#when she comes back in world tour to steal the strings for her own ends thinking she just. puts them in that hole bc smth smth heartstrings

[razzle-zazzle]

What's Lola look like? Like what're her colors and stuff cause I wanna draw her

Oh boy oh boy and next up on questions I don't have a concrete answer to—

All I know for sure at this point are a few loosely connected details, which I'm putting under a cut bc some of them are body horror adjacent:

Fur was bright yellow back when she was still a mostly normal troll; not much of that would remain, if any, due to part of her magic's toll involving discoloration and also the centuries she spent pretty much rotting alive in her tomb

Hair is kind of ethereal, smoky, not much like hair at all anymore. Color undecided.

Massive hole through her chest with crumbly gray edges. Might contain a small void in there might just be a regular hole

Capable of floating/flying and doesn't often walk. Consequences of her magic litter her body and the centuries spent in her tomb she kind of rotted alive

Empty eyes,,,, not sure if blank white or black would work better. Has no discernible iris or pupil. Eyes were likely green back in her youth

Died/got sealed/became immortal when she was in her late twenties-early thirties. Has rotted a bit over the centuries, though she does like to assume a more youthful appearance

Capable of whatever body horror she needs. Often just turns her head 180° instead of actually turning around. Neck makes a cracking sound but that's intentional on her part

Bones???? When Branch first met her her face was kinda just her skull, but she's since managed to put together an actual face over that. Again she's capable of whatever body horror she needs at that moment

Wears a few little bracelets and charms that Branch made for her when he was little

Crown??? Not sure yet what it's made of but ofc she's wearing a little crown she wants to be Queen of the Universe. Would also likely adorn herself with jewelry

Clothes would change throughout the movies as she sees fit. Sometimes she's covering the hole in her chest sometimes he's wearing translucent/sheer fabrics to emphasize it sometimes she's going fully topless. it's not like she has tits to worry about!

In her early years with Branch she was mostly wearing clothes made from spider silk dyed with whatever they had on hand (berries, flowers, blood, yanno, the usual). In the second movie she's since upgraded a bit to try and reflect the "royalty" look she's going for, with jewels and accessories to match. In later appearances she's still got nice clothes but the Queen thing is toned down a bit unless she's got a scheme brewing.

but yeah if you wanna draw her go wild!! i won't stop you!!

[literameera]

White Sails

2433 words

The oceans going to swallow him whole some day and only then could he die happy.

Caspian already gave his soul to the sea, his first great love. Initially I was excited for him and how he got to live out his dreams. He’d write to me about his exploits, I’d gasp and laugh when appropriate, as if he can see, and finally when the stories ended, I’d write to say that I’ve been living the same way: wake up, work, eat, sleep and mostly anticipate. He’d tease that I live like a widow refusing to believe her husband's dead, wasting away staring out the window, hoping for him to someday return to her. Like the ship of Theseus every time he left a part of him had been replaced, how long has he been a man I couldn't recognise, a ghost wearing my lover’s skin.

Only the wooden planks stepped on by Theseus himself belong to the original ship, the rest are imposters high off the glory of His name. Your skin cells regenerate every twenty-seven days – and it’s been longer than that since my hands held his, the wind already swept all memories of my words from his mind. He can only belong to one and she’s infinitely larger than me. To him, her cold embrace feels like coming home. It’s selfish – I’d remind myself – selfish to want to steal what makes him happy all because I feel lonely, he’s loved the ocean long before he’s loved me, and he will long after. I can only hope she’s kind when she does finally take him. I’ve heard that saltwater burns your lungs and that a body only sinks for a moment and as it fills with water it floats to the top, I don’t want them to find his body, he wouldn’t want them to either. I hope his clothes weigh him down and 80% becomes all of him, that he sinks to Atlantis and the sun never feels him again, we don’t deserve it.

But then he comes home, the wind in his hair, salt clinging to his skin and horribly chapped lips, he kisses me hello and I get a taste of what he feels. He tells me he’s missed the warm water from the shower while I wash his locks, that his land legs haven’t grown back yet so can I hold on just a little tighter ‘to make sure I don’t fall of course’. I tell him our neighbours' gossip and he laugh and gasps when appropriate and says that he’s missed the shop at the end of the street, in the morning he’ll grab groceries and those chocolates he’s loved since he was a kid, and some things never change. When it’s quiet and we lull we watch the sun set, sitting on a linoleum countertop in the kitchen, he glows orange in its light and tells me he’s missed me.

When a whale dies its body sinks to the benthic zone, there where there’s no sun, no blood, no heat, no me, or him the oceans creatures eat on its flesh, their entire life's sustenance reliant on an animal they’ve never seen alive and blobfish get their namesake feature from the rapid shift in pressure, they essentially burst while being pulled up by fishermen. The universe is kept spinning by forces we don’t know and can’t name and one day the sun could burst, and we wouldn’t know until 8 minutes later when its light should touch us and won’t. But it did that day, the light travelled through a solar system to shine on him, and shine on me, and that’s how we met. It was fate. Eight years later it’s still fate when Caspian wakes up beside me, his skin a warm brown, like the terracotta pots he brings back to accommodate my ever-growing garden, and his tousled hair a sun-bleached orange, the roots betray their natural umber colour (the same as the eyes he was currently hiding behind tired palms), men like him are born out of stardust, and they can’t help but to replicate its heat. He’s looking at me now, his warm hands place a stray strand of my own umber hair behind my ear and pauses on my cheek, my bronze skin a slight contrast to his, brown eyes reflecting brown.

‘Let’s go over the plan, alright Leya?’ He breaks the silence, ‘we’ll lock up, give the keys to Theo and Honora, they promised to water our plants and dust the place while we’re gone, we pick up your jumper from the market –Eilidh promised it’ll be done by then- and then it’s me, you and wherever you can land your finger on a map.’

‘Yeah, I can’t wait. Me, you and The Caspian’ the smile I give him falters and my bottom lip trembles. He frowns.

It was my idea to come with him, I was tired of being alone and he was tired of forgetting synonyms of vast for his letters home, I knew he exhausted all the ways to say I love you when he started to transcript theology to me:

‘They believe that next to Christ, that’s what they call him, there was a man that lived in sin, two in fact but only one of them matters. They don’t know anything about this man, not even his name, except for his last words. And they were that of forgiveness and salvation. A man whose entire history is left out of the book that chronicles it. We know nothing of his home, his family, his life, not even his crimes, but we know that he loved and was loved in return. I don’t believe a lick of it but by God these people are good storytellers.’

I did want to go. Maybe the second I see the flickering reflected crescent moon on the ocean waves I’d decide I never wanted to leave, that the past 25 years of living and four years waiting can all be justified by that one experience. But I also couldn’t just leave. He was the one with adventures and loose ties and sea salt, and I’m the one that waits. The diligent partner with a cup of tea and open arms for him, who were we if not that? Who am I without anticipation and loneliness? For years, my life was contingent on feeling and watching a ticking clock, and now I just get to be free? It doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound fair on the woman I used to be, the one still waiting. He knows how I feel, he must, from the furrow of an eyebrow I know he’s got me pegged.

‘Remember the night before I left- the first time that is- and I kept going over lists, obligations and checking everything twice, I even meal prepped your food for months in advance. And you told me everything will still be here when I get back...’ He pauses to hold my face in both hands, brown eyes locked on brown eyes to make sure I was listening, ‘everything will still be here when we get back. If you don’t want to go that’s fine, we won’t, I’ll spend the next six months right here with you, and every day after that if you want me to. I’m tired of you being alone. But if you do want to go... We lock up, see the world and come back, it’s that easy.’ With that he kisses my temple -the most delicate part of the head – and climbs out of bed.

Honora and Theo promised to give all the leftover perishable foods to the family around the corner, they have seven kids and not enough to feed them all. They also ensured once a week every plant will be watered, all letters brought in, and the surfaces periodically dusted. The jumper Eilidh had made was beautiful, she told us wool is preferable when wet because it resists water and keeps you warm. She made it green, in case I miss the trees, and Caspian paid her double. I had hoped the air would be electric, brimming with something, as if it knew I’m leaving this time too. Everything was the same, same as it's always been and same as it always will. And I won’t be, I’ll go out there, replace my ships planks and come back me, but not wholly or maybe as more, and if Caspian’s with me the whole time who would notice the change, all of my red strings connect back to his.

It was half a day's journey to the port, and I felt it all. At some point my head was pulled to rest on his shoulder and every time the sun shone particularly bright he held a hand over my eyes to shield them. When we were close to enough to the sea to smell it, the briny tang light in the air, he came into himself, as if he swallowed sunlight, and grinned.

I hate this. Caspian told me I will at first, I haven’t got the familial love he has. A runaway father that was only 19 when he met his future wife at the port. The family was forcibly moved to a landlocked town when opportunities dimmed and Caspian's childhood was spending every holiday possible making the hours long treks to the beach, with just enough time to wiggle his toes in the sand and swallow lungsful of water when learning to swim, and when he was older it was learning how to sail with his father. Finally, it’d get too cold to continue so his mother would swaddle him in towels and place him on her lap, until he eventually grew too big for her, together they’d watch the sun set. He told me once that it was like the water was just a mirror and everything radiated pink and orange and golden hues until finally... darkness, and there was twice as many stars as usual. Then they’d go home and count down till the next summer. His love was intergenerational, it’ll grow on you, trust me. But it won’t, I hate this. I feel sick & disoriented, it’s too loud and quiet at the same time. Like when people move from a bustling city, heavy in smog and movement, to a quaint village, and there they find the crickets and pollen too much to bear. There was none of the sounds I was accustomed to and all too many of ones I wasn’t. I can’t even swim.

How did we plan for weeks and not think that I would need to know how to swim?

Caspian had finished prepping the sails and letting us go in the wind's direction, promising he’ll take us as far East as he can find – and then carry on. He had tried to explain all the terms to me, but words like ‘jib’ and ‘hull’ and ‘tiller’ easily slipped out of my mind like water. Instead, I stood by the helm and just watched him work, focusing on the beads of sweat running down his forehead and pushing supper down as far deep as it goes, as to not ruin this for him. When he had finished, he gave me the tour, showing me the saloon, where to cook, where to rest, where to pray, how to store in such a small space and when I was overwhelmingly exhausted from the information swimming in my head, he grabbed some pillows and blankets and led me back to the cockpit. There he prepped everything like it was our bed at home and laid down, gently pulling me down with him, our knees were bent awkwardly, and we were closer together than usual. That’s when I understood When I was younger my mother would bring me to visit her friends and after the initial gasps and hugs and ‘my how you’ve grown!’ they would largely ignore me to talk to each other. One of her friends, Mariam, had a baby boy that would sleep in a wooden bassinet pushed to the wall closest to where I was sitting, when he did stir, they’d finally address me again and tell me to rock him slightly, let him be lulled back to rest. Here, we were lightly rocked side to side by Poseidon himself and entire galaxies shining down on us, like a sleeping baby in a bassinet. I didn’t know there could be so many stars and still such a vast darkness. Caspian told me about the constellations he knows and the ones he’s made up, his own mythologies mapped out above us. And when I was too tired to listen, eyes drooping and his words bleeding into each other he tenderly held my elbow to help me up, shifting so I could rest my weight on him, and walked me to the bed, trying as best he could to push my dead weight into the cramped space. Leaving only for a moment to bring the pillows back in, before climbing into bed besides me.

The next morning, we stopped on still waters, and he taught me how to swim. In the afternoons, after I showed him my grandmothers' recipes for the cold, he tried to teach me more sailing terms and by the evening I’d read to him under the dimming light, I’d have to stop after a moment, too nauseous to read the words. It was a routine we near perfected in a month. I could tell he was happy; he was drowning in it. Shockingly, I was too, a saloon that smelled like garlic and spice, secured down potted herbs, dry storage spaces filled to the brim with my books, and his slow breaths when I should be asleep, was enough. On days the wind was too bad to pause he’d make me use the knots he taught me and shout what I need to do if we tip over, the exhilaration was more than anything I’d ever known.

Resources would run low, and he’d dock in the port of a country I'd never heard of, a culture unfamiliar and language unknown. With limited communication and lots of points & smiles we’d buy what we need and when our food was restocked, I’d ask to stay a few days more. We’d integrate ourselves in the local community and learn how to say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and plan to return in the holiday season. We’d make pocket communities across the world and relish in hot water and write letters to the people back home.

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Nine): Lazarus Rises

Notes: I’m on a roll with writing this. I’m honestly, a little nervous with sharing this chapter since i go more into Johnny’s backstory and like...my headcanon of it since CDPR gave us nothing. But hopefully it works. I also haven't written Johnny's voice in a while, so ahhhh. 

Word Count: 12098

Chapter Warnings:  Death, brief mentions of child abuse, drug use, alcohol, war, ableism, pov switches but not in the usual way.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

 Oblivion wraps around her like a blanket. 

There is no existence. 

No pain. 

No world. 

No V. 

No Aidan. 

Every anxious little thought, every guilt soaked burden; swept away with the reaper’s scythe. Years of running and death has finally caught her. 

Then all at once it seems to let her go. 

It's a flicker at first, neurons firing up again, rewriting and rebuilding themselves. No true sensation or senses; just existence. World still dark and lost to her, but not she is not lost to it, or some version of her isn’t. 

Pain hits her before anything else, a crack in her skull, or where her skull should be. She has no sense of her body, only the vague notion she exists and is in pain. And when every sense returns, the world coming back…. 

It’s not her own. 

There’s a fog around her, a fuzzy filter muting it all. Like trying to recall a memory from too long ago. And she sees and she hears, in a body that isn’t hers. She’s smaller, the world seeming to tower around her. A blazing sun burning overhead in the bright blue of the sky. Playing outside on a sweltering day with bruised knees and grass stains on cheap children’s jeans. A mothers voice calling for Robbie to come home for lunch. She catches a reflection in a puddle, there’s a blur to it, but the dirt smeared face of a dark haired boy looks back at her...at himself… for a moment. 

The world shifts and with it comes a pain she can’t truly feel, a belt whipping through the air and welting a back that isn’t her own. Vision blocked by skinny arms marked with cigarette burns, hiding a face from the next lash. A boot gnashing into his side, the thick fog protecting V from the pain he feels. When he clambers to his feet, spitting blood she can’t taste, despite seeing vignettes through his eyes. He walks through a musty home, where the floorboards creak and threaten to break under his feet. A mirror showing a dark eyed boy with a split lip. 

Then she’s watching the hands of this boy she doesn’t know, playing guitar. He plucks and strums at strings until they bite into his fingers, until he leaves them speckled with blood. And then he plays more. Gifted an acoustic, stole his first electric but forgot to klep the amp alongside it. 

Playing in a musty crowded garage with a young boy with olive skin. Each playing away on instruments, the sounds and words all muffled to V. The pair play badly until they play great, she doesn’t hear, but she knows… 

Tequila and cigarettes before he’s old enough to buy them. V can faintly feel the burn of the booze and the warmth of the smoke. 

Stealing anything that can be tucked away in his pockets. Spray painting every wall he sees. Cherry bombs in mailboxes, picking a fight with anyone who sets him off and most people do. The faint burning of anger in his chest, she can feel it as if it’s her own. In and out of detention centers, a system that can put him away for petty theft, but never lift a hand to stop his father... 

Military reps scouting out young, poor troubled boys, seeing nothing but canon fodder when they look at him. 

Knocking on the door and that same olive-skinned, dark haired friend answering. She can hear the words but knows what’s being said without them. Both fog and clarity. ‘Robbie’ is enlisting, off to say his final goodbye to Kerry, a name she doesn’t know how she knows. He comes running down the street after him, before ‘Robbie’ can get too far away. Neither old enough, children. One made of lank and the other with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. But the military knows boys can take bullets just as well as men. They need bodies, age irrelevant. Forged documents with Robert John Linder scratched across it. That name...

Blurs of training, a mop of dark hair shaved from his head. Separated from Kerry, stationed in different platoons, finding another friend who sticks by his side; both hardened by the military. Lank becoming muscle. Give optics, interface plugs, tech he doesn’t want, but they pry open his skin and put it in anyway. Anything to make him a better soldier. 

Then they’re in combat, muffled gunfire. People brutalized; shot, blown apart and chrome shoved into whatever remains; treated cruelly both by the enemy and the corps that shipped them out there. The heat of Mexico and the smell of gunpowder. Enemy ambush, the faint ting of a grenade hitting the ground. Then Robert is on the ground, shoved there and the body of a friend draped over his own. A heavy boom, shrapnel tearing through his left arm and size, burns across the skin. But nothing compared to his friend…  A grenade meant for him is taken by another, the pair rushed away to medical attention when the air clears. 

He wakes up without a left arm and scars across his torso, pulling tight at his skin. His friend gone, remains thrown out and tags offered to Johnny, the man who died for him nothing but a number, canon fodder in the corp’s war. Not even a day passes before they’re shoving chrome onto what’s left of Robert’s shoulder, eager to give him another chance to die for them. 

So, he runs, deserting and heading to a Night City that V has never seen. He climbs into a dirty motel bed and refuses to crawl back out, watching a ceiling fan turn until Kerry pulls him out. Older, more weathered, still young but neither of them quite the children they were before they saw the war. 

And music becomes his life. Kerry and him scream their words into any microphone they can find. Blaring concerts, they sound as if they’re coming from three rooms over to the merc, but she can feel the energy through the memory. Long nights writing lyrics and melodies. A band forming around them, three more members coming into the fold. Grimy smoke filled clubs and a cramped pathetic excuse of a tour bus. Shows that turn into riots. 

Cigarettes and tequila aren’t enough anymore. He pops pills like candy, snorts anything that will go up his nose, drinks everything but vodka, and fucks any pretty thing that looks his way. 

A woman with freckles and blue mohawk kicks his ass when she catches him balls deep inside a groupie. 

A blonde thrown into the back of a van. 

An anger and rage burning like wildfire in his chest. 

It all blurs and rushes; V never fully feeling what’s going on. All senses are fogged, seeing the snapshots of someone’s life through his own eyes. But she doesn’t feel linked, still distanced from it all. Barely able to think or decipher what she sees through the haze of it all. Just watching blips of a life not her own flickering by, with knowledge she shouldn’t have. 

Its the feeling of graffiti covered steel pressing against hands that first pushes through the fog. Hands that feel like they’re hers, but aren’t. One inked flesh and the other chrome. V can feel the body move as if it’s her own, but she has no command of it, muscles flexing to open double doors. Surrounded by the halls of a grimy little club. She can smell smoke and sweat, she’d gag but she can’t seem too. 

There’s music somewhere, muffled by distance but nothing else now. 

Fog lifted, she's both connected enough to it to feel everything, but separate enough to question what the hell is going on? There’s a tangled mess of emotions in her...his…. Their head. Her own fear, anxiety, mingled with a burning rage pitting in his core. 

There’s a girl leaning against the dirty wall of the club, watching V...or whoever she’s stuck inside of as they walk down the hell. A little smile playing on her lips. Thoughts flitter around V, in a voice that’s not her own. Chick’s cute enough, might of been worth a quick fuck, if he wasn’t rushin’ for time. 

“Hey…” 

V wants to ask her what’s going on, if the girl has any idea, what the girl sees when she looks at her. But her hands don’t move to sign and when she feels her mouth move, a different voice, different words, come out. The same rough voice that thought of fucking the girl in a dressing room. 

“Hey.” 

“You all right?” 

No, none of this is alright. V screams inside a head not her own, but she can feel the pride rolling in his chest, a smirk on his face. There’s an anger mixed with it, he’s going to settle a score, leave a mark. Those thoughts and feelings rattling around. 

“Never been better.” 

“Sure don't look it…’

There’s a scoff in his throat, she’s got no idea what he’s got planned. He continues around the corner, a man at the end of the hall standing before a set of double doors. The letters above say its backstage. Green hued fluorescent lights only draw attention to the grime as his boots click over the floor. That smell of cigarettes and sweat still hangs heavy around her, she thinks it may be coming from him, the man she’s playing passenger in. Oh god, that smell is him, isn’t it… 

What the hell is even happening? Dex killed her, didn’t he? 

“I can't let you on!” The man yells out at him. 

The fuck he can’t. His anger flares, a sliver left arm brought up, slammed into the guy's throat as he’s shoved into a wall,  a gun held in chrome fingers. There’s a mirror against it and V can see the man she’s living life through now. And those foggy vignettes press at her, he’s much older now. Face angry and with a scruffy beard, dark hair grown to his shoulders. 

His name was Robbie..? Robert.. ? Something, like that.

“Hey hey, we're chill,” the man begs ‘Robert’. He certainly looks too old to be a Robbie.

‘Robert’ lets the guy go with sneer, furious the guy would ever try to get in his way as he marches towards the doors. Abandoned music equipment and the music shoots in volume, a man blocking ‘Robert’ from getting up to a stage. Where four people play what sounds like older dad punk rock.

‘That smack, drag drunken roll

Chips are bashin' in my top

Ridin' high, my slots are shot

Metal burnin' beneath my skin

I'm chippin' in, chippin' in’

V would wince if she had control of her face, his face, does she even have a face anymore? The music is good, but painfully loud, something she could enjoy if only she could lower the volume. Phantom limbs she no longer has urge to turn the volume down on hearing aids that don’t exist. 

“Heh… 'course you're high.”  The bouncer in front of the stairs rolls his eyes at ‘Robert’ then steps aside.

‘Robert’ climbs up the short staircase, music painfully loud to V but exactly where he feels at him, bright lights down on him. A familiar face, Kerry from ‘Robert’s’ memories, is the one who sings. 

Until he’s pushed out of the way, gun still in ‘Robert’s’ hand as he grabs the microphone. Looking out into a crowd of people who stare up at him, an entire club room of people cheering and yelling for him. Shirts with tha bright red demon symbol, Samurai across it. Adoring fans, hearing his words, people who know his message, heard it loud and clear. Common men and women beaten down by the corps that rule their lives, that tear them all down for the chance to make an eddie.  And tonight he’ll show them all there’s a bite to his bark; he’ll make his mark, topple Arasaka and do what he should have done years ago.  

“Tonight I'm…” he pauses, leaving that mark may be the death of him, he’s damn near sure it will be, “I'm here to say goodbye to all of you.

And he begins to play to the cheering crowd, a final show before he changes the world.  V would cry out if she had the mouth to do it. Music shakes the venue, ‘Robert’ playing guitar and screaming lyrics into a mic, completely taking the show from Kerry. He channels his anger, his fury, into his music. Screams his rage into the mic. And it's a cacophony for the merc tucked in the back of his skull. She can feel her own stress and pain, but she also feels his energy, his love of this. Even through the anger, he knows that this is the place he belongs. 

This is hell, she thinks as he sings. The idea that every hell is tailored to an individual, everyone has their own personal idea of torment. This is her’s. She died and now she’s doomed to live in the head of some foul smelling rocker who plays nothing but music her sort of ex liked. Surrounded by loud sounds, foul smells, and no control. This is hell, her own special little hell. And she’ll be stuck here forever, for being an atheist or bi or a whore or a murderer… one of those did it. 

After an agonizing hour, the show closes down. More sweat is now clinging to her current vessel’s body and V mentally screams at him to take a shower, but no panicked thoughts seem to reach him. He’s completely unaware of her...presence… in his head. Sweat slick, ‘Robert’ puts away his axe and lights up a cigarette; smoke settles in his lungs, the cloying taste of tar sticking to his mouth. But there’s a relief in him, a tension leaving him, nicotine soothing him if only for a moment. 

Two women are settled down on the steps of the stage, in clinging tacky clothes. Groupies there to claw their way into the pants of anyone who’ll have them, entire fucking lives dedicated to riding the dick of someone more important than them.  Because playing fleshlight to a rockerboy is the closest they’ll ever get to making a difference in this world. 

“You're wastin' your lives, followin' us around like dogs.”

If she had hands she’d hit him. The women scowl at him, obviously taken back at the rockerboy talking down to them, like he hadn’t been thinking of fucking a girl just before the show. Like his eyes didn’t look over the curve of their asses and cleavage. If one of them asked he’d be inside of them in a moment, just has to make them feel like shit first. 

“What crawled up your ass?’

‘Robert’ sneers and rolls his eyes, walking past the stage. His fingers wrapping around the door handle, he was thinking about something he was going to do, toppling Arasaka. There’s a determination in his walk, a goal he’s marching off too, still hints of a soldier in his steadfast gait. The hell is he planning? How could some rockerboy take down a mega corp? There’s a faint but steady sound past the door, a whirring sound. 

“Johnny, wait up!”

He turns, answering to the name she hasn’t heard until now and it’s Kerry running towards him; chasing after him like he did all those years ago, when he followed ‘Robbie’ right to war. She’s not sure if it’s her or ‘Johnny’ remembering it. 

Kerry is older now than he was in the memories, though he looks younger than Johnny. A tall fluffy mullet of dark hair, a scraggly mustache, and a half finished sleeve of ink on his left arm. His hand wraps around Johnny’s wrist, pulling him the rocker closer. 

“Don't do this,” Kerry warns, “You can still change your mind.”

“Get over here man,” Johnny pulls Kerry in closer, a hand cupped to his friend’s face,“Fuck this band. Not your crowd, not your noise, do your own thing.’

They’re close enough to see the scar above Kerry’s lip and the freckles that dot his neck. Johnny taps his finger against Kerry’s chest as he brings his hand from the shorter man’s face. Kerry’s always cared more for the music than the message, more about fame than impact, Samurai more Johnny’s baby then his. But fears kept Kerry from chasing that solo dream as much as he wants, dipping his toes but never taking the chance to fully dive in. Kerry always needed a good kick in the ass to get where he needs to be, might be the last one Johnny can ever give him. 

“Bastard. Tsh… Gonna miss you something awful.”

There’s a softness in Kerry’s voice and smile, a fondness that only comes from lifelong friends. A soft warmth nestles in Johnny’s chest as well, for the first time she feels his lips pull into something she can almost call a smile. 

“See ya in the next life, friend.”

With that Johnny puffs on his cigarette and turns, leaving out the door, the whirring growing louder. The source of it shown; a helicopter landed outside the club, blades spinning and whipping up dust. A woman stands nearby, a wild teal mohawk, someone Johnny knows, fuzzy memories of a tumultuous past. 

“You're late,” she yells out over the sound of the chopper. Hands on her hips, eyes glaring at him. Always tries to play like she’s pissed, but never could resist him. 

“Love it when you're mad. Gets my southern blood pumpin',” he teases with a grin and V can feel the reality of his words, a throb in his dick behind his leather pants. And she doesn’t like that, her discomfort at feeling what it’s like to have a dick oddly mingling with his lust. 

“Get in. 'Fore I change my mind.”

Johnny makes his way to the helicopter, climbing inside, blades achingly loud. Two people already sit in the chopper. A man with chromed skin and fatigues, a woman fiddling with a computer. Her face is obscured by a helmet and visor, only black painted lips showing. 

“Silverhand,” the man greets him. 

Johnny...Silverhand… 

“Hey, Shaitan,” he greets as gears start to turn in V’s head, a head she no longer has. 

Johnny’s ex, Rogue, comes walking towards the helicopter as he turns back to the open doorway. Her name only known through Johnny’s thoughts skittering around her, but it sounds strangely familiar to V as well. Johnny extends a hand to help Rogue into the chopper, but she ignores him. Prideful bitch, he rolls his eyes. 

“Get us in the air,” Rogue yells to the unseen pilot, shoving a headset into Johnny’s hands, “here, put this on, and it stays on, got it?”

Johnny pulls it on and the helicopter starts to take off, the world falling further and further below them. The sign at the top of the club comes into view; The Hammer, Johnny taking another drag on his cigarette as Kerry steps out the back door. Silverhand flicks the out onto the cement as his friend watches the chopper fly off. 

As the helicopter flies through skyscrapers and towers, V struggles to take in where they are. Night City, but not. Towering buildings and screens blasting ads, par for the course in the city of broken dreams. But the ads are for products she hasn’t heard of or ones discontinued and no longer sold. The buildings look rougher, not quite the same slick clean look of the city she’s come to know. 

A city consumed by corps, a vile cesspit with ads as far as the eye can see, each desperate to wring out one last eddie from the masses. The entire system designed to crush people too apathetic to do a damn thing about it. Exploited, violated, used for a profit, and thrown out the second the corps get what they wanted. And the people just take it. No longer questioning why there’s no more farms, only land stripped for profits and nomads forced to abandon their homes. No longer questioning why real food is a rarity, why the priciest drink on the market is filth free water. No longer questioning why someone like saburo is pushing a hundred and the average Night City citizen won’t see forty. Corruption and apathy, best friends united to create the city of broken dreams. He’d burn it all down if he could, but truthfully can’t imagine himself anywhere else…

So… he’ll burn it all down, die for it if he must, and something better can be built in it’s ashes. 

A building in City Center holds a large holo-display showing the time and date; August 20, 2023… Fifty years in the past, the day Arasaka Tower was destroyed. And given his thoughts, she knows where Johnny is headed. That name, Johnny Silverhead, rattles through her. She’s heard it before, a few times. Half listened to conversations with Ava about music, where V would just nod and hope it earned her pity kiss. A name brought up by Jackie when discussing the tower being blown up, shots thrown back in… Rogue’s bar. The older woman with gray hair and the young adult with a wild teal mullet are one in the same. 

V is in the foul smelling, cigarette smoking body of a rockerboy turned wannabe terrorist on his way to set off a nuke that will kill over a quarter million people. 

“Piers're on fire. Pacifica's cut off, shut down. APCs on the streets of Watson,” Shaitan explains, stationed at the machine gun turret beside Johnny. 

“Sons of bitches.” 

“Skull-crackin' out there… that us?” A voice, the pilot maybe, asks over the headset. 

“Johnny's idea. Weyland's drawing Arasaka's attention away from the tower.”

“Collateral damage part of the plan, too?”

“This isn't the cub scouts, Thompson, Chew it up, spit it out,” Rogue tells him, no hint of fear or remorse in her voice as the chopper starts to come around a tower. 

A pillar of black metal with the Arasaka logo emblazoned at the top of it in silver. Levels of the tower get smaller towards the roof, from the distance there’s the bright red flash of holo warning signs forbidding entry. As they ascend higher and higher, the barrage of Arasaka soldiers and turrets atop the tower come into view. 

“Target range acquired.” 

“Make it rain,” Rogue commands and Shaitan begins shooting off the machine gun turret. 

Gunfire rings through the air, Arasaka soldiers yelling out as they fire back, automated turrets beginning to fire at Shaitan. The chopper stays rotating, hovering but never still, to avoid being shot out of the air as the chromed sniper works to clear the roof. Blood painting across the metal as Shaitan blasts through them. 

“Fuck!” 

Enemy fire, Arasaka fire, blasts through, Pinging against chrome and metal, practically sparking. A lucky shot, or three, ripping through Shaitan’s shoulder and he screams in pain, falling onto his back. Rogue yelling out as she kneels down to check on him, Shaitan convulsing in pain. 

“Taking over!”

Johnny takes over the machine gun, optics connecting with the turret sights. Arasaka soldiers flood the roof, nearly impossible to keep track of them; not even a moment passes before Johnny is firing off the gun. It's rapid and brutal, an onslaught as the reverberation of it shakes his body. But there is a hint of strategy beneath, taking out the automatic turrets first, blasting each one until they explode into shrapnel. Only when the final one is in sparks does he turn to the soldiers, Their sidearms can’t compare to the heavy fire. Blasted full of hole at rapid fire, blood and brains spraying. 

A body of corpses and shrapnel left across the roof. He pulls away from the gun, unzipping a duffle bag. A white constructed mechanism, wire, switches, and a giant nuclear energy warning across it. He’s about to plant a nuke in Arasaka. Fucking stop it, you idiot, all you do is cause more harm than good. She tries to scream inside his head, but nothing comes of it. The helicopter lowers down closer to the tower roof. 

“Murphy?” Rogue calls out. 

“Found our access point. Get moving.” 

“Johnny, remember the plan?” Rogue asks as Johnny zips the duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“Get the payload on the elevator,” he jumps from the helicopter, “arm it, let gravity do its thing. Explosion rocks the foundation, tower crumbles - chaos, screaming, roll credits.”

He pulls out a gun, a heavy duty pistol, Malorian Arms 3516, Last True Friend etched in it.He spins it between his silver fingers, flourishing and completely unneeded. It’s smartlink tech, synching with his cybernetic arm. And she can feel a sort of dampening of his feelings and emotions, that rage burning in his chest starting to simmer down, a colder more calculated anger taking over. 

Rogue and Murphy run ahead of him, across the roof, through the piles of bodies. Johnny follows behind them down a flight of stairs on the side of the building. 

“Exit window's gonna be tight,” Rogue tells him, brandishing her own side arm as she comes to wait by a door. 

“Jacking in,” Murphy connects a small computer into an interface, “Is grass green, do birds fly, do cats eat bats, do rats shit gnats?”

“Mainframe's not your playground, Murphy, c'mon. Evac announcement - broadcast it across all frequencies and let's get movin’.”

“Sheesh, who wrote this manifesto?”

“Really need me to answer that question?”

“Jesus, Johnny, you've gone of the deep end. And that's comin' from chairjock,” Murphy tells him, interface with a spider avatar drifting across the door, before it slides open. 

Johnny rushes through and down a flight of stairs as Arasaka guards running to meet him. He shoots the first in the head, point blank, brains splattering. The gun is powerful, devastating, sending a reverberation through Johnny’s silver arm. Enough that bone would have broken in the recoil. The guard no longer recognizable. 

The second guard stays further back, at the bottom of the second step. Johnny slams a trigger on the back of his gun, shooting flames out towards the guard. The man screams and staggers back, flesh burning as Johnny follows up with a shot through his chest. 

A third one follow, stumbling over burning remains, when three shots go through his skull, Rogue taking him down. The two continue down the spiraling stairs, stepping through blood and ash. The meet another guard at the end, who fires off his hand gun rapid fire. 

“Shred the whole fuckin' lot!”

The pair take cover behind the corner banister, Johnny reloading his gun with another twirl, before jumping back up. He shoots twice through the guards chest, watching the man fall in a bloody heap as they reach the end of the staircase. 

They go through a doorway and two more guards greet them, gun’s trained on the two edgerunners. 

“End him already! That’s an or-” 

The guard's yell is cut off by a bullet ripping through his shoulder, a second through his chest. His underling going down a mere moment later, with a headshot from Rogue; room cleared. Blood soaking into silver and marble floors. Johnny’s eyes focusing on the elevator across the room. 

“Murph?” Rogue calls out the netrunner’s name, her avatar showing on Johnny’s optics as she starts to hack the elevator. 

“She sought it with thimbles, she sought it with care, pursued it with forks and hope…” Poem finished, the elevator doors open.

“Johnny payload.” Rogue yells out, but Johnny’s already across the room, making his way to the elevator. He brings the bag down off his shoulder, placing it down, crouching,  and unzipping it. 

“Bushido II - bomb's name was what?” He asks, in a slow sly voice, entertaining at least himself if no one else. 

“Wrap it up, we gotta delta!”

“The ‘Demolitron’,” he sets the charges with a light hand, “we're good to blow.” 

He stands up and leaves the elevator, no hurry, only determination in him as he walks back towards Rogue. Like this is just a regular Thursday night. 

“'Saka elites incoming! Run for it!”

“Get the fuck out of there, Johnny,” Rogue yells as he steps away, “shoot the cables!” 

He does just that, blasting through the elevator cables, the carriage with the bomb dropping down through the lower levels. 

“Get the rotors spinning! We're on our way!” Rogue yells out to their pilot, but there’s something rattling around in Johnny’s chest. He’s got to save her.  It’s his only chance. 

“Not done yet still need to feed this to their subnet,” he waves a small handheld computer in the air. Rogue’s face twists and grimaces, infuriated. 

“I fucking knew it!” she swings her hand through the air, fingers clenched like she could strangle him, “This was never about "corporate colonialism" - this was about your groupie output wasn't it?!”

“Nah, you wouldn’t understand, Rogue.” 

“Givin' you four fuckin' minutes. Chopper's not gonna wait one sec longer.”

“Door lock breached. Arasaka sons-a-bitches incoming,” 

“Love you, Spider,” he jokes as he pushes through double doors, the woodwork of a lobby greeting him a moment before an armed guard can. 

“Whole world loves me.’

“Fuuuck!” He yells out, something between a frustration and excitement as he blasts a hole through a guard's chest. 

Johnny reloads before stepping out further, quickly having to pull back into the doorway for cover through the marble passageway. Two guards coming from a corridor on the left, a third from the right. The tower is made of rectangular balconies wrapping around, corners and curves to hide around. He fires around the corner at the guard on the left, taking a leg before a second shot takes their hide. 

A bullet whips past his head and he pulls back, guard coming to him, in front of the passageway. He slams his hand on the trigger, a plume of flames engulfing his enemy, before finishing them off with another shot. He rounds the corner and slams forwards into the third guard, knocking them off balance for a moment. Johnny swings his fist out, rings colliding against their jaw, they hit the ground. He fires a shot point blank into their head, continuing on his way. 

A staircase in the left of the room, across from the stone garden in the midst of the balonied section. He rushes up two sets of stairs, reloading along the way. It brings him to the upper level of the stacked balconies, a guard directly across the gap on the other side. The first shot Johnny fires splits the banister in front of the guard, the second shot rips through them. 

Three guards rush out from another room and Johnny pulls back, stepping down some steps, reloading. The movement forces the guards to come through the doorway, one at a time, letting him line up a shot that blasts through two at once, the third gagging as his friends' brains splatter and cling to his face. But he barely gets a moment to process before he’s dead too. 

Johnny runs up the stairs, stomping over corpses, as he goes around the corner. There’s a doorway that leads down to what looks to be a board room. One more guard down with a quick clean headshot, brains now sprayed across a vase of flowers on the table. He walks over them around the corner and towards a paneled wall. 

“Closing in on the access point,” he tells Murphy and the panel opens up, revealing a main frame. 

“Slot in.”

Johnny pulls out a little computer, stickers across the top of it. He flips it open and plugs it into the terminal. A little interface coming across his optics, Uploading Virus: Liberator.

“Sweet ICE-breaker,” the runner speaks up again, “Foreign, right? Just, wonder if we know anyone who can switch the subnet protocol…”

“Hilarious. You gonna help or not?”

“Do spiders spin webs? It's time we caught some flies.”

“Thanks, Murph.”

“Now, just for good measure…”Murphy trails off for just a moment, “Holy cybercow, we’re on TV! Take a look.”

A large TV mounted on the wall pings on, tuned to a news cast. Johnny shifts to the side to watch it. Brief clips of chaos flashing by in snapshots as the anchor talks over them. 

“And we turn now to Arasaka Tower, its evacuation ongoing after an unidentified terrorist organization released a manifesto threatening violence. The terrorists stating their desire to, quote-unquote, "topple a monument to corporate colonialism." Night City's mayor, Mbole Ebunike, has issued a statement declaring that he will bring the full force of the law to bear in response to any act of terrorism. Going now to our reporter on the scene at Arasaka Tower. Hopefully, he can shed some light on this situation as events unfold.”

People might finally wake up. There’s a swell of pride in Johnny’s chest, that this will finally send his message, finally change the world for the better. And V thinks of the rebuilt tower, now with remembrance monuments, but rebuilt and still standing proud fifty years later. The virus finishes uploading, Johnny unplugging his computer and tucking it back in his pocket. 

Took too long, but better than never. Stay safe, Alt. 

“All set. Now get outta there. They're movin' up! Hit the roof, quick!”

Johnny rushes through the board room and around the bends of the squared balcony, heading straight to the double doors on the other side. Just as he reaches it there’s a heavy blast, wood and metal shredding as Johnny is forced backwards. 

Pain shoots through his back as it collides with the floor, looking up where the door was blown through. A man stands in the destroyed remains of it. A tall man in heavily armored Arasaka garb, wielding a heavy duty shotgun. Cybernetic arms, a black cyberware jawed, and adornments of metal across his forehead. 

“Shit! That's Adam Smasher!”

Adam Smasher, the same borged out man protecting Yorinobu? He jumps down from the ledge, hitting the floor in front of Johnny with a heavy thud. He’s different than in 2077, more human, a healthy more flesh colored face behind the cyberware. Fuck, Johnny curses mentally and starts firing shots at Adam.  The devastation of his Malorian doing nothing as they fire into Adam’s cybernetic arms, the top of the line chrome holding up under each fire. 

“Johnny, run!”

He wants to fight, wants to teach Smasher a lesson the borged fucker won’t ever forget. Every fiber of his being screaming at him to stand and fight. But there’s a nuke on a timer, falling down to the depths of  the tower. There’s a helicopter getting ready to fly off. And while he doesn’t mind dying today, expects he just might, Rogue and Spider are waiting on him. He doesn’t need the last thing he hears to be their nagging… or for Rogue to make the chopper wait on him.  So, he swallows his pride, as foul as it tastes, and makes a run for it. 

Johnny pistol whips and shoots an Arasaka soldier on his way out the door, reaching the stairs back out to the roof. The door shuts behind him before any more soldiers can come after him. 

“Murphy!?” 

“Door's sealed, but it won't hold for long. Run, Johnny. Like the wind.”

He can see Rogue ahead of him running up the stairs. She should have been back in the chopper by now, she waited on Johnny. Rogue will bitch him out and nag until she’s blue in the face, but she’d never leave him behind.  Wrapped around his finger, no matter what he’s done. Johnny runs quickly up the stairs, to the roof, three steps behind Rogue as she jumps into the chopper, as it starts to lift off without him. 

“Johnny! Move!”

He jumps, grabbing Rogue’s outstretched arm, fingers wrapping tight around her forearm. Rogue tries to pull him inside to safety, when his fingers begin to slip. Something fires in the background a whistling noise, as his hand catches in Rouge’s, fingers twisting tightly together as she pulls. A boom rings out, hitting against the chopper with a spark and a shake, he slips right from Rogue’s grip, world going out from under him as she plummets back down to the tower roof. His back hits the metal with a crash, head bouncing against the cement, pain shooting through his body. Pain blurs his vision as the helicopter spins overhead, watching as the pilot regains control and they’re forced to fly off without the ill-fated rockerboy. 

Boots thunder against the floor around him, Smasher coming into view. Johnny’s silver arm shakes as he tries to reach for his gun, nerves on fire after the fall. Smasher throws down his heavy shot gun, kicking the gun away from Johnny’s fingers. 

“Smasher.” 

“Told ya, Johnny boy. Told you I'd end you someday,” Smasher all but snarls, a compartment in his cybernetic arm opening, Johnny’s staring down the barrel of the hidden weapon. 

Johnny holds his arm out, only for it to be shot, chrome sparking as it’s blasted. Vision going out as he passes out. It only feels like a moment, a blink and the world returns. 

The rattling of wheels against cement, strapped to a gurney. Bright and silver, a moon hangs high above the skyscrapers. Dirt and dust fly through the air, dancing around him like confetti. Faintly he hears sirens, hears screaming, hears cries. And when he shifts his head, to look further back, he can see the plumes of fire and smoke. 

“Yes, he’s still alive,” the Arasaka doctor wheeling him says, spoken in Japanese, but understood by Johnny...and by extension the merc tucked in the corner of his mind. Everything hurts, no other memory so sharp, so clear. Able to feel every bruise and cut, like she’s truly him. 

“Understood. We're en route,” the worker says above his head. 

And Johnny falls back into darkness again, unable to keep conscious, the sound of explosions and chaos erupting around him as he passes out. It’s impossible to know how long, black void blanketing it all, time losing its meaning and grip on them. 

It's a sharp slap across his face that wakes him back up, blood clinging to his lips. Blinking as he tries to take in his surroundings. He’s tied down to a chair, two guards standing before him. In a slick little room, a stretch of windows across the back wall, a bright mushroom cloud of destruction going off in the distance. Charge should have finished going off by now…

“Your associates - who are they? How did you acquire fissile material?” The guard questions him. 

“Gonna give good cop over there a chance to say something?  C'mooon…” Johnny sasses his interrogator, looking at the second quiet guard. 

Then the guard sucker punches him, knuckles slamming into Johnny’s gut with a sharp crushing pain. 

“Which terrorist organization do you belong to? How did you acquire fissile material?”

Another slap, backhanded and harsh against his face. His head forced to the side where he sees a man walking into the room; an older Japanese man, Saburo Arasaka. The corporate leader walks with his hands behind his back, a younger woman in all black following closely behind. 

“Old man don’t look too impressed with your efforts,” Johnny taunts. 

Saburo and the guards bow to each other, the old man speaking in Japanese, “leave us. I wish to look him in the eye.” 

“Hot damn,” Johnny rolls his eyes,  “done and gone.”

Saburo keeps his back turned to Johnny as the guards leave. The woman sets up a tech station by his chair. Her flingers click against a keyboard, looking at a screen before she finally speaks in a soft voice. 

“My husband died in that tower.” 

And Johnny’s stomach drops, pits with something akin to guilt. He can still see the burning clouds, the explosions in the distance through the window. Something went wrong, charges weren’t meant to be that strong. An evac announcement, charges just meant for the tower, a message. Not this. Casualties sure, everyone knew that was inevitable, but… 

“But there are fates worse than death,” the woman tells him, fixing a metal wreath over his head. Wires connecting it back to her computer system. 

“I… didn’t want him to die.” 

“Why did you do this?” Saburo asks in his native tongue. 

“To bring an end to the madness you wreak.”

“I have found that people lie, most often deceiving themselves. Not So the dead…”  

Saburo finally turns to face Silverhand walking closer, stalking closer. And Johnny spits at him, blood and saliva now sticking to Saburo’s face, red staining the wrinkled skin. There’s barely a twitch to the old man’s face as he wipes the spittle and blood from his face. Disgusted but not stopped. 

“Fuck you!” Johnny yells out for good measure, voice rough in his throat. 

“The dead are so very, very loud,” Saburo scowls, “And yet, lying is not in their nature. It is so… humbling - to listen to the dead speak… Begin.” 

The techie turns a switch and Johnny’s optics start to glitch, distort. Cyan fuzz piercing through the world as a UI screen appears. Soulkiller Primed: Commencing Engram Transfer. An crackle of electricity starts to course through him, a scream leaving him as his body convulses, Neurons cracking and frying as the world around his shakes, trembles, then finally cracks apart.

And V dies, not for the first time. 

Darkness overtakes him, near oblivion. Only the vaguest notion of existence, suspended in time and reality. In a cold black choking void. Enough awareness, just enough, to know fear. Overwhelming fear, terror, trapped under the thumb of Arasaka. Never knowing when, if, there’s an escape. Never knowing what can, will, or has happened. 

Time loses all meaning in digital purgatory. 

And then sunlight starts to breach through. A haze over his vision, like watching sunlight through fogged glass. He can see the sunlight but he can’t feel it, maybe it’s an Arasaka trick. Trying to convince him he’s free, that he’ll ever see the sun again, just to rip it away before he can ever feel it’s warmth on his skin. 

Then the view shifts, like someone turning their head, seeing the world through someone’s eyes. The sun beating down on a campsite, nomads, but their cuts and colors unlike any he’s seen. Not the Aldecaldos for sure, that much he knows. Might be some sort of experiment? Corps have never been above testing shit on people, nomads seen as less than human by most folks in the city, means they get away with it. 

Someone calls the name Aidan, a mother calling for her child, the girl...he’s seeing the world through That feeling that knowledge seeping into him. A tent with an older woman and a young girl, a mirror in the tent catches a reflection, showing him Aidan. A young sunburnt nomad child with dark hair and gray eyes Nearly identical to the other child he’d just seen. 

And in a blink, like a slide changing, the world changes again. Training sessions for the nomad kids. Taught to be strong. The kids made to fight each other, to spar, and losing meant going without food for the rest of the day if they were lucky. A beating if they were considered particularly pathetic. Some nights she won. Other nights watching other kids eat. The worst nights spent in a tent, mother rubbing salve on her injuries. 

She’s taught how to load a gun, repair an engine, and kill without shaking before she’s seen her seventh birthday. 

Members of the ‘family’ culled before everyone. Because they were sick. Because they were weak. Because they were a burden. They could drag the rest of the family down, The Herd must be culled so that they can stay strong. For the best of the family.

Gareth, an older man of the nomad family, gets sick. cancer running rampant in his body, treatment available but timely… expensive.  He’d sneak toasted marshmallows to Aidan on nights she’d be made to go without anything…. 

He begs to die on his feet rather than his knees like most cullings. 

His wish is denied. 

Aidan’s father forces a dying man to his knees, pressing a captive bolt pistol to the back of his skull and killing him in front of the family. For their own good. 

And one day, Aidan gets sick too. Johnny can’t feel it through her, through the snapshots, too disconnected. But he gets a rumbling of it through her. Body aching, head in agony, world constantly spinning enough to make her puke. 

She tells no one. Refuses to be the next one culled, no doubt her father’s rules apply to her. Her sister, the same age and near a picture perfect copy, frets over her as they go to pick through a landfill. Instructed to spend evenings in search of anything useful to the family, to earn their keep. A ringing in her ears, world spinning as the noise builds and builds until silence strikes and she drops to the ground. 

The world has gone silent. She wakes up in a med tent, but can hear nothing. A world of noises and chaos now silent. 

And a stone faced father comes barging in, he’s saying something, but she doesn’t know what.  Flinching in threadbare sheets, knowing the signs of his cold anger, but not what’s driving it, not how to fix it. Nails dig into her shoulder, dragged from the medical tent and out into the midst of the camp sigh. Vision blurred by tears. She yells out what’s happening, but can’t hear the words. 

But she knows the press of the barrel against her head, the touch of the captive bolt pistol, how they cull the herd. She was weak, defective, broken. Nomad family gathered around, watching her cry and scream, unable to hear herself.  Weak and pathetic before them all. 

Then a pair of hands grab her, save her, pull her away and into a hug. Her mother holds her tight, crying, screaming, then kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Whispering words she knows won’t reach her. Aidan is saved, she doesn’t know what’s said. What spared her life. But she’s allowed to live on. 

Her mother and sister learn ASL with her; the only two who never shun her, protecting her too much if anything. The implication clear whether in kindness or anger, she’s weak now. Defected. But her father expects her to work harder, to prove his mercy wasn’t a mistake. That this child earned her right to live. 

She earns hearing aids years later[ and cries when she first puts them in; the world is too loud, too painful. Aidan keeps them low and continues using ASL. 

A homeless teenage girl in a town they ransack; long dark hair and heavy makeup. Calls herself Avarice, they call her Ava. She tries to sign to Aidan and the young nomad girl is in love that easy, desperate for someone who cares enough to meet her even halfway. Despite it all, she begs Ava to join The Herd. Because maybe hell is more bearable when you’re in love. 

She’s dragged to the med tent one night, told she needs a checkup, no rhyme or reason. Knowing better than to fight her father when he’s barking orders. They sedate her, clan doctor holding her down and forcing her into unconsciousness. She awakes with a scar across her lower stomach. Sterilized. So, she’ll never pass along defective genes. 

The next snapshot doesn’t feel much longer after, older but not by much, a year maybe. When The Herd is swarmed by an rival nomad clan, one they’ve fucked over one time too many. Aidan trying to drive one of the cars to get her sister and mother away from the ambush. When a rival vehicle slams into them, a screech of tires, the gnash of metal. Eira and Aidan safe, but their mother is pinned between a caved-in door and the center console, bleeding where shrapnel pierces deep into her legs. 

Trapped until Aidan’s father and a group from the family find them, The three women pulled from a crushed vehicle, the mother the only one gravely injured. Aidan follows as she’s dragged to an emergency medical set up. 

Legs too damaged, it'd require a double amputation, prosthetics or cyberware. Easily doable. Nowhere near beyond saving if they’d act in time, take the time. But they never do, never truly will. Aidan begs for her mother’s life, like her mother did for her. For her father to have mercy just one more time. 

And the bolt pistol is put in her hands. She’s told to do it. To cull her mother, to be strong, to put the family above the individual. A test of her strength. 

She refuses, screams, and points the gun at him. And he mocks her tears, mocks the way her hands shake. He rips the pistol from her hands, she fights and pulls with him. But he’s over a foot taller, stronger, leaves her black and blue; crying on the ground with his boot on her back as he takes the gun and kills her mother. 

And once her mother’s body is burned to ash, she runs.

Years of traveling, towns across NUSA, some faces are kinder than others. Eira and Ava sent to track her down, to kill the traitor. 

Eventually she finds herself in Night City, but not the one Johnny knows. Newer, slicker, brighter. But the corruption and apathy remain, chrome even more common place than it was before. Folks more metal than flesh, every ripper doc with back alley tech. 

She meets a friend, Jackie, Johnny knows his name despite never hearing it. A big ‘tino fucker covered in gaudy gold chains who helps her settle in. Taken into his home. Merc work, scummy nothing jobs, merc janitors at best. Jackie pulls her into a tight hug, the nomad unsure of what to do as his arms wrap around her, face pressed into his chest. 

Then there’s a sharp pain, nerves and neurons firing off as everything is suddenly real. No haze or glass between him and her memories. Face tucked in against fabric, a chest, but there’s no warmth. No heartbeat. Arms wrapped tight around a body that’s cold and limp, one hurting like it’s been ripped open. They feel like his own, it feels like it’s his body. 

He can feel the movement of muscles, the beat of the body’s heart. How the face is twisted up with tears running wet and hot down the cheeks. It feels like him, but it's not. Smaller, thinner. 

No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie….

Thoughts not his own swim around his head, the voice feminine. What the hell is Arasaka playing at? Playing someone else’s memories, trying to make him sit in the backseat of someone else's life? An experiment, they going to try to twist him, fuck with his head?

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” An AI voice asks, in some tech cab with a bleached digital butler staring at her. 

He’s got to find a way out, there’s got to be a way? But how do you leave someone’s head? 

The body, her body, moves without his permission. Able to feel it like it’s his own and he can see just who’s corpse she was clinging to. Jackie… The same guy who took her in, now dead in the back of a cab. There’s a pit in her stomach, a tightness in her chest; he can feel her pain… 

He’s both separate and intrinsically connected, his thoughts and feelings distinct enough, but her own still overwhelming. 

”W-what?” She says...what was her name Aidan, Brayden, Hayden, some shit... Frat boy name on a nomad brat. 

She stumbles over her words, sounds like she barely knows how to talk, might be the blubbering. Fuck if he knows or cares. Her grief, while he can feel it around him, surrounding him from where he sits in her head, is her own. He’s got bigger worries, bigger fish to fry. Former nomad, now a merc, but that doesn’t meant she can’t be with Arasaka. Corps hire mercs, use nomads as scapegoats, all sorts of shit. She could be in on whatever the fuck this is. 

He’s just got to figure out what exactly the fuck this is, what Arasaka’s plan is. A way to get intel from him? Prodding at memories by seeing if someone else’s sparks something?

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family.”

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ” 

Her hands are stained with blood, her forearm has a gash down it. He can see the traces of Mantis Blades, one ripped out. Something happened, flashes of dangling off an Arasaka branded hotel, holding her friend up. Red everywhere, fighting Arasaka guards. Doesn’t mean she didn’t work with them, how else would they somehow plant him in her head, in her memories. 

She squeezes her friend’s shoulders and presses her forehead to his, feeling the cold of his corpse. 

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

She gets out of the back of the cab, she’s dressed like a corpo, he realizes when her eyesight catches her body. White blouse, stained red with blood, black slacks. Rain is pouring down on her, as she walks through a dirty alley. She doesn’t seem to notice Johnny’s existence, his presence in her head. Everything he thinks, tries to scream without a mouth, doesn’t earn him a response. 

Then again, if she is with Arasaka, might be told to ignore him. He’d be pulling his hair out if he had a body, if he existed beyond some former tarmac rat’s mind. She walks through a door into a filthy excuse for a motel, the No-Tell. There's chatter around them and he catches the rambling of a tv, something about Saburo Arasaka. But she doesn’t stay to linger, doesn’t let him fully hear it. Something about the old fucker’s life. 

But she’s at the door of a hotel room before he can hear much, bloodied knuckles knocking against the door. 

“It's V,” She says, knocking again when there’s no answer. V? Since when is she V? Where the fuck did she get V from? 

The door opens and a guy comes out, giant fucker around a foot or so taller than her, so was her newly departed friend. Which begs the question, how tall is she?

God, he’s stuck in the skull of some munchkin merc, isn’t he? 

Everyone, everything is… bigger. A hand on her shoulder, nearly the size of her head stops her from stepping forward. And he hates it, someone putting hands on him, controlling him so easily, he tries to force her hands to punch the ugly fucker. But it doesn’t happen, hands clenched at her side. How the hell does she fight anyone like this anyway, she’s half the height of everyone she meets. 

“He waiting.” 

V, Aidan; whatever dumb fuck name she has is allowed into the motel room. A man inside, puffing away on a cigar, watching the news. He can feel her worry swelling inside of her as she clears her throat, the man doesn’t look Arasaka. But the little runt of a merc has to be attached to them somehow. He’s not one to give Arasaka too much credit, be none if he had his way, but they’re not dumb enough to put his engram in any klepto punk’s head. 

Arasaka uploaded his engram, scorching him with Soukiller, he remembers that. Mikoshi is where they store them, digital souls tucked away, where they got the tech to play with the human mind. If she made it there, they had to have trusted her. 

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?” 

“He’s...dead.” Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips. Stuck in the whiny mind of an Arasaka asslicker, wonderful. 

“Condolences friend and the relic?”

The relic? Arasaka’s ultimate project, what they needed Soulkiller before. There’s always been a constant murmur about it, Arasaka looking to commodify the human soul. Must have finally rolled it out after they fried him. 

“Here,” she explains by tapping her chipslot, is that how he’s here? 

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…” 

“What?!”

But the relic, they advertised it like imaginary friends, or some shit. If he was on that, she’d be able to see and hear him right? Unless Arasaka fucked up… 

“Saburo Arasaka,” the man, Dex, paces, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!”

Saburo’s dead, old sack of shit finally kicked it… and Johnny’s in the killer’s head. Memories, her’s, creep up. Ones he didn’t get in the brief glitches of memories before. Saburo’s body, dead limp and collapsed on a hotel floor. Ripping the dogtags from his bruised neck. Means Johnny won’t get the satisfaction of offing the bastard himself.  

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-”

She stumbles and trips over every word; can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… He’d gag on her feelings if he could, a blubbering child, those memories may be a mystery to him right now. But he buys it, if he couldn’t manage to kill Saburo, he doubts some miserable little half pint could, chick can barely get a sentence out. Which means he very well may still be tripping around in the neurons of some shitty nomad turned bootlicker. 

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave Night City.”

“You don’t say.” 

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.” 

“A’ight, settle down, Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

She nods and makes her, their, way to the bathroom. Dex is going to trick her, pull some shit, Johnny can see it a mile away. Chick’s outnumbered, outstrength, if they think she’s a risk and Dex made it clear he does, he’ll drop her. But she doesn’t see it, walking into the bathroom and settling at the sink. The mirror lights up, showing her face, giving him the first good look at her since those foggy memories of childhood. 

He sees traces of that kid; gray eyes and her face is soft. Young, delicate, but with a heavy layer of blood coating iit. 

Her blood and Jackie’s.

He can taste the bile in her throat, as if his own, can feel the burn of it and the churn of her gut as she pukes into the sink. It's not the first time he’s ended up with the taste of someone elses puke in his mouth, though it’s her mouth, he supposes. She pushes her bleached blonde hair off her face as she retches, streaking blood through it. 

If she would have refused the job. 

If she had gotten them up the ladder. 

If she had been stronger. 

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker. 

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid. 

He tries to shut it out, the knots in her guts, the ache in her chest. Her thoughts spinning around her head and what feels like his. Surrounded by the feelings of another, he can’t fucking live like this, there’s got to be a way out. 

She washes the blood from her hands and face; Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job.

Can she fucking hear him? He tries to mentally scream at her, he’s going to find a way out of this, if he has to claw his way out of her damn head! Slamming him in the head of some grieving merc, that Saburo’s idea of a sick final joke? Making him feel someone else’s pain meant to make him talk? Meant to give everything away? If hell exists, Saburo better be burning or Johnny will set the son of a bitch on fire himself. 

Nothing works, nothing seems to draw her attention. Johnny thinking to a void as she leaves the bathroom. 

She’s punched clean in the head as soon as she steps out the door, to the surprise of no one but her, the rattling of her skull and shock of pain hitting Johnny like it’s his own head. The merc is knocked to the floor and a boot kicks into her gut for good measure. Her head stomped on, beaten to the ground like all five feet of her is a truly dangerous threat. 

“Can’t risk it, V,” Dex levels a pistol with her temple as she writhes on the ground, “‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.”

And Dex pulls the trigger, a bang in the dirty motel room as he fires a shot into the merc’s head. Agony and terror, gagging on blood, darkness, cold, and fear… then nothing. 

And Johnny dies, not for the first time. 

Death relived, but through the eyes of another. The bullet hits. Soulkiller scorches. And the world around the two rewrites at the moment of their second deaths. Reconstructs and digitizes. A liminal space within the net. Structures like the squared mazes of balconies and stairs within Arasaka Tower of 2023. 

But everything made up of digital matter, pixels of color collected loosely to form the shapes against a black backdrop. Nearly everything a shade of blue, but hints of red bleeding through. 

Nothing moves or feels like reality, floatier, less certain. And it all moves, pixels twitching, it all shifts, all seems… alive. 

That where V finds herself, dying again but through Johnny, an echo of the pain from his torture still seeming to stick to her. But when she looks down, it’s her, but not. Like the world around her she knows seems to be constructed of these pixels, data, a bright red hue to her But it all forms to be her. Her arms, her painted nails, her freckles, her scars. They move with her permission, no one else’s. 

But what is happening? 

The biochip, maybe? But it’s meant to show someone like an imaginary friend, not put you in their lives, then send you to the net. At least she thinks this is the net, remembering descriptions Bug had given her. And by all intents and purposes, she should be dead. 

Data around her shakes, reverberates, brightens and stretches across the hall around her. There’s a thrum to it all, that she can hear, no physical limitation in the net… Then it stops only to reveal something new. A flash of bright red, standing out in a sea of blue data. It forms the shape of a person, composed of red data and negative space, their back to her as they lean forward on the banister. 

V signs from instinct, but finds no translator, forcing her to speak, “Hey!” 

She rushes towards the figure, they don’t answer her call, maybe they know what’s happening? But as she gets close, they push off the banister and turn. Their figure blurs as they move away from her, but she sees a closer glimpse. 

It’s a man, not as tall as Jackie, but still over a foot taller than her. Shoulder length dark hair and what looks to be the outline of sunglasses on his digital form. Even in the strange form, she recognizes him. The man’s who’s death she just lived, moment after her own. Johnny Silverhand. He blips away as he turns. 

The flash of red, his form, now further away, on the stairs of the lobby. 

“Hey, sir!” she calls out again, trying to sound vaguely polite as she rushes towards the stairs, he has to know what’s going on. He stands from the stairs and blips away just as she reaches them. 

She runs up that first set of steps seeing his form sitting on the second, “Johnny!” 

And he’s gone as soon as she reaches him, like they’re playing some sort of game, does he not hear her? She knows damn well he’s not deaf, if she can hear in this place, he should be able to. She reaches the top of the stairs, reaching another balcony railing, him around the corner on the adjacent side of the square floor. His back is to the banister, hands on it. Paying her no mind. 

“Robert!” She yells his full first name, remembering seeing it scrawled in chicken scratch across an enlistment form. But she turns the corner and he’s gone. 

But when she turns her head she sees his back again, down a narrow passageway made of more negative space than blue data. She walks across the negative space, hands skimming the data that forms it’s walls, each step taking her closer to him. She heard three different names, unsure of which may earn her an answer. 

“Robbie! Robert!”

Neither name spurs a reaction, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. Only stands at the end of hall, shifting in pace,  as she continues her way to him. And she stops when she’s within arm’s reach, he hasn’t blipped away, hasn’t ran off.  Able to see fully now, the red data particles that form a bullet proof vest, the cyberware left arm. V reaches out and taps a finger against his shoulder. 

“Johnny?” 

He turns to face her and she doesn’t know if she should feel relieved, or terrified. 

“And you? Who are you?” 

Her answer catches in her throat, mouth half open when it hits. White hot blinding pain ripping through every nerve, head and world shattering as she screams. Like she’s been torn open, every part of her stripped raw and set on fire. Everything vanishes from her sight as she cries out. 

V’s contact UI blips, blurry as data fills it, system reboot. Her senses return to her, slowly and steadily as systems reload. The arm her blade was ripped from burns, open nerves exposed to the air. Her head feels shattered, aching as if it’s been broken apart. There’s a stench of trash and filth around her. There’s a weight on top of her, heavy, firm, crushing down onto her lungs. The warmth and stick mess of blood clings to everything. Caked across her skull, down her neck, her arm. 

The diagnostics flicker away, but her vision still struggles. A cyan fuzz clings around and distorts it all. Her depth of field is cut off, half her vision seemingly gone. Not aided by the fact that it’s dark, looking around she can see trash thrown atop her. a cold sheet of metal lays on top of her. Metal and plastic of discarded goods lay beneath and around her, jabbing uncomfortably into her flesh. 

A landfill, if she were to wager a guess, Dex tossed her out like trash. How is she not dead? How hasn’t she bled out?

She doesn’t know the answer, but she knows if she doesn’t do something, she’ll die anyway. Favoring her left arm, the right still damaged, she pushes up on the sheet of metal. Muscles scream in protest, pain shooting through them as she forces herself to put her weight into it. And she rolls it off of her and she can breathe a little easier, move a little better. A bit more light allowed on her. But she still can’t see very well, like her right eye is closed. 

Tempting fate, she presses her hand to it, sees nothing, when she closes her left. The world goes black. She touches the lid, feeling the blood that mats her eyelashes, she pries her eyelid open with her fingers. Nothing. Down a blade and an eye, she needs to move. Vik can fix those, he can fix this. 

She shoves a TV off of her legs, twists up s to see the sky. Silver and orange light color the world, moonlight and fire, plumes of dark smoke coming from somewhere she’s in some sort of pit or ravine within the landfill, a wall of dirt and trash around her. An upward climb to save herself. 

V forces her body to move even as it aches and screams in pain, forces her shredded arm to grip even as she can see the tendons twitching through the mangled remains of it. She forces blood soaked fingernails to dig into dirt and grip abandoned pizza boxes for traction, slips her aching feet in between wires and appliances for foot holds.

“Fuck!” she screams out loud, but can’t hear it, as she loses her traction and starts to slip. She extends her left blade, sinking it into the wall of muck and trash. Her right arm stings, throbs, begs to release a tool it no longer has. 

She uses her blade to help pulls herself, dragging herself up and up with every sink of it into the muck. V’s thankful she’s lost her hearing aids in the process, hell maybe Dex stole them back to recoup some losses, but it means she can’t hear her own curses, her own groans of pain, her own rattling breaths with bruised lungs

And she reaches the surface. Rusted remains of god knows what surrounds her and a trashcan fire burns not far away, but she’s out of the pit. She pulls her feet under her and she tries to stand, body shaking, swaying, trembling with blood loss and pain. 

But for a moment, she rises.

She stands, looking out across the landfill of trash, cyan fuzz still glitching around her,  and for a moment...maybe she’s okay. Maybe she can walk out of this, find Vik, maybe she can be okay. 

V collapses with the next step, body all at once going out from under her, mocking her hope. Mocking her moment of stupid fucking hope as her back meets the mud. It mingles with blood, collides with her gore, and sticks to her open wounds. She lays there in muck, just breathing, her lungs ache with the strength needed just to do that. Each one feels fainter than the last. Her eyes start to close, feel too heavy, her right one might very well already be shut… she wouldn’t know. A mangled mess of who she once was, now laying in filth, surrounded by trash. 

Maybe she’ll not move again… maybe this is a fitting end. A childhood of scavenging landfills, thrown in a dumpster her first night in the city, and dying in a landfill; maybe the world has been trying to tell her something all along. She’d never have to face Mama Welles, Misty, or Vik; never have to tell them she failed Jackie. Maybe she’ll just let all go, never even have time to grieve, maybe it’s best to just let it all go… 

“Wake the fuck up, Samurai. We got a city to burn.” 

A rasp of a voice rings out and she gasps, opening her eyes. A man kneeled over her, one she knows well, but he’s no longer digitized and she’s not looking through his eyes. Silver fingers pull his aviators off of his face, dark brown eyes scrutinizing her. His form isn’t solid, glitches like old vhs footage. 

But...

She heard him. 

[hollyhomburg]

Dream a little Dream of Me (KNJ)

Summary: Sometimes being in a long distance relationship isn’t so bad, other days Namjoon wakes up and misses you so bad he almost feels like it will summon into existence (and the one time it actually was) 

Word count: 9.3k

Tags: Long distance relationship au, Fluffy smut, Namjoon makes sweet (and slightly blasphemous) love to the reader, oral (M. + F. receiving), light spanking, mostly vanilla accept for the dirty talk, unprotected sex, cock warming, Namjoon is hung af and he has a bit of a size kink so he likes it. 

Song Rec: BTS – Home 

A/N: this one-shot was inspired heavily by the song Tokyo! I started writing it way back when mono first came out which is why it is set in the past! I hope you guys like it!

Waking up to you is Namjoon’s absolute favorite way to start the day. 

There are a few sublime moments- the skin of your fingers along his lips, the slight brush of conditioned hair, soft at the ends brushing his face and the shifting of a familiar weight across his lap as you sling your legs over his. the weight of your body and he feeling of your soft skin pressed against his that rouse him gently from sleep. He wakes up and groans, but keeps his eyes closed, a hand coming up to rub against your back as he steadies you where you sit across his lap, peppering kisses across his bare chest.

“Good morning sleepyhead, or should I say afternoon,” your lovely lilting voice says against the skin just below his jaw. Maybe today is a Saturday or a Sunday or a Monday, he could have work in an hour or in five minutes but that he is not going to get up from this spot no matter what, not for anything. He hums a hello against your lips. All he wants is to spend the rest of time wrapped up in your arms, eyes closed against the early morning sunlight, idyllic and all too yellow behind his eyelids. 

“Namjoon” you slur, sleepy, fingers running across his collarbones and making him shiver. He’s a little too cold for the warm summer light streaming through that window, his hands tighten on your warm body.  “Namjoon?” your voice strengthens deepening far lower than it should be, and then he’s knocked out of the dream ripped away from you by someone’s hands on his shoulders, larger and rougher, and definitely not his girlfriends. 

“Namjoon you need to wake up,” Seokjin says as Taehyung rips back the covers out of his hands, where he’s been clenching at them, waking up Namjoon with the cold draft of air. Namjoon sleepily opens his eyes, And he takes in not you, not his bedroom or yours on the other side of the world. No sunlight only cold Tokyo in the middle of winter. 

He’s still half asleep, hand still reaching out for someone who’s not even in this country let alone this side of the world. The lingering endorphins from the brief Sleep paralysis makes him feel like he’s still asleep before he crashes down to earth.  “Namjoon- oh my god- get up we have to go.”

“What?” Namjoon mumbles still reeling from sudden wakefulness. His legs and arms feel like pins and needles. Like he left them in the sunny morning with you halfway in-between the dream world and here. The crushing reality of a long distance relationship: that dream is the closest he’s going to get to you this month. 

Taehyung sighs, annoyed. “Wheels up on the jet in 50, we need to leave in ten and you’re still not packed” Namjoon curses and Tae starts piling his things into a suitcase with little regard for any order as Seokjin tosses him a pair of pants and his cosmetic bag that holds the stuff for his morning routine. 

“Why didn’t you try to wake me sooner?” Namjoon asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Jimin did,” Taehyung says helping their leader pack away his laptop, “you just wanted to sleep still” that’s right, he’d been up into the early hours of the morning working on his mixtape and that was the reason why he felt so out of sorts. There wasn’t another reason, the little bit of his chest that had tighten when he’d woken up again and found you not next to him, again, for the nth time this month, of course not. 

He checks his phone half a dozen times for a text message from you in-between the ride to the airport and takeoff, checking and double checking the time where you are. You’re still at work and your current workplace has a strict no phones rule. But his phone still feels heavy in his pocket even as their private jet readies for takeoff. His numbness lingering even as he gets on the plane and watches the ground falls out from underneath him. 

Most days, your long distance relationship was an unintended consequence of both of your busy lives. You both kept in contact as much as possible through your days. But times like this when Namjoon was on tour were extra difficult for both of you when the variance in his schedule made it impossible for you to fall into your usual routine of calls. He’d talked to you late last night of course, as you’d been waking up to go to work. 

Namjoon tried his best he really did, but sometimes, like today, the distance between your two cities got to him. He waits during the long plane flight anxious until he gets the chance to just talk to you again, not even see you. The jumpy feeling of wanting to sleep never quite leaves his bones during the flight. 

He steals himself just as they get off the plane back in Seoul at 11 am when you should be just getting out of work. He calls, and you don’t pick up, and he feels himself crumple further.  Fuck- he just- he really wanted to talk to you after last night, maybe tell you about his dream like he always did.  And he wanted to hear your teasing voice over the phone teasing him about having his head in the clouds, and then his rebuttal (a constant inside joke between you two) ‘good thing your head is up there too.’ 

Namjoon can’t wait to sleep as he watches Seoul creep by in the car, caught in morning traffic, unable to find rest in the constant jostling. Next to him Jimin clicks away on his phone rapidly turned away from Namjoon. Though he does send the elder glances every few minutes. “Are you okay Joon?” Jimin asks, setting his phone protectively in his pocket.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Namjoon won't bother trying to explain to Jimin about missing you. Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend, only a few long-distance hookups like the rest of the boys (besides Jin whose girl was waiting for him back at the apartment complex, their apartment right next to the dorm). But Jimin gives him a sympathetic glance regardless, ever the empath. All of the boys know how much Namjoon misses you on the daily, have long since stopped teasing him whenever he looks at his phone, smiles at his phone, or insists on calling you the second they get back from a performance to update you on how it went.

“Do you miss her? When I came you’re your room earlier you were saying her name.” 

Namjoon flushes at that but nods, unashamed of his love for you even if it is a little embarrassing. “I miss her every second, and I guess even in my dreams too” he chuckles uncomfortably and scratches at the back of his neck. The words are so true that the dreg up this offal crushing bitterness in his chest. It’s strange, the cloying feeling of homesickness even as he’s just gotten to the city he’s lived in for most of his life. 

“Aren’t you going to go visit her soon? Do you have any trips planned?” Jimin types out a message on his phone after he asks the driver how much longer it will be until they get home. 

Namjoon shakes his head, “no not yet, her current assignment is a little more demanding than her last and she doesn’t finish out her contract until the end of the month.” 

He checks his phone again to see if you’ve gotten out of work, finding nothing, decides that you must have decided to work late again. He sends a quick text reminding you to grab some dinner and take care of yourself and ignores the texts from his family asking him over for dinner tomorrow night. Shoving away the bitter frustration budding in his chest. 

At least he’ll have time to sleep over the next few days, they have the next 2 weeks off, a rare stretch of free time that Namjoon was fully intending on using to relax.  Maybe after the first few days, he could do some more work and finally finish his mixtape. Hopefully, this bad day won’t just be another in a string of them like they are sometimes.

He can hope, but things look bleak as they return to their dorm and Namjoon feels no excitement or joy at being back. They unload the vans of their luggage that's a little dinged from the tour. Dome of the staff stays to help- but there isn’t all that much to unload. 

Namjoon checks his phone again on the way up the steps and inside the apartment, missing the suspicious looks that Jimin and the others cast his way as he gets closer and closer to his room. Jimin hovers in particular, Taehyung almost says something and Hoseok barely stifling an excited anticipatory laugh. Jimin signals to him behind Namjoons back with a murderous look to stay quiet or else. He opens his door still looking at his phone, it not bothering to look up.  

“What are you doing Joon?” you ask

“Just trying to text you” and then he does a double take, not believing his eyes because you’re standing there, wearing a shit-eating grin on your face, definitely not on the other side of the world. His phone slides out of his hands and thuds face down on his bedroom floor as you give a guilty grin and have the Gaul to say, “Surprise?” 

He shouts your name, suddenly more awake than he’s been all month. Stumbling forward into your arms on unsteady legs, he picks you up and spins you around. You yelp at the sudden feeling of weightlessness gripping his shoulders. Your strong boyfriend who doesn’t know his own strength especially when he’s excited,  crushing you to his chest and lifting you like you’re a paperweight.

“Oh my god! How are you here!?“ he says, suddenly overwhelmed as he breathes in a deep breath and gets all of you, the smell of your favorite vanilla and flower perfume and the conflicting scent of your shampoo, the feeling of your body pressed up against his this time real. He sets you down but doesn’t let go, pulling away so that he can kiss you, thankful and happy and smiling wider than he has all week. Feeling your lips slot together with his like two puzzle pieces finding their spot. 

He’s barely aware of the others by the door, disappearing after giving Jimin a high five for pulling off the surprise, shouting hello to you before they disappear and give you your privacy, not that you’re paying attention to anything other than Namjoon. 

And oh, Namjoon almost melts at the taste of you, his arms squeezing you need to reaffirm that you actually are here. That this isn’t just another dream. That he wasn’t going to wake up on the plane and be alone again. It’s so much better than any dream, lucid or otherwise that he could have, suddenly has him feeling all kinds of fragile under your hands. 

He doesn’t realize- until he pulls away from the kiss, keeping your foreheads pressed together, breathing out a light relieved laugh- that he’s actually crying. Happy tears tickle his cheeks and his dimples as your hands run through his hair, smoothing over his shoulders that have relaxed incrementally from the tight frustration he felt earlier. 

Your eyes aren’t dry either “Oh Joonie” you say, the same second he bites his lips, trying to keep the tiny happy sob from welling up, blinking away tears even as he feels them slipping over his cheeks to linger in his dimples. 

“I missed you so much baby,” he says, nuzzling his nose in yours with an Eskimo kiss, “so fucking much-“ the next words running over his tongue in a flash, “when did you get in? How long are you going to stay? If you had told me you’d be here for work then I would have-“ 

Even as he rambles, assuming that you’re here as part of your current assignment all he thinks is please, let it be for a few more days, let it be for a week. Even though he knew that you leaving would be so much harder, having you here always reminded him of what he was missing but he never cared, never minded one bit even as it got harder and harder to part with you. 

“Two weeks,” you say with a smile (not that it’s dropped at all since he walked through his bedroom door). 

He freezes, “you’re kidding!” you’ve never stayed for more than 10 days at a time, you’ve never spent that long in each other's arms and now-now Namjoon is going to have a full uninterrupted fourteen days with you and he won't even have to work! He could glow with how excited and happy he is. 

Jimin leans against the doorway, his facemask pulled down around his neck,  “Glad you got in okay Y/n”  you grin at Jimin, suddenly Namjoon remembers the way he was hiding his phone in the car, “oh you little sneak-“ Namjoon starts to curse, still smiling. 

“I had to have one of them give me the key code” at the same moment Jimin says, ever the bratt “-come on if you’re not going to use these two weeks off to the fullest you’d have a literal meltdown” with a roll of his eyes. 

Jimin is kind enough to close the door on the way out, giving you your privacy, You’ll say hello to the others in a minute, or maybe a few hours, or maybe tomorrow, He closes the door, lumbering over keeping you by his side; his hands come up to cup your cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here” 

He kisses you slowly on either side of your cheeks, then your nose, then finally when you’re practically leaning up on your tippy toes- your lips. His hands squeezing your hips running up and down your sides, pressing kiss after kiss there, even as they shift from thankful and sweet to more heavy. 

You suck his lower lip as he groans into your mouth. His hands find the spot between your ass and your legs, hefting you up to wrap them around his waist before he walks you over to the bed, still kissing you and sets you down. Pressing forward even as you do to kiss you into the sheets until you’re dizzy and panting with it. His hands hungry and searching under your shirt as you pull him closer by his belt buckle. 

When he finally parts from your lips he’s panting, your chest heaving unevenly too, he rests his forehead against your collarbone kissing your sternum as he pulls up your shirt.

 4 months- it’s been 4 months since you’ve been pressed to each other in your most basic forms since you’ve been at your most intimate and since you’ve last made love. And you’re loathed to be denied that another minute now that you’re in each other's arms. Namjoon needs you like he needs air right now, is almost shaking with the way your core is pressed up against his. His hands just can’t get enough of you as he squeezes and strokes and exults in the simple pleasure that your body brings him. 

“I wish I’d had time to book us a hotel and everyone’s here- but fuck, I need you,” He says in between your peppered sweet kisses. Pressing another kiss along his jaw, sucking a little then harder when he urges you with a hand running through your hair. 

It’s not often that you both get to be so sloppy with your loving, usually, you have to be so careful to be gentle not to tempt a single bruise, but now you can bite and mark as much as you want. Any hickeys won't matter and will be healed by the time he has to go in front of a camera.

 Namjoon almost wants to sigh with the release of it.  his neck is sensitive, his shoulders and his chest too as you suck along his collar “I can be quiet,” you murmur looking up at Namjoon with sultry eyes that make lust spark in his gut. 

Pulling away though, half laughing at your words, unable to not grin at them because if they’re one thing you’re not it’s quiet. “Baby that’s a lie- you can never be quiet” he purrs, as if to prove his point, he rolls his hips forward languidly, letting you feel the length of him through his jeans already hard. The action makes you yelp and groan, the feeling so deliciously welcome after so many months apart. 

“Should I gag you like we did that one time in Paris? Or can you be good for me?” he punctuates this with another hard roll of his hips, teasing you even though you’re already worked up enough, he’s so hard in his jeans it’s almost painful. You and Namjoon get up to kinky shit just as often as any other couple, but despite his words, right now he wants to hear and savor you. 

“The shower!” you almost moan gripping onto the front of Namjoon’s shirt like you couldn’t bear to be parted with it, “they might not be able to hear us in the shower,” Namjoon and you scramble off of his bed. He catches glimpses of your smile when you shuck off your shirt making him blush and he feels like a teenager again, about to lose it for the first time. 

He shoves off his shyness and sits on the toilet as you turn the water on, waiting for it to get warm, Namjoon tugs you closer in-between his legs, now that he can see all of you run his hands over your back and your ass, over the swell there and feel that weight in his hands, your body hasn’t changed much over the last few months. 

Every time you leave, Namjoon is worried that you’re going to change a little, and that slowly that change will add up and suddenly one day he won’t love you as much, or more likely, you don't love him anymore. But having you in front of him always makes him realize how stupid it was to think that for a second. It was always going to be like this with you. 

You’re a little unnerved to be so bare before him, struggling against shyness he not cross your arms over your chest as your hair spills around your face, when you finally slip your underwear off to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. the sudden ravenous heat died down and tenderness taking its place. 

Hand hands tease your ass, spanking once twice, just to see you inhale sharply. he imagines the pink peeking under your skin and wants to make you flush red with love for him. 

Namjoon is nearly breathless with how beautiful you look to him, how perfect you are in his bathroom after you both just took flights, and probably look less than your best; he’s aching with it all up and down his chest, the affection growing like flowers carefully nurtured by your love and blossoming further within him.

“God, I love you,” he says between the kisses he peppers kissing down your stomach stopping to reach the top of your mound, “there isn’t an inch of you I don’t love.” 

“Good to know you view me as a god, love you too” your smirk is cocky, and god, it makes Namjoon want to wreck you. You add as an afterthought even though it’s anything but. Even if it’s playfulness the words are heavy, and Namjoon would never stop for a moment to wonder if you meant it. he knows you love him, feels it in every fiber of his being. 

Namjoon makes you swallow that teasing retort by standing gripping you under your thighs and surging upwards to set you on the bathroom counter next to the sink, he pulls you forward roughly, manhandling your legs and squeezing your calves with his hands. 

As a firm atheist Namjoon has always found eating you out to be a religious experience. You’re his love after all, and your body- your being is the only thing that’s ever captivated him like this. 

He takes to you like a sinner would to prayer, and gets on his knees to worship you.

The glistening stain of your arousal turns the tops of your things sticky, he runs his thumbs through it and drags them to his mouth, keeping eye contact with you even as you shiver when he makes a contented hungry noise in the back of his throat at the taste of you.

Namjoon finds himself lapping up every little bit of it too eager to be quite as gentle and as careful as he usually is with you sucking roughly on your clit. The taste of you is ingrained in his memory and makes him slowly lose all composure as he half growls-half groans against your core. Fuck, he forgot quite how good it was, how the heady sweetness of your sex made him ravenous, he holds down your hips to the edge of the sink, looking up to see your lips parted and bitten, eyes glassy in the way that you get when you get drunk on pleasure.  

Your moans are strangled behind a hand in an effort to be somewhat quiet but Namjoon doesn't care anymore let them hear. He reaches up pin it back to the counter and laces it with his own, squeezing softly.

Namjoon feels your entrance flutter around his lips as you whimper, and he rocks his hips searching for friction as you thread your other hand through his hair instead of gripping the edge of the marble counter for support, like you need to anchor yourself against the onslaught of Namjoon’s tongue and sumptuous mouth at your core. 

After so many months of missing his touch, you’re so sensitive, your legs shaking as he licks broad strokes up and down your core, suckling teasingly on your lips and your clit alternating to really get you shaking. Your entrance flutters around his fingers when he slips just the tips in, teasing around your more sensitive opening rather than dip inside just yet. 

Despite the fact that he wants you so bad he might just cum in his pants (and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d cum while eating you out) he feels the need to savor you, to drink you down slowly and carefully orchestrate your breaking as slowly and as lovingly as possible. He feels your entrance trembling to be filled and as if in answer his hard cock jumps, dripping precum onto the tile floor. 

But you tug on his hair when he teases too long, whining into the open air, “please Namjoon- please” he leans back for a second, looking up at how wrecked you are already.  Your chest heaving now nipples pink in the steamy air and inviting him to suck at them, your leg trembling in the wake of your oncoming orgasm. 

“Anything for you baby,” Namjoon lays his palms over your stomach, grabbing onto your hand that’s on the counter and lacing his fingers with yours as he begins to lick in nice even patterns, broad strokes all the way with a firm pressure just how you like to fall apart, never does he take his eyes off of you. Maintaining eye contact to see your lips fall open in a ragged moan.  

When you cum, your entrance clenches so hard that it lets little drips out that Namjoon licks up greedily, even as your hips kick up to get away from the overstimulation. And you plead by use of his name over and over again, though even you’re not sure if you’re asking for more or for him to stop at this point. 

Namjoon grins and sucks a slight hickey into the top of your thighs letting your chest heave and you cool down, “fuck Namjoon- fuck” you say breathless as leaving his mark on you before he stands, knees a little weak from kneeling for so long, and tugs you off of the counter though you stumble into his arms for an entirely different reason. Namjoon feels pride at making you able to fall apart like this, to the point where you can’t even stand without his arms around you, legs turned to jelly in the wake of the pleasure he and only he can give you. 

And suddenly the shower seems like a bad idea, a very potentially hospital visit inducing idea. Neither of you are very coordinated as is, both of you seem to reach the same conclusion at the same time 

“Shit should we-“ he says the same moment you prompt “bath?” and he laughs because of course, you would be on the same page- and it’s not like Namjoon’s corner bath isn’t comfortable and large enough for two or even three people. and deep with jets to massage out muscles (one of the perks of living in an expensive apartment was that all of the amenities were heavenly). 

You kiss lazily as the bath fills with water, the fire in your gut cooled, while Namjoon’s is still burning- even then, he almost enjoys kissing you enough that he’ll ignore the weight of his erection between the two of you pressed to your soft thigh. His generous length that you’ve surely missed along with the rest of him. Your hand soothes up and over his thigh from where he sits on the edge of his tub, brushing over the tip of his cock with teasing fingers making his hips jump as you tighten your grip and pump him slowly. 

Relaxing back onto your knees between his legs, kissing his thighs And leaving hickeys there as you pump him. You might have a thing for his thighs, for their thickness the same way he has a thing for your ass.  he smiles as you stroke him and pepper kisses up to his length, teasing him because he likes to be teased just as much if not more than you do.

He tries not to feel a little bit prideful of how small your mouth looks compared to his length, how it looks like he shouldn’t be able to fit in your mouth and how he knows you can. He remembers the first time you’d seen it, uttering out a ‘that’s going to break me’ and immediately setting out to see if it would with a determination that had made Namjoon cum hard. You might be a tiny bit of a size queen and it might make Namjoon a little bit smug. 

“I missed you so much Joonie” you repeat against his skin, looking up at him with the little glowing smile, “Did you think about me getting on my knees for you when you where in all of those hotel rooms? Was that how you got yourself off thinking of my mouth?” you whisper the words against his head, lips brushing his slit and wetting with precum before you lick your lips, humming at the taste then leaving your tongue his length teasingly making his thighs twitch and shake just like he made yours. 

“You know I did” god you’re- you’re his everything, no one can make him come undone like this, so delicately- so teasingly, as you stare up at him, knowing he has a thing for eye contact when you’re blowing him as you take him as far as you can lips stretched around his widest part. And Namjoon can’t look away, at the same moment, he feels the warm water tickling at his hand and realizes the tub is filled. 

He groans pulling you off of him by your hair no matter how much it kills him. “we’ll have time for that later- I need to be in you right now so bad baby girl” you smile positively feline as you see how broken down he was by just a taste of what you can give him. He holds your hand for support as you step into the tub and sink into the water, Polite and gentlemanly even as he aches to wreck you again. 

You and Namjoon are like that, the push and pull equal, tenderness and passion in equal measure too. But now he wants all control and you let him take it as he manhandles you into position.  The water around you is warm and calming even as Namjoon turns you around and presses you close to one of the jets, the water thumbing a delicious pressure right along your oversensitive clit, your hips jerk but Namjoon’s hands are there on your hips holding you. 

“Stay just there for me love, no moving” you’re panting even as Namjoon pushes on the small of your back to lowers you onto your elbows on the edge of the tub. Pressing soothing kisses down your spine as his generous length prods at your entrance. He presses a kiss along your shoulder before he begins to slide in. The stretch making you shout a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. Inch after inch stretching you out deliciously until you feel so full with him you're shaking with sensitivity.

He thrusts completely in, slowly exulting in the delicious heat of you the feeling of rightness and completeness settling all over him. The tightness after so many months of having nothing inside of you makes you crazy and hazy and numb to Everything but Namjoon. His head hitting the spot inside you that makes wetness flood around him, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulders, his hands cupping your breasts and rolling your nipples gently with his fingers. 

Your insides spasm around him as the water jet wreaks havoc on your front, he gives you as long as you need to adjust before you’re reaching back and tugging on his hips, hands shaking along with the rest of you as you moan out “please Namjoon- please move I need- need you” you’re hiccupping with how worked up you are, and of course, Namjoon is never one to deny his baby what she needs when she asks so nicely. 

He sets a brutal pace each one of his thrusts sending you further and further towards the edge, “fuck you were made for me baby” he groans out as he keeps the pace, thank god for his stamina honestly because he could fuck you like this for hours, has fucked you for hours. 

His hands dig into your hips to the point where he knows you’ll have bruises afterward as he leans forward and lavishes kisses all up and down your neck. You cum like that, him roughly thrusting in and out of you, your clit almost numb from the pleasure assaulting you. 

He gives you no respite, even as you shake with overstimulation, whining and groaning and moaning, all thoughts of being quiet for the others completely forgotten. If anything your moans just seem to spur Namjoon on more, and the wet sound of your arousal joins the sound of your moans echoing off the bathroom walls. He gives your ass a slap, watching it jiggle in the water, watching his length sink inside of you. 

It’s been so long, now that he finally has you on him he knows he won’t last long, he slows, trying to savor you before he pulls you up, sitting back, he kisses you even as it kills him to pull out of your twitching heat, turning your blissed out and ropey body around to have access lips hungry and sloppy against yours. You look up at him, cheeks flushed, more love in your gaze than words could say. 

You’re both so fucked out already, Namjoon’s dick almost hurts from how much he wants to cum, hard and purple and twitching with want against your stomach. But he wants to do it differently than that, wants to see you face when he cums. He sits back on his heels, “come on baby, sit on top of me,” he tugs your hips around him, supporting your shaking muscles with your hands on his shoulders to lower yourself over him, hissing a little at the lingering sensitivity and what will surely be soreness tomorrow.

He kisses at your neck as he starts to fuck up into you his hands around your waist to guide the movement of your hips. In this position he can touch you and kiss at your chest, thumbing along your nipple and groan into your chest to try and soften the noise when he finally cums. Signing your name in a hapless stream as his hips stutter while he rides out his orgasm, painting your walls with his cum. The glide suddenly wetter, your core tightening around him as the satisfaction fills you.  

And just like that his kisses turn lazy and loving instead of hungry, lips drunkenly moving against yours as he holds you in the warm bubly water, blood rushing in his ears, love tugging at his chest, as the slightly wet tips of your hair tickle his skin and your run your fingers through his hair.

You’re still connected, he barely softens inside of you still hard and aching for more. But instead of pulling you off of him he just rests there for a second, and you’re comfortable too to feel his length stretching you open for a few minutes longer. The intimacies of the action as you’re both as physically as close as you can be without being one and lingering in that closeness after so many months of distance. Your warm wetness tight around him makes him relax further. 

“I missed you my love” he utters against your skin, eyes fluttering, suddenly sleepy even though honestly he could go another round, looking up at you with this doe-eyed happy expression undisturbed by doubt. 

You cup his cheeks, running your thumbs over his dimples. Leaning forward to kiss them, making him chuckle, “I did too Joonie,” you murmur pulling away a little, “lets shower and get into bed yeah? You must still be tired” 

He is tired enough that he lets you wash his hair sleepily closes his eyes as you run a soapy cloth over his back. He leans into the affection, resigned to the fact that you’re determined to take care of him even though he would have settled for just a rinse under the shower. 

He stumbles when you lead him back into his bedroom, neither of you bothering to put clothes on as you sink underneath the covers and hold each other close, chest to chest. he rubs shapes into your back with his thumbs, and quietly, reverently, just watches as you fall asleep until he joins you, content and feeling suddenly at home in your arms.  

When he wakes, he’s not surprised to find it dark outside- the time change and your nap probably fucked up both of your sleep schedules to the point where you’re both going to be sleeping weird hours for a little while. Your warmth next to him makes the bed at just the right temperature as the cold from outside presses in with hungry fingers. 

He looks down at you nestled in the side of his chest his arm around you. Your eyes closed cheek squished against his skin looking absolutely adorable. He tilts his head to press a kiss against your forehead sleepily, running his hand up and down your back. He’s unable to stop looking at you, seeing you like this, always reminds him of the first time he ever saw you:

To say that Namjoon stayed late at the studio often back then would have been a gracious understatement. It was a rare day if he left before 2 am, even rarer if he didn’t just straight up decide to sleep on the couch in the corner of his studio and wake up when he’d gotten the bare minimum.  It wasn’t like it was uncomfortable; just easier than going all the way back to the dorm to sleep. The others were equally as bad, Yoongi and Hoseok especially. But to Namjoon, the reliance on work was different. If he spends all of his time working then he had less time to confront the empty side of his bed, how his body itched with wanting at the thought of warm arms around him. 

In short, Kim Namjoon was very very lonely. 

The night he meets you, Yoongi comes to his door nearing 4 am.  Leaning in the doorway until Namjoon pushes back from his desk and decides that yes, he’s had enough of work today. “Did you finish the collab track?” he asks hushed as he gathers his things. Yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat. No then. Namjoon could understand his frustration. Today the lyrics just weren’t coming out right; the right wording somehow escaping him even though he could taste it on his tongue and just a hair out of reach. 

Namjoon pulls on his jacket when he’s ready and not his new knit cardigan, they won’t be outside for long anyway, and Yoongi will probably turn the heat up in the car to the point Namjoon sweats, Yoongi likes it warm. 

The agency building is nearly empty at this hour save for the janitors, they hush thank you’s and bow as they pass, the glass rooms are all dark save for one that they have to pass through, and empty, except for one person leaning over a desk slumped with exhaustion completely asleep and still accept for her measured breathing. 

Namjoon and Yoongi both watch as they pass to see if the stranger is awake, neither of them recognizes the foreign woman slumped over the pile of papers.

Namjoon pauses at the door, “who’s she?” he asks, because he’s certain he’s never seen her around before or he would have introduced himself. She’s pretty, with simple features but thick lashes, striking even if she has a little drool on her pillowed cheek, which will probably stick to the paper when she finally wakes. 

“I’m not sure, though one of the managers said something about a consultant arriving this week from overseas that they’re hiring to deal with HR and the new American staff, this must be her.” 

Namjoon nods, it makes sense why you would be here, and why you would be sleeping here- he’s been a victim of jetlag enough times to know you get whatever sleep you can get when you can get it. His heart swells with sympathy, and he pauses even while his companion keeps walking. 

Yoongi turns back to raise an eyebrow. “Joon?” he prods. Namjoon steals himself when he sees you shiver to toss his spare cardigan over your shoulders and shutting off the desk light before he joins Yoongi. Satisfied when he glances back to see you relax further into the desk in the warmth of the thick cardigan in the chilly office. 

“I’ll get it back at one point.” He says in response to Yoongi’s knowing smirk. Namjoon is too tired to blush. 

You don’t see each other again until a few days later in a meeting you smile when you see him and Namjoon trips over the doorway as his manager introduces you to the boys. The conversation is mostly banal, save for your surprising fluency in Korean, which earns you compliments from more than one of them. Yoongi shoots Namjoon a devious smile and prompts, “now Namjoon will finally have someone to practice English with.” 

Namjoon blushes and hits Yoongi on the arm. Later, you find Namjoon’s office, shy in the doorway as he rubs the back of his neck, “Mister min told me that this was yours after he saw it folded over my desk, thank you for leaving It for me the other night.” 

Namjoon takes it from you, he can tell you washed it- he has the urge to lift it to his nose and breath in deep, probably get a sense of what you smell like. He hopes you don’t notice his blush. “It gets pretty cold here sometimes they forget to turn off the ac in the winter” he justifies, fingering it in his hands before he gives it back to you, “you can keep it for the office in case you get cold again.” 

“Namjoon-ssi Its designer I really can’t,” 

“Consider it a welcome present then,” his dimpled smile puts you at ease. You start to practice English with Namjoon most afternoons that he’s there, slipping into Korean effortlessly and explaining to him why what he said was a little off. 

Conversations over work turn into hours spent over coffee or food when the only time he can spare for a conversation is over dinner, which becomes a habit and- are these dates if you barely talk about work? if he feels like himself when he’s around you to the point where it recharges him instead of drains?

 You always protest when Namjoon pays- and he reassures you with a hand on yours- anything Namjoon can do to repay your kindness and your hard work he says, though at this point he’ll make any excuse to get more minutes with you. 

He even offers you the cot in his studio when you want it at one point- working late. To which you tease, “maybe I’ll sleep there just so you offer me your sweaters, I could have a whole collection by the end of the month” your wink makes him blush harder than he ever has and stumble over his words. You’re the only one who can make him so disarmed like this, fumbling in Korean or English, no matter the language Namjoon feels like he can never find the right words to quite flirting how he wants.  

He can’t even imagine how terrible his concentration would be if you wore his sweaters even more often than you already do, you look so small drowned in it, having to fold the sleeves over a few times to stick out your hands. the others notice his fixation- teasing him about it by stopping by his studio and warning, “better not try to get any work done today Joon” with a wink or a teasing “off to another English lesson?” 

But of course it had to end somehow, your contract was only for 4 months after all. 

Namjoon knew that this was your livelihood- switching cities every few months and switching companies to help them rearticulate after overseas expansion. Namjoon has asked you more than a few questions about your mobile lifestyle in the past after he’d learned that the most you’d ever stayed in one place after college was 6 months.

“I’ve never liked a city enough to make me stay,” you said the first time he asked you why you moved around so much- even when the companies would offer you permanent positions.

And in the last week before you leave to head to your next job- you express the opposite when you end up walking back from an early morning coffee with Namjoon. Your hands brushing between the two of you as you walk. Pausing in the street to watch the light fade, a thick scarf wound around his neck. “It’s going to be hard to leave Seoul,” you said, eyes flickering to Namjoon. 

In a moment of braveness, he takes your hand and squeezes, brings it up to his face to set the back against his cheek. and feeling like he’s almost going to cry, says “it’s going to be hard to watch you go.” barely tempting the words into the morning light for the fear of the damage and hurt they would cause both of you.  

The last time Namjoon sees you he can’t swallow down the lump in his throat. You try to give him back the sweater that he gave you the first time he saw you. But he pushes it back into your hands, smiling even as he’s barely able not to cry. because even with all this pain- he’s better for having known you.  “please, just take it to remember me by, I’d love it if you wore it and thought of me when you’re in New York.” 

He’d tried to forget you when you’d left knowing it would be better for him if he did. Less heartbreak even if the weight of all of the almost he had with you drag on his shoulders as he hops from city to city on tour. He tries to concentrate on work instead of your social media feed, tries not to text you and fails on the daily. 

And then a reprieve, they’re invited to do an award show in New York and Namjoon is quick to text you and tell you their plans and ask if you’d like to grab dinner afterward even if it will be 1 am by the time they get out, and you agree. 

after all these months, you’ve never expressed your feelings beyond an ‘i miss you’ but when you see each other again those feelings boil over into actions. 

He meets you on the street corner in new york city after it’s rained, the light hanging all hazy and bleeding into you, you look the same as you do. He shouldn’t be surprised to find that you’ve kept his cardigan or to find you wrapped in it looking small and delicate under your red umbrella. smiling up at him. 

And he’d been uncaring about who might be watching, pulled down his facemask and kissed you, shocked for a second before the umbrella was discarded so that both your hands could fist in his baggy sweatshirt, and you’d kissed him back like you missed his lips ravenously no matter that it was your first kiss. 

You’d never made it to the restaurant that he’d planned on taking you to the reservation unused. instead, you’d gone back to your apartment, and the rest had been history. 

He remembers that night, the first night he’d gotten to see you like this, curled up next to him hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat, he remembers feeling just as lucky as he feels in this instant. He remembered that he’d hoped beyond hope that your whispered confession of love against his lips earlier were true. That this love would last and that you’d both be able to handle the distance. 

It had, and though it had been hard there was nothing more satisfying or rewarding than waking up to you like this. 

You start to stir gently in his arms and he kisses you on your shoulders, trailing his lips up your neck, by the time he gets to your cheek your eyelashes are fluttering. You make a happy noise in your throat, blinking away sleep and smiling when he’s the first thing you see. 

God, Namjoon wouldn’t trade this for anything. He can barely believe you’re actually here. Was it just yesterday morning when he’d woken up after dreaming of you? Well this, the real thing- was so much better than any dream. it’s too early to really be awake, but you’ve both been asleep for more than 12 hours at this point. 

“Wanna make coffee and watch the sunrise?” he asks you, sleepily you nod against him, and he separates himself to go put the coffee pot on. At first, he’s planning on bringing it to you in bed,  but then you appear wearing one of his large grey shirts and the comforter cover around your shoulders. Your hair dried funny after the shower you shared last night, curling on one side and straight on the other, endearingly imperfect as only you can be. 

You exchange sleepy gentle kisses against the counter while you wait for the coffee to finish. The coffee pot beeps somewhere in between when you start deepening the kiss and he keeps Running his hands up and down your back, tempted to go for another round. 

And then it’s out to the balcony carrying the blanket that Namjoon tosses over you after you crawl up the lawn chair, it’s not exactly comfortable or warm.  As the sky gradually starts to lighten you curl up around Namjoon, running your fingers through his hair and commenting on the new color, careful to be quiet and hushed when you know the other’s rooms are on either side of you.  

Namjoon’s glad you made the choice to come out instead of going back to bed in search of more carnal pleasures. The steam rising from the coffee cup clutched in your hands, sharing sips- because of course, you’re the couple to share one cup of coffee in the morning. 

“God you have a good view,” you say after a sip and hand the mug back to him from this position you can see every inch of Seoul slowly turning from steel grey to honey gold. 

“Any view with you in it is a good view” you make a dismayed noise, slapping his arm lightly.  

“Don’t be cheesy,” but you mollify him with a kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the little bit of stubble there rough against your lips.

“Can’t help it, you make me like this” he grins. Holding you a little tighter, thumbing the curve of your elbow, “I wish it could be like this all of the time” You’re quiet, silent, and Namjoon tries to catch your eye over the lid of the coffee cup. 

You bite your lip, and he’s sure something’s wrong, how many times had he said something like this and you’d replied, ‘I do too Joonie’ but now, you’re uncharacteristically quiet and a little stiff in his lap. After a pregnant moment, your eyes flicker up to meet his. 

“What if it was?” 

He straightens, suddenly awake, “what do you mean?” your next words come out in a rush turning to look at him as they spill from your mouth, holding his hand firmly in yours. 

“I didn’t want to tell you- not until I knew it was actually happening- because I didn’t want to get your hopes up but, you’re not the only reason why I came to Seoul.” Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, his hand busies its self with rubbing at the skin against your back. Waiting, expectant and hopeful, he urges you to continue with a nod of his head, eyes wide.    

“I got a job offer,” you breath out “for a company here in Seoul- a permanent position” Namjoon pulls back abruptly. Staring up at you incredulously. “You’re joking!” he says in disbelief. But if the quirk of your lips as you try not to smile too widely has anything to say- you’re not lying. 

Which means… which means you don’t have to be in a long distance relationship anymore. 

Which means Namjoon can wake up to you in the morning many more days of the year that he had previously. And he can have all of the domestic fantasies that you’d confessed over the phone. Getting to ride bikes along the river together. Having coffee in the morning every day. Fuck he’d even settle for something as mundane as folding fucking laundry because with you everything was amazing.  

Namjoon hops up from the chair and hops up and down when he realizes it, wrapping you to his chest after a moment, nearly tackling you into the lawn chair and pulling you back into his lap.  “Oh my god- this is the best surprise, like ever- I can’t believe you hid this- you’re so, you’re so ugh” Namjoon punctuates the last frustrated words of excitement with a kiss to your mouth that shocks a giggle out of you. 

“That’s amazing news- I can’t wait until you can live here and we’ll be able to see each other every day.” 

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you at all or assume anything. This doesn’t mean that we have to like- get an apartment together or anything but-“ 

“Wait,” Namjoon says, leaning out of your arms for a second, “do you not want to live with me? Do you not want to move in?” 

“No of course not- I just didn’t know if you would want me too, I didn’t know if we were there yet is all and-“  but Namjoon’s already tugging you back inside, giddy like a kid on Christmas. Instead of explaining he knows exactly what will put your mind at ease. 

“I wanna show you something,” he murmurs, knowing that it will be enough of an explanation.  Because for all your secrets and scheming and surprises, Namjoon is just as good at planning as you are. 

Dimples peaking out as he leads you through the dark apartment loud in his excitement. he leads you back into his bedroom, still, a whirlwind from yesterday. his suitcase is pried Open like a clam with clothes sticking out of it. Yours are too, everything is scattered nothing organized in true Namjoon fashion. 

He gets the small bag out of the pocket where it’s lived for the past month, handing it over to you trying not to look too nervous. his hand hovers on yours the bag in between both of your hands “don’t- don’t open it when you see it, i mean- obviously look in the bag but-” you quirk your eyebrow at his stuttering and he makes a frustrated noise before he hands it over. But his hands still shake; before you open it you reach up to smooth out the wrinkle between his eyebrows. A loving action. You’re puzzled at what it could be- it’s surprisingly heavy in your hands. 

You tear out the black wrapping paper to get at the small heavy thing in the bottom “You didn’t need to get me anything- you know you already sent me like an entire wardrobe from France right? And chocolate from Belgium that I ate in like half a second.” 

“It’s not-” Namjoon just laughs, nudging your shoulder with his nose “just open it already before I die of anticipation” Namjoon sits on the edge of his bed and ignores the urge to get down on one knee- because this isn’t that- not yet anyway. His leg jumping in anxiety a little, Instead of pulling you closer by your hips to sit pressed against his. resting his chin on your shoulder to watch your expression dawn from confusion to shocked surprise. 

“Kim Namjoon!” you shout when you pull out the heart-shaped velvet box- you won’t open it, not yet, because if this is what you think it is then you understand what Namjoon meant about not opening it yet. “you did not buy me a goddamn ring!” 

“I might have” he winks, “I picked it out from an antique shop, I really wanted to do this with more intention-but” Namjoon hums as he runs a finger along your chin tilting your face up to meet his. “I’m serious about you, I’m serious about this, living together- everything. Now you know- even if I’m not going to ask you just yet,” his smile shifts into the teasing air you often have in your relationship. “not until I can surprise you with it of course” you look at him, cup his cheek and gulp before you hand him the velvet box back with a shaking hand, not even asking to see inside even if curiosity is blooming in your- curiosity and incredulity and joy- and Namjoon hasn’t even officially proposed yet and you're already bouncing “You sure you don’t want to look at it at least?” 

You look at him wide-eyed, “some surprises are best saved for last,” Namjoon laughs at that, standing up to put the velvet box on top of his dresser in a place where you can see it. A sight that will tease you until one day you walk in and find it missing, and later will find it on your finger. After all- he never doubted that you would say yes. 

He pulls you up to your feet kissing you, your lips sweet and soft against his, “as much as I love seeing you in just my shirt you should probably get dressed, We have a busy day ahead of us,” he murmurs against your lips.

You raise an eyebrow in response, pulling away from the kiss to search his face “What do you have planned?”

Namjoon grins. “How do you feel about apartment hunting?”

Taglist:

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[anonymous0writer]

The Third Rule II Kiara Carrera

Summary: Kiara is finding it hard to fit in at the Kook Acdemy, but quickly finds solace in the beautiful Sarah Cameron. She finds more than just solace, but when a certain member of the Cameron tribe find out, it scares Kiara away from the people she loves most. Which leads to the third rule of the Pogues pact that begin used.

Author: @anonymous0writer

Word Count: 4,629 (I know, I’m sorry but I’m not sure how I feel about this?? This is probably the longest fic I’ve ever done)

Pairing: Kiara x Sarah, Kiara x Pogues, 

Request: A platonic pogue imagine where kie and rafe have a history. lots of people think they had a past and rafe has a soft spot for her but i think he did something to her/hurt her because of how mad jj was when he called her hot. so i was wondering if u could write an imagine where something bad happens between them during her kook year and then when kie returns to the pogues they find out what happened which sparks the tension between the pogues x rafe?

A/N: I’m sorry it’s 2am and I just finished it and I really want my anon to read this on their trip!! And I’m sorry anon, I just realized my fic isn’t totally based off your request, but I really hope you like it because I’m kinda of proud of it?! Also, Rafe is homophobic towards Kie but I swear it’s only once. Also this blog and myself fully support anyone and would never stand for homophobia. If you do, please get off my blog.

Warnings: Typos probably. Cursing? A homophobic Rafe (we do not agree) and I think that’s it.

Rule Number One: No Pogue on Pogue macking.

Rule Number Two: Never leave a Pogue behind.

Rule Number Three: Pogues= Family. Families love each other no matter what.

Kiara Carrera was a lot of things. Her friends, the group of ragtag boys that somehow roped the girl into their little family, would call her fun. Plain and simple, she fit the word. Fun to be around, fun to hang out with and to cause trouble with. She would weedle free food from her dad and feed them, clean up after them and make sure they kept out of serious trouble. Though Kiara was quite like a mother to the three boys, she was just like them. A surfer through and through, knowing the flick of the waves and the adjustments she needed to make with her board to master them. She also loved the music the boys cared for, and was often called on to DJ their car trips. But most importantly, she would keep up with them.

Kiara matched their energy, and was possibly the only person on the island that could handle them, and all at the same time. She was good with Pope when he talked about his dream job, nodding and keeping pace with the brainiac and able to string together a somewhat intelligent sentence or question to fire back. Kiara was able to keep up with JJ, with his ideas that spun wildly out of control, or the days with his dad. She wasn’t bothered or flustered by his never ending flirts, knowing it was just JJ begin JJ. And she knew John B. Kie could figure out his moods and help him out of the dark places he went to when his father didn’t come back, and she matched his lust for adventure.

To her classmates at the Kook Academy, she was different. Too Pogue to fit in with the pristine halls and designer bags and expensive laptops and gadgets. Sure, Kiara had the money, but that didn’t make her a Kook. Not when all her time was spent on the Cut with the dirty lowlifes nicknamed Pogues. And to Kiara, the money was her parents. If she was asked, she was a Pogue with parents that got money. Which was in part true, her father originally from the south side of the island, which might have sparked Kie’s distinct loyalty to the certain side.

To other Pogues, the other throwaway fish and lowlifes, Kiara Carrera was sun. Bright and cheery, she lit up everything around her. Her straight, easy going smile was infectious, making everyone, no matter what mood give a smile back. She was warm and kind, caring and thoughtful when the Pogues were thought of as rough kids from the wrong side. And her outfits reflected her personality, bright with swirling patterns and stark colors. Her outfits were always envied and her unruly curls were often admired. Kiara was beauty and light in one and often became fast friends with any person who set their feet on Kildare’s sand.

But one thing Kiara Carrera wasn’t, was easy. And no one knew that better than the notorious Rafe Cameron. The Kook was drawn to the newcomer for some reason no one but the universe knew. Not even the boy knew his reasons for attraction to the pogue. It left him utterly confused when he saw the girl in the halls of his gilded house, smiling like there wasn’t a care in the world. But no matter his confusion, his eyes were glued to the girl as she giggled and followed his sister, and his breath left his lungs when she passed him, a soft smile gracing her features as her smell washed over him. The strange girl smelled like coconuts and the sea, which was all the more intoxicating.

Though Kiara Carrera wasn’t easy to win over with his cerulean eyes and his devilish smirk, he didn’t give up. He wanted the challenge of having to work a little harder for a girl. And Rafe Cameron wasn’t one to be refused, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

————————

Kie’s first year at the Kook Academy hadn’t been the picturesque landscape of manicured lawns, pretty and popular students and good grades. While the experience wasn’t the best, it wasn’t the worst and Kie knew that. She also knew that the ‘Kook Academy’ was much better than Kildare County High School and her fussing mother made sure she would never forget it. But as the weeks progressed and Kiara felt increasingly lonely at the school, the girl was finding it hard to appreciate the school.

For one, she was missing her boys terribly. Missed when JJ cracked a joke in the back of the class, his comment made the whole room erupt into a fit of laughter as the aggravated teacher tried desperately to calm the students. She missed the way John B.’s smiles eased her worrying about a test or the way he’d fling notes on her desk as Mrs. Higgin’s droned on. Kiara also missed the way Pope would ramble with his answers, eventually getting too flustered and putting his hand down. She missed the way he’d leave books in her locker, the pages littered with little notes and comments about the passages. But perhaps most of all, Kiara missed the way she was with them. The boys were her true home, not even the comfort of her pillows made her feel as safe and loved as she did when she was hanging out with the three. At lunch, they’d rush out of class, meeting at Kiara’s locker as she took out her lunch, handing JJ her apple, and debating with John B. at which item of her lunch he’d steal today. Pope would grab his own lunch as they bickered and the four made their way to the quad, settling in the grass with their bags. JJ leaned back, a fresh blunt plucked from the waistband of his cargo shorts. Pope took out his books as he tried to take notes but failed miserably as he countered John B.’s B.S and returned conversations. It was impossible for the boy to focus around his friends. Kiara would crack a joke and spread out her healthy alternatives to bad foods and snacked quietly on them while her phone belted out Marley into the grass.

————————

She missed the days JJ wouldn’t be seen in class and would interrupt her classes by poking his head in and saying, “Hey, Kie! Emergency meeting.” And with that, the two slipped away to meet with the other half of their group. The four would move off campus to an abandoned parking lot and smoke and drink their worries away.

But no matter how much Kiara missed her boys, they weren’t going to show up. She was stuck, lost in the gilded halls and drowning in a sea of nasty boys and fake girls. Kiara was desperate to escape but couldn’t find a way to get out. Kiara was ready to give up. On the school, the people and, quite frankly on life.

That is, until she met the famous Sarah Cameron. The blonde practically strode through the halls, her loaded boyfriend and the illustrious Scarlet by her side. Her dazzling smile and pretty brown eyes landed on Kiara. And as soon as Kiara returned the pleasantries, the two became fast friends.

And soon enough, Kiara was invited to the massive Cameron residence. Kiara has already gotten the tour of the property and was following her best friend when she ran into Rafe Cameron. The eldest of Ward Cameron and the famous Kook around the island, known for his suspicious resources when it comes to drugs. Kiara knew the rumors, every one did. But she still smiled and walked right on by, giggling as Sarah held her hand and shut her door.

————————

Since their unofficial first meeting, Rafe had been persistent. Flirting shamelessly with the girl constantly in his house and ignoring Sarah’s grumbles and mocks. Kiara has refused his advances and shook her head as a little laugh escaped her throat when Rafe asked her out. She had to give it to him, he didn’t give up.

————————

“Why don’t you want to go out with me?” Rafe asked one day, as the Cameron siblings and Kiara lounged on the deck of the Druthers. Rafe towered over Kiara’s lounge seat, casting a shadow over the girl.

“Rafe, I’m just not into you.”

“Why? Am I just,” He paused, still unwavering from where he stood- much to Kiara’s dislike. “not your type?”

The statement made the girl glance up, the sunglasses perched on her nose sliding down as she looked up at the boy. “I don’t dig blondes, Rafe.”

The elder boy scoffed, but left the conversation as Sarah made her way over, two hard pink lemonades in hand.

“Get lost, loser.” She huffed and Rafe nodded and left. He missed the way his little sister cuddled up against the Pogues side and quietly asked, “You still dig me, right?” The boy also missed Kiara’s immediate reply as she laughed. “Of course I do.” So the Kook walked away, blissfully unaware of what was really unfolding. Kie’s words still rung in his head. But for some reason, he didn’t believe that the only reason the curly haired girl kept turning him down was just because of his hair color.

————————

The next time Rafe asked, he got his real answer. His sister and Kie were getting ready for Midsummer's in the room a couple doors down, their laughter floating through the halls. Rafe listened to the muffled voices of his tongue sister and the girl he’d been strangely pining over for half the school year. They were laughing and Kie’s signature music floated down the hall and into Rafe’s bedroom. Kiara was going as Sarah’s date because she had cheated on her boyfriend again. So the girls decided to couple up.

Sarah leaned forward, the brush coated with soft gold painting swiftly over Kiara’s eyelids. Sarah leaned back and smiled, satisfied with her handiwork. Kie laughed and shoved Sarah’s hip lightly to see herself in the mirror. Sarah grinned and moved so she could continue curling her friend's hair, her hips swaying with the music. Kiara laughed at Sarah’s antics, admiring her in the mirror.

“Beach waves,” Sarah mused, deciding what to do with the front parts of Kie’s hair. “It’d frame your face.” Sarah leaned down, her breath fanning Kie’s ear as the blonde put her hands on Kie’s shoulders. “You’ll look so pretty, baby.”

Kiara beamed at Sarah’s comment, trying to hide her blush. Sarah was a natural flirt, so the fact that she said that wasn’t a surprise, but the pet name made Kie blush. Even in their secret relationship, Sarah hadn’t far breathed a whisper of any affectionate name other than ‘Kie.’ The dark haired girl giggled at her girlfriend and shifted in her seat to crank up the music. Soon the rise and fall of Bob Marley’s voice filling the carefully decorated room. Neither of the girls heard the eldest Cameron shuffle around in his room, his footfalls heavy in the hall as he approached Sarah’s door.

“You could kiss me, you know.” Kie smirked, taunting Sarah with her brows in the mirror. They locked eyes and it was Sarah’s turn to blush, her cheeks already dusted a pink. But she complied, spinning her girlfriend in her chair and pressed a heated kiss to her lips. Kiara hummed and reached up to cup Sarah’s face, not able to hear Rafe as he pushed open the door to his sisters room, a question on his tongue.

“Hey, could you-“ He stopped dead, eyes trained on his sister and the beautiful girl he’d been trying to get, lips locked. “Holy fuck.”

The girls broke apart, eyes wide and mouths popped open in surprise.

“Rafe!” Sarah screamed, rushing forward to push her brother out of her room, hands shoving at his back and slamming- and locking- the door shut.

Rafe stood shell-shocked outside his sister's room, mouth agape. Kiara was kissing his sister. Kiara was gay.

————————

The three; the two Cameron siblings and the pogue that they practically adopted, didn’t talk about the incident for exactly two days until the subject came bubbling to the surface. And in typical Rafe Cameron style, it was raging and messy.

Rafe glared, eyes trained on Kiara as she giggled at something Scarlet said as they leaned against their lockers. Rafe hadn’t seen Kiara since the incident, ignoring her at Midsummer’s and never coming out of his room the rest of the weekend, but now, Monday morning, he was beyond furious and disgusted. Not only did the girl shoot him down so many times, she lied. Of course he wants her type, he wasn’t even the gender she was attracted to. A shiver ran down the boy's spine as he thought about the curly haired beauty liking- kissing- his sister. He hated it.

“Kiara,” He barked, hand gripping her just above the elbow rather harshly, hard enough to bruise. “We need to talk,” He hissed in her ear as he hauled her away from Scarlet and into an empty classroom.

“Rafe!” Kiara huffed, stumbling into the classroom, free of his death grip. She stared at the boy, wondering briefly if he was high. Rafe Cameron was addicted to the powder he snorted at parties, so it wouldn’t surprise Kiara if his eyes were red and he seemed even more violent than usual. But his eyes were normal, and he seemed fine.. just furious. “What the hell are you on?”

“You're gay.” Rafe spit like it was the foulest word on the planet. Kiara’s eyes went wide. She never said the words out loud, and quite frankly, it scared her a little. With Sarah she didn’t have to hide who she was. But with everyone else, her parents- even the Pogues- she had to hide. But with Sarah it was fun, easy. Sarah got it and Kiara couldn’t think of a better person she wanted to be with.

Kiara fumbled with her words, the infinite possible combinations of words and sentences getting clogged in her throat, so she just stood there, gaping at her girlfriend’s brother as he seethed. Rafe glared, brows slanted over his darkened blue eyes. His eyes reminded Kiara of the waters when a hurricane ripped through them, dangerous and fury born.

“You're disgusting. You turned my sister into one!” He spat, making Kie’s heart clench. This was her nightmare. People finding out and their face recoiling in disgust when they heard the words, “I’m gay.” And maybe that was the reason Kiara never uttered them, not even to herself, perhaps fearful her own face would do the same in the mirror.

But no matter Kiara’s inability to defend herself, she defended the only girl who accepted her as her. Even though her gut pinched at the thought that Rafe looked at different sexual orientations as a ‘disease’ which was nowhere near true, it still hurt nonetheless. “It’s not a bad thing, Rafe. And Sarah’s bi!”

Rafe grimaced, and by the way his face warped, Kiara could tell he didn’t have a clue of what it meant. Kiara swallowed, the sudden fear of Rafe’s knowledge crowding her thoughts. What if he told the rest of the student body? What if he told her parents? What if he told the Pogues? The last thought sent a shiver down her spine. Even though she wasn’t officially out, she didn’t care if the student body found out. Not really. Her fears were about her parents, and if they’d react as badly as Rafe had or worse. But the Pogues? If they acted even a bit like Rafe had, her heart would break and Kiara would lose them. And that thought scares her the most.

So she leaves Rafe, ripping out of the classroom to race toward the bathroom, knowing her tears will spill soon. She cries over the bathroom sink, hands gripping the counter as she sobs. The first period bell rings, but the girl doesn’t trust herself enough to clean up and head to class. Instead she sniffles and glances up at the mirror. By now, her thoughts have turned into horrendous scenarios of the Pogues freaking out, convincing her that the boys aren’t going to accept her. So as she makes eye contact with herself in the mirror, Kiara takes a deep breath; if I leave first, it’ll hurt less.

————————

Kiara was wrong. She couldn’t tell, but it hurt probably even more than if the Pogues left her. She hopes, keeping the flame small, that the three troublemakers will come knocking on her door, asking why she ignored and blew them off for the whole week. But they’ve never set a foot inside her house, and now will not be the time they start. So she locks herself in her room, red eyes and Disney movies on an endless loop to try and block out the pain of letting go of not just the Pogues, but Sarah too.

When Sarah found Kie crying in the bathroom in the middle of the passing period, Kiara couldn’t find the words to tell her that her brother was a homophobic piece of shit that scared the living shit out of her. So she shook her head, passed it off as a mean joke someone said and brushed past her, trying to keep her shaking hands under control as she made her way to class.

But that was a week ago, and Kie’s phone had been blowing up with texts and missed calls on Monday, but slowly tapered off by the time Saturday rolled around. Kiara secretly hoped Sarah would just barge into her room, demanding to know what was wrong and would kiss away her worries, but Sarah wasn’t showing up and the number of missed calls from the blonde had started to dwindle.

But even if Sarah wasn’t a knight in shining armor, someone was.

————————

Kiara glanced up, brows furrowing over her dark eyes as the knock on her door sounded again. Her mom had already come by to try and coax her out of her room for lunch, so it couldn’t be her, the older woman quickly finding it best not to bombard her daughter.

“Kie?”

She would recognize that voice from anywhere. Pope. He’d come to save her, and Kiara’s heart soared at the thought. She clumsily made her way off her bed, knocking off some tissues in the process, but made her way to the door, cracking it open to reveal not only Pope, but all three boys. Kiara’s eyes widened as she took in the boys- her boys. She choked on a sob as she widen the crack of the door, letting the boys shuffle into her spacious room.

“Got a nice place here, Kie.” JJ commented, and Kie was thankful for JJ’s jokes even as her heart throbbed at the sound of his voice.

She really did miss them, and she knew seeing her for the first time in a week like this- dressed in dark blue and white checkered sweats and a white crop top with a wave of messy hair to top it off- wasn’t the best thing. All three of them turned to look at her, and Kiara was hit with the sudden need to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” She croaked.

Popes dark eyes widened at her exclamation, the first real thing she said to them in almost a week. John B. started, unsure of what to say, but JJ reached out, hands wrapping tightly around his best friend.

“Don’t say that ok? You have nothing to be sorry for.” The blonde murmured, a soft kiss pressed to her hair as he held her. Kiara buried her face in his chest, too overcome with emotion to speak so she cried softly. John B moved quickly to add to the hug and soon, all four of them were in a big group hug.

They pulled back, and Pope slipped his hand in Kie’s to reassure her that he was there as John B. spoke to his movements.

“Kie, we’re always here for you. You know that, right?”

The girl nodded, still unable to meet their gaze. But she sniffled, and nodded, hairs falling into her face as they came loose from her behind her ears. They stood in silence, not knowing where to start with all of this. So Kiara said the thing that started it all.

“I’m gay.”

The words hung in the air untouched before all three spoke at once.

A soft, “Kie, that’s perfectly fine.” came from Pope.

JJ nodded, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he murmured, “That makes so much sense.”

“We support you no matter what.” John B. confirmed with a half smile.

Kie stopped, the responses unlike anything they said in the wicked scenarios in her head. Her mouth popped open into a surprised ‘o’. But her face split into a sad smile as she made eye contact with her friends. At the realization that they supported her and loved her for it, a happy sob bubbles up from her throat. Kie’s dark eyes lit up as she threw her arms around the rest of her heart. They hugged her back, John B’s arm thrown around her shoulders as Pope squeezed her hand and JJ hugged her waist.

“I love you guys,” she sniffled, pulling back with the first genuine smile of that week. They grinned back at her.

“We love ya too, Sunshine.” JJ’s familiar dimpled smile warmed her heart as his hand came up to ruffle her hair affectionately. She missed his smiles and his nickname for her. He called her that since the first hour they met, and it stuck ever since. Kie smiled at the surfer and quietly thanked him.

“Did you really think we were gonna cut you out?” John B asked, his honey colored orbs gazing lovingly down at her. Kie leaned into his chest, his arms tugging her close. “You know we could never do that, bubs.” He soothed, restating his chin on top of her wild curls.

Kiara let her eyes wander to the boy yet to speak. Pope stood there, unmoving as Kie smiled at him until he jumped with a realization. “Oh!” He exclaimed and immediately started patting himself down in search of something. Within the confines of his cargo shorts, Pope pulled a tiny book with a worn cover but displayed it with pride, extending it to his friend. “Here, for you.” When Kie sent him a questioning look as she took it, Pope rambled on. “A recent poem book I read. And I.. well I pretended to be JJ when I wrote notes in it.”

Kie’s laugh was sudden and stark, but made Pope grin at her reaction and the other two boys smile at the happy sound. In the beginning, when Pope first gave Kiara a book he read and thought he’d enjoy and she returned it with lightly written notes about passages on it, Pope immediately started the tradition of giving Kiara a new book with his thoughts every month. And as Kie would go through the chapters she’d write her own thoughts and then discuss them with the boy. But once Kie placed the book down in front of him as they hung out at the Chateau, brows furrowed in confusion. “What is this?” She asked, pointing to the notes Pope made in the top corner. Confused as to why she was asking, Pope leaned forward and reread the note, laughing. “Oh, well, I had a thought about JJ reading the book and figured to do the whole book like JJ wrote it.” So it then became an inside joke between the two.

Kie flips the book in her hands, fingertips tracing the outlines of the small cover. She particularly loves the months where Pope gives her poetry books because partly, he gives her a new collection on them each week because she goes through them fast and secondly, because poems are her favorite. She admires the slightly yellow pages and the soft sketch of Pope’s handwriting.

“Thanks Pope. I love it,”

She closes her eyes and feels at rest- almost. She finally got her boys back. Kiara finally got home. Back in the arms of the three boys who hold her heart equally. So she agrees when John B. gestures to the screen displaying the laziest Disney movie she watched- Beauty and the Beast- and suggests a movie marathon. Except JJ somehow got a hold of the remote as they climbed onto her bed and settled in. The surfer quickly changed the theme from Disney Princess to Horror Night. Pope rolls his eyes and John B. cheers as Kie gasps at the choice he made. It’s ‘Silence of the Lambs’, old but still a classic that’s not too scary for Kie and one of her favorites. The four friends curled up and soon they were too invested in the movie to remember why they were even here in the first place. Kie smiled and admired her friends, grinning as JJ caught her eye and winked. She was back home.

But there was one thing left unsolved: Sarah Cameron.

————————

The Cameron residence never seemed so daunting as it did right now, looming above Kiara in its glimmering windows and architectural beauty. Kiara swallowed, knowing no one but the girl she loved was home but still getting anxious when she thought about the boy who lived under this roof.

The doorbell rang twice before the grand doors cracked up as Sarah answered it. Sarah opened the door with a bounce in her step but stopped as she lay eyes on who rang her doorbell. Her throat went dry and her mouth fell open. Kiara admired her girlfriend- unsure of the title they still had- who was dressed in white shorts and a pale blue tank top of Kie’s that had three small hearts in the middle. She was gorgeous.

“Kie?”

“Hi,” Kiara swallowed unsure of how to proceed. “We need to talk.”

Sarah nodded, wordlessly opening the door wider to allow entry to the dark haired girl of her dreams. Sarah had been lost without her girlfriend. Kiara seemed to drop off the face of the earth after Sarah found her in the bathroom. The blonde called countless times, but each ‘Hi! This is Kiara! You know what to do!’ broke her heart a little more. Sarah couldn’t tell you how many times she showed up outside of the Carrera house, hand poised to knock only to have her doubts make her turn back. Sarah was deathly afraid she’d done something to Kiara unknowingly, but after her brother spat in her face about her preference of lovers, she understood exactly what happened. Which is why when Kie stepped into her foyer, she blurted,

“I’m so sorry about my brother,”

Kiara was taken aback by the outburst, but glanced down at her feet quickly before nodding and meeting Sarah’s sadden gaze.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve told you right away, I just-“ Kiara struggled with the words, shrugging slightly. “I was scared and was so stupid to push you away.”

Sarah took a tentative step forward, aching to touch the breathtaking girl before her. She smiled softly. “I needed you and you pushed me away,” It was true, Sarah struggled about her sexual orientation and how and if she wanted to come out. And she needed Kie there, but the girl had refused to answer. “But I need to know you won’t do that again if I’m going to let you back in.”

Both girls knew that Sarah was gonna accept her back with open arms either way but Kiara nodded, stepping so they were toe to toe.

“I promise I won’t ever do that again.” She whispered, voice a little broken as she pressed her forehead against the blondes.

And with that, Sarah surged forward, lips attaching to a Kie’s in a loving apology from both sides. And within the kiss, Kie found herself truly at peace.

————————

Tag list

All: @jayjaymaebank​ @rudys-pankow​ @maaybanks​ @everydayimfangirling​ @outrbank​ @thelocalpogue​ @lyricalimerence​ @ahhireallydontknow​ @never-ever-too-many-fandoms​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @insanitysparkles @mcarignan​ @copper-boom​ @haharudy​ @x-lulu​ @pit-zuh​ @socialwriter​ @alwaysasadaesthetic​ @jjmaybanqs​ @magnuolia @bellaguarneri​ @diverdcwn​ @diverrdown​ @drewswannabegirl​ @drew-starkey​ @mahleeyuh​ @divcrdown @youfookendonut​ @dpaccione​ @starkeymarkey​ @outerbanksbro​ @jjs-housekeeping​ @teenwaywardasgardian​ @traumaflavouredjuulpod @ad-infinitums​

Kiara, Rafe, Sarah & Pogues: @talksoprettyjjx​ @manicmee​ @notaninstagrammodel​ @oxmaddy​ @obx-direction-sos​ @newhopenessie​ @alternativehp​ @obxmxybxnk​ @sarapage89 @emsma11 @fangirlvoice​ @danicarosaline​ @timmyswrld​ @gmwlover100​ @bxbyyyjocelyn​ @teamnick​ @jjmbanks​ @thesurfingsnail @lulubutton34​ @obxsummer​ @katiaw2 @yeehaw87​ @poguecollins​ @jessica-1120 @yxseminx​

[theshy1sout]

What if Branch’s born as a Rock Troll (but we start from the very beginning)

All right everybody, many of you talk about Rock Branch AU, but i didn't find the fanfic/headcanon post, which start it earlier than from TWT. So.... Just try to imagine Poppy's life without Branch. I had even few scripts: (prepare yourself for really long headcanon... Or fixanon? Anon? IDK, just Rock Branch AU XD)

Describetion is sometimes roughly short, I just wanted to share my ideas with you, not write a fanfic (but i would like to write it as fanfic, but it’s too big project to me. Feel free to take my ideas)

1. Poppy stays home

Bergen (Chef of course) kidnaps Snack Pack and Poppy wants to resque them. But King Peppy (as her father and still king) doesn't let her. There’s nobody who can go with her, so she has to stay home. Snack Pack dies obviously and whole Troll Village can't find good hide (there’s no bunker) so Peppy decides (after a little hesitation) to ask for help the nearest other genres trolls. And there are two option:

A) Classical music trolls

They're not happy to see pop trolls. After long disccusion Trollzart agrees to host them, but there's one condition - They have to be silent. They agree, because they're afraid of bergens much more than anywhen before. But after weeks without pop music they start humming and then even playing Classical music. They quickly become just Classical music nation.

After a few years Barb attacks them, but pop trolls are exstremally desperated to protect their New home. So with two strings and a significant number advantage, Pop and Classical music trolls win the battle. They let Techno trolls free and give them back their string. Pop Trolls are allowed to sing and play their music back. And then the three Royals start disccusion: What should they do with Rockers? Trollzart and Trollex agree to destroy their music and become them Classical Nation but Poppy doesn't feel good with that.

She decides to visit a prison. The prisoners yell at her and are really mean to her, especially Barb. But then she notices one troll who's just silent. She starts talking with him. He says that Rock World Tour wasn't good, it was just cruel and unjustice, so Rockers deserve their fate. He's also really kind. His name is Branch. Poppy, feeling really lonely after losing all of her friends, starts visiting prison every day and she and Branch become friends. Poppy starts fighting for giving Rockers New chance. Trollzart and Trollex aren't convinced about her idea, till one day Poppy shows them Branch. He bows and tells them what he told Poppy earlier. After that Royals agree on the solution: Pop and Rock trolls settle down Vulcano City as a United nation ruled by Pop trolls. Beside that, Rockers can't move out from the City for 5 years.

Rockers are kinda content with that. Even Barb, who lifes with her dad in a little cottage instead of her previous Villa, feels good not being Queen anymore. Royals keep in touch with each others and they start slowly trying to befriend with Country and Funk trolls. And also Branch and Poppy end up happily together.

B) Rock Trolls

Barb isn't Queen yet. Trash is still King and He's really open to Pop trolls, even if they're so different. First days are hard, but then Poppy and Barb become best friend and everything is ok. Bergens can't find them there.

One day Poppy meets Branch - He's amazed by her and she's amazed by him. They just want to know each other more, they starts meeting and after half year they become a couple. They're so happy with each others. Barb see it, she's a good Poppy friend and she doesn't want to be a Queen, not feeling good in it, she want to be free, so - She give her 'crown' Poppy and Branch. When they get married, they rule United nations of Pop and rock. They start Pop-Rock World Tour to meet and know other trolls' genres and offer them unite. HAPPY END

2. Poppy tries to be a hero good Queen.

Which means, Poppy doesn't obey her dad and goes to rescue her friend on her own. There are also two option:

A) No one rescues Poppy from spiders so they just eat her :D

But that's only beginning. Creek betrays trolls (there isn’t a cow bell, but there also isn’t the bunker), so every single pop trolls are eaten by bergens. Creek knows that if he stays with them, they'd eat him to, so he escapes. And then he lose himself on the huge desert.

But he doesn't die.

Funk trolls rescue him. He tells them about pop troll, but doesn't mention that they were eaten by bergens thanks to him. Funk trolls starts taking care of him, cause he's the last pop troll now and also he knew Cooper. So he tells them about Cooper a lot and they treat him like their precious son.

When Barb attacks them and she discovers the last pop troll, she forces Creek to show her the Pop string. But he doesn't know about it at all. So she forces him to guide Rockers to the Old Pop Village and then they start searching. And then Creek accidentally finds the string. He knows what Barb wants to do, so his conscience wakes up right now and he destroys the string and becomes gray (and also all pop subgenres, like kpop, become gray. Pop music just doesn't exist now).

And this is the moment when Branch appears. He's Barb's sword-arm. He always think that Trolls World Tour just isn't right but he just can't do anything with that til now. Now when he sees gray Creek with Broken string, he realizes that The Strings are destroyable. Now he has a hope. And now he isn't alone. He takes Creek and escapes far away.

But Creek doesn't feel like a hero. He's far from it: now he realizes how bad were things he did and he feels like he sucks once again, destroying pop string. Once, crying, he tells Branch everything about himself. But even hearing that Branch doesn't leave him alone. He comforts him by promice that if Creek helps him destroy rest of the strings, he would atone for his sins. Creek agrees and they starts making plans.

Meanwhile, Barb is just broken. Branch was the most trustful person in her life and she has a crush on him. His 'betrayal' really hurts her. She sends trollshunter after him, being sure that Branch just stole pop string.

Trollshunter finds Branch and Creek one by one and they just joins them. Beside Chaz, they had to 'arrest' him. Their become a rebellious gang and in suitable moment they just achieve their plan: they steal the guitar with the Strings and destroy them.

Every trolls are just shocked. Everyone just suddenly lose their colors and music, it isn't not a big rock concert, they just are in the huge prison in the Vulcano Rock City. Kpop trolls just switch on every single speaker that ever exists and there he is, a rock troll named Branch just goes in to the prison with a microphone. He starts singing "True Colors" to them - to the gray, unhopeful, sad trolls without their music. They starts smiling and joining him, one by one, they makes a choir, big perfect harmony. When Barb pop into the prison and she sees all prisoners and guards singing together in perfect harmony. She’s really touched. Branch turns around to her and hands her a mic. She finishes the song, singing "Like a rainbow" and smiling. After the song she hugs Branch and says to him 'thank you' so they make up. He hugs her back of course, also smiling.

This story ends kinda like an oryginal movie - all trolls life in harmony - beside that Creek is the only pop troll. He get married one of kpop troll girl and their offspring try to rebuild Pop trolls nation. And also Barb and Branch are happily together. YAAAAYYYY

B) My fav script - The Gray Poppy

So Poppy is more careful and spider doesn’t catch her. She arrives to Bergentown, sees Creek is eaten, rescues her friends, helps Bridget with King Gristle (but talk in the roller-skating rink goes really bad:( ), then Creek betrays them and whole trolls end up in the big bowl (pot? peck? dixie? XD) and they all become gray.

But no one sings a song. No one comforts Poppy, no one gives her a hope. There are just silence and darkness.

Bridget of course rescues them, but she doesn’t end up happily, cause trolls are just gray, scaried and sad, Poppy just doesn’t come back to rescue Bridget. She’s just too frightened. And also Bridget says bergens, she actually ate all trolls, so bergens... Well, do something terrible to her.

They come back to the Village. After year they all get back their colors, but Poppy’s stay a bit dull, cause she can’t forget about how she disappointed Bridget. When Barb sends them a message, Poppy takes Cooper, who wants to know trolls like him, and of course accidentally Biggie and mr Dinkles, and starts the trip. The story is kinda the same in Symphonyville and Lonesome Flats. It’s different when they drop into the river with Hickory. Cause No one rescues Poppy. She blacks out, hitting on a stone, and almost sinks. The rapidity get her far from her friends and far from Lonesome Flats and throws her on the bank, where Chaz finds her.

 Chaz brings her to Barb and she imprisons Poppy. She also give them the most trustful Rock Troll as a guard - her sword-arm, Branch. Barb doesn’t know where is the pop string and Poppy doesn’t want to her her, that she has it in her hair, so Barb treatens that she’ll hurt pop trolls and then leaves the prison to attack Funk trolls and Pop Village. Poppy, seeing that she sucks once again as a queen and as a friend, loses her colors. Branch sees it and feels pity for her. He asks her why she’s so sad and she tells him whole story of her life and pours out her heart. Branch suddenly realizes that Rock World Tour isn’t as good as he thought. He let Poppy free, but she says she doesn’t go anywhere without him. She doesn’t want to leave her saviour once again (like Bridget before). So he disguises her as a Rock Troll and they escape together. Poppy’s desperated to rescue her friends, but Branch takes her into hiding in the safety place and then making a plan how to rescue them.

So there they are, hiding in the forest, with a pop string, when hunters are looking for them. Poppy is just broken and Branch comforts her a lot. He just can’t stand seeing her so sad, so one day, when she ‘s really unhopeful, he takes the string with anger and yells that everything is just because of them (The Strings). And He destroys it. Poppy’s shocked. She takes the rest of the string into her hand and looks at it sadly, when Branch realizes what he’s done and starts apologizes her. But then she just looks up at him and says: “You’re right. We have to destroy them!” He blinks and smiles when she hugs him tightly saying “thank you”.

Ok. Enough details.

They sneaks to the Volcano City and destroys the Strings. The end :D

Nah, I’m joking. they takes the mic and there is the same scene like at the end of the previous script, but this time Poppy and Branch sing together starting from “True colors” and then get to “Just Sing”. Poppy gets back her colors and there is a scene like she turns to Branch, smiles and starts talking how grateful she is for everything he did for her and then he just interrupts her, kissing her.

C) Rebel Branch

 I didn’t want to write this script firstly, cause it’s known and appears very often in fanfics, but... It’s also one of the option and i like it and I like write so i’m gonna write my own version of this well-known script.

It’s kinda really similar to previous to the point when Poppy gets the message from Barb. She just decides to obey her dad and the whole pop village hide deep in the forest. But Barb finds them regardless :D

So they all are captive and Branch again is the guard, the most trustful Rock Troll, Barb’s sword-arm et cetera. He sees Poppy losing her colors completely, he asks, she talks and cries, pouring out her heart. But this time is much too late - the big rock concert, where every Barb wants to turn every trolls into a rock zombie, just starts. So what does Branch do? He puts hand into Poppy’s cage and dries her tears. He smiles at her and then he just goes out of the prison (Hearing Poppy’s quiet voice “Branch?” behind him). He just walks on the stage. No one expects nothing weird from him, so when he stands next to Barb, she just hands him the guitar with the Strings with excitedly grin and yells at him “You went in the time! Play with us!”. He smiles, get the guitar and then just destroys it. 

Everyone’s shocked. What just happened? Everything just loses its colors. Barb yells at Branch “What are you doing, man?!”, but it’s just too late. Everyone’s just confused, even Branch. Only Poppy smiles in her cage. And then she starts singing. I think this time “This little light of mine” or “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing”. And then Branch looks up at her and she smiles at him. King Trash starts playing a music and Branch joins to the song with Poppy. And then everybody join. Hurray!

Everyone befriends with everyone. Poppy thanks Branch, they starts talking more and meeting each other and ya know. Slow-growing relationship.

Yes, they get married at the end, I swear.

Okay, That’s the end, i swear. If you like one of this idea and want to draw it/turn it into a fanfic, but take it. Feel free to use it. But please, tag me, i wanna read it

Thank you for you attention :D

[msiopao]

Sera with the Members

a/n: mark is in this because dream is now a fixed unit and he’s part of the lineup!!!!!!

WATERMELON ADDICT

was the person who made Sera comfortable since he reminded her of home

always asks if canadian bacon is better than american bacon

‘i dONt kNoW, sERa! mEAT iS mEaT!’

she didnt actually cry on stage when he was leaving but she cried when it was just the two of them and he recorded for the last time

it was her idea for hyuck to buy him a big bottle of ketchup

CANNOT believe that mark was a churchboy and ends up acting up in music videos

the duality SCARES her

calls her finny since her name is serafina

sera has her own room but she has an extra bed so he sleeps in there when he spends the night

learned this watermelon shake to help mark’s hangover

english all the time

ever since they met, mark has always placed his elbow on her head due to her short height

sera learned this fried rice recipe from her mom and he goes over to their dorm for breakfast

‘mark bls dont touch anything. get out of the kitchen and go watch tv or something’

always brings up his messed up eggs

‘gordon spitting facts tho’

whenever he feels too overworked or too pressured, sera has always made it a point to come over to their dorm and have a movie night with just the 2 of them with his favorite snacks and drinks

LONJIN

omg these two

sera is typically not mean but when renjun starts, she becomes ruthless

always calling out his fake personality

‘everyone, don’t believe him! he’s 2 faced!’

‘what are you even saying! you act like you’re so quirky and giggly but you yeeted jisung into the wall last night!’

‘YAH!’

so yea, they fight a lot

but its very playful and they know where that line is drawn and not cross it

he talks to her about space and aliens and she listens to every word bc renjun sounds so confident and happy whenever he talks about that stuff

they’re actually 10 days apart but sera acts like she’s 10 years older than him

‘IS THAT HOW YOU TALK TO SOMEONE OLDER?!’

‘okay, granny’

always in awe whenever renjun draws and paints and she really likes seeing him in his element

unbeknowst to her, he actually draws her a lot

wants to frame all of his work 

they go out to the roof and stargaze

he steals her airpods just to watch her go crazy

once hid her phone in the fridge

lives for his vocals

cannot believe how much he’s grown from chewing gum era to now

her heart strings were tugged when he cried in dnyl

renjun always says that he wishes sera was born as his little sister bc they act like they’re siblings

EYESMILE PRINCE

hmm

so their is kinda complicated

sera’s closest to him than all the members bc 1, he was her first friend and 2, he has cats

before, when they still went to school, her and jeno always went together

yes, jaemin and jeno and her went together in the beginning

but jaemin was in the hospital and recovering so it just became them 2

also, she goes to visit his parents so she can see his cats

this results to his parents and older sister adoring her

‘bongsik, nal, and seol are my kids’ - lee sera, 00 line vlive

she always craves for attention and when it isnt given bc he’s too busy playing, she just walks into his room and sits on his lap while he plays

tries to get his attention by saying stuff but he teases her by acting like she aint there

‘fine, i’ll go to jaemin’

jeno wasnt supposed to be blonde for the comeback but they were just messing around and next thing they knew, jeno’s tips were bleach blonde

when shes on that,,,, time,,,,, hes the only one in the dorm she listens to

not even johnny, who’s practically her father

collabs with her mukbang show and jsmr

he mentions her like at least once whenever he has lives that she’s not in

steals his glasses all the time just to watch him wander around with this confused adorable face

hugs are so cute w these two and czennies see them hugging in videos and she can barely reach his shoulder 

forehead kisses and sweater paws for daysss

NANA

drop dead gorgeous boy

shes not safe from jaemin’s affections

*cue jeno glaring at him for stealing her*

we all know how much he loves the members and whenever sera breathes, he busts his uwus

takes so many pictures of her

sera buys him lots of lip balms and carmex but he always forgets to put them on

sera hates peaches but she buys him peach flavored sweets whenever she sees them

‘NANA!!’

sera is also an attention whore so she always runs to him and wraps her arms around him and he squeals by how cute she is

bought him an expensive camera for his birthday

has a polaroid picture of him in her clear phone case

actually, her phone background is an old picture of predebut sera, jeno, and jaemin

one of the rare moments where she cried was when she found out that jaemin wouldnt be in a few comebacks bc he was sick

kept visiting him and jaemin cannot repay her enough

the dorm is full of ryan and winnie plushies from the sofa, a tiny winnie plush on the corner of the island counter, and their bedrooms

sera is the one who always throws away the his satanic drink even though it’s still full

‘yah, you need to think about your health and if it your body is tired, dont fight it by trying to drink these to keep your energy’

sleepovers with them are often and sometimes found sleeping on the spare bed in her room

FULL SUN

our big babie

oh boi when he got hurt

sera called him twice a day, one in the morning and one at night, just to check if it’s still hurting and making sure he’s resting

forever remembers when he dressed up as a girl 

‘you see, i’m not the only girl member. dongsuk is just on hiatus right now’

his name on her phone is ‘man-child’

when he went on tour with 127, she really missed him

like she missed him so much that she kept posting on instagram for him to hurry back home

still mad that he moved dorms to be with the older members

when sera got sick, she made him sing ‘no longer’ to her like a lullaby

when he asks sera to do something for him, usually she says no because he asks her to do ridiculous things but his aegyo always convinces her

thinks his color amblyopia is so fascinating and adds more into the unique traits he has

another attention giver and she loves hugging him because he gives really warm hugs

one time, jeno and sera had a fight and it got so bad that hyuck had to be called and he was the only one who got to talk some sense in sera to talk to jeno

but the legendary markhyuck summer fight was resolved because sera yelled at them and cried since they are best friends and they shouldnt be like that to each other

they made up since ‘wow sera cried’ and ‘the members are ready to beat us up if we continue this’

and by members, like all members, including the older ones

sera knows how much being the moodmaker title burdens him so she tries to ease that burden by talking to him just the two of them

DOLPHIN CHILD

look how adorable he is UWU

he is 1/2 of sera’s sons

like she’s whipped for him and jisung and he knows it too

‘noona~’

‘yes, i will give you the world, the stars, and the moon’

thinks his laugh is endearing and is sad that it isnt that high-pitched anymore since his voice got a little deeper

cannot believe how much he’s grown too

when he speaks in chinese, sera thinks its the cutest thing 

‘can we give his scalp some rest? its not healthy for the boy’

trust fund babies

you know how chenle has 3 airpods?

sera went through 4 phones since she keeps losing or breaking it

dont ask how bc shes as clumsy as namjoon

had this phase where he wouldn’t stop back-hugging his noona and she just left it alone

always buys him snacks and cooks him a lot of food bc she thinks he’s too skinny and wants him to be healthy and gain some fat on those cheeks again

on their break, she went to china with jisung and her lock screen is a picture of her and chenle holding his nephew

triggered her baby fever

czennies ship them but he makes it clear she’s the older sister he’s never had

nct dream took a vacation to her hometown and she bought them basketball tickets so chenle could see his idol

his mom practically adopted her since she goes over to his apartment all the time whenever the others are getting too much for her

she misses him so much its not even funny

JISUNG PWARK

our maknae is growing up :(

sera had the whole family sit and watch the first episode of dancing high

so proud of her boy

she called him during the show and it was shown and heard about her telling him to take care of himself and to not be too hard on his body and that she’s waiting for him at home

as the youngest member overall, sera babies him the most

he obvs takes advantage of it and she used to cuddle him to sleep when he was younger bc he had a hard time sleeping

again, cooks for him a lot since he’s a growing boy and making sure he takes vitamins and drinks water and limit sugary things

she calls his mom to give him updates about her son

remember his phone that he used until it actually died?

sera actually bought him a new one before that happened and just casually gave it to him

‘i know this was going to happen so i just took care of it. i have to take care of you, jisung-ah’

hypes him up whenever he dances bc wow this boy is actually talented

doesnt really like skinship but he tolerates it when she holds his hands bc theyre so much bigger than hers

one day just woke up and she got so confused when jisung grew up

‘did you grow in your sleep?’

‘n-no?’

loves his awkward nature and she keeps saying how adorable he is and cute he is whenever he acts cool

god, she’s just so whipped for him

but tbh, who isn’t?

aaaahhhhhh i cannot believe our wish came true and they became a fixed unit and we really getting a comeback and an mv in the 29th!!!

[thebisexualdogdad]

Being Claudia Donovan's brother and dating Steve Jinks

Co written with @inhumanshadows

· You didn't start dating Steve until a year after he joined the team 

· For one reason you thought dating a co worker was a bad idea 

· And more importantly your sister was his best friend

· And that was another can of worms.

· However after a year... you decided to talk to her about it.

· And by talk you meant “frantically run to her room shouting ‘crisis!”

· "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

· "I uh.. Want to ask Steve out on a date" 

· "Well finally" 

· "You knew i liked him?" 

· "Everyone knows dude, even Pete figured it out"

· “Wow... that’s uh... kinda sad honestly...”

· “Yeah... so go ask him out.”

· You asked Steve and out and he happily said yes 

· There isn't much to do in south dakota so your first date was just to a dinner in town

· The date was pretty nice. You guys just sat there and tried not to talk about work. But with your job kinda the only thing.

· Then Steve wanted to know about the other cases you guys had before he came along.

· You spent hours telling him all about the dumb shit Pete got into before Steve joined

· And how Claudia accidently magnetized herself to the warehouse

· “Wait wait she what?”

· “Oh yeah. Alessandro Volta’s lab coat. Then there was the time the place almost exploded cause of silly string.”

· You end up kissing him goodnight outside his bedroom at the inn and Pete see's who tells Claudia

· You definitely heard someone scamper down the hall.

· but you didn't care, you just wanted to kiss steve again

· You made out in the hall until Myka left her room to find Leena and stumbled upon you guys 

· "Oh come on Myka don't ruin the mood" Pete yells from down the hall

· "Great Pete you ruined our cover" Claudia then yells 

· "Claudia, Pete knock it off," you yell at them

· Said guilty parties pop up from around the corner.

· “Really? Really what are we 5?” You ask.

· “It was Pete’s idea!” Claudia points

· “What!!”

· You guys go on a few more dates and eventually have the are we officially boyfriends talk

· You’re laying in your room, away from the nosey coworkers and family.

· “So... boyfriends?” You ask. 

· Steve nods. “You know Claudia had a pot going for how long it would take you to ask me out?” 

· “I’m gonna kill her....”

· Nobody ships you guys more than Pete not even Claudia 

He's always trying to set up cute moments for you two 

· Like putting up the mistletoe on christmas

· “Haha very fun Claudia...” you say, pointing to aforementioned plant.

· “Wasn’t me I swear. You guys are cute but I don’t need to see my brother and bestie sucking face.”

·"Where's Pete" 

· "Damn i was so close"

· You shake your head and give Steve a quick peck. 

· Pete: “aww I missed it.”

· One of the perks of dating another warehouse agent is getting to see the world with him

· Granted most of those involve artifact related high jinks and chaos. Of course you claudia and Steve are a team.

· Which means many times your delightful sister has gone “hey lovebirds! Artifact!”

· Claudia now makes Artie book her a room on a separate floor after the incident where she could hear you guys going at it next door through the thin hotel room walls

· Josh is very nonchalant about his younger siblings dating 

· When he met Steve it was just alright cool and that's it

· You look to Steve “Relax. He’s telling the truth.”

· double dates with Myka and HG often

· Going out for drinks and having to help HG carry a tipsy Myka home

· Or HG casually dropping that she knows whatever historical figure Steve brings up

· She’s like “[insert historical name here] Very homosexual. Revolving door of men.”

· Arties like a dad, the moment he sees you kiss even just a peck he looks away

· You wear Steve’s jacket and artie is like “is that new?” Pete and Claudia : “it’s steves.”

· Or having to hurry to get dressed in the morning for a mission and not realizing you're wearing each other clothes until later

· You guys have a break and you realize you got your pants right but shirt and jacket and even your underwear once got swapped

· You and Claudia tried to throw a surprise birthday party for Steve and it was a disaster

· There was screaming and flying cake. but it did end in laughter

· And Steve pretended like he didn't know but he secretly got Pete to tell him days ago

· You find out while you and Steve share a shower. “Pete Really told you....”

· “Yes. But I appreciate the effort.”

· You and Steve are always trying to set Claudia up on dates

· You also debated tracking down Todd

· "I do not need help finding a boyfriend" 

· "And how long have you been single for again?" 

· "Shut it"

·  “What was that? T-t-two years?”

· “I’ll murder you...”

· You and Steve end up getting a dog who becomes the team dog

· You guys come home and announce “trailer has a brother!”

· You got him mainly because you were jealous that Artie was trailers favorite

· He’s a corgi named Max

· You guys spoil him, he has so many toys and everyone always sneak him treats

· He’s your little loaf. And myka wants to steal him

· He's a bandana boy with a rotating attire 

· He even has a pride bandana that Pete got him 

· "What kind of gays are you not even getting your pet a pride outfit"

·“We have you pete. We knew you’d do something.”

· “Oh yay! Points for uncle Pete.”

· When you get hurt Steve drops everything to nurse you back to health

· He’s a mother hen and goes a bit overboard but it comes from places of love.

· Max's new home is your chest when you get hurt

· "Did i just get replaced by the dog?" 

· "Babe there's enough space for both of you" 

· He's such a cuddler

· Claudia Totally secretly plans a wedding

· And denies the hell out of it

· "Claud, Steve and i aren't planning on getting married for many many years" 

· "You can never be too prepared bro"

· Pete: “especially in our line of work!” “See pete gets it!”

· Oh boy. Steve’s mom meeting you.

· She won't stop telling Steve how handsome you are

· And she’s just so happy. Steve is blushing and hoping she doesn’t bring up any stories

· And she sneaks Steve the family ring

· "For when you're ready dear, I know you're gonna marry that man one day"

· Meanwhile you’re over by the family photos. “Is this you in high school?!? You had BLUE HAIR??!”

· "The teenage angst was real in high school" 

· "Oh god i can't believe you had a nose ring"

· His mom is like: “he had his he combat boots and eyeliner too...” “ma!!” “Please go on!!” Steve: “what have I done...

· You feel bad so you share some of your own embarrassing stories from high school

·“I once got caught making out with the coach's son

· "No way" 

· "Yeah i got banned from the locker room"

· “What else?” 

· “Um... can’t tell that one in front of your mother... oh I once made got into class through a three story high window”

· "You could have gotten seriously hurt" 

· "I was 16 i wasn't thinking"

· “Unbelievable.” 

· “Oh come on. You have to have done stupid stuff

·"I guess i did ride a skateboard into a pool once..."

· “A full pool” His mom tacks on.

· “Ma!”

· Vacations with Steve are tough because he's constantly checking his phone for an artifact sos

· You helped Claudia build more tiny artifact ping things and have them on your person.

· "Steve we're on a beach in the Bahamas, they can handle the warehouse for one week without us"

· “I know... I just... you know?”

· “I do... and I get it. But right now you and I are on mandatory vacation so let’s enjoy it.”

· You make Steve turn his phone off and take a long walk along the beach

· That walk is empty enough for the occasional ass grab from you.

· Once Steve truly starts to relax you guys explore the island taking in all the information the tour guides give you

· You guys spend the rest of the first day getting ideas on what to do. Now you’re back in the hotel room. You decide to shower, now covered in sand.

· one of the days you found out there's a hot surfer giving paddle boarding sessions

· After your paddle boarding lesson you returned to your room both you and Steve blushing about how hot the guy was

· “Can I just say that instructor was very hot!! Not as hot as you Steve but...”

· "That was one gorgeous man, think we should try to set him up with Pete?" 

· "Honey Pete is straight" 

· "You sure about that?"

· You think for a minute. “Well... now that you mention it....”

· You keep that idea on the backburner as you grab the phone to order some room service 

· "Tomorrow's the last day what do you want to do?"

·  “Honestly? Let's relax here maybe get a massage and then order in.”

· The next day you do as Steve suggests and just relax

· You sleep in and have lunch 

· Get a couples massage and end the day with one last walk on the beach

· At the end of the walk Steve stops you before you return to the room 

· "Y/N there's something i want to talk about" 

· "What's that?" 

· "Us"

· “Okay... should I be worried?”

· “No! No! Nothing like that.

· "What is it then?" 

· "You know i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life with you" 

· "This is sounding like a proposal Jinksy" 

· "Don't worry I'm not proposing, we're not ready for that right now but one day I want to"

· You smile. “I’d like that too... one day... that isn’t today.”

· “I love you Y/N.”

· “Love you too Jinksy”

·  "Wait till Claudia finds out" 

· "I'm more worried about Pete, he's been waiting for the engagement since our first date" 

· "We really need to set him up with the hot surfer" 

· "Yes, yes we do" 

[kalypsichor]

oh darling [ beatles x reader ]

summary: backstage on the England leg of your tour, you meet the four Liverpool boys of your dreams

prompt: can i request a reader who’s a musician/singer and a big beatles fan so they sing their favorite songs at a concert (my peronal faves are “honey pie”, “oh, darling!” or “for no one”, but you can choose!) and the boys were secretly there!! the boys meet them after the show and the reader just loses it?? maybe some romance?? warnings: too much backstory, badly researched 60s slang

i’m fudging the timeline around so that in this fic oh! darling was released in the early 60s instead of in abbey road and reader is meeting them in the mid 60s. reader is american and I incorporated some romance but left it open-ended. more notes at the end!

masterlist

This is what you love most about touring. A thousand faces shining with the glow of the stage in dark concert halls; the satisfying dig of guitar strings into your fingertips; each inhale of breath that rushes into your lungs and is converted to notes ringing with clarity, clashing with dissonance; and the raw electricity of it all.

As the last chord of the song fades into the air, you allow yourself a giddy, adrenaline-fueled smile. The crowd roars and stomps their feet and you can feel the ground vibrating underneath your feet. It takes a while to get them to quiet down, and when they finally do, you lean in towards the mic.

“I’d like to thank y’all again for coming to tonight’s show!” Cue more screaming. “We’re going to close out with a song by a band you probably haven’t heard of— very underground, very obscure, you know. One of your lot. This is Oh! Darling.”

The crowd erupts into more cheers and you allow yourself to reminisce about the first time you’d heard this song on the radio. A few years younger and without a nickel to your name, your band had been just a hobby during the off-seasons of school. In the sweltering New Orleans summer, crammed into a friend’s garage, you wrote and played songs inspired by the local rhythm and blues so popular at the time. It was all just for your own enjoyment, of course— you didn’t think that anyone outside of Louisiana would like your kind of music. But you loved the slow grinding tempos and the strong backbeats that were so fun to dance to, even if you and your bandmates were the only ones who’d ever sing or dance to them.

Until, of course, you changed a radio station one day and suddenly heard that very same rhythm and blues from some internationally known band called The Beatles. “Well,” you said, turning to your bandmates, “if some pasty English boys can play it on the radio, why can’t we?” So the band began booking gigs at local bars, then theaters, then across the world as its popularity grew. All the while, you fell in love with the English band, buying every new record and learning your favorites on guitar.

And here you were on tour in Britain years later, living a dream you could barely believe. A giddy smile spreads across your face as you realize the enormity of being here at all, thousands of miles away from home and singing the song that started it all. Your fingers pluck the familiar strings and you feel yourself settle into a nostalgic beat.

Oh! Darling, please believe me I’ll never do you no harm…

When it’s over and you take your last bow, sweat beads your face and neck and you want nothing more than a cold shower and a bottle of champagne. The din of cheers and claps follows you into the wings of the stage where your manager waits with an odd smile on her face.

“Some people here to see you,” she says. You grab a cup of water from one of the assistants and down it like, well, water.

“I thought we weren’t letting fans backstage today.”

“Yes, but these aren’t the usual fans. They’re… you have to see for yourself.”

You set down the glass, already wishing you were in bed. “Look, Grace, I’m sorry but it’s just not a good time. I don’t care if it’s the Kennedy’s or Jesus Christ himself, tell them to come back later.”

“It’s been said that we’re bigger than Jesus, y’know.”

If you turned your head any faster you would’ve gotten whiplash. That familiar Scouse accent that you’ve only heard in records and interviews… but there was no way it was—

“John Lennon?” It’s your drummer, Thomas, who speaks. “You’re John Lennon. God, that’s unreal. I’m talking to John fucking Lennon.”

“Oh, don’t mind us, we’re just backdrop,” grumbles one of the other three. He’s got dark, intense eyes under heavy brows and a mop of hair. This is George Harrison in the flesh and blood, and he would seem very serious if it weren’t for his toothy, almost canine grin. You feel a thrill race down your spine from the almost predatory look that he gives you.

Kate, the bassist, peers over your shoulder. “Y’all are a lot shorter in person,” she comments. Then, quietly to you, “Close your mouth, honey. You’re catching flies out here.”

You really hope you’re not drooling. It’s no big deal, right? Except that your idols are standing right in front of your eyes, mop-tops and all. You suddenly become hyper-aware of how your hair is plastered to your face and yet somehow also sticking up in eighty different directions. Why didn’t you use more product? More importantly, why haven’t you said a single word yet? They must think you’re some kind of idiot. Okay, do something before it becomes awkward. A handshake! A handshake is good.

You stick out a trembling hand. “Hi,” you say, voice breathy and high like some kind of schoolgirl with a crush.

Too late, you realize that there’s no way all four of them can shake your hand, idiot, and you’ve already come up with four different ways to fake your own death and never speak to anyone again when Paul McCartney (Paul! Freaking! McCartney!) takes your palm with a gentle but steady grasp. He brings it to his lips in a mock bow, eyes peering up under fluttering eyelashes.

“M’lady.”

(Is this what cardiac arrest feels like?)

“Down, boy!” John pats the back of the bassist’s head, smirking, and before you can mourn the loss of his touch they’ve begun bickering like an old married couple.

A different hand takes yours. Thick, calloused fingers. Cold metal rings press into your skin. “Don’t mind them, they’re children. I’m Ringo.” And here was Ringo Starr with the signature grin. Something about his sweet, wide smile makes you relax instinctively. He’s just human, like you. They all are. Underneath the fame and fortune, you’re all just messy humans with a love for music. And with that realization, you let yourself settle back into your usual self.

“They’re not so bad,” you say. “I’ve seen worse. At least they’re potty trained, right?”

This gets an adorable laugh from him as well as George, the latter of which had been talking to Kate about guitars until now.

“Great job up there, by the way.” You blush at the compliment and George goes on, “Those are some wicked brilliant riffs! You’ve got to show them to me sometime.”

“What, and let you steal our band’s secrets? You’ll have to try a little harder than that, mister.”

The three of you fall into an easy banter, mostly gushing about each others’ musicianship. Eventually, John and Paul break their fight, realizing that they’re no longer the center of attention.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” John says a little breathlessly, still laughing from something Paul said. You try not to notice how pink his cheeks are or the way his hair falls perfectly into his eyes from the toustling. “Say, why don’t we take this somewhere with a booth and at least three pints of alcohol?”

“There’s a pub two blocks down,” Paul chimes in, “and they always let us take the back door. The fans can get crazy, y’know.”

Pru, the other lead vocalist, swings an arm around your shoulder and answers before you can. “Sounds boss. I’m ready to split if you are, mop-tops.”

They look confusedly at one another and you huff, elbowing her in the ribs. “What she means is that we’d be delighted to go. Right, Pru?”

She scoffs something along the lines of stuffy Brits but nods. With that, the two bands begin making their way to the exits, melding into one raucous group of overlapping conversations. Before you can make it there, however, your manager grabs you by the arm and looks you in the eye with a steely glare.

“I better not being seeing your face in the papers tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Mom.”

“And be back at the hotel before three! You’ve all got interviews in the morning and I do not want another situation like Toronto on my hands. You hear me?”

“That reporter was a sexist pig and I meant what I said. Also, I wasn’t that hungover!”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” George pipes up, “We’ll get her back in one piece. Maybe two, if we’re unlucky.”

You pat Grace’s hand and her glare softens. “Alright, get outta my sight.” She waves a hand and walks off, already rattling off instructions a mile a minute at some poor intern.

“Is yours like that too?” you ask, looking after Grace fondly as she picks up a costume rack without slowing down. If the terrified look on the intern’s face is any indication, she’s still berating him to high hell.

“Honestly,” George replies, “I think all managers are. Mum away from home, y’know. Eppy’s always right and it’s annoying as hell.”

You share a knowing smile before surging on to catch up with the group already at the door. John’s at the lead. Elbowing your way through, you make your way to his side.

“It’s a side entrance so it shouldn’t be too bad,” he says, pushing on the handle.

Immediately, a barrage of sound smacks you in the face hard enough to do a double-take. Apparently, you and every other person in London knew about the side entrance because you’re met with a sea of clamoring fans. Heads turn toward the opened door in a mesmerizing, horrifying ripple of motion. Someone mutters a heartfelt fuck under their breath. It’s probably you.

“There she is!” a girl screams.

“I love you! I LOVE YOU!”

“Is that the Beatles?”

“MARRY ME PAUL! I WANT YOUR BABIES!”

Amidst the chaos, someone intertwines their fingers in yours. It’s John. He looks down at you with a boyish grin and, not for the first time, you lose a bit of yourself in his gaze. The other three boys share the same wild glint in their eyes. He leans close until his lips brush your ear and for a moment you let yourself believe that you’re alone with him and nobody else.

“This is the part where we run, darling.”

And so you do.

notes: because i’m horny for music history, i spent way too much time researching oh! darling’s musical composition. the song is heavily influenced by new orleans rhythm and blues as well as louisiana swamp blues, music styles originating from african-americans/creoles/cajuns in the 50s (read more about it here!). so in my mind, reader is of the same ethnic background as the music she creates, but you’re free to interpret it however you want! 

[starscheme]

Change My World

Chapter One: That Fateful Day

 July, 7, 42-61

That day was to be a simple run about town. The streets were alive and the townsfolk more chipper than I’ve ever see them. With everyone in such high spirits, surely this year’s festival was shaping up to be something grand.

However, it wasn’t long before I learned of the reason for all the excitement. As it turns out, a mermaid had been captured. They were bringing her in on the next boat and it was already docking. A mermaid hadn’t been seen in over one thousand years. They used to live close to the shores, until fear spread amongst the people on land. Now, capturing a mermaid was an easy path to gold and perhaps a new title.

The mermaid would be put on display for everyone to see. It was a tradition that when a mermaid was captured, it would be toured for entertainment on its way to the capital where it would be presented to the royal family in exchange for a reward.

Though it was mostly curiosity that led me there, it turned out that very curiosity would lead me down a road I never imagined for myself. For that was the day I met my first mermaid and the day…my life changed forever. It was on that day; I met Spinel. -S, Universe

 Though it was meant to be just another day for the town, the streets bustled about as if the Queen herself was to make an appearance. Steven had already finished his morning routine, making sure to buy the supplies he needed for the next week or so. The young man had only just turned 17yrs old, but was already living on his own just outside of town. His father, missing for the last four years of his life had already been presumed dead.

It was because of this, the people in town knew Steven well. Many families had offered to take him in, but the boy refused every time, ever optimistic that his father would come home and shrugging off the ones that insisted Greg was no longer of this world.

“Steven!” A young girl called out as she pushed her way through the unusual high volume of people on the street.

“Oh, good morning Connie,” Steven greeted with a smile.

Connie Maheswaran. A young, bespectacled woman that had been a close friend to Steven ever since his father disappeared. Her dark skin was covered in dirt already and her long ebony hair had been messily tied up in a bun, no doubt in haste. Though she wore a rather expensive looking dress, it was tied up towards her knees, clearly in an attempt to keep the hem from the dirt, but it appeared that had failed miserably.

“Your mother is going to throw a fit when she sees you,” Steven chuckled.

 Connie looked down at herself and smiled nervously as she pat her dress down, loosening the string that tied it up to her knees and letting it flow down towards her ankles once more. “Yeah, well…I really wanted to get a look at the ship that’s bringing the mermaid in. Trying to get through the crowd in this dress was such a hassle and my hair kept getting caught.”

“But how’d you get so dirty?”

Connie sighed miserably, “I…got into a little scuffle with one of the boys.”

“Again?” asked Steven, unsurprised.

“Listen to this, Steven,” Connie insisted, “he was talking about the mermaid in such a rude manner! He was laughing and even said he hoped she would misbehave so he could see her punished! I couldn’t just sit back after hearing that. Before I knew it, my book was out of my hands and knocking him in the back of the head. I mean, don’t you think this is barbaric?! The first mermaid to be seen in my lifetime and she’s to be caged on display as some side show before she’s hauled off to the capital like the ones in the past. When my father told me about this morning, I nearly screamed in protest. I wanted to get close enough to the boat so the sailors could hear me, but then I heard that boy…”

Steven listened as Connie continued to talk about the injustice humanity was practicing. Though she tended to lose herself when she got fired up, it’s why Steven enjoyed her company. She wasn’t like most of the other townsfolk. She was always pushing for change and speaking out against something she found to be unfair. People might have shunned her for it if it weren’t for her Mothers position. Being a Doctor was a well respected profession and no one dared offend the physicians only daughter, lest their own children ever needed treatment.

“…I mean it’s just deplorable,” continued Connie with a frown as she looked out at the celebrating masses. “This kind of prejudice is disgusting.”

Steven nodded his head, noticing that the crowd had nearly doubled in size since they began talking. “…I agree. I’d love to see a mermaid…but not like this. I mean, it’s not just this, but who knows what happens to them at the capital.”

“The royal family should asham—-eep!” Connie was confident in her words until she spotted her father weaving his way through the crowds. Remembering her filthy dress, Connie grabbed Stevens bag of supplies in a panic.

“Hey! Don’t you have to go and report in for work soon? I bet you don’t have time to take these home. Why don’t I do that for you? I’ll be sure to look for you after your shift ends! Bye Steven!” She spoke so quickly and rushed off without waiting for a reply that Steven just sighed with a smile.

Now that he no longer had to make his trip home, Steven made his way to the boardwalk where he reported daily for work. With the festival only a day away, there were a lot of odd jobs to go around and Steven was in high demand for most manual labor jobs since he seemed to be a lot stronger than the other men.

“Ah, Steven my boy,” greeted an overly cheerful looking man.

“Good morning, Mr. Smiley. You need any help today?” asked Steven as the man threw an arm around his shoulder.

“I sure do! I’ve been waiting to hand out this job just for you, Steven. I need someone real strong and trustworthy. You might have heard that a mermaid is being brought in, well, it just happens she’s going to be displayed right in the middle of my amusement park! Can you imagine all the business that’s going to bring me?” exclaimed the joyous man with a chuckle. “So I need you to set up the stage.”

Steven grimaced. He didn’t like the idea of helping to humiliate the mermaid in any way. “Ah…I’d rather do something else…”

“But Steven, who else could I trust with this?” Mr. Smiley asked as his smile faded. He scanned the people around them before leaning in close, “between you and me,” he began in a hushed voice, “the mermaid is already back stage. I can’t just let anyone help with the set up. You’re the most honest kid I know. Anyone else might try to steal a scale or hurt the creature just for kicks. So I was really hoping that you could…you know, keep an eye on the mermaid a bit. I don’t think anyone could out muscle you to get to her.”

It was true. Though Steven knew most people in town wouldn’t be so cruel, there were a lot of strangers from other places hoping to see the mermaid and who knew how many of them hated her just out of prejudice. “…f…fine.” Steven agreed reluctantly.

“That’s my boy!” exclaimed Mr. Smiley, leaning back up and slapping the boys back with his trademark grin restored. “Be sure to find me before the curtain goes up! I’ll be sure to reward you!”

“…just the regular pay is fine…” said Steven quietly. He didn’t even know if he wanted to get paid for something like this. Once he was given his instructions, Steven trudged to the backstage area where the mermaid was being held. Even if he was a little curious to see his first Mermaid, this was not how he hoped it would happen. As he approached, two men stood at attention, seemingly guarding the cage where the mermaid was being held. Though it appeared to be a large cage, it was covered by a loose curtain. All Steven could see was the very bottom and a faint pink fin that swished along the floor of the cage.

“I’m here to…relieve you…I guess.” Steven announced to the gentlemen, pulling out a piece of paper that Mr. Smiley had given him.

One of the guards smiled, “Finally. My feet are killing me. We’ve been at sea with this thing for weeks and I need a break.”

Steven frowned. Why did he have to interact with people like this? Connie was right. Simply deplorable. “…Shouldn’t she be in water?” he asked as he looked past the men, noting how she appeared to be inside a dry cage.

“Don’t you know anything about mermaids, kid?” One of the guards asked with a raised brow. “In the water, they can use magic and stuff. If you want to keep on docile, you have to make sure they don’t get any water.”

“but isn’t that painful?” Steven asked, unable to hide his concern. “They NEED water.”

“It’s not gonna kill the thing. Just makes it weak, and trust me, you don’t want this thing to gain any strength. I was there when our captain caught the beast. We’re lucky it didn’t kill us all at sea. Now, don’t be no bleed’n heart and just make sure no one gets too close to the thing, ‘kay?” With that, the guards walked off, laughing as they exchanged jokes. Surely about Steven’s concern for the mermaid.

He waited a good few minutes to make sure neither of the sailors would be coming back for anything. Once he was he’d be left alone, he took a deep breath and apologized to Mr. Smiley internally. How could he possibly sit idly by while this happened? Especially when he had this rare chance to actually do something about it? He turned towards the cage and grabbed the heavy curtain, pulling it off with ease to reveal the mermaid at last.

Steven stared in awe for a moment once he caught sight of the creature. The mermaid had a light pink tint to her human skin, but her scales were a brighter pink, covering most of her chest in what appeared to be the shape of an upside down heart. Her tail was covered in those bright pink scales as well, the fin at the bottom nearly transparent against the cage floor. Her face was mostly human, save for the ears that resembled a fish’s fin. She had dull red hair that had been pinned up in pigtails, but what Steven noticed more than anything else, was her bright, magenta colored eyes and the dark lines that ran down her cheeks like permanent tears. The mermaid was breathing heavily, her arms above her head as she was tied tight around the wrists with a rope that connected to the roof of the cage. She had been glaring at Steven the moment he removed the curtain. Even if her gaze was full of scorn, Steven couldn’t help but think she was beautiful.

Taking a knee in order to meet her gaze, Steven leaned close, placing his hands on the bars. “My name is Steven. …what’s yours?” he asked in a whisper.

The mermaid only continued to leer at him, either unwilling to speak or unable to. She did look terribly weak. Not having any water must have really done a number on her and he didn’t know enough about Mermaids to know exactly how it affected them. He actually didn’t know if she could even understand him. He looked around the cage and then scanned the backstage area. How was he supposed to get her out of here without anyone noticing? No matter how heavy she was, Steven was sure that wouldn’t be a problem for him, but he couldn’t just carry her off in his arms in broad daylight. There were too many people wandering around they were all on edge to see the mermaid. He’d have to find something to hide her in that no one would find too suspicious.

The mermaid watched cautiously as Steven rushed about backstage, gathering up random things and large wheelbarrow. He placed everything in a pile beside the cage and looked around once again. Though he was trying to be cautious, he also knew he had to be quick. Who knew when the sailors would return. Leaning back down to meet the mermaids eyes, Steven offered a smile, hoping that even if she didn’t understand him, she would see he was not trying to hurt her.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he stated calmly before he grabbed the bars and began to pull, gritting his teeth as they slowly started to budge. The mermaid watched in surprise now, amazed that a human had enough strength to pull off these iron bars. Once the bars were removed, Steven placed them down carefully and slipped his way into the cage.

The mermaid’s tail swished along the floor as she attempted to back up against the bars, pulling at the ropes that held her wrists. Steven could see he had alarmed her. Holding his hands up, he stopped moving. “…I’m not going to hurt you, but we have to hurry. I have to get you out of here before someone comes to check on you.” He insisted quietly.

With a raised brow, the mermaid allowed Steven to get closer, watching in confusion as he reached up and worked to untie the ropes that held her wrists. The ropes fell down into the mermaids lap and she pulled her arms back to herself with a brief look of relief. Glancing down, Steven could see how bruised and red her wrists were, the scales had all but been rubbed off or peeled back. It must have been from her struggling. He wanted to give her time, but they didn’t have much to spare. “…I’m sorry they hurt you. …If you can understand me a little…I need to put you in there,” he explained, pointing to the wheelbarrow behind him. “I’ll try and get you to the water, but I have to hide you or they’ll just catch you again.”

The mermaid stared in silence, glancing from Steven to the junk pile behind him. Even though it seemed like he didn’t want to hurt her, she couldn’t be sure that this wasn’t some trick. Perhaps he just wanted to capture her himself in order to get the reward instead of that ship’s captain. Once more, he seemed under the impression that she couldn’t understand him. So why was he telling her that he’d help her to escape if he thought she didn’t speak his language? Was that some part his plan to trick her? Still, there weren’t a lot of other chances to get out of here and if he was planning on keeping her for himself, there may have been a better chance to get the upper hand with just him. “…Okay.” She answered finally.

Steven gasped lightly. Her voice may have been hoarse and weak, but he heard her clearly. With a bright smile, he extended his arms slowly. Now that he was sure she could understand him, this was going to be much easier. “I’m going to pick you up and put you in there,” he informed her before scooping her up effortlessly, once again surprising the mermaid with his strength. Surely her tail was quite heavy on land. Placing her inside the wheelbarrow as gently as he could, he looked down at her sympathetically as he grabbed a couple heavy curtains for the stage. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to cover you with a few things. Try not to move either, or someone might think something is up.”

She said nothing, but nodded her head in response. With one last smile towards her, Steven placed the curtains over her, doing his best to be careful as he attempted to arrange her tail inside the wheelbarrow comfortably. He could see all the missing scales and cuts that she had sustained and he didn’t want to cause her anymore pain. Once she was completely covered up, Steven placed a few more random things on top of her, making sure it was as light as possible. The last thing he did was cover the cage back up, hopefully in order to give them a head start. Steven took a long, deep breath. This was the first crime he had ever committed, but if it was to save someone, so be it. He just hoped that he could get her into the water before he was caught, so at the very least, she could get home safely.

 A/N: Hello Everyone! Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it! I’ll get working on Chapter Two right away! If you want to see drawings of this AU, you can follow me on Tumblr. I’ll also be posting updates on the story’s progress there. The story will also be posted on Fanfiction.net My Username is the same on both platforms. See you all later!  

[notanotherscenarioblog]

Happy Birthday!!! (Request)

Requested from one of my fave writers - lovrodney :3 this was from my previous scenario blog. I tweaked it a little; enjoy, again! XD

-

My phone kept dinging, signaling that I have a message, woke me up in this morning. My bed hair was the least of my problems; it's what the heck I'm gonna do today! Today is my birthday! Oh my gosh!! Did my family have something planned? My friends? My bestfriend, Hoya? All these questions were in my head & that's when I received another text.

|I'm so sorry hun but I don't think I'll have time to see you on your special day :( Sunggyu-hyung has us practicing like crazy for the upcoming world tour.

I re-read the text from Howon over and over hoping I read it correctly. I sighed, semi-knowing that he has a tour coming up but I wish I meant something to him. Of course he means the world to me because I've been in love with Howon since forever. Well, I wasn't gonna let today be a waste. So I took a shower, changed into some stylish jeans & an INFINITE tee and put some light makeup on. When I walked towards the kitchen & made myself some breakfast, I was sooo happy that my birthday was on a weekend - meaning no school or work to worry about, until Monday of course.

After breakfast, I got into my car and rode to Infinity Stables where the kind caretaker told me I was able to ride for free today. Once I thanked him, I went to the stables, greeted my horse & put on all my safety-wear. After that, I set my belongings in my secret box so no one would steal them. I left my phone on just incase anyone wanted to hangout today. Sadly, that wasn't the case. What I didn't know was that the caretaker coincidentally let me ride today for free so that Hoya, INFINITE, my friends & family could have time and set up for my surprise birthday party.

About midday, the weather was getting too hot for my horse so I took her back in the stables for much needed rest. Once she was inside her own cub & took off the sattle, I checked my phone while heading towards my car.

I had 30 new messages, 10 missed calls & 5 voicemails. They were messages of everyone wishing me a happy birthday. Although I was really grateful, all except one person, whom I love, didn't text me yet. The one person I wanted to see most today didn't even say those 2 words. Feeling sad now & the fact that the daytime was turning into the nightlife, I drove back home. When I parked my car, I noticed there were about 20 other cars in my neighborhood, which was really weird. I didn't really think much of it, so I took my keys out, pushed them into the key hole & twisted the doorknob. When I opened the door, what was on the other side shocked me into tears.

|SURPRISE!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRISTINA!!!!

I saw everyone screaming, throwing silly string, blowing party poppers and I even felt balloons on me. Everyone was here - my family, friends & INFINITE, including Hoya. I looked everywhere for the mastermind behind this when I noticed him.

"Did you plan this?" I asked Hoya.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Yeah, I wanted to surprise you."

I hugged him tightly, "Thank you for being such a good friend."

He hugged me back & kissed my cheek. No, thank you for always being there for me.

---

After eating, talking, taking selfies, playing catch up & enjoying my party, it was time to open presents. One by one, I opened each gift, hoping for that one gift - a kiss from Hoya. What I received, however, was amazing; I got INFINITE's latest album, a sun dress, heels, shoes, my own sattle for my horse, money & much more. I opened the last gift, which was from Hoya. There was a box containing a necklace that said - beautiful, & a card that reads:

|To my bestfriend, I hope you enjoy your special day with all the people you love, and here's to many more.

When I looked up to thank him, I saw that everyone had moved out of the way & noticed there was rose pedals on the ground, leading me to believe that I should follow that path to see where it takes me. "how did I not notice the petals?" I thought. When I reached the end of the rose pedal path, I was in my backyard and saw Hoya standing in the middle with 19 roses & the rest of INFINITE behind him holding up cue cards that read:

Kristina, will you be mine?

In more tears, I ran up to him, gave him a huge hug & shouted to the whole world, "YES!!!"

"Saranghae", he whispered before taking my cheek in one hand, placing the other on my waist & captured my lips in a breathless kiss.

This was the best birthday ever.

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: T

Chapter Summary:   Luka and XY have a double date with Marinette and Adrien.

Word Count: 1627 | 5/5

Notes:  It’s the epilogue!  Takes place a while later, at least a few months.  @luxyweek thank you so much for this event!!

XXX

“Hey!  Over here!”  XY waved like he was trying to flag down an airplane.  

“I’m pretty sure they’ve already seen you,” Luka deadpanned, but he couldn’t suppress a smile.  As if anyone could’ve missed XY’s tall quiff, though Luka admitted he stood out more in XY’s purple jacket.

It was worth it, to see the grin it put on his boyfriend’s face.  And it almost no longer smelled like Doritos.

“Sorry we’re late!”  Marinette sounded out of breath as she plopped down at the edge of the Seine.  Her ice cream almost fumbled from her hands, but Adrien caught it with a smile and sat beside her.

“It’s no problem.  We know you’ve got busy schedules,” Luka said. 

He and XY had doubled with Alya and Nino twelve times in the last few months, but Marinette and Adrien were somehow more elusive.   Akuma attacks and other last-minute cancellations kept pushing their plans back.  He guessed that was to be expected when two out of the four of them were famous and the other two were getting there.

He was getting there, thanks to partnering with XY on his newest album.  It was a weird thought.  He still played with Kitty Section too, of course, but the collaboration had brought enough attention to the tiny band to get them into a minor record deal.  Nothing as fancy as what XY used to have with Bob Roth, but it had far fewer strings attached.

“So do you, now.”  Adrien punched his shoulder.  “You two are still going to California next week, right?”

“Yeah!  Kitty Section world tour, babey!”  XY grinned and flashed the new hand sign he’d come up with for the band.  It looked something like a shadow puppet cat, if it was missing a leg and been run over by a truck.

Adrien and Marinette blinked in surprise, and Luka hastily corrected, “It’s not a world tour.  We’re just going to open for a few concerts, see if the two of us can expand our name.  Jules and the others are too young to be traveling all over the world.”

“Pshaw, I’ve been trippin’ since I was, like, ten.  They’d be fine.”

Luka was pretty sure “trippin” didn’t mean what XY thought it meant.  Either way, Juleka might be fine with traveling to the states—Mom didn’t really care what they got up to—but Rose and Ivan’s parents would probably take issue.  

“Maybe I didn’t want to bring all of them along.  Did you think about that?”  His heartsong beat with anticipation for the trip.  Just him, his boyfriend, probably a lot of mac ’n’ cheese, a new city… there’d be so much musical inspiration, too.

XY’s mouth made a tiny o before he grinned.  “Aww, Lu, you didn’t tell me this was our honeymoon!”

Marinette just about choked on her blackberry-and-peppermint ice cream.

“You’re engaged?”  Adrien asked, eyes wide.

“No, NO.  Babe, you’ve got to stop that.”  Luka smacked XY’s chest, making him spill a glob of blueberry-cheesecake ice cream on Luka’s hand.  Luka rolled his eyes and licked it off.

“But their faces!”  XY cackled, but eventually relented.  “Naw, we’re still takin’ it slow.  It’s nice to just enjoy dating without my dad breathing down my neck.”

Getting XY to move away from his dad (and stay in Paris) was one of the best things that had ever happened to them.  Luka was lucky his boyfriend was a pop star who could afford the high city rent.

“I’m really happy for you.”  Marinette said once she recovered.  Her smile was directed at Luka and XY equally—of course, XY had told Luka about the advice she’d given him.

“Back atcha,” XY replied, holding his fist out for a bump, which she returned with a giggle.  “Looks like you finally talked to your dude too, huh.  Did you play him a sick tune?  Sew him a fancy little jacket?”

Adrien smirked at the blush on his girlfriend’s face.  “Well, she did make us matching—”

“Shut up.”

“...matching Ladybug and Chat Noir pajamas,” he whispered behind his hand. 

XY cracked up, laughing so hard he snorted.  That laugh never failed to make Luka smile, though Juleka thought he was crazy for it.

“See, Lu, they’re furries!  Why can’t we get matching Viperion and, I don’t know… maybe just matching Viperion hoodies?  I don’t think he has a partner.”  XY frowned, tapping his lip, which was stained with a smudge of blueberry ice cream.

“You know, I think he might.”  Marinette said with a wink at Luka.  Wait—did she know?  How did she know?  At least she was trustworthy; she wouldn’t give away his secret.  And it wasn’t like he was taking Sass to California, anyway.  “If you can convince Luka, I’ll make you some matching Viperion gear.”

Luka’s face warmed at the thought of his boyfriend in his alter ego’s merch.  He wasn’t a frequent enough Miraculous holder for anyone to sell anything official-looking, but that hadn’t stopped XY from latching onto him.  In XY’s words, “his abs are almost sexy enough to make me leave you, Lu.”  That had been a bit of a confidence-booster.

“If you’re not too busy.  And I’ll pay twice your usual commission fee,” Luka said.  He had plenty of money now, and he wanted to make up for all the times Marinette had designed Kitty Section’s costumes for free.  “No hoodies, though.  I can’t replace this one.  Maybe a t-shirt, if that’s okay?”

“Of course!  And thanks, Luka.”

“Awww, my jacket grew on you,” XY said, pecking him on the cheek.  Some of the ice cream stickiness was left behind, but Luka didn’t wipe it off.

“Just like someone else I know.”  He bumped his shoulder before stealing a bite of ice cream himself.

“You know, I’ve never asked.  How did you two end up dating?”  Adrien asked.  “I’ve heard parts of the story, but never straight from you guys.”

“That’s because we’re not straight,” XY said like Adrien was stupid.

Luka suppressed a snort.  “I wish I could tell you.  Like I said, this idiot just kind of grew on me.  Like a song that’s not your favorite at first, but the more you listen to it, the more it means to you.”

“Pshaw, I’ve been in love with Lu from the first time he cradled my face and literally took my breath away.  It doesn’t get gayer than that.”  XY took a giant bite of the cheesecake ice cream.  “An’ the way he stoo’ up to Da’?” He swallowed.  “Very sexy.” 

Luka would have to down the entire cup of ice cream to fight off the flush that was forming on his face.  He loved how honest his boyfriend could be; it was like he had no filter when it came to saying anything, positive or negative.  But man, did it make him want to kiss him indecently in public.

“You mean when he was Silencer?”  Marinette blinked.

“Uh-huh.  Now that was a sick costume.  You think we could wear something like that for our next concert?”

“Um, XY, it’s kind of rude to bring up people’s akumatizations…” Adrien began, but Luka just smiled.  

“Sure, babe.  I bet they’d dig that in the States.”  It wasn’t like he remembered his time as Silencer, and all things considered, Luka didn’t regret the experience.  If he hadn’t been akumatized, he wouldn’t have made such an impact on XY.  If anything, he just wished he could remember the face caress XY mentioned.  Surely he hadn’t been attracted to XY even then?

“Well, uh… neat, then.” Marinette smiled awkwardly.  She and Adrien had never been akumatized before; maybe they thought the experience was worse than it was.

“It’s great that you guys can be so open with each other.”  Adrien relaxed, smiling at her.

“Yeah… it’s really nice,” she replied with a grin only slightly less dopey than XY’s.  She’d finally gotten to harmonize with Adrien.  She deserved every bit of lovestruck happiness she could get.

“I’ll drink to that, bro.”  XY gulped down the melted ice cream in the bottom of their cup.  Then he tossed the cup over his shoulder, leaving his hand free to hold Luka’s.

“Dude, you can’t throw trash around.  It’s littering.”

“Huh?  Don’t pigeons eat trash?”

Luka rolled his eyes as Marinette and Adrien laughed.  “Come on.”  He tugged his boyfriend to his feet.  Their hands remained linked as XY picked up the paper cup and tossed it in the nearby garbage can.

“It’s like they’re made for each other,” he heard Marinette say as they sat back down.  “Yin and Yang.  Pop and rock, or something like that.”

“Ooooh, Pop Rocks!  That’s another thing we can get in the States!  You’ve gotta try ’em, Lu—it’s candy that explodes in your mouth like BANG!”  He threw his arms wide, almost smacking Luka in the face.  “Ooh, I bet we could make a song about them!  Do you wanna write the lyrics or can I?  I guess you’ll have to taste them first.  And we could put some sick drums in it and…”

Luka smiled, leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder and closing his eyes as he talked.  He was so cute when he was invested in something, even if it was a silly American candy.  Luka could feel his heart picking up tempo, the way that always made him want to get out his guitar and compose.  

But there would be plenty of time for them to make music.  For now, he left the instrument on his back, content to just hold his boyfriend’s hand.

[doodling-doodler]

                              THE LOUDEST SHOW FANFIC 

(PLEASE READ THROUGH THE WHOLE POST)

Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah Woah

Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for (woah)

Doodling Doodler here with a special message for all you guys! I. AM. BACK!!! I also have exciting news. Remember that little project I got? What was it… ah! The Loudest Show! Well guess what! The first chapter is out now!!! What are you waiting for? Looking at the art? Thank you by the way. Part of the first chapter is just down here. Oh wait before you do I give you ivanthestoryteller who wants to give you all 2 special messages. One just down here and the other all the way at the end of this post.

1vanth30s0m3/ivanthestoryteller: I’m not going to take up your time too much here. It’s been awhile since my last story wrapped up and here I am again. I’d like to thank doodler for the opportunity to work on this story. I understand that someone else has also been writing about this AU from doodler and I want it to be known that I’m not trying to steal ideas or even ride that person’s coattails. I simply wish to tell a good story. Hopefully you’ll stick around for the ending notes since I want to use that space for a more productive reason and will try to stick to those when I write out any more notes. Please enjoy the first chapter. 

(Please come down and visit)

Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8482143/

Tumblr: https://ivanthestoryteller.tumblr.com/

 Chapter 1             What is a man?

               A young Lincoln waited on the couch in the reading room, just as his mother had instructed him. He tugged at the collar on his shirt, trying to loosen it so he wouldn’t feel strangled. The day was warm and the manor was just as such. He finally heard the clacking of shoes on the wood floor and turned to see his parents leading a girl who appeared two, maybe three years older than him. They all stopped in front of the couch, the girl standing in front of them. She had buckteeth and her hair was drawn into a braid. Lincoln didn’t know why she was there and eagerly awaited.

               “Lincoln, as you know,” his father began, “we have considered how to go about your education. We finally have decided that a private tutor is the best option for you. However, we also know that you need other children to play with,” his father looked down and gestured towards the girl, “so we also decided to hire an apprentice to the maids. She will live here with the rest of the staff and fulfill her duties, but she will also be here to help keep you from feeling lonely.” The girl was wide-eyed, looking very nervous at the prospect of the future that awaited her. Lincoln only looked curious, stuck in a state of wonderment.

               “Go on, Lincoln, say hello,” his mother instructed.

               “Hi, I’m Lincoln,” he said.

               “Hello, my name is Luan,” the girl said with a curtsy.

               “Now, I do think it best for the two of you to get to know each other, so would you kindly show her around, Lincoln?” his father requested. Lincoln got off the couch and began an impromptu tour of the manor. He showed her every room, asking bits and pieces, not sure of what to really say. She was just as quiet, unsure of herself when responding. She noticed he was developing buck teeth, even if it was early, much like her. That was something they at least had in common.

               “Why did you want to become a maid?” Lincoln asked. It was the only thing that felt right to say when he exhausted what little small talk he knew. She waited for a moment.

               “My mom made me,” she replied, saddened. Lincoln only grew more curious to the answer.

               “Why did she make you?” They had stopped in the middle of the hallway on the way to the north wing.

               “She wanted to see me in a better place that would help take care of me,” Luan said. Lincoln was sure that he didn’t want to press that issue too much.

               “Do you want to be with her?”

               “Yes.” Luan looked at the floor. Lincoln thought quickly.

               “Where are you from?” She looked up, her face reverting back to nervous.

               “Royal Woods,” she spoke quietly, her voice distracted from her mother.

               “Oh, that’s a quick train ride away,” he stated with realization.

               “Have you been there?” Luan asked.

               “No. I haven’t been able to go many places and my parents won’t let me visit places with them. But that’ll change in a few months.” He was jovial with the date for then.

               “Do you want me to tell you about it?” He nodded fervently. They began their tour again, with her describing her hometown to him. He listened, marveling at her stories. She looked comfortable, as if she were in her own home and they were lifelong friends. Her voice was nice, as if he could listen to it for hours on end.

               Lincoln enjoyed this memory, as he loved to remember meeting his best friend for the first time at the age of five. He enjoyed the games they played, although he enjoyed her company always, particularly when ditching their responsibilities. Though it had been a month on from when they met, they hid in a den that was rarely used by his family and just as touched by the staff. He didn’t like the schoolwork he had to do and she was trying to buy time before she had to do anything. She wore a white frilled cap, a simple gray dress, and the apron was not too far off from the cap in design. He was wearing an orange suit that was more to impress the tutor than to be comfortable.

               “I don’t know why I ever have to wear this stupid suit. It does nothing but choke me,” Lincoln complained. Luan giggled a little.

               “I like it. Orange seems to be your color.” He looked at her with an empty warning in his eyes.

               “If you like it, then why don’t you wear it?” he jested. She laughed a little.

               “I would but I’m afraid I would be mistaken for a savage, much like you,” she delivered with a wide grin. He laughed, knowing her words were meant only for tickling him.

               “I’m still wondering who took the pies from the kitchen,” he rhetorically declared.

               “I don’t know, but three butlers certainly found them.” Lincoln laughed harder, remembering how all three were covered in the varying pie fillings. She joined him in laughter, enjoying her handiwork. “I wish everyone could laugh like this all the time,” she said in between giggles. He looked over at her, coming down from the giddiness.

               “You want to see the world happy all the time?”

               “Yeah. I only wish to make the world happy,” she spoke with a bittersweet tone.

               “That’s what you’d love to do, huh?” He never knew before now.

               “Yep.” She pulled out something small from her pocket. He saw it had many sides, all of which were yellow, dangling from a small string. “I’ve got my wish right here: to see everyone happy and to bring it to them.” She was smiling grandly. He saw her conviction of wanting to carry out the dream and saw the item go back into her pocket. He looked on at her, wondering if her dream could ever be fulfilled.

               He stared, still, his face solemn and stony. He saw the caskets, ready to be lowered after some final words. He held the hand of Lily, his newborn sister. Lincoln wanted her to be able to see their parents one last time before interment, helping to build a chair for her carriage so she could look at them. His mother’s words were always fresh whenever he saw Lily. Promise me you’ll look after Lily, he heard her say with a voice growing weaker and weaker, all happening right after her delivery of her daughter. He promised her and she gave one final breath, smiling as she heard his words. He made sure he would keep his promise, always checking on her and tending to her if he heard her.

               Luan was right beside him, looking worse than he was, tearing up but not sobbing, unlike some of the staff who were. He told them it wasn’t mandatory to attend and he would understand if they wished not to, but all of them came. The mourners at the funeral were clothed in black garb. The crowd heard the pastor clear his throat and begin the last step of his job for the event.

               “These poor souls were taken from us, beginning with the passing of Lynn Loud, of whom had passed away on the twelfth of April, in the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and eighty-two. On the nineteenth of April, in the same year, Rita Loud passed away and has joined her husband. They were kind souls in life and so shall be in Heaven.” The sky was gray but no other sign of rain coming was present. “I do believe that the book of Ecclesiastes has some important words for all of us and are most fitting for any occasion. I shall now recite chapter three, verses one through eight.” He cleared his throat again. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance...”

               Lincoln listened to the pastor. He waited for the man to be done, carefully observing each word he spoke. The words brought some comfort, but he wished not for comfort. He wished he could carry on with his parents being there for when he needed them most. And now he needed to be there when they needed him most. The pastor finished his services and approached Lincoln.

               “My condolences, Mr. Loud,” he spoke, voice filled with the same solemnity he kept from before.

               “Thank you, Pastor Mannard,” Lincoln replied. His voice was low.

               “I’ll go ahead and retrieve the gravediggers for their burial. Are you sure you wish to stay around?” the pastor asked.

               “I wish to see things through and give them the first shovelful of dirt,” he replied, still low with his voice.

               “Then I shall be back in a moment.” The pastor left, going to where the diggers were. Luan put a hand on his shoulder.

               “Do you want me to take Lily back to the mansion?” Her voice sounded broken, trying hard to keep itself together. She noticed the staff heading back and wondered what Lincoln would like to do.

               “No, let her be until I head back myself.” He moved toward their gravestones, Luan pulling her hand away. She moved closer to Lily, staying within arm’s reach of her. Lincoln stood before the deceased, looking over their gravestones to check for any imperfection.

               A good wife and perfect mother, letting no one else say otherwise, he read on the stone for his mother. He made sure the words were perfect, wanting to never disrespect her memory.

               A kind husband and an even greater father, he read on the stone for his father. The same case could made here. The pastor returned with his two assistants, spades in hand. They lowered the couple into the holes, taking extreme care with doing so. True to his word, Lincoln gave the first portion of dirt to his mother and the next portion to his father, handing back the spade. He walked away, Luan and Lily in tow. He could hear the movement of dirt until he could hear no more, mostly since a set of walls blocked the sounds.

               “Take Lily to her wet-nurse and please tell the staff that I don’t wish to disturbed for the rest of the day,” he told Luan after entering the foyer, the door barely being closed behind them. She nodded and he went to the den his father used almost all the time. Luan did precisely as instructed, informing those who needed to know and ensuring that Lily was to be taken care of before leaving her to see Lincoln. She opened the door with no warning and stepped in.

               “May I come in?” she asked, unsure if he would entertain the thought of having her there at this time. He turned to see that it was indeed her before turning back and giving his response.

               “Please do,” he spoke quietly from his seat. She moved in farther after shutting the door with a soft thunk. “It’s quite surreal, sitting here,” he spoke again.

               “How so?” she indulged the pleasantry, sure of what the answer might be.

               “He would always sit there,” Lincoln gestured at the giant, empty seat on the other side of the desk in front of him, “tending to any and all matters that were for business. I never saw him within this room without his presence on that side.” He rested his head in one hand as he looked at the floor. “I’ll never see him standing there again. He filled that seat, but now...” He turned to Luan and she saw his facade slowly breaking down. “But now… I’m not even sure I can fill it. Not even sure I want to fill it.” She stood behind him and clasped a hand upon his shoulder.

               “I’m sure you’ll figure this out in due time,” she said, trying her best to comfort him.         “Maybe so, but… there’s just so much to do,” he voiced with grave concern. “I have to assume control over my father’s business ventures, I have to make sure the estate isn’t just suddenly taken away, I have to make sure Lily is taken care of, all the while with me needing to put bread on the table for everyone here.” He looked back down. “Luan, I’m ill-prepared to be Master of the Estate.”

               “We all have faith in you, Lincoln,” she said to soothe his woes. “You might not be prepared but I know you’ll succeed. You always do.” She finished with a giant smile showing off her buckteeth. He returned one that was weak, but it was still a smile nonetheless.

               “Thank you, Luan, for your kind words,” he said. “However, I must ask you follow suit with the other staff and allow me to be alone for the rest of the day. I apologize if I sound unreasonable.”

               “Not at all. I’ll let you know if an emergency arises and requires your attention,” she said and gave truth to her words by letting him be. With the door closed behind her, she set off for her normal rounds, checking to see if anyone was in need of company or wished to check on their employer’s emotional state. She left each room since not one spec of dust or dirt could found and everyone was given the same information when she encountered them. Finally, she walked into Lily’s room, sure there was something to pass the time there.

               “How is Master Lincoln fairing?” the woman holding Lily as she herself sat in the rocking chair asked. Her age was certainly not large in number, though it was possible for her to be a grandmother (albeit, a young one at that), her hair reflecting this slightly and the formation of wrinkles barely taking root.

               “He seems to be doing better than yesterday but the toll is still plain to see,” Luan responded from a chair stationed near the door. “I’m assuming that tomorrow, Lincoln will wish to be left alone in his room.”

               “That’s Master Lincoln. He’s the head of the estate now; you must show him the proper respect his position carries,” the woman scolded her.

               “I am showing him respect. He had the title thrust upon him and is still trying to get used to holding it. He wishes that his father still held it,” Luan said, defending her choice in words. The woman sighed.

               “I suppose your words have merit, but that does not mean you should be used to speaking with a lack of title in your address of him.” Luan couldn’t argue her words. For as much as Lincoln was her friend, it was inevitable that he would simply become less so and then she would either have to leave or deal with it as her only paths.

               “Fair enough,” Luan submitted. “But for now, it’s reasonable.” The older woman chuckled.

               “That stubbornness will either put you on the streets or take you to the top of society,” the woman said as she stifled her laughing.

               “And I’ll gladly accept such a fate, Ms. Agnis,” Luan spoke with confidence. With the time passing by quickly the more she conversed, night soon fell and she, along with all other members of the manor (to her knowledge), turned in so as to rise in the morning.

               However, the next day was still as dreary as the previous one. Lincoln refused to have her as company, something she had expected and so she waited for the next day, and then the next day. And the one after that. It was at long last on the fourth day that she set her mind to disturbing her good friend in his time away from it all.

               “Lincoln?” she called from her side of a large door after a quick rap. There was nothing. She repeated her actions, calling a second time, still gaining no response. “I’m coming in,” she warned as she tried the knob. It gave no resistance to her entrance. She entered and saw Lincoln slumped in a chair, his clothes still surrounding him as if he had been productive through the night. He had severe bags under his eyes and the occasional snore let her know he was still breathing. “Wake up, Lincoln.”

               “What’s the time?” he asked as he roused at her hand’s behest.

               “Time for breakfast,” she answered. He rubbed his eyes to rid them of sleep.

               “Send it up then,” he responded, beginning to sit up and get some life into his limbs.

               “Everyone’s worried about you,” she informed him. He paused and looked at her, his eyes barely focused.

               “I’ll be down in a few minutes, then,” he conceded, slumping forward in the seat. She began to make her way out of the room so as to give him the space for his own needs but was stopped just before the door. “Tell everyone they’re more than welcome to join me, though I suspect I won’t be down there for long,” he added on. She nodded and went to spread the news. Almost all of the staff declined such an offer, the only one willing to accept being Ms. Agnis, on the conditions that she not be served anything.

               Enough time passed to cause Luan to wonder if she would have to go back to retrieve her friend when he showed up. His clothes were more put together and fresher looking, but he still had a disheveled look to his head. She knew better than to point it out, seeing how him arriving was an achievement in and of itself. He took his seat and bowed his head so as to stare at the table. Luan delivered his breakfast directly to him.

               “How’s the meal, Lincoln?” she asked after a few bites were taken. It was a simple testing of the waters, meant mostly to be done in stealth behind kind words.

               “Quite good. Thank you,” he replied with little life in his words. She had taken a seat beside him, something she was rarely afforded a chance to do.

               “That’s good to hear,” Luan said, unsure what else to truly do. He continued to eat the meal in peace, leaving with barely a word at the end of it. Luan followed him, even after he ducked into his room and tried to shut the door behind himself.

               “I wish to be in peace,” he spoke with slight annoyance, turning around and seeing who he had given such a command to. “My apologies. I didn’t see you there.”

               “There’s no need to be sorry. I completely understand,” she replied. He turned back to sit in his chair once more.

               “I do wish to be alone,” he said in a much calmer tone. She ignored this and went directly to him, standing by his side as he sat at his desk.

               “I’m worried about you,” she said, her tone showing it. “I haven’t seen you smile in an eternity.”

               “Luan, now is not the right time–”

               “I’m not leaving until I see a smile on your face, Lincoln.” She delivered the ultimatum and he knew that he was in for a fight to be rid of her. “Did you hear about the man wandering a police station? Apparently when he was stopped and asked why he was there, he said he didn’t have the faintest clue.” She saw the twinges of a smile touch the edges of his mouth and used this as a hope to keep pressing on. “Did you hear about the other man wandering the police station? He was trying to find someone to talk to about his pole’s lease”, she delivered, allowing a smile to touch her lips. Lincoln was trying quite hard to suppress the smile he was developing.

               “Please, Luan,” he begged. She ignored him.

               “Three men and a dwarf walk into a bar,” she began. A knock at the door to the room interrupted her. They both looked toward the door.

               “Enter,” Lincoln called. The door opened to reveal a member of staff, a butler by the name of Drewson.

               “There’s someone here who requests to meet you, sir,” he spoke, his very voice unsure if he should have even alerted the Master of the Estate to this guest and instead to have sent the person packing at the door.

(Go see the other half of the story at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8482143/)

1vanth30s0m3/ivanthestoryteller: That was quite something. If you enjoyed it, then hopefully you’ll stick around for the rest of the story. I’ve never written an AU nor have I ever dreamed I would. I’d like to take this time to say that I’m probably going to get these chapters released very slowly, so hopefully I’ll be able to keep to a schedule of no more than every three months (I’m not joking). At least until I finish everything and then I’ll up the releases. I’d also like to take this time to recommend stories to you, dear reader. The first two stories go against my personal criteria for this section, but I’ll also be putting in two instead of one, so nothing will be as I want it to be in the future as I have it now. The first story is “Loud Like Love” by ThisAccountKillsFascists. I think I forgot to mention them in the last story I wrote and so I’m just being safe here. The second story I want to recommend is “A Sister’s Love” by (current name) Outsider316. Both can be found on fanfiction.net and are great stories. I really think you should check them out. In the future, I’ll be aiming for stories with under 50 favorites and 50 follows as well as less than 100 reviews from the same site. Other than that, tell me or doodler what you think about this story either here or on fanfiction.net. Reviews and/or pm’s are greatly appreciated.

Doodler here, now many of you fine ladies and gents know I had been absent for a while well that’s because recently I have been out of a job and had been struggling to make ends meet which is not a good thing when you are the constant whipping boy of that jerk called depression. I apologized for the delay and what I am about to do. I will be setting up some of the old fundraising sites like patreon. Not looking for much nor do I have a plan. All I will ask is just some small amount like a dollar, not even per month just a one time donation to help keep the lights on. 

But have no fear! I will still be producing more content regardless!

The Loudest Show is a go!!!

[xialing-gf]

house key (chidi x eleanor)

10th and final installment in my songfic series!

Summary (based on the song house key by scott helman): eleanor and chidi make plans for their future together

Wc: 989

a/n: this takes place during the season finale of season 3 (pandemonium)!

Playlist (listen to while reading the fic!):

✾arms unfolding by dodie

✾northern downpour

✾tokyo by joan

✾good side by troye sivan

“Janet did a really good job at making these not-human-humans look human,” Chidi commented as he and Eleanor strolled along the neighborhood’s cozy cobblestone streets, glancing at the people they walked past.

“Janet seems to always have something up her sleeve. That girl is really something,” Eleanor remarked, tilting her head up to read a colorful sign attached to the front of an equally vibrant store. “Huh. Jen and Berry’s Ice Cream. I wonder what their ice cream tastes like.”

“Would you believe my guess that it would taste something like Ben and Jerry’s ice cream?” Chidi joked, lacing his fingers with Eleanor as they continued to walk side by side.

Eleanor gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her free hand to further exaggerate her mock surprise. “What a surprising guess! I would’ve never thought that! How did I, a dirtbag from the stinky armpit of America called Arizona, manage to find a genius like you?”

“I guess the universe just works its wonders,” Chidi grinned, tightening his grip on Eleanor’s hand. The neighborhood was peaceful-other than the sounds of Janet making not-human-humans- and it seemed like everything was perfect. That was the word he had been looking for: perfect. Maybe Chidi wasn’t in the most ideal situation but right now, he had Eleanor and that was all he needed right now. All his life, Chidi had been searching for a purpose, a reason why humans existed and now he had accepted that he had to allow the universe to guide everything.

“Do you think the universe wants us to be together forever? I’m getting a feeling that universe seriously ships us together,” Eleanor commented, glancing up at the sky as if she was trying to find the universe’s face somewhere among the fluffy clouds suspended in the blue sky. She also wore a hopeful expression that brightened Chidi’s day. It was rare for Eleanor to be honest about such important topics, like their future together, without an excessive amount of humor. She seemed to never want to commit fully to anything (“no strings attached” was one of her favorite catchphrases) so the fact that she was the one to bring the subject up warmed Chidi’s heart.

“Yes, I do think we’re meant to be, as cheesy as it sounds. I would be more than willing to spend forever with you. Besides, we are literally stuck here forever so we’ve got all the time in the world,” Chidi swung his interlocked hand forward and back, feeling like a little boy again. He had never felt as emotionally connected with anybody as he did with Eleanor and felt relieved that the feeling was mutual.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Eleanor echoed, her cheeks turning rosy with affection.

“Even if we lose and Shawn tortures us eternally in the darkest pits of the bad place, as long as I’m with you, I’m as happy as can be.”

“Are you sure about that? The stuff Shawn told Michael he’d do to us sounded pretty intense,” Chidi replied, guiding Eleanor to a small table in front of a cafe. They sat down across from each other, still holding hands.

“Even if we have to deal with Shawn’s weird torturing methods, I’m sure I’d survive as long as I’m with you,” Eleanor kissed Chidi on the lips and looked him in the eyes, smiling a wide, genuine smile. Chidi leaned in for another kiss but before he could kiss his girlfriend, he was interrupted by Tahani.

“Hello Chidi and Eleanor. I just- oh, are you two having a moment here? I’m sorry if I rudely interrupted you,” Tahani paused mid-sentence, a mild look of surprise crossing her face when she saw Chidi leaning in.

“Oh no. You’re fine. What were you saying?” Eleanor cleared her throat, turning to face Tahani, her smile shrinking. She still had her hand in Chidi’s and Chidi found it comforting.

“Michael wanted me to let you know that our new resident is coming in a bit,” Tahani informed rather sheepishly, fidgeting with the folds of her flowery dress. Eleanor nodded and replied “Okay I’ll be there in a bit. Give me a second.”

Tahani nodded, quickly leaving Chidi and Eleanor. Eleanor kissed Chidi on the lips and gave his hand a tight squeeze. As she pulled away, she said, “I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Chidi replied as she stood up and walked away. He sat in the chair for a solid second, staring after the love of his life, wondering how he got so lucky.

~

Whatever happened to forever? Just days ago, Eleanor and Chidi had been happily exploring the neighborhood together, speculating and daydreaming about their future together. Now, Chidi didn’t even recognize his own girlfriend. Technically, Eleanor wasn’t Chidi’s ex-girlfriend because he never officially broke up with her but since he didn’t know her now, she was an artifact from his past.

Eleanor barely got through the introduction with Chidi and tried hard to keep herself together as she gave a quick tour of the neighborhood, but now that she was truly alone, she allowed herself to think. She had learned to numb her feelings and promised to never fully fall in love, mainly because of what happened between her parents, and the one time that she thought she found the love of her life, the universe had to steal him from her hands.

As much as Eleanor wanted to believe that everything would end up okay, she was terrified that she was never going to be able to hold Chidi in her arms again and that she was going to be alone forever. But she remembered the hope the sparked between her and Chidi right before he forgot everything and held onto that small speck of something, hoping, waiting, and wishing for a way for him to find her again.

~ 

this was my first good place fic! i love love love this tv show but haven’t written any fics for it for some reason haha

check out the tag #sam’s songfic series for more fics in this series

[hannahmcne]

Cadenza Oratorio

Is the sea tossing against the hull, or is it just his imagination? Is it the smell of the Seine outside, or the smell of rain on its way? Are those really footsteps down the hall, or can he steal away a few extra moments of silence?

The door opens.

Luka's sitting on his bed, legs crossed, strumming the strings of his guitar and fingering a little scented sticker underneath the tailpiece of the guitar. It's one of Marinette's - her original. He's wearing thick pajamas to protect against the cold that comes in through the floor of the ship and thick socks that feel fluffy but make scratching sounds when he walks. He wiggles his toes a little. Scratch, scratch.

He doesn't look at the person in the doorway, instead closing his eyes, strumming his soft chords, and feeling the room around him by the way the sound feels when it travels back into his body. He can feel it hit the walls, rattle the paint, and return. It brushes against the guitar picks on the wall, checking to make sure they're all in place, and then finds a place in his chest, right near his heart. Some of it escapes out the window and doesn't return, but he hopes it finds someone else with a spot of comfort.

"Luka," his mom calls.

Luka opens his eyes, removes the strap around his neck, and sets the guitar down in his lap. "You finished talking to Juleka?" He asks.

"Juleka is staying with Rose tonight," Anarka informs him. She pulls a chair from inside the hallway - there aren't any in Luka's room since he usually sits on his bed - and sets it down in front of the bed, leaving the doorway open. She exhales a little, brushes her palms off on her pants, and sits up rigidly, like a Captain. Luka never understood why she liked that. It was so much more comfortable to be leaning against something, and it feels supportive anyways. "She'll be back in the morning."

"You should be a bit more careful," Luka suggests in a pianissimo tone. "They like each other. I mean, you've never been very clear on your stipulations, but-"

"I know," Anarka cuts him off with a wave of her hand, rolling her eyes.

Luka stretches his legs out. He used to be able to sit crisscrossed as a child for hours without complication, but he can't now. He has to get up to stretch his legs out. Funny how things are changing. He lays the guitar out across his lap and strums a few chords that feel stressed and anxious and the kind of acceptance you raise up when you know you're going to be hurt. Immediately, he lays the instrument aside and pulls his legs up to his chest, looking out the window with a silent acceptance that that is how this conversation will go.

"You were going to talk about how you used to work with Jagged Stone?" He reminds his mom, who sucks in a breath. She's gulping like a fish and her chest is falling at odd intervals, but Luka is used to his mom's cycle of nervousness. He goes still as she gathers her bearings.

"Jagged Stone and I met back when he was nineteen and I was twenty-three. He was a young hotshot in the music industry who thought he had an in with a record label, and I was a behind-the-scenes performer who knew better. I had the degree, the experience, the connections, and he had the passion, determination, and flare. We both held a talent firm in our grasp." Anarka begins. Luka notes, carelessly, how her story begins as she does; right in the middle of things, explaining everything at once as if it happened at once. He prefers a quieter route. What he imagines probably happened is she heard about him first, maybe glimpsed him from several increasingly shortening distances, saw him perform, and then was introduced. Slowly, not all at once.

"Jagged met me and shook my hand and immediately knew that I could help him make his mark on music. He played piano, I played guitar. He'd learned from his family - Christian folks. Straight and narrow-minded Christian folks, mind you. Not the nice ones." Anarka scoffs to show her disdain and Luka immediately finds the rests in her song and fills them in, modulating the chorus to his liking. Jagged grew up in a conservative home. Playing gospel music, not rock'n'roll. Stifling people, stifling ways. Not all Christian people were bad people, but when Christian people get bad... well, who knows how many people have died because of them? Jagged was probably the outcast of his family. And Anarka, who'd grown up on the docks of Honfleur, maintaining the historic dock and fishing for crab in her spare time. A captain's daughter. That would have been like hitting the partial note just right.

"We started practicing together and I taught him how to play guitar," Anarka continues, swinging one leg over the other and jiggling it back and forth in anxiousness as she continues reminiscing. "He took it right up and played till his fingers cracked and bled and healed over and then cracked and bled all over again. He was a natural!"

"Polytonality," Luka murmurs, still examining the world outside. He thinks it gives his mother less anxiety if he doesn't have his eye on her.

Anarka pauses, and then he can feel her nodding just like he can feel the murmurs of the ship under his bed. Every sound is alive. "Yes," She agrees. "We were a pair. And we started opening for some of the bigger numbers, and quickly grew to have a name. He wanted a new name, life, everything! So he and I stopped by a shop and laid our entire paychecks out and let them work on us until we couldn't recognize ourselves. He got his name changed, but I kept mine and I kept my life underneath me. He let it spread out."

That is, Luka thinks, the one thing his mother won't leave to chaos and mess - her past. He knows she's referring to the life she had with Grandma and Grandpa, sailing and fishing and working the dock souvenir shop on the weekends to save up for her first guitar. She keeps it near - or underneath her, as she likes to say - to keep her feet on the ground. But Jagged didn't. Jagged wanted a different identity. He wanted to make his own luck. And Luka can see this partnership falling apart before it happens.

Anarka smiles a little, tight smile. She's lost in the rubbish of her head. Luka thuds his head against the wall lightly to get her attention, and she clears her throat to continue. "Anyways! We started performing and we grew a little bit and at the end of the day we could always come home and take off the makeup and the act and it was a nice life. I liked being his stage partner." His mom's smile fades, and Luka knows he's going to have to start carrying this conversation a little. "Then things became... different."

Luka finally pulls his eyes away from the window and then turns his body, returning to crossed legs, to face his mom. He still doesn't look at her, choosing instead to examine the floor. "You didn't like the fame?" He asks.

"No," His mom shakes her head, screwing up her face in conflicted doubt of her own feelings. "No, no, not yet. I... well... he and I shared something very intense. There were the performances, the crowds screaming, and then there was... us. No makeup. No walls. Honesty. It was like we cleared out a space for quiet in all that chaos."

"So what changed?" Luke asks, twiddling his thumbs together. He has a feeling he already knows the answer.

"You," His mom says simply. "Two months before we were due on tour with someone, the, uh, doctor told us we were in love. And I started thinking then that all the spotlight might not be too good on a kid, but I didn't say nothing 'bout it to him. We canceled the tour, which he was devastated about, and soon after that, he stopped wanting to be the off-time Jagged. He always wanted to be on the stage. Barely made it to your birth because he had a bar gig set up."

Luka feels the change come slowly. It sinks into his skin and hooks into his flesh and becomes one with his bones. He's never asked about his dad because it wasn't ever really important, but Juleka has. Juleka, who had this talk before him. He can feel the music of the hull growing louder, forte, and he's not sure how he's supposed to react so he builds a little shell up around him and forces himself to remain still, expressionless. Anarka begins to speak faster.

"I got frustrated with him when he didn't want to be around so much and how when he'd come home he'd keep the act up. I didn't quite realize that his plans were to make the act him. I, uh, found out I was going to have Juleka a little less than a year after you, and that was kind of the last straw. I said goodbye to Jagged and goodbye to fame and I dyed my hair back to my normal color and I bought a boat in Paris and never used my stage name or put that makeup on again." Anarka claps her hands together and looks towards the window he was just looking out of, because in some ways she is like her son and she is sensitive and she doesn't know how he will take this.

The story, the rushed-out explanation, is what she says. But Luka gets something different, something far more real. He pictures a struggling twenty-five-year-old, wanting to make ends meet with the little money her duo gig earns, the boy she's choosing to love, and her baby. He pictures a twenty-one-year-old, stifled all his life, not ready to give up the fame he's worked so desperately for now that he's finally tasted it. He pictures their entire relationship falling apart and imagines Anarka weeping as she plants her feet, holds on to her past, and decides to turn back to it. Jagged kept going. Anarka came home.

"And he took off after that?" Luka asks. His voice doesn't betray any emotion. It's completely flat.

"I took off before he did, so don't mark him a deadbeat," Anarka sighs, brushing her legs off a little. "Though, he never did call to see if I was making it okay. Never did offer to pitch in any more than the child support. He took my talents that I taught him and he took his own, and two months after I left he went with a tour to England and made a name for himself. Came back with a record offer and by the time I had Juleka in my arms he had songs on the radio and his name on the charts. Magazines, TV, everything he'd ever wanted. And I had you two. Neither of us really looked back. We both got our dreams, and who really looks back when you're living that?"

Luka nods. He nods like he's taking this information well and it's not really surprising to him and like it won't take him very long to adjust. Then he picks up his guitar and tunes the soft string on it because that's what he's programmed to do in soft moments like these - write music. Hear notes. Play sounds. He wraps the strap over his shoulder and then finds his pick abandoned on top of his bedspread. "I need a moment alone," He announces. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, Luka. You know I'd do the world over for you, right?" Anarka asks, soft and soothing and the coda of the finale. Luka nods, and his mom leans over to kiss his cheek, and then she's gone. Out the door and leaving the chair in his room and leaving her mess of a romantic life with him. he reaches out, scoots the chair out, but leave the door open. The engine is thrumming down the wall. Is that the boiler or the water heater? Juleka's door is probably closed since he can't hear the sounds coming from there as easily. Is she okay? Somewhere outside, he can feel rumbling, torrents of shock and power as someone with a lot of virtuosi sends their talents his way. Could it be his dad, from miles away?Idea is accredited Lӕrke Fischer on Facebook, Miraculous Ladybug Worldwide Group.

I do not own MLB

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter One

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 1

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

A/n: This is less a labor of love and more like a violent attempt to get this beast of a story out of my head. I attempted to shave and shape it into something other people might be able to read and enjoy. Did I succeed? I honestly don’t know, this is what happens when I’m left to edit by myself. If it’s trash, I apologize. 

“All you need is someone to believe. Really believe. And maybe a new story, right? A reinvention. A rebirth.”  - Faithless Fairy Tale

+

Laura promises pretty things out of her wicked dead mouth, and to a degree he already believes them. Why wouldn't he, after watching her slay Grimnir with his own blade to save the likes of him?

Make no mistake, he's not deceived by her, he hasn't forgotten who she is. Mad Sweeney knows the mettle of Laura Moon, even minus the stolen war god’s blade and his lucky coin. He is not blinded by her one act of mercy to think she isn’t the same woman who crushed his balls in her palms like fucking walnuts.

Who huffed pesticide under hot tub tarps and crawled out of her own grave. 

He is not stupid.

She is a bitch, she is a crass little thing, but there isn't enough strength in his bones to deny she inspires him. To anger. To stand against the tide. To lower himself right down to her level; to tussle in the mud of blasphemies, insults and filth. Everything about her, pulls and demands something of him. Whether good or bad, whether it is her's by right or not, he hands it over.

(He does it with hard hands, with spite and bitterness. With love.)

The sirens of old could sing their pretty little hearts out, but it's only Laura's voice calling him a pussy that could drive him overboard. The reason unclear; to prove her wrong, to chase her, or just so he could drown himself and be done with her.

Not even he knows.

(So of course he agrees.) 

Mad Sweeney sighs deeply, a man condemned to be saved and hangs his head.

“Yeah, alright you mad bitch. Let's hear your theory.”

+

It takes work. Scratch that. It takes a whole fuck ton of work. Most of which starts with research, that Laura herself demands he be involved in.

The deal is this: She will pray to him, not the old fashion way mind you. With tiny offerings of milk and bread, sweetened by faith. Laura has grand plans, she'll write a book, she'll go on tours reading to kiddies and to anyone who listens.

She promises to sue General Mills for defamation of character if they let her.

She will do it until someone else proves to do it better, and then her part of the deal is done. Problem is she'll only do that if he helps brings her back to life in the first place. Properly this time, in her words. No half-assed plans or maybes.

(His part no surprise, is the difficult part)

Laura of course makes it even more complicated. Refuses to go into this blind, ignoring Mad Sweeney's advice that this will only slow them down. She needs faith, not answers to a bloody pop quiz.

Ostara does the best she can to help, giving them access to her many libraries filled to the brim with books on resurrection, from the gods that bestow it and several ones that involve the opposite. Nestled in many of them are testaments to her growing bitterness. Written in the margins with hot pink ink, little notes of what is a lie, what is a cop out and who took credit where none is due.

She is one of the kinder goddesses, there's more love in her heart than not, but the years of abandonment has made spite grow in her like weeds. Perhaps that's why she takes a liking to Laura's plight, she knows intimately what it's like to be buried and forgotten, to emerge from that grave and still stand. Maybe in the shadows instead of the light, but still there regardless.

Ostara does what many of the patrons of faith have done before, when the faith becomes dry and thin, she makes the best of it. After all, start asking for more than what is owed is what started a war, and she has seen what comes from that.

They all did.

Little Laura Moon, with a stolen blade and a heart made of stone. Who saw new gods and old, strong and weak alike and found them all lacking. It is in her, they have seen the true face of the faithless, the mortals who make or break them, and an end they can not escape.

Whether she knows it or not, Laura has become a judgment no god wishes to cross just yet, and that's perhaps another piece of the puzzle why Ostara gives them so much help. She never says as such, never says a single double-edge word to Laura or Sweeney, but still in rankles on him. The not knowing.

“This is more than what you owe me.” Sweeney tells Ostara, one afternoon when Laura has buried her head in some ancient tome -probably in a language she can't even understand- and isn't paying attention to him. It's not a secret that he's cashing in a favor from the goddess for just being here, but he feels like it's asking a lot. To lean on her good heart, her open doors and know that a storm will hit sooner or later.

(Grimnir might be dead, but the war is far from over. There are still the new gods, the old bitter ones and a whole bunch of fucking traps the old bastard set up in case of his end, that will have to be dealt with.)

“You stopped me from ruining what I loved most.” Ostara tells him, with a soft haunted look, “Too long I've been harboring this...resentment. We all have, but what for? The old days are just that. Old. Maybe I miss the power, but stealing spring is on par with a child throwing a tantrum for attention. That's not me.  So, maybe I'll work a different angle, maybe it won't work.” She shrugs her delicate shoulders. “Either way, I'm going to do it as myself. I'm going to honor all that belief, from the first believers that made me a goddess, who were the first to pray to my name, from those who kept true even when the rest of the world didn't. I can't turn my back on those chapters of my story. Otherwise, who am I?

He doesn't have an answer, it's too soon to be a bastard and remind her of all the fears that drove her to Odin's side in the first place. The weakness, the abandonment and death. Was she ready for that? Were any of them? This isn't a job, there's no step below god, either you are or you aren't, and then you're gone from this world.

Sweeney looks over at Laura Moon, with her moldy flesh, stitched together with cheap glue, bits of metal and string like some sort of bastardized dollar store version of Frankenstein. With all ten of her nails cracked and peeling, the heavy stench of her rot that floats with every breeze; makes even his iron stomach clench and roll, how it lingers as a constant reminder of her late state of decomposition. As if it wasn't obvious when she constantly had to pull maggots out of her ears, mouth and nose.

Maybe Ostara has the right frame of mind.

To keep true to yourself or accept a true end. 

There are worse things than death after all.

+

The weirdest part of all this, you know besides the slaying of Grimnir by a dead girl, of him playing fucking librarian and taking tea with the goddess of Spring while a storm builds; is watching Shadow Fucking Moon blush for Ostara.

It's so fucking weird that he can't even insult the bastard for it.

He'll just sit there silently, watching as the two canoodle -and there is no other words for it, because Shadow will be polite as a nun, and Ostara will just sit as close as she can with a beaming smile. They whisper and giggle like children do when they have a crush and Sweeney doesn't even know where to start with how fucked up any of this is.

It also is fucking awkward as shit for him, because it's not just him in the room when this happens. Laura is there too. Making it a test, a competition of strength of will between him and the bitch dead wife. Whoever had to leave the room first in disgust, lost. 

He lost every god damn time.

Whatever happened to her heart when Shadow failed to believe in her over Grimnir (just for a second, for one painful second, but to the dead that’s forever), has either frozen it or broke it. She doesn't mope or cry, thank Christ above, but she doesn't act jealous either. She is hell bent on other things. Like bringing herself to life.

And testing him with her stupid theories.

He hates it as much as he delights in it.

“Kiss me. Ginger minge.” She demands, hands on rotted hips and dull eyes looking up into his, with absolute venom even as she attempts to flutter her lashes and smile up at him. Shit, she just might actually spit acid at this point if he dared comment about how terrifying she looks.

“Fuck off, no.” He tells her. He doesn't have a point to prove, he just doesn't want to do it.

Not like this.

He drops the book he was not so secretly not reading, and childishly kicks at a pile near her in his attempt to get away. Moving to a different room to keep a stupidly long table between them. Not that it would do much good. She still has his strength, all his luck, and she all she has to do is get one hand on him and he's a dead man. Ha.

“You said you wanted to test my theory!” She screeches like a banshee at his retreating back.

“That was before I knew it was fuckin' batty!” He shouts right back. “That was before you started acting all sweet -horrifying by the way, thought your brain had literally rotted out of your fucking ears! Acting all delicate and soft, telling me to kiss you. Jesus fuckin' Christ, no woman! NO!”

Laura chases him around the awkwardly large dining table, and he won't deny he smiles a bit, when her hip catches a sharp corner and curses at him like it's his fault.  

“Well, excuse me for trying to be nice. I thought it would make this easier!”

“Well, you thought wrong, dead wife.”

It's at this, she snaps. Honest to god, snaps, and flings herself in his direction like a damned hellcat.

Sweeney attempts to run away, but she is small and quick, with hands like a fucking honey badger on crack. Her fingers claw into his shoulder, etching into the jean material like it was nothing but silk. Once she has him there, it's a losing battle, as she clings in with the rest of her body soon after.

They fight all the way down. He attempts to throw her off, but she digs her sharp knees into his ribs. Hard enough to bruise, right until she has him on his back, with her legs clutching down on his sides like steel clamps.

With no tenderness, her clammy hands are gripping his head, all the fingers braced to keep his skull still. Forcing him to look at her as she struggles to plant one on him.

“Let.Me.Kiss.You!” She growls, leaning in only to find him squirming more. She gets his nose, his beard and cheek, ghosting over each but never for long enough. “Are you going to turn into a fucking little toad or something? Christ, I am not asking for your virginity, princess. Just a damn kiss!”

Sweeney tilts his head, strains his neck and wiggles like a dying fish, calling her every name in the book and then some that aren't. He does it in English and Gaelic; all between his gritted teeth but none of it moves her. In the end she claws to keep his face down, digging her razor blade nails into the flesh of his cheeks until he screams.

“Fine! FUCK! I said fine, dead wife! DO IT!”

Laura releases her grip and glares down at him, gets close enough for him to gag slightly on the scent of death and decay that surrounds her -but she doesn't kiss him.

“First tell me why you are acting like such a prude over a single kiss.”

“Oh. Sweet mother of Christ above. Does it matter?”

Laura smirks, and proceeds to squeeze with her thighs around his middle. He screeches something foul, and is seconds away from feeling his guts burst like a fucking water balloon when she eases back. Planting her ass on his hips with no shame.

He will deny it until he is fucking blue in the face, but he likes her weight. Her strength. All wrapped up in a tiny package.

“Tell me or I will literally squeeze it out of you.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

Laura clenches, her face smug when a second later he is screaming once more.

(What he doesn’t know is that she likes when he screams, likes the way he bristles and burns, there is something beautiful in the way he strains so hard against her that the veins in his neck pop and pulse.)

“ALRIGHT YOU FUCKIN' MAD BITCH, I'LL SING. I'LL FUCKIN' SING. NOW STOP BEFORE I PISS MYSELF!”

Laura does, because ew.

Delighted in getting her way once more, she is content to wait for him to catch his breath. Merely tracking the beads of sweat on his brow and the way they trickle into his flaming red hair.

“…ah…fuck…” he pants. Licking his lips while looking away from her. Seemingly shutting his eyes in pain, more pain than he was mere seconds ago in. “I didn't want to kiss you…like this. With you making it all business and shady like, like it's a fuckin' handshake.”

“Oh.”

>