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keferon · 2 days ago
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Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D
“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”
“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”
Part one
Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.
Under the cut⤵️
Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?
Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?
For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.
Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.
It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.
Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.
His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!
But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.
Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.
He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.
Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.
Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.
He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.
So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.
That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?
Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...
His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.
Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?
Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.
Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.
It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!
People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.
In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.
He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.
Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.
Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..
He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.
Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.
In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.
Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.
Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.
But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.
Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.
Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.
Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.
Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.
Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.
Uggh.
The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.
Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.
When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.
When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.
The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??
Freaking cursed.
Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.
One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???
Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.
It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.
If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--
He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?
He's going to get sick.
He needs to talk to Jazz right now.
____________
Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.
They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).
“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”
Jazz frowns
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.
“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”
Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.
“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”
Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.
“Mech, what the hell?”
“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.
Before thinking for a bit, and adding.
“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”
And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.
This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.
Prowl looks confused.
Jazz looks absolutely frantic.
“SWERVE????”
Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?
Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.
Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.
“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."
Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.
“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”
“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically ���you're my favorite person right now.”
There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.
“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”
Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.
Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?
“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”
He pauses dramatically.
“The long version is...”
Jazz raises his hand
“What's a holoform?”
Swerve sighs.
“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”
Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl
“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“
Prowl hums
“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”
Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.
“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”
Jazz laughs
“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”
“ I was.”
Prowl frowns.
“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”
“.... I had a lot of practice...”
Jazz claps his hands.
“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”
“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.
Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused
“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”
“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”
“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.
Swerve blows the hair out of his face
“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”
Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.
“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”
Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets
“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”
Prowl twitches his door wings
“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”
Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.
He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.
He's thinking.
Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!
Then he remembers the mess he left behind.
Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.
Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”
“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”
Jazz looks...puzzled.
“Is that bad?”
Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...
“It's...complicated.”
This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...
And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...
Hahahahah oh fUCK.
He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.
It's also probably too late.
But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.
And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.
Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face
“ That expression you have...”
Swerve puts the smile back on his face.
“I need to get to Earth.”
___________________
Swerve is not an idiot.
Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.
He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.
Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.
The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.
He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....
Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.
“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”
Swerve laughs.
“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”
“It's not harmful?”
Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.
“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”
Jazz tilts his head
“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”
Swerve bites his knuckles.
“ I have some unfinished business?”
“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”
Swerve only laughs in response.
_______________
Concentration is tricky.
Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?
Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost
Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.
What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.
He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.
The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.
After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.
He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--
Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.
This is the place where he was last.
He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.
Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.
Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.
Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.
All right.
He's got things to do.
_______________
He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?
He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.
He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.
Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.
All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...
He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?
The answer is probably none.
Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.
A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.
Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.
Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.
Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.
Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.
It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.
He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.
It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.
Blurr's name isn't there.
So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.
He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.
That's...something's wrong.
He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”
Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.
“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?
Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.
Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”
This is it, Swerve thinks.
He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.
He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.
He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.
Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi
Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.
Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.
Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.
Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.
Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.
“'Got bored without me Swindle?”
Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.
“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”
Blurr wrinkles his nose.
“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”
Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.
“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”
Swindle adjusts his glasses
“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”
“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.
Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.
“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”
He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.
Goes back to his seat.
“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”
He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.
“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”
Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again
“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”
Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.
“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?
Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose
“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”
Blurr blinks.
“Why are you telling me all this.”
Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.
“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”
Blurr's eye widens
“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”
“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”
Blurr runs his fingers through his hair
“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”
Swindle puts his hat back on.
“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”
The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.
Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”
They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.
“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”
Blurr smiles sourly.
“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”
Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.
“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”
Blurr bites his lip.
“I..don’t know...”
Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.
Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.
Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.
The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.
The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.
Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.
Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.
Ah, damn it.
Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.
And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.
Blurr ... is crumbling.
Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.
But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.
He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.
And continues to act like a jerk of course.
The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.
Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.
When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.
Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.
It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.
It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.
Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”
Investors say, “I think he likes me.”
Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”
Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.
Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.
On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.
Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.
Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.
Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.
Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.
But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.
It makes a difference. Small one. But still.
It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.
From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”
More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?
There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.
While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.
After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.
“Good show.”
Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.
“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”
Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.
Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.
“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”
Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.
“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”
Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.
“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”
Blurr freezes.
No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't
“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”
Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.
“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”
Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.
Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.
“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”
Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.
“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”
Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.
“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”
He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.
“You are broken. I can fix you.”
Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.
“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”
Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.
“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”
Blurr flinches.
“I don't need your help.”
“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”
...
“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”
Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.
____________________________
Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.
Holy shit...
Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm
“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”
“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”
Jazz laughs
“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”
Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.
“Ah...”
“So it worked?”
“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”
Jazz rubs his hands together happily.
“I'll take it.”
Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.
He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.
He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.
Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.
Left to himself.
He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.
....
Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?
He looks at Jazz and Prowl.
“You two get along really well.”
Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.
“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”
Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.
On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.
_____________________
”Are you a ghost?”
Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.
He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?
“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”
Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.
Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.
“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”
Blurr squints amusedly.
“You can walk through walls?”
“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”
He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.
“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.
Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.
“ Show me more?”
“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”
“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”
Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.
Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.
“They really drugged you huh?”
“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”
He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair
“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”
Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.
"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?
Race???”
He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???
Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket
“I won't.”
He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.
“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”
Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.
“Well...at least you're alive....”
Blurr shakes his head.
“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”
“...”
“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”
Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.
Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.
“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”
Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.
“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”
“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”
Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...
Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.
“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”
“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”
Swerve stiffens.
“I...Wwhat?”
“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”
He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues
“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”
Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.
“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”
“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”
Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.
Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.
“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”
“You'll tell me later?”
Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.
“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”
---------------
Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.
“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”
Swerve snorts.
“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”
“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”
Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.
“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”
Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.
“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.
Swerve laughs.
“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”
_______________
His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.
He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.
They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.
Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.
Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.
Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.
Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake
“Mind some company?”
Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.
“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”
Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.
“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”
Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly
“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”
“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”
Pharma tilts his head
“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”
Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.
“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”
“What do you mea...”
“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.
“No I'm just...”
“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”
“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”
Swerve shakes his head.
“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”
“Wh..”
Blurr rolls his eye.
“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”
“Wait..”
“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”
Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.
“Can at least one of you shut up??”
Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner
“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”
He raises his eyebrows knowingly
“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”
Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.
“…..Wha....there's rumors?”
“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”
He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself
“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”
Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.
“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma
Swerve shrugs.
“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”
Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.
A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.
“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”
Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.
“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”
Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.
Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.
Then he reaches out his hand to him.
Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.
Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.
Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.
Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....
“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”
Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.
“You're real???”
Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him
“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”
Blurr shrugs.
“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”
Swerve twitches.
“Third??? How are you still standing???”
He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.
“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”
Blurr laughs quietly.
“I'm glad you're back.”
_____________________
He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.
When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.
“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”
“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”
Jazz smiles
“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”
“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”
“Worried about what your human friends will think?”
Swerve swings back and forth on his heels
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”
Jazz frowns
“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”
“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”
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agoodflyting · 10 hours ago
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As a former US History teacher, I do an ugly witch cackle every time an American media pundit says 'don't settle political disagreements with violence'.
America only exists because a bunch of people settled a political disagreement with violence. America has solved almost every political disagreement with violence since our inception and IT WORKS VERY WELL FOR US.
See:
The Sons of Liberty - a widespread colonial-era domestic terrorist organization that created the phrase No Taxation Without Representation and then proceeded to tar and feather tax collectors, riot, burn down public buildings, and generally use violence to protest their issues with Parliament.
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"Solving issues with words is for pussies! Tar-and-feather your local tax collector!" - Patrick Henry, probably
2. The Golden Hill Riot - (1770) Local mob confronts a bunch of their own country's soldiers who are posting handbills denouncing terrorist activities in a town in New York, and it degenerates into... yep, yep, it was violence.
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"Catch these fists, lawful authorities!"
3. Burning of the Gaspee - (1772) In which the government tries to limit illegal smuggling and the local people respond with patient protesting and letter writing which eventually - no, no, scratch that. They set a royal navy ship on fire.
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"Limit MY illegal activities will you?" 4. The fighting at Lexington and Concord (1776)- in which a bunch of domestic terrorists responded to their lawful government's attempts to confiscate a cache of illegal weapons with (checks notes) oh look, it was violence. Lots and lots of violence. So much violence that the crown was forced to declare the entire territory to be 'in a state of rebellion'.
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"ACAB!" "What is ay-cab, Patrick?" "I don't know, Hezekiah, it just felt right to yell it while firing my musket at the Crown's authorities."
In fact, the entire history of the American Revolution could be accurately summed up with the phrase: "Using violence to protest oppressive government works very well, actually."
And that's not even getting into the POST-REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD.
Shay's Rebellion (1786) - In protest to an economic system that was destroying the lives of poor farmers, a bunch of Revolutionary War veterans form mobs and force the debtors courts to close in several cities in Massachusetts. It leads to a full-scale insurrection that isn't immediately successful but FORCES THE FLEDGLING FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TO RECONVENE TO RECONSIDER ITS ECONOMIC POLICIES WHICH THEN RESULTS IN THE DRAFTING OF THE US CONSTITUTION. Violence? Working.
The Whiskey Rebellion - (1791-1794) Whiskey farmers use violence and intimidation to resist paying federal taxes on the ingredients used to make their product. The rebellion is initially put down by the Federalist government, but the tax is later repealed by Thomas Jefferson.
Nat Turner's Rebellion (1831) - Enslaved man leads an armed slave revolt in Virginia. Massacres 50-60 people in order to spread terror through the white community and to force white people to acknowledge the brutality of slavery. While the rebellion was put down, Turner's revolt achieved its goal. The state of Virginia is so afraid of more slaves catching onto this idea that they pass laws making it illegal for black people (free or enslaved) to learn to read, and requiring a white person to be present at all black-led religious services (Turner used his status as a preacher to help spread word of the rebellion) because they were so afraid of a repeat. Because violence works.
Anti-Rent War (1839) - Large scale riot, rent strike, plus some good old fashioned tarring and feathering of landowners, to protest an unfair system that protected landowners at the cost of renters in upstate New York. The leaders were put on trial, but the overall insurrection successfully forced laws to be written that protected renters from predatory landlords.
Dorr's Rebellion - (1841) A force made up mainly of poor industrial workers and Irish immigrants stage a violent rebellion against the government of Rhode Island, in order to force a repeal of the ancient laws that only allowed wealthy land-owners to vote. Previously, Rhode Island was the only state that still had laws like this and they had no intention of changing them until (checks notes) yep, until violence.
Bleeding Kansas - (1854-1859) For some stupid reason, the citizens of Kansas were being allowed to vote on whether the new state would allow or ban slavery. (Popular sovereignty amirite?) Pro-slavery people from other states started moving into Kansas in order to swing the vote the way they wanted, and they used the time-honored slavers tactic of engaging in terrorism to keep anti-slavery voters down. What started as a war of words between pro-slavery and anti-slavery forces escalated to violence but instead of taking the moral high road, abolitionists like John Brown burned buildings, attacked pro-slavery newspaper offices, and even fucking massacred pro-slavery activists by hacking them to death with swords. Kansas was eventually admitted to the union as a Free State. Violence? Working.
John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry (1859)- John Brown is just an icon ok. Brown led a group of black and white abolitionists to steal weapons from a federal arsenal, with the intention of giving the guns to slaves to help them stage a bigger, more widespread rebellion. When the Law tried to stop them, Brown started a shootout. He was caught and executed by the state of Virginia, but after his death he became a massive folk icon and hero to abolitionists, and his death directly contributed to starting the American Civil War. John Brown's Body was a popular folk song among Union forces during the war.
I'm going to stop there because this is so so long already and I haven't even gotten to the 20th century and union wars. This is literally just 100 years of American history that I've got here. Not even half of our (already young) country's existence and we have just... the longest track record of using violence to achieve political goals.
In conclusion? Violence is not the answer. Violence is the question and the answer is Yes.
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chahnniesroom · 1 day ago
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coming up roses
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pairing: bang chan x female reader
summary: most of the time, you're grateful to have such a good relationship with your older brother, minho. but when you find yourself falling for his best friend, chan, you can't help but be worried how he'll react when he finds out. you soon find yourself struggling with the unexpected consequences of keeping your feelings a secret.
word count: 10.2k
tags/warnings: hanahaki!au (read a/n), brother's best friend!au, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of fluffy sibling dynamics between minho and y/n, bad communication by the reader, mentions of: coughing, blood, and vomiting
read it on ao3 | masterlist
a/n: i have finally written my hanahaki au!!! this took me ages, but i really really wanted to write a fic based on how this post describes hanahaki because i love this interpretation (hanahaki is from supressing feelings instead of unrequited love) a lot more than how it's usually written (not that that version is bad!). i actually wish i could have drawn this out more, but didn't have it in me haha
the phrase "it's all coming up roses" means that everything is going well with someone and i thought it was so perfectly ironic for a hanahaki fic where a character actually has roses coming up in the literal sense.
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Minho has always been protective. You had felt cool and invincible as a child, having an older brother that was willing to have your back and scare away anybody that teased you. 
You’re grateful that he cares enough to be so involved in your life, but now that you’re in university, you can’t help but feel a little stifled. Minho takes his role as an older brother very seriously, especially since the two of you have moved out of your family home and are sharing an apartment closer to campus. It's a mixture of doting and enough teasing to drive you crazy.
Growing up, your family home had been the regular haunt of Minho and his friends. It was more common than not to get home from cram school and find the boys either lingering in the nearest convenience store or hanging out in your apartment. You wouldn't say that you were friends with the boys, but you were at least familiar enough that you would say hi to them if you saw them in the hallways and they would offer to walk home with you if you were ever leaving school at the same time.
Starting university had been hard for you, most of your friends had ended up moving to other cities or even going abroad. You, however, had decided to stick closer to home. Your program had a good reputation and your parents had promised that they would help you and Minho get an apartment close to campus as long as you lived together. Minho had readily agreed, he had commuted for his first year and had always complained about how long it took.
It was a difficult adjustment, moving out of your family home, balancing your course load, and making friends. Unlike Minho, who had used dance to find his close group of friends, you didn't have any hobbies that you were particularly passionate about and you weren't naturally outgoing or charismatic.
Especially in the first few weeks of classes, it feels like such a relief whenever you see one of Minho's friends that you latch onto them. It’s kind of awkward at first, especially because you don’t know his friends well enough to speak with them casually, but they get used to your presence. You would even consider some of them to be your friend, especially Seungmin, who shares a class with you, and Chan who usually has his lunch break at the same time as you.
You make your own friends eventually, slowly getting to know some of the people that share your program, but you’re definitely a lot closer to the boys than you were prior to university. While you spent most of your childhood calling Minho and his friends lame, you can now admit that you enjoy spending time with them, although you’d never say it to Minho’s face.
Still, Minho doesn’t always approve of who or where you hang out. Sometimes he’s even nosier than your parents were, always asking you about your schedule and calling when you’re out late. He warns you about spending time one-on-one with men and makes sure that you always have your location shared with him. You tolerate it for the most part, knowing that it’s his way of showing that he cares about you, but sometimes you just find him overbearing.
“I’m going out next Saturday,” Minho tells you one evening as you step out of your room to get a glass of water. “You’ll have to figure out something for dinner on your own.”
“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “I uh- I also have plans that night.”
“Sure,” he agrees easily. “What are you going to be doing?”
“There’s a party that I was invited to,” you say, biting your lip when you see Minho freeze. You turn your gaze to the ground, but you can still feel Minho's stare intensify. 
“What party,” he demands, not even bothering to frame it as a question.
“Does it matter?” you whine, annoyed by how protective Minho is. It’s even worse that you have an audience, Chan is over and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s watching your conversation curiously.
“Yes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
“I think it's at Taehoon's,” your voice is barely a whisper. Minho hears you anyway.
“Taehoon?” He repeats in disbelief. You glance up briefly. Minho's ears are flushed bright red and the tendons in his neck are standing out. He's furious. “Taehoon, who is four years older than you? Taehoon, who holds off-campus parties?”
You grimace and don't respond. There’s no way that he’s going to let you go, you resign yourself to a weekend stuck in your room watching dramas while your friends enjoy themselves. 
It’s bad enough that you had to mention Taehoon, who doesn’t have the best reputation, but you’ve forgotten that Minho would easily be able to recognize the type of party that he throws. You haven’t been to many university parties, but even you know that without the dorm restrictions, off-campus parties are often the wildest and were harder to get invited to. It’s not that you particularly care to attend this party in specific, you just don’t want to miss out since all of your friends will be there.
“Minho,” Chan steps in, clasping a heavy hand on your brother's shoulder.
“Who invited you,” Minho seethes, shaking Chan off.
“Just one of my friends,” you deflect.
“Minho,” Chan says again, this time jostling Minho enough that he turns his attention away from you finally. Your body sags in relief. “Chill, we're going to Taehoon's next weekend. It's just a party.”
“Yes, we are going. Not my baby sister! Y/n-ah, the answer is no.”
“Oppa!” you complain. “I'm not a baby anymore!”
“You don't know anything,” Minho hisses at you. 
“We were going to way crazier parties when we were Y/n's age,” Chan interrupts one more time. “Come on, at least we'd be able to keep an eye on her.”
Minho is about to reply when he stops and tilts his head in thought.
“Okay,” he says slowly, turning back to you with a gleam in his eye. “You can go, Y/n.”
“Really?” you brighten instantly even though you’re a little bit suspicious of his sudden change in heart.
Your breath catches in your throat as you excitedly make eye contact with Chan. He winks at you teasingly before turning his full attention back to Minho, who thankfully hadn’t noticed.
“You're coming with us,” Minho says, nodding decisively.
“Are you kidding me,” you reply flatly, all enthusiasm vanishing instantly.
“Yes. I'll make sure that everybody knows not to mess with you and you still can have fun with your silly little friends. Unless you don't want to go anymore?” Minho raises an eyebrow at you.
“Fine, I'll go with you,” you grumble.
“It'll be fun, Y/n! I promise that I won’t let Minho embarrass you,” Chan says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You try not to shiver as he leans in to whisper to you, close enough that you can almost feel his lips touching your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something or someone to distract him enough that he’ll forget you’re even there.”
“Okay,” you breathe shakily.
“Hey!” Minho pulls Chan off of you and into a headlock. “Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out. Y/nnie, don’t listen to a single thing this idiot tells you.”
“I try not to listen to idiots,” you say. “That’s why I never follow any of the advice that you give me!”
“Y/n-ah-” Minho starts.
You stick out your tongue at him childishly then dart to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you so that Minho can’t follow you. The sound of Chan’s resulting laugh echoes through your head for the rest of the day.
By the time the weekend rolls around, you're a little worried that you’ve caught a cold. Your throat is achy and talking too much makes you cough, but you're not feeling any other symptoms so you don't think you're actually sick. Minho wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were still planning on going, but he kept his word and didn't try to convince you otherwise.
Your friends are all getting ready together at one of their dorms, but your brother was adamant that he wanted you to go to the party with him and his friends. You're more comfortable getting changed and doing your makeup at home anyway, so it's not a big deal, but it's still not the same. 
Conversation pauses when you finally exit your room. Only Chan, Hyunjin, and Minho are still in the living area since most of Minho's friends are crowded around your apartment's entryway, shuffling to get their jackets and put on their shoes.. Their eyes widen and you see Hyunjin choke on the drink he had just taken a sip of. You tug at the hem of your skirt slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious. 
You've worn this outfit before with friends and while it's definitely not the most conservative option in your closet, it's nowhere near as revealing as what you expect other girls will be wearing. It's just that you're not used to being around Minho's friends when you've put so much effort into your appearance and are showing off a bit of skin. They’ve seen you at your worst and are most familiar with the comfortable sweats and hoodies that you usually wear around your home.
Minho recovers the fastest. In a flash, he's made his way to you and has a death grip on your arm, trying to drag you back into your room. You resist, digging your heels in to try and make it harder for him, but it barely even slows him down.
“Oppa!”
“You are not leaving looking like this,” Minho huffs through gritted teeth.
“Minho-ya, come on. We're going to be late if you make her change,” Chan calls out. It draws the attention of the rest of the boys, who turn to look at the commotion. You hear Jisung wolf-whistle teasingly which only makes things worse. Minho's hand tightens even more around you, hard enough that you're sure it's going to bruise, and he whips around to glare at Jisung.
“Hyung, it's fine. Y/n-ah looks good,” Seungmin chimes in, before winking at you. You groan internally, knowing from the look in his eye that you're not going to like what he says next. “Is there a boy that you're trying to impress tonight?”
“No!” you deny immediately, still trying to pull your arm from your brother's grip to no avail. Your chest tightens at the idea of being forced to stay at home. Minho immediately latches onto the idea that Seungmin has thrown out, his expression darkening even further.
“Is it true?” he questions you.
“Oppa, I promise, I'm just matching with my friends. Which you would know if we actually go to the party!”
“If there is, you better tell me,” he warns.
“Yes, yes,” you groan. “If there was, which there isn't! You're just wasting time now.”
“At least put on a jacket, you’re going to be cold.”
“Fine.” You wrench your arm out of Minho's grasp and stalk to your room. You grab the first jacket you see, intent on ditching it the second that you get to the party, then head straight to the door, breezing past Minho on your way. “Happy now?”
“Thrilled,” he says in a flat voice that says he is anything but.
Your apartment is not too far away from the party, so it’s not long before everyone is unloading from their cars and approaching the party. You can hear the bass pounding even from outside the building and you’re sure that there will be a number of neighbours that file noise complaints by the end of the night.
When you make it in, your friends greet you enthusiastically, but are all a little bit weird, fixing their hair more than usual and giggling nervously. You’re not close with all of the girls that are in the group, some of them you can’t even recall if you’ve met before, but you can still tell that everyone is acting strangely. 
It's not until you turn around that you realise that Minho has practically stationed himself behind you and is glowering at anybody who looks your way too long. After years of being on the receiving end of his glares, you’ve grown immune, but everybody else is clearly at least a little intimidated.
“Oppa,” you hiss. He barely spares you a glance. “You're not seriously going to babysit me all night, are you?”
“I'm letting you do what you want so you should let me do whatever I want,” he replies primly. 
You know there's no convincing him on your own. From across the room, you manage to catch Chan's eye and nod your head in Minho's direction. Luckily, he knows exactly what you're trying to say and makes his way over quickly to stand beside Minho.
“Minho-ya, you don't have a drink yet?” he asks, before pointedly taking a sip of his own cup.
“I asked Yongbokkie and Seungmin to make me one,” he replies, unphased.
“And you trust them that much?”
At the same time, the two of them glance over to the kitchen. You follow their gaze to find Felix, Seungmin, as well as Jisung mixing together a concoction that looks not only toxic, but also disgusting. You want to gag when you see them add in soju, hot sauce, milk, and maraschino cherries in quick succession. That’s not even considering whatever they’ve already put into the cup before you looked over. There's no way they actually think the combination could taste good and Minho must agree because he stands up and starts stalking towards them, swearing to himself the whole time.
After Minho leaves, Chan wanders a bit closer to you and brushes a hand against your shoulder lightly. You have to fight the urge to lean into his touch.
“I told you, I got you tonight. Don't worry about your brother breathing down your neck,” he says lowly. Just like when he first promised to distract your brother, Chan winks at you, then follows after Minho.
You force yourself not to stare after him, cheeks flushing as the rest of the girls squeal. Some of your friends have met Minho in passing a couple times, but not any of his friends. Your brother's dance crew has become wildly popular this year, but luckily it's not widely known that you are close with them. You prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like revealing your relation to them is unavoidable tonight. It's just your luck that some of these girls are among the ‘fans’ that your brother has somehow amassed.
“Y/nnie,” a girl beside you pouts. “How come you've never mentioned you know Lee Minho and Bang Chan before? I can't believe you've never introduced him to us!”
“I-” you splutter, still flustered by how close Chan was to you.
“I saw you show up with all eight of them,” another girl interupts. Someone else gasps as if you've committed a serious crime. “You actually know them?”
“Well, yeah-”
“I heard that you called Minho oppa, are you two dating?” the first girl asks.
“What? No!” you quickly deny, disgusted by the very thought of that.
“Oh come on, you don't think that they're ridiculously attractive?” someone else chimes in. The whole group murmurs in agreement. They have more and more questions for you and start to talk over each other.
“Minho's my brother! As in, we share the same parents, that’s why I call him oppa.” you exclaim, before things can spiral further. “And ew, he is definitely not attractive!”
The group is stunned into silence for a moment before exploding in noise. There are girls offended on Minho’s behalf, some asking what him and his friends are like, and others who beg you to introduce them.
Your best friend chooses that moment to speak up, reminding you why she is one of your favourite people in the world.
“Let’s play a drinking game!” she exclaims loudly. She holds up a couple bottles of soju that you’re not sure where she’s been hiding and starts filling up everyone’s cup. Luckily the girls are easily distracted by alcohol, enough that the topic is changed without too much of a fuss. You breathe out a sigh of relief.
After a few drinks, you eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re definitely on your way to being tipsy, but not enough that you feel unsteady on your feet. The loud music makes it a bit difficult to focus and people have filled every corner of the house, but you’re somehow able to find an unoccupied bathroom.
You take an extra moment to splash yourself with water before you leave, you’re feeling a bit sticky from sweating and when one of your friends spilled a bit of their drink on you. When you finish, you swing open the door and immediately apologise when you narrowly miss hitting a guy who has been waiting in the hall. He waves it off, but doesn’t make a move to enter the bathroom, instead stepping a bit closer to you. 
“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all on her own?” he slurs, crowding further into your personal space. It’s dark, but you can still tell that his eyes are red and unfocused and hair is matted to his forehead. He's drunk. 
You swallow hard, trying not to panic. You have to treat this situation delicately and somehow make your disinterest clear without provoking or offending him.
“I’m not alone.” You can’t help but laugh nervously, taking a step back. Your stomach churns when your shoulder knocks into the wall behind you and you realise you have nowhere else to go. “My friends are actually probably wondering what’s taking me so long, I’ll just-”
“S’okay, I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you were gone a little longer.” He leans in until he’s close enough that you can smell the sourness of his sweat and the alcohol on his breath. “I just wanna get t’know you a bit better.”
He smiles down at you in a way that he must think is attractive. It makes you want to vomit.
“No thanks, I’m just going to head-” Your voice is shrill with panic, you can barely recognize it.
You try to shuffle to the side, but the guy slaps his hand against the wall, trapping you even more. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. He reaches out and traces one of your cheeks with a clumsy hand, ignoring the way that you cringe away.
“Aww c’mon darling, don’t be like that. I can promise you a good time.”
You know a bit of self defense, but this is far from a fair fight. This guy is significantly taller than you and probably double your weight. Even drunk, he can likely overpower you without even trying.
Before you can make a move, an arm slings around the drunk guy’s shoulder, jostling him to the side. Your heart sinks. There was a small chance that you’d have been able to escape, but not if you’re outnumbered.
“Hey mate,” the new person says. Your head shoots up at the familiar voice. Chan. “You seem pretty sloshed.”
Chan nudges the guy again, this time creating a little space that makes you feel less trapped. His body language is loose and relaxed, but the expression on his face is another story. His gaze is intense as he scans you, softening by a fraction when you nod that you’re fine.
“M’not,” the guy argues. He squints up at Chan. “Do I even know you? Get lost, I’m busy right now.”
“Why don’t you go outside and get some air? It’s gotten pretty stuffy in here.” It’s not a suggestion. Chan’s words are friendly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.
The guy opens his mouth, likely to protest, but promptly shuts it when he sees the look on Chan’s face. The two of you watch as he stumbles away without a fight, bumping into a few other people in his haste to leave. Now that you’re alone, Chan backs up, giving you more space to breathe.
“Sorry about that,” Chan says, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “Didn't want to be too aggressive. It just- you looked like you needed some help.”
“Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer,” you say quietly. It’s just another thing to be grateful for when Chan doesn’t comment on the shakiness of your voice. Instead, his expression darkens further before he composes himself.
“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. 
“Yeah, you came at just the right time.” You look away, a bit embarrassed that he had to step in and rescue you, but he puts a finger under your chin and uses it to turn your face back to him. It feels so different from when the drunk guy touched you that you don’t want him to stop. His eyes search yours for a moment and whatever he finds must satisfy him.
“You should probably rejoin your friends.” Chan starts to step away, but you reach out and snag his sleeve before he can go. 
“Chan-oppa.”
He pauses, turning back to look at you again.
“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, although you’re not sure what he’s hoping you say.
“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” you plead. Chan’s expression drops a little, clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he’s still quick to reassure you.
“No, yeah, of course. I won’t say anything.”
“I don’t want him to worry about me.”
“Of course,” Chan repeats.
“And… thank you.” You rise up on your toes and kiss his cheek quickly, then slip away towards where your friends are before you can see what his reaction is. 
It takes a few days for you to recover from the party. You hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover, but just remembering your interaction with Chan makes you want to bury yourself in your bed and never leave. Luckily Minho hasn't questioned your change in behaviour much, but you can tell that he's getting sick of your wallowing, even if he doesn't know the reason behind it. 
“Yah, Y/n-ah!” Minho bangs on your door. “We’re heading out for gukbap in 5 minutes, are you coming?”
He doesn’t specify who the ‘we’ is, you know who to expect. Of course, Chan is included. It’s easy to make a decision.
“Go without me!” you yell back.
“Eh? Open up.”
“Just come in, it’s unlocked.”
You hear the door open and Minho approaches. He prods at your prone form with one of his feet.
“What’s up with you? You never say no to gukbap.”
“Nothing!” you groan.
“You’ve been acting strange since that stupid party, what are you hiding?” He pokes at you again, this time a bit harder.
“Oppa,” you complain, lifting yourself out of your blankets to swat at his foot. “I promise that I have nothing to hide, I just don’t feel like hanging out with your friends today.”
“They haven’t done anything, have they?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Channie-hyung asked me if you were doing okay.”
“No! I-” you choke on your spit in your haste to answer, leading to a coughing fit that leaves you with tears gathering in your eyes. You clear your throat roughly then continue. “No, Chan-oppa and the rest of your friends have all been nice to me.”
“Oppa?” 
Whoops, you hadn’t meant for that to slip out.
“What?” you whine. “You’re the one who forces me to hang out with them all the time! You told me to stop being so formal around them. They kept telling me too, it got really annoying.”
“Hmm,” Minho huffs, not quite convinced.
“Really,” you insist. “I just don’t want to go out today, I promise.”
“Okay,” Minho says reluctantly before he gets uncharacteristically serious. “But you know, you're my little sister, you can always come to me if something or someone is bothering you right?”
“I- yeah of course, oppa.” You feel kind of touched, not used to Minho openly showing that he cares about you, even though you know he does. It's enough that your throat feels tight with emotion, but you force yourself to speak through it. “Thank you. I always know that I can count on you.”
“I'm the only one allowed to mess with you,” he says sweetly, ruffling your hair so that it sticks up the way he knows you hate. “If anyone else does, I'll make sure that they regret the day that they were born.”
You try to ignore the guilt that curls in your stomach as you watch Minho leave. You hate hiding things from him, but you're still confused by your own emotions and you're worried by how he'll react.  Minho has always been your biggest supporter in everything except for your love life, which he is strictly against no matter how much you try to reason with him. 
You can’t imagine how much worse it would be if he found out that the person you’re interested in is one of his friends. You’ve heard him warn the whole group that you were off limits. He’d use a joking tone, but everyone knew that he was actually serious about it.
In the end, it doesn’t even matter because you’re almost certain that nothing will ever come of your feelings, Chan is way out of your league so there’s no point in even imagining a relationship together.
Unsurprisingly, your attempts to avoid Chan fail pretty much instantly. You're not sure how the stars aligned exactly opposite to what you were hoping, but the studio that Minho's (and therefore Chan's) dance crew uses had a schedule conflict that ended up shifting their practice times.
To your dismay, it works out so that multiple times a week, you're leaving campus at the exact same time as your brother. That in itself is not much of an issue, it's the fact that Chan lives close enough to you that the three of you commute back together. To make matters worse, Minho always invites Chan over to have dinner and Chan always accepts.
You can't fault Minho though, you know that he invites him over partly because he wants to hang out with Chan and partly because he knows that Chan might end up working throughout the night in an empty apartment and completely forget to eat. It does also bring you comfort, knowing that Chan is being cared for, that he's eating well and taking time in his day to not worry about school or dance. It's also nice for you, you've grown so used to preparing and eating dinner on your own that it's started to feel more like a chore than something to look forward to.
It's just hard. You haven't had a private conversation with Chan since the party, but you know that he wants to talk to you. 
You were so sure that he would never reciprocate your feelings, but now, you're starting to doubt yourself.
While you're on the bus home, listening to your music, you sometimes glance over to find Chan staring at you, though he's quick to look away. When the three of you are cooking in the kitchen, he's more affectionate, resting a light hand on your waist or back when he passes behind you or nudging your shoulder playfully after he makes a joke. During dinner, he makes sure that you're also engaged in conversation, asking about your classes or the few clubs that you're involved in. He sometimes brings you and Minho little treats from the convenience store and they're always in your favourite flavours.
The thing is, Chan is friendly and generous to everyone that he meets. It's hard to tell if you're reading too much into your interactions with him or if he's actually paying you more interest than usual. You've never heard of Chan dating, actually you can't recall if any of the boys in Minho's dance crew have ever had partners, but it's not for a lack of interested parties.
At times, it feels so impossible that you're embarrassed to even admit to yourself how much you like Chan. You're not blind, you know that there's a fair share of girls who are just as delusional as you are, giggling when he looks over and insisting to their friends that he's interested in them because he helped open the door for them or waved as he walked past.
In fact, some of the very moments that you keep closest to your heart sound so similar to experiences that you've heard other girls gushing about that you hate yourself for having hope that Chan would be interested in you of all people.
It's easier to pretend that there's nothing going on between the two of you. You know that if you were to confess your feelings to Chan, something you would never do, that he would be nice about it. You can almost imagine it, how flustered he would be, making up some kind of excuse about not being interested in dating because he was too devoted to school and dance. He would promise not to tell your brother about it and assure you that it wouldn't change the way that he treats you.
You've run through this hypothetical situation so many times that not only have you experienced enough mortification for a lifetime, but you've convinced yourself even further to lock your feelings up inside of you. There's no point in confessing when you're so sure that nothing will ever come from it.
One day, Chan is over as usual and the three of you are cooking in your tiny kitchen, elbows bumping and arms reaching over as everyone tries to make do with the small space available. 
The food is almost ready when Minho's phone rings, the special song that he has saved for Jisung. He picks it up instantly, shoving the pair of chopsticks that he's using into your hands in his haste. You can't hear what Jisung says, but Minho rolls his eyes and leaves to his bedroom, lecturing Jisung about something the whole way there.
“Hey,” Chan says softly. You try to keep yourself busy, picking up dishes and putting them into the sink for washing, but he tugs at your wrist lightly so that you face him. “Is everything good with you?”
“Yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. 
“You just seem, I don't know, distracted or something these days.”
“No, it's-” You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “Thank you for asking, really. But I'm fine.”
“Okay,” Chan says, still looking concerned. “Listen, I know we haven't-”
You've never been so glad to hear Minho re-enter the room. 
“Eh? You guys haven't even finished with the food?” he complains in a whiny voice that he only really uses around Chan. “What have you guys been doing this whole time? Come on, Y/n-ah, go set the table. Hyung, I know you can't cook to save your life, but at least scoop out the rice into our bowls. I'm hungry!”
Chan drops the subject for the rest of the night, but you know that you’ve only delayed the conversation. 
The next day, you wake up to a dry and achy throat. This isn’t that unusual, you suffer from seasonal allergies that sometimes block your nose and force you to breathe through your mouth as you sleep. This time, it feels different. Your throat has been bothering you more than usual the past couple of weeks and while drinking a glass of water does help you wake up, it doesn’t dull the pain that persists. 
You shuffle out of bed to wash up, then head straight to the kitchen, brewing yourself a steaming mug of yuja tea. The taste is comforting, but doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. 
You get ready for school quickly, hoping to leave before Minho wakes up. You know that your classes start before him today, but he's always been an early riser, preferring to work out or spend time in the dance studio before it gets too busy.
“Y/n-ah,” Minho calls out, right as you're starting to put on your shoes. “You were going to leave without saying bye?”
“I didn’t know if you were awake,” you say, wincing when your voice still sounds rough.
“You didn’t even check.” Minho steps out of his room and unlocks the front door for you as you pull on your backpack.
“I was in a rush-” you start to say, but the rest of your sentence doesn’t manage to make its way out. Clearing your throat only irritates it further, triggering a cough that you can’t contain.
“Y/n,” Minho says, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”
He raises a hand to your forehead, but you slap it away weakly before he can check your temperature.
“I'm fine, I just have this stupid sore throat that won’t go away,” you reassure him. “I don’t think I’m sick though. The air has been so dry lately, I think I need a humidifier in my room while I sleep.”
“Aww.” Minho pinches your cheek and goes straight back to teasing you. “My delicate baby sister.”
“Ugh, forget I said anything.” You push your brother away. “Now let me go, I'm going to be late for class.”
Minho doesn't say anything in response, but the next night when you go to sleep, a new humidifier has been installed on your bedside table. 
In the next few weeks you find that the discomfort in your throat that has been plaguing you has evolved into something else. There’s a persistent feeling of something caught in your throat and you find yourself with a lingering dry cough that no amount of tea or medication can relieve.
One night, you wake up feeling like you can't breathe. In a panic, you untangle yourself from your sheets and get yourself into a sitting position. The change in position allows a deep cough to rattle through you, enough that you’re finally able to suck in a breath. 
Instead of phlegm or maybe a piece of food that could have been stuck in your throat, you feel something velvety in your mouth. You blindly reach for your bedside table to turn on your lamp and wonder if you’re still asleep when you find a single, dark red rose petal in the palm of your hand.
You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch yourself, hard, but when your eyes open, nothing has changed.
Suddenly, you’re wide awake and a cold sweat starts to form, making your pyjamas stick to your back.
You’ve heard of hanahaki disease, of course you have, but you’ve never known someone who has suffered from it. 
It makes sense, you’ve had a sore, scratchy throat and dry cough for weeks now with no other cold symptoms.
You can’t believe it though. 
Hanahaki disease was almost like an urban legend at this point, having been exaggerated and twisted so much in media that you’ve almost forgotten the reality of it. While most of the shows and books that cover this have a somewhat romantic take on it, declaring that it's caused by unrequited love, you know the real cause is your refusal to admit your feelings.
You knew that lying, to Chan, to your brother, to yourself, would have consequences. You had heard stories about how people who kept their feelings a secret were slowly choked by them, petals and leaves representing every time you had held yourself back. 
You just never thought it would happen to you.
Sure, you were interested in Chan. You found him kind, hard-working, funny, and attractive, but it's not like you were in love with him.
You crumple the petal in your hand and throw it into your garbage can. If this is your first time finding petals, you still have months until things progress to be more serious. A part of you hopes that this was some sort of one-off, that this would be the first and last time your body creates any flowers.
You turn off the light and pull the covers tightly over your body, praying that you'll wake up in the morning and find that this was all some crazy stress-related dream.
You don’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.
You had thought that you were pretty good at covering up your tracks, but it doesn’t take long before Minho starts piecing things together. It doesn't help over the past few days, your symptoms have steadily worsened. You’ve found yourself coughing up petals every day, enough that you're starting to grow concerned about how quickly things are progressing.
It starts when he calls you into your shared bathroom one evening. You don’t think much of it, until you find him staring at something on the ground.
“What’s this?” he asks. 
“It’s a rose petal,” you say easily, stooping down to pinch it between two fingers and dangle it in front of his face. “You’ve never seen one before?”
Minho rolls his eyes at that, swatting at you half-heartedly. You manage to dodge out of the way, but lose your grip on the petal. It flutters to the floor, but Minho swipes it out of the air.
“What’s it from? Is a boy giving you flowers?” he asks warningly, crushing the petal in his grip.
“Oppa, stop jumping to conclusions!” you groan. “It’s from a bath bomb that I tried out, I guess I missed this one when I was cleaning up.”
“Since when do you take baths?” 
“Since I got a bunch of bath bombs on sale. I thought it would be relaxing.” This time you’re the one rolling your eyes. “But if I knew that it would lead to you interrogating me, I wouldn’t have bothered buying them in the first place.”
“Fine, sorry, just- just clean up next time you’re going to make a mess in the bathroom,” Minho says, before throwing the petal at you and leaving you alone.
You watch as the petal falls onto the tiles, crumpled into a little ball from being in Minho’s fist. When you reach out to pick it up, your fingers are trembling. You’ve never been a good liar, but it seems that at least this time, your acting skills have been good enough to fool Minho.
You hear the front door close and you finally give in to the cough that you've been trying to suppress the whole conversation. 
Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop the coughs that wrack your body. This time, even after you spit out a couple of petals, it still feels like there’s something stuck in your throat. After what feels like forever, that something dislodges and you find yourself holding a tiny rosebud complete with a short stem.
You stare at it in horror, you haven’t had more than petals until now. There’s a deep sense of dread that fills you. You thought that you’d have more time, it hasn’t even been a month since you had started coughing up anything.
You throw the flower into the toilet, flushing quickly so that the red petals swirl out of sight. Even after you rinse your mouth, there’s a tinge of iron that lingers.
You don't often visit the boys when they're at dance practice, in fact you actively avoid going to the studio. It's one thing to know that their dance crew is quite popular and another to experience it yourself.
But today you don't have much of a choice, in your rush to leave for an early lab, you completely forgot to pack an assignment that was due the same morning and had begged Minho to bring it to campus for you. You were lucky that he hadn't left the apartment yet, but he only brought it on the condition that you brought him coffee and picked your assignment up from him directly. 
It's just before 10am when you head over, which means that there's a lot of students waiting for their dance class to start, but it still surprises you to find a fairly significant crowd outside of the studio that Minho had texted you to go to. You can hear music faintly from the closed door and, as you push your way closer, find that there's a large horizontal window that has caught everyone's attention.
You get more than a fair share of dirty looks as you squeeze through the crowd and one girl even stops you as you move to open the door. 
“Sorry, excuse me,” you say politely.
“You're not allowed in,” she says in a haughty voice. Her acrylic nails bite into your arm, surprisingly strong for how thin she is. “Their practice isn't over.”
“You're not allowed in, I don’t need an invitation,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes. You must not have said it quietly enough because she gasps dramatically.
“Please, you think you're special?” She looks you up and down dismissively. “You wish any of the boys would talk to someone like you.”
“You must be referring to yourself, they would never want to have to associate with someone as desperate and pathetic as you,” you snap, shouldering your way past her. She squeals, but finally lets go of you, maybe hoping that you'll get in trouble for interrupting.
You open the door just enough to slide through and carefully close it behind you so that you don’t disturb them. It’s mesmerizing, watching them all dance. They’ve been together for so long that it looks so natural for them to move in sync, although you know it’s more to do with long hours of practice and Minho’s eagle eyes pointing out any mistakes. 
None of the boys notice you at first, caught up in the chorus of the song that they're practicing, but Jeongin catches sight of you after a moment.
“Noona!” he says excitedly, abandoning the dance to run over to you. “Is that coffee for me?”
“Innie if you drink that coffee you will not survive long enough for the caffeine to make it into your bloodstream,” your brother warns from across the room. 
Jeongin falters at that, but when you shake the cup enticingly in front of him, he throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.
“Yah! What did I say, Yang Jeongin?” Is the only warning Jeongin gets before he’s chased around the room by an angry Minho. The familiar chaos is almost enough to lift your mood and make you forget about the terrible interaction you had outside.
“You look annoyed, did something happen?” Chan asks, approaching you from where he had gone to turn off the music on his laptop. You curse how observant he is, you thought you had done a pretty good job of hiding how you felt.
“Nothing, just had a weird encounter with a defensive fan out there. It's like you guys are idols or something” you joke, nodding your head towards the window where people are watching curiously. You can still feel the sting from the girl’s nails digging into your wrist and when you lift it up to examine it more closely, see a little bit of blood beading at the deepest crescents.
“They’re not fans,” Chan says in disgust, before he does a double take. “I- you’re bleeding?”
“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, wiping at the wounds but only succeeding at smudging the blood so that it looks even worse. “It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Come here, we have a first aid kit somewhere. We don’t want it to get infected.” 
Chan takes your hand delicately, making sure to avoid the inflamed areas, and leads you over to the bench closest to where all their bags are piled up. You sneak a glance over to the girl that stopped you and can’t help but feel smug when you find her, pale and slack-jawed. Chan sits you down, only leaving your side to pull the blinds down on the window and dig around until he finds the first aid kit.
“Sorry, it might sting a bit,” Chan apologises as he pulls out the disinfectant wipes.
You peek at Chan and your breath catches in your throat at how concentrated he looks, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to gently dab at the scratches. Most of his hair is hidden under a baseball cap, but you can see a little duck tail forming at the base of his neck which draws attention to the trails of sweat that disappear under the collar of his shirt. You must make some kind of noise, because Chan looks up, eyes wide with concern.
“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?”
“No, you're good,” you say, cheeks flushing.
“I’m almost done,” he says, searching around for a bandage. He’s just finished applying it, tongue sticking out in concentration, when you hear someone else approach.
“What's going on here?” Minho asks.
“Nothing!” you say at the same time that Chan says, “I was just helping Y/n put on a bandage.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” Minho's eyes widen and he reaches out to take a look at your wrist, even though he won't be able to see anything under the bandage. You pull your sleeve down and stand up in a rush.
“It’s nothing, really oppa! I'm sorry, I have to go, my class is starting soon!” you call out, lying through your teeth as you run out of the room, clutching your assignment. “Thank you, Channie-oppa!”
You rush into the nearest bathroom, not even caring that there are people in the other stalls, and throw up an explosion of petals. By the time that you finally make it to class, just in time, your throat stings more than the wound on your wrist.
You start trying to avoid Minho and well, you never really stopped in your attempts to avoid Chan.
You leave early in the morning, only come back well after the sun has set, and do everything in your power to contain your cough when you're at home.
You know you're not solving the problem, only prolonging it, but every conversation, every lie, seems to accelerate the growth of the roses that have taken up residence in your lungs. You know that it's not helping, that keeping this secret is just strengthening the flowers that are slowly choking you. It's just that no matter how many conversations you've rehearsed in your head or text that you've drafted, something seems to stop you.
You're just so so scared that waking up with a mouthful of petals and thorns, bloody coughing fits that you can't prevent, and the raspy tone of your voice that has developed is preferrable. 
As much as you hate him sometimes, you've looked up to your brother for your whole life. You don't know what you would do without him that the thought of losing him terrifies you beyond belief.
You don't always get what you want, though. It's not long until Minho confronts you again.
It's not really a surprise, when you look in the mirror these days, you're shocked by your appearance. Your face is pale and drawn, you have deep bags from not being able to sleep at night, and you've lost weight since most solid food irritates your throat enough to trigger a coughing fit. Add that to the fact that you know your apartment's walls are paper thin which means it's impossible that your brother can't hear you coughing at all hours of the day.
“Y/n-ah. I know that you're not doing well right now. Don't even try to deny it,” Minho says. He closes his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I- you don't have to tell me what it is. I would prefer it if you did, but just- what can I do to help?”
You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to reassure him that you're fine, but regret it when you start choking instead. You lurch upright and head directly to the bathroom, Minho trailing behind you worriedly. 
“I-” Trying to talk just makes it worse. You're used to it now, the way that the thorns seem to claw at your throat on their way up, how even the brush of soft petals against the raw flesh hurts, the metallic taste that you can't seem to get rid of no matter how many times you wash your mouth. Still, it doesn't make it easier.
Minho watches in silence as you heave over the toilet. He puts a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles to try and soothe some of your pain. Your eyes water, partially from coughing and partly because you're mortified that your brother is finally witnessing this.
You throw up finally, mostly petals and blood, which is a relief. The stems have been the most painful by far, each thorn digging into the already abused flesh of your throat.
When you finally finish rinsing your mouth, he's holding out a tissue which you accept gratefully. Minho doesn't comment until you've finally caught your breath.
“Y/n-ah-”
“Yeah,” you say miserably, tearing at the leftover tissue in your hand. Your voice both sounds and feels like you've been swallowing gravel. “Hanahaki, who would have guessed that I'd be a romantic at heart?”
You laugh weakly. Minho doesn't.
“I knew it. All those times you locked yourself in the bathroom with the water running… That stupid bath bomb story you told me… I hear you up at all hours, coughing your lungs out… You’ve been hiding it this whole time, haven’t you?” he accuses you.
“I can explain-”
“Go on then,” Minho says impatiently.
“I- It's-” You bury your face in your hands, unable to get the words out. “It's stupid.”
“Y/n-ah, it's obviously not stupid. Whatever it is, it's bothering you enough that it's hurting you physically.”
“I like someone,” you say in a small voice. “Okay? That's it.”
“Why won't you tell them?” Minho demands. “Why won't you tell me who it is?”
“No, I can't. There’s no point, it wouldn't work out,” you insist, shaking your head.
“What are you talking about? No point? Y/n, can't you see it's killing you.” You've never heard Minho sound so desperate. He's angry, he's frustrated, but most of all, he's scared, you realise.
“Oppa-” you say cautiously, but you're interrupted by yet another coughing fit. You can't hide it from your brother when the tissue that you've used to cover your mouth is tinged red by the time you're done. You can feel there's still something lodged in your throat, it takes everything in you to ignore the urge to continue coughing to try and get it out.
“I can't lose you, Y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes widen when you realise his are filled with tears. You don't think you've ever seen Minho cry. “I can't let you do this to yourself, please.”
“I need more time-”
“You don’t have time!” Minho interrupts frantically. “Have you even seen a doctor about this?”
You look away guiltily at the question.
“No, but-”
“Are you kidding me?” Minho says exasperatedly. “We’re booking you an appointment right now.”
“Is it going to make a difference? I know what’s wrong-” As if to prove your point, you can’t stop yourself from coughing again. “It's not that bad yet, oppa,” you lie, the croakiness of your voice giving you away.
“Y/n-”
“I promise! I promise that I am trying my best. I- if it doesn't get better, I'll see a doctor in two weeks.” 
“Not good enough, Y/n-ah. If you can't tell me, at least talk to whoever you like,” he pleads. 
“Fine,” you say. “I- I'll talk to him in the next few days. And if the flowers don't go away, then I will see a doctor.”
Minho lets out a heavy sigh of relief, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. You try your best to sink into his embrace, but just can't ignore the guilt that seems to consume you.
Chan catches you outside your last lecture that night. You're not sure how exactly he found out your schedule, but you exit the lecture hall to find him leaning against the wall directly across from the doors.
It could just be that he knows someone else taking this course or that he has a class in the same room, but somehow you know that he's waiting for you. Not ready for this conversation, you try to keep your head down to pass by unnoticed, but you know that he's spotted you when he calls out your name.
“Hey.” Chan reaches out, tugging on your sleeve without actually touching you. You turn around, stomach sinking slightly. Yes, you had promised your brother that you'd confess to Chan, but you didn't think it would happen so soon. “You're heading home right?”
“Yeah,” you say warily. “What's up?”
“I'm going back too, can we walk together?”
“Sure,” you agree slowly, not able to think of a way to get out of this situation. 
The two of you walk in silence towards your bus stop. Chan's being uncharacteristically awkward and you're not sure what to expect.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly.
“Okay?”
Chan stays quiet for so long that you’re about to ask if he’s okay.
“I like you,” he blurts out, right as you open your mouth to speak.
“What?” Of everything he could have said, this is what you're expecting the least. There’s no way that you heard him correctly, you must need to get your ears checked.
“I like you,” Chan repeats. You blink up at him, stunned. “But if you don't feel the same way, it's- don't worry about it. I promise that I'll respect it. I'll back off and everything will stay the same. I just wanted to get it off my chest. And maybe, I don't know if I was just making things up, but I thought that you liked me too?”
“You can't,” is all that escapes your mouth.
“I… can't like you?” Chan asks, baffled.
“No, it's- you can't- we can't,” you stammer. “My brother-"
“What, you think I'm afraid of Minho-ya?” Chan asks cockily, raising an eyebrow in a way that you can't help but find attractive.
“I just- he always said-”
“Y/n-ah,” Chan says gently. “I like you and I don't care what your dumb brother thinks. He can complain all he wants, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy. And-”
“You actually like me?” you interrupt.
“Yes, is it really so hard to believe?”
“I just always thought, you only saw me as Minho-oppa's baby sister,” you say glumly, kicking at the ground.
“I did when you were younger for sure,” Chan laughs. “But since university, I feel like I've actually gotten to know the real you, to see how funny, talented, kind, and thoughtful you are. I like you for you, not because I'm friends with your brother.” 
“But there's so many other girls you could choose from that are much prettier or smarter than me,” you argue, still not wanting to get your hopes up.
“Y/n-ah, are you actually trying to convince me not to like you?” Chan pouts. “If you don't feel the same way, just say so, it's okay.”
“No! I-” you trail off, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.
“You what?” Chan prompts you gently.
“I like you too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that he's heard you from the smile that grows on his face.
“What was that?” Chan asks cheekily.
“I said I like you too!” you say louder this time, before hiding your face in your hands so that you don't have to look at Chan. 
Even though you're beyond embarrassed, you feel better than you have in a long time, giddy with the idea that Chan actually reciprocates your feelings.
But when you breathe in, instead of relief, there's still that familiar tightness in your chest. 
You have to talk to Minho, you realise. As much as you've been keeping it a secret from Chan, you know that a majority of your inner turmoil stems from hiding our feelings from the closest person in your life. You had hoped that talking to Chan would instantly cure your hanahaki, but clearly you were wrong.
For the first time in weeks, you purposely seek out Minho. Luckily, you don't have to look far, when you get home, Minho is stretched out on the couch watching anime.
“I told him,” you say. Minho immediately sits upright, turning his attention to you. “The guy I like. But it didn’t help, the flowers are still-”
“And he feels the same way?” Minho interrupts you.
“I- yes, he’s the one that confessed first.”
“Wow,” Minho whistles. “Who’s crazy enough to have feelings for you?”
You had already made up your mind that you had to tell your brother, but his reaction makes you even more confident in your decision. Maybe it's the way that Minho is treating this so lightly, but you’re no longer nervous to say it out loud.
“It's Chan-oppa,” you say, bracing yourself. 
“Chan?” Minho repeats, shell shocked.
“Channie-hyung? Like-” he takes out his phone and pulls up the photo he has of Chan in his contacts.
Chan has the craziest bedhead and his face is puffy from sleep in the photo. He's squinting up at the camera, a hand coming up to try and block his face. He looks adorable.
Minho watches your face carefully as you visibly melt a bit looking at the picture.
“You really do like him, huh,” he says in a quiet voice, no longer joking around. “This whole time?”
“Yeah.” You look down. “I'm sorry.”
“That's it? That's the person you've been so scared of telling me that you liked?"
“I- yes? You don't think it's weird?” you ask tentatively, looking back up at your brother. “The two of us being together? He's one of your best friends.”
“Oh no, it’s definitely weird.” Minho laughs. “I do not understand it at all. But Y/n, Channie-hyung is one of the few people in my life that I trust. Do I want him to be dating my baby sister? Of course not! I don't want you to be dating anyone. Do I think he’s out of his mind for being interested in you? Definitely.”
“Hey!” you interject. Minho carries on like he can’t hear you.
“Do I think he fully understands that if he hurts you in any way, directly or indirectly, on purpose or on accident, that I will hunt him down and make him regret the fact that he ever existed in the first place? Yes, I think he knows.”
“Oppa,” you say in horror. “You will not give your best friend the shovel talk.”
“I don’t have to.” Minho smiles brightly, a picture of innocence if you didn’t know him. “My reputation precedes me. Channie-hyung's one of my closest friends, he would never expect anything less from me.”
“Oppa-”
“Y/n-ah,” Minho softens his voice. “I also know that of all the people that I've ever met, Channie-hyung is one that is least likely to ever hurt you. I trust him, but I also want you to know that I trust your judgement.”
You look away, sniffing. You never could have imagined that Minho would accept your relationship so easily that it's making you feel emotional.
“Aigoo, Y/nnie,” Minho coos. He pulls you into a tight hug, ignoring the way that tears finally escape from you and stain his shirt. “You were really worried about this, weren't you?”
You nod into his shoulder, unable to provide a verbal response.
“I'm sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. It's definitely going to take a bit of time to get used to it, but I'm happy for you, really. I know I can seem overbearing sometimes, but I just worry.”
“I didn't want you to be upset at Channie-oppa or me,” you murmur. “I didn't want to do anything to hurt your friendship. I didn't want to hurt our relationship.”
“Y/n-ah,” Minho says gently, but firmly. “I want you to know that there is nothing that could hurt our relationship. You're my baby sister, I'm always going to love you.”
After months of keeping all your feelings bottled up, of denying your feelings for Chan, of dreading Minho’s reaction, you’ve felt a constant dread, guilt filling your insides. Now, you’re just filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
It feels like you can breathe again.
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mountttmase · 1 day ago
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All That Matters
Note - merry (early) Christmas everyone 🩷 I’ve missed writing dad Mase and he’s just the most precious Christmas angel in this one. I hope you like it and feedback would be very much appreciated 😘
Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader
Word count - 6.4k
Warnings - fluff and smut
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‘What’s that pout for, pretty girl?’ Mason asked as he snaked his arm around your waist. His lips pressing the most gentle kiss to your temple but you just shrugged and pursed your lips.
‘Dunno I just feel a bit meh’ you told him. Feeling a little guilty that you were ruining today a little with your mood but thankfully Mason was the only one to pick up on it and you were hoping it would stay that way.
Christmas was usually your favourite time of year. You just loved all of it and since you’d had the kids, it had only made it more special. You loved decorating the house, cooking for everyone and picking out presents that you knew the special people in your life would love more than anything and the fact Mason was also big on Christmas made it even more fun. A chance for you both to reflect on another year of your lives you’d spent together, learning and loving the other one just like always but there was something about this year where you just couldn’t get into the spirit like usual.
Right now you should have been in your element. You were at your favourite garden centre, surrounded by beautiful twinkling lights as the smell of hot chocolate and sweet treats floated through the air, all whilst the kids got more and more excited about what they were about to do. Discussing with each other their Christmas lists and what they wanted to say to the big man himself but you were more focused on the little boy who was strapped to your chest and looking up at you adorably. His tiny cheeky smile was so much like Mason’s and everytime he directed it your way you felt a wave of happiness and love flood you.
‘Well you better turn that frown upside down before Santa sees it. He might ask you to sit on his knee so he can cheer you up and I won’t be having that’ Mason suddenly butted in, his words making you roll your eyes but you knew he was only trying to make you smile and you could feel the corners of your mouth turning up automatically.
‘Will you stop it’
‘Sorry baby’ he laughed. Pulling you into his side so he could drop a kiss on your head but even his affections went making you feel much better this time. ‘Tell me what’s up’
‘It’s just…’ you trailed off. Not knowing how to vocalise your thoughts anymore just in case you sounded silly but Mason being Mason could read you and when he tipped your chin up so you could look at each other you felt a little weight lifted.
‘What baby?’
‘This is Ryley’s first time seeing Santa right?’ You started. Watching Mason's confused face as he listened on but you knew he was really trying for you.
‘Yeah?’
‘So how many more of his firsts are we gonna blitz our way through in the next month?’ You asked him but he still looked a little bewildered and confused. ‘This is the last time we’ll ever take our baby to meet Santa for the first time. The last time we’ll get to buy one of the kids a my first Christmas jumper or buy them a special bauble for the tree. I just can’t believe we’ve got here like life is going way too quickly for me’
‘Oh sweetheart’ he pouted, squeezing your side to let you know it was okay and he understood but that didn’t mean you still weren’t going to be moody about it. The pair of you had decided that once Ryley was born then that would be it for your family, no more babies so you weren’t struggling and were able to give the ones you have all the love in the world. You were most definitely still on board with your decision but as you made your way through all of Ryley’s firsts it hit you they were also your lasts.
‘Doesn’t help Ollie is basically an old man at this point and probably won’t even believe in Santa next year. Like when did he get so big?’ You asked, eyes filling with tears that you tried to sniff away but Mason knew you were upset and the sad smile on his face didn’t do much to help you feel any better.
‘You forget my love, Tilly is absolutely mental and will probably still believe in him until she’s 15 just to spite everyone else’ he whispered. Kissing your cheek as he stroked the back of Ryley’s head softly. ‘And this munchkin, well he’s basically fresh from the womb. We’ve got loads of time left with him’
‘Mason he's one in two months’
‘Who’s next?’ you suddenly heard. Looking up to see a younger girl dressed as an elf smiling at the five of you widely and you knew you had to pep yourself up a bit. Placing a hand each on Ollie and Tilly’s shoulder to push them forward a bit as you could tell they were a little apprehensive.
‘That's us guys, come on don’t be nervous. You’ve been waiting all year to see the big man’ you reassured them and your heart almost broke when Tilly reached up to hold Ollie’s hand to ease her nerves.
Ollie let Tilly speak to Santa first, the pair of them getting over their nerves a little bit and you listened intently as to what she was asking for so you could make a mental note as to what you needed to get. Doing the exact same with Ollie but just as you’d expected his list was just full of books and comics.
‘Who’s the little one then?’ Santa asked as soon as Ollie was done and you smiled as you began to undo the straps on your papoose to get him out but before you could speak Tilly was telling Santa who he was about to meet.
‘That's my baby Ryley’ she told him, making Santa laugh as you sat him on Santa's knee but you made sure you stayed close just in case he got scared. Thankfully for you Ryley was fine and seemed more curious about him than anything else. Wanting to reach out and touch his beard as he showed Santa his new trick of poking his tongue out, something you figured Tilly had taught him, so you took it upon yourself to speak on his behalf.
When it was time to go, just after you’d all had your picture taken with the main man, Santa let the kids pick a little present out from his bag. Ollie grabbed one for Ryley too but Tilly was straight over to Mason as she figured something was wrong.
‘Daddy, are you gonna sit on Santa's knee and tell him what you want?’ She asked and you nearly dropped Ryley as you tried to put him back in the papoose as you were laughing and wondering how he was going to works his way out of this one
‘Nah it’s okay baby, I’ve uh… I’ve emailed him mine and mummy’s list already’ he told her as he looked to Santa for some back up and thankfully he caught on.
‘That's true’ Santa smiled. ‘I had a look at it this morning’
‘Come on then, say thank you to Santa’ Mason smiled. Picking Tilly up and popping her on his hip as he guided Ollie out and back to the main shop. You’d promised them you’d get them a treat on the way out so you made a stop in the food hall for a gingerbread man iced to look like Santa for the two older ones before popping everyone back in the car. Passing Ryley a biscuit you’d already packed for him as gingerbread was a bit tough for him and he smiled back at you widely before tucking in.
It wasn’t a long drive home, but Mason had his hand in yours the whole time as he softly sung along to the Christmas songs on the radio. Normally you would be singing along with him but you didn’t feel like it today. Your eyes flickering in between the view outside and your mirror so that you could check up on Ryley but he was conked out already. His little chubby fingers wrapped around Tilly’s as she munched on her biscuit with her free hand and the whole scene made your heart thump in your chest.
When you got home you got Ryley in as carefully as you could so he’d stay asleep and popped him in his room for a nap. The house was unusually quiet and when you were done with Ryley so you went in search of Mason who was laid on the sofa with the tv on quietly and Nala curled up curled up at his feet.
‘Where are the others?’
‘Ollie’s reading and Tilly’s just over there’ Mason told you quietly. Nodding over to the other sofa opposite where Tilly was also fast asleep with a blanket thrown over her little body.
‘Why is she over there?’ You laughed, walking over to Mason who was holding his arms out for you and even though you knew what would happen if you laid down with him, you still went with it. Needing his comfort more than anything as you were feeling so fragile.
‘Cause she’s like a little ball of fire when she sleeps and anyway I wanted us to talk without waking her up’
‘What about?’ You asked. Trying to play dumb but just frowned at you as you nuzzled into his neck, feeling your shoulders relax for the first time that day.
‘You feeling any better?’ He asked, lips on your forehead as he stroked your back softly. You loved the way he cared so much and was so concerned about you but you still felt a bit silly and unsure as to how to vocalise your feelings.
‘A little bit’
‘You expect me to believe that?’ He whispered and you couldn’t help but giggle. No matter how much you tried to hide anything from Mason it never worked so you did your best to explain what was going on inside your head and he listened along intently. Never making you feel silly or stupid about your feelings no matter how insane you thought you sounded.
It was just a lot and you felt responsible for all of Christmas. That wasn’t because Mason didn’t help, there was only so much he could do with his busy schedule and you knew anytime you did need help he’d be there but you wanted to make sure everyone had a good time. That on top of trying to make Ryleys first Christmas a memorable one was causing everything to crumble around you.
‘Do you remember your first Christmas?’ He asked after you were done ranting. Stroking your jaw gently as he looked at you but as much as you tried to think your mind was blank.
‘No’
‘I don’t remember mine either, pretty sure Ollie doesn’t and Tilly doesn’t remember what happened yesterday half the time’ he joked making you chuckle as you nuzzled into him. You knew he was right, there was no need to be so stressed as Ryley was still so little and wouldn’t remember it anyway but you still wanted to make it a special time for everyone no matter how down you were feeling.
You had to stop talking eventually when Tilly woke up and saw the pair of you having a cuddle without her. To say she wasn’t best pleased was an understatement and you tried to hold in your giggles as she sleepily stomped over to you and demanded to join. Mason was right though, she felt like a human radiator and you could feel yourself overheating but you didnt move. Now Ryley was here it wasn’t often you got time like this with just your baby girl so you held her just as tight as Mason was holding the both of you.
As the weeks flew by, you made it through all of Ryley’s firsts just like you thought you would. Finding the perfect my first Christmas jumper for him, letting him choose his special bauble for the tree by holding two up and getting him the one he reached for. You’d taken him Christmas shopping which was so busy and hectic you’d vowed to do the rest online but you had managed to pick him up his first stocking with a big R embroidered on the front.
Shopping online was pretty easy in the end and you managed to get most things without needing to go to an actual shop. It was a week before Christmas though when you were double checking everyone’s lists and you knew you were missing something.
It wasn’t something Tilly had written down on her list to send to Santa but something she’d asked for when she’d seen him. Telling you later on that day that she’d done that to see if he was actually listening and would bring for her and now you felt like you were about to ruin the idea of Santa for her forever.
It was a singing Olaf toy from Frozen. The new it toy apparently and everywhere you looked it was sold out. All the big toy stores, the little ones too and even the independent ones near you said they would be out until the new year and you cursed yourself for not remembering and getting it sooner. It was just another thing that had fallen to the back of the queue after everything else that had occupied your brain and when you told Mason later that night he told you not to worry and to leave it with him to fix. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that but you trusted him and left him to it.
Next on the list of forgotten things was the Christmas food shop, remembering the next night that you should probably get it all in the basket and checked out before it was too late and once Mason was putting all the to kids bed you sat in the kitchen and got to work.
‘You okay in here gorgeous?’ You heard, looking up to see Mason had popped his head around the doorway and you sent him a soft smile. ‘Kids are all in bed’
‘Thanks baby’ you uttered. Rubbing the heels of your hands into your eyes to try and wipe away some of the tiredness you felt but before long you felt Mason's hands on your shoulders as he tried to work out some of the knots that had formed.
‘You alright?’ He whispered. Dropping a kiss to your head as his fingers worked their magic and you had to stop yourself from groaning in pleasure.
‘I’m okay, just doing the Christmas food shop and trying not to forget anything’ you chuckled. Pulling out the chair next to you so he could take a seat as you talked him through everything you’d picked and thankfully you had everything. You had both agreed you’d do it online this year as there wasn’t much time to go to the shops and the thought of trying to get everything with the kids in tow filled you with nightmares. Thankfully they said they had slots available at such short notice and once Mason had gone through everything you only had to add in a few extra bits that he wanted. When you came to check out you though you felt deflated once more and Mason was eyeing you curiosity. ‘I don’t believe it, there’s no good bloody slots available. 4pm on Christmas Eve is the last one’
‘That’s okay baby, it’ll still get here on time’ he reassured you. Kissing your temple softly as he could see you were getting stressed again and with a big huff you paid for your order even with the delayed delivery as you didn’t really have any other options.
‘Sorry I feel so unorganised this year, feels like it’s all going wrong’ you laughed as you shut the laptop down. Mason was pulling you into his chest immediately after though and you felt yourself relax in his embrace.
‘Don’t worry, it’s fine. Nothing will go wrong as long as we’re all together, yeah?’ He reassured you and even though you nodded you couldn’t say you were completely agreeing with him right now. ‘Can I help with anything? Maybe I could start on some wrapping?’
‘It’s late Mase, don’t you wanna go to sleep?’
‘Nah, let’s blast some of this out and then we can head up. We’ll feel better when we’ve got a bit done’ he reassured you and you spent the next half an hour wrapping up a big chunk of presents so you made sure to give Mason a big kiss to say thank you as knowing that part was taken care of had lightened your load a little bit.
It was 4pm on the dot on Christmas Eve when the food shop turned up. Not exactly the best time but you left the kids and Nala in the living room with a movie on and some snacks whilst you and Mason got to work bringing it in but Mason got stuck talking to the driver who turned out to be a United fan in the end so you got started putting everything away.
You knew something was wrong as soon as you started unpacking the bags. Some of the stuff was what you’d ordered yet a few things weren’t and when you got to the most important part you could have torn your hair out.
‘Sorry love, thought I’d do my good deed and have a chat with him. You getting on alright?’ he laughed as he walked into the kitchen but you were facing away from him so he couldn’t see how upset you were at first. It only took a small, barely audible sniff from you to grab his attention and within a nanosecond he was crossing the kitchen and gently cupping your jaw to look at you. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘It’s all wrong, they’ve swapped a load of stuff out and we haven’t got half the things I need’ you gulped. Tears slowly falling down your cheeks as everything finally got the better of you. This Christmas had been overwhelming to say the least but you’d tried to put on a brave face through it all. This was the straw that broke the camel's back though and as Mason pulled you into his chest you sobbed as quietly as you could.
‘Come on baby, surely it’s not that bad’ he told you lightly. Swaying you from side to side as he kissed your head but in your mind this was a disaster. ‘Sit up here and tell me what’s wrong’ he told you, pulling away so he could pop you up on the island counter and once he was settled in between your legs you began to list everything off.
‘They’ve sent the wrong stuffing mix, that dessert you wanted they’ve swapped for something completely different, all the veg looks weird and they’ve sent us millions of potatoes’
‘That doesn’t sound so bad, I’m not really meant to have too many sweets so maybe it’s a blessing in disguise’
‘We don’t have a turkey’ you pouted. Your eyes welling up again as both looked over to the big plastic wrapped bird sat a few feet away from you on the counter and a questioning look settled over Masons features.
‘What’s that then?’
‘It’s just a really big chicken’ you sobbed. Hands covering your face as you began to cry even harder than before and you knew that you looked completely ridiculous crying over a chicken. Mason pulling you back to his chest and you could feel him trying to hold in the laughs as he rubbed your back.
‘Baby come on, you’re alright’ he whispered but unfortunately his words did nothing to calm you like they normally did and you carried on sobbing until he pulled away and held your jaw so he could wipe your eyes. ‘Hey hey hey, look at me’ he whispered. ‘I couldn’t care if it was a turkey or a flying fucking pig okay? As long as tomorrow I’m sitting round the table with you and the kids, that’s all that matters yeah? Christmas is about being together not what’s on our plates’ he told you with a smile and you knew he thought you were completely ridiculous.
‘I just feel like a rubbish mum’ you sniffed and the look of hurt that flashed across his face made your heart hurt.
‘Please don’t say that he pouted. ‘You’re the best mummy in the world I promise. You’ve worked so hard for all of this for us and you know me and the kids appreciate everything’ he reassured you before a tiny smile tugged at his lips again. ‘You know what? I hate turkey, It’s dry as fuck. As for the kids, I don’t think they’ll even realise okay? You don’t have to get upset about it’
‘Are you sure?’ you sniffed. His words lifting you slightly when he nodded back at you. ‘I knew I should have got one the other day. It’s too late to go and get anything now and they’ll be sold out anyway’
‘Right well let’s sort this all out and make a plan, yeah?’ He smiled. Tapping your thigh before popping a sweet kiss to your lips and you couldn't believe how lucky you were to have him.
It didn’t take that long for you to work everything out. Going through the list of the swaps and whilst it was inconvenient, Mason made you see things would just have to be a little different this year and that it was fine. That maybe some of them could be new traditions for your family and that you still had all the main bits you were just making this year more memorable with a few changes.
‘I’m sorry for getting so upset’ you sighed once everything was away and you had more of a plan for tomorrow. Wrapping your arm around his waist before he pulled you into a cuddle and the warmth of his body relaxed you like nothing else.
‘You’re upset because you care and that’s exactly what I love about you, okay?’ He told you softly. Kissing the top of your head as he stroked up and down your back. ‘Now come on, we can catch the rest of the film before we put the kids to bed’
Even after you told them all they had to to have an early night and that Santa would only come if they were asleep you could tell it wasn’t going to be an easy night for you. The eldest two were excited beyond belief and even though Ryley was so small it was like he could feel the change in the air and was just happy to join in. Crawling around on the floor with Nala so he could follow Ollie who was pretending to run away slowly and all three of them found it hilarious. Tilly in hysterics as she giggled away but little did you know it would be Mason that would make it all worse. Tickling her tummy until she was laughing through her tears and you knew it was about to be a long night.
It was chaos, but you loved your little family so much and it made your heart happy to see how excited everyone was and how the kids were none the wiser to your mixed up emotions this year. There was so much love in this room and you couldn't take your eyes off of Mason as all the kids piled in on him. He was right, just like usual, and as long as you were all together tomorrow then you’d be fine.
You managed to regain a little bit of control when you told them it was time to put snacks out for Santa. Mason telling them they should put a brownie and a hot chocolate out instead as he bet Santa was sick of mince pies and milk but you knew it was just because he didn’t want another one and would prefer something chocolatey. Ollie wouldn’t have it though and told him that he wasn’t risking Santa not stopping by because they’d put the wrong snacks out and you made a deal that you’d eat the mince pie if he drunk the milk and took a bite out of the carrot.
Once you knew they were all asleep you got to work arranging all the gifts in their own little sections before placing some under the tree. You could tell you were both exhausted though so you did what you could before traipsing back upstairs and collapsing into bed. Not bothering to set an alarm as you knew the kids would be waking you up early anyway but to your surprise it was Mason that woke you up before anyone else. His hands lightly massaging your waist as he kissed your neck from behind and you were hoping he might let you have a little bit of well needed stress relief after the last few weeks.
‘Merry Christmas, beautiful’ he whispered into your neck. The sound making your skin tingle as you could tell my the tone of it that he was after the same thing you were craving.
‘Merry Christmas, Mase’
‘If my calculations are correct, we’ve got about 15 minutes before the kids come looking for us’ he whispered lowly and the sound made you shiver.
‘Oh really?’
‘Mhmmm. You gonna let me give you an early gift?’ He whispered and if you weren’t so turned on you would have found it strange how you were so in tune with each other. That didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him a little bit though.
‘I’m not sure, Mase. Have we got time?’ You asked innocently whilst rubbing your behind all over his lap and you knew you were having the desired effect as he gripped your waist tightly.
‘Don’t doubt me’ he whispered, a smile evident in his voice. ‘Just stay there baby, let me take care of you’ he told you but you felt his warmth leave you almost immediately. Hearing him moving around behind you but when you saw his boxers fly over the top of you and drop to the floor you knew what he’d done. Giggling as you felt his body heat return and when his lips touched your neck you moaned quietly.
Even though Mason had gone to the effort of undressing himself, clearly he was too impatient to wait until you were also undressed because you felt his fingers push your shorts down slightly and your underwear to the side shortly after. His fingers dragging up and down you deliciously until he popped them in his mouth and got back to work.
As much as you loved it when he was teasing you like this, you also knew you didn’t have that much time and you wanted to feel him properly so you started to buck your hips back into him a little more in hopes he’d get the message and thankfully he did. Feeling him shuffle a bit after a second or two before gripping himself and guiding his way inside you as carefully as he could.
You felt yourself melt into the sheets as soon as he was inside of you. Feeling him drag in and out of you deliciously as the familiar thickness of him made you shiver once more. No matter how many times you were in this position it felt better than the last but you knew where you were and the possibility that little ears might be able to hear you soon so you covered your mouth and did your best to keep quiet.
‘Don’t be shy baby, I wanna hear you’ Mason murmured in your ear. His voice strained as he lost himself in you and clearly you had to remind him why you couldn’t let loose.
‘’Remember where we are’ you chuckled, feeling him sigh into your neck before he began to pull out but within a flash he’d pulled you onto your back and was pushing inside you again. His lips on yours to silence any moans the pair of you were making and as much as you were in your element you could tell he was holding back a bit now. ‘Masey, please’
‘What is it, baby?’
‘M-more please’ you breathed. Wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close and the little chuckle that fell from his lips excited you.
You werent went quite sure what he was doing, but he moved all of his weight over to one side so he could lean on one arm. His free hand now moving its way up your body until he reached your neck and the slight squeeze made you groan in delight as his hips began to snap back and forth quicker.
‘That’s it, that what you wanted?’ He cooed in your ear. The soft sound of his voice a stark contrast to how he was treating you right now but you couldn’t get enough. You loved it when he was a little rough with you like this and you could feel your thighs tingle in pleasure.
‘Mhmmm’ you moaned, letting him capture your lips once more to silence you.
‘Such a good girl for me’ he breathed into your mouth and before you knew it, it was getting too much for him. Ducking his head into your neck as you threaded your fingers through his hair so you could pull on it slightly just how he liked.
It was the wet kisses he was pressing into your neck that finally tipped you over the edge. Moaning into his shoulder as he quickened his pace but he was finished just after you and the little giggle that left his lips warmed your heart.
You’d barely caught your breath before you heard the footsteps running down the hall and Mason stiffened in your arms. Immediately knowing he was completely bare under the covers and if Tilly was up to her usual then this wouldn’t end well.
‘Fuck, what am I gonna-‘
‘Just lay down it’s fine’ you giggled as Tilly burst into your room. Running straight over and into your arms and you tried to hold in your laughs at how awkward Mason was being but it was hard when Tilly was so excited.
‘Santas been!’
‘Has he?’ You beamed, watching her excitedly roll off the bed so she could run over to Mason behind you but before she could, she managed to pick up Mason's discarded underwear off the floor and pop them on her head like a hat. Clearly too overcome with excitement to even think about what she was doing but Mason was mortified as he watched her run around your room in the black Calvin’s he was previously wearing not too long ago.
‘Tilly baby’ you giggled, jumping up so you could take them off of her head before flinging them back to Mason and he caught them before stuffing them under the covers. ‘How about we go and get Ollie so we can see what Santa left us and daddy can go and wake Ryley up?’ You told her. Taking her hand and walking her out of your room as you shot Mason a look over your shoulder, just in time to watch him blowing you a kiss.
Ollie was already awake which made things easier and you were only waiting for a few minutes for Mason and Ryley to make an appearance. Ryley still sleeping soundly by the looks of things as his little face was nuzzled into Masons neck so they both sat in the arm chair and you all let Ryley wake up a little bit more. Nala coming to join you moments later and she seemed confused as to why you were all up and awake but she sat herself by Mason and watched what was going on intently.
The eldest two were chomping at the bit to get started so you let them go. Helping them pick the right presents for the right person and clearing up slightly after them as they went but you loved watching them get excited with each new gift and the noise had Ryley interested so Mason came to join you with him for a bit so he could get involved.
The kids were most of the way through the presents and you knew Mason hadn’t been able to get the toy Tilly so desperately wanted. She was clearly excited and happy about everything she’d received but you knew she was looking for it and with each present opened her hope was waning.
Mason told you he’d sorted it and you didn’t know if he was hiding it somewhere for an extra special surprise but when you gave him a nervous glance he just winked at you before searching under the tree.
‘Oh wow, Tilly have you seen this?’ Mason asked as he sat back up and when you looked over he was holding a thick white envelope with her name perfectly inscribed on the front. ‘What does that say baby?’
‘Tilly’ she smiled, pointing at herself as it was one of the few words she could read and Mason nodded at her proudly.
‘That's right, it’s for you’ he told her, passing it over. ‘Why don’t you open it and maybe mummy will read it to you?’
You watched her scurry over. Passing you the official looking envelope that you quickly tore into quickly before opening up a typed up letter on some Santa stationery and you sat her on your knee so you could read it together.
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‘Oh wow Tilly, a letter from the big man himself?’ Mason smiled and you knew she was beaming back at him. ‘Thats huge’
‘Santa mummy’ she squeaked. Your heart melting at the effort Mason had gone to to keep his little girl happy.
‘I know baby. That’s nice of him isn’t it, and you can wait can’t you?’
‘I can wait’ she nodded, holding her letter like it was the most important thing she’s ever received.
‘Good girl’
‘Ollie look’ she shouted. Jumping down from next to you so she could show him her letter and he seemed impressed by what he was seeing.
Mason was coming over to sit with you soon after with Ryley cradled in his arms and a few unopened gifts for you to open with him. Letting Ryley tear the paper as best as he could after you’d started him off to reveal a few new soft toys and some things to chew on but soon enough Ollie needed help trying to set up a new game he’d been gifted. Mason handed Ryley over so you could cuddle up together and give him his morning feed in peace, knowing you needed a few moments alone with your boy before the chaos of the day took over. Mason also hadn't gotten involved too much this morning as he sat with Ryley and you knew he wanted to spend some time playing with the kids.
‘Merry Christmas little man’ you whispered. Stroking his head gently as he looked up at you and you felt so full of love you wanted to squish him. His little hand stroking Nala next to him and you knew it was a comfort thing to have her close by when he was having a feed. ‘You probably won’t remember any of this but it’s all a little messed up this year. I’ll make sure it’s all fixed for next year though, and you can join in a little bit more, yeah?’ You told him. Hoping he understood what you meant somehow but even if he didn’t you were still excited for what the day held.
One of the big gifts you’d bought Ryley was a walker and whilst the kids were occupied with looking at their gifts, Mason put it together as you made the pair of you a coffee. Popping him in it after it was done so he could get a feel for it and soon enough he was walking around and crashing into everything. Your bright idea now seeming like a nightmare as he tried to run from room to room and bounce off the walls but Mason thought it was hilarious and was following after him to try and record Ryley on his little rampage.
‘Thank you, Mase’ you told him as he came into the kitchen to get his coffee you’d made him but he stopped in his tracks at your words.
‘What for?’ He asked curiously. Placing his hands around your waist as he pulled you to his body and you couldn’t resist reaching up and kissing him softly. This morning had been crazy but it was the first time in a while you hadn’t felt so rubbish about everything and you knew it was him you had to thank for that.
‘For talking me down everytime I’ve wanted to have a hissy fit these last months’ you smiled. ‘And for reminding me that Christmas is about us just being together’
‘I’ll tell you everyday if you need me to, you know that right?’ He whispered, pecking your lips softly once more. ‘I mean it, everything that’s good about our family comes from you and I’d never want you to think what you do for us isn’t good enough when my life with you is more than I could have ever asked for’
‘Masey’ you pouted. Your eyes filling up for a whole different reason and when he softly placed a kiss on your nose you couldn’t help but let them spill over.
‘Hey, no tears on Christmas’ he winked, wiping your cheeks. ‘I mean it though, you’re the best mum and wife and friend I could have ever asked for and we love you so much’
‘I love you too’
‘Are you ready to see what Santa got you now the kids have had their gifts?’ He asked, hoping a change of subject would cheer you up a bit and it worked as you were itching to see what gift he’d pulled out of the bag for you this year.
‘Yes please’ you giggled. Letting him take you hand and walk you back into the chaos that was Christmas morning in the Mount household.
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harumasa-wifey · 3 days ago
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➹Happy New Year»———>
✖Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader
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Warnings: slight spoilers of chap 5(nothing major) Not proofread
Category: fluff
Note:i was inspired by the new official art and wrote this I was supposed to post it last night but I fell asleep while writing,Sorry for the wait.i cannot picture the accurate spot of this pic but I saw one in game I'll post a pic of it later for reference!
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“Meet me behind the cafe in lumina square”
This was the last text you had received from him as you left Random play after meeting with the siblings to return the movie you had rented and wishing them a happy New year in advance.
It was New year's eve and thankfully to the deputy chief you all were out and about today. No fighting hollows , No overload paperwork and some extra which asaba adds to you sneakily because he is too lazy to do them.You love him a lot but you wish sometimes he would Stop adding his paperwork on your desk. It can be a great hassle to finish them in time.
Lumina square always makes every New Year a grand one and a beautiful one to look forward to. You made your way to the metro station hurriedly taking the last train of the hour to the lumina square after talking with Nicole and the others in the cunning hares. The metro was full of people like the elderly, the people with their family, the young highschool students and the couples.
The thought of how this year went passes through your mind. The whole incident with the vision cooperation and the chase in the hollow was stressful. Although it hasn't been completely disposed of, you all can rest easy for the holidays. It was thanks to all of the background support everyone made it safely in the end.
Your thoughts came to an end as the mic on the train announced its stop , you got off the train heading out the metro station into the bustling city of New Eridu. There were lights everywhere and it was more crowded than usual, but there was still one place left to visit before you went to meet him.
Meeting the person you love on new year's eve without a gift doesn't sound right to you so here you are.Standing outside the shop while having second thoughts on what to get him. You had made up your mind to feed him some delicious sweets that are being sold around this time of year even though he likes the bitterness now and is not bothered by it.Having something sweet every once a while would definitely not harm him.
As you look around and yellowish star keychain catches your eye with a little Clover inside. There was something that attracted you to it, so without thinking further you had made the purchase and had it warped in a box.
And your next stop was The cafe.
You had made your way over to the cafe with a little pubsec bangboo to help you cross the road. You re-read his message and made your way to the back of the cafe.
There he was standing while leaning against the palisade while holding a small wrapped box in his hand, his attention over to you as he heard your footsteps coming closer.
“Well look who finally decided to grace me with their presence.Took you long enough”
He spoke with a gentle smile on his face as you rushed over to him.
“I am sorry! I was at the Sixth street when I got your message”
He chuckled at her worries about being late.
“Calm down baby, I was just teasing. No need to rush i just got in myself”
You could hear the crowd hushed as the first firework arched into the velvety night sky as he extended his hand holding the gift box his yellow eyes shining in the lights whispering in a soft tone.
“Happy new year”
Your instinct told you to go and hug him so that's what you did, wrapping your arms around his neck particularly throwing yourself over him not to worry he will always there to catch you.
“Happy new year asaba,may we be together in the next one too”
“Don't worry I'll live long” He said locking his lips with yours into a kiss.
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h4nj1sunggg · 1 day ago
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₁ . 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 - ( h. jisung. )
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pairing: rockstar!Han Jisung x groupie fem!reader.
genre: smut, angst, rockstar x groupie to lovers
words: 5.7k summary: jisung is an idol, you are his groupie.
ᯓᡣ𐭩   ( masterlist )  . playlist. part two.
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warnings: a lot of make out, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex (don't be silly), dirty talks, breeding.
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You're just a fan.
You’d always been passionate about music—its ability to tell stories, to evoke emotions you didn’t even realize you had. But when you first heard Han Jisung’s voice, it was like a switch flipped in your soul. His lyrics felt like they were written just for you, his melodies like they were designed to sit in your chest and echo for days.
It started with the music. Long before you ever thought about standing in a crowd or knowing his name, it was his voice that hooked you, a melodic thread weaving its way into the chaos of your life. His lyrics, so raw and unfiltered, felt like a window into his soul—and, in some strange way, yours too. Every word seemed crafted for the moments you couldn’t articulate yourself.
It wasn’t just the music, though. It was the way he performed—raw and unfiltered, like he was giving a piece of himself to the world every time he stepped on stage. You couldn’t help but be captivated.
The first song you heard wasn’t even one of the title tracks. It was an obscure B-side, tucked away on an album you stumbled upon by accident. But it hit you like a tidal wave. The layers, the emotions, the honesty—it was unlike anything you’d heard before. You remember sitting in your room with headphones on, the world around you fading as you let his music fill every corner of your mind. It wasn’t just a song; it was a lifeline. “I swear, he writes from a place most people are too afraid to touch,” you once explained to a friend, clutching your headphones like a lifeline. “It’s like he’s pouring out all the messy, beautiful parts of being human.”
Your admiration for him wasn’t the casual kind. It was the kind that had you at every concert within a hundred-mile radius, screaming his lyrics at the top of your lungs. The kind that had you pouring over interviews and album liner notes, learning about his creative process and the stories behind his songs.
Then came the rest. The way his voice could switch from a soft, whispery croon to a fiery, rapid-fire rap. The way he seemed to pour every ounce of himself into his work, leaving nothing behind. His music was like a diary you had no right to read, yet it felt like he’d written it for someone like you—someone who needed it. It wasn’t just his voice or the lyrics. It was the way his compositions felt alive. The subtle harmonies, the little ad-libs that only revealed themselves on the tenth or twentieth listen, the way every beat seemed to have its own heartbeat. His songs weren’t just music; they were experiences, stories you wanted to live in forever.
There was something deeply human about his art. 
He wasn’t afraid to explore the messy, complicated parts of life—the heartbreak, the anxiety, the longing for something more. He turned those emotions into something beautiful, something you could hold onto when your own thoughts felt too heavy to carry.
His music became your companion. On good days, it was the soundtrack to your joy. On bad days, it was the only thing that could pull you out of the darkness. It felt like he was reaching through the speakers, reminding you that it was okay to feel, to break, to rebuild.
It wasn’t just fandom—it was gratitude. For the songs that kept you company when you felt alone. For the words that gave you clarity when everything else was a blur. For the reminder that there was beauty in vulnerability, and strength in sharing it.
And so, you became a groupie—it was about chasing the feeling his music gave you. That indescribable, unshakeable sense of belonging.
Everyoe knows he has groupies, all over the cities, all over the countries. How could you even be mad at that? He is breathtaking, shockingly beautiful and sexy, a 25 years old guy that doesn’t stop to get settle with anyone. 
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The night was alive with anticipation, the air buzzing as you made your way through the crowd outside the concert venue. The throbbing bass and distant cheers filtered through the walls, and with each step you took closer, your heart raced a little faster. You wore your favorite band t-shirt, the one that felt like armor, emblazoned with the words of the very song that had saved you—Han Jisung’s words.  When you finally entered, the sea of fans erupted around you, everyone a whirlwind of excitement and energy. You found a spot near the front, right where you could see him emerge any moment now. 
The lights dimmed, and the crowd roared in unison. The atmosphere was electric, a palpable wave of passion that made your skin tingle.  As the first chords of music filled the room, time seemed to slow down. Then, like a bolt of lightning, he appeared on stage—Han Jisung in all his glory. Your breath hitched in your throat as his silhouette became clearer against the vibrant lights. 
He was just as you had imagined: effortlessly charismatic, with a spark in his eyes that drew you in like a moth to a flame.  The first song struck like a melody of memories, filling your chest with a warmth you couldn’t quite articulate. Every lyric spilled from his lips like a confession, and you sang along, the words wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. 
It felt as though he was speaking directly to you, his gaze connecting with every listener in the crowd, weaving an intricate tapestry of shared experience. You couldn’t help but get lost in the moment, your worries forgotten as you surrendered to the music.  But the magic of the night didn’t stop there. Just as the chorus of his third song echoed through the hall, Han paused. “This next one,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding, “is for anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong.” 
The room went silent, as if the world outside had paused to listen. It was like he was reaching through the ether, touching the hearts of his fans, reminding them they weren’t alone. 
That’s when it happened—something unexpected. As he sang, you felt his eyes drift over the crowd and land on you. 
For a fleeting moment, the chaos faded away, and it was just you and him in that moment. 
Your heart raced wildly, and you could swear your pulse synced to the rhythm of the song. It was surreal, a brief connection that seemed to transcend the space between performers and fans.  Just as quickly as it began, he moved on, and the moment ignited a fire deep within you. 
This wasn’t just admiration; it was a life-altering sense of purpose. After the concert, as the lights dimmed and the last notes faded, you stood there in disbelief. 
The world reformed around you, but in your heart, something had changed. Walking out of the venue, your mind raced with excitement. That fleeting connection felt too powerful to ignore. In that moment of passion, you realized that you were so much more than just a fan; you were a beacon of the change his music inspired in you. You had stories to tell, lyrics to write, and a world to explore, echoing the very sentiments that had pulled you in. Months later, you decided to attend another concert, this time less as a devoted fan and more as an artist in your own right. You took your notebook with you, filled with your own lyrics and drawings inspired by Han’s impact on your life. But this time, as you stood in the crowd again, you realized your heart wasn’t just searching for connection; it was ready to forge new paths and create beauty alongside those who inspired you.
Jisung was mid-performance, sweat glistening under the stage lights as he owned every second of the crowd’s adoration. You were front and center, screaming his name like your life depended on it. He caught your gaze for a fraction of a second—just enough to send your heart into overdrive.
The thrum of the bass reverberated through your chest as the crowd surged around you, but you couldn’t focus on anything but him. Jisung was electrifying on stage—his movements precise, effortless, and filled with a raw energy that made your heart race. The sweat on his skin caught the light with every jump and turn, and the way he commanded the stage had you completely entranced.
You screamed his name, hands stretched up toward the stage, desperate for any acknowledgment. "Jisung!" you shouted, the sound of your voice swallowed by the chaotic roar of the fans. But then, for a brief, fleeting moment, his eyes locked with yours. The world seemed to stop, the noise from the crowd fading into a muffled hum. His lips curved into a smirk—playful, confident, and undeniably aware of the effect he had on you.
Your heart skipped a beat, and it felt like the entire arena had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in that charged moment. 
Jisung's gaze flickered over you, slowly, taking in every detail of you from head to toe before it lingered just a little too long. That was enough to send a jolt of heat rushing through your body, your pulse spiking in a way you couldn't ignore.
The beat of the song changed, and he moved effortlessly into his next set of choreographed steps, but his eyes never fully left you. A few seconds later, he leaned into the mic, his voice cutting through the loud cheers and claps. "I see you out there," he called out, his voice smooth and seductive. "Maybe after the show, you can come backstage and show me what else you've got."
The crowd went wild, but it was the way he said it—low, with that playful, teasing edge—that made your breath catch in your throat. Was he serious? Was this really happening?
Before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself nodding, heart pounding in anticipation. The idea of getting close to him—of being in his presence, no longer just a face in the crowd—was enough to send a rush of excitement and nervousness flooding through your veins.
As the performance came to a close and the crowd erupted into applause, you couldn't tear your gaze away from Jisung. He smiled and waved to the audience, but his eyes found you again, locking on you as though you were the only one in the room. 
A beat passed before he tossed the mic to one of the staff members and gestured to the side. "Backstage, yeah?" he mouthed with a wink.
Your breath hitched as you nodded once again, your pulse racing. The excitement was almost too much to contain as you pushed through the crowd, making your way toward the side of the venue, where the backstage doors loomed.
The security guards nodded at you, clearly recognizing you from the earlier moments. The adrenaline from the performance still buzzed in the air, and soon enough, you found yourself standing just behind the curtain, waiting for the moment that felt like a dream.
The door opened, and there he was—Jisung, sweat still glistening on his skin, his eyes burning with that same playful intensity from earlier. His grin was a little wider now, a little more knowing. He leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but confident. 
“You came,” he said, his voice hushed but loaded with expectation.
“I said I would,” you responded, stepping toward him, your legs trembling but your resolve firm. 
Jisung pushed off from the door, closing the space between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You’re just as bold as I thought,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. The room felt impossibly small as you both stood there, the space between you charged with unspoken promises.
He reached up, his hand brushing the side of your face, his fingers cool against your skin after the heat of the stage. “I like that.”
Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the final gap between you with a kiss that was everything you had imagined and more. Electric, heated, and completely intoxicating. You melted into it, the reality of the moment settling around you like a dream that was slowly becoming your new truth. 
"what's your name beautiful?"
"y/n", his grin deepened. “good, you’re with me tonight.”
Shivers running down your back as you’re still over the edge from the kiss that he just stealed from you, so easily, like the most normal thing in the world.
The implications behind those words swirled around in your mind as anticipation danced in your veins. Every part of you wanted to say yes—to embrace whatever adventure awaited beyond this stolen moment. 
But something deeper stirred within—a fear mingled with longing that threatened to choke back your excitement. 
“Where are we going?” you asked softly, searching his eyes for answers. His smile widened further as he took your hand gently in his own—his touch grounding yet electrifying at once. 
“my room,” he replied with an infectious enthusiasm that made you feel alive. “Tonight is ours.” 
He led you out of the cramped backstage area into the vibrant chaos of post-concert euphoria—the energy buzzing around as fans celebrated what they’d just witnessed was intoxicating in its own right. 
As laughter echoed around you both and Jisung’s fingers intertwined with yours securely, it became clear: this night would be one for the books—he’s holding you like he wants you with all his desire. 
 Each step felt like a leap into the unknown, every heartbeat resonating with the thrill of what lay ahead.
Jisung's fingers intertwined with yours securely, and the way he held you was possessive and tender all at once, as if he wanted to shield you from the world outside. “Can you believe we made it through that?” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with the afterglow of adrenaline and joy.
You nodded, unable to form words, too caught up in the moment. The night had been electric, a whirlwind of lights and sound, and now it was culminating in this moment, just the two of you. As you passed by excited fans, you felt a surge of confidence, the connection between you and Jisung felt undeniable.
Finally, they reached the door to his room, a private sanctuary away from the chaos. Jisung opened it with a flourish, and the moment you stepped inside, the noise faded into a soft hum. The room was dimly lit, adorned with posters of his favorite bands and a few mementos from past concerts. It felt like a glimpse into the soul of the man you had come to admire.
“Welcome to my world,” he said, closing the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet space. As he turned to face you, the playful glint in his eyes shifted to something deeper, more sincere. “I’m glad you’re here.”
With that, he stepped closer, the distance between you evaporating.
Your heart raced as he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, both of you caught in a moment that felt suspended in time. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the space between you—a tension so palpable it almost crackled.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice low and inviting.
You nodded, your pulse quickening as he closed the final distance and captured your lips with his. The kiss was sweet, full of promise and passion, igniting every nerve in your body. It was everything you had dreamed of and more, a collision of desire and emotion that swept you off your feet.
His mouth moved against yours with a fervor that took your breath away, each caress sending waves of heat coursing through you. It was sweet, but it was also wild and consuming, a fierce declaration of everything you had kept bottled up. You melted against him, surrendering to the tide of emotions that crashed over you, drowning out all thought except for the intoxicating taste of him.
His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he couldn’t get close enough. You felt the strength of his body, the way he held you as though you were his lifeline. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the promise of something more—an uncharted territory filled with passion and urgency.
You lost yourself in the moment, tangled in the heat and desire that enveloped you both. Every touch was electric, every sigh a plea for more. It was a collision of souls, a symphony of need and longing that resonated deep within your core.
As Jisung's fingers brushed against your skin, a spark ignited, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His touch was both gentle and insistent, a perfect blend of tenderness and urgency that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the weight of his passion, each caress igniting flames of desire that threatened to consume you whole.
He leaned in closer, his lips trailing along your jaw, whispering sweet nothings that made your breath hitch. 
"I want you," he murmured, the raw need in his voice sending a thrill coursing through you. Those simple words were enough to send your mind spinning, a confirmation of everything you had ever dreamed about.
You craved more—more of his warmth, more of his touch, more of the connection that sparked between you like wildfire. Jisung's hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, igniting a fever that left you breathless. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access to your lips, and you melted into him, surrendering to the overwhelming need that pulsed between you.
“Please,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, as you pressed your body against his, desperate for the contact. The world around you faded into a blur, and all that existed was the heat of his body against yours, the intoxicating scent of him, and the electric charge in the air.
With every kiss, every touch, he pushed you closer to the edge, each moment stretching out as if time itself had surrendered to the intensity of your connection. You could feel the weight of his desire, palpable and raw, and it fueled your own, making you ache for him in ways you never thought possible.
“Let me show you how much I can be good for you,” Jisung breathed against your lips, his voice thick with longing.
Before you could reply, he pushed you back gently onto the bed. The cool sheets contrasted with the heat radiating from your body. Jisung climbed on top of you, his weight pinning you down comfortably as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, and you melted into him, returning the kiss with equal fervor.
He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, a predatory glint shining in his gaze. “hm, I got a pretty girl in my hands tonight didn’t I?” his chocky smile makes your heaad spin.
His lips traveled down your jawline, leaving a trail of fire as they descended toward your neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. “You make the prettiest sounds,” he teased, licking a stripe from your collarbone up to your ear.
Your back arched in response, urging him to continue. His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers teasingly brushing against your skin before he lifted the fabric, exposing your midriff. The cool air hit you, heightening your senses as he peppered kisses along your stomach, savoring every inch of you.
“Jisung…” you breathed, your voice thick with desire.
With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he pulled the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. He paused, taking a moment to admire you, his gaze heated and full of hunger. 
“So beautiful,” he whispered before leaning down to press soft kisses between your breasts – in that moment, you can see affection in his sensual actions, almost seems like he takes his good time with you.
Each kiss sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you could feel your body responding to his every touch. His hands roamed, fingers brushing against your sides, teasing the edge of your bra before he slowly unclasped it. The garment fell away, and he wasted no time, his mouth moving to your sensitive nipples, swirling and sucking until you were a moaning mess beneath him.
“Jisung, please…” you begged, your body craving more of him, more of this electrifying connection.
He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. “I want you to feel everything,” he said, moving back up to capture your lips again. His hands worked on the button of your jeans, and with a swift tug, they were gone, leaving you in nothing but your panties, exposed and longing.
“Shh, just let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers slid from your waist, trailing down your thighs, teasingly slow as they reached the waistband of your panties. He paused, looking into your eyes for permission, and you nodded, unable to form words.
With a smirk, he pulled your panties aside, exposing you to his gaze. “hot,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers danced over your folds, exploring, teasing, coaxing soft moans from your lips.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority as he continued his ministrations, his fingers expertly circling your clit.
“I… I want you,” you gasped, the heat pooling in your core almost overwhelming.
“Good girl,” he said, his smile devilish as he lowered himself to the floor. You gasped as he pressed kisses along your thighs, his mouth tantalizingly close to where you needed him most. “Let me taste you.”
His words sent a wave of anticipation crashing over you, and all you could do was nod, gripping onto the edge of his bed as he finally dove in. His tongue flicked against you, drawing out a whimper as he explored your depths “Stay still,” he chuckled darkly, holding your hips down as he increased the intensity. “I want to hear you.”
With a wicked grin, he yanked your soaked panties completely off, tossing them aside. "Fuck, you're dripping," he growled, his hot breath fanning over your glistening pussy. His fingers delved between your folds, spreading your labia to fully expose your aching cunt. "Look at this pretty little clit, all swollen and begging for attention."  
Jisung’s tongue dance against your clit, flicking and sucking with temptation, he worked you closer to the edge, he looked up, his eyes glinting with mischief and desire. “You taste so sweet. Don't hold back. I want to know how good I make you feel.”
Jisung's expert digits danced over your sensitive flesh, circling your throbbing nub before plunging two fingers deep inside your weeping hole. You cried out as he curled them, finding that perfect spot that made your toes curl. He pumped his fingers in and out of your clenching pussy.
With each flick of his tongue, the heat inside you spiraled, and you felt yourself teetering on the precipice of release. “Jisung… I’m so close,” you gasped, breathless.
“Just a little more, babe. Give yourself to me,” he urged, his mouth never stopping its delicious assault.
"I... I want your cock!" you moaned shamelessly, overcome by the burning need in your core.
"That's my good little slut," he purred, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his lips. He sucked your juices off each digit, savoring your taste. "But first, I'm going to devour this sweet cunt until you're screaming my name."
And then it happened—the wave crashed over you, pulling you under with a force that left you gasping for breath. You could barely comprehend the bliss as Jisung held you through your climax, his tongue continuing to coax every last ounce of pleasure from you.
Finally, as the tide receded, you collapsed back onto the bed, panting. Jisung joined you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “See? I told you I wanted you to feel everything.”
You turned to him, your heart still racing as you caught your breath. “You definitely delivered,” you replied, a smirk forming on your lips.
But he wasn’t done.
Not even a little bit.
Jisung's eyes darkened with renewed desire as he watched you catch your breath. Without warning, he grabbed your wrist and guided your hand to the prominent bulge straining against his jeans.
"Your turn," he growled, voice husky with need. "Show me what those pretty fingers can do."
You could feel the heat radiating through the denim as your palm pressed against his hardness. Slowly, teasingly, you began to trace the outline of his cock, relishing the way his breath hitched at your touch.
Your fingers deftly unbuttoned Jisung's jeans, slowly lowering the zipper. You could feel the heat of his arousal as you slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft. Jisung let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly at your touch. "Fuck, your hand feels so good," he breathed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
You began to stroke him, marveling at how hard he felt in your grasp. Your thumb swirled over the sensitive head, spreading the bead of precum that had formed there. Jisung's breathing grew ragged as you continued your ministrations, alternating between long, slow strokes and quicker, teasing ones. "You like that, Ji?" you purred, enjoying the way he squirmed under your touch. 
Jisung's response was a strangled moan as you tightened your grip slightly, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. His hands fisted in the sheets, chest heaving as he fought to maintain control. "It feels fucking amazing," he gasped. "But I need more. I need to feel those pretty lips wrapped around me."
With a wicked grin, you freed Jisung's throbbing cock from your grasp and planted yourself between his legs. You leaned in, running your tongue along the underside of his shaft, savoring the salty tang of his skin and precum before taking the head into your mouth.
Jisung's hands flew to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he groaned at the sensation of your warm mouth enveloping him. "Fuck yes, just like that," he encouraged, hips canting up involuntarily as you began to bob your head.
You took more of him inside, relaxing your throat to accommodate his girth. The musky flavor of his arousal filled your senses as you sucked harder, your hand fondled his taut abs. Jisung was lost in bliss, eyes rolling back as he ground himself against your face.
You could feel Jisung's cock throbbing against your tongue, his breathing growing more erratic as you worked him over. Your own arousal was building once again, the wetness between your thighs a testament to the pleasure he'd wrung from you earlier.
Deciding it was time to mix things up, you released his shaft with a pop and kissed my way back up Jisung's body. You nipped at his chin before capturing his lips in a searing kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you ground your soaked pussy against the bulge of his thigh.
Jisung broke the kiss, panting heavily as he gazed down at you with lust-clouded eyes. "God, I need to be inside you," he growled, voice raw with desire."I'm going to fuck you so hard."
With that promise hanging in the air, he flipped us over and positioned himself between your spread legs.
A giggle released of your lungs at the sudden movement, he chuckle darkly too, “having fun pretty?” He hums nibbling your jawline.
You nods making him smile. 
Jisung's thick cock rubbed against your slick folds, the head nudging at your entrance as he looked down at you with a hungry gaze. "You ready for this, baby?" he purred, his voice low and rough with need.
You nodded again eagerly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. With a swift thrust of his hips, Jisung buried himself to the hilt inside you. A strangled moan tore from your throat as he stretched you open, filling every inch of your clenching cunt. "Fuck," Jisung groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he savored the feel of your pussy gripping him like a vice. 
"So tight... Perfect." He began to move then, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before slamming back in with enough force to bounce you up the bed.
The bed creaked beneath you as Jisung pistoned in and out of your sopping wet pussy, each powerful thrust driving him deeper. You could feel the head of his cock rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every pass.
"u-ugh..!" you cried out, nails digging into Jisung's back as he pounded into you like a man possessed. He obliged, increasing the pace until the room filled with the lewd slap of skin on skin and your wanton moans.
Jisung leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nipping at it mercilessly as he continued to rut between your thighs. The added stimulation sent you hurtling towards another climax. "Oh god, I'm going to...!" Your words dissolved into a keening wail as orgasm crashed over you once more.
But Jisung wasn't done yet.
He rode out your climax, his cock still hammering into you as he chased his own release. 
Your pussy spasmed around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth.Jisung groaned against your breast, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.
"Gonna fill this sweet cunt up," he gritted out through clenched teeth. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and held there, pulsing as he pumped ropes of hot semen deep inside you.
You could feel every pulse of his cock as it painted your insides with his seed, the sensation prolonging your own aftershocks. Jisung collapsed on top of you, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He peppered kisses across your face before claiming your lips in a deep, satisfying kiss.
"hm," he murmured against your mouth when they finally parted. "liked it?”
You nods a little as you tried to keep your breath steady, “that was, unexpected,” you mumble as he moved from top of you, laying on the bed beside you. “but I still liked it.”
Jisung’s lips curled into a satisfied grin as he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark hair tousled and falling into his eyes. He reached out, tracing a gentle finger along the curve of your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.
“I liked it too,” he teased, his voice low and warm, the playful glint in his eyes impossible to ignore. “Gotta keep things interesting, don’t I? otherwise my number one fan might goes somewhere else.”
You laughed softly, rolling onto your side to face him. “You definitely succeeded in that department,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “But now I’m wondering what other surprises you’re hiding.”
Jisung’s grin widened as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve,” he whispered mischievously. “But you’ll have to wait to find out.”
Your cheeks flushed at his words, and he chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. Before you could respond, he tugged the blanket over both of you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist.
“Rest for now,” he said softly, his tone suddenly tender. “You’re gonna need your energy for whatever I’ve got planned next.”
You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of his embrace and the weight of his words leaving you with a mix of excitement and anticipation. As your breathing began to steady, you felt yourself melting into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful calm.
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The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains woke you. You stirred, stretching your arms across the bed, expecting to feel the warmth of Jisung beside you. Instead, your hand met the cool, empty sheets.
Blinking, you sat up, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the fabric surrounding you. It was comforting and cruel all at once—a reminder that he had been there, but he was gone now.
Your gaze wandered around the room, your chest tightening when you spotted the note on the nightstand. The messy scrawl of his handwriting stood out on the folded piece of paper. You hesitated before picking it up, afraid of what it might say but needing to see it anyway.
Sorry I couldn’t stay. Early flight. Thanks for last night. You’re amazing. – J
That was it. Short, sweet, and heartbreakingly impersonal.
Your fingers trembled as you set the note down, staring at the space where he’d been just hours ago. The events of last night replayed in your mind—the way he’d held you, the way he’d kissed you like you were his whole world. And yet, now, it felt like you were nothing more than a fleeting moment, another name on the long list of people who drifted in and out of his life.
You pulled the sheets closer around you, as if they could somehow hold the pieces of your heart together. But they didn’t. They only smelled of him, a scent that would fade just as quickly as his presence had.
You had always known the truth—he belonged to the world, not to you. You were just someone he turned to for comfort in between the chaos, a temporary escape from the demanding life he led.
And yet, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Swallowing hard, you forced yourself out of bed, your feet heavy as they hit the floor. You needed to leave before the scent of him faded completely, before the memories turned from bittersweet to unbearable.
Because in the end, that’s all you’d ever be—a groupie in the background of his world, left behind as he chased the next city, the next stage, the next dream.
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taglist: @inlovewithstraykids
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bokutosbabe · 1 day ago
Note
Hi! Here for the More than a married couple (but not lovers) event. That's such a GREAT IDEA!! So sweet😭💖
The character I chose is Michael 🍓🍦
Also kudos to you for starting another event even though you're still writing asks! you're really spoiling us💕
i really enjoyed doing the last event, tysm!!
A Michael Kaiser Strawberry Sundae...
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જ⁀♡⊹。° every version of yourself
♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event :)
♡ content — michael kaiser x gn! reader, gn! reader, set in a high school so no funny buisness, supposed to be kinda unrequited love?, kaiser's own insecurities, takes you through the length of the simulation, kaiser still plays soccer, kaiser in HS if he wasn't traumatized :))), still cocky though, an little flirty, nickname like 'spouse' used, popular! kaiser, quiet! shy! reader
♡ synopsis — being paired with michael kaiser may be the worst thing to ever happen to you...or so you think
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The classroom buzzed with anticipation as the names were called out. Each pair announced felt like a small shockwave in the room, but the real chaos came when your name was read.
“And finally... Michael Kaiser and Y/N.”
The gasps, whispers, and sharp glares that followed made you shrink in your seat. Everyone’s eyes darted between you and the blonde at the back of the room, who leaned lazily against his chair, unfazed.
Kaiser didn’t even look your way. Typical. Why would he? Michael Kaiser wasn’t just a soccer prodigy; he was the center of attention everywhere he went. The school’s golden boy. The one every girl wanted to be paired with. And somehow... you, the average nobody, ended up in the simulation with him.
“Well,” Kaiser said finally, standing and giving a theatrical stretch. He smirked as if this was all a game, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the room like he’d already won something. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”
Your cheeks burned as laughter rippled through the room. His tone was light, teasing, but it only made the pit in your stomach grow. How were you supposed to survive an entire month living with Michael Kaiser?
The simulation began with a flurry of paperwork and rules. You were handed a key to a mock apartment and a thick packet outlining tasks you’d need to complete as a "couple" to pass. Cooking meals together, managing a budget, planning dates—it all felt bizarre. But the strangest part? Being tied to Michael Kaiser for every waking moment.
The apartment itself was small but cozy. Two bedrooms flanked a shared living space, and the kitchenette barely fit two people at a time. You stood awkwardly by the door as Kaiser strolled in like he owned the place. He dropped his duffel bag on the couch and turned to you with that signature smirk.
“Well, spouse, welcome home,” he drawled, tossing his duffel onto the larger bedroom’s bed without hesitation. “Don’t worry, I won’t invade your room. You’ll have all the space you need to miss me.”
Your brow furrowed. “Pretty confident about claiming the bigger room.”
He shrugged with a grin. “Call it a perk of being me.”
Typical Kaiser. You rolled your eyes but didn’t push it further. How were you supposed to survive an entire month living with someone so… larger than life?
The first week was… manageable, mostly because Kaiser didn’t seem to take the simulation seriously. He’d breeze through tasks with minimal effort, brushing off your attempts at cooperation.
“Budgeting? Just write whatever, I don’t care,” he’d said with a shrug one afternoon.
“Kaiser, we lose points if we don’t do it properly,” you insisted, tapping the form with your pen.
He rolled his eyes but leaned over anyway, closer than necessary, close enough to where his musky cologne made it hard to think. He hummed as he glanced at the page. “Fine. Put down ‘caviar’ and ‘gold-encrusted steak.’ That’ll impress the evaluators.”
You glared at him, but he just laughed. It was infuriating, how easy everything seemed to him.
Still, there were glimpses of something more.
Like the time you cooked dinner together. It was one of the mandatory tasks, and Kaiser insisted on doing as little as possible—until you nearly sliced your hand while chopping vegetables.
“Careful!” He grabbed your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle. For a moment, his usual bravado disappeared, replaced by something softer.
You were shocked, but not by his sudden loudness or his worry. No, you were shocked by watching the point value on your living room wall go up.
Oh so being a decent person and taking care of someone got you points? How silly...kind of.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled, pulling away.
“Yeah, well, try not to bleed all over the food. I’m not eating anything with extra seasoning,” he teased, smirking as he handed you a safer task.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
By the second week, you started to notice cracks in his perfect façade.
It happened late one night when you couldn’t sleep. You wandered into the living room to grab some water, only to find Kaiser sitting by the window, staring out at the city lights. His usual confident posture was gone, replaced by something almost… scared, like a child that's been missing their mother just a little too long.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” you asked hesitantly.
What were you doing? Yes, this project required interacting with each other, but you could have ignored him.
What was it about Michael Kaiser that made you act so...unlike yourself?
He didn’t answer right away, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps. Finally, he spoke. “Do you ever feel like people only see what they want to see?”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at you then, his blue eyes unreadable. “Forget it. Go back to bed.”
But you couldn’t forget it. The question lingered, and for the first time, you wondered if Michael Kaiser—the golden boy everyone adored—might be lonelier than he let on.
Things began to shift in the third week.
It was subtle at first. The way Kaiser’s teasing softened, the way he started helping more with the tasks instead of leaving everything to you. He even started calling you by your name instead of “spouse” or other mocking nicknames.
And then there were the moments where he’d look at you—not with the cocky smirk he wore like armor, but with something quieter, almost vulnerable.
You didn’t know what to make of it. You’d spent so long nursing your one-sided crush, convinced he’d never see you the way you saw him. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe you were imagining things.
But then came the final task: planning a “date night.”
You went all out, wanting to ace the simulation. You planned a picnic under the stars, complete with fairy lights and a playlist of soft, dreamy songs. Kaiser didn’t seem particularly invested at first, but when he saw the setup, his eyes lit up with genuine surprise.
“You did all this?” he asked, looking almost impressed.
You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but probably just looking like a dork who took this a little too seriously, “It’s for the grade.”
“Right,” he said, though his tone was softer than usual. And for a moment, Michael Kaiser looked truly upset by what you said...but why?
The night was quiet and peaceful, the two of you sitting side by side on the blanket. For once, Kaiser wasn’t filling the silence with jokes or teasing remarks. Instead, he turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly.
You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought this whole thing would be a waste of time,” he admitted. “But… you’re different. You’re real.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “Michael…”
He smirked then, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll give me the wrong idea.”
But maybe, just maybe, the idea wasn’t so wrong after all.
The final week of the simulation was a blur of evaluations and last-minute tasks, but something had shifted irrevocably between you and Kaiser. He wasn’t just the golden boy anymore. He was Michael—arrogant, infuriating, but also thoughtful and surprisingly kind in his own way.
On the last night in the apartment, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, packing up your things. Kaiser leaned against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.
“So, this is it, huh?” he said, his voice unusually quiet as he stared into the almost empty cabinet, only filled with the stupid matching couples cups he got after an argument that lost you two points in the first week.
“Yeah,” you said, not trusting yourself to say more. What else could you say? 'Oh Michael, I love you and expect you to marry me!'
You'd rather die than be shot down like that.
He hesitated, then reached out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re kind of impossible to forget.”
Your breath hitched. “Michael—”
“Don’t,” he said, his smirk returning, though his eyes betrayed something deeper. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving those stupid cups behind.
Graduation loomed over you like a terrifying monster. It'd been a week since you'd spoken to Kaiser, both of you being too absorbed in your own lives. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been left unsaid. Until one day, days later, you found a note slipped into your locker. It was short, written in Kaiser’s unmistakable scrawl:
"I wasn’t joking when I said you were impossible to forget. Let me prove it. Dinner?"
Your heart raced as you read the words. Maybe, just maybe, the idea wasn’t so wrong after all.
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this was the first one i wrote for this event so i hope this layout is okay!
i hope you liked it!
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
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gatorbites-imagines · 2 days ago
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I have a prompt idea, Trans reader (ftm) in the 1940s being bullied, steve and bucky find reader and help him, start to friends to poly lovers (steve x bucky x reader), fluff with a little angst and soft smut, just an idea
Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FTM reader
Headcanons
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I don’t actually know a whole lot about the era for trans people, especially in Brooklyn during those years. So, I’m just writing on a feeling and adding what feels right. Have I ever mentioned that pre-serum Steve is one of my favorites?
Writing this actually reminded me of something I wrote forever ago, called party of one, two, three? You can read part 1 and 2 here, if you are interested. I wasn’t really in the mood to write detailed smut, so.
Being a trans guy in the 30s and 40s wasn’t easy, but was anything during that time? Depending on where you were from and when you came out, you might have had the chance to live as a man.
If let’s say you moved to Brooklyn when you were old enough to know that you were a man, and you had always presented as such, then you might have been able to get a job, and if you knew the right people, fake documents.
If you had always lived in Brooklyn, then it was a lot harder, as most just assumed you were a lady who dressed like a lad because you didn’t want to “do your duty” as a woman, or whatever they had on their minds.
Either way, Steve and Bucky were some of the few people who supported you no matter what, if they only knew you as a man, or if you guys had grown up together. If you fit in Steves clothes you could borrow his, and if Steve was too small, well, then bucky had a closet with clothes too.
Being picked on was hard to avoid, in either situation. The first would be because you were such a small, scrawny and feminine guy. The second because you were a lady that needed to be put in her place.
The second was always more dangerous. The first, theyd just rough you up a bit and taunt you a little, but it always ended up as more of a “haha we are just taking the piss”. The second? It felt like the men who cornered you had something to prove, to you or themselves you didn’t know. But they wanted to prove that they could “fix” or “correct” you.
Living in Brooklyn and being a weirdo like you meant you knew how to fight, somewhat at least. Enough to not go down without a fight. But no matter how much you practiced, keeping up with multiple fully grown men was difficult.
If you already knew Steve and Bucky or not, the two would step in when they saw this. Steve first, being the righteous guy he is, would run in swinging. Scrawny arms and wheezing breaths, eyes burning with the fury of a thousand suns, the blonde so incredibly enraged at the very idea of someone treating another person this way.
Steve never lasted long though, but luckily Bucky was never far behind. In the end, Steve always looked as beat up as you, and maybe it was because he bruised and bled so easily with how sick he was.
Steve struggling to his feet and holding out a hand to pull you up, eyes still sparkling and teeth bloody as he grinned, was enough to make your heart race.
Bucky at least didn’t look like he was the main victim of your group of attackers. He was a bit ruffled up, sure, but he still looked mostly put together.
It should shock no one that Bucky easily led you and Steve back to his and Steves apartment, where Bucky got to work patching you both up as they made you talk about the guys who did it, and why. Steve because he wanted to go back out there and smack them straight, and Bucky to be on the safer side.
Be it the first or twentieth time they save you from your so-called bullies, Steve and Bucky stayed just as intense and caring. Even when they didn’t have a lot, or Steve was sick, you always felt like you belonged and was as much of a man as them.
When you three started dating it got a little easier. Everyone already knew that Steve Rogers as built like a twig, but would swing until there was blood if he needed too. He was snarling, snapping and as feral as those starving alley dogs. He was as protective as one too, not just of you but Bucky too.
Bucky wasn’t much better, though he hid it more successfully. Everyone thought that Barnes was the charming, sweet talker, who liked to talk it out without fighting. But they were wrong, when it came to you and Steve, Buck could be worse than Steve.
Both your fellas were protective and possessive in their own ways, but you couldn’t say you didn’t feel the same. You wanted to drown the men who antagonized Steve for his height and sickness in the piers. And jealousy reared its hideous head when the pretty ladies fluttered their lashes at Bucky whenever he passed.
The three of you were all a mess, but you were each other’s mess. You and Bucky never saw Steve was just his disease and lack of stature. Steve and you never just saw Bucky as his handsome face and face charm. And they never saw you as a lady, you were as much of a man as them.
The only time it ever became a challenge, your biology being different, was when you guys got intimate. But it was never made a huge problem. There were days when Steve couldn’t get it up because of his health, or where he could even participate because of his lungs. And there were days when you didn’t want to be touched because your body made you sick. You guys just found ways to make it work.
Sometimes you and Steve would just sit back on a chair each, one you’d dragged in from the kitchen, to watch Bucky pleasure himself and show off in bed. It was like your own litter theater, and Bucky really loved to be watched and praised by you two.
Sometimes it was Steve lying in bed carefully touching himself, at times it was just him caressing his own torso and telling you two all his wildest fantasies, his face and chest bright red from his flush.
And there were even times when it was you, when dysphoria wasn’t swallowing you whole and howling that your body was wrong. You never looked at yourself when you would be with them, but having two men with their own naked bodies made it harder to focus on your own.
Some days you would imagine that their body was yours, and the dysphoria wouldn’t be so bad. It also helped that Steve didn’t grow as much body hair as Buck, meaning Steve was almost as naturally hairy as you. Part of you just basked in the fact that one of your partners looked like you in that way.
The days you were fine with touch, Steve and Bucky never let it go to waste. You couldn’t fuck them like you three all wanted, they didn’t really have toys like that at the time, or at least accessible to you three. This just meant you guys had to get creative.
God gave humans hands and fingers for a reason, and you all had mouths. You always wore so many layers anyways, so the many hickeys your lovers left on you were easily hidden. The chest was always off the table though, and neither of the men complained.
Bucky was the best at praise, so naturally gifted that Steve would joke that he should become some pulp writer, that he should write those cheap sappy romance novels the ladies liked.
This didn’t mean that Steve wouldn’t praise you and Buck, he did, just in his own ways. The blonde always struggled with forming the right words and getting them out, but his sketchbook filled with pages and paged of you and Buck was all the praise you needed.
They would be good partners. Neither have a label for what you guys are, or what their sexualities are, they just know you three love each other, and that’s all that matters.
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championofthefade · 11 hours ago
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Warning!! This post may contain spoilers for those who haven't played Veilguard yet! This turned out a lot longer than I thought, but I'm discussing the theory that Rook is a spirit.
I know that there are issues with the writing and any theory is not created to make those issues get swept under the rug. This theory is meant to be fun, and I would like to talk about it.
I'm thinking about the "Rook is a spirit" theory I saw on twitter/x. This theory often rotates in my head often, and I think that it's so interesting.
Like, listen. I understand that narratively it would be complicated to insert into what we know is Dragon Age Veilguard. Someone brought up the fact that it would be a strange thing because wouldn't Emmrich know that Rook is a spirit the way that he knows Lucanis has Spite?
But the theory that cadhalash paints for us is the fact that Varric was for Rook what the Rook is for the companions.
"Help them with their personal problems and talk to them about their feelings, but never ask Rook how they're doing. Or if they need anything. In codex memos we learn the companions have potlucks and book clubs but Rook is not invited. We learn at the end that Varric wasn't really there... What if Rook wasn't either? There's tons of chat about this idea now with other examples of Rook being compared to a spirit in the game. Very interesting and fun!" -cadhalash
There could be the very huge chance that Emmrich would recognize Rook as a spirit, but what about a spirit made flesh?
Think about Cole's banter with Blackwall, for example:
Blackwall: How does a spirit become flesh anyway?
Cole: I don't know. How does a Warden become Grey?
It may seem like a reach, but to me, it makes sense. Cole chose to become human because that was the shape that would help, which he says in a banter with Varric.
Varric: So, Kid, why human?
Cole: It was the shape that would help.
Varric: Huh. Most people don't pick a shape. I guess I was hoping for something deeper with that question.
Cole: It had to be him. But harmless. The him he wanted that wouldn't hurt.
Varric: Well that's... deeper. I think.
You may be thinking, "Hey, Atlas. That might be a little reaching, don't you think?"
Well, yes. Applauding the people that caught onto Solas in the Dragon Age Fandom years and years ago now because you all were on the nose about him being a worm (spirit). But considering what we know from Dragon Age as a whole, it could be possible that Rook is too a spirit of a different kind.
We know that Emmrich can sense Spite. We know that Emmrich can talk directly to Spite. But what if Rook was more like Cole? Would Emmrich's ability to speak to spirits or sense them so close apply?
I would say, that depends on the type of Spirit that Rook would be, right? This has a lot of wiggle room for what you think your Rook would be as a spirit?
From the Wiki:
Spirits lack imagination and creativity; everything they make is based off something made by mortals. Whether benevolent or malevolent, most spirits cannot help but mine a Fade visitor's mind for their thoughts and memories. They then mimic the pieces of life they see by shaping the Fade into various realms that cater to the unconscious desires of the living, providing experiences to the sleeping that become their "dreams."
And the Spirits listed:
Command, Compassion (Cole), Courage, Curiosity (Manfred), Duty, Faith (Wynne), Honor, Hope, Justice(Anders), Learning, Love, Perseverance, Purpose, Valor, Wisdom (Solas).
(We know from Veilguard that Spite is referred to as a spirit of Determination/ mentioned in a data mine, Passion.)
For the sake of the theory, let's say that Emmrich would get an inkling. A prickling feeling even that he knows that there's a spirit near by and would chalk it up to being Manfred because he would know that, right? But then there's Spite. How big of an energy read does Emmrich get from Lucanis to immediately go, 'Yeah, you've got a tag along and I'm sorry it wasn't a willing possession'.
So, how would it get unnoticed by Emmrich, the resident Fade Expert?
Well... Reading further down said wiki page, we find this:
As Rhys puts it in a dialogue with Cole, "being important makes you real". (Asundered reference, I believe?)
Being important makes you real. Rook becomes the 'leader' when Varric gets hurt at the beginning of the game. For the entirety of the game, as Rook, you have to build a team to fight ancient elvhen gods. Rook has to be what Varric was, pulling people that Solas didn't know into trying to save the world from going to shit.
Rook was given a purpose. To save the world.
Regardless of how Rook is perceived, they are in charge. They are in a position that they didn't want, probably was expecting to go home after dealing with this Dread Wolf that they were recruited to stop, and now... They're given a role that would make them important. And as before being important makes you real.
Could Rook be something akin to Cole rather something like Spite or other spirits that we know in Veilguard?
Here's another thing: Solas.
Yes, we are talking about the egg. I'll try to keep this as coherent as possible. We know that Solas didn't want to come from the Fade to be a human (another discussion for another time). We learn that Solas was a spirit of Wisdom, whose Wisdom was twisted into a weapon and forced to do things that stripped Solas of what he wanted to keep for himself. To remain as Wisdom.
This makes it interesting if we add to the fact that Rook could choose to outsmart Solas. Because at that pivotal moment, Solas was Pride. On his pride, it was always the sword he would fall on.
Say what you will about the trick ending, but this is something that shouldn't be glossed over. Being outsmarted by Rook, Solas says, "I am a fool... Who has met his match."
Met his match. This also might be another case of reaching, but it's interesting phrasing from someone who tells clever half-truths and never quite lies. Being tricked by Rook out of pure wits alone. Something that he thought he succeeded in.
What does this have to do with spirits?
Solas, who was brought out of the Fade to take a body to join the elves in a fight against the Titans. Solas, who crafted the lyrium dagger to sunder the Titans from their dreams in hopes of stopping the war. Solas, who created the blight from the Titans' severed dreams. Solas, who started a rebellion against the ancient elvhen gods who abused their power.
Rook, who was brought onto a job to stop the Dread Wolf. Rook, who disrupted the ritual in hopes of stopping Solas. Rook, who started a double blight from freeing these ancient elvhen gods. Rook, who has to build a team to stop these ancient elven gods.
I would say, in spirit, Rook is a mirror of Solas. I'm not saying Rook is wise like Solas or anything like that. But there is something about Rook being Solas' mirror that could fold into Rook being a Spirit of Reflection.
This is just something that comes to mind. Rooks helps Taash discover their identity, helps Emmrich deal with his fear of mortality, helps Neve protect Dock Town, helps Bellara with Cyrian, helps Harding with the Titans, helps Davrin with the griffons, and helps Lucanis with Spite. (Generalized, all choice dependent.) These are reflections of the companions. These are reflections of the people that Rook had brought together to save the world.
It could easily be written off because we're not entirely sure how many spirits there are, but I digress.
Of course, that too would beg the question of how it would apply to all Rooks from all backgrounds?
Let's take a look at the ones that make me think.
Shadow Dragon Rook
The foundling Rook was adopted into a military family and joined the Shadow Dragons to fight from the shadows for change in Minrathous.
We learn in a dialogue with Tarquin that a Shadow Dragon Rook was found on a battlefield by the Mercar family.
Now with this little bit of dialogue, it makes me (personally) think back to what Solas says about him walking the Fade and seeing ancient battlefields where spirits reenact wars from the other side of the Veil. There could have been spirits that were there during this battle where SD Rook was found. (It also kinda reminds me of Loki being found by Odin and raised in Asgard. Don't come for me, I've only watched the movies.)
For the sake of theory, say that a spirit that would have looked over a SD Rook before they were found by the Mercars. Thinking about it, it reminds me of how Cole (the mage) was watched over by Compassion and then Compassion took a shape that would help.
A spirit (in Spite's case) can be drawn to a person, yes? As Determination, we know that Spite was drawn to Lucanis' determination to live or something of the like. (I will live to spite you, essentially.)
Mourn Watch Rook
Discovered by undead inside a Grand Necropolis tomb as an infant, Rook was raised by Mourn Watch necromancers, eventually joining the order.
Relating back to the Muttering Undead that is in a coffin on the path from Emmrich's recruitment:
Stumbling… The steps. Skeletons saw… Oh no choice. Had to be brave… Had to be brave… Too late to cry… Save the (girl, boy, baby) with the grave.
This is a little more open ended. We know nothing about Ingellvar beyond that. We don't know where they came from, only that they were found inside a tomb. It makes me scratch my head.
We know that it's a custom in Nevarra that a spirit could reanimate a skeleton, essentially, and bring some part of their consciousness from back across the Veil. We see that Manfred, when you choose to bring him back, is brought back from across the Veil and returns with magic.
Sure, it's not the same thing as building a body out of Titan's blood, but the idea that the spirits that became the Evanuris are the best of the physical and the Fade offers up to the idea that they were going to have magic anyway when they crossed the Veil. Only lyrium gave them more power than I think that they knew what to do with.
I make this point from the perspective that Mourn Watchers are typically necromancers. They are almost always close to places where the Veil is thin enough for a spirit to come across and possessing a body in a sense.
When it comes to the Muttering Undead, I don't know who that could have been or what they were doing in the Necropolis. But it's clear that they were determined to save Mourn Watch Rook, and they were the one that put Rook in the tomb.
This one makes me scratch my head because it's so broad and vague. For the theory that Rook is a spirit, this is the origin/background/faction that lends itself to the idea because in Nevarra they revere and respect their dead with the ability to raise the corpses to continue contributing to the Grand Necropolis. But we're talking about a wee baby Rook growing up in the Necropolis. Could it be possible that the saving of Rook is more spirit in a tomb?
The last things I would like to touch on.
Dialogue with Harding (her romance I believe?) :
Harding: I've seen spirits leave the Fade and become real people. (COLE!!!)
Rook: You think I could be a spirit in disguise?
Harding: It isn't malicous. They're just drawn to strong emotion. And then...one day, real people.
Rook: I think I'm really me, and I'm really here.
This is why I mentioned Cole earlier.
And the absence of Rook in the Veilguard mural is brought up in the theory as well. Rook's absence on the mural strikes me as odd. Because yes, the companions would be a main focus in the stories that would follow them. But what about Rook, the person who brought these vastly different people together and saved the world? Not there. Were they ever there?
Much to think about.
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coffeegnomee · 12 hours ago
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All About You
This is about to be the most meta analysis post of my life, but something that has fascinated me the most about lifesteal recently: chat is the 38th member.
As a live stream story, lifesteal is always going to be affected by the live audience, the streamer reading messages, talking back and forth, sometimes doing what chat wants. This is the streamer-chat dynamic. It's natural, it's part of the story.
But something that has fascinated me particularly since season 4, particularly post zam's break s5, and Particularly in s6 since I've started interacting on tumblr, is just how much chat influences the lore and how much we influence each other.
At each of these moments there was a shift in the PrinceZam streamer-chat dynamic.
Season 4 was a lot of anti-lore chatters. People who blah blah blah'ed it up whenever Zam went into a spiral about what he should do. It heightened the feeling of isolation and confusion, especially as some chatters (shoutout van) tried to gently encourage zam in his decision making, giving counter points to the negativity. Unfortunately it often just lead to more confusion as chat was split 50/50 on almost every decision.
In season 5, after the break, there was a reset of the mod team to the team we have now (knowing most of you are here potentially reading this is weird.) These were the best chatters of s4, the ones who became highly invested in Eclipse, and lifesteal in general, and Zam in particular.
In season 5 the hivemind of the mod team getting excited about lore was hilarious to watch. Half the team reprimanded backseating of the rest of the mod team (shoutout meep), the other half lored it up (shoutout chips), everyone loved it. 'Credit to the artist' was born as direct quotes from chat made it into the character.
Read that again: Direct Quotes From Chat Made It Into The Character.
That is weird.
No longer was it simply the mind of PrinceZam forming the character of Zam, as we watched and reacted, but chat itself became an integral part of the lore (these are his amends. make him repent) forming and shaping it, right alongside Zam, into what that season became.
In particular the conversations as the Joker (specifically the Jumper yap in your president doesn't care about you) brought out comparison after comparison to past seasons of princezam as chatters brought up and compared jumper to zam season 3. This sparked a huge renaissance of past season analysis of Zam which became heavily integrated into the final months of the server, with zam to minute, with minute bringing up his own inspiration of season 3 zam, and with zam musing about how each character approaches what past seasons mean to them (concluding, iirc, that they remember it but it doesn't matter to them. tell that to s6 zam lol).
In season 6 the dynamic has shifted again. Credit to the artist has died down, usually in favor of admitting he's reading a suggestion from chat, but the back and forth conversation, reading out specific messages, from often the same few people (shoutout arch and van and citrus (hi citrus)) has flourished more than ever (also shoutout the new chatters. there's been a turnover again and a lot of new names who are consistently affecting the lore)
Right at the end of season 5 I began interacting on lstumblr and writing and reading posts. It came from the end of season conversation about The Mering essay, Barrier Blocks: a breakdown of lifesteal in 22k words about season 4 and conflict. It wasn't the first time that essay and the story of Eclipse Federation was brought up and analyzed on stream as Zam encountered head on that his darkest time on lifesteal was the defacto fan favorite story of the server.
The analysis of the chatters was being shared with the streamer and therefore, the character. These were the seeds of thinking deeply about his actions in s4 and s5 and how he actually felt about them and not just moving on and forgetting.
And then something else started happening. Maybe it happened often before, and I was just not aware of it; I do remember a few times in s5 the mod team referencing and asking zam questions about his character that they had talked about or mused over between each other on discord. So it was happening to some extent, but particularly since starting to hear your opinions and analysis about the story on tumblr, I'm seeing a new trend in s6.
The fandom stream snipe:
When someone in chat innocently brings up something I damn well know was talked about on here just the day before.
Some analysis about a previous stream. Some wishful musing about interactions we hope to see. A tidbit about a previous stream that was unresolved.
And it changes the lore just as much as Planet is known to change the lore by talking to Zam.
The two instances that got me really thinking about chat being the 38th member were recent:
After 4c betrayed there was of course a lot of discussion and the general consensus was the we would love to see another 4c and zam conversation. Especially after 4c gave kab the disc, and zam did the short confrontation of him with derap. Multiple people, I mean it was on everyone's mind, wanted another interaction.
And when the timing was good, chat struck. Or should I say, van cooked. After Zam wrote signs about kab and wondered what to do about his interactions with her, someone mentioned 4c, and the door was opened to talk about what we were all wondering about. Van delivered, nearly single handedly driving the conversation towards talking to 4c, musing that it felt unresolved. When zam got distracted by demi talking about his base, van brought the discussion back around to 4c and the rest of chat started cooking too, innocently encouraging a second conversation. And Zam /msged 4c to talk.
It would not have happened without chat.
The second was yesterday: talking about Leo potentially being a mole. I had analysis, I know zy had analysis, I think others did as well. But until chat started bringing up fandom analysis, zam and derap were not sus of Leo in the slightest. Zam was only partially suspicious about Mapicc wanting to kill Flame, but he only thought of it in terms of letting Mapicc down.
And it got me thinking; at what point are we stream sniping ourselves? It's not really stream sniping (though the 4c one gets very close) because it's based on our own analysis, and usually just based on zam's streams, or doesn't include knowledge that isn't known.
But that Leo analysis was lifesteal spoiler walled. It was, by default, something that was kept hidden from lifestealers on tumblr (though less for zam and more for anyone else), though, as a theory, is it really a spoiler? But as a theory, is it really meant to be seen by the character? Unless we were a member and wanted to tell our teammate we thought something was up?
It's an interesting conundrum. Our analysis is a hivemind of hyperfixating viewers who Think about lifesteal all the time, rewatch streams, watch everyone and know how everyone is likely to be thinking and acting, breaking it down, reading each other's analysis and cultivating a deep web of theories and hopes and dreams about this lovely server of ours.
And that holds weight. All the minds of the viewers pushing together to have an affect on the server. Honorable mentions are our opinions/analysis on lskab that ran rampant in chat for that like month, and, in the opposite direction, mer's rewatch of s4 ending in a "i wish zam could talk to vitalasy again" post which plausibly reignited the deep dive thinking about that season and then culminated in this past saturday's stream!
Would PrinceZam the character ever have wanted to talk to vitalasy nearly half as much without the love of the fandom (not just mer) for eclipse federation that persists to this very moment nearly 2 years later?
We mighteswell be a member on the server asking zam to talk to someone!
Not to give us a big head.
I'm in no way criticizing these actions. I don't have an opinion either way for when it's too much. It's part of the medium to have a chat. Lifesteal would simply not be lifesteal without the audience interaction and this influence is hardly new to the story. One could say the ls story never got started until the audience cared enough about the story as story to have an opinion on where it should go.
And it's the same with the server members: they have to care about the story enough to log on and be in the story. And then they start affecting it and the story is created.
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capquinn · 3 days ago
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Curious on your take on what Quinn would do if one of the kids was born during the season? I know it’s their job but I felt so bad for Conor having to leave almost immediately after. Especially being captain that’s even bigger. But Quinn seems so family first that the thought of leaving his little one and his wife who can barely stand and get dressed without his help for almost everything is so heartbreaking for him.
Oh my god you're about to get me started, sweet nonny! Because whenever I write about dad!quinn my mind always wanders back to Conor and his wife when they had their baby boy. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for her to labour without him by her side because he had (he volunteered but still) to play a game and then for him to go on a 2 week roadie a couple of days after with a newborn baby back home would've been difficult for him to do.
I think Quinn would really struggle with the balance, especially in moments like those.
Funnily enough, Bug is actually born right at the very end of the regular season, which feels like a small stroke of luck in an otherwise hectic time. It’s still not ideal —he’s juggling the final push before playoffs with everything that comes with becoming a dad for the first time — but it’s miles better than if she’d arrived in the middle of the season or right at the start.
But if she had been... in a perfect world, where the team didn’t rely on him as much as they do, he’d get a few days — maybe even a week — just to be fully present, to focus entirely on the birth, on you, on Buggy. It's not perfect but at least this way, there’s a tiny bit of breathing room.
In a not so perfect world, he would’ve been absolutely torn because he’s so family orientated and deeply committed to his team, and he’d feel this immense pull in both directions, like no matter what he chooses, he’d feel like he's letting someone down. Even if you’d told him a hundred times over that you’re fine, that you understand the reality of his job, and that you’re surrounded by support — he’d still grapple with it. The mere thought of not being there for the moment his baby comes into the world, or even just leaving you to labour without him by your side, would weigh on him in a way he wouldn't be able to shake.
He’d never complain outright — Quinn isn’t ungrateful in the slightest. He knows exactly how fortunate he is to be living his dream, doing something he loves every single day. On ice or at home. To be a captain, to be a husband, to be a father — those aren’t just titles to him; they’re everything he’s ever wanted, the kind of responsibilities he’s dreamed about for as long as he can remember. But with the people closest to him, the ones who really know him, he’d let a little bit slip — just enough to vent when it feels like the pressure might crack him open. Because trying to be all of those things at once? It’s no small thing, and there’s no guidebook on how to juggle them all, especially when his job doesn’t come with the luxury of proper parental leave. There’s no real space carved out for new dads in his world, no way to hit pause on being captain so he can just be dad for a little while.
Even then, his venting would just be him quietly trying to work through his feelings because, yeah, he’d be frustrated — not with anyone in particular, but with the system, the situation, and the sacrifices it demands. It wouldn't be about wanting special treatment; it’s about the impossibility of trying to give everything to two worlds that don’t always align. And even in those quiet admissions, there’d be this unshakable understanding — he gets it. He really does. It’s just… hard.
I wrote a little something a while ago about how he'd balance being a first time dad and being captain here but focussed on the nice stuff if you'd like to read <3
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eroscomet · 1 day ago
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Make it Right
Chapter three- Afraid
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Paring: Astrid Deetz x Fem!Ghost!Reader
Warnings: Talks about readers death, a bit angsty.
A/N: TWO UPDATES IN ONE DAY, LET'S GO. I had to get the grind on yall. I've been leaving you guys dry with nothinggg. I hope that you guys enjoy this. I can't say that i'm fully out of my writers block but I do know that I have quite a bit of motivation. Also, I'm writing some new things as well, a Hermione fic, an Olivia Rodrigo fic, and I'm getting a Jenna fic started as well. I have some Oneshots in my drafts currently that I might release some time. Also, i'm sorry in advance if there's any mistakes, I wrote this whole thing in like an hour.
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“What’s the frown for, dead girl?” Astrid murmured, gently running her thumb over your cold skin, which she had been so desperately trying to get accustomed to.
“I’m never going to be alive again. What if you lose your ability and never see my ghost again?” Your arm instinctively leaned into her warm touch.
“Y/N, i’m not going to suddenly just stop having this ability.” Her reassurance felt nice but did little against your fears. Her fingers raised to gently pinch your cheek, trying to bring a faint smile to your lips, “Don’t worry. I’ll keep seeing your pretty ghost face no matter what.”
A soft smile appeared on your face, wanting to believe Astrid’s words. Allowing yourself to get carried away by the thought as you continue to lean your cold, dead skin closer to Astrid’s warm, live touch.
“Even having gone through death, you’re still clingy.” Her tone was one of fondness.
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Weeks had gone by, Astrid stopped by your house whenever she could and even when she couldn’t, you’d roam the town trying to find her like a lost puppy. She was the only one who could see and talk to you, without her, you were lost in a sea of people who couldn’t see or hear you. However, you did know Astrid the best, knowing where to find her whether it’s at school or at the Deetz household.
Currently, Astrid was sitting in her bedroom, trying to desperately study for a test that she had the following day. It was late at night, with Astrid only having her desk lamp on to prove enough light to illuminate her work. She let out a small huff, frustrated as the words were beginning to blur together on the paper. Raking a hand through her messy hair, she sat back in her chair.
“God damnit.”
“Boo.” You joked as you phased through her room’s door, smiling. Emitting a sharp gasp at the sudden voice, her head whipping around to look at the door.
“God! Don’t do that!” Astrid nearly yelled, her hand over her chest as she gave you a glare. She had thought she was alone in her room. So the sudden voice almost gave her whiplash.
“I’m a ghost, it’s what I'm supposed to do, no?” You replied with a laugh as you fully phased your body through the door, entering Astrid’s room. The Handbook for the Recently Deceased in her hand, “I’ve been reading up on this and there's a way to return to life, you know?”
Astrid had let out a small scoff, rolling her eyes at the handbook in your hands. She had always thought that it was a bunch of horseshit. She stood up from her chair as her girlfriend entered the room, crossing her arms over her chest, “Don’t bullshit me, dead girl. You’re a Ghost - you can’t just suddenly come back to life.”
“No, but I can trade a life for my soul. It says so in the book, that I need to find someone living that’s willing to give me life in exchange for theirs but…i’m having no luck. You’d be surprised how hard it is to talk to people who can’t hear you.” You said jokingly with a smile.
“Why am I not surprised?” She replied with an amused scoff at your joke, “Is that the only way for you to return?”
“Well, that and or marrying the living.” You said as you opened up the book, looking down at the page. “Though, I am a bit iffy on this option. It wasn’t from the book, it was offered to me by this man with green hair and a weird white and black striped suit. He said something about if I help him find his ‘bride-to-be’, all i’d have to do is find a person with a life to marry and he’d be able to send me back to the living.”
For a moment, Astrid simply stared at you, trying to process what you had just told her. It sounded batshit insane, but then again - it’s not like the world was any less insane at this point either. She walked towards her girlfriend, glancing down at the book. A slightly skeptical look on her face. Still, she put a hand on her hip, taking a moment to think about it.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. All you have to do is marry a living person and you’re good?”
“No, I have to find this guy’s bride-to-be or whatever. He honestly went on some monologue about her and I zoned out. He didn’t want to give me any information unless I agreed to take his offer. I think he said his name was Beetlejuice?”
“Beetlejuice?” She repeated with a raised eyebrow. The name sounded vaguely familiar to her but she couldn’t remember where she had heard the name before. She let out a sigh, moving back to her desk to take a seat in her chair once more. Raking a hand through her hair as she looked at you, “Okay, let’s just say I do believe this for a second - How are you supposed to find this bride-to-be for some weird Beetle-dude?”
“He’ll give me her name and a photo of her. He says all I need to do is find her and have someone alive say his name three times.”
She hummed quietly as she listened and thought over everything for a moment. It was starting to get into crazy territory for Astrid, but it’s not like anything that happened in this god forsaken town wasn’t already crazy.
“Okay, dead girl. Let’s say we do find the bride. What then? Who’s going to say the name three times?”
“I was hoping you could help? He says that his bride or whatever can also see the dead or something.” You shrugged.
“God, you’re a pain sometimes. Fine, I’ll say the damn name three times if we find this bride” She said with a small amused huff. Of course you were going to ask her to help out with something that sounded crazy enough to work.
“Also… You need to marry me for me to return to the living.” You said as you looked at Astrid. This was a big ask of you, and one that sounded irrational but how else could you return? Your hand began to gently pull the hairs on the back of your neck, nervously.
Astrid stared at you in slight disbelief at your words. Marriage - actual marriage. A part of Astrid’s mind began to wander, imagining what it would be like to marry you. Then she pushed the thought aside, remembering they were technically teenagers.
“Y/N, you can’t be serious about the marriage part. We’re teengaers.” 
“So, what, I'm supposed to wait years to return to living?” Your voice was a bit defensive, “What if his offer doesn’t stand by then?”
“Y/N, why are you so dead set on returning to life anyway?” She asked with a frown tugging at her lips, her tone was now more soft than skeptical.
“Because I'm dead and I'm cold and everyone sees through me but you. Even you can’t touch me for long before you practically freeze to the bone!” You said, your voice had wavered a bit as you became vulnerable by the question.
Astrid’s expression softened at your words, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, you had a fair point. It was hard for her to touch you for extended periods - even if Astrid loved holding you. But at the same time, Astrid couldn’t help but also feel a pang of guilt at her words.
“But you know I don’t mind if we can’t touch for that long. Plus, i’m the only one that can see you - that’s special, don’t you think?”
“And what about my family? I’ve been dead for a year almost two!”
She felt like her heart almost dropped at your words, she couldn’t imagine how hard this had to be for you, being separated from your family - not only by death but by her own ability. She gently laid her hand on yours, trying to offer some comfort. Unsure about marrying you, but her reluctance lessened a little at your words.
“You miss your family.” She mumbled, more of a statement than a question. She squeezed your cold hand, her other going to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. She let out a soft sigh, trying to organize her thoughts - but her mind was getting progressively more conflicted.
“God, this would be so much easier if I just said yes. It sounds like the best idea, but…” Her thoughts trailed off as she slowly retracted her hand from your cheek.
“You don’t want to marry me.” You said quietly as you realized, not needing to read her mind to know what she was thinking. You pulled away from your girlfriend’s touch, biting your lip.
Her gaze immediately whipped back up to look at you, her expression was a mix of shock and confusion.
“No, that’s-” She began, a frown quickly plastering itself on her face. She reached her hand out toward you, trying to grab your again. “-It’s not that, Y/N.”
“I’ve gotta go. My second deathiversary is coming up tomorrow.” You said as you stood up, not waiting for Astrid’s reply. You simply phased through her wall, leaving her alone in her room.
“Y/N, wait!” She explained, standing up to follow after her ghost girlfriend. She dashed over to the wall that you had phased through, trying to grab your hand before you left. However, Astrid’s hand only went through empty air - you had already left.
“God damnit.” She mumbled, cursing under her breath as she let out an exasperated sigh.
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When the next day came, you found yourself sitting at a bench at the graveyard. Watching as your family visited your grave. Despite no one being able to see you, you wore all black since it felt most appropriate for the situation. Astrid had walked up to the graveyard, noticing you sitting on the bench in all black. Letting out a small, quiet sigh, she began to walk over towards you, but then stopped for a moment. Her eyes looked towards your grave, noting your family visiting and talking in front of the grave, probably leaving things for you to ‘use’ in the afterlife. 
“Astrid, honey! You made it! I can’t believe she died two years ago, huh? Still feels like yesterday.” Your mother said as she quickly walked towards Astrid, unable to see your ghost which was sitting right behind Astrid.
Astrid let out a strained smile, nodding her head. That smile was mostly fake, stealing a glance over at you.
“Yeah, yeah…it really doesn’t feel like it's been that long…” She mumbled, mostly playing along. However, the sight of your family made Astrid’s heart pang with guilt.
“I’m sure Y/N would’ve wanted her girlfriend here.” Your mom said with a pitiful smile as she put her hand on Astrid’s shoulder hesitantly.
“Yeah, she would have.” She responded quietly, trying to keep the guilt out of her voice as she glanced over at you, who only stared at your mother.
“Yeah, you know I just can’t believe…” Your mom had begun speaking, her pitiful voice drowning out as you began speaking.
“Can you tell her that I love her?” You said as you stared at your mother. 
How was Astrid supposed to tell your mother that her head daughter says that she loves her? “That would sound absolutely insane, especially to such an attention seeking mother-” Astrid quickly cut off her thoughts as she didn’t want to take them too far. She simply tried to listen to what your mother was saying, but your sudden words made her almost immediately forget. 
“How am I supposed to tell a mother that her daughter, who has been dead for two years, loves her?! I’d sound more insane than my own mother!”
Astrid glanced between you and your mother, trying to think of what to do. Her mind racing with thoughts, trying to find a way out of this situation. Her mind kept drawing blanks, and then she heard your mother speak again.
“Don’t you think?” Was all that Astrid had heard as your mother looked at her expectantly with a smile.
“Yes, I do think that.” Astrid replied, nodding her head and sending your mother a fake smile that she knew would satisfy her. She cursed herself internally for not listening to what she said before, nodding her head to your mothers words. She had no idea what she was agreeing to, all she knew was that she didn’t want to be speaking to your mother right now.
“That’s what I thought! This baby is exactly what this family needed. I’m very excited for Vera’s baby shower. I knew you’d agree that naming the baby Y/N would be a good idea.” Your mother said with a smile. 
Vera, your older sister who is twenty-two years old, apparently planning to name her first child after her sister, Y/N. Astrid knew it was purely out of her selfishness and wanting the attention directed at herself and not Y/N. She didn’t want to be in Y/N’s shadow after your death because her entire life she’d been the center of your parents' affections and attention.
Astrid’s eyes widened slightly at her words, the realization slowly dawning on her as to what your mother was saying to her. A part of her felt like she just had a bucket of water thrown on her. Your sister was pregnant and naming the baby after you and your mother had just asked Astrid’s opinion on it, knowing Astrid dated you. Astrid knew she should probably say something, but the words just froze in her throat. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words escaped her. She was happy that your family still loved and missed you, even if they displayed it in an attention seeking way.
Astrid felt guilty and almost selfish for wanting to keep you to herself, she bit her bottom lip and glanced in your direction. Your mother’s smile slowly began to fade, a look of confusion taking its place as she looked over to the direction Astrid looked, but seeing no one and nothing. Astrid’s eyes flicked up to see your mother staring at her, clearly wanting Astrid to give some kind of answer.
“You must be grief-ridden. I’ll bother you no more, but just know that you’re invited to the baby shower.” Your mother said pitifully as she shook her head, excusing herself and walking back over to your family at your grave.
“Yeah, so is half the town, don’t go feeling special with my mother.” You said with a small indignant scoff.
“Gee, thanks for the commentary.” She quipped under her breath, “You can cut the attitude, you know.”
“I’ve got eternity to hold this attitude. Literally, now that there's no way for me to return to living.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to be so..” Astrid paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, before eventually sighing and just deciding to say bluntly, “..bitchy, for lack of a better term.”
You slightly scoffed, you were somewhat amused but also annoyed. Shaking your head, you stood up and began walking away. Astrid was going to catch up to you but once you phased through a tree, you disappeared into thin air.
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A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, more to come I promise. Thank you so much for the love and support. Remember that you can request something on my page if you're interested! I promise to get on it asap. Anyways, bye lovelies!
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covenha · 2 days ago
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Synopsis: Seonghwa watches Hongjoong crash and burn and decides to revisit a good ole tactic to help his buddy out. This is a two-part spin off of the simp!verse. Pairings: nerd!hongjoong x fem!reader; guest appearances from Soobin and Yeonjun from TXT Genre: crack, my piss attempt at humor, hongjoong my poor guy is such a simp god bless his heart Warnings: swear words, witchcraft technically WC: 2.4k (I got carried away, oops) a/n: This monster of a chapter was birthed by my sleep-deprive brain from travelling for the holidays. I'm glad I put it out before christmas though because I wanna write something christmas themed before christmas day. This fic is purely fiction and does not portray what the characters are like irl. Feedbacks, reblogs, and comments are also deeply appreciated and highly encouraged! and as always please enjoy :)) Read part 1 here ; Read simp!hwa here
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Seonghwa didn’t like getting involved in other people’s lives (he’s lying to himself, really. The aries in him loves making people his puppets). But seeing his best friend and dorm mate, Hongjoong, pouting on his bed whining about his sim’s wife not reciprocating his feelings, he just knew he had to intervene. If he hears Backburner by Niki playing one more time on Hongjoong’s speaker, he’s going to go clinically insane himself. 
“Okay, Hongjoong you gotta stop this! C’mon get up!” Hongjoong is currently face down on his mattress, mumbling along to the song for the nth time this week. 
The Goo Goo Dolls are dead to me the way you should be too
“Joong, I swear-”
But you bring them up along with how much I fucking miss you!
Hongjoong continues to mumble along the words to the song, almost like he’s drunk. And after this, Seonghwa swears he needs a drink too.
“Look, maybe you’re a bit of a fixer upper. I was too! But now look at me, I’m in a loving relationship and I couldn’t be happier.” he still doesn’t seem convinced at whatever peptalk Seonghwa is trying to feed him. But he does stop his singing so it’s a win in Seonghwa’s eyes. 
“I’m gonna let you in on a little trade secret of mine. As much as I look like the total rizzler that I am. I didn’t exactly get the girl on my looks and charm alone.” Hongjoong furrows his brows at this. Ignoring the fact that his friend just used the word “rizzler” unironically, he was desperate at this point. 
“An Etsy witch?!” he looks at Seonghwa, unimpressed at the boba-eyed boy. 
“Look, you just gotta trust me on this one okay?” Hongjoong sighs, I mean he was desperate. His conjured up future of you with his poodle and 2 goldfish was hanging in the balance right now. So he decided to humor Seonghwa. 
“We just gotta use a little bit of manifestation. Alexa play Take a Chance with Me by Niki!” 
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With a newfound determination in his step, Hongjoong walks to class that day with one goal in his head. He had to figure out what your name was. 
“I have to find out her name?” Hongjoong furrows his eyebrows at the instructions. 
“Well, yeah. Seulgi needs to know her name for the ritual to be done correctly.” He replies in a matter-of-fact kind of tone. 
“Why can’t I just use that pink stone thingy you used?” 
“Because she has to wear it for 3 days. And, no offense, but I doubt that she would accept anything from you, Romeo.” Seonghwa pats him on the back. “But this will work, trust!” 
“You better be right, Hwa.” 
When he walks into the amphitheater, you are sitting in your usual spot typing away at something on your laptop. You were wearing a green beanie this time, seeing as the weather was getting colder. Hongjoong couldn’t help but swoon a little on the inside at you. You looked like a cute brussel sprout and he just wanted to bite you (but of course in a loving and sweet kind of way.) 
“Hi!” Hongjoong starts. “We talked for a little bit last week… I don’t know if you remember.” He shyly smiles at you. 
Oh, you remembered. He was the same guy who just randomly shouted at you before the class started. He was cute, you’ll admit that. He had a sort of nerdy vibe to him that you usually found cute in a guy. If only it weren’t for the piss poor first impression he pulled. You notice he still had that jittery look in his eyes, the same one he had last week. You didn’t like where this was going. 
“Oh, I remember.” You give him a tight smile. 
“Oh!” he manages to blurt out, albeit very loudly. This startles you and makes you jump a little in your seat. And this also causes a ruckus in the amphitheater causing eyes to look at the interaction between the both of you again. Great, you think. So much for keeping a low profile. 
“My name is Kim Hongjoong. Can I ask you what your name is?” He looks down at you with a hopeful look in his eyes. He really was cute, you think. But you hated all the eyes on you. You wanted this to end as quickly as possible and return to your peace and quiet. But you also didn’t want to embarrass this guy in front of the whole class. So, you do the next best thing. 
“My name is Wendy Lu.” You give him a fake name. 
I mean, what he won’t know won’t kill him right? You get him off your back. He gets to search up some finance major that frequents the cafe that you work at. And in your defense, she was totally cute! She also had a caffeine addiction but you digress. 
“Nice to meet you, Wendy!” Hongjoong rushes off to find his seat at the back of the room with a beaming smile on his face. This Etsy witch Seulgi sure did have her work cut out for her. But I mean, if she could get Seonghwa a girlfriend, she could totally get me one, right? 
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“So, her name is Wendy Lu. I came up to her this morning and asked for her name, and she totally smiled at me! I got this one in the bag.” Hongjoong is beaming with glee at Seonghwa. 
They’re walking down a part of town that is a bit of a ways away from their usual path to their dorm but they had to make a detour to go to Seulgi’s physical store to get some supplies. She wrote down some instructions for Hongjoong to follow in his ritual for love spell casting and then they were off on their merry way back to their dorms. Unfortunately, Seonghwa had a 10-page essay he had due that very night to which he was very sorely behind on. 
“Can we go grab some coffee first? Either I’m going to finish this essay or it will finish me.” Seonghwa sighs, a stressed look on his face as he turns to the closest cafe that was on their route. 
That’s when they are greeted with you manning the cash register of the cafe. There’s a line at the cash register because this is usually when the cafe is at its busiest and you don’t even notice them coming in. Hongjoong is trying to contain himself and keep his chill. But he can’t help it if you look so effortlessly beautiful with your hair tied up and in your cute barista apron. The man is basically shooting heart eyes your way but you’re too busy taking orders. 
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“My usual, please. To go.” Wendy Lu tries to give you the best smile she can, but it just ends up looking like a twitch on her face. Midterms must be coming up, you concluded. Sucks to be a finance major. One iced americano with 4 espresso shots, coming right up. You finish ringing in her order and give the ticket away for your co-worker to start on her drink. 
“Hello, what can I get for you today?” You bring your head up from the cash register and feel a dread settle into your stomach. It was the guy from earlier. Hongjoong, if you recall correctly. 
“I’ll have a Vanilla latte, and a pistachio bagel please.” Seonghwa replies. 
“Oh, and uhm. I’ll have a Caramel Macchiato with a tuna melt.” Hongjoong adds. 
“Will you have this for dine-in or take-out?” 
“We’ll have it for take-out, please.” 
And as you finish ringing up their orders, you forget one crucial detail that just managed to slip your mind. Wendy Lu. 
“Iced americano for Wendy Lu!” your co-worker, Soobin, shouts. 
Both boys look at you with confused eyes as Wendy Lu grabs her drink from Soobin and rushes off. You try to ignore the tension in the room but Hongjoong blurts out, “I thought you were Wendy Lu?” 
“Well, Wendy is a pretty common name.” You just nervously giggle off and hope he doesn’t press further. 
“Hey, Y/n. Yeonjun needs help rolling out the croissant dough in the kitchen.” Soobin interrupts the awkward conversation. “I’ll finish that up for you, go help him.” 
“Right.” You give them one last glance before walking over to the kitchen. 
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And we are back to square one with Hongjoong. Well, not necessarily square one, more like square one and a half. Seonghwa likes to look on the brighter side of things. 
“Hey, at least you know her name! And besides, this ritual thing will still work, so what if she gave you a fake name at first.” Seonghwa tries to console his distraught dorm mate. 
“When you become best man at my wedding, can you leave this part out of your speech please?” Hongjoong just lies on the floor and pouts at him. 
“Oh, the part where you crashed and burned the first time you met your future wife? Sure.” Seonghwa deadpans at his friend. 
“Now, just do the ritual, my guy. I have an essay to write and you have a girl to wife up.” Seonghwa motions for him to get up. 
“Fine.” Hongjoong gets up and goes to get his supplies for the ritual but notices that the instructions for the ritual are gone. He furrows his eyebrows and digs through his things trying to find them but they don’t seem to be anywhere. He asks Seonghwa if he’s seen them anywhere but he claims to not even have held the paper. This confirms a theory he’s had in his head that sends a storm of unease to his stomach. 
He remembers putting his stuff out while waiting for his tuna melt to be heated up. The last time he remembers seeing that pink sheet of paper was at the cafe table. He had to go back to that cafe. He checks the time and it’s around the time that it closes, if he remembers correctly from the door. If he rushes now, he could get to the cafe right before it closes. 
So he rushes out the door yelling out that he was going to the cafe, leaving a very confused Seonghwa to attempt to finish his essay. 
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Hongjoong arrives at the cafe on a mission to find that pink-ruled piece of paper that holds the key to his happiness. The cafe is deserted at this point, the door sign says “closed” but he can still see you and your two other co-workers cleaning up the establishment. He gulps.
Here goes nothing. 
He knocks on the door to the shop and points to the locked door. 
You and Soobin shoot each other a look and Soobin walks up to the door.
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“So that was lover boy, I assume?” Soobin glances down at you as you wipe down the counters behind the cash register.
“Oh scarf guy?” Yeonjun pipes up. 
“Yeah. Kim Hongjoong.” You tell them. “Guy seems sweet and all but he brings so much attention during class. Made me want to disappear into my seat.” 
“Well, seems like lover boy’s got it bad. He was going to cast a spell on you.” Soobin says trying to imitate a dracula accent. 
“What? No way.” Yeonjun dismisses him. 
“Look. He left it at the table they were at. Even went to that trinket shop down at the corner next to the deli. Poor guy was going to get Wendy Lu to fall head over heels in love with him.” He waves a pink piece of paper around. 
You grab it and look at what’s written down and stare in utter disbelief. Was he really willing to go this far? 
“Man’s a simp if I’ve ever seen one.” Soobin concludes. 
“He just doesn’t know when to give up. I mean, you were pretty straightforward the first time around. Take the L, my guy.” Yeonjun shakes his head. 
“Hmmm, well I thought it was a bit harsh. But he is persistent. I'll give him that.” Soobin shrugs. 
“Ugh, I was too harsh, wasn’t I?” You ask, to no one in particular. But you didn’t mean to be harsh. Being the center of attention was never your favorite thing and it brought out a side of you that had no filter. 
“Are you forgetting the fact that he hired an Etsy witch to make him fall in love with you?” Yeonjun reminds you. 
“Well, I don’t really believe in that kind of stuff. Pink rocks and weird drawings? Be fucking for real.” 
And as luck would have it, a knock on the door stops your discourse. It was Hongjoong. You and Soobin share a look and he goes to tell him that the place is closed but then you stop him. 
“Wait, Soob. I need to talk to him.” You stop Soobin as he reaches for the door knob. 
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Hongjoong panics when you see him walk over to the door knob. Oh God, she knows. She’s gonna think I’m some creep! I mean, on paper it does seem creepy that some guy who she’s talked to like thrice has some instructions from some dodgy Etsy witch on how to make her fall in love with him but he swears he means no harm. 
You go over to open the door. 
“Hey, Hongjoong.” You start. You wipe your sweaty hands off using your apron. Confrontation was never your best feat, but it seems like the universe had different plans for the both of you that evening. 
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for being kinda harsh to you the first time we talked. You seem like a sweet guy, but you kinda put me on the spot and I was pretty uncomfortable back then….” You explain yourself. 
“O-oh! Well, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I never meant to do that I swear! I just, you’re…. Pretty.” He shyly smiles at you. 
This is the first time you are actually able to take a good look at him and you start to notice little details you never did. The slope of his nose, the glasses that frame his face, the dimples that decorate his cheeks, and the one finger he has painted with nail polish. He was kinda cute, you concluded. And as he calls you pretty, you can’t help the heat that rises up your cheeks at his confession. 
“Well, if you wanna, we could do it the old fashioned way. You know, the one where there’s no Etsy witch involved.” You shoot a small smile his way when he starts floundering and trying to come up with a way to explain himself. 
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
Hongjoong walks back to the dorm with a dumb smile on his face. Seonghwa was so totally gonna be his best-man at his wedding. 
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orionremastered · 7 hours ago
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do you think you would ever do a wingfic? cause i LOVE your writing style and your shifter fics have lead me to believe that you would be super good at it :]
like brucie would obviously have batwings cause ✨drama✨ and maybe for the rest of the fam they have wings that match their hair colors and personalities? if that makes sense 🫠 and maybe the reader has just super duper soft wings :}
if you ever decide to do something wingfic esq. just know that i would be the first to read :3
with love - @gothammybeloved
Rising from the dead with this one (I have twenty asks in my inbox)
Happy Holidays you mfs
Masterlist
Bruce
Def a bat. Causes him problems with the press having similar wings to Batman sometimes but there's a lot of other people with bat wings so it's generally a baseless accusation. This likely goes for the entire batfam because lots of people have similar bird wings. Ye
I'd think that he and Lucius Fox probably designed some kind of protection for bat wings (and then later of feather wings once he adopted Dick etc) because criminals would purposely or accidentally rip the membrane/break the bones of batfam wings.
Dick
Dick is a Blue Jay because;
A) blue does it need explanation
B) Blue Jays have elliptical wings which are shaped in a way that "allow birds to maneuver tightly in confined spaces and minimize drag for rapid ascent and descent". And it makes sense for Dick who is flexible to concerning degrees. So. Neat
Jason
We have two options here:
A) secretary bird bc they beat the shit out of snakes. I promise. Snakes = dirty criminals yk??? Also that bird looks like it reads Jane Austen
B) Andean Condor which is the largest bird of prey
because Jason is a brick shit house
Tim
Crow/Raven. Doesn't matter cause they're both smart and have been known to use things like tools and other stuff etc.
Also black would fit with the Red Robin suit I'd think so yeah 👍
Damian
Like father like son, so bat wings too. In the League I'd think they would treat the wings of the Al Ghul (I'd wanna say all have bat wings too? Cant see Ra's with bird wings) family as...
Idk but see the vision ok: painting the membrane with special paint that doesn't weigh them down, in gold intricate patterns. They'd have people do it for them but when moving to Gotham, Damian would probably keep doing it himself.
Steph
Red (or yellow) tailed black cockatoo. Cockatoos have a fun personality I think and the wings of the red tailed black cockatoo are black, fitting in with her suit, but also have a fun sprinkle of yellow colouring.
Idk what birds have purple wings I sorry
Cass
An owl with black wings (black banded owl, black barn owl etc.) because:
A) black . Black bat? Like?
B) owls are silent in flight which makes sense for Cass because she's very stealthy and quiet.
Duke
Keeping a trend of Australian birds I think he'd be a rainbow lorikeet. Lovable colourful birds that no one can find a reason to hate except for when there's fifty squawking next to your bedroom cough cough
Have mostly yellow wings. Bonus their chest feathers reflect in ultraviolet light to signal (! See what I did there) to other birds. Let's pretend their wings do that too
Alfred
Some kind of albatross. This man went from British special forces to a butler for billionaires in America. He has travelled. He has seen shit. He makes it look easy
Bonus most albatross species live up and over of 50 years which isn't the longest but still pretty cool.
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thewalkingkale · 2 days ago
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SKZHOP Fanfic Series
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It has never been like me to 'dip my toes' into literally anything, so obviously I'm getting back into fanfiction writing by taking on an eight-part themed project. Enjoy!!
status: 🟢 ongoing
A/Ns: I do not own SKZ, HOP, or any characters in these stories, all of the boys are more so written as characters and these are not accurate depictions of the boys personalities, traits, or actions. Reader discretion is advised as some works might be too mature for younger readers.
MASTERLIST
guide (will be added once written)
🔥smut
🩷 fluff
💙 angst
✨ AU
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railway || bang chan x reader
desc: You wake up after a year long sleep (read: death) the consort to a master vampire. He's more than happy to show you the ropes.
unfair || felix x reader ✨💙🩷
desc: Everyone tells you to avoid the castle in the woods, and in turn, the man who lives in it. You've never been one to do as you're told.
hallucination || I. N. x reader
desc: Jeongin's art studio is covered in statues and paintings of a person he swears he must have met before. How will they tell him they've seen him too?
youth || lee know x reader
desc: You and Lee Know have been inseparable since birth. Somehow, someway, a prank on a college event brings you even closer.
so good || hyunjin x reader
desc: Hyunjin always tells you how nice it is to sit on your apartment building's roof whenever he needs to think. You decide to see what the fuss is about after an argument, you both forget what you were fighting about shortly after.
ultra || seo changbin x reader
desc: Dr. Seo's job, to him, is very simple; testing samples, reading labs, reporting his findings and breakthroughs. Your job is a little less simple: worry about the doctor endlessly, until your hair is gray.
hold my hand || HAN x reader
desc: With the help of your future self, you learn to forgive, forget, and stop being so angry. You're only a little jarred at the sight of your future self and your best friend's future self as a couple.
as we are || seungmin x reader
desc: Life has a funny way of making sure the people who were meant to be in your life find their way back to you. Worldwide sensation, K-Pop star, and your childhood best friend, Kim Seungmin, is absolutely no exception.
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I'll be working on this as inspiration strikes, unfortunately I don't have any type of release dates/schedule just yet but I'll get them out as soon as possible!
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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 days ago
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Hello! May I just start by saying that your blog is one of the most helpful resources I've ever come across! The physiology of love has been particularly helpful for writing a very logically driven character who would absolutely go on a tangent about that kind of thing!
Now, I've encountered a recent roadblock in writing the relationship between that character and a very esoteric driven character (if you can't prove it with logic, they believe in it). The two are in a romantic relationship and get along very well, they respect and even make time to go to events regarding each other's interests/beliefs.
The problem is, they bond by debating. Like, they debate about the possibilities of the supernatural existing, do ghosts exist, etc. They don't argue, that's the key here. I... don't get it. To me, debating is arguing. If I believe something very strongly that I can back up with facts, I can get riled up in seconds if someone even jokingly goes against me.
Could you help me understand debating? Or even why some people do it to bond? It's my biggest struggle with writing these two characters and every time I try to research myself I just keep getting "benefits of debating" articles.
Hi! The first thing that came to mind after reading this was studies on sensation seeking.
Sensation seeking - the tendency to search out and engage in thrilling activities as a method of increasing stimulation and arousal.
Perhaps your characters experience debating as a thrilling activity.
Zuckerman's Sensation-Seeking Scale (SSS)
A questionnaire designed to measure the extent to which a person needs novel or exciting experiences and enjoys the thrills and excitement associated with them.
Contains 4 subscales, each containing items and phrases as a forced-choice between two distinct options:
First is thrill and adventure seeking, with items such as “I would like to try parachute jumping” versus “I would never want to try jumping out of a plane, with or without a parachute.” These items ask about desire for outdoor sports or activities involving elements of risk, such as flying and scuba diving.
The other scales are experience seeking (e.g., “I am not interested in experience for its own sake” versus “I like to have new and exciting experiences and sensations even if they are a little frightening, unconventional, or illegal”) These items refer to the seeking of new sensory or mental experiences through unconventional or nonconforming lifestyle choices;
disinhibition (e.g., “I like wild, uninhibited parties” versus “I prefer quiet parties with good conversation”). These items indicate a preference for getting “out of control” or an interest in wild parties, gambling, and sexual variety;
boredom susceptibility (e.g., “I get bored seeing the same old faces” versus “I like the comfortable familiarity of everyday friends”) reflected in items that refer to a dislike for repetition, routine work, monotony, predictable and dull people, and a restlessness when things become unchanging.
If we look at each subscale, perhaps your characters are high in "experience seeking" and "boredom susceptibility" and this might be reflected in their love of debating. As a whole, perhaps they both have what is called an HSS personality.
High Sensation-Seeking Personality
If you have this type of personality, it means you prefer to live your life with boundless energy and enthusiasm. You constantly seek out new experiences that will delight, surprise, stimulate and invigorate you – and you may indulge to excess.
Typical Characteristics of High Sensation-Seekers (HSS):
A continuous need for novel and diverse experiences that stimulate them*
A low boredom threshold*
Dislike of routines*
Doesn't respond well to authority or rules and regulations
May not be able to resist impulsive urges
A tendency to make unusual choices that may frighten those around them
HSS personalities often:
Are drawn to high-risk hobbies and sports
Build relationships that contain chaotic elements*
Like music, art and cinema that is daring and stimulating*
Challenge people by provoking raw and intense emotions*
Are fast and sometimes reckless drivers, which may be reflected in their history of accidents or speeding tickets
Become restless or depressed and even more desperate for exciting experiences if sensation is denied*
*Perhaps these characteristics and behaviours apply to your characters.
And we can always use The Five-Factor Model of Personality to help us understand certain traits and behaviours.
Using this model, we could say that your characters likely have high levels of openness and extroversion, and may not be as agreeable, to explain their love of debating.
(Of course, in reality, psychological tests and qualified assessors are needed to make these conclusions using these models, but I think that they can also be used by writers as guides for character building and development.)
Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs
Thanks so much for your kind words! Really happy to hear the Physiology of Love post was helpful for you. Hope this one would be too :)
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