

Up close, you could see his dark curls were slightly damp still. He probably showered after his training and came right here. Something about that made you giddy. “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually good you have the base layer down. We can work out the design while it’s drying.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” He said with a smile, turning back to his helmet to add another layer of paint. 

Your fingers twitched as you watched him. You just wanted to touch his face, to run your hands through his hair, but you knew how incredibly weird it would be to just do it out of the blue, so you sat on your hands to fight the temptation. 

“A little tip, if you paint all in one direction, you won’t get as many streaks and brush strokes. I know it’s a little hard to do so close to the visor though,” You told him as you watched him struggle to get an even coat on the last section of the helmet. 

“Like this?” He asked, moving his brush as you instructed. 

“Yeah, perfect. Nice, even strokes, just like that.” 

The side of Blackout’s mouth quirked up, and before he could advise himself against it, he blurted, “That’s what she said.” 

You made a choked sound in the back of your throat before sputtering out a laugh. “What, is it 32 BBY? That joke is so old. Where’d you even learn it from?” You asked once you caught your breath. 

“It was in some old holovid the boys found. It became a whole thing in the barracks for a while. I know this may come as a surprise, but Spark loved using that joke. It got so out of control I had to put a moratorium on it after a week,” he explained. He was just happy you were laughing at his joke instead of throwing dirty paint water at his face. 

“Sounds like the same thing that happened in my school when that joke was popular. There were many a detention issued over it.”

“None for you of course.” Blackout flicked his eyes away from his work to look at you and as much as you tried to keep your expression neutral, you couldn’t help it as your mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. He rolled his eyes at you. “I knew it. Tsk tsk. I can’t believe you would resort to such crude humor.” 

You spent the next few minutes like that, chatting and joking with one another as he finished his last coat of paint. Once he was done, he went to rinse out his brushes and get fresh water while you grabbed the supplies you’d brought with you from your bag. While you waited for him to return, you drew a few quick outlines of his helmet that you could use for brainstorming. 

As he sat back down and took in everything you had laid out, he whistled low under his breath and asked, “What’s all this then?” 

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly as you explained, “Nothing much, just a sketchbook and colored pencils so we can sketch out design ideas, a few paintbrushes that you can use for detail work. Sometimes the bristles fall out of the ones the GAR provides. Plus some painter’s tape so we can keep the lines nice and straight. Oh, and I found some reference images of cool helmets on the holonet in case we needed any ideas.” Okay you knew you’d gone a little overboard with everything, but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as a cute boy was involved your brain simply shut off. 

“Wow, this is amazing,” You’re amazing, he wanted to say. “Thank you for bringing all this. It means a lot to me.” He internally jumped for joy as he watched your cheeks color at his words.  

“N-no problem.” You stuttered out, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. You didn’t remember it being so hot in here, and since when was he so close to you? His knee brushed yours ever so slightly, and the simple touch seared into your skin. You took a long breath to ground yourself before continuing, “Now, was there anything specific that you wanted on the helmet?” 

He managed to quash his smirk at your reaction before answering. “Yeah, I wanted to include jaig eyes on the forehead.” 

“Jaig eyes?” You questioned, tilting your head to one side. 

“They’re a sigil awarded to warriors who distinguish themselves in battle or act particularly bravely. It’s a Mandalorian thing. Back on Kamino, a lot of our trainers were Mandalorian and they introduced some of their traditions to the troops. Do you know Captain Rex of the 501st? He wears jaig eyes on his helmet.” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen them, they’re awesome.” You’d seen General Skywalker’s captain a few times in passing and had always wondered if the symbols on his helmet meant something or if they were just meant to look cool. “How did you earn yours?” 

“I led a squad behind enemy lines and we took out a military base.” He told you, puffing out his chest in pride. 

“That’s impressive” you praised, and the slight coloring of his cheeks did not go unnoticed. Ha, two could play at that game. “So what color for the jaig eyes? I was thinking maybe yellow with a black outline to really make them stand out. And I also saw something…” You trailed off as you searched through your reference images, finally landing on the right one. You held up a picture of a helmet with an almost flame-like stripe painted on it. “Something like this. In the same color yellow with a black outline as well.” 

Blackout’s eyes went wide. “That looks sick, hell yeah. Oh, I was also talking to Spark and some of the other boys, and you know those white lines on the sides of his helmet? We wanted that to become something our whole unit has. So we look cohesive while still having our unique helmets.” 

You’d already started sketching a preliminary design as he spoke. ���I can make that work.” You told him as you added the white accents to the drawing. 

“Oh, what about the red?” He questioned, leaning closer to you to get a better look at your drawing. He was so close you could feel his warm breath tickling your cheek and you almost lost your grip on the pencil. “Maybe we shouldn’t use it after all, there’s already a lot going on.” 

“Well, I was thinking we could paint the earmuffs red. Just the outer ridge so it’s not too much.” 

“Earmuffs?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. 

You raised your hands up and gestured around your ears. “You know, the thingies on the side of the helmet. They look like earmuffs.”

“They’re actually built in digital storage for any encrypted data we might come across during missions. Not earmuffs.” He harrumphed, wrinkling his nose at you in an expression that was more cute than anything else. 

“Whatever you say, commander.” You teased him, complete with a little boop on the nose which made him pout even harder. “C’mon, the helmet should be dry by now, we should get started.” 

Without further ado, you started ripping off pieces of painters tape and laying them down on the helmet. He busied himself with getting all of the paints ready and tidying up the work area. Once everything was ready, he grabbed a brush and got to work on one of the earmuffs/digital storage devices. After a moment he paused before grabbing another brush and handing it to you. “It’ll go a lot faster if we do it together. Plus you can show me the right painting techniques.” He told you with a wink. 

For the next few hours you worked on his helmet together. Once all of the details with straight edges were done, you gingerly removed the painters tape so he could work on the jaig eyes. You were just sitting back to watch him when your stomach let out a loud growl. 

His brush paused in mid air as he flicked his eyes to look over at you. “Hungry?” 

“How could you tell?” You said dryly. Your stomach had the worst timing. “Are you? I can go run down the caf and get us something quick to eat.” 

He thought about it for a second and said, “Yeah, that sounds great actually. I didn’t grab anything after training.” 

“I’ll be right back. Stay pretty for me while I’m gone.” You said cheekily. 

He chuckled. “I’ll try.” 

~~~

Twenty minutes later, you were walking back into the office with a plate piled high with food. Surprisingly, the caf actually had a decent assortment of food today and you went a little overboard grabbing everything that looked tasty. 

Your trip would’ve been much quicker, but you ran into Spark on the way out. He’d immediately jumped you with questions about how you and Blackout’s painting session was going, obviously probing for details. As soon as you questioned why he was so interested, he’d immediately found an excuse to run away. Still, it left you with the impression that he knew something you didn’t. 

“Long lines at the caf?” Blackout questioned as you settled down next to him. He hadn’t looked up from his work, his brow scrunched up in concentration as he focused on adding the black outline to his jaig eyes. 

“Not really, but I ran into Spark. He had a lot of questions.” You answered. 

That made him look up, narrowing his eyes at you as he placed his helmet to the side. “What did that di’kut ask you?” As he looked at you, you noticed he had a few smudges of paint on his face, the freshest of them being a bright yellow glob on his chin. Your lips twisted up as you tried to keep yourself from giggling, which only made him more distressed. “Oh, maker, what did he say to you?” 

“Nothing, I promise! It’s just- you have a little bit of paint on your face.” You reassured him. 

He tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand, but it only served to streak it across his cheek. 

You leaned in to clean it off with your thumb, and you could hear the slight hitch in his breath as your finger made contact with his face. You both held each other in a heated gaze, the tension between you two, fueled by all of the jokes and little flirtations, reached a peak. With his eyes still on yours, he turned his head slightly and planted a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist. 

That was all the encouragement you needed and you surged forward to press your lips against his, one hand grasping at the front of his shirt while the other threaded into his dark curls, still ever so slightly damp. His arm wound around your waist and pulled you into his lap, your bodies flush against each other. You sighed into the kiss and he used the opportunity to press his hot tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours. 

You broke off only when the both of you needed to come up for air, and you rested your forehead against his as you caught your breath. 

His eyes flicked down to your chin and now it was his turn to laugh at your paint streaked face. . “It looks like I made a mess of you,'' he said warmly as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “How will you ever forgive me?” 

“I can think of a few ways,” You told him, biting your lip as you went to close the distance for another kiss. 

Just then you heard distant voices coming from somewhere down the hall and you quickly hopped out of his lap. You immediately went to the counter and flicked on the closed sign before pulling the shutter down. Then, for good measure you went to the office door and locked that as well. You didn’t need any interruptions. 

You turned back to find him sitting back in his chair, legs wide open and hands planted firmly on his muscular thighs. He looked like an absolute snack, and you couldn’t hide your eagerness as you rushed back towards him. As soon as you were in range, he pulled you back down to his lap. 

“Now where were we?” He asked as he started pressing open mouth kisses to the side of your neck, his hands wandering down to grab at your ass.

[itsamejin]

this love || yoongi angst

Summary: A story through the years detailing your relationship with Yoongi and all the ups and downs that came with dating an idol. 

Warning: cursing, sexually suggestive content

Genre: angst, fluff, idol!yoongi, artist!yn

Pairing: Yoongi x female!reader

Premise: Based on the song ‘This Love’ by Taylor Swift. Reader is an artist.

Commission Request: @minyoongail​

Word Count: 7,681 words

—

You met Yoongi when he was just a trainee, ready to take on the world and bursting with energy to get on stage. He had visions of grandeur- him living in a beautiful mansion, wearing name-brand jewelry, cruising in rare sports vehicles. When times were simpler, he’d promise that you’d be there with him, indulging in the glitz and glamour that came with his fame. He’d be an idol and you’d be his muse. Yet under all those pretenses, under all those empty promises, he was just Yoongi.

He was a guy who walked in and out of your life as easily as ocean tides come and go on the shore. He taught you how to fall in love, fall out of it, and rekindle it all the same. It was a sort of beautiful asphyxiation, being wrapped up in his lifestyle and learning to accept the consequences that came with dating a celebrity.

You wonder even now as you search his name on the internet, if you had any regrets. After all, you lost too much to be with him.

—

April 2013

A first meeting meant everything to you, especially when it came to your clients. You didn’t accept jobs from weirdos who didn’t respect your craft and you definitely hated impatient ones who badgered you to finish your pieces as quick as possible.

Big Hit was a happy medium and had hired you as a contract employee after reviewing your portfolio. Although the style of work they wanted from you was not at all what you specialized in, you were happy that they treated you like an actual employee and not some sort of machine. Plus, the pay was good.

You were asked to work on some cute animal characters for an upcoming boy group that you weren’t terribly familiar with, maybe stumbled on a vlog of theirs that you forgot about. You were intrigued by the slew of trainees that sat in front of you, their palms clenched out of anxiousness.

“I’m [Y/N], one of the digital artists that will be working with you guys from now on,” you introduce yourself politely to the seven bright-eyed boys in front of you.

You were in a room with other staff members, discussing the concept of the “Hip Hop Monsters” your graphics team was working on. This was a planned project lasting over a span of years and would eventually result in collectors edition items. It made you giddy just thinking of the royalties you’d earn from it all.

“I’d like it if the animals took after us,” one of the boys suggested shyly, slightly intimidated by the large number of corporate employees there were in the room for something that seemed so trivial. “I think our fans would like the characters more if they kind of resembled our personalities and stuff...”

You nod along to his suggestions, staring at his jersey to notice that the member who spoke up was Rap Monster. It was cute how they all wore clothes with their names on them. That’s one way to attract attention, you suppose.

“Any other suggestions you guys have for us?” you ask, jotting down notes and making rough sketches as they talk amongst themselves.

“I’d like it if,” a somewhat husky voice starts and you can’t help but stare into the guy’s eyes as he speaks, “my character was a turtle.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter along with the other staff members. He had said it with such a straight face and with so little enthusiasm, yet you could tell from his slight blush that he was serious. He was cute in the way that he wasn’t trying to be.

“You resemble one,” you grin at him, drawing out a small turtle with a cute beanie on your iPad, like the one he wore in front of you. You show it to him. “Something like this?”

“Exactly that!”

He breaks out into a gummy smile, one so bright that it hurt your heart to stare at him for too long. Now you were the one left flustered. He realizes how enthusiastic he was and got embarrassed once again, scratching the back of his head to avoid eye-contact.

“S-sorry, for shouting. It looks good.”

You bite your lip from forming too big of a grin. You still had to remain professional after all.

“You’re welcome,” you smirk slightly as he goes back to trying to look cool. You can’t help but doodle his name on your iPad even as the other members shared ideas for their own animals.

Suga, Suga, Suga.

You smile to yourself. It does have a ring to it.

—

June 2013

Yoongi sees you in the hallways sometimes and wants to say hi, but he can’t because other people are watching. Though, that isn’t the only reason.

He tells himself every day that he’ll muster up the courage to go talk to you, but every time he sees your face his legs turn to jelly. Yoongi was busy with debut stages recently, but he found some free time in his schedule to approach you.

Yoongi was never the shy type, more reserved if anything else, but you had something that enamored him- intrigued him. He wanted to know who you were other than the cute girl he was stuck in meetings with from time to time.

As you sat there on your desk, Yoongi lingered in an area nearby. He would give you his number today and if things didn’t work out then that would be that. There was no need to be all shy about this; it’s not like this is his first time asking someone out.

He strides over to you with feigned confidence and you look up after a minute, not noticing how his shadow loomed over you. He sees that you’re working on realistic portraits of the members and not the cutesy characters he usually sees you drawing.

“Hi,” he says curtly, trying to seem disinterested though he was the one that approached you first.

“Hello,” you smile up at him.

Suga.

“You draw really cool stuff,” he says to break the awkward tension. “You should show it to the CEO. I’m sure we’d have cooler concepts for our albums with your work.”

You look up at him, a happy glint in your eyes. He was complimenting you, although avoiding eye contact to seem a little less nervous than he really was.

“Well, I’m just a contract worker so I don’t think I really have the authority to start up new projects out of nowhere,” you say with a smile on your face at how flustered he looks. “I feel like you’re here to ask me for something. Am I right?”

He looks away for a split second, coughing to alleviate his nerves. He was a grown man for fuck’s sake, why was this so difficult?

“I was actually wondering if you could come give me some opinions about some art that I drew,” he lies through his teeth, just trying to find a way to get you in a more private area than the corporate floor teaming with watchful gazes. “I’ve been trying to start a new hobby.”

You chuckle slightly, seeing right through his words. You stand up to amuse him.

“I’d be happy to.”

He leads you to a studio filled with whacky knick-knacks and dim lighting, not necessarily the best place to draw. You know by now that he just said those things as an excuse to be alone with you.

“So where’s this masterpiece?” you tease slightly at his nervous expression. How did a guy who looked so deadpan have such a giddy personality?

“Well actually,” he starts off, palms already sweaty. “I-It’s not here right now, but I think I left it at the dorms. Maybe if we exchange phone numbers I can text it to you.”

He tried to appear nonchalant, but his hands moved as if he was doing a public speaking presentation. Yoongi thought he was doing great, though growing a little more nervous at how you were giggling.

“You know, Suga,” you start teasingly, “My number is in the company directory. Feel free to text me anytime.”

Yoongi slightly cringes hearing his stage name. He loves it, don’t get him wrong, but he didn't like hearing it come from you. He didn’t like the unfamiliar aspect that came with using his stage name- like you two only went by professional terms.

“Call me Yoongi,” he says with genuine confidence this time. “I like it better when my friends call me Yoongi.”

You nod, relieved that you could finally know this cute guy’s name. Truth be told, you were snooping around his conversations with other people to figure it out.

“So we’re friends?”

Yoongi nods, sitting down in his rolling chair.

“I’d like to be,” he grins, patting the sofa, hoping you’d take a seat with him.

And you do.

—

Present

It’s hard to work efficiently when you’re no longer in a corporate space. There’s no boss to check up on your progress nor is there a nosy coworker trying to see what you’re doing from the corner of their eye. You missed the hustle and bustle of an office floor, but it was nice exploring your creativity through freelance work.

You tap your digital pen onto the table repeatedly, looking at the reference image over and over again. It was a sick joke played by the universe to have been commissioned to draw your ex-boyfriend’s idol group, but you couldn’t refuse the hundreds of dollars the ecstatic fangirl was willing to give you. Truth be told, she might have offered too much pay, but you took up her offer anyway. Money is money.

Yet a face you’ve touched so often, a person you’d been with for years felt so unfamiliar to you. It wasn’t like you were drawing him realistically either. The client wanted anime-style figures that resembled them, looked enough like the boys to display it as her Twitter header. In the end, it’s still too difficult to draw. The rest of the members were lined up and sketched perfectly, but there was a blank area where Yoongi’s face should’ve been.

Your wrists hurt from the constant drawing and erasing so you set it down to massage your hand from cramping. In moments like these, you hated your job.

Ting.

A message notification popped up on your phone that laid beside your iPad. You usually left it silent when you were working, but you opened yourself up to distractions when drawing this particular piece. Whoever thought it was a good idea to specialize in celebrity artwork? You pick up your phone and smiled softly at the text.

hey, can I come over?

—

March 2014

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Yoongi, happy birthday to you~~”

You cheer on with the rest of the boys in their cramped dorm. Somehow you had gotten close enough with them to be at this level of comfort, sitting crisscrossed and shoulders touching with Jungkook and Seokjin. Yoongi blows out the candles and claps his hands, a little sad that another year passed by so quickly. He kept glancing at you who was focused on cutting the cake like the perfectionist you were.

He couldn’t help but feel like time was running out, like if he didn’t confess to you now then it would never happen. Yoongi took off the beanie he wore and ruffled his hair. He was feeling anxious all of a sudden.

“Dude don’t do that your dandruff is gonna get everywhere,” Hoseok whines. “The cake is gonna be decorated with your dead skin cells.”

“Go wash your hands,” Jin commands and Yoongi could only roll his eyes.

“Relax, I don’t even think we’re gonna have cake anytime soon when this slow-poke is taking forever to cut.”

He flicks your forehead as you glare up at him.

“I could so easily throw this in your face, but I choose not to,” you stick your tongue out at him and he scoffs.

“I’d like to see you try.”

All the members groan out of annoyance.

“Oh my god they’re having a lovers quarrel again,” Jimin yawned. “Aren’t you guys sick of arguing?”

Yoongi freezes at his words. Lover’s quarrel. That was a nice way to put it.

“They’ll stop arguing when Yoongi finally-”

Taehyung was cut off as Yoongi swipes three fingers worth of frosting from the cake and lathers it all over Taehyung’s face.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi shakes his head and soon chaos descended. Cake flew in places it shouldn’t have and ended when Namjoon knocked over a glass of water, managing to break it on the floor tiles. In the end, no one got cake.

Yoongi and you were laughing amongst yourselves at the kitchen sink, washing off some of the bits that got onto your shirts.

“I’m so sorry about your cake,” you say through your chuckles. “I’ll make it up to you some time.”

Yoongi only smiles.

“Yeah, you can treat me on a date,” he replies a little too boldly. You look at him in shock, not quite processing his words.

“A date?”

He nods.

“We should go out sometime.”

You purse your lips to prevent the huge grin about to be displayed on your face.

“We should.”

—

Present

It was subtle, the way it all started. You trace over the features you drew so far, only getting to his eyes. Yoongi and you were innocent lovers for a while, keeping your trysts a secret from everyone in the company except his managers and the members. A few of your friends knew, but none of them knew BTS well enough to be all that surprised. It wasn’t all that rare to go out with a celebrity in your line of work.

You almost miss those days when he was unrecognizable. After your friends realized who he was after he hit it big globally, you felt like a secret of yours was displayed to them. Your love was supposed to be private, but his fame left very little room for privacy. You missed when you were the only one that knew of him and maybe it’s selfish to think that way, but you were past the point of being selfish.

You text back.

yeah, can't wait to see you

—

Jan. 2015

Yoongi lays you down on the couch gently. His hands caressing your sides underneath the thin material of your shirt as he pulls you in closer to his kisses. This felt different from other nights, different in that there was nothing around to stop what would come next.

He pulls away from you slightly, panting from the lack of oxygen.

“Are you sure?” he asks, drawing circles on your hip with his thumb. He was only supposed to come over to help you unpack some stuff for your new apartment and here you were, pinned on the couch and sweating from the close contact.

You nod back in response, not finding the right words to get him to continue. He pulls your shirt over your head, peppering kisses on your neck and atop your breasts. He fixates on your neck languidly, biting as he sees fits.

There was a pause as you felt him press up against you and you knew then that there was no making it to the bed. You would have your first time with him on this newly moved-in couch.

The clothes dropped to the ground as his touches get more impatient, more desperate. It all passes by like a blur and you could only remember the pleasure that came with his long fingers, the satisfaction you felt when he was inside you. The climax of it all made you realize that you loved him, truly and without regret. He holds you in his arms when you come undone, flashing a satiated smile as you look up at him. It’s like the stars were in his eyes.

“How do you feel?” you ask him, worried he was already drowsy. You didn’t want to have to sleep on the couch naked.

“Satisfied,” he says with a smile on his face.

You can’t help but swoon, his eyes fixated on you. At least for now, he was yours He wasn’t Suga, a rapper. He was Yoongi, your boyfriend.

It didn't matter to you that he was struggling to make a name for himself in this cut-throat idol industry or that he would spend countless nights cursing as one of his numerous tracks get rejected. None of that was in your mind. Only he swam through your thoughts. Only him.

“I love you,” he sighs out. He was the first to say it.

“I love you too,” you reply back and he holds you tight against him.

He’s nuzzling himself in your hair, his chest pressed up against you so his heartbeat can synch with yours. He loves this, can’t get enough of it. He catches your lips and once again you are whisked in the pleasure of it all. This is it. This is what love is.

—

Present

The piece is finally finished and you send it off to your client, hoping she doesn’t ask for revisions because you can’t handle another second of drawing his stupid face. His soft skin, his tiny moles, his gummy smile...

It's not like you hate him. It’s just... a certain contempt lingers after a breakup from a long-term relationship. It’s the type of resentment that can’t really be explained. You don’t want to see him, but you catch yourself watching his videos on Youtube. You don’t want to think about him, but you hope he thinks about you. You don’t see yourself ever getting back together with him, but you don’t have his phone number blocked.

It’s a sort of paradox you catch yourself in and you wonder if you could ever get out of it. Will Yoongi ever escape your mind?

can't wait to see u too babe

—

Aug. 2016

Yoongi hugs you from behind, his face scrunched at the nape of your neck where several marks were made from last night’s events. Your eyes stayed focus on the TV in front of you, still impressed by your own ability to afford one in your bedroom at your salary.

“BTS' SUGA drops new music video for his song and mixtape Agust D...”

The news anchor drones on and you could barely hear her through the sounds of Yoongi’s soft snores. His hold on you grew tighter as he hears his stage name from an unfamiliar voice and it makes you giggle slightly at how different the edgy music video being displayed was from the same person wrapping you in his arms so tightly.

“Babe, wake up. I have work to do,” you whisper into his hair and he only shakes his head back in response.

“No,” he mutters, pulling you into him closer. You roll your eyes, managing to pry off one of his hands as you sit up on the bed.

“Don’t you have studio stuff to do today?” you ask him, searching for a shirt to wear.

He shakes his head as his eyes start to flutter open. You both reeked of alcohol since you opened a bottle of wine last night to celebrate the release of his first solo work. He was proud of it and you were proud of him.

“Can you turn that off, I’m getting a migraine,” he whines, covering his head with a pillow. You opted to wear Yoongi’s shirt instead of your own since you couldn’t be bothered to walk to the other side of the bed to find it. You smiled at his laying figure, cooped in a fetal-like position. He was still naked, but you were with him long enough to no longer be phased by that sort of thing.

“From one bottle of wine?” you tease slightly. “I think you’re losing your touch, Agust D.”

You chuckle as he throws the pillow on top of his head towards you.

“Don’t call me that,” he pouts, “It feels like you’re making fun of me.”

You stand up from where you were, stretching out your back as you make your way to the door.

“That’s because I am,” you smirk, “You know you’re saved on my phone as Sugar?”

He gives you a glare.

“It’s Suga,” he says, attempting to add some intimidation to his voice. It doesn’t work because all you do is stick your tongue out at him.

“Whatever sugar.”

He chuckles lightly and watches the silhouette of your figure exit his view. Yoongi can’t help but mindlessly follow after you.

As you exit towards the kitchen, you can’t help but hear the television from the bedroom.

“Suga has recently been caught up in a dating scandal with Suran, the solo artist, who sang with him in a song...”

Your head snaps up from those words, your skin crawling with goosebumps. You make it into the kitchen but with a heavy heart and no appetite.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, passing by you to pour himself some water.

“Nothing,” you say, though you sounded bitter. He caught on quite quickly. You were jealous again.

Yoongi heaves out a deep sigh and sets the glass of water down. He comes over to your angry figure and gives you a soft hug, laying his head on top of yours as if to comfort you. You try to pull away but he keeps you close.

“I’ll tell them to drop the rumors, okay?,” he says, genuinely enough to make you believe him. “I don’t want us to fight so early in the morning.”

“You promise?”

He pulls away.

“I promise,” he says, brushing a hair away from your face. “Let’s not think about those rumors right now. You and me both know they’re not true.”

You were never one to forget so easily.

—

It was around 2016 when you had stopped working at Big Hit. They halted the Hip Hop Monster brand and your contract was expiring with them anyway. You went from living a kush office life to struggling freelance worker in a matter of a second. It also meant that Yoongi and you would be spending less time together. His busy schedules couldn’t permit him to stay with you longer than a few hours and his presence slowly started to disappear from his side of the bed.

It was like a sinking ship, what you had with him. The pain starts off slow, unnoticeable. You’ll still laugh and keep up appearances as time passes, but you could tell there was an ominous atmosphere that wasn’t initially there in the relationship. Your screams start to grow silent as more problems start to stack on top of each other. It’s then when you hit the iceberg. It’s then when it all starts to fall apart.

He was still good for you, you convinced yourself, even as the currents swept you out under your feet.

—

Dec. 2016

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not coming?” you yell through your phone. You were sitting on the floor of your living room, holiday decorations strewn around the apartment. He promised he’d come spend a day off of his winter promotions to be with you.

“You know how hectic the end of the year gets with promotions,” he says in quiet hushes. “I can’t do anything about it. This is my job.”

You suck in your cheeks to prevent yourself from yelling. From the sound of it, he was in public.

“Yoongi, I called out of talking to a really high-paying client,” you say through gritted teeth. “And I still came home. Why am I the only one making sacrifices?”

He sighed at the other end. He didn’t have the patience to deal with you today.

“Look, can you stop being so fucking needy. I don’t need this right now.”

He couldn’t tell from the phone call, but your heart broke at the word. Needy. He thought that you were needy.

“I’m already stressed out as it is,” he continues through the phone. “I don’t need you up my ass all the time.”

“I’m not gonna wait for you,” you reply, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m going to sleep and you’re gonna get rid of all the shit you have in my apartment. I’m sick of you, Yoongi.”

He scoffs.

“I’m sick of you too.”

Yoongi hangs up, about ready to hit the wall when Jimin comes to calm him down. Small things that were never meant to be taken seriously built up until it was ready to crash down.

When Yoongi comes at night to visit you, he sees that you’re asleep on the couch. He sits next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he whispers quietly. “I’ll do better.”

You nuzzled closer to him, comforted by words you forget the next day. Even when you woke up with a bad neck and Yoongi snoring onto your skin, you couldn’t find a way to stay mad at him. You knew, deep down, that some way or the other you’re gonna find yourself arguing about the same thing next week.

—

Present

Junghoon comes to pick you up. Junghoon, your boyfriend.

He’s a little uptight and too stern for his own good, but has a good heart and a knack of giving great gifts. You met him from working in the same industry, a 3D graphics designer for several video game companies. He was a new addition to your life, your relationship only about three months old.

You were warming up to him slowly, thankful for finally having a consistent presence in your life. He always made time for you, never used work as an excuse, and didn’t act cold just for the sake of acting cold. Junghoon was sweet in the way that Yoongi used to be when he wasn’t such a massive celebrity.

It was a relief to have someone like Junghoon in your life that didn’t walk in and out of your door without much of a thought to even say goodbye. Your life with him has been a tad bit dull, but you don’t mind all that much. Junghoon’s made you feel secure in ways that Yoongi couldn’t.

—

May 2017

“Your boyfriend is winning a whole ass award across the world and you’re having ramen with me?” Chaerin sighs. It’s typical for a best friend to judge the actions of the other.

“Yeah and?” you reply snarkily, swirling your chopstick around to find the perfect clump of noodles. “I’m not the top social artist according to Billboard, what’s it have to do with me?”

She rolls her eyes at you.

“I don’t know, you could at least watch him win the award?” she suggests. “The live stream is literally happening right now. Your boyfriend is making history and you don’t even care!”

You look at the clock on the restaurant wall. It was nearing 2 o’clock and your client meeting would be starting soon. You were in high demand as a graphic artist recently and as far as you were concerned, that was the only thing on your mind at the moment. You stare back into your bowl, suddenly losing your appetite.

“The apartment is lonely without him,” you admit sadly.

He bought one for himself and had you move in. ‘It’s easier to not get noticed by the tabloids,’ he convinced you. The modern sleekness of his penthouse was a nice change to your lifestyle, but you missed the comfiness of your small studio apartment. It was often too cold when he wasn’t around.

“You could watch it with me?” Chaerin suggested. “Yoongi’s probably so sad that his own girlfriend doesn’t even want to watch him win such a major award.”

You bite down on your chopstick harshly.

“Well he didn't even want me to come with him so I don’t wanna hear anymore about him from you.”

Chaerin squinted her eyes in your direction.

“Well I mean I get where he’s coming from. He’s still an idol, [Y/N],” she scolds. “It would be a massive risk to take you with him.”

You shook your head disapprovingly, pushing the bowl away from you.

“I’m not an idiot, Chae. It’s not like I was asking to be on the red carpet with him, I just wanted to be there waiting in the hotel room after the show. Two nights ago he suddenly backs out and says I shouldn’t come.”

Chaerin’s jaw dropped out of shock. That wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

“Did he say why?”

You stare down at your nails, your heart growing heavy as a long pause of silence takes place. It would be better to be honest, right? You shouldn’t have to pretend like everything’s okay when it clearly isn’t.

“He said he wants space,” you say, careful not to get choked up. “So I’m giving it to him.”

You clutch your thigh instinctively, remembering how Yoongi had brought that up with you just nights before. You two weren’t happy and that he needed to figure himself out before the relationship gets any worse. It’s just a break or whatever bullshit he spouted.

She scoffs.

“What is wrong with you two?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “You are not the type of person to take a break in a relationship.”

You stare bitterly into the reflection of your soup.

“I just don’t think I’ve been happy for a while,” you reply, taking a sip of your water that was left untouched for a better half of the night. “I don’t think he is either.”

—

Sept. 2017

The break lasted for months and you wondered if it was really even a break at all. It felt more like a break up if you were honest. He’d text once in a while and video call you when he was free but other than that it felt like he became a stranger, just another celebrity billboard you walked past on your way to a client’s workplace.

You’d draw sketches of him countlessly, in fear you’d forget how his face looked in real life and not through a low-quality screen. You etched every baby hair, every small blemish he’d hide with makeup. It was your method of not forgetting who the real Yoongi was because honestly, you didn’t know anymore. You didn’t know him.

Trrrringggg.

The sound of your doorbell could be heard all throughout your apartment. You stood up from where you sat on the bed, leaving the sketchbook of his face on the comforter. You weren’t expecting any visitors, but surely enough, Yoongi stood in front of you with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hey.”

You let him in, not uttering a single word. He looks different now. His hair was black, thank god, but his face was a little softer than you were used to. You remember him being so paranoid about turning bald just a few years ago and here he was, no bald spots to be found. He looked healthy.

“It’s been a while,” you respond, hugging your arms close to your chest, uncomfortable that he was in your presence. It was his apartment technically, but you lived in it more than he did. He opted to stay in the dorm ever since he issued that idiotic break.

“I miss you,” he says in a lowly voice and you almost believe him. Almost.

You scoff.

“It seems like you’ve been having fun without me though,” you say through gritted teeth. “I thought you still wanted space?”

He shakes his head and brings his hand to touch your arm.

“No,” he swallows his saliva. “I miss you.”

You could feel his sincerity, but you can’t help but not trust him. He’s been viciously cold to you, but you find yourself pulling him closer anyway.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you threaten. “It’ll really be over then, Yoongi.”

He sighs into your hair. He loves you. He does. But he doesn’t know why it’s so hard to express it.

“I promise [Y/N]. I won’t leave.”

—

Aug. 2018

He buys you flowers, your favorite kind. It’s a small gesture, but it has you jumping into his arms all the same. It shows that he still cares somewhat. It’s been a while since he’s last shown it.

He holds you closely, appreciating the softness of your body and how you curl perfectly into him.

“I want to stay like this,” you say mindlessly, just relishing in his presence.

You’re not mad at him today and he’s not frustrated with you. It’s a high point in your relationship.

“Me too.”

His words are simple but it warms your heart nonetheless. Yoongi looks at you with twinkling eyes and for a moment you think that this could last forever and that it will last forever. You kiss him slowly and he reciprocates.

It reminds you of your first time, slow and careful- like you were the last person he’d ever want to hurt.

His love, although painful at times, was good to you when you needed it to be.

—

July 2019

Yoongi’s gone again. He’s on tour, as usual, and not giving you any updates. You were getting sick of it. The constant waiting, the constant insecurities that ate you up inside. You weren’t built to endure this kind of torture.

Suga. Suga. Suga.

It rolls off the tongue but it feels disgusting coming out of your mouth. His stage name, a persona. He starts to resemble that name more and more as the days go by. You hear it so much now that it no longer registers as an actual word.

You call him.

He doesn’t pick up.

Again.

No answer.

You’re about ready to throw the phone at the wall until a soft ring was heard from the small device. You take the call immediately, smiling as if you passed the hardest difficulty of a video game. The grin would soon be wiped away, though.

“Why’d you call?” he grumbles from the other line, loud music blasting in the background.

“Why weren’t you picking up?” You sound bitter. You don’t care.

“I’m out right now,” he says, exasperation laced in his voice. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

Clearly, he just wasn’t in the mood to talk to you. Yoongi was at a party or a club or wherever he could possibly be in the streets of Shizuoka at 10 p.m.

You just wanted to chat, check on him as a good girlfriend would. He’s been complaining that you haven’t been in a while. You thought this was what he wanted- for you to care.

“I just wanted to see if you were doing okay,” you sigh. “How’d the concert go?”

“Good,” he says, clearly distracted. “Some of us snuck out of the hotel rooms to let loose for a bit.”

You nod as if he could see you.

“So you’re partying?”

You could hear him laugh at the other end, but it wasn’t from your comment. Someone else was making him laugh. Someone with a light and dainty voice, whiny as she got closer to Yoongi.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” he says, clearly distracted. “Listen I’ll call you back, okay?”

You feel a lump stuck in your throat. There are no words left to say. The foreign girl on the other end giggled harder at whatever Yoongi was saying and it felt like you were invading their privacy- as if she was his girlfriend and you were nothing. You hung up, your mouth feeling dry as the tears poured down.

You see a text from Yoongi just a few seconds into your wallowing. You sniffle as you read it.

don’t misunderstand. nothing’s happening rn i'm just having a bit of fun.

This time you really threw your phone at the wall.

You go to your iPad that’s sitting untouched on your desk. You open your drawing app and just let the anger in the stylus take you from there. You draw a rough sketch of a couple on the edge of a beachside cliff. The woman seems to be falling into the water as if she was pushed. The guy’s hand reaches out to her, but you can’t really tell if he was trying to grab her or if he was the one that let her go in the first place.

As the tears spilled onto the cool surface of the iPad, you sob harder. Nothing could be fixed and everything still felt broken. It was meaningless, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes when he was all the way in Japan snuggling up to girls that were probably much prettier and much more willing to understand his lifestyle.

You look around the penthouse he had bought for the two of you, beautiful wide panel windows and modern furniture. It mostly looks empty, everything nice and tidy as if no one lived here. It had such a stark contrast to that of his old life when he shared rooms with other members and had no place to really put his keyboard except the studio. You smiled at the memory of you all hovering around the small coffee table in the cramped living room eating ramen.

Maybe it was your fault for falling behind, for letting the world around you build up and not follow in Yoongi’s tracks.

—

Present

You guess it was then when the relationship had passed a point of no return. When everything that felt right had started to feel incredibly wrong. You tolerated his presence rather than bask in it. You heard him speak but couldn’t bother to listen. Maybe you were petty, but more than anything you were angry.

You were angry that he could break you that badly and you would still forgive him for it.

You stare over at Junghoon who’s cooking you up something on the stove. This is what you needed.

—

Nov. 2019

Yoongi was back from some big-name award show that you didn’t watch. You heard he won Artist of the Year or whatever, the accolades that he’s collected no longer having meaning as the days pass. Why be happy for him when he himself showed no signs of excitement? This was routine. He expected the awards at this point.

You walked towards him. Yoongi looked angry, though you have no idea why.

“Hey, I made dinner to celebrate,” you tell him. Yoongi’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through the congratulatory messages he received from other industry stars. He looked like he needed to get something off his chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he mutters. “Just leave it.”

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs. It was a simple question.

“Not in the mood.”

You give him a pointed look and sit next to him.

“Why are you never in the mood for anything?” you ask him. “It’s just food Yoongi. I just want to eat with you.”

You don’t see it properly but he rolls his eyes.

“Just drop it okay? Today’s a good day, I don’t need you to ruin it.”

You suck in your cheeks.

“Ruin?”

Yoongi sighs heavily.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he starts, facing you. “Why do you have to be so dramatic over everything.”

You grit your teeth.

“Dramatic?” your voice quivers. “I didn’t know feeling hurt was being dramatic.”

His gaze softens and he touches your arm lightly.

“Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

You shake your head, feeling your eyes dampen at his words.

“I hate your apologies, Yoongi,” you say in a hushed tone. “They don’t mean anything anymore.”

He’s shocked, not really sure how to respond. You were never one to confront him, especially when he was angry. Instead, he holds your hand softly. He was terrible at comforting people.

“Yoongi are you really sorry?” you ask abruptly. It was a question you’ve been meaning to ask for years now.

His grip on you tightened and you can’t quite read his expression, but you can tell that it’s not a positive response. He looks conflicted and he shouldn’t have to be if he really was. You force him to let go of you.

“I am,” he says, knowing he answered a little too late for his words to not seem suspicious.

“I don’t think you are,” you reply sadly. “You say sorry more than you-”

say I love you.

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence because he knows. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“I am,” he says with more sincerity, but he looks at you with an unreadable expression. “I just don’t think it’s enough at this point.”

“What’s not enough?”

You were confused. Is he still talking about whether he's apologetic or not? Or is it something entirely different?

“I do love you,” he says with a certain conviction in his voice, “and I always will, but it feels like nothing’s working out.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you and focuses on the leather of the fancy couch. He doesn’t say anything but you know what this means. He’s about to stand up, but you grab onto his wrist.

“This is your apartment,” you say before he could say anything to break your heart even further. “I’ll leave.”

“[Y/N], no,” he says. “You don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m just gonna stay over at the dorm. I just...”

Your eyes get blurry from the tears. Even now it felt like he was looking down at you. Nowhere to go. It was like he pitied you.

“...need to go clear my mind,” he finishes the sentence, standing up to grab his coat.

You shake your head and stand in front of him. He’s usually like this. A coward. A bumbling fool who would rather avoid problems than face them head on.

“I need you to stay, Yoongi,” you cry out. “I need you to actually stay for once and comfort me.”

He looks at you, mouth open but no words come out. He smiles sadly and walks toward you, kissing your cheek.

“I don’t think I can do that anymore, [Y/N],” he says and you watch him leave as easily as he walked in.

It’s not like he ever comforted you in the first place.

—

The break up happened silently over a late-night phone call a few days after he disappeared on you. You packed up your things, stayed over at Chaerin’s house, and braced yourself for what was to come. It should’ve happened sooner, you admit, but your heart still sinks when he speaks.

“I just don’t think either of us is willing to try anymore,” he says solemnly. “We’ve been on and off for the past few years and I don’t think it’s healthy for either of us to continue.”

You agree, just wanting the call to end quickly so you wouldn’t have to hear his voice any longer. It hurt to have to listen to him rationalize breaking your heart.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore, [Y/N],” he says, not even a tiny bit choked up. “I think we’ve... outgrown each other.”

You knew what Yoongi really meant. He’s outgrown you.

“I think so too,” you say rigidly. Short and simple. You left nothing to be desired. “Let’s break up.”

Yoongi looks at his phone, slightly disappointed. He wished you would fight back, maybe rekindle something in him that he’s lost over the years. Yet you were silent on the line and he just had to accept it- that there was nothing left to be saved.

“Take care, okay?” he says softly because in the end he still cares- he just doesn’t want to anymore.

“I will,” you reply, ultimately hanging up the phone. You collapse onto a bed unfamiliar to you. Yoongi would no longer sleep beside you, no longer reach over to hug your side and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He was gone and you had to accept that maybe he was never yours in the first place.

His last words replay in your mind.

Take care.

That was the most concern he’s ever shown you in the past few weeks. You almost scoff at the absurdity of it all. You don’t notice how truly broken you were until the tears start streaming down your face. You see the image of him through blurry eyes and you wonder how you could let Yoongi leave such a permanent scar on your heart.

—

Present

“Do you like your eggs runny or no?”

Junghoon asks as you approach his figure. You hug him from behind and smile at his warmth. Safe.

“Just a little runny,” you reply.

He smiles and nods, turning off the heat and grabbing some seasoning from your cupboard. You detach yourself from him when you realized what he was grabbing.

“Babe that’s not salt. That’s-”

Sugar.

You stop yourself from saying it and Junghoon looks at you with concern. He chuckles at your stoic state and ruffles your hair.

“Cat got your tongue or what?” he asks, grabbing the right container this time. “Maybe I should’ve asked if you like your eggs sweet instead, huh?”

“I’ve never tried that combination before,” you say teasingly. “Why don’t you test it out for us.”

He clicks his tongue at you and splashes some salt on your face.

“I’ll pour sugar all over you if that’s what you really want.”

You laugh half-heartedly. A simple word shouldn’t affect you this much but you find yourself get more teary-eyed as it repeats in your head. It wasn’t fair to Junghoon that you were thinking of your ex in his presence. It wasn’t fair to you either.

You feel a vibration from your pocket and you pull it out to serve as a distraction from your wallowing thoughts. It’s a text.

From Sugar.

—

A/N: This was so hard to write because my mind has just been empty these days but I’m so glad it’s done now >_< Thank you to @minyoongail​ for requesting this story. I’ve been bumping to the Taylor Swift song now because of this commissions T^T I recommend you all to listen to it. I tried to write this in a different style from my other works so I hope this is still readable for you all LOL

I’m closing commissions temporarily to focus on the ones I have now and to also start writing my own stuff. Let me know how you feel about this, I appreciate all types of comments and criticisms <3 Look forward to Part 2!

[bruh-haikyuu]

A/N: Timeskip Lev make me go BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF AAARF ARF. P.S: For double the experience, read while listening to this

diapason. | haiba lev

summary: in which lev meets you again and you develop some sort of warm reconnection with your past underclassman. (Continuation of this fic)

word count: 4402

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) a full, rich outpouring of melodious sound

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

The Danube Canal in mid-winter reminds you of a lot of things:

The Shakujii River flanked with its timeless parade of cherry blossom trees. Christmas celebrations spent at home with your family, popping bottles of soda and whining about misshapen gifts. Your piano recitals played in utter devotion, like the winter would never end.

You’re a long, long way away from home, and you start to hope if anyone is missing you. If there’s a hole in your figure carved into someone’s heart back in Japan or some place in the other side of the world—

What am I thinking... you sigh, bashfully urging yourself to keep on walking.

Nestling deeper into the warmth of your wool scarf, you wonder if it’s the cold ambience of the night that’s making you feel all sappy. Twinkling lights, murmured chatter from late-night cafés, the occasional gust of wind against your cheeks. You never thought you’d get so nostalgic on your “vacation”, but perhaps you’re just like any other hopeless romantic.

“Come to Vienna! A whirlwind of budding love!”

You’d read that advertisement in one of the catalogues your symphony’s personnel manager had excitedly dumped into your lap the day she announced your personal invitation to spectate the Vienna Philharmonic live a few weeks ago. You didn’t think much of the slogan, but even so... you have to admit you’re a tad bit lonely, aren’t you?

You can barely remember a moment where you didn’t feel lonely. You had your family at home, but you’d considered it your fault for being such a shut-in for the most part of your life. The neighborhood kids weren’t exactly the nicest people. And school life hadn’t been much of an improvement either.

Of course, until him.

A colossal first year stumbling into the desolate Orchestra Club room, with a mouth just as big as his stature. Haiba Lev who had been anxiously lost that day you’d met. With such little sense of direction, you can’t help but laugh at how much times he’d managed to find you in that maze of your high school.

He’d find you, talk to you, laugh with you. And you’d never felt all the rushing feelings you’d felt when you were with this dewy-eyed boy. He was the perfect image of confidence—radiant, ambitious and all the more charming.

If only you can thank him. Your hero of sorts. Haiba Lev who poured into you all the faith he had so you could move forward—

“A-ah, excuse me?”

Whipping your head into the direction of the choppy English, a seething blush rises onto your cheeks when you zero in to the large camera lens pointed right at you.

The bearded man speaks again. “Eh... you’re Japanese, aren’t you? Sorry, but we’re having a photoshoot right now, and you’re in the way of our model. Could you maybe...”

Oh dear, you frazzle. Prostrating yourself incessantly at the camera crew, you blunder. “I’m v-very sorry! Waah, I must’ve ruined your picture!”

“It’s fine,” the man smiles kindly. “Things like this often happen anyway. Ain’t that right, Hafu-sama?”

The lean figure behind you laughs, and for a second, you feel your chest flutter in your throat when you hear him. “Yep! Don’t worry about it, Miss—”

You really wish you hadn’t turned around because the moment your eyes locked with a pair of emeralds, you swear that your heart leapt out of your chest. All feeling of chilliness lamented, you feel red heat stretching out across your skin.

“H-Haiba-kun?!”

Unable to keep your footing steady, a stagnant lump rises in your throat when the familiar man grins at you with galaxies in his eyes.

“Fairy-senpai!!”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. October 2012.

“Senpai!”

Footsteps echoing down the corridor, a wave of frightened third years part to let the gigantic creature of a first year through. Haiba Lev, age 16, is excited. Haiba Lev, 194.3 centimeters tall, is burning with so much resolve that he pays no heed to the Discipline Committee member who is resentfully yelling at him to “stop running in the hallways, you hoodlum!”

But who could blame him?

When you turn around and jolt in surprise, Lev drowns in the tiny fairies that flutter in his chest.

“Haiba-kun? What are you doing here?” you take a moment to register his full presence—considering his substantial size, Lev would probably understand your current disposition.

Finally, you whisper in a low tone, highly aware of the crowd that’s pivoting towards your conversation. “... Did you get lost again?”

“Of course not!” Lev replies rather gruffly. “I wanted to look for you to give you this so I can thank you for when I got lost.”

Thrusting a daintily wrapped bento towards you, the tall boy is rather unabashed about the entire situation—lace cloth and all. There’s a fragrant steam seeping out from the gaps of the box, spooling and wafting (and you think your ears pick up the noise of someone’s rumbling stomach).

You’d thought of spending your lunch alone in your club room, or maybe even the rooftop if you were up for it... like the usual. But the moment Lev starts talking again, you completely forget the idea as a whole.

Innocently grinning, he asks, “Do you want to eat lunch together, L/N-senpai?”

How could you say no?

And thus, here you are in the courtyard with a titan first-year who is nearly twice your size, jovially chattering about as you quietly eat your lunch.

When was the last time you ate something so cute? Your parents stopped making you character bentos since you got into middle school (“Aah... sorry, Y/N. Dad’s hands aren’t as artistic as they used to be,” your father had told you that day, an utter look of guilt dancing across his face). You weren’t too confident in your own skills either, so bentos with endearing faces and shaped cut-outs of vegetables were simply a fragmented piece of the past.

First-years today are so talented, you think, shoveling down your meal in sheer politeness. “This is delicious, Haiba-kun! The chicken is so tender and the rice is so well-seasoned! I wish I had your sense for cooking...”

“My sister made it, actually. I tried to help her cut the eggs, but it ended up being a mess and she told me to just sit and wait in the dining room,” he replies sheepishly, a bubble of laughter slipping from between his lips. “I’m glad you like it though, Senpai! Just wait ‘til my sister hears about your reaction!”

“Does your sister always make your lunches for you?” you ask, curiosity subduing your reserve.

Lev takes a moment to swallow the lump of rice in his mouth.

“Mm, sometimes. If she’s not having a lecture in the morning, she’ll make breakfast. Otherwise, the teriyaki set at the cafeteria is just as good!”

Cafeteria. You shiver. That hellhole of shoving and scrambling and incessant talking... You’re thankful the school had decided to set up a few more vending machines close to campus when you entered your second year.

And then you think of Lev. With that extreme height and intimidating presence, he wouldn’t have to put his foot on the line every time he wanted melon bread, right? And he is definitely the type of person to be able to talk to the loud cafeteria lady without dropping his change.

Confidence. Recklessness. Bliss. All the prime features you wanted, right in front of you—and yet...

“Hey, L/N-senpai?” you snap awake from your thoughts. A dash of concern flashes over your underclassman’s features before he repeats his muted question. “Can I have one of your sausages?”

Peering down at the cluster of uneaten octopus sausages, you quickly nod, face reddening once you realize how close Lev is breathing near you. “G-Go ahead.”

Chirping out a “thank you for the food!”, the silver-haired boy swoops down on a miniature octopus, a sound of immense satisfaction humming in his chest. He’s like a child, you laugh to yourself. A young boy with no sense of care of the world, no concern of what’s going to happen to him unless he really does it.

Leaning back on the bench, you sigh, a smile dawning on your face. “You didn’t have to force yourself to eat lunch with me, you know. I usually eat by myself anyway.”

You’re being apologetic again. You want to punch yourself for even thinking of it. But your habit precedes your intentions, and you can already feel the mood turn sour—

“Why not though?”

Looking up at him incredulously, you can barely string together a coherent response before Lev pipes up again.

“Isn’t food always best when eaten together?”

How pretentious.

There are already valleys of flowers blooming in your stomach at his innocent reply. The same kind that sprouted the day he’d burst into your private practice room. You really hoped you wouldn’t get ahead of yourself anymore. Not with the risks that it carried. But this guileless first year was a much more difficult case than you’d imagined, and thus the flowers go into full blossom.

You smile, the faint blush on Lev’s cheeks going unnoticed. “Yeah. We should eat together more often.”

And so you did. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. The passage of time a trivial shadow beneath your budding happiness.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

“You work in a symphony?! Senpai’s job is super cool!”

Under the amber light of the cafe’s chandelier, you can’t help but feel a certain déjà vu at your current situation. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re having tea with your high school underclassman, or maybe it’s simply the residue of your more recent wistful thinking.

Yet again, it still hasn’t registered into your mind how you’d miraculously manifested Lev into proximity just from your sheer yearning... You kind of feel selfish.

“It’s just a freelance job though, it’s probably not as impressive as being a model,” you say.

Lev crosses his arms huffily, and you worry if you’ve started to offend him. Until he opens his mouth again. “Modelling is suuuper embarassing. Sometimes, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that ‘that’s my face!’ or ‘I made that pose with that other model’. The agency’s really harsh on the way I dress too—I mean, what’s wrong with wearing a shirt that says ‘HERBIVORE’ to go to Lawson’s?”

You stifle a giggle as he rambles on about “the time I had to cross-dress as a woman because the female model quit on the day of the shoot”. For someone who had grown up to be a lean, rather attractive figure, you can’t shake your head away from the thought that the 16-year old Haiba Lev is still stuck inside the body of a corporate slave. There’s a sense of relief that accompanies the feeling, and memories of your high school days slowly come into picture—

“One black tea and a latte for the lovely couple?” a kind-looking waiter gently sidles in between you, cutting Lev off from his rant, and you from your reflection.

Turning a vivid shade of crimson, you stutter, “O-oh... we are not—”

“Thank you,” Lev grins dashingly, enough to make your heart race and a few passers-by to stop in their tracks.

Once the waiter retreats back into the pantry, the man across you slowly leans forward to whisper endearingly. “My sister wants me to practice my English while I’m abroad. You think I got my message across, Senpai?”

“You did well, Haiba-kun.” There are a lot of things you want to ask him really. If he really knew the meaning behind the waiter’s sentence. Or if he realized he’d nearly pronounced ‘you’ with an extra ‘th’.

... Or why he’s pouring in a mound of sugar into your cup of tea.

“H-Haiba-kun, that order’s mine...”

“Hm? Yeah, I know,” he mutters, the soft clinking of the spoon against glass echoing in your head. “You like your stuff really sweet, right? Man, I used to be really worried the first few times we had tea together.”

That’s right, you gulp. The endless hours you’d spent together in the Orchestra Club room... he really did learn a lot of things about you that time, didn’t he? Although you had merely been friends, Lev had grown on you, as if he’d always been there from the start. And you wonder: what else does he remember about you?

“Ah, by the way,” Lev starts. “Are you still thinking about setting up that music store you wanted?”

“Of course,” you mumble. It was only a naïve dream was what you meant to say, but in the presence of such a captivating man, all the gears in your head seemed to... dislocate.

Lev smiles a simple smile. Boyish at best, but still enough to enrapture you into his lingering gaze.

“I’m glad.... I’m glad you haven’t given up. You know, the old L/N-senpai would’ve called it quits because you thought you weren’t good enough. But look at you now! Soon enough, you’ll be off to teach music to the world.”

Your heart is already doubling in size at his words. Any more and you’d probably explode... You’d lost it. You’ve lost all the capability to keep your heart in control, and now you are smiling like a maniac in front of the last person you wanted to see in this state.

But he only laughs. Youthful and full of color. Unchanging from all those years ago.

“Wahahaha! You finally smiled! We should celebrate, you know. Just a small holiday from all that hard work. Say... are you still going to be in Vienna in the weekend?”

“I’m free on those days. But what’s all this about?”

Hiding his bashful smirk behind his cup of coffee, Lev murmurs. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we—Uwaah! Hot!”

Unchanging indeed, you shake your head, calling over the waiter for an extra set of napkins.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. February 2013.

There is a tea party set stashed between the two cardboard boxes filled with sheet music and spare melodicas. They’ve been left behind by your graduated seniors, who insisted that tea, “as the prime component to a good host”, was to be kept in the club room at all times, case there were any visiting guests.

...Of course, such things never happened. And you always ended up drinking the tea by yourselves. But even with the departure of your beloved seniors, you can never shake off the habit of drinking and restocking the supplies whenever required.

So you wonder if you should really be thanking your tea-loving upperclassmen for the free beverages.

“That’s a lot of sugar!” Lev gasps in awe, the emeralds in his eyes twisting and shining with the cascade of crystals falling into your cup of tea. “I bet you have a lot of cavities in your mouth, Senpai.”

“I brush my teeth very well so I don’t think anything like that’s every happened to me,” you say, irritably trying to ignore the tactless comment from your starry-eyed underclassman. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in my club room, hasn’t it? I’m glad you didn’t get lost trying to get here.”

He grumbles, crossing his arms in faux-anger. “Geez! I won’t get lost like that so easily! Besides...”

Lev takes a moment to drink in the warmth of the club room’s solace. The grand piano in the corner. The orange light streaming through the open curtains. Your curious face, like something out of a fairytale book.

“This place is full of good memories, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll ever forget something like that.”

You chuckle at his monologue. “You sound like my grandfather, Haiba-kun.”

Lev’s face warps into something reminiscent of a prune.

“Senpai, we’re only two years apart!” he fumes. “You didn’t invite me here just to crush my self-esteem, right?! C-Come on, aren’t you going to show me the audition piece you wanted me to hear?”

There is a burning urge inside of you that’s telling you to “pull at his leg just a little more...”, but nevertheless, the artist within you says to keep your audience at bay. And so, the curtains open and your fingers dance on familiar keys.

You’ve played for him before. Songs like ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ or ‘Ma Mère L’oye’. Songs that you love, much like the one you’re performing for him right now. But you’re shaking in your seat. Wondering, anticipating, fearing.

He’s staring so much, you bite your lip, trying to avert your focus from Lev’s unbreakable gaze.

A single spectator wracks your brain even more than a theatre full of different kinds people—enthusiasts, university scouts, onlookers. But in your dismal, little club room, there is only your underclassman. Someone who knows nothing of music, but lacks so much knowledge that you know any of his critique would come from honesty alone.

...Why do you care so much about one person’s opinion?

You don’t realize how long you’ve been pondering until your train of thought is abruptly thwarted by the end of your song. You finish on a satisfying note and your endearing onlooker suddenly springs on his feet to shower you in applause.

“What the heck—that was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone play like that before!” Lev stumbles, everything and anything he’d planned to say pouring out as a blubbering mess as your face grows hotter from the attention. “Senpai, you’ll definitely pass the audition if you play just like that.”

“Y-You really think so?” he’s probably just being nice, you think. But for a spare moment, could you simply imagine that he means every word?

“I know so!” he smiles, the palpitations in your chest growing intense by the second. “You just have to keep going, won’t you?”

Even if you’re not brave enough to believe it, you want to believe that there’s a single Haiba Lev in this unyielding universe who believes that you, a mere side character who wishes for more, can and will.

You feel invincible.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

Did you know that swans mate for life? As a symbol of love and affection, they’re widely known to curve their necks together in a shape of a heart when courting. A form of elegance at its finest... until they start hissing.

“They’re so big! Senpai, come take a look at the swans!”

Folding the brochure into a tiny square, you return to your companion’s side, peering over the railings of the bridge to catch a glimpse of the thrush of white feathers down below.

You gulp. They are much larger than you expected.

“They’re surprisingly loud, aren’t they?” you mutter, watching a cygnet waddle its way out of the water onto the banks of the canal. You didn’t want to say, but it slightly reminded you of Lev the first time he’d waddled his way into the the Orchestra Club room.

With the constant squawking of the swans, the both of you find yourself in silence. For you, at least, the past two days viewing all sorts of Austrian sights with Lev had been strangely more gratifying than you’d fathomed. Lev, who’d been as excitable as he’d always been, breathes in peace, plumes of white forming from his mouth.

“This weekend’s been nice, hasn’t it?” you break the silence, observing the smooth junctures of his face. Lev turns to you slowly, his voice squeezing out.

“Don’t say that.”

Your blood freezes. “What?”

“Saying things like that...” Lev sighs wilfully and turns back to the view of the canal. He frowns. “I don’t want to think that this weekend is going to be over soon.”

You want to cry out. Me too. Me too, me too, me too. Your entire body is so full of butterflies you want to double over and pass out. But he continues.

“Travelling and talking with you is so fun, I never want it to end... It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “D-Do you think so too? Am I a selfish person for thinking that?”

You shake your head. “It’s not embarrassing, Haiba-kun. I—”

Are you red? Are you blushing? Your face feels so hot, you can’t even finish your sentence. He’s so close. So close to you. You want to be reliable, you want to reply, but you can’t. Under his bewitching gaze, you’ve fallen so deep.

When Lev opens his mouth again, it’s like everything around you—the bridge, the people, the swans have entirely vanished. “L/N-senpai, c-can I tell you something? Something I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

Eh?

“I’ve always liked you, Senpai. I really, really like you.”

Blank. Your mind goes blank, even when you whisper a small, “Really?”

You’re happy, you’re so happy you want to jump and shout to the world that you love him. Awfully. Dearly. It’s all like a train had crashed into you headfirst, and you can’t settle on a proper response before the floodgates burst open.

“Wh-Whoa! Don’t cry!” he flails his arms in panic as more tears dribble down your cheeks. “Geez, Senpai, at least reply to me first...”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your eyes with the edges of your scarf. “I’m just so happy, I didn’t know how to react.”

Lev’s chest inflates for a moment before he lunges forward to encapsulate you in his embrace. Between the persistent layers of clothing, the beating of his heart resonates deeply against your face. It’s quick and lively, warm enough to remind you of the swirled feelings that you harbor for one another.

“Oh, thank god...” Lev grins, burying his face in your shoulder. “You feel the same way...”

Humming calmly into his ear, you revel in the closure. “I really, really like you too, Haiba-kun.”

And none of you lets go—save for when a swan makes its way up to the bridge to peck at Lev’s boots.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. March 2023.

“... Lev, wake up.”

Feeling a slight nudge on his cheek, Lev tethers over opening his eyes to wonder at your beautiful smile or bury his face even deeper into the sheets.

It’s not like he didn’t favor you, but as of now, the comforts of your shared bed was more important. And thus, Haiba Lev, age 26, shrouds himself under the plush duvet and focuses himself on the sweet dream he was having about you.

“Lev, I know you can hear me...” he hears you sigh, long and airy, just enough to lull him back to sleep. “You have a fitting today, don’t you? You’re going to trouble Matsuyo-san and Alisa-nee if you arrive late.”

Isn’t that on Thursday? Actually... what day is it today? He isn’t very good with dates and formalities—that’s why he considers himself lucky to have you! A cute lover to bring him back to land during the day, and to shower with love and to cuddle with during the evening.

Yawning widely, Lev owlishly wrenches his eyes open, the crystalline sunlight from the bedroom window illuminating your face like a halo.... and was that his shirt you were wearing?

Lucky me~ he grins goofily.

Pressing his lips together, Lev pulls you by the wrist and before you can avoid the sudden attack, you’ve collapsed once more into a tangled mess of limbs and crooked sheets, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Let’s just stay in bed today, Y/N-san~” he slurs, nuzzling closer to you. How catlike, you think. “I want to be lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy again...”

He yawns again, a few stray tresses of silver falling over his face. As if he wasn’t as attractive every hour of the day, you really have learned how to take control of your extreme heart palpitations around him.

Your adorable younger boyfriend, ah... he really is your weakness, isn’t he?

“I’m really sorry, but I have to open up the shop soon,” you reluctantly peel yourself away from him, eliciting a small whimper from the Leviathan in your bed. “I’ll make it up to you when I finish teaching my evening lessons and when you come home, okay?”

Stubborn as a goat, Lev grumbles. “I’ll come back early, you know. Can you not do your evening lessons today?”

“Hm? Why not?” your raised eyebrow is cynical, but is juxtaposed by the gentle strokes of your palm on the crown of his head.

As much as Lev loves you (he does, he really does!), it’s rather annoying when he can’t tell if you’re seriously being oblivious or simply teasing him. He hopes for neither, but in his case, you’re an addict to his gags and without a doubt, you’re definitely messing with him right now.

“Those damn brats... I don’t like the way they stare you up during your classes.”

You laugh, raucously. And Lev considers leaving you to catch a break from the constant jeering. When you finally pipe down, you shift closer to him and press your head onto his bare chest.

“Lev, they’re nine. How else are they going to learn to play if they don’t watch me do it first?” you chuckle. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me. You should be worrying about that fitting you have in a few hours.”

“Geez, fine,” he groans. “A kiss before I shower?”

You know exactly where this is going. “Just one.”

Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Lev makes quick work of his hands and tenderly cup your cheek before placing a timid kiss on your lips.

No morning breath, you notice. As expected of a professional model.

“One more...” he whispers, swooping down on your lips once again.

Two, three and maybe seven kisses later, Lev has you caged between his arms, his looming figure propped proudly over you as he continues to pepper you with affection. The moment he starts to lap up your bottom lip, you know you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

“It’s so early, Y/N-san,” he mumbles, pleading eyes making your heart turn to jelly. “We have a few more hours before we really have to go, don’t we? So... in the meantime...?”

Sighing, you can only turn a deep red—he really has you around his finger, doesn’t he? Oh well. You suppose it won’t hurt to push back your morning lessons for a few minutes, right?

[xcziel]

Between Dusk and Dawn

by @alxina & @xantissa

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Wu Xie/Wang Can

Characters: Wu Xie (DMBJ Series), Wang Can (DMBJ Series), Wang Meng (DMBJ Series), Liu Sang (DMBJ Series), Wang Pangzi, Zhang Qiling

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, AU, Undercover, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, First Time, Angst, Humor, Romance, The 10 years when Wu Xie was a mob widow

Summary:

When Wang Can stumbled onto Wu fucking Xie while hiding abroad, he expected everything but being told to play a goddamn honeytrap on the man!

Sex he could deal with, but emotions were not supposed to be a part of this.

-

The low roar of the engine as it made its way through the desert sounded oddly loud in the early dawn. The sand had started picking up the silver from the horizon, widening around him as he stared ahead through the windshield. Wang Can stared at the road stretching ahead, seeming almost limitless in the faint light, and stepped on the gas, the whine of the engine drowning out all of his thoughts.

He was still feeling faintly queasy, so he rolled down his window, letting the cool air hit him in the face, and didn’t roll it back up when he started feeling a little better. The car seemed suddenly small with the windows up. He still wasn’t sure whether it had been the right decision to leave at night instead of waiting for Wu Xie to wake up and then leave in the morning. It had been hard, picking up his clothes from the bed in the dark and getting dressed as quietly as possible, but it would have been even harder if he had had to look at Wu Xie’s expression while he dressed, then still make the decision to leave. No, it was better this way. He wasn’t stealing away like a thief in the night, he was just making… strategic choices. Choices which he could follow through without risking them being waylaid by his own unreliability. Because that was what he was when facing Wu Xie - unreliable. He would have had to leave anyway, there was really no point in dragging this out anymore than he had to.

He shifted a little on the seat, trying to get comfortable despite still being sore from being fucked only hours before, and he clenched his thighs reflexively as he remembered that. There were a few more hours of driving ahead of him, and he tried to focus on that for now.

It was only much later that Wang Can realised that he had left the headlights on even once the sun was up. It frustrated him, and he swept his gaze across the dashboard, checking if there was anything else that had escaped his notice, and saw the pack of wet wipes sitting in a corner where he had obviously forgotten to put it back under his seat. The wipes made him think of Wu Xie, and he reached out with one hand to get at them, trying and failing to reach them, before letting them stay there for the time being.

They had reached the meeting place where Wu Xie’s backup was supposedly waiting. Wang Can was curious as hell, but managed not to ask. He told Wu Xie he was going to leave the next day. He told him he didn’t want to talk. He preferred sex, it so much easier that way, just flesh and sensation.

And he did leave in the morning.

Just… earlier in the morning than he might have implied.

It was easier to focus on what he was doing. On making sure no cars were tailing him, on keeping track of his fuel, or the occasional speed trap.

He stopped for food twice. Once at a gas station to buy a hot dog wannabe, and the second time by a small trailer parked at the edge of a side road leading off the highway towards some sort of small town. There were plenty of other cars - all local - parked on the side of the road, people eating from small plastic bowls while leaning against their cars.

The stew was phenomenal, tasting all the more amazing with half of a fresh baguette. He ate in his car with the AC blasting full force, and tried to ignore the papayas piled on turned over crates beside the trailer and the boy selling quarters of them for a few coins, using a large knife to skilfully cut them open with one whack and scraping the seeds into a bucker by his feet, the breeze carrying the scent towards him and irritating him to no end.

He switched the AC to internal air circulation and was oddly glad for the amount of spice in the stew, which made his nose run and him unable to smell anything.

A few hours later, Wang Can was pulling up in front of the street where Lao Shen lived, and, even as he killed the engine and picked up his bag, he glanced out through the window to see if there was anyone around whom he recognised. Coming here was a risk, but he hoped the information that Wu Xie was alive hadn’t yet reached any of his handlers, and he had to get the documents he had stashed here. Money, equipment, those he could deal without, but the documents would be so very hard to get, and those he had here were acquired through a local freelance contact not exactly Wang sponsored, so, to him, in the situation he was in, they were priceless.

He got out of the car and walked up to the front entrance, feeling the back of his neck tingle from the way two mercenaries whom he hadn’t seen before looked his way as he entered. Of course there would have been a dozen new recruits during the time he was away in the desert, but even still, Wang Can watched them as he made his way through the open hall and towards the stairwell. He walked over to his room, which was at the very end of the corridor, turning the key in the lock and pushing in without making too much noise. It smelled musty inside, and he flicked on the light switch and immediately made his way to the bed, looking around once to check that everything was in its place.

Dropping to a low crouch, Wang Can peered under the bed, running his fingers along the edge, then moved them further inside until he felt the familiar shape of the package underneath. Wang Can ripped off the tape holding it in place and let it drop into his hands. He returned to the desk to open it and see what he could use at the moment. He didn’t want to risk damaging the documents, so he brought out his combat knife and sliced it open at the top, then scattered the items out on the surface of the desk.

“You know, Hans must have liked you, because he actually tried to cover for you when I called.” Lao Shen sounded tired, the characteristic rasp of his voice more pronounced than usual.

Wang Can let his hands drop on the desk as he slowly looked around.

“Don’t move,” Lao Shen said, the distinct sound of a safety being pulled back echoing in the quiet house. “I’m too old to get into a hand to hand altercation with you.”

“Lao Shen,” Wang Can said slowly, watching the man silhouetted in the doorway.

[ambssssssssss]

Juliantina as teachers hcs

(bc it’s my first year teaching and i’m Going Through It so ofc i’m projecting)

Val teaches English, Juls teaches art

Val has been planning to be a teacher for a long time, majored in English and minored in education in college

Juls, on the other hand, very much stumbled into teaching

Juls has an art degree and does a little work as a freelance artist, started teaching as a sub and ended up falling in love with the job. 

It's Val's first year as a teacher, Juliana's second

They meet on the first day of teacher in-service, at the first staff meeting. 

Valentina shares half a doughnut with Juls while they wait for the meeting to start

After the meeting, Val heads to her classroom and realizes that she and Juliana are in the same hall but on opposite sides. 

"You're much nicer than the last teacher that was here," Juliana says on the second day of in-service, perched on one of the desks in Val's room. "Prettier too." 

Valentina is so glad she isn't looking directly at Juliana bc could her face be any warmer right now geez Val get a grip

By the end of the week, Val has decided that Juls is her best friend (she likes the other people she works with-but Juls is different) 

There's a huge faculty dinner that weekend where Val meets some of the other teachers. 

It's also when the not-serious-but-obviously-series rivalry between Juliana and Lucho begins. 

(Lucho coaches football/soccer-most of the kids think he's an ass) 

Anyway, by the time the school year actually begins, Val and Juls are the best of friends and both are oblivious to the heart eyes they have around one another

The other teachers, however, are not oblivious

Neither are the students

It starts on Monday of the second week of school

A student asks Val why Ms. Valdes is always in Val's room before the first bell. Val says that Juls brings her breakfast in the morning and they sometimes make plans for lunch 

A few of the more shippers/fandom kids raise their eyebrows but the students accept the answer

They start watching more closely 

(more under the cut bc this got out of hand)

It starts with just first and last period, the time of day when Val and Juls would most likely be able to visit one another in their rooms

It's like a schedule, the students figure out. 

Monday and Wednesday, they meet in Val's room after the last bell. Tuesday and Thursday, they meet in Juls' room

They don't meet on Friday's, at first, bc of pep rallies, which they always leave together 

By homecoming the rumor mill is flying

The other teachers hear and gossip amongst themselves, only occasionally missing a student eavesdropping on them

Almost everyone-meaning everyone but Lucho lol-are positive there is something going on between them, especially after homecoming

Bc Val and Juls had coordinated their outfits for everyday of Homecoming

Monday: pj day - they wore the same outfit but in different colors, red for Juls and blue for Val

Tuesday: decades day - they both go as hippies, one student is positive they switch glasses halfway through the day

Wednesday: meme day - a coincidence that they both wear t-shirts with horrible, yet matching, puns? I think not

Thursday: character day - thing 1 and thing 2, it literally could not be more obvious

Friday: spirit day - okay, doesn't count bc literally everyone is wearing school colors but the students are positive that Val doesn't own the white converse she wears (that have Juliana's signature on the heel) 

They sit together at the homecoming game, with the rest of the teachers sure but still noticeably there with each other

A band kid catches them taking a selfie together and did Ms. C just kiss Ms. V on the cheek?!?! 

Text to the almost school wide group snap chat that just says "please tell me someone caught that on camera" 

Several people did, from several angles, including a yearbook kid who happened to be photographing the stands at that exact moment 

(The extra, very zoomed in pic wasn't necessary but the sponsor won't complain-she ships it too) 

Everyone is shocked when a very brave student asks both Juls and Val, during class no less, if they are dating anyone and they both say no

All the students are like “excuse me? Ur gf is literally down the hall” 

Mission ‘Make Juliantina Canon’ begins

(there’s almost a hashtag for it, but the students thankfully decide that’s a little too much - they’ll settle for what is basically light stalking instead) 

Word is spread to the teachers, accidentally-on-purpose, and pretty soon the whole school is in on it

Val’s mentor teacher casually reminds her that there’s no rules against co-workers dating

On school trips (Val somehow ends up coaching basketball and Juliana is co-sponsor of the yearbook so they travel together a lot during the winter), it works out so they always are sitting either in the same seat or right next to each other

Lots of discussion on the development of Juliantina during these trips on the student’s part, lots of teachers trying to discreetly tell the kids to shut the fuck up, they’re literally a seat in front of you 

Val and Juls being oblivious to the rumor mill going wild around them and continuing to be friends

Just friends though, not more than that, even though they both very much want to be more than that

So. Much. Pinning. 

As they get closer, Valentina gets much more expressive with her affection

Physical touch is her love language, I will die on this hill 

If she and Juls are alone, they’re always holding hands or hugging or cuddled up together on the couch for their now weekly movie nights

They’re spotted more than once strolling down the street hand-in-hand

Even Lucho starts to see it and well, it’s kind of hard to miss now that Valentina has turned down his invitation to a date for the fifth time so she can watch Grey’s Anatomy with Juliana

By Thanksgiving, the whole school is going mad bc will they please just date already 

The rumor mill goes wild when they find out that Valentina had hosted a friend’s giving over Thanksgiving break (this au takes place in an imaginary Texas where homophobia isn’t a thing, deal with it) and Juliana was already there when the first guest arrived early in the morning to help Val cook. 

Juliana had come into the kitchen wearing pajamas that were just a little too loose on her and fixed herself a cup of coffee like she did it every morning, even kissing Valentina’s cheek as she stepped up to the stove to make herself breakfast

Please, they’re basically married

Juliana has spent a lot of time at Valentina’s place, it’s bigger and homey-er than her own, plus Valentina has a big TV and a very comfortable bed

Juliana basically lives there

Valentina doesn’t complain, even when it gets to the point that she has to bring Juliana’s blouse to work bc the one Juls wanted to wear, she had left at Valentina’s 

(thankfully, the students don’t catch wind of that trade, can you imagine) 

They spend Christmas together too

Valentina can’t really travel bc there’s still basketball practice and games over the winter break, Juliana simply can’t afford to travel to Mexico to visit her mother

So they spend Christmas together and one day while Juls is watching a basketball game and paying more attention to Valentina than to the actual game, she begins to wonder what exactly they are doing? 

Like, Juliana has other teacher friends, but she doesn’t hug them, or kiss them on the cheek, or bring them breakfast every morning, or get sad when she doesn’t see them at work, or want to cuddle up on the couch with them after a long day at work and - 

Oh shit I’m in love with her

One teacher owes another 20 bucks for betting that Juls would figure it out first (in my mind this is Kara Danvers and Barry Allen but that’s neither here nor there) 

Juliana acts a little funny the next few days, avoids going out on New Year’s by claiming she has a headache when she’s really trying to figure out what to do now

Valentina shows up at her door the Sunday before winter break ends and demands to know why Juliana is avoiding her

Whatever she’s done wrong, she’ll fix it but please just talk to me 

Juliana breaks and kisses her

Valentina kisses her back

“There’s nothing wrong, I’m in love with you.” 

“Thank god. I’m in love with you.” Valentina kisses Juliana again. “Also, are you aware that literally the whole school ships us?”

[ravens-words]

Malex Week 2020

Day 1: Meet Ugly

Of Roses and Bad Dates

Maria answered on the second ring. "How did the date go?!"

"I'm going to kill you."

Warnings: My poor attempt at humor and my even poorer attempt at a good story title.

Happy reading!

........................................

Alex never thought he would ever agree to be set up on a blind date, but Maria Deluca was a force to be reckoned with when she was hell bent on something and she had decided Michael Guerin was the perfect guy for him. 

Alex doubted such a person existed, but he went along with it, mainly because she'd sent him a picture of the man and he was attractive as hell. That was not to say he was thrilled about it; he'd contemplated not showing up to the date at least three times today, but had ultimately forced himself to put on his fanciest shirt and his newest pair of jeans, actually used some of the hair products Maria had dumped on him and drove to the restaurant they were supposed to meet up at. 

When he did show up, Micheal was twenty minutes late, and though Alex was annoyed by it, he let it go. He spotted him by the door and felt his lips begin to stretch in a smile when he saw the other man's head swivel from side to side, clearly in search of him as he waited for the waiter to come back and show him to the table. The smile fell off his face however as he saw him sway in place Michael rested his head on a closed fist and closed his eyes.

Alex took a deep, calming breath and convinced himself that there was no way his best friend would ever set him up with a guy who would show up drunk to a date.

Then Michael took a step forward and stumbled towards their table and- yep, he was drunk.

And Alex was going to kill Maria.

He took another breath and plastered on the biggest fake smile he could muster and stood up. Michael managed a small smile and then they stood there and stared at each other like a couple of awkward teenagers until Alex hesitantly sat down and Michael did the same. 

"Hey," Michael broke the silence, voice friendly, if a little quiet. Alex relaxed a little and returned the small smile. 

Maybe this could work.

The conversation started out tentative, and a little stilted, but Alex didn't mind. It was almost a relief when the waitress came and took their order. Once that was done,  Michael, for the first time in the thirty minutes they'd spent together, asked him a question. "Maria told me you're a computer genius? What do you do?"

Alex grinned. "I wouldn't say a genius, and I work freelance-" he trailed off. Now, Alex was a patient person. And he was masterful at ignoring things to keep the peace. He'd ignored Michael zoning out and trailing off mid sentence multiple times. He'd ignored the thinly veiled insult he'd blurted out when Alex had mentioned his service. Hell, he'd even managed  ignore the fact that Michael reeked of alcohol. 

But he drew the line at this. 

Jaw clenched, he watched as, honest to god, Michael fell asleep while he was mid-sentence. He stared, wondering if knocking his fist out from under his chin would be too rude. Just as the idea was starting to get more appealing, their server came with their food. 

"Here you go," she said, flashing him a sympathetic smile. 

He was going to kill Maria. 

A minute or two later, Michael's hand slipped from under his head and he jerked awake, looking around wildly. It would have been funny if Alex didn't want to throttle him. 

His brown eyes widened. "I-"

Alex glared at him as he sipped from the water glass in front of him, and he enjoyed the way the other man squirmed under his gaze. "Good nap?"

Michael laughed nervously, hand going to his shirt collar and tugging uncomfortably. "Hey, I'm-"

A cake was suddenly put in the center of the table and the lights in the restaurant dimmed as slow jazz music filled the chilly silence that descended upon them. Alex's left eye twitched as they stared at each other. "Did you do this?" He asked icily. 

Michael stared at him, mouth open and oh, he was staring to get pissed off, too. "Of course not, why would I-" 

Flower petals were thrown over their heads and Michael's mouth clicked shut. 

Alex raised an eyebrow, covered in flower petals and more than a little angry. "Is this a fucking joke?" He hissed.

Michael scoffed and stood up, only to have the waitress knock into him from behind. They both went down, hard, and Alex blinked down at the two bodies sprawled out at his feet. 

The waitress, Meagan, scrambled up, horrified and began to apologize to Michael, hands fluttering over his back. 

"Ow," Michael moaned.

Alex got up and left.

"How did the date go?!"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Yikes," his bestfriend muttered. "What'd he do?" She sounded disappointed.  "Lay it on me."

"He showed up drunk. He said maybe ten words to me, and five of which were to imply that I'm a brainless, violent jarhead because, oh yeah, he hates the military, Maria." 

He could just imagine her wincing. He carried on. "He fell asleep two seconds after he asked me about my job. Then for some stupid reason he had a cake brought to us and- I kid you not- rose petals were thrown over our heads."

He heard a snort and growled at her. "He tried to deny that it was him, but why the fuck would that happen if he didn't ask for it?"

She let out a strangled sound and he rolled his eyes. "Fine, you can laugh."

And she did. Loudly. For thirty-two seconds. "You done?"

"I'm sorry, honey. I really am," she offered sincerely. "For what it's worth, that's not like Guerin at all. Maybe if you give him-"

"Oh, hell no," he cut her off vehemently. "If I never see the guy again, it would be too soon."

.....

"Alex!"

Alex turned around and grinned as he watched his brother cross the street. He was pulled into a bear hug the second he was within touching distance and he found himself sinking into the embrace. He hadn't seen his brother much in the year or so since he'd left the air force, too busy with his job and the traveling he'd been doing. 

"Thanks for coming, buddy."

Alex pulled away, and squeezed his brother's neck. "Like I'd miss your engagement party?" 

Gregory put an arm around his shoulders and led him down the street. Two minutes later, they were entering the Crashdown.

"I wanted you to meet Isobel before the party," his brother explained when Alex asked why they were in the diner. "One of her brothers just moved here, so he's with her. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course it is! You've only been trying to get us in a room together since-" he froze when he spotted Isobel, who he'd seen in pictures his brother either sent him or posted on Instagram, and who exactly was sitting beside her. He turned around, giving them his back and closed his eyes. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What?" Gregory muttered, confused. 

"You know what? On second thought, I think I'm gonna-" 

"Greg!" 

"Damnit," Alex cursed softly, turning around. 

"Alex-"

"It's fine, Greg."

"Wait-" his brother called out, but he ignored him and walked ahead, head held high. The way he was marching towards the table, you'd think he was walking into battle, not lunch with his brother's fiance and- well, the less was said about Michael the better. 

Gregory caught up to him and Alex allowed two seconds of eye contact between him and Michael, just enough to enjoy the comicial widening of his eyes, before he turned his attention back to his brother and his fiance. Greg leaned down and placed a peck on her cheek. The grin on her face lit up her whole face and he found himself smiling softly. 

"Alex," his brother started, smiling wide and giddy. "This is Isobel, my fiance. Honey, this is my brother, Alex."

"Hi, Isobel," Alex greeted, extending a hand. 

"It's great to finally put a face to the name," She took his hand in hers and smirked. "And what a face it is."

Alex barked out a surprised laugh and watched his brother shake his head, looking at her fondly.

"Alex, this is my brother-"

And there went the good, happy thoughts. "Michael," he finished for her, words icy. "Yeah, we've met."

Isobel's eyebrows shot up, and his brother mirrored her shock perfectly. They wanted clarification, but Alex wasn't sure this would end well for any of them if he got started about that date from hell.

Gregory and Isobel slowly slid in beside each other on one side of the table, eyes never leaving him, and he was left with no other choice but to sit beside Michael, who still hadn't said a word. Alex resisted the urge to look at him, and did his best to ignore him. 

"So, Alex, Greg tells me you're a freelance cybersecurity expert? How's that going for you?"

"I'd love to answer, but I might put Michael here right to sleep."

There was a chocked out cough beside him and Alex paid him no mind as he slowly sipped from the water placed in front of him. 

Gregory and Isobel shared a look of bewilderment. "I have so many questions," Isobel muttered, gaze swinging from him to Michael, who was still coughing a little. 

"Can I talk to you?" Michael whispered, closer than Alex expected. He shivered as the other man's breath tickled his neck and gripped his glass tightly. "No," he answered without sparing him a glance. 

And that was it. They spent the lunch either trading passive aggressive insults disguised as attempts at conversation or ignoring each other's existence and fuming in silence.

Today was going to be a long one, Alex could just tell. 

...

Michael Guerin, clean shaven, hair actually combed and in a suit was a sight to behold.

Alex truly hated how attractive the man was. 

They'd been ignoring each other for the better part of two hours, save for the one time Michael had approached and Alex had literally hid in the bathroom for ten minutes. Alex, three drinks in and pleasantly buzzed, was just now starting to relax, thinking that he might have escaped what could have been a disastrous confrontation with Michael. 

So, of course that was when Michael pounced. 

Alex, standing close to the exit of Maria's bar, sipping on his whiskey, was yanked outside by the arm. His surprise gave the other man the advantage for all of a few seconds, and by the time they were outside, Alex had regained his balance and slammed him against the brick wall, hands bunched in his suit jacket.

They were both breathing hard, and standing way too close than they should have been for two people who barely tolerated each other. 

Alex wasn't sure who made the first move, but seconds later, they were kissing. Hard, filthy and all teeth. Alex pulled away, breathing erratic, and stared at the man; his lips, red and swollen, were drawn in a smug smile and Alex felt his hackles rising at the sight.

He pulled him in again, one hand in his hair and the other making its way down his back. Michael's back arched at his touch, and then they were flush against each other. He moaned and Michael's hands tightened around Alex's waist, enough to leave bruises. Alex gasped into the kiss when Michael's tongue darted out and licked the seam of his lips. He deepened the kiss and when his hands found their way under the other man's suit jacket,  Michael made a sound of protest and pulled away. "If I ruin this suit, Isobel will kill me," he informed him. 

When Alex moved to pull away, he didn't let him, pulled him in closer instead. "Why don't we move this back to my place?" He mumbled against his lips. 

"Yes."

...

*One Week Later*

"So, let me get this straight," Maria began, looking between the two of them. "You," she pointed at Michael, "had been operating on no sleep and extra shots of espresso for about a week and still thought it would be a good idea to show up to a blind date. And you," she pointed at Alex, "thought he was drunk, ignored that he was late and the fact that he insulted you, then watched him fall asleep while you were talking but the deal breaker was a cake and romantic music?"

They both shared a look, grinning like fools, and shrugged at her in perfect synchronization. She rolled her eyes and swatted at them both with the towel she was wiping down the bar with. "You idiots deserve each other." She rested her elbows on the bar and turned to Michael, an amused smile on her lips. "But seriously, why did you think that was a good idea?" Maria asked Michael.

He shook his head and shot Alex a glare. "It wasn't me," he protested. "I can't believe you actually thought I would do something like that on a first date," he chided Alex.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "So, it's okay for you to insult me and to fall asleep while I'm talking to you, but that wasn't?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're never gonna let it go, are you?"

"Nope. Not ever."

Maria wandered off with a shake of her head and Alex turned his attention to Michael. "You know," he began, sitting on the edge of his barstool to be as close as possible to the other man. "You still haven't told me why you still showed up when you were so exhausted. Why not just cancel the date?"

Michael scoffed. "Are you kidding me? From what Maria told me about you,  I could barely believe you said yes in the first place, I wasn't gonna miss that chance."

Alex smiled, soft and sweet and leaned close. "Yeah?"

Michael met him halfway. The kiss was chaste, but it still sent his heart into a frenzy. "Oh, yeah."

When he pulled away, he didn't move far. He mirrored Alex's position and scooted until he was on the edge of his stool, too, until his knee was wedged in between Alex's. "Speaking of dates, will you go on one with me tomorrow? I promise not to fall asleep this time."

Alex laughed. "Yes."

....

Their second first date was markedly better than the first one. 

That was until Michael, with a shit-eating grin on his face, signaled the waiters and a minute later, there was a cake in front of him and they were both covered in rose petals.

This time, Alex only managed to glare at him halfheartedly for a second, before he was laughing right along with him.

That wasn't the only difference about the date, though; this time, Alex didn't walk out on him and, Instead, when the waiters dispersed and he was left with a Michael who was poorly suppressing a laugh, Alex reached across the table and yanked him closer by the shirt. "You're lucky I like you," he muttered right before he kissed the smile right off of Michael's lips.

[tansypoisoning]

(Un)Conditional - Part 2

I Came Out to Have a Good Time and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now

You didn’t remember how or why you found yourself in Ransom’s bed in the first place, but now, poor, pregnant and desperate, you had your reasons for putting up with him, and they weren’t noble. His reasons for staying with you weren’t noble either.

Hey, long time no see... This took me longer than it should because I wasn’t sure about the dialogue. Still not sure about it. Some of you might have missed the polls I posted so you could help me decide the future of this series, so here they go: Whether or not I should redeem Ransom and What gender the baby (or babies, damn) should be. Democracy is important :)

Anyway: Reader meets the Thrombeys...

Story warnings:  Smut, abusive relationships, mentions of past sexual assault, talk of abortion, daddy kink, drinking, mention of drug use (Will add more as the story goes on)

Chapter 1 - Truce

Chapter 3 

Fandoms: Knives Out

Ships: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Chapter warnings: The reader and Ransom joke about incest and Ransom jokes about selling the baby to pay his grandfather back for all the money he lend him; people drink wine; there’s mention of drugs and people doing them; The Thrombeys are being particularly shitty.

You were off to the clinic to get an urine exam the next day. Ransom had encouraged you to get a more reliable test to make sure you were pregnant, but he wouldn’t accompany you. He was busy, he said, but he didn’t say with what. Probably begging his granddaddy for more money or chasing after another pair of legs.

The clinic would call you in a couple of days to let you know the results. The wait was killing you. The longer you waited, the harder it would be for you to get an abortion. At some point the pill would stop being an option, and you would have to go under the… knife? Scalpel? Coat hanger? Whatever the procedure entailed, it was bound to be more stressful than just taking some meds.

What was most concerning, though, was the possibility of you becoming attached to the fetus. Your misgivings originated from a fear that you might be doing something you shouldn’t, but you had no particular regard for the thing growing inside you. You might as well be carrying a rock – it certainly tired you like one. Some day that could change, though, and the moment it did you knew it would be game over.

The first thing you did when you got home was take off your coat, kick off your shoes and fall face-first on the couch. That was also the only thing you did. According to the sources you checked, fatigue was an early pregnancy symptom, but you weren’t sure it was meant to be this bad. Good thing you weren’t behind on your freelance work; you didn’t think you could handle doing anything that evening. You were hungry, but didn’t have the energy to even go to the kitchen. Your cellphone started ringing at some point, but you had dropped your bag by the entrance. Maybe something else happened too; you didn’t know, you fell asleep soon after.

You were roused from your nap by a cacophony of car honks right outside your window.

You jumped from the couch and stumbled to see what the commotion was about. You expected to find a car crash in front of your building, but all that was there was a familiar vehicle.

You stepped into your slippers and left your apartment. Ransom was still abusing the horn of his BMW when you came out onto the lawn.

“What are you doing?” You cried out, jogging to his car.

He put his head out through the window. “You don’t pick up your phone anymore?” He complained.

“I was sleeping.” The reason why you didn’t answer didn’t matter. This was a distraction. “Why are you here?”

“I came to pick you up, what else?” He seemed to notice you confusion and explained himself “I’m going to introduce you to my family. They’re having a dinner party tonight at my grandfather’s house. If I show up there with a kid before they even know the mother, my mother’s gonna kill me.”

That gave you pause. Introduce you to his family? That had never been in the cards before. Ransom had always been against anything that could hint to intimacy that went beyond sex, because intimacy entailed responsibility, and he was allergic to that. Your relationship was more of an arrangement, one in which he was the one with the most to gain.

Perhaps this would be your chance to really get something for yourself, something other than the occasional orgasm. Although Ransom’s charms and your proclivities were the biggest reason behind the start of your odd relationship, you’d be lying if you said his grandfather’s accomplishments didn’t affect your interest in him. Having been an avid reader of Harlan’s books back in high school (when you still had time and motivation to read) and now working as an assistant editor in the mystery fiction imprint of a large publishing company, you had hoped that maybe being involved with Ransom would give you the chance to meet him.

Even when it became clear Ransom didn’t like you like that, you still stuck around. He was inflexible when it came to your relationship’s dynamics, but you still had a sliver of hope that one day you’d get to meet his family. In the end you were right, and all you had to do to get your wish was let your idol’s grandson raw you after a couple of beers.

“I’m not even sure if I’m pregnant yet.”

“After five tests? Come on.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna keep it.”

“If you don’t, you don’t. Just let me introduce you before you decide. It’ll be awkward otherwise.”

You couldn’t argue with his logic. Ransom’s family wasn’t likely to think well of you if he introduced you as “the chick I knocked up by accident”. Your family wouldn’t be happy about it either, and yet you had to find a way to convince him to meet them at some point. You knew they weren’t going to like him, but it was better than trying to pretend it was a case of Immaculate Conception. They wouldn't fall for it anyway.

“Go get ready so we can go.” He said.

You nodded and ran back inside. He looked like he was in a rush, so all you felt comfortable doing was retouching your make up and putting on a different pair of pants. When you came back down, Ransom was pouting at his wheel.

“About time,” he said “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I took like five minutes.”

“Eight.” He tapped the watch in his wrist.

You decided humoring him wasn’t worth it, so you got into the passenger seat without a word. Ransom took off, his tires squealing as he did a u-turn on your sidewalk. He always drove like a madman, most of all when he was in a hurry.

“How long ‘til we get there?” You asked.

“I can make it in half an hour.”

“I mean safely.”

“In that case, thirty minutes.”

Shame on you, forgetting Ransom was convinced he was immortal.

“Is there anything I have to know about your family before I get there?” You asked, trying to take your mind off the traffic lights flashing by at an alarming speed.

“I could never do them justice,” he snickered.

“At least give me something to work with.”

“You are going to have talk to my parents at least,” he mused “Just nod and agree with whatever my father says. You gotta be smarter with my mother, but avoid challenging her. Joni and Meg are annoying, Walt’s creepy, and there’s no point in talking to Donna and Jacob; they’re gonna hate you no matter what.”

“And Harlan?”

The question put a grimace on his face.

“Be honest. He’s gonna like you.” There was a minute pause before he added “We just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday, so if you can bring up how good he looks for his age without being obnoxious, he’s gonna love it.”

“Eighty-five? When was that?” You liked Harlan’s work, but you didn’t like it enough to bother learning his birth year. You expected him to be younger, what with all the books he was still pumping out on a yearly basis.

“Last week.”

“Your family is big on get-togethers, then?”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” you offered. You weren’t sure you’d get along with your parents as well as you did if they didn’t live in another state.

“Sucking does too.”

“But I thought you liked people who suck?”

That was a twelve year old boy joke, but it got you a chuckle.

“Already know what I’ll be trying today: Hey, Joni, blow me.”

“That’s your aunt right?” You asked and received a nod in response “I can’t wait to see you asking her for a blow job.” You didn’t really think he would go that far, so you weren’t worried you were goading him on. If he did it anyway, it would be because he decided the amusement he would get from pissing his aunt off would be worth whatever she could do to get back at him.

“Fuck, I’d accept one from my grandfather at this point.” You two had had sex just yesterday, but that was fine, you supposed.

“I think I’m going to regret this, but since we’re already in too deep and none of us knows when to stop, where are your parents in the Joni-Harlan blowjob scale?” This question might’ve offended anyone else, but Ransom was made of sterner, more horrible stuff.

He replied without missing a beat. “Oh, my dad wins easy. I don’t fancy getting bit.”

The throwaway line about his mother killing him if he just announced your pregnancy out of the blue came to mind. You wondered if she was as terrible as he made her out to be. You wondered if any of his relatives were as horrible as he made teem out to be.

“Hard to think you’d be scared of anyone in your family with all the money they lend you and you never pay back.”

He snorted. “I’m not scared of any of them. Wouldn’t be going if I were. I already owe Harlan more ‘one-pounds of flesh’ than I weigh.”

“Good thing he doesn’t charge interest.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” His eyes flicked to you for a moment, comically wide “What do you think I want the baby for?”

“You- you want the baby?” You knew he meant to jest about selling your child, and perhaps the bit about wanting it was said in the spirit of the joke, but you couldn’t help but hope it was a Freudian slip. Why did you hope that?

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he considered your question for a few seconds. “I said I would help you with it.”

“No, you said that at first, but now you said you want it. I didn’t even ask for help, I just thought I should tell you. Why did you offer to help in the first place?”

He shrugged. Something about the gesture felt off, less cocksure than his usual self. “Because it felt right.”

“But do you want to do it? Do you even know what raising a child means?”

“Do you?”

No, you didn’t. You might have even less knowledge of the subject than Ransom, weird as that seemed. You hadn’t said you wanted to have the baby, though. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“Do you want me to drop you off at a clinic? Because we can end this now.” Something about the way he’d said it made it seem as if he was talking about more than just the pregnancy.

“That’s not what I meant.” You whispered.

Edifices were replaced by trees as Ransom drove on. It was easy to focus on the changing view, now that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. You had broken one of his unspoken rules: never get emotional around him. You knew he wasn’t in it for something as trivial as feelings, but now with the pregnancy thing you thought… Well, you weren’t sure what you thought.

The rest of the trip went by in silence, seeming to take forever in spite of the scenery flying by. By the time you arrived at your destination you were disheartened – lucky you that the house Ransom parked in front of was the stuff murder mystery fiction dreams were made of.

Harlan’s mansion had been plucked from one of his books, it had to have been. With its red bricks and the Gothic Revival style, it looked like it’d been taken straight out of “Around the Corner and Down the Lane”. It was a magnificent, giant, mysterious house you could easily imagine multiple murders happening inside.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Ransom left the car, slamming the door shut on his way out. You had to hurry after him to get to the porch as he was knocking on the door.

You didn’t have to wait long to hear sounds coming from the other side. There were footsteps against a wooden floor and the shuffling of keys, and then time seemed to slow down. When you woke up that morning, you’d never have thought you would end up meeting Ransom’s family by the end of the day. Were they anything like him? What would they think of you? And what would they think about the thing? You weren’t going to talk about it today, but still…

The door opened, revealing a slim woman with an old fashioned bob-cut. She looked confused when she saw Ransom, and even more when she spotted you. She opened her mouth, but didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Hey, Frannie,” Ransom greeted. If you didn’t know him better, you’d assume he was being friendly. “Take this for me, would you?”

He removed his coat with the speed you’d come to expect from him when it came to taking off his clothes and shoved the mass of fabric into her arms. He walked inside, brushing past her, ignoring the outraged look on her face. You followed after, and her expression was no kinder towards you. It wasn’t the first time someone got mad at you for something Ransom did, but what were you to do? It wasn’t as if you could control him.

As Ransom walked through an arch on the left and the woman scurried through a door to the right, you stood on the spot right in front of the entrance. The gargoyles sculpted in the wood of the stair railing paralyzed you, the lights from the ornate chandelier blinded you, and the memories of books read long ago, hiding under the blankets with a flashlight when you were supposed to be sleeping came rushing back to you. This was much more than you had been expecting.

The inside of the house was dark and sinister like the outside, but there was a sense of warmth you hadn’t anticipated. The soft lights, the lavish rugs, and the numerous trinkets scattered about gave it a lived in feeling. The decoration somehow split the difference between “home” and “haunted house” right down the middle.

Why was it that Ransom didn’t like visiting his grandfather again?

“What are you standing around for?”

Speak of the devil…

Your forced your feet to move and followed him deeper into the house. Something inside you screamed at you to just ditch Ransom and this stupid dinner party to explore by yourself, because you got the feeling he would end up dragging you to a place that looked much more boring. You needn’t have worried – the living room was adorned in much the same way as the hall, cluttered and discordant and fascinating. Every piece of decor seemed to selected based on its own merits rather than any common theme or style, but it somehow all worked together.

You had started making your way to a windowsill, from where a model of a carousel with fish instead of horses called to you, when a voice stopped you in your tracks – a voice you had never heard before.

“Who’s that?”

You whirled around to see a man standing just a few feet away from Ransom. The age was about right, and with the two standing so close together, it was hard to deny the similarities between them.

“That’s my date,” Ransom said with a shrug.

“Date? You brought a date?”

“Nice, Richard. We don’t want to make her feel too welcome.”

At that, the older man looked back at you with a grin that would be charming if not for the utter shock reflected in his eyes.

“Hey, there,” he greeted, extending a hand “Richard Drysdale, father of this,” he glanced behind himself to look at Ransom, who was busy messing with a figurine in the mantelpiece “rascal.”

You offered your hand to him (his handshake was strong, professional) and introduced yourself.

“I gotta say, this is really something else,” Richard said “Ransom hasn’t brought any girls home since high school.”

“I bring girls home all the time, I just don’t live with you anymore.”

The meaning of his words didn’t go unnoticed. You already knew he fucked other women on the side – or rather, there was no “side”; you guys weren’t a thing, and it wasn’t as if you only put out for him – but Richard understood him as well.

“Is that the kind of thing you say in front of your date? I thought we taught you better than this.”

“No, Richard. We really didn’t.”

You looked to the source of the voice, and spotted the woman who had to be Ransom’s other progenitor.

“Linda,” she extended her hand to you, but not a smile. Her handshake was even stronger than her husband’s.

Richard joined his son by the fireplace to fiddle with a pewter box, looking downright chastised. Ransom, for his part, seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh.

He had said his family was a mess, and that he found it all terribly fun. Up until now, you weren’t really sure you believed him.

“Whatever this” Linda pointed from her son to you, then back to him again “is about, I hope it ends soon, for your sake.” The last bit, she’d said while looking at you, then she left through a different archway than she’d entered from.

It seemed Ransom had inherited the charm from his father, but the ability to put the fear of God in those who crossed him came from his mother.

“Who else is here?” Ransom asked once Linda was out of earshot.

“Mostly everyone is in the library,” Richard replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, all the former friendliness leaving him like a deflating balloon “your grandfather locked himself in his office with the nurse, and who knows where they put Wanetta. Meg’s not coming.”

“What excuse did Joni come up with?”

“Schoolwork. Essays, whatever. I mean, it’s a Friday, it could wait.”

“She’s going to spend at least half of the evening doing drugs with a friend, easy.”

“Dope.”

Ransom snorted “Like she’s shooting up.”

Richard fixed his son with a disbelieving look. “No. Dope is weed. Dope was weed just yesterday.”

“It used to be.” Upon seeing the defeated expression on his father’s face, Ransom shrugged “World’s passing you by, man.”

That didn’t help. Richard looked back to the pewter box, turning it on his fingers like he was trying to find the best angle to see his reflection. Ransom stared at him for a second longer, then stepped away from the fireplace and exited through the same way his mother had.

He didn’t call you, so you assumed you weren’t needed at the moment, but then, what were you going to do with yourself – watch a man have an existential crisis?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. You had been standing there, watching Richard sigh to himself for maybe a minute when three other people entered the room. The first was the woman who had opened the door for you; the second, a younger woman, with something almost doe-like about her, and the third…

Well, Harlan Thrombey didn’t need introductions – at least, not to you.

He was the first to speak, looking at the woman Ransom had called Frannie. “Seems like you aren’t going mad, Fran. Unless we all are, which is possible. Can you see her too?” And at that he turned to the other woman, who smiled at him. It was hard to tell whether her smile was fond or embarrassed.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

“Since you’re just standing around with this idiot,” He said. Richard gave a tight smile and tapped his fingers against the mantelpiece “I’m going to guess idiot number two left you to fend for yourself?”

This wasn’t the kind of welcome you’d expect when meeting your not-boyfriend’s family, but Ransom was eccentric, so maybe his relatives were as well. Maybe it was a rich people thing.

“I’m used to it, when it comes to Ransom” you offered.

Harlan grinned at you, but then again, he had been smiling since he entered the room. There was something very Ransom-like about both expressions.

He ambled to you, extending a hand which you rushed to grasp. His smile grew, but maybe that wasn’t good.

“I’m Harlan, the proprietor of this” he gestured to the room with both hands “little menagerie of horrors. And these,” he turned to the women “are Fran, my housekeeper, the only one who can keep this mess in order,” the woman who’d opened the door smiled and raised her hand in greeting, but she still seemed suspicious of you “and Marta, my caretaker. Heaven sent, I would already be dead if not for her.”

Marta had smiled at you as she was introduced, but frowned at the last comment.

“Don’t say that,” she admonished “you’re strong like a horse, you’re going to live for a million years, I’m sure.”

Harlan whimpered theatrically and extended a hand as if trying to grasp at something.

“Marta, is that you? It’s so dark, I can’t see. Oh, is that a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Really? You’re impossible.” Marta huffed, and Harlan laughed.

They seemed close. Close enough that they’d forgotten all about you in their banter.

Once he was done with his joke Harlan turned back to you.

“I promise you I don’t get any more charming, but you get used to it with time.”

Time. Did he think you’d get to be around long enough to get used to anything there?

“Let’s... get this party started,” he said with a wink “I don’t ask you your name because I’m dying to see how my grandson will introduce you, and I don’t want to get attached.”

That answered that question.

You followed the party of three into another living room(parlor?), then another(fainting room? How many rooms for sitting could one person need?), then finally to what you presumed was the library (that could easily double as a living room), given the floor to ceiling bookcases in every wall that wasn’t occupied by a window. The room was large, large than any room in a house needed or had a right to be, and there were so many books on so many shelves there was no way Harlan would’ve been able to read them all, even accounting for his age.

Despite the exorbitance, the place was cozy and interesting, not at all a monochromatic art installation behemoth the likes of the Kardashian-West mansion (Which you didn’t care about in the slightest… one of your coworkers had shown you the pictures, it was all), the sort of thing you expected from people with too much money and no sense of comfort. The library was furbished with plush seats, nooks where one could hide in to read in peace, even a mezzanine, and– was that a sculpture inspired by “A Thousand Knives”?! Excessive, very excessive, and somehow also really cool. You were sure you could spend hours perusing books and examining baubles, but there were other people already in the room, and you had been raised too well to just ignore them when it was obvious you had already seen them.

Linda leaned against an open window, balancing an unlit cigarette between two fingers, and looking out, as if debating whether or not to have a smoke and whether or not doing so inside. There were a man and a woman on a pair of matching high-backed chairs, looking nervous and annoyed respectively as another woman talked at them, and a teenager speaking to Ransom in between typing things on his phone. He was the first to notice you’d entered the room and he directed a brief glare to you before his eyes landed on Marta.

“Well, no need to stand up or anything,” Harlan spoke from behind you, waving his hand as he passed.

“Dad, plea-” the sitting man began, but he stopped once he saw you. After a moment of confused staring by both parties, he looked back to Harlan “Is that-”

“Don’t know; she came with your nephew.”

All eyes were now on Ransom. He was enjoying the attention, if the stupid smug grin on his face was any indication.

“I brought a date. I figured I had to be the first to do it, since Meg thinks all sex is rape and Jacob’s an incel,” that earned him an elbow in the gut, which he barely reacted to.

“A date? Boohoo,” Harlan spoke, and you almost winced “I expected something more exciting from you.”

“Would you rather she was a notorious diamond thief and I brought her here to steal every red penny you own, old man?”

“That would be more on brand.”

“That’s it,” Marta said, placing her hands on his shoulders and directing him to an armchair in front of the knife sculpture “I’m putting you to bed earlier, abuelo.”

“Not without me throwing a tantrum, you’re not.”

Ransom’s uncle looked back and forth from his father, then to you, then to his nephew, before settling on you and standing up. He picked up a cane that was resting beside the armchair and wobbled toward you, smiling.

“Hello. I’m Walt, it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

You gave him your name, exchanged proper greetings, shook hands; his fingers were trembling slightly, but the length of the hand shake was very appropriate.

“I hope you like it here so far. Any friend of Ransom’s is welcome here.”

“You say that because you never met any of my friends.”

“You know what Ransom,” Walt turned gave him a sarcastic smile “I’m surprised you have any friends at all. You sure you not paying her to be here?”

You didn’t know exactly what it was that Walt had said, but something had set Ransom off.

“Why, you want a round with her? Don’t think you could afford it right now, pal.”

Walt’s lips were still pulled up into a smile, but his pupils were darting from side to side like he was searching for escape routes. That was fair, so were you.

“Don’t speak to my husband that way,” the woman who hadn’t said a single word to or even acknowledged your presence so far, gripped the seat’s armrest as she seethed at Ransom “it’s not his fault that-”

At that she fell silent and turned to Harlan, who was looking at everything with mild interest.

“Actually, you don’t have a job either, do you Donna?” Ransom continued. You knew that look; he was getting steam and you didn’t want to know what would come next.

“I think we’re all just a little stressed with everything that’s been going on,” the woman who had been silent so far – Ransom’s other aunt, you presumed, the one he wanted to suck his dick – mercifully cut in before he could get anything else out “I think we need to roll things back, maybe start over? I can go back to the car and get my crystals so we can do a-”

As if on cue, Fran entered again, a tray with a wine bottle and glasses in hand. She left everything on a coffee table, then walked by Marta, whispering something that convinced the younger woman to move to a more secluded corner of the room with her.

Donna perked up when the drink touched the table, and, smiling the well practiced smile of a hostess who did her duty with no joy, she started pouring drinks and handing them around. When one of the glasses was placed in your hands, you weren’t sure what to do. You rolled the stem in your fingers, pondering as the other adults drank and Jacob sulked.

“So,” Joni began, giving you an easy grin “you and Ransom have known each other for…”

As she trailed off, Linda chuckled, but she wasn’t looking at you.

“Eight months, give or take.” You answered.

The answer seemed to surprise her “Eight months? And how long have you been dating?”

“Oh, I’m not...” you turned to Ransom for help, but he was looking at his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the World or as if he really didn’t want to take part in this conversation “I’m not sure. We haven’t exactly made things official.”

It looked like she was fighting to keep her smile in place “And you met-”

“What do you do?” Linda interrupted, still looking out the window “Do you actually have a job or are you just expecting to scam someone here?”

You turned to Ransom; he had placed a hand over his heart and was looking at his mother as if he found her comment deeply offensive.

You hadn’t thought about what you would say if Ransom’s family decided to grill you, deciding it would be best not to overthink things as he’d suggested. A question about your job was expected – it was just harder to process it when it had been asked in such a manner.

“No, I- I’m an assistant editor at Little, Brown and Company.”

There was a splashing sound, and you looked just in time to see Walt trying to rub off a stain from his sweater with one hand, while holding his wine glass with trembling fingers. When he noticed you looking at him, he offered a stiff smile.

That was the wrong answer, it seemed. It was the truth, of course, but the reactions around you were discouraging. Linda huffed, Harlan chuckled, Joni nodded mechanically, Donna seethed as she wiped at her husband’s clothes with a napkin, Walt trembled, Jacob’s scowl deepened, the sound coming from Fran and Marta’s corner of the room ceased, and Ransom’s grin was the widest you had ever seen on his face.

“Really?” Linda asked, now focused on her son “Where do you find those people?”

He laughed. “What? I’m very charming.”

“I need to use the restroom,” you squawked. You didn’t really need the restroom, just any place other than there.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Marta said, as quickly as you had. Her eyes told you everything: she was also dying to get out.

You handed your drink over to Ransom and followed Marta out of the room, the two of you almost running down the hallway.

She led you to a lavatory, where you turned on the faucets to cover the sound of you whimpering and heaving inside. After splashing your face with some water, you exited the room to find her still waiting for you outside. She offered an apologetic smile.

“So…” you started, not sure of how to best broach the subject. Good thing she already knew what you wanted to get at.

“They aren’t always like this,” she said “they’re all good people, but things have been a little… you know how it can be with family, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a little… seems kind of a bad time for me to be showing up.”

“No, I think it helps. They are better behaved when there’s company.”

But that’s true of everyone.

“Ransom didn’t tell you about…? Anything?” She asked.

“No. He said it’d be fine.”

Marta’s expression was of doubt, but she didn’t say anything to discredit him.

“Are you okay to go back?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She nodded and stared leading you back to the room.

“They’re good people, but can be a little much sometimes. You get used to it with time.”

“You- I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but you don’t look that used to them yourself.”

She shrugged “I guess I just… haven’t been around long enough.”

The scene you returned to was different from the one you had run from. Linda had abandoned the window and reclined on one of the armchairs. Richard had made his appearance, leaning against a bookcase behind Linda; He kept a respectful (perhaps even safe) distance between the two. Walt, Jacob and Donna were squeezed in on a single couch, looking like they’d just been plucked from a stuffy family portrait. Joni lounged on a window seat, leaning her chin on one hand and swirling her wine with the other. Fran was nowhere to be found. Harlan, sat atop the chair in front of the halo of knives, looking every bit the magnanimous patriarch. Ransom had taken his place on an armchair, just beside another empty one. On his other side was a small table with two empty wineglasses. His legs were crossed and he had a wide, satisfied smile that you knew well – so you knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

You sat beside him and angled your body in a way you felt would rend a pretty picture, because that seemed to be the game they were playing, while Marta made her way to a corner and stood there, doing the most not to draw attention to herself. Smart.

“So,” Harlan began as you settled into your spot “I think you were telling us about your career?”

“Yes, but there really isn’t much else to say.” Unless they wanted to be bored, that is. You had more tales of spotting typos than of interesting literary works.

“You said you worked at Little, Brown and Co?” He asked and you nodded “How long have you been there?”

“Two years. It’s about all the experience I have working in the field, other than internships in college.”

“Ah, College.” He grinned, but didn’t explain what he found so amusing “What did you major in?”

“English literature, with a minor in communications.”

“Good, good. Topical. You two bonded over books, then?”

You turned to Ransom, who was looking at you with a lazy smile. You had never told him about your job, let alone what you had studied in college.

“Yep,” he said. You two talked about books sometimes, but you didn’t think those conversations had helped with any bonding.

“You know, I think it’s so good to see Ransom has found a positive influence,” Joni said. The affectation in her voice and mannerisms was suddenly much more noticeable, and it felt like an omen.

You turned to Ransom. His lips were pressed together into a thin line and his chest was swelling like he was gathering oxygen for a screaming match or something worse. The longer you spent around these people, the more you were convinced he wasn’t the only one who liked to needle others.

“Honestly, I-” the words tumbled out of your mouth and you could only hope they were the right ones “I’m not sure if he’s influenceable.”

Ransom was still scowling and for a moment you were afraid you had only made things worse, but then his mouth opened and he let out the air in his lungs with a low chuckle. Much better than being in the middle of another argument.

Fran walked back into the room before anyone else could start a scene and announced that dinner was ready. Apparently Harlan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she was the only one who kept his house in order – all around you tense shoulders relaxed and frowning brows smoothed with the promise of a meal. You must’ve looked happy as well, given you hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch and your stomach was starting to hurt. There was also (and you wished the thought hadn’t run through your mind, but it did) the chance that Ransom and his family would be much less likely to speak if their mouths were stuffed with meatloaf.

You wished you didn’t have those sort of intrusive thoughts about people you had just met, but they weren’t making it easy for you. Marta had alluded to a “family situation” that had left them on edge, but you had never seen people react this badly to strangers. This was the stuff or nightmares, or at least of “Florida Man” news reports. They were supposedly worse when there wasn’t company? How much worse could they get?

Ransom had told you not to worry about dining with his family. Maybe he was so used to them he didn’t think the way they acted was all that strange; maybe he knew his family would behave the way they had but he decided not to warn you for purposes of fuckery; it didn’t matter all that much. The worst thing was knowing that they sucked as hard as he liked to say they did. If you chose to go on with your pregnancy, this is what you would be bringing your child into.