#why does blue sky lag so much?

[r0semultiverse]

Bluesky actually lags out my 8-10 year old computer on Firefox with Ublock on. Not even into the triple digits with blocked elements and everything is lagging. WHY IS YOUR SITE SO LAGGY? WHAT MAKES THIS SITE SPECIFICALLY EAT SO MUCH CPU?? EVEN TUMBLR IS MORE OPTIMIZED! 😡

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal (10)

A long-awaited update to this fic.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 9)

-----

The plane touched down on the runway of Gotham Airport. The city sky line was as dark and gloomy as he left it. The rising sun illuminated the tall buildings and skyscrapers, some of which were owned by his father. Looking at it, he saw why his family wanted to protect this city which was theirs.

Damian was glad that he was alone in first class, which was not a surprise since people rarely go to Gotham. There were no annoying brothers to bother him. The flight attendant, other than asking him if he wanted anything at the start of the flight, mostly left him alone, aware of his reputation as the ‘Ice Prince of Gotham’.

Leaving Paris made him feel strange. On one hand, he would not see Marinette everyday and deal with those pesky ‘romantic’ thoughts.

On another hand, there is a strange twinge in his chest of not seeing her everyday. He will admit to himself that he was hasty with his judgement. She was brilliant and a better hero despite her upbringing which was similar to his. She is definitely not fragile as he first pegged her. He still had the bruises from their spar during training.

As he walked towards where Alfred was, with the duffel bag containing the clothes and weapons that Drake had managed to get past security with him to France. Damian greeted Alfred and got into the car for a silent ride to the manor. He was tired, jet-lagged, and wanted to go to his bed with his pets (Alfred the cat and Titus, possibly Bat-Cow and Jerry if Father allows) by his side.

He also didn’t have the energy to deal with the pesky thoughts of a blue-eyed and black-haired girl with rosy cheeks that appear when he gets too close and cherry-red lips which she frequently bites when she is in deep thought. Nope, too tired and he was definitely not thinking about how sweet she tasted when they kissed and how she smelled like her strawberry shampoo, fresh bread and something else he can’t quite figure out. The curse does strike at the most inconvenient of times.

He was greeted and immediately mother-henned by a worried Dick Grayson the moment he stepped into the manor. Cass nodded in greeting while he was hugged by an enthusiastic Grayson. Thomas waved from where he stood, in uniform as he was about to start Signal’s day shift.

“Welcome back, Damian.” his father said.

It was good to be home.

-----

Marinette frowned as she read the message the Guild had sent her mother. Looks like they have to hurry up on the plan to take down Hawkmoth.

The League had severely suffered with the loss of the Lazarus pits and many of their own from the surprise attack the Guild had launched, no matter how prepared they were at the possibility.

Ra’s and Talia had abandoned Nanda Parbat and gone into hiding with what remains of their organisation. But they were beginning to retaliate with news of an attack on one of the Guild’s weaker and more-known members and their family. He died and his son was in critical condition in a secure hospital. The crime scene showed the handiwork of the League of Assassins if people knew where to look. The Guild’s priority now was to prepare a counter-attack before the League decides to strike again and find where the new base of operations is.

Tim was helpful in that regard, providing information on everything he and the Bats knew about the League and hacking into what was left of the League’s old database for more. He muttered something about payback for losing a spleen. So far their search has come up with a few promising leads.

Her mother was increasing security measures around the house. After all, the League now knew where they lived after kidnapping Marinette. There is also the possibility, as much as it pains them, that they would have to close the bakery and move away from Paris.

Marinette really hoped that it wouldn't come to that as she made her way to school, her head filled with contingency plans in case she has to leave Paris before Hawkmoth is defeated.

Currently, Marinette has Sass’s bracelet while Chloe has Tikki and Luka has Plagg. (Pollen was back in the Miracle box resting.)

She was so lost in thought that she didn't see that it was who Lila stepped into her way as she got out of the bathroom. She absentmindedly side-stepped and made her way to the sinks to wash her hands. Upon registering who the annoying voice and waving hand belonged to, she sighed.

On top of everything I have to deal with already, Marinette thought.

“Can you repeat what you say, Lila? I am a tad distracted this morning.” she said sweetly, although her smile was anything but.

“You…” Lila glared at her angrily for a second before smoothing her face. “I said, whatever game you are playing, I will win.” She said triumphantly. (How can you win when your rival is playing in the nationals and you are pushing around school kids for your tin ‘gold’ medal?)

“Oh.. A game, huh? Lila. I am not interested in what you have to say. You can say you are the President for all I care. I am not going to stop you.”

“I will make you regret ever-” Lila’s eyes widened in disbelief, realizing what Marinette said before narrowing in suspicion, “What the hell are you playing at, Marinette?”

“Absolutely nothing. You can have my classmates. You can have the class representative position. You can have Adrien Agreste. You already have his father’s approval so you are halfway there to having him as your arm candy slash money dispenser.”

“You had been against me for over a year. You can’t just give up. I know your kind of people. The persistent goody two shoes, and you all go away at one point or another. But you don’t just give up on your friends. You are supposed to keep fighting for the ‘truth’ until they all leave you for me.” Lila continued, “So I repeat my question, Marinette, what are you playing at.”

“And I already told you. Nothing. Simply nothing. I am not playing anymore. It came upon me that fighting you takes too much time and energy that I can no longer spare in my very busy life. New business and all that.” Marinette replied, waving Lila off. The Italian wasn’t happy with her answer.

“No. I am not falling for your tricks”, she declared.

“Whatever. I don’t care. I have grown bored of this petty conflict between us and moved on from it. I suggest you do the same.” Marinette walked out the girls’ bathroom, leaving Lila spluttering for a good comeback.

“You shouldn’t turn your back on your enemy, Marinette.” Lila shouted too late, after Marinette was well out of earshot.

The Italian looked into the mirror, her reflection frowning as she tried to will away the bad feeling the confrontation with Marinette gave her. (Damian’s warning came into her mind again.)

—---

Marinette hummed as she worked on her latest designs in her sketchbook. The class slowly trickled in, keeping to themselves and paying her no mind. At least, most of them did.

“Wow, Marinette. Those designs are good. I could get Father to hire you if you want.” Adrien’s voice interrupted her peaceful morning.

“Agreste, thank you for the compliment and the job offer but I have to turn it down. I have my own business to run and no offense intended, I don’t think I can work with the Gabriel brand, considering the restraining order I have on you that you are currently breaking.”

“What she is too nice to say, Adrikins, is. Get lost. Right now.” Chloe, who had just arrived, grabbed the collar of Adrien’s shirt and dragged him away from Marinette.

“I was just talking to her.” Adrien defended himself as he tries to get out of Chloe’s grip.

“And within the five feet radius range of her position set while in the classroom which breaks the restraining order. This is your first and last warning. Next time, Daddy dearest will hear about this and maybe he will decide to pull you out of this school.” She released him at what she thought was outside the range.

“You can’t do that. Chloe, I can’t stay at home and not be able to see my friends.”

“Too bad, you need to back off. Marinette doesn’t like you that way and you need to see that.”

“But Marinette is my friend.”

“Not anymore.” Marinette cuts in.

Adrien flinched as he realized that the cold tone Marinette directed at him. He took a step back unconsciously at her glare.

“Marin-”

“You came to me like some knight in shining armour on a white horse and told me to get rid of my boyfriend and date you instead. I mean, who does that? If you were really my friend, you would have supported me and be happy for me. Instead you parade around like you are some hero and my sweet Damian is a villain. I get that he’s not good with people and a little standoffish but I lo-like him more than I ever did you.” Marinette declared.

The class watched as Adrien became silent and walked back to his seat.

----- (Words in English are bold)-----

Gabriel grumbled to himself as he worked on his designs. Hawkmoth took up a lot of his time meant for designing and no new designs meant his sales are dropping. He needed to get the numbers back up again so Emilie can stay alive. Until he get his hands on those Miraculouses.

Those pesky heroes better enjoy the lull in akuma while it lasted because after he was done, there were going to be akuma for days. This stalemate of theirs caused by the stubborn refusal of Ladybug to give up her earrings. Chat Noir’s sudden disappearance had him gleeful at finally achieving his goal more easily.

But since Ladybug had gotten more allies on her team and they had switched between using the Ladybug and Black Cat, it was impossible to pinpoint who had it and wear Ladybug down to the point he could easily overpower her. He had been creating as many akumas and senti monsters as possible to find an opening to seize his chance.

Unfortunately, the universe disagreed with his decision for a peaceful working day. Natalie entered his office, looking unusually less put together than usual

“Sir, I think you need to look at this.” she said as she showed him the tablet, streaming the news channel.

Nadja Chamack was reporting on the appearance of a mysterious figure wearing a red helmet and a leather jacket, who appeared out of nowhere at the Trocadéro square, shot a few people and kept a few others as hostages.

He had demanded in English for the Miraculous of the Ladybug and Black Cat.

The Interpol had identified the helmeted person as the infamous Red Hood. A known criminal in America. A infamous crime lord from Gotham, the city of Batman who is one of the Justice League.

Gabriel paled as he realized that the media blackout about the akumas wasn’t as effective as he had hoped. If a villain of Batman was here, it was not long before the hero himself comes to Paris and finds out about the akuma situation. It will give the Miraculous team the edge they need to finally defeat him.

Meanwhile, the heroes had arrived on the scene. The ‘Ladybug’ was currently a blonde girl who he suspected normally wields the Bee. The Black Cat was nowhere to be seen yet. The Dragon and Rabbit arrived with the Ladybug. Unfortunately for them, Red Hood despite being just a human with no powers, was holding his own against them and actually winning.

The Rabbit was out a few minutes in, tossed away like a rag doll. The Dragon, the better fighter of the two remaining, was overpowered and was soon got impaled by her own sword. ‘Ladybug’ faced her opponent warily, tears in her eyes for her fallen comrades as she spun her yo-yo and tried to fight against Red Hood the best she could.

Gabriel ran to his lair and transformed into Hawkmoth. He sent out an akuma and willed it to fly as fast as it could.

Red Hood had ‘Ladybug’ by her throat. The yo-yo was nowhere to be found. ‘Ladybug’ clawed at his hand to let her go as she struggled to breathe. At that moment, an akuma entered the helmet.

“Hello, Crimson Hood, I am Hawkmoth. I will give you powers to achieve our common goal of getting the Miraculous of the Ladybug and Black Cat.”

“So you are the Butterfly man who has been causing a racket for the heroes here. Appreciate the offer but no.”

“What?!”

“You see, I don’t want to be dressed as some knock-off version of myself or god forbid, Batman. And I would probably the one doing all the work anyways.”

“Reconsider my offer. I can grant you the power needed to defeat them.”

“Like I said, no. I didn’t need any of your help. I am doing perfectly fine on my own. It took me only 15 minutes to take down the bug.” Red Hood said as Ladybug finally lose consciousness and he threw her onto the ground. He used the yo-yo to began tying the fallen heroine up. “I just have to wait for the kitty cat to show up and I can make my wish. I have no intentions to wait several years until I can use the Miraculouses again.” he continued.

“What do you mean several years?!” Hawkmoth angrily asked.

“You didn’t know? The little book that I found on the black market told me how two magic jewellery will get me what I want and once a wish had been made the creatures that lives inside them will be too tired to grant another for a long time, sometimes even a century. Besides, I won’t team up with some coward that won’t show his face and expects me to do his dirty work. Au revoir.”

The last thing Hawkmoth saw through the connection was a gun aimed at the head of the Ladybug wielder and the connection cuts out as a gunshot was heard.

Gabriel Agreste viewed himself as a logical and ruthless man with no emotions to cloud his judgement except perhaps the love he had for his dear Emilie. He had to be in order to be the one of top fashion designer and run one of the largest fashion empire. However, his interaction with the Gotham crime lord had him more desperate than ever and even afraid. Maybe with some jealousy. The American had achieved half of his goal in an hour, compared to the 3 years he had been fighting against those nauseating heroes to only have one so close to his possession before having it ripped away.

He ordered Natalie as Mayura to conjure as much senti-monsters as she can while he tried to find another person to akumatized.

Suddenly he felt a strong emotion nearby, like it was very close to him. Like it was from someone in his house.

“Mayura.”

“Yes, Hawkmoth. Go and distract the Red Hood. If the Cat appears, don’t let the ring get into his hands by using any means necessary. I will send my akuma out in a minute. You will then aid them in retrieving the earrings.”

“Who’s the akuma, sir?”

“My greatest one yet.”

------

(Part 11)

------

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[deathbyjoong]

ATEEZ Honeymoon HCs

Summary: I wrote a few thousand words on what I thought a honeymoon would be like with each member of ATEEZ. I hope you all enjoy ✨

Many many thanks to @bfyunho​ for beta-ing and generally being my favorite person 💕

Warnings: fluff and smut. 18+ ONLY!

Seonghwa

Y’all already KNOW that a honeymoon with Seonghwa is just gonna be two weeks of him exercising his duality

Constant love-making? Absolutely. But also! Lots of interesting things to do and many opportunities to make memories

Where’s he gonna do that? A large resort suite all to yourselves in Mediterranean ItalyIt’s warm, sensual, fun, perfect--everything you ever wanted

Days spent wandering the town, swimming, finding museums and restaurants

Seonghwa insists on taking selfies at every single location--he wants to know every single one of these moments long after his memory has failed him

Sunbathing on a private sailboat on the Amalfi Coast, soaking in the vitamin D 

The ship’s captain finds a beautiful, unoccupied spot in a shallow cove, and drops anchor

He then heads into the cabin of the boat to give you and your husband some privacy

Seonghwa sits on a lounge chair behind you, rubbing sunscreen on your shoulders

He’s letting his hands move just as slowly and sensually across your skin as he wants, taking his time in listening to your breath hitch in your throat

Eventually ducking his head down to press his lips to a spot on your neck he hasn’t covered yet, while his thumbs still rub circles on your shoulders

Giving all his attention to that one area, biting lightly then sucking the skin to soothe it

You lean your head back, giving him all the access he could want, and a soft sigh escapes your parted lips

His hair tickles your shoulder, but Seonghwa doesn’t linger long before he’s turning you to face him so he can kiss you properly

He’s got the ties of your swimsuit undone in seconds, and you throw your legs over Seonghwa’s hips as soon as it’s off

You grind yourself on him, abusing his swim shorts in your pursuit of a little friction

Hwa grips you by the waist, firmly but not enough to hurt. Just enough to get you close--enough to help you rise and fall on him

Something occurs to you, and you break the kiss to breathlessly murmur in his ear

“You need sunscreen, too. You’re gonna burn.”

Hwa chuckles, dangerously low, flashing his teeth as he reaches down with one hand and picks up the bottle he’d set on the deck

“My wife is so considerate,” he coos, handing it to you

You take it, rolling your eyes. But Seonghwa’s arms tighten around you once more, and you’re brought close to the tent in his shorts again

“Will you put some on me too, then?” He looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that are completely betrayed by his pupils, blown wide

You squeeze some of the lotion into your hands and let the bottle fall down as you spread it over his shoulders

You’re consumed by his kiss again, gripping his shoulders, arms, neck, wherever you can reach

His skin rubs slick against yours because of the sunscreen, and all you can taste is the salt on Seonghwa’s lips as he does away with his shorts and finally pushes into you

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes of soft moans, grinding, and his mouth against your neck for you to come, head thrown back and facing the sun

Your husband isn’t long after, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder as he loses himself in you

When you’ve come down from your high, Seonghwa stands slowly and pulls you with him

“Let’s go swimming.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon wading in the shallow waters of the cove, soaking in the sun and kicking up the white sand with your toes

When the sun starts to slide down the sky, setting everything aglow with orange and gold, Seonghwa stands behind you and holds his lips to the back of your head

His arms are around you, and your joined form sways gently with the waves until the sun falls away completely

When you get back to the resort, you both shower off and Seonghwa presents you with a beautiful dress to wear to dinner

He wines and dines you every single night, even making an effort to learn some Italian to more easily place your orders and interact with locals

And each night, he lifts his glass and toasts, “To you, Mrs. Park.”

Hongjoong

It took exactly zero convincing for you to get Hongjoong to agree to Paris

He loved the idea right away, because it’s a city known for its art and fashion

You reserve a penthouse room in the heart of Paris, with floor to ceiling windows and sheer white curtains

The two of you arrive in Paris decked out in the most impeccable airport fashion, ready to paint the city red

Unfortunately, the jet lag hits you both a little harder than expected

So you spend the rest of the first day sleeping and eating in bed, to the backdrop of sultry French soul music playing over the radio

The next morning, you wake up just as the sun is beginning to peek over the rooftops

It sends gold rays through the blue light of the morning

You slept with the windows cracked, and the soft breeze blows through the curtains

He’s sleeping next to you, and you curl up against him, perfectly content to get a few more minutes of sleep

His t-shirt smells like him--like home-- and you smile to yourself

But something less wholesome is going on his head

Hongjoong’s eyebrows tilt and his lips part as he whimpers in his sleep

It’s an expression you recognize, although he’s only ever made it while he’s very much awake

Usually as you take him, nails grazing down his stomach, watching his head fall back against the pillows

You have to wonder if that’s what he’s dreaming about, but you’re not about to sit by and let the dream version of you have all the fun

Throwing a leg over his hips, you rest your hands on Joong’s chest and slowly kiss his neck

He moans softly, eyes opening as he wakes

His hands find your hips, pulling you against the growing hardness in his sweatpants, and there’s a sheepish smirk on his face

“Sounded like a good dream,” you whisper against his lips

Hongjoong smiles in the dim light, his eyes flicking to your mouth

“It was,” he replies

His hand is creeping up your back, fingers purposely snagging on your t-shirt

“But nothing compared to this, and nothing compared to you,” he says, and kisses you firmly

You’re not usually one for morning sex, but this lazy love is exquisite in its own way

It’s all slow touches and kisses that are soft but not lacking in passion

Hongjoong shifts to be on top of you and your noses bump, causing both of you to giggle a bit

Joong hides his face in your neck, but takes the opportunity to place a few kisses there

The pair of you take your time in climbing the mountain, but you reach the peak at the same time, hands clasped and legs tangled

You tilt your head a little to watch his face as he comes because the sight of him, and the sounds he’s making, are nothing short of gorgeous

Following an equally slow comedown, you shower off together and clamber back into bed for another couple hours of sleep

When you’re both a bit more rested, you set out on foot to explore the city

Munching on croissants with Hongjoong at an outdoor cafe, and sipping espressos before setting off again

You stop at a small flower stand, and Joong buys you a handful of roses

As you walk on, he has his hands in his pockets, and you loop your arm through his

The content smile playing on his lips gives you a high, and you bask in the moment

The following day, you drive to the Musee du Louvre, and stay until closing time

Joong looks at the art, and you look at him, admiring your own masterpiece

You’re thankful you ended up here because it gives you a perfect, constant view of his profile, from his starry eyes to the tip of his nose to his lovely mouth

He catches you staring at him, and blushes while trying to suppress a smile

You do another day trip to the palace and gardens at Versailles, holding hands as you stroll through the ornate, golden halls and endless paths adorned by flowers

And, of course, it’s not a trip to Paris, or a trip with Hongjoong, if there isn’t shopping for clothes at some point

You pick outfits out for each other in the city’s best boutiques de vetements, from sleek luxury retailers to some of the more underrated shops in the art district

The two of you end up having to buy another suitcase for all the clothes you bring back, but this turn of events is shocking to no one

It’s the most fun you could have on a vacation, and your only consolation for having to go home at the end of the week is getting to start the best adventure of all

Being married to your best friend

Yunho

You’ve always wanted to visit Austria

What better occasion than your honeymoon to spend a week in Salzburg?

It’s all wonderful-- the music, scenery, history, and dancing!

It’s a series of beautiful moments from the very start of your trip

You and Yunho watch Harry Potter together on the plane there, sharing earbuds and mouthing the spells together

At one point, Yunho moves the armrest so the two of you can comfortably hold hands

You doze off together, heads resting against each other, and are only awoken by the captain announcing that you’ve landed

You were worried about jet lag, but your Energizer bunny husband has an abundance of contagious excitement

You drop your bags at the hotel, change clothes, and immediately set off on your first adventure

It’s a sunny, breezy day and the sweet aroma of flowers on balconies is everywhere

You’re strolling hand in hand down a cobblestone road in the historic district of the town when you and Yunho hear the music at the same time

You’re drawn like magnets to the sound of a small band playing on the sidewalk

Yunho pulls you in for a dance, just like you knew he would, one grasping yours and the other pulling you close by the waist

As he swings you in circles, you think to yourself, this is why you married him

His carefree nature, spontaneity, and the joy his spirit radiates

And the laughter in your ears that’s just as much music as the instruments being played on the corner of the street

Though you don’t know the steps, and you’re pretty sure Yunho is making them up on the spot, you never once stumble over each other

He ends the dance by twirling you around, tickled pink at how much fun you’re both having

Next, you find a little outdoor cafe, and insist on feeding him yourself

Yunho is blushing and acting like he thinks it’s ridiculous, but when you finally give up, he picks up the fork and hands it back to you with a sheepish smile

You giggle and scoop up a piece of the chocolate cake you’re sharing, watching his cheeks turn pink as he accepts it

By the time the cake is finished, you’ve got a bit of chocolate icing on the corner of your mouth

Instead of just pointing it out to you, Yunho becomes Yunhoe

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reaches across the little table and swipes his thumb across your lip

You thought he was just being cute, until he brings his hand back to his mouth and sucks the icing off his thumb

As you watch with a smirk, Yunho gives you a look that makes it clear he’s doing the math in his head of how quickly you can get back to the hotel room

He throws a handful of Euros on the table (more than the bill would’ve been) and grabs your hand

Twenty minutes later, you stumble backwards out of the elevator, arms thrown around Yunho’s shoulders

His mouth is hot over yours, and you have to laugh at yourself for not even making it one day before jumping each other

But hey-- what are honeymoons for, right?

He breaks your kiss only to swipe the key card at the room door, but his lips are right back on yours as soon as he can

Yunho picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and blindly pushes the door open behind you

You’re not sure whose idea it was, or if either of you even thought about it, but you end up bent over the balcony railing, your lower half shielded from pedestrians below only by flower boxes

Yunho’s got one hand around your waist, and the other hand braced on the railing

He’s groaning softly between kisses against the side of your neck, thrusting into you from behind

At one point his hand drifts from your waist to press into your clit, causing your head to fall back against his shoulder

Yunho puts a hand over your mouth to stifle the moans that you can’t keep in

You come shortly after with a muffled cry into his palm, and Yunho bites into your shoulder as gently as he can to muffle his own noise when he comes a moment later

You take a few moments to come down before Yunho walks you inside to clean off

You collapse onto the bed together for a much-needed nap, dozing off peacefully in your favorite place in the world-- your husband’s arms

Yeosang

You had to reason with Yeosang just a little to get him to agree to go to Greece for your honeymoon

But once he realized why you picked it out of all places, he came around

It offers food, sunshine, fresh air, and many adventures in a place made for exploring

Getting excited on the plane ride in, giggling with each other and looking out the window at the islands like a couple of excited kids

You go searching for the best views in Santorini, climbing through the endless maze of steps between white and blue buildings

So many selfies--Yeosang smiling shyly with his cheek pressed to the side of your head

After a while, he really starts to relax and have fun, and his smiles in your pictures get wider and wider

One day is devoted entirely to walking through the market in town, buying random food items just because they smell good and holding them out for the other to try

At one point Yeosang slips away while you’re not paying attention

Trying not to panic, you look around, feeling like a child who’s lost their mom at a supermarket

Just as you’re starting to lose your breath, Yeosang catches you by the waist

You knew it was him just by his touch, but you still look to his face for the reassurance that he’s there

There’s a glint in his eye that implies he’s amused by your concern at losing him, but he tells you it’s okay, and shows you where he went:

A bright bouquet of flowers no doubt native to the island is bursting from his hands in marvelous yellows, pinks, and whites

You recognize Asphodels, but the rest are beautiful, nameless mysteries

They almost get crushed between your bodies as you throw your arms around Sangie and kiss him in full public view

No one seems to mind it though-- it appears as though love is in the air on this day, carried by the light sea breeze and lit by the sun

Yeosang smiles into the kiss before reminding you to be careful of your flowers

You take them from him with a grin, but when you’re on your way home, the smile turns into a pout

“Sang?” “Yeah?” “My feet hurt.”

Yeosang fakes a dramatic sigh, but it’s not another second before he’s crouching in front of you, holding his arms out behind him

You gleefully climb on, and Yeosang carries you the rest of the short walk to your AirBnB

He’ll never say it out loud, but his favorite thing in the world is feeling your arms around his shoulders

Just like on your wedding day, just like now, just like he wants every day for the rest of his life

Another day, the two of you are hiking through some of the more rural parts of Santorini, and happen upon a beautiful wild olive grove near a cliff face

You come back the next morning with a blanket and some snacks, and spend the entire day in the shade

Admiring him as you sit by the seaside, because he looks so stunning among the greens and blues and yellows

Again--SO. MANY. SELFIES

It’s not your fault he looks that good

Maybe he looks a little too good

Maybe you make a mess of your picnic blanket after grabbing your husband and pulling him on top of you

Once Yeosang looks around and ascertains that there’s absolutely no one around, he’s all game

His hands are bunching the skirt up around your hips, his mouth greedy and searching your neck for any spot that’ll make you whimper when he sucks into it

Your spot in paradise turns into rapture as his fingers meet your core, massaging you until you start to dig your nails into his shoulder

You’ve got one hand on his bicep and the other in his hair when he takes you in one smooth motion, finding his rhythm like he never dropped it in the first place

You come apart beneath him, and beneath the softly rustling leaves of the olive trees

The two of you fall asleep shortly after, completely relaxed in each other’s arms

Holding hands on your walks through the town at night, underneath the twinkle lights

You’ve married your best friend, and this is the best beginning to your lives together that you could ever imagine

Happiness settles around you like a light blanket, and you hope it stays forever

San

Don’t ask me why, but a glass igloo hotel in Iceland seems perfect

It’s cozy but not too small, and it’s the picture of quiet luxury

The glass walls and ceiling give you a beautiful view of the wide Icelandic sky, which is clear as crystal after a fresh snowfall

There’s a fireplace against one wall, with a fuzzy rug in front of it and many, many pillows

You spend the first evening snuggled up there with San, sipping hot chocolate and talking about every random thing you can think of

He keeps finding reasons to say “my wife”, getting all giggly every time he does

After you fall asleep, another storm rolls through, dropping an extra foot of powdery snow all around you

You and San are oblivious, however, because you’re both fast asleep under several layers of blankets

Safe and warm in your little nest, you nuzzle your face into San’s neck, and he tightens his arms around you in his sleep

Because being with you, and keeping you close, comes as naturally to him as breathing

When you wake up, you see the wonderland outside and it’s not even a discussion-- you and Sannie are outside as fast as you can put on your clothes

You play in the snow together, and his adorable laugh echoes around you every time he beans you with a snowball

Chasing each other around like little kids, giggling and kicking up the snow

San catches you by the waist and spins you around, making sure to never drop you

You wrestle around a bit but eventually end up making snow angels together

When you stand up to admire your outlines in the snow, San pulls you close and presses his face into your hair

Putting an arm around his waist, you brush some of the snow off his jacket

He catches your hand, and holds it to his chest, where you can feel his heart pounding

“Never forget that this beats for you, okay?”

You almost cry, but opt to pull San to you and press kisses all over his face instead

He just giggles and accepts every single peck on his quickly-heating cheeks

Later that day, you make your way to the hot springs nearby, running as fast as you can to the water’s edge after dropping your coats

It’s a rush to the senses, slipping into the hot spring and away from the frigid air

San is behind you, gripping your hand tightly

You find a ledge that’s been carved into the rock underwater, and make yourselves comfortable on it

San leans back, eyes closed, and you can see the puffs of his breath coming slower and slower as he fully relaxes

You lean back against his arm, enjoying the feeling of his skin and the soft water pooling around you

You end up throwing your legs over his thighs and curling into his side

His arm goes around your shoulders, and you feel every bit of worry leave your body

You’re heavy with relaxation, but you feel lighter than ever

That evening, you’re watching a movie and sipping spiked hot chocolate when a flash of green lights up the igloo

Gasping, you stand up to stare skywards, mouth open

San turns off the movie and moves next to you, taking your hand and squeezing it lightly

You watch the Northern Lights in silence as they ripple across the sky in vivid purples, blues, and greens

A few minutes into the show, you glance over at San to see his eyes glittering with all the colors

He looks so beautiful, holding entire galaxies, and he doesn’t even realize it

When the lights begin to fade down, you reach over and pull San to you

He knew what you wanted from the first millisecond of touch

He responds in kind, tugging you as close to him as he can and making quick work of both your shirts

Chests pressed together and breathing ragged, you let yourselves fall back onto the rug

Arms and legs tangle as you make love beneath the glass ceiling, and the auroras begin to flicker again, making everything that much more beautiful

Falling asleep in each others’ arms, not only for the warmth, but because you love him more than anything in the world

Mingi

Madagascar!

It’s a lesser known honeymoon destination, with fewer people than some of the more popular spots in Europe or the Caribbean

You have your own bungalow on the beach, with room service twice a day and spa services as well

Getting massages and face masks with Mingi? Yes. Doing so in matching fluffy white robes? Double yes.

Going on a safari adventure to see the lemurs!

You and Mingi pile into the backseat of an open-air Jeep and a driver takes you around one of the wildlife refuges

You two have the time of your lives looking at all the animals, grabbing each other and pointing when you see a new one

He’s smiling so big the entire time, and his happiness is contagious

You both sleep in late every day just because you can--no alarms, just birds twittering and sunlight filtering through the blinds

Waking up in each other’s arms, nestled under a layer of soft blankets

All you have to do is open your eyes, and Mingi is right there, sleeping soundly with the corners of his mouth turned up

His hair is tousled and he looks so peaceful

That is, until you try to get up to make breakfast, and he refuses to let you get out of bed

He doesn’t even wake up; just throws one arm around you and hugs you tight, humming in his sleep with a little pout on his lips

You can’t help but smile, and relent to his cute charm

An hour or so later, when both of you wake up, Mingi kisses you all over your face

It’s the best way to say “good morning” in his opinion, and you’re pretty sure he’s right

Another day, you do a guided hike through Amber Mountain National Park

There are even more lemurs, and many other animals

The air is so clean you can’t even believe it, and peace seeps into you with each step further into the lush, green wilderness

You stop to swim in an emerald pool at the foot of a small waterfall, and your guide steps away to give you a moment of privacy

You get close to Mingi, resting your hands on his shoulders and pressing your forehead to his

The water flows softly around you, but Mingi is your rock--steadfast and comfortable to you always

He kisses you sweetly, and you feel any tension he might have had leaving his body with each deep inhale

Your favorite moment from the trip, however, has to be your journey to the Avenue of the Baobabs

The Baobab trees have long been a legendary symbol of the African wilds, but seeing them up close in reality is its own level of breathtaking

Nothing could have prepared you for just how massive the Baobabs are, towering above the horizon as you approach in your tour Jeep

You’re dropped off at the beginning of the path that winds through hundreds of the giant trees, and told to meet back there in a couple of hours

Mingi pulls you down the trail excitedly, telling you that if he had to be a tree, he would be one of these

You snap your favorite photo ever that afternoon

It’s a picture of Mingi, grinning widely, hugging a Baobab (or trying to, since that particular tree had a diameter of about fifteen feet)

He looks so happy, almost childlike, and the joy just radiates off of him

That picture gets framed the second you return from your trip, and it’s also the lockscreen on your phone

Although your days are spent visiting every destination on the island, your evenings are a much-needed quiet time to recharge

You and Mingi snuggle up for a movie some nights, and other nights you drink on the porch and listen to the sounds of the jungle

Sometimes you get distracted from the movie or the scenery, and kiss Mingi a whole bunch instead

He’s more than willing to pull you close, and even carry you off, when you whisper something sinful in his ear

But no matter what you get up to, his love and sweetness are in every touch

Whether you’re out and about, or enjoying a quiet moment to yourselves, his arm is around you always, and you never have to ask twice for extra kisses

Wooyoung

A beach resort in Turks and Caicos seems like the perfect place to go with Wooyoung

Hear me out-- it’s got music and tourists that are just as loud as he is

Crystal clear, bright blue waters greet you as the two of you hitch a ride from the airport

All the windows in the cab are down, because it’s sunny and just the right kind of warm

Salty sea air fills your lungs and the wind breezes through your hair

You’re given complementary rum punch when you check in, and it’s the perfect start to your trip

You and Wooyoung drop your bags off at the room and immediately change into your swimsuits

The resort backs right up to the beach, so you run out in your sandals, hand in hand as you make a beeline toward the water

The sand is hot beneath your feet, but you don’t even notice because you’re so excited and the water! is so! blue!

You crash into the surf seconds later, the warm water swirling around your legs

You wade through the water until you’re chest deep, then kick up your feet and float on your back

There are no breakers, nor boats allowed, in the calm waters of the bay, so you float in the soft blue for a little bit, content to just let the tide wash you back to shore in whatever timeline it sees fit

You reach out at the line between sea and sky, meeting the skin of Wooyoung’s arm

He’s still standing, staring in wonder at the paradise around you, but he takes your hand without thinking

He’s your anchor, letting you float without drifting away

You spend the next several hours going back and forth between the sea and the sand, finding beach chairs to lounge on while you lay in the sun

As the sun starts to fall in the sky, you decide to head back to the room to shower off and get dressed for a fancy dinner

You’re minding your business, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair, when the bathroom door opens and Wooyoung pokes his face inside

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. It’ll save water,” you respond, smiling

Woo sheds his swimshorts and joins you, slipping in as fast as he can to keep the steam inside the glass door of the shower

You massage shampoo into his hair, enjoying his little hums of appreciation

He rinses it out while you wash your body, and you stand behind him as he washes off too

His back is to you and you openly stare at the water running down his back

You feel heavy, relaxed, from spending all day in the sun, but there’s one thing that could make this afternoon even better

Once all the soap is off of him, you step forward and kiss the spot between his shoulder blades

Never a stranger to your unspoken wishes, Wooyoung leans his head back as you kiss your way up to his shoulder

When you can’t reach any more, he turns and kisses you, hard

He’s got one hand snaked around your waist and the other holding your face to his

Your arms are around his shoulders in a heartbeat, and he backs you against the tile

It’s cold, but the warm water is still running between your bodies, giving you shivers

Wooyoung breaks the kiss only to kneel in front of you, throwing your leg over his shoulder

He brings you to the edge with his mouth, then stands again, keeping your leg hitched over his hip

When he fucks you, you’re worried that people are going to see the scratches on his shoulders the next day at the beach

But eventually, you can’t be bothered to think about it, and you lose yourself in his touch instead

You come apart shortly after, chests heaving and skin pressed to wet skin

A little while later, you’re toasting one another over dinner

The restaurant offers many amazing local delicacies, and Wooyoung insists on hand-feeding you at least half of them throughout your trip

There’s live music every night at the resort’s restaurant & bar, and Wooyoung doesn’t think twice about pulling you with him to the dancefloor

You’re not overly confident in your dancing skills, but Woo pulls you close and shows you some simple steps as other couples join around you

After a couple of songs, you’re able to get into the groove of the funky music that the island loves so much

Wooyoung’s smile is all you need to know you’re moving the right way, and you dance to a few more songs before going back to the bar counter for more fruity drinks

The two of you continue to get tipsy, then walk to the beach and make out in the sand like a couple of teenagers

You’re both giggling between kisses, digging your toes into the sand, and existing purely in the moment

Everything is sweet, from the taste of pineapple on his tongue to the heady aroma of plumeria blooms in the trees

Every day is a beach day in this place. You’ve never had this much fun, splashing and playing in the water, laughing nonstop

One afternoon, Wooyoung is passed out on a beach chair under an umbrella, lulled to sleep by the day’s warmth and the sounds of the ocean

After taking a picture of him to giggle at later, you get an idea

The air is fragrant with the sweet smell of the thousands of flowering bushes that are planted throughout the resort’s grounds

Nobody would miss a few of those flowers, would they? If you were to, say, pluck some and decorate your husband with them?

You slip away from the chairs and your sleeping Woo to gather a few blooms from the nearest row of landscaping, returning with sweet-smelling handfuls of them

You giggle to yourself, putting the flowers all around Wooyoung’s head like a little halo of yellows, whites, and pinks

He doesn’t even notice them until he wakes up, gets back in the water, and sees a bunch of petals in the surf around him

You laugh and take photos of all of it

Being on a catamaran at sunset, sitting side by side with your head on his shoulder

The sky is painted in vivid oranges and reds, and Woo’s hand rests on your thigh, his breathing slow and even next to you

The wind is a bit cool on your wet skin, but the sun still delivers warmth, and you inhale the smell of saltwater on Wooyoung’s skin

He turns his face slightly to kiss the top of your head, and you smile knowing that his love for you comes without him even having to think about it

As the boat smoothly cuts through the water, you feel completely at peace

You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and it’s hard to think about your life turning out any other way than this moment, with this man

Jongho

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Incredible local food, soccer matches, constant music, breathtaking city scenery--it’s a neotropical dream

First of all, Jongho is amazing to travel with

Being the eldest of his family, he’s well-prepared with a bag full of snacks, meds, toiletries, headphones, and neck pillows for both of you

He looks so cute on the flight, snuggled up in his complimentary blanket and neck pillow

He’s pouting in his sleep and you take several photos just because

When you get to the hotel room, he bravely offers to carry your luggage up the stairs for you

But he makes you wait at the bottom of the stairs so that he can come back and scoop you into his arms

Because he insists on carrying you bridal-style at every opportunity, starting with your arrival to the room

It’s a suite on the second floor, with its own balcony overlooking the main walkway below

You can look out over shops and restaurants and bars, all the nightlife in one place

You change out of your airport clothes, then venture out to grab some drinks and go shopping-- the boys had bullied Jongho into promising that he’d bring back gifts

The two of you are buzzing by the time night falls, but your feet are sore from walking and you’re exhausted from the flight

So you grab some food to-go from one of the restaurants and take it back to the room

You chow through dinner with the balcony doors open, allowing the music and chatter of the streets to carry in on the soft, warm breeze

Going into food comas immediately after eating, you and Jongho pass out on top of the covers, facing each other with hands clasped in the middle

You wake up to brilliant sunlight and Jongho’s arm thrown over you

He’s your life-size teddy bear, and you snuggle closer to him for warmth and comfort

When you both get up and around, you surprise Jongho with tickets to this year’s Superclasico-- only the biggest soccer match in Buenos Aires!

Jongho tries to play it cool, but you can tell he’s absolutely giddy at getting to attend a sports game while he’s here

He loves soccer, after all, and he can’t stop smiling the entire way to the stadium

He practically drags you by the hand to your seats, which are so close to the field that you can hear the footballers yelling to each other

Jongho doesn’t sit down a single time during the game, shouting excitedly in Korean even though he doesn’t know anything about these teams or who to root for

He’s just glad to be there, and it’s an absolutely fantastic match

On your short walk home, he’s got so much energy from being amped up by the game that he stops you on the sidewalk and tells you to get on his back

You blush profusely, but who are you to say no? Besides, you love seeing him be this carefree

The two of you stick out like a sore thumb in the streets of Argentina since you’re giggling like crazy and he’s singing to you in a language that definitely isn’t local

You indulge in some amazing street food before going back to the hotel and getting ready for the evening

He got tickets to a theater show, and it gives you an opportunity to get all dressed up

Your husband looks so handsome in his casual suit, and when you walk out in your dress, he’s holding roses

The show is wonderful, and you’re both part of the standing ovation it receives

You throw off your shoes when you get home, but there’s so much excitement outside that the night is hardly over

Standing on your balcony, listening to singing in the streets and bars below, with Jongho’s arms around you from behind

This man clearly did his research before coming here, because he actually knows some of the songs in Spanish and you bet your ass he serenades you as musicians pass by below

There are fireworks some nights for no apparent reason other than that the city exists to be a technicolor celebration of life

There is no better place to start this marriage, and no better person to be married to

[coepiteamare]

depth of field

pairing: yoongi x female!reader genre: angst (are we surprised), fluff, reader is an actress, yoongi is photographer warning: a lot of feelings, uhm there’s like 2 lines about sex but it’s not super explicit, bad break ups, not beta read, heartbreak,  header credit: lovely isa! she’s so talented please check her out @monvante​  word count: 9.5k (how and why this became the longest thing i’ve written, i don’t know) rating: sfw though slightly mature (2 lines about sex but not explicit) collab: the valentine’s day collab with a bunch of awesome writers! please check out everyone’s stories! 

summary: yoongi is a nature photographer and you’re an actress who’s spent her entire life in front of the cameras. when he’s hired (against his will) for a photoshoot, he’s not quite expecting you: all smiles and charm and mystery. (alt: you laugh, and yoongi hears the night sky crumble into a thousand shooting stars. he fumbles with the settings, his heart rattling in his chest like the camera in his hands, but for the first time, the picture doesn’t do the sight in front of him justice.) A/N: this is....so late because i am big dumb + life changes + writing is hard. i have extremely mixed feelings on this one, but if you do read it, i hope it makes you feel something. if you listen to epik high, a lot of this was written while listening to “sleepless in _________”. 

[Triptych: Sleepless In The City.JPEG]

[alt.image: Black and white triptych of a view outside a bedroom window. The position of the shot is the same in all three: all of them are directly facing an open window depicting the Seoul skyline. Towards the bottom of the picture, the edge of a bed can be seen: a plaid blanket with a light coloured bed frame. Right below the window is a dark wood dresser with a glass of water on top. At the center of the frame is a square, side hung window with light coloured (white) curtains on the sides. The first frame depicts a light blue coloured sky. There’s a lens flare at the top right of the corner. The second frame depicts a gradient sky. There’s light from the buildings shining through. The third frame depicts a darker sky, but the building lights are still on. The glass of water lies in the same position through the pictures, with little to no change in water amount.]

There’s a loud bzzt bzzt coming from the side of his bed as sleep clings to his eyelashes and glues his eyes shut, exhaustion still running through his veins. His fingers fumble, groping in the darkness, for the source of the noise until his fingers clasp around his phone and silence it. He rubs his face in his pillow and lets himself settle in again, sleep creeping back when—bzzt, bzzt—there’s another round of vibrations from his phone. Yoongi knows he turned on the do not disturb mode, so he contemplates answering as his fingers make contact with his phone, before pressing the side button and turning it off. 

He shuts his eyes, but sleep doesn’t call his name this time around. Someone else does, as the door swings open.

“Yoongi!” 

Yoongi groans and pulls the covers over his head, letting the weighted blanket settle around his body, but Hoseok peels it off his body without a struggle. 

“You could have called when you came back,” Hoseok opens the black out curtains, afternoon light flooding through the window and making Yoongi’s vision dance. 

“You could have called before you barged in.” 

“I did,” Hoseok settles on the edge of his bed, laughing when Yoongi kicks him off, “you didn’t answer.” 

“I was busy.” He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the afterglow of his dreams fading from his mind. 

Hoseok looks at the suitcase still packed at the corner of his bed, at the instant noodle cups on the counter. “I see that.” 

Yoongi shrugs and reaches for the camera bag on his nightstand, fiddling with the zippers and refusing to meet Hoseok’s eyes. 

It’s quiet before there’s a sigh that paints the silence between them. Hoseok reaches his hand out, eyes a little soft, smile a little apologetic, and Yoongi gives him the camera. 

“So how was Greenland?”

“Cold. Colder than here. Not green at all.” Hoseok laughs at that, and perhaps it’s the weather, the lack of people Yoongi has seen the past few months, or Hoseok’s sunny disposition dispelling the shadows, but there’s a small warmth that blooms through Yoongi. “It was nice though. Nice pictures.” 

“I can see that. Did you have an exhibition in mind for these?”

“No. I just wanted a change of pace for a bit.” he clears his throat, trying to unstick the words clinging to his esophagus. “New environment. Clear my head. Look for new inspiration.” 

Hoseok hands him back the camera. “I signed you up for RKIVE LAB’s Valentine’s Day exhibition.”  Yoongi stops fiddling with the buttons and grips the camera  a little tighter. “Portraits of love. Pictures of people required.”

“I don’t take pictures of people.”

“You used to. Before.” Hoseok doesn’t say it—knows to shut his mouth even before Yoongi glares at him—but the presence of the words stains the air like an unwanted lens flare smudged across the picture. The weight of it lingers, glaringly obvious in the silence, as heavy as the blanket curled up at Yoongi’s feet. 

“Used to. Not anymore.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do it again.”

“And that doesn’t mean I want to. Besides, I’m not ready for another exhibition.” 

“Yoongi,” Hoseok takes a seat on the bed and this time, Yoongi doesn’t chide him for it. “Your last exhibition was a year ago. You stopped photographing people for 8 months. 4 months ago, you decided—out of the blue, mind you—to pack up and visit Greenland, 2 weeks before your exhibition. Not only was PR an absolute nightmare, but you also scared me. I was worried about you.”

There’s a sense of guilt that trickles through him at Hoseok’s words. Yoongi hugs his knees to his chest and tucks his chin over them. He’d sink into the floor if he could, let it swallow him whole if it meant he could avoid the conversation, but knowing Hoseok, he’d continue, even when it closed back up. 

“You need to let go,” Hoseok squeezes his shoulder. 

“I need to sleep. I’m still jet lagged.” 

“It’s been a week since you’ve come back!” 

“Exactly,” he pouts, and tries to reach for his blanket, but Hoseok gently slaps his hands away. His voice softens when he opens his mouth, insecurity painting the edges.“I just don’t think I’m ready for an exhibit. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“I think you just need to try.”

The sigh that leaves his body doesn’t do much for the heaviness that he can’t seem to dispel. He’s tried. Tried to take pictures, tried to photograph people, but he doesn’t know how to capture them without the lens of heartbreak, without finding pieces of his ex hidden in filters. He’s tried to forget, tried to remember, tried to drown everything out to the bitter taste of alcohol, and nothing worked. He tries, and nothing works. 

“I don’t know how to take pictures of people anymore,” Yoongi says weakly. 

Hoseok’s smile is bright, too bright, the picture of false reassurance. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve already made a call.”

[Ready Or Not.JPEG]

[alt. Image: An out of focus, blurry, god shot, full body photograph of a girl. She wears a short red dress with thin straps and black platform boots. There’s a pink and green image/texture projected on top of her as she poses with her arms stretched over her head. The woman is not at the centre of frame, but more towards the right. The photograph appears to be taken hastily, as if the photographer was falling down when taking the shot.]

Yoongi’s forgotten how much light is involved with studio shoots: the moment he steps into the studio, there’s a flash of bright light, and there’s small spots of light dancing in the corner of his vision. He wants to go home, curl back into his cotton sheets, and hide under the covers. 

It’s convenient, he’ll admit. Outdoor photography, especially nature photography, means hours and hours of planning ahead, of trekking into the wilderness and adjusting lenses and camera angles, and tripod placements to get the perfect shot, only to have something—be it the sun, or a bug, or an animal, or a tree that decides to fall at that moment—interfere and ruin the moment. But indoor photography means that everything gets to be controlled, adjustable to his whims.

Yoongi fiddles with his camera settings, finger nervously itching for something to do in the unfamiliar environment. He’s not sure if he likes these kinds of photographs, the ones scripted and tweaked until perfection is smudged against the frame of the picture. He likes spontaneity, likes the unpredictability of nature, but he also likes the idea that everything can be adjusted, picture perfect, to the way he wants it. (No one leaves, no one hurts. Just pictures. Just his ideas.)

“I didn’t know we were getting a new photographer.” 

He spins around and almost stumbles backwards at the sight of you. He could easily have deemed you as one of the set pieces: clothes perfectly pressed, skin glossy, not a hair out of place. You're brilliant and dazzling and beautiful, pressurised to perfection, and Yoongi doesn’t know if he likes that. Doesn’t like the crisp edges of your pants, the sharp angles of your shoulders. 

“My name is Y/N. It’s nice to work with you.”

He stares at the hand in front of him for a second before wiping his palm on his pants. Your smile doesn’t fade as Yoongi gingerly shakes your hand. “Yoongi. I’m just here to watch Vante on shoot. I haven’t photographed people in a while, and our agent thought it would help me to watch him in action.” 

The way your eyes sparkle, light up brighter than the studio lights, feels uncanny: he knows he’s seen it before, but he’s not sure where. It stirs up a familiar feeling in his tummy, like the anticipation that builds just as he’s about to press the click of a shutter. 

“I’m sure you’re a lot better than you think you are,” your smile is warm, but it sends a chill down his spine. It feels wrong, like he’s stuck in the wrong picture frame, the wrong background. The ground is blurry, his head is light, and when he blinks, everything feels cold. 

“You’re a lot better than you think you are, Yoongi. I’ve seen the photos. I know you,” his voice is warm, and Yoongi can hear the smile in the way he grips his hands. “I want to see the exhibit you put up, and I know other people will too.” 

“Hey,” there’s a jolt of electricity when you touch him. He blinks, and your face is in front of his, brows knitted. “You okay? I lost you for a moment.”

“Fine,” his voice is scratchy, so he coughs to clear it. “I’m fine. Just-uhm-it’s been a minute. Memories. I haven’t stepped foot in a studio for a while.”

“You must have loved it. Taking pictures of people,” when he tilts his head and tries to make sense of your words, you smile and let go of his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction if you didn’t love it. I’m a firm believer that the things we love never leave us. So you’ll find that spark again. I believe in you.”

When the shoot starts, Yoongi moves around, trying to remember what it was like to work with other people other than him, what it’s like to capture the soul of a human being through a split second. But his mind is still standing where you left him, trying to digest your words to the tune of shutter sounds and someone else’s voice. 

All throughout the shoot, he wants to puke, wants to unclog the memories that won’t drain and be forgotten. But they keep playing—over and over and over—and refuse to stop. He talks to Vante in a daze, but he’s unable to wake up from the voice that he hears over and over again—you’ll find that spark again, Yoongi. I believe in you—until your voice cuts through the fog. 

“Wait!” he grabs your wrist, and quickly lets go when you turn back, eyes wide. “Wait. i-uhm-have an exhibition and I was wondering if you would be interested. In being the subject.”

“I’m flattered, but-” you pause and bit your lip, eyebrows furrowed, and there’s that feeling again, the click of a puzzle piece falling into place: everything feels all too familiar and foreign at once, like a dream he knew long ago, a photograph he’s taken and forgotten about. Jamais vu and deja vu all at once.  

It’s stupid, he knows. But there’s something about you that he doesn’t know how to let go. He’s not sure he’s ready to let go. 

“What’s your exhibit on?”

“Love.” He takes a sharp breath in. The word feels a sucker punch to the gut, like touching a wound that hasn’t healed. “What it means to fall in love.”

He knows his face gives away more than he wants to, but you don’t press him for answers. You continue to smile and ask him other questions about his photography instead, but something about the way you pretend like everything is fine reminds him of him, and everything hurts more. He answers the questions, tries to see you instead of his outline over yours, but still sees him in the way your eyes smile, in the sharp raise of your brows, and the quick way you navigate his defenses and gives him his space. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for an exhibit.”

“I don’t think we ever know if we’re ready for anything,” you smile, and he feels nauseous again, like something is trying to crawl out of him. He hears the voices in his head crash over him like a wave, drowning out the sounds of everything and everyone else. 

How do you know you’re ready? He hears his voice wobble from the weight of his sorrow, quiver from the pressure of composure. He can’t meet his eyes. 

“I don’t think we’re ever ready for anything, Yoongi. But we don’t know until we try.”

“But we do it anyway. Because we never know until we try, right?”

“Right,” he repeats soullessly. (He wasn’t ready then. He doesn’t know if he’s ready now. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to move on.)

“So I’ll do it.”

Yoongi snaps out of his reverie at your words, blinks away the fog. “Pardon?”

“I’ll do it. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do this,” you purse your lips. “I do have a favour to ask though.” 

“What is it?”

The smile that spreads over your face, slow and cheshire, makes him grip his camera tighter. “How do you feel about going to a party?”

[Are You In Love.JPEG]

[alt image. Nighttime. A girl in a white dress on a rooftop with skyscrapers behind her. Her hair is blown back by the wind. Although her face is mostly turned away from the camera, there’s a hint of a smile on her face. Her eyes are closed as she spins around, dress billowing around her. The ends of the dress are unseen because the photograph cuts off at what would be her knees to show the cityline behind her. The skyscrapers are out of focus, blurry, so the girl is highlighted. Despite the lights in the background and the moon in the corner, she is the brightest piece in the photograph.]

Yoongi has never been a fan of parties or crowds. He doesn’t like the rush of people, of bodies pressed against each other as they slide across the floor; he hates how the lights are too dim and too bright. It’s too loud, bass amplifying his insecurities and dampening his social skills. 

Even at this gala, stuffed with people with important positions and famous titles, where the music is moderately loud and the tables are posh with red velvet tablecloths, Yoongi feels out of place. His glass flute feels awkward in his hand, tie a little too tight no matter how much he pulls it down. He knows he doesn’t belong here (or there or anywhere. It was always him who belonged and Yoongi who followed): security had stopped him before he entered telling him “paparazzi not allowed,” and gave him a once over when he fished out the invitation from his pocket, hesitantly letting him enter the venue and side-eyeing him the entire time. Minutes tick by, and there’s only so many hors d'oeuvres s he can devour, so he pulls out his phone to send you a text of rushed excuses (i have food poisoning. My pipes burst. My car broke down?) and hasty apologies. Just as he manages to get halfway to the exit, squeezing in between crowds, he sees you. 

A smile dawns over your face, and all his insecurities melt into the background. “I’ve been looking all over for you”

He points towards the buffet at the back. “They have good crab puffs.” 

You laugh at that, and he feels his cheeks stretch into a smile. The silence that hangs over the two of you now feels comfortable, like the world is dimming down to highlight you both, and Yoongi takes the moment to watch your eyes sparkle under the crystal chandeliers twinkling above you. You look at him, quirk an eyebrow and nod towards the exit. “Want to get out of here?” 

“Yes please.” 

You grab his hand, lace your fingers with his, and pull him up the stairs to the roof, letting go to run to the edge. He feels where your palm was in his, the loss of your warmth, and wants to reach back out to you. 

“How pretty.” The wind is cold, sinking teeth through skin and tearing through hair, but you cross your arms and fight back, planted firmly where you are to look at the view beneath you: small glimpses at people living their lives. 

Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of you. “Yeah. Pretty.”

“I like coming to the rooftops at parties. Sometimes, when the world is too loud and too much, I go up to the rooftop and I just stand here. ” your teeth chatter, and Yoongi rushes to take off his coat and drape it over your shoulders. Your fingers brush against his and something about you, he realises, feels like a fever dream: hot, hazy, and electric, even in the bitter chill of the winter winds. “I come up to the rooftop and I just look at people living their lives and wonder what I would be doing if I wasn’t here.”

Something about the way you look, empty and hollow, carves a hole in Yoongi’s chest. His fingers itch to reach for the shutter, bring it back to his eye and catch you in his view, but he fiddles with the camera strap around his neck instead. “What does it feel like? Being at the top?” 

What does it feel like? To be at the top? Yoongi writes and deletes over and over and over again. 

Your laughter sounds as bitter as the wind, but your smile is still fixed in place when you turn your body to meet his. “Like a rollercoaster. Only it’s going backwards as it goes up, so I can see the floor, see the bottom. I am always aware of how far I have to fall. I see the damage before it’s done, so I am always anticipating the drop.” 

Your shoulders sag, his jacket slipping down, and Yoongi, for a moment, thinks he sees stars glimmering in your eyes, catching the light of the city and threatening to fall. But when he blinks, all traces of it are gone and you’re back to the girl in the ballroom, smile shy and coy and knowing. 

“So what about you, photographer? What does it feel like to be in love?” 

His brows furrow and there’s a flush of heat blooming on his cheeks. His heart beats a little faster, staccato against his ribcage, like it’s trying to outrun the shame of being discovered. He’s not sure how you know, so all he can do is stutter. “I don’t-I mean-”

You raise your eyebrow, quirk your head to the side. “Isn’t that your exhibit theme? Explorations of love?”

“Oh,” before he can stop it, a film strip of memories starts playing through his head, snapshots of a relationship shelved in the back of his closet. It’s a slow slide show that sticks to his throat with every image, printed and smudged into the corners of his thoughts. He feels the corset of his ribcage tighten until he’s breathless, so he looks everywhere. Everywhere but you. “I don’t really know what love is supposed to feel like anymore.”

When your hand gently presses against his chest, Yoongi’s eyes widen, feet gently fumbling backwards from the chill of your fingers. “Does it hurt here?”

“What?”

“Are you heartbroken?” 

The words fall off your lips casually, like you were asking him how he took his coffee (no sugar, no cream) or how he liked his steak, and not plunging into his insecurities the way the cold of your fingers sink into his skin. The two of you blink in silence as Yoongi struggles to find the words. Everything feels wrong, his tongue twisting and falling to form the correct sounds—

“Stop thinking about it. Feel it here.” you press a little harder against his chest, “Are you heartbroken?” 

(Empty coffee cups, songs unfinished, laughter in the walls that he’s unable to scrub off. Yoongi remembers all of it.)

“Yeah.” it’s quiet, his voice stuck in his chest, but he sees the corners of your eyes soften and knows you hear his honesty over the howling wind. “I am.”

You retract your hand and hug his coat a little closer. “I don’t think there’s just one form of love, just as I don’t think there’s just one way to love someone. We love differently, and we love different people differently. Heartbrokenness is just another form of love. Just because they’re not there doesn’t change the way you love them or the fact that you love them. It just means all the love you have to give is still sitting here,” you bring your hand back to his chest, cover his heartbeat, “with no place to go. Isn’t that love?”

Isn’t that love? Seokjin asks him, sitting in the corner of Yoongi’s room. The sun casts a golden glow over his skin, kisses his dimples, and Yoongi swears Seokjin has always been more ethereal than mortal. “You take photos and bring me food when I forget to leave my desk because that’s what you know how to do. I write you songs and love letters because that’s what I know how to do. We say I love you in different ways, but does that make it any less love?

“I guess it doesn’t make it any less love.” 

You look his way and laugh, brilliant and dazzling and beautiful, and nothing in the sky can compare: not the moon, nor the comets, nor the galaxies. You laugh, and Yoongi hears the sky crumble into a thousand shooting stars. He fumbles with the settings, his heart rattling in his chest like the camera in his hands, but for the first time, the image through the lens doesn’t do the sight in front of him justice. 

But he tries anyway. He presses down on the shutter and tries to stuff your laughter into a freeze frame, even though he knows it won’t compare. 

It could never. 

[____Struck.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A girl sits with her chin over her knees next to a floor length window as a rainstorm blurs the background into hazy lights. The lighting is dark, but there’s a flash of lightning outside as it lights up the girl’s face. She stares outside her window, at the sky, deep in contemplation.]

Yoongi finds that Seoul sparkles when you’re next to him. Even the bitter winter winds that blow through his parka can’t steal the warmth of your hand in his when the two of you walk through the streets. The two of you start to spend more time together, getting food and eating in your apartment and taking pictures of nature. You’ll have glasses and a cap and a mask on, and there’ll be more of you he can’t see than he can, and still he finds you to be the brightest star in the night sky. But he likes you best like this: dressed with a smile and his t-shirt, face free of the traces of your day, in bed with him. He’s not sure when he’s found himself to be at home in your place, but he finds himself there instead of his studio apartment. Outside the window of your penthouse apartment, he can see the Seoul skyline and skyscrapers: if he looks down, he can see smudges of people walking through the streets, living about their daily lives. 

Sometimes, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting on the floor, against the floor length window, looking at the world below you. 

“Come back to bed,” he’ll murmur, sleep still fogging his vision, and you’ll smile, set your tea on the nightstand, and wrap your arms around him as he pulls you closer to him until the andante of your heartbeats lull him to sleep. 

Tonight, however, your head is leaned up against the glass, watching as the rain pours down, and there’s something about the moment that makes Yoongi reach for the camera to take a quick shot. He knows the lighting is off and the shadows are dark, but something about the way you’ve tucked your knees under your chin and folded in on yourself makes you seem so small, so different from the girl he sees on the billboards and magazine covers and television shows. 

You turn around when the flash goes off. “I didn’t know you were awake.” 

“The thunder,” he explains, just as another flash of light strikes through the sky. You hum, but don’t move towards him: this time, you look back out the window. He’s tempted to wait for the lightning to strike again so he could have the shot of your face illuminated in light, but the image through his viewfinder looks so different from what he’s used to, so he takes the camera with him and sits down across from you. He leans his face against the cool of the glass.

“Hey,” you smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He sees the shadows under your eyes, the build up from over night shoots, and it tugs his heart. There’s something beautiful about you like this, in the normalcy. 

“Hey,” the two of you sit in the silence for a minute. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Another flash of lightning, then a roll of thunder. “Just thinking about how many people are out there, just living their lives. I wonder if they all know me, if they have an opinion of me, if they’ve seen me act. I wonder who I am to them, if I am anybody at all.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull your fingers away from the glass, but don’t look at him. “I feel as though I am always playing a character. So, I wonder what character they know me as. If they would be interested in knowing who I am.” 

His hand reaches out to yours, and he moves his body closer to yours, until your knees are knocking against his and your legs are entwined. “I’m interested.” 

Another flash. You smile, but it fades as quickly as the lightning does. “What about you? Anything on your mind? You seemed pretty distracted earlier.”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to not meet your eyes. There’s a slew of umbrellas below, a bunch of colourful blobs against the pavement. (Seokjin liked the rain. Do you like the rain? He’s not sure.) 

“It’s nothing.” He can’t meet your eyes. 

“Is it hard to let them go? The one who broke your heart?”

Yoongi hears the way your voice softens, the way it carries through the room gently, the same way you asked him if he was heartbroken up on the roof weeks ago. You’re always a little more perceptive then he gives you credit for, a little too good at reading in between the lines. He lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah he is. I still think about him sometimes. Sometimes, I still hear his voice in my head.” 

He feels your gaze on him, but neither of you say anything for a while. 

He knows you have a busy day tomorrow, jam packed with schedules and meetings and shoots and bits of sleep in between. (Not that your days are ever not busy. You’re always running from here to there, a blur of motion in the screenshots of his memories.) But the two of you just look out the window, at the storm that refuses to quell, and listen to the rain fall. 

He wakes up next to the lingering warmth of your body heat, your shampoo still clinging to the pillows and sheets. There’s not much to do today, so he takes his time getting ready to go back to his apartment and edit. Just as he’s putting his toothbrush into your toothbrush holder, his phone starts to vibrate.

Before he’s even said hello, Hoseok’s voice cuts through the phone. “How’s your exhibit coming along?” 

“Good morning, Hoseok. How was your sleep? Mine was lovely, thank you for asking.” 

There’s a sigh that comes through the phone. “I slept great. So how’s your exhibit?”

“It’s coming along.”

“Word on the street is that you’re getting close to Y/N.”

He catches a look at himself from the entrance mirror and is glad Hoseok can’t see him right now. There’s a small constellation on the dip of his collarbone from a couple nights ago. “We’re working together on the exhibit, yeah.”

“Yoongi, I’m serious. I’m glad that you’re editing and taking photos; I really am. I just think—if you are more than just coworkers—you should take it slow. You remember what happened last time-”

“It’s not like that this time Hoseok.”

“I know. But it’s happened before. You always fall too hard, too fast and then you don’t know how to dig yourself out of the hole when it’s over. “

Yoongi gently shuts the door behind him, shoves his free hand into his coat pocket. “When do I need to send you the pictures?” 

Another sigh. This one is heavier than the other. “Next Friday.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“Just take care of yourself, Yoongi.”

“I know,” there’s a hum from the other end before he presses end call. “Trust me, I know.” 

[Love Looks Pretty On You.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A girl turning around to smile at the camera as she holds the hand of the photographer. There’s a lens flare at the upper left corner of the picture. She glows as she smiles, sunlight hitting her cheekbones. The picture is a bust shot, and though the girl is in the centre of frame, she is slightly out of focus: the photo is mainly focused on the interlocked hands due to the depth of field.]

It’s strange how in love you are with the mundane. You like coffeeshop dates, holding hands in public, and the ability to walk down the streets without covering up your face, things Yoongi has never thought twice about. He prefers time spent in doors, tucked away with food and natural lighting. But you prefer the outdoors, the sun on your face, even if it isn’t the great outdoors. No, you like pavement and parks and everything in between if it means you don’t have to cover up. 

“I’ve never really had that,” you told him once, mouth stuffed with street food. “I’ve always been conscious of the way people look at me, how they’re going to view me, and the eyes. I’m always aware of people’s eyes on me. Growing up in the spotlight, working in this industry for so long meant I don’t get to have the normal things in life.”

So he tries to take you out more, though more often than not, it ends with the two of you running away from shadows and bright lights. More often than not, the two of you find your way to his or your apartment, tucked away from the eyes of everyone else with take out spread across the floor. He dreads the moment you pull your hands away from him, when the hands on the clock move too quickly for his taste. Tonight, however, he has you all to himself. 

So, he takes his time: delicately arranges the bouquet of purple across your chest and up your thighs, gently plucks your moans from your lips, and plants kisses on the field of your shoulder blades when the bloom of pleasure becomes too much. 

Your chest gently rises and falls under the white sheet, while his heart rapidly flutters inside his ribcage. Before he knows it, his fingers are on camera, trying to immortalise the moment before time takes it away from him too. 

When the shutter goes off, you bring your hand to his, pull his body to yours, and nuzzle your face in his shoulder. “So.”

“So?”

“Exhibition soon. Have you figured it out?” You pull back and trace your finger along the constellation you drew on to his chest. “What it feels like to fall in love?” 

He’s not sure. It feels fast: time seems to slip through his fingers when he’s with you. It feels slow: every moment is a picture frame, a freeze frame of a small infinity. It feels quiet: neither of you are loud, reveling in the silence and the quiet, sharing the same breath. It feels loud: you smile and he hears the sirens go off, ringing his mind until it’s drowned out by the pounding in his chest. I don’t know. It just feels different with you, he wants to say, but it sounds stupid in his head. It’s similar to how he felt like with Seokjin, but brighter, a saturation of colours and experiences. 

“Feels like you,” he tugs you closer. 

His brows furrow when you reach away from him, and he tries to pull you back: he reaches for your hand, but you slip away from him with a small smile. “Tea. I’ll be back.” 

He hears the pitter patter of your footsteps as you walk into the hallway, and he waits for you to come back. He waits and waits, until his eyelids grow too heavy.

When he blinks again, the light is shining through your curtains. The blanket is tucked under his chin, but the bed is empty. He rolls over, but it’s cold. 

The pillow doesn’t smell like you.

[Apparition.JPEG]

[Alt Image: A picture of someone’s eyes. The eyes are staring directly into the lens. One eye is lighter than the other, due to the angle of the sunlight. Although they are in the center of frame, the face is turned slightly to the side, as though they turned around for this picture.]

It gets harder and harder to meet you through the interstices of your schedule: you text him less and less, and he finds himself trying to find every possible reason to see you. 

Did you eat? 

Are you free anytime soon?

I miss you.

Every short text finds an even shorter response, crammed between short breaks. He spends more time fiddling with his phone, shooting up at the glow of his screen, than he does with his camera. His camera sits on his nightstand, untouched for the past few days: every time he tries to take a picture, all he can see is you. You laughing at dumb cat videos he sends you. You squealing in delight as the unpredictable Seoul weather brings rainfall. You leaning your head against the glass, lost in thought. 

He sees you in unfinished pizza boxes and unfinished netflix shows and half empty mugs strewn around. He finds you in everything. So when you show up at his doorstep, pizza box in hand and hat over your head, he almost dismisses you as an apparition. 

You stick your foot in his doorway to stop him from shutting the door. “You’re not kicking me out so soon? Not when I brought pizza?” 

He takes the pizza box from you, still a little unsure if you’re real, but then you call his name.

“Hi Yoongi,” you smile, and it’s so much prettier than he remembers. He knows you’ve had a long day—eyes glazed, shoulders drooping, smile falling—and something about the way you’re trying to hold your smile makes a corner of his chest squeeze tighter, until it hurts to breathe. He’s not sure what to say, not sure how to move past the breathlessness, so the two of you wordlessly chew on your pizzas. 

When the tension grows thick, the silence hard to breathe through, the clump of feelings in the pit of his stomach feels harder to hold on to, so he blurts out, “I love you.” 

His confession rings through the room, echoes in the silence, and crashes against your chest. Though neither of you say anything, he continues to hear the ripples in his head, his voice repeating over and over again. You don’t look at him, and his leg won’t stop bouncing, his hands won’t stop fidgeting with the camera settings. 

“I love you,” he says once more, just in case you didn’t hear it. He hopes your silence is because you didn’t hear it the first time. He knows better, from the way you bite your lip (your nervous habit) to the way you shrink into yourself (another tick he’s noticed). 

“I should leave. I have an early shoot tomorrow.” you stand. The smile plastered on your face makes him want to hurl, too reminiscent of your first meeting when you held him at an arm’s distance. When Seokjin held him at an arm’s distance, right before he told Yoongi I don’t think I’m the person you’re in love with. I don’t think this is going to work out. When Seokjin smiled and told him I’m sorry but wasn’t sorry enough to answer the phone when Yoongi’s heart was bloody and broken and drenched in alcohol. 

“But I love you,” it’s quiet and hoarse this time, and Yoongi doesn’t know if you can hear it over the sound of his heart breaking, but you turn around. The smile on your face—brilliant and dazzling and empty—burns something in him, the hollowness of his chest suddenly swelling with rage.“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“That,” Yoongi motions to you, brows furrowed and anger coating his tongue. “Stop looking at me like I'm a screenplay and a set, like you’re trying to read me and understand what I want. I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone wants something.”

“Fine. I want you to be you. not what looks best on screen, not what you think I want you to be. But you. I want you to be you.”

“What’s that supposed to be like? Being me?” the anger lacing your voice, the way your smile drops quickly off your face, makes Yoongi’s anger fizzle out into a cold chill. “You don’t realise how biased the camera is, how you’re seeing the picture the way you want to, the way you want to frame things? Tell me you look at me and you don’t see what could be changed. that you don’t see how you would adjust the exposure, how to narrow or widen the depth of field.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, mouth glued shut and sticking together with shame. There’s a heat licking up his neck to his cheeks that burns through his skin and into his chest that only grows hotter when you continue. 

“My job is to give people what they want, squeeze myself into a character and a script. Become a fantasy they can project on. I’ve spent my entire life being different people and fitting myself into the role they want me to play. I don't exist, Yoongi. I only exist between action and cut. I am constantly in some form of a take. I am constantly shooting different movies for different people, being the different characters they want me to be. You want something from me too, Yoongi. Don’t you get it?”

He forces himself to look up at you. 

“Did you like me for me, Yoongi?” You tilt your head, eyes tired. “Or did you like me because something about me reminded you of your ex?”

Yoongi recoils, hurt spilling out of his veins. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing falls out. Instead, it’s another roll of memories that plays through his head. 

I think we should break up, Seokjin tells him and Yoongi drops his fork. When you look at me, it feels like you’re seeing someone else, a version of me that exists only in your head. 

Who are you seeing when you take a picture, Yoongi? 

Who am I to you? 

What do you see through the lenses?  

When you smile this time, it’s more of a grimace, like his silence gives you an answer. Your eyes fall to the floor, shoulders trembling as you laugh humorlessly, and you start to leave.

Yoongi tries to say something—anything, the correct thing—and frantically pulls at his brain. “But I love you.”

That makes you stop. You stay at the doorstep, hand gripping the doorknob, but don’t turn to face him. He waits for you to say something, anything, for you to turn around. But you don’t. 

You open the door and close it behind you, never looking back. 

He’s alone again. 

[Blank.JPEG]

[alt.image: A black square. Darkness. The absence of light. The shade of broken heart. Is it nothing or everything? Is it too much or too little?]

Everything about you is intentional, from the tilt in your head (precise and exact, calculated) to the gleam in your eyes. The way your lips curl as you smile. 

He wonders if his broken heart was also something written into the script, if he was playing the role of a character he never signed up for, if his broken heart was something you calculated from the very start, just like the angle of your head tilts and degrees of your smile. 

His camera suddenly feels all too heavy, too fragile, and too much like his heart. If he wasn’t a photographer, would he have met you? In another world, would he have seen you through the view of his camera, just a subject and nothing else? No coffee dates and rooftop talks, no heartbreaks? He grips his camera tighter, and a flare of anger rushes through him, filtering every other thought and piercing through his vision. When he blinks and the lights settle, there’s a dull sense of pain near his foot and a dent in the wall. 

There’s shards of broken lenses on the floor, but he shuffles back to bed, sob clawing at his throat. 

Maybe you were like a film camera, brilliant and beautiful at first glance. Until the film is dipped into chemistry and developed and the errors are hung out to dry. 

So why does it hurt so much? 

There’s a loud bzzt bzzt coming from the side of his bed as sleep clings to his eyelashes and glues his eyes shut, exhaustion still running through his veins. His fingers fumble, groping in the darkness, for the source of the noise until his fingers clasp around his phone and silence it. He rubs his face in his pillow and lets himself settle in again, sleep creeping back when—bzzt, bzzt—there’s another round of vibrations from his phone. Yoongi knows he turned on the do not disturb mode, so he doesn’t contemplate answering when his fingers make contact with his phone, pressing the side button to shut it off. 

He shuts his eyes, but sleep doesn’t call his name. Neither does Hoseok.

Instead Hoseok gently shuts the door after slipping off his shoes at the entrance. He makes his way over towards the bed, and Yoongi pulls the covers over his head. He waits for the tug, but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a gentle dip to the side of him when Hoseok takes a seat, silent. 

They sit like that for a while, Yoongi gently breathing—up and down, up and down—with a chest that feels broken and a heart that rattles inside his ribcage. He still feels the hum of alcohol in his system, sloshing in his lungs as they rise and fall.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Hoseok’s voice vibrates through the silence. “I’m sorry you were hurt. But you can’t keep yourself holed up.”

Yoongi shifts under the blankets, but doesn’t say anything. He wonders if sleep would drag him under if he pretended long enough. His head is throbbing, and he wants another drink, but he knows Hoseok won’t let him while he’s still here. He knows because the last time he was heartbroken, he shut himself inside his apartment for two months until he was more alcohol than water. He stopped going out, stopped answering phone calls, stopped taking pictures because everything reminded him of Seokjin. 

Now that his camera is broken, he can’t be reminded of you. He drinks up until he can forget, until the film of memories is damaged, so he can fall asleep. When he wakes up and he remembers you still, he drinks up again to forget, shot after shot after shot. He doesn’t want to remember. 

“I called RKive. Told them you weren’t doing it.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Yoongi’s so tired and his head hurts, and he just wants to get this over with as quickly as he can so Hoseok can leave and Yoongi can pour out his sorrows into a shot glass that never seems to run dry. 

I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do this. 

He wishes he could stop hearing your voice in his head, stop seeing you in every corner of his room, stop smelling your perfume on his sheets. He just wants to go to sleep, dream in black. Stop remembering you. 

“I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

“Okay,” he whispers. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Are you heartbroken?

“Yeah,” the tears fall and his shoulders shake when he sobs. “Yeah, I think I’m heartbroken.”

“Oh Yoongi,” Hoseok hugs him close, and Yoongi lets out the wail that’s been stuck in his chest the past week. For the first time, he wants to let go instead of take in, so he weeps into Hoseok’s chest, until his throat is dry from the sounds it’s making. His body trembles from the stuttering in his chest and the remnants of his sobs. 

“I just want to stop hurting,” he hiccups into Hoseok’s shoulder as Hoseok gently pats him on the back. 

“I know. I know.”

“How do I stop hurting?”

Hoseok gently peels himself away from Yoongi until he’s looking at him directly in the eyes. “You have to learn to find closure. Whether that’s talking to her, making art, or just going about your routines until it doesn’t hurt anymore. You have to try.”

“What if I’m not ready to move on?”

I don’t think we’re ever ready. But we do it anyway. Because we never know until we try, right?

“Moving on isn’t a step; it’s a goal, Yoongi,” Hoseok squeezes his hands. “You can work towards it. But it’s a conscious choice we make and conscious steps we take. And when you make those steps, it gets easier to breathe and visit places you used to. And one day, you’ll look around and realise that you’ve done it. Maybe not completely, but enough. But you can’t just hole yourself up in your apartment or flee the country. You have to try.”

Hoseok’s eyes are soft when Yoongi looks at him, and Yoongi understands that he’s never allowed himself to move on from Seokjin, just slapped a bandaid over his wound and pretended it didn’t exist. When he met you, he used you as a gauze to staunch the injury and called it healing. He didn’t notice that he bled all over you, didn’t see that you were bleeding over the red of his blood on your wounds. You were trying to tell him you were hurting, and he was too fixated on how similar you were to Seokjin, how he found love again, to hear. 

“Hoseok,” Yoongi reaches out for his arm, squeezes his hand. “I want to do it.”

“Do what?”

“The exhibit,” his voice is muffled under his insecurities, but he wants this. “I want to do it.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he lies. “I think I need to do it. For me. To move on.” He’s not sure if he’s ready; he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready. So he takes the step anyways. 

Yoongi knows Hoseok is thrilled: he hasn’t stopped smiling since before the exhibition, when there was a crowd of people outside waiting to enter the exhibition, and even before that, when Yoongi was collecting the photos and taking more. Yoongi’s worked tirelessly through the nights to meet the Valentine’s Day exhibit deadline, but now that he’s here, he’s a little proud of himself. 

He should find Hoseok, tell him thank you. He should also talk to Namjoon, the owner, and congratulate Jimin, Namjoon’s assistant, on a successful exhibition. He should talk to Jeongguk, the painter, about the rose installation piece that’s at the centre of the gallery. He should talk to Vante about the giant photograph of a bird’s eye view of Seoul. He should, but he’s looking for you. 

You were the only guest he wanted to invite, even when Hoseok raised an eyebrow at him and asked him if he really wanted to do this. (He did. He texted you over the course of two weeks and deleted each message before it was sent. In the end, he sent you his heart the old fashioned way, with stamps and an envelope, and sealed it with the hope that you’ll receive it in time.) He doesn’t think you’ll come, so he tampers down the anticipation, tries to not look for your laughter or hear the way your eyes form crescents when you smile too hard. Despite the invitation, he doesn’t know if he’s ready to see you again, so he tries to keep himself busy and talk to the visitors about the pictures. He tries to not think about you. 

But it’s hard when you’re all he has up for his exhibit, when your face is at every corner. When you’re all he’s been able to think about. 

And as it slowly starts to get closer to the close, he tries to not be disappointed. He puts on a smile and asks Jeongguk about the sun and moon holding hands, discusses lighting techniques with Vante, and manages to make Jimin beam with pride when he compliments him about how nice the exhibit set up is. 

When the clock strikes 5, Yoongi packs up his camera and tucks it into his bag with his disappointment and begins to head out. 

“Take care, Jimin.”

“Bye, Yoongi!” Jimin chirps. “By the way! There’s a lady in front of your exhibit. I think she was captivated by it; she’s been standing there for the past half hour if you want to talk to her!”

A very familiar silhouette greets him. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.” 

You don’t turn around to face him, just stand there looking up at the picture of you smiling at the camera with the covers pulled up to your chin. He hears the people in the background, the faint hum of murmurs and laughters, but you stand there, quiet and arms crossed. He takes a step towards you before shuffling back to his original spot, shifting his eyes to the portraits before him. 

At first glance, you are the same girl in the portraits, but the longer he looks at the portraits, at you from the peripherals in his vision, the less the two of you look alike. The girl in the photographs is soft and bright and sunny, draped in warm light and colour corrections, saturated in happiness. The girl in front of him is worn down and exhausted, cloaked in disguises and fronts that she doesn’t have the strength to put on properly. “I remember this day, but I don’t remember it like that.” You nod towards the picture in front of you. 

“What’s it like? In your memories?” he asks, and wants to take it back. There’s too many questions bubbling inside of him—Did you love me? Do you remember how I smiled when you did? What do your frames of memory look like? Do they look like mine, painted in a golden filter?—but he doesn’t know how to develop them into words. He’s not sure he wants to compare the photographs of your memories in the fear it’ll corrupt his. 

You’re radio silent, so he stands there, shuffling his feet back and forth as his heart drops with each second. He understands what you meant, back at the rooftop, when you had said about riding a rollercoaster: he sees the answer to your question before you’ve spoken, sees the damage he’s caused through the lens of hindsight. Yet some part of him still wants to hear the words from you. 

“I don’t remember a lot of it. I remember it was going well. And then I just remember the hurt. I remember realising you saw someone else when you looked at me, just like everyone else. How I wished I could take back everything from the beginning. I wished I could take back the first time I met you. What would it have been like if I had said no? Would it still hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” his hand reaches out for you automatically, too used to the warmth of your body and the lull of your heartbeat to alleviate the stiffness in his chest, but he pulls his hand back as he realises there is too much space between the two of you: he’s not sure if you want to shorten the distance, if you want him at all. 

“Why did you say yes?” he asks instead of what he really wants to ask. “To this. To being the subject. You could have said no.”

“I could have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because you seemed genuine.You looked like you were genuinely looking for a reason—for something, for anything, for purpose—and I liked that. I haven’t met a lot of people like that. Genuine. Earnest.” Your body turns to him, but your gaze is still brushing against the floor and clinging to your hands. “I think a part of me wanted, desperately, to be the source of your purpose. So I let myself believe that you genuinely wanted me for me.” 

“I think I loved you.”

“I think the both of us were looking for someone to love,” the corners of your mouth wobble, a pale imitation of the blown up picture of your smile on the wall. “Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Because we were blinded by our desperation.” 

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. The way you look—so curled up in yourself and so vulnerable—slowly makes him realise there’s so much to you he wasn’t able to see. Were there more moments you tried to open up to him, only to have him turn a blind eye because he was still thinking about Seokjin?

“I wish I had met you later. Maybe in a different universe, you and I have a different story line, one where when you and I meet, I have learned to accept love and you have learned to accept heartbreak. Maybe we would have been ready for each other then.” Your smile wobbles, just as it did last time, and Yoongi’s heart wobbles too. When you start to walk away, he tastes the bitterness of his memories surfacing. 

“Wait!” he reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezes it a little too tight. When you turn, eyes wide, it feels like a scene he’s seen somewhere before, a picture he used to know. “We could. We could start over. We could make that universe this one.” 

“I don’t-I’m not following.” 

He drops your hand and offers you his. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Yoongi.”

“Yoongi, I’m not-”

“What’s your name?” 

“Y/N,” you tentatively take his hand and shake it. 

“It’s nice to meet you for the first time. This is my exhibit,” you smile, head tilted in confusion, but the light in your eyes is warm, so he keeps going,” and I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee? 

You bite your lip, but don’t let his hand go. He tries to keep his smile on his face, but his heart is beating with the force of a supernova and he feels his nails cut through the skin of his anticipation. When you look down at his hand, he knows you can feel the tremors that run through it, the electricity of anxiety crackling through his veins, but he keeps his eyes on you and the way your eyes search his for clues, for cues and stage directions. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile, and it feels like the first time he’s seeing you. 

He’s not sure, this time, of the damage: he’s not sure he can anticipate the fall, the wreckage caused. Doesn’t know if he wants to. 

It’s a brand new film strip. A new camera. A new storyline. 

He’s never been more ready. 

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hi! Could you write an Arthur Morgan x reader where one of the gang gets lost in a snowstorm and the reader knows how to deal with this weather so she offers to go look? ☺️

A/N: I am so sorry this sort of strayed away from the prompt! Reader and Arthur are the ones who actually ended up getting lost and this takes place just before Colter.... If you don’t like this babe, I have no problem doing another! Also, I’m sorry this took quite a bit! My weekend did not go to plan. I hope you like it! And I’m sorry my hand slipped.... It’s 3.4k words...

***

Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder at you, wanting to make sure you weren’t lagging behind. 

Your horse, a golden palomino you promptly named Butternut, was having some difficulty traversing the deep snow, but with your little words of encouragement and pats on the shoulder and neck, she seemed to be pushing through. 

“You alright back there?” He called over his shoulder.

“Just dandy.” You looked up at him, taking your eyes off of Butternut’s mane. Her hair was frozen and collecting snow but you were trying to wipe it away in an attempt to keep her as warm as possible. 

“Hopefully we’ll find somethin’ soon.”

“That map Hosea gave us said we should’ve found something nearly thirty minutes ago.” You tucked your hands into the pockets of your coat. “You sure you’re reading it right, Morgan?”

“I know how to read a map.” He grumbled, pulling the map out of his bag to take another look at it. 

The two of you had been traveling for well over two hours through the snow in a desperate attempt to find shelter for the gang. They were holed up somewhere just east of Lake Isabella, but you were traveling north along the Spider Gorge. 

“This wind is getting too cold, Mr. Morgan. Put your mask up to cover your face.” You pulled the black and white plaid bandana from around your neck up over your nose. You almost sighed in relief at the warmth provided by the thick material. 

“M’fine.” He grumbled, his deep baritone almost drowned out by the heavy wind. 

“I don’t care if you’re fine right now, Arthur. Within the hour, your nose and lips will suffer from frostbite.”

He said nothing in response to you, blue eyes flickering over the map as his horse continued along the trail. 

“Mr. Morgan, don’t make me ask you again. I won’t be so kind.”

“This cold weather sure does make you mean, Ms. Y/L/N.” Arthur pulled his mask up over his nose, glancing over to you as you moved your horse up beside his.

“I’ve seen what this cold weather can do to stubborn fools.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” He muttered, passing you the map. You brought your horse to a stop, so he did the same. “Think we got side tracked from that little establishment Hosea mentioned. If my thoughts and judgement are correct, I’d say we’re about here.” He pointed to the area between the home of a poor woman the gang had just taken in named Sadie Adler and Colter, the abandoned settlement the gang was aiming to lay low in for a short time. 

“You think we passed Colter?” You looked over to Arthur.

“Had to have. There ain’t no way we didn’t. We should’ve found it by now.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy to miss a whole town, Arthur.” You looked back at the map, your eyes following Spider Gorge. You’d followed that very creek nearly the entire way north. There was no way you’d missed Colter. 

“Hard to tell with these mountains and all this damned snow. Can’t see shit with the wind blowin’ in our faces either.” He grumbled, carefully snapping the reins to make his horse move. 

You folded the map up and followed alongside him. 

“That’s ‘cause ole Arthur Morgan is used to warm weather. He isn’t used to the beauty of the Grizzlies.”

“And you are?” He cocked a brow at you.

Beneath your mask, you wore a small but proud smile. 

“I grew up around Tempest Rim. This weather ain’t new to me, cowboy.”

Your romantic relationship with Arthur was fairly new, so he had yet to learn every detail about your past. He took mentally took note of this detail, reminding himself that he’d have to jot it down in his journal at a later time. 

You let out a sigh, pulling him from his thoughts. Your eyes were focused on the mountains to the west where the sun was setting. 

“Sun’s goin’ down. We’re loosing daylight. Means it’ll only get colder from here.”

“Can’t turn around now.” Arthur shook his head. “Too long of a trip back to the gang. It would take most of the night.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we give up. But we need shelter of some sort. Somewhere a little warm to rest. And the horses need a break.”

“Well if we keep goin’ this way, all we’re gonna find is Mrs. Adler’s burned down house.” Arthur gestured in the direction you had been going. 

“Burned down? What happened to it? I thought you said O’Driscolls just got a hold of her.”

“Micah happened.”

You sighed. 

“She did have a barn or two on her property.” Arthur thought out loud. “They shouldn’t have gotten burnt down with the house.”

“You think it’s worth a look?”

“We can go see about that, or we can go back and try to find Colter.”

You didn’t think that you had passed Colter just yet, but you didn’t want to argue with him. Arguing and fighting in such extreme conditions wasn’t ideal, nor did it seem necessary. 

“Let’s try Mrs. Adler’s place.”

Arthur nodded, clicking his tongue twice to get his horse moving.

***

The sun had gone down and snow began to fall from the sky. 

Arthur was sure that you should’ve reached Sadie Adler’s ranch by now, but he wasn’t sure why it was taking so long. 

“Arthur, maybe we should stop and make camp.” Your voice was quiet and uneasy. You didn’t like the idea of making camp out in the open. It was dangerous. Not only were you open to the bitter elements, but to the chance O’Driscolls finding you too. 

“We can’t stop yet, pumpkin.” He turned his head to look at you. 

You were visibly shivering but you were trying your best to remain strong for him. He needed you to be strong. 

“What happened to you bein’ my strong mountain woman?” He teased, slowing his horse down a bit so he could move alongside you. “Don’t tell me this Grizzly weather is gettin’ to you.”

A little smile tugged at your slightly chapped lips. 

“Course not. Just-Just worried about Butternut. She ain’t used to this. Blackwater is so much nicer and warmer than up here, and that’s all she’s used to.”

Arthur let go of the reins to his horse with one hand, reaching over to pat your thigh. 

“We’ll find somewhere warm for Butternut to stay.”

Your eyes were focused ahead of you so instead of watching Arthur, you were focused on what was waiting for you on the path ahead. The faint outline of what looked like a building made you jolt. 

“Arthur, look!”

He looked in the direction you point.

“That don’t look like Mrs. Adler’s barn.”

“It has to be Colter.” You nudged your horse to make her move faster. You were all too eager to get her out of the elements.

“Y/N, hold on a second!” Arthur called after you, but you were already gone. “Damn it, woman.”

You made it into the abandoned town first, eyes flickering around to make sure you were alone. At first glance, you were alone. The place was vacant. 

A sudden burst of wind made your horses uneasy and made you grasp the hood on your head, fearing it would fall off. 

Arthur came up beside you, carefully inspecting the main street of Colter. He pulled the mask down from his nose. 

“I’m gonna put the horses in this old barn.” He gestured to your right. “Just hope it don’t cave in on them in the middle of the night.”

“Arthur.” You scolded him. He grinned, knowing he was only teasing you. 

“After that, I’ll make sure we’re the only ones here. You wanna get what we need and go into that building right behind you?”

You nodded and got down from your horse. You got as much as you could from your horse and from Arthur’s, taking what you needed as far as bedding and food, and made your way to the building Arthur talked about. 

Unsurprisingly, the house was empty. It consisted of one main room with a large fireplace in the center and three rooms off of the main room. 

You put the things in your hands down on the floor near the fireplace. Slipping the knife out of its holster on your hip, you moved to the room to your right. 

The floorboards creaked beneath your boots. It was evident no one had been there in a long time. There were cobwebs everywhere. The glass to the windows were broken, but they were boarded up too so that stopped some of the bitter cold air from coming inside. 

The room to your right contained a grinding wheel and a workbench. Seeing that nothing would be useful there, you continued to the next room. This room seemed to be a living space of some sort. There was a bed, a dresser, and an end table inside the room.

After searching the dresser and the end table, you went to the final room. It was set up similarly to the other bedroom, except this one had a large bed that was clearly meant for two people. 

In the corner of the room closest to the doorway was a small stack of firewood. You immediately became excited over the sight of the wood. Maybe you could start a fire in the fireplace. The very idea of heat almost brought tears to your eyes. 

***

Arthur slipped into the house, closing the door behind himself. He looked around, surveying the room. 

You were knelt down by the fireplace, trying to start a fire with a matchbook. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asked.

“Trying to get us some sorta heat.” You struck the match and put it into the fireplace. “We need some sorta kindling. The wood ain’t gonna light by itself.”

“Where’d you find that wood?”

“In one of the back rooms.” You stood up, passing him the matchbook. “I have a few newspaper articles from a few weeks ago when we were in New Austin. They’re in one of my saddle bags.”

“But ain’t those for your collection?” Arthur watched you as you started for the door.

“Yeah.”

“Pumpkin, you don’t gotta use those newspapers.”

You stopped at the door, your hand on the knob. 

“We need the heat, Arthur.”

“I got paper in my journal.” He started to pull his journal out but you were quick to stop him. 

“No!” You rushed to his side, stopping him from pulling the journal out of his satchel. “Don’t you dare ruin that new journal, Arthur Morgan. I just bought it for you.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to destroy your newspapers. I know you like to collect all the ones with strange news reportings and those ones from New Austin talk about a bunch of weird things.”

“I’m sure I can find more later on, Arthur.” You kept your hand on his that rested on his satchel. “Do not ruin that journal. Do not tear any papers out. I am using my newspapers so we can have a fire tonight.”

Arthur frowned, shaking his head softly. 

“Pumpkin-,”

“Don’t pumpkin me, cowboy.” You cut him off, leaning up on your toes to give his slightly chapped lips a gentle kiss. “If you so much as rip one paper from that journal, you’ll be relying on only the fire’s warmth tonight.”

He sighed, watching you move across the room and slip out of the house.

***

A few minutes later, you return with the newspapers. They’re folded neatly under your arm. In one hand, you hold a bottle of gin and in the other is a bottle of whiskey. 

“I figured we could do with a little to drink tonight.” You explained as you set the two bottles of liquor down on the mantle above the fireplace. 

“That’s a bit more than a little to drink.” Arthur commented. 

“I didn’t know which one you’d want.”

He nodded, standing up from the chair he had been sitting in. He picked the chair up and moved towards the front door. He propped the chair beneath the doorknob and wedged it there so that no one would be able to come in. 

You watched him and when he turned around to face you, your eyes met.

“Just wanna make sure we’re safe tonight.”

You nodded.

You knelt down in front of the fire, placing the small stack of newspapers in front of you on the floor. 

“If we rip the paper in half and twist it up, it’ll burn better.” You explained, taking the top piece of paper and ripping it in half. It hurt to see the newspaper go, but you knew it wasn’t as important as your life or as Arthur’s. The temperatures were too low to go without a fire through the night. 

Arthur knelt down beside you, assisting you with the process of ripping the newspaper up and twisting it. Then the twisted pieces were placed into the fire below and around the pieces of firewood. 

You picked up the matchbook from the floor and struck a match. You watched the flame for a few moments, then threw it into the fireplace. The paper caught on fire almost immediately. This would give the wood a chance to heat up and catch flame too. 

Arthur’s eyes flickered to you. You were staring into the heat, a little smile adorning your lips. He could see the sadness in your eyes. You really did like collecting newspapers. It was the one thing you enjoyed doing. Everyone at camp knew you liked it too, and sometimes they’d bring you back clippings and papers if they thought you’d enjoy the piece on it. 

Arthur took off one of his gloves and slipped his hand around the back of your neck, drawing you in to him. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Your hands are freezin’, Morgan.” You giggled.

He chuckled, letting you go and putting his hands closer to the fire.

“Sorry, pumpkin.”

“I’ll start gettin’ our beds set up.”

“Beds?” He repeated, emphasizing on the s. Arthur looked over his shoulder to watch you go to the bedrolls that were not to far away from him. “We ain’t sharin’?”

“I never said that.”

“You said beds. Our beds.”

“My apologies, Mr. Morgan.” You grinned, looking over to him. “I’ll get our bed set up.”

“Much better, pumpkin. Apology accepted.” He winked at you. 

You stood up straight, placing your hands on your hips. Arthur stood up and stepped back from the fire, putting himself a foot or so away from you.

“If we’re gonna share a sleeping area, how should we go about this? One bedroom ain’t gonna fit us both.”

“It will if you squeeze. I’ll suck it in.”

“Suck what in?” 

“My gut.” He patted his stomach, a grin playing on his lips. You giggled, rolling your eyes. 

“That ain’t the problem. The problem is no matter how much suckin’ in either of us do, we’re too much for one of the bed rolls.”

Arthur looked at the bedrolls then to the fire. 

“Well, we can make it work. You get in both ours and I’ll lay on the floor by you holdin’ you. We’ll be by the fire. I don’t need nothin’ but you.”

“Arthur, I’m not doin’ that.” You shook your head.

“What if I want you to?” He tilted his head to the side. “You know how overheated I get sometimes when I’m sleepin. I don’t need a blanket with all these layers I have on right now plus sleepin’ so close to the fire. But you, Miss Y/L/N, I can’t have you gettin’ cold tonight.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t let me get cold, Mr. Morgan.” You smiled. “But I can’t take both bedrolls.”

“I beg to differ, pumpkin.” He picked up his bed roll and put it down far enough from the fire that it wasn’t a safety hazard but close enough that you could still feel the heat. Arthur took your bedroll and tucked it into his own, giving you double the bedding. 

“Arthur, I don’t like it.”

“Well tough shit. I already told you how I’m sleepin’ tonight. I wanna be able to wrap my arms around you and hold you close.”

You frowned as you looked down at the bedrolls. This would mean that not only would you be the only one with a blanket of some sort tonight, but you’d also be the only one not sleeping directly on the hard and freezing cold floor. 

“Arthur, can’t we just try somethin’ else? M’not gonna sleep good knowin’ you’re on the hard floor. And these floorboards are far too creaky and drafty for you to be sleepin’ on them without anything.”

He let out a sigh, glancing around the room. 

“Well, we got another option.” His eyes landed on one of the bedrooms. “We could pull a mattress out here and throw the bedrolls over it. That way we ain’t sleepin’ directly on the floor or the old mattress.”

You thought about the idea for a few moments, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

Any other day, you’d pass and sleep on the floor. But it was too cold and you could feel a draft coming from between the floorboards. A mattress could stop that. 

“Okay.”

As Arthur left the main room to retrieve a mattress, you moved the bedrolls out of the way. He came back in a few moments later with the smaller of the two mattresses in the house. 

He placed it in front of the fire and allowed you to fix the makeshift bed to your liking. 

You laid out both bedrolls to cover the mattress and provide protection between you and the old mattress. Then you shed your thick coat knowing you could use it better as a blanket. 

“You think we can both squeeze on to that mattress?” Arthur asked, gesturing to the mattress on the floor.

“We’ll find out in the mornin’ when we see if one of us have fallen off.” You grinned a little, settling down on the mattress. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it beat riding on horseback all night in the snow. “Make sure you grab those drinks before you get down here, Mr. Morgan.”

He retrieved the gin and whiskey from the mantle, placing them down on the floor by the mattress, then he got down on the mattress behind you. You were sitting facing the fire. This put your back to Arthur, but he didn’t mind. 

You took the gin, opened it up, and took a swig. The piney liquor was exactly what you needed. It seemed to fit in well with the atmosphere as you looked at the fire. 

“How do you reckon we got lost?” You looked over your shoulder to him, offering him the gin. He took it and drunk from it before answering. 

“Think we must’ve gotten off the road at some point. Made it feel like we’d traveled longer or something like that.”

You nodded, looking back to the fire. 

“What happened at Blackwater, Arthur?” Your voice lowered and a solemn tone took over. 

Arthur didn’t answer you immediately as he leaned back on his elbow. His eyes studied the side of your face, brows drawn together just slightly. 

“I don’t know, pumpkin. Wish I did know, but I didn’t have time to ask Dutch or anyone who was there.” He tapped the gin bottle against the side of your arm. You looked down and took it from him. 

“You think they’ll be okay when we get back to them?”

“Course they’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“Well, we were gone longer than we were supposed to be. The weather was bad down there by Lake Isabella. Just hope they were able to stay warm.”

Arthur sat up and moved a little closer to you, kissing the side of your cheek once he could reach you. 

“They’ll be just fine, pumpkin. They got Dutch and Hosea lookin’ after them. And Javier and Charles are plenty able to make sure everyone’s okay too.”

“What about John?”

“Well…. John’s a different story.” Arthur sighed. “But m’sure John’s okay too. He’s got dumb luck.”

You nodded, knowing Arthur was right. 

“We need to sleep.” He reminded you, laying down on the mattress. 

You put the bottle of gin down and shifted down to lay next to Arthur. 

“You got any more space over there, pumpkin? M’nearly rollin’ off the edge.” He grunted a little, moving around a bit. The springs squeak under his weight. “I can only suck it in so much, Miss Y/L/N.”

You giggled, thankful that he had the ability to lighten the mood. 

“Good night, Arthur.”

“Good night, pumpkin.”

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm​ @sargeantsea

if your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[thr-333]

Just Another Class Trip :) Part 5

If you don’t get to fight Batman on your class trips I feel sorry for you because Marinette did and she had a great time. Besides from the fact the miracle box went missing that was kind of a downer.

First< Previous >Next

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

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” Chloe yells at her, Marinette pops her head up through the trash, “Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“I’m looking for something Chlo,” Marinette tries not to betray the panic in her voice.

“You did not ditch us today to search the trash!” Chloe practically screeches, stomping her foot.

“Chloe! I just really, really need to find this ok?!” Chloe actually recoils at Marinette snapping at her, guilt claws at her, adding more scratches to her conscience, “Sorry, I’m just stressed,”

“You need to relax Mari,” Chloe sighs, she cant, she cant! She cant! “I will only forgive you if you come upstairs and have a shower right now ,”

Marinette glances to Tikki, who nods. They’ve searched the trash here three times over, the Miracle box isn’t here. She lets Chloe lead her upstairs, the ground feels like it's swaying under her feet. The pressure like she’s about to vomit has persisted for hours.

“I will be standing right here, so don’t even think about leaving before you are rid of that smell,” Chloe pushes her into the bathroom.

“Tikki what am I supposed to do,” Marinette curls into herself, as soon as the door closes “I looked everywhere, it-it’s gone ,”

“It’s alright Marinette I’m sure you’ll find it, you just need to think things through,” Tikki pats her arm, not blaming her even once, making everything so much worse.

“Exactly, so chin up,” Kaalki commands, Marinette listens looking at the hovering Kwami with swimming vision, “Now make a theory and we’ll work from there,”

“Only Adrien was in the apartment but he didn’t take it,” Marinette works through her thoughts, “I know he wouldn't have,”

“Good,”

“He was gone for two hours talking with Chloe and Kagami,”

“Exactly,”

“So someone stole it during that time,” Marinette had already concluded that but it was nice to lay it all out, “I thought it was Lila, but she would have just thrown it out,”

“Or,”

“Or kept it,” Marinette gets the picture, formulating a plan, “I have to search her room, as Starling they can get away with it,”

“Good I’ll transport you in there,” Kaalki nods, dipping into her bag to get a sugar cube, “Now change,”

Marinette listens and within minutes they are in Lila's room. The shower running back in Chloe's room. Starling pokes around the room, searching under the bed and in the closet. She spreads out to the whole apartment since Lila isn’t sharing with anyone.

She is opening the oven when the door opens. She freezes, coming eye to eye with Lila. In a split second Starling darts into the bathroom.

“Come out of there!” Lila bangs on the door, “Who are you! I’m calling the police!”

Marinette doesn't give her the chance, teleporting out of the bathroom.

Chloe fights to make her come to dinner that night. Marinette doesn't have the strength to argue and so is dragged along, glaring at Lila from across the table. Lila just looks smugly back, she has to know where the Miracle box is, she just has to.

“Is that the new Wayne?” Marinette hears someone across the restaurant whisper.

Wonder who they’re talking about

“The one with the pink scarf?”

Oh

“Take a picture!”

If Marinette could summon the energy she would go over and ask what they meant. Or tell them they had the wrong person. Instead she just hides her face in her arms, lying on the table.

“Head off the table,” Madame Bustier chides, Marinette listens, but doesnt bother answering.

“Oh Marinette,” Lila’s voice is so grating she is ready to send her head through the table, “You look just terrible, what happened?”

You

“Are you ok Marinette,” Rose asks, she was actually nice to Marinette either unaware of the divide or not caring, “Do you want to go back?”

Marinette supposes Lila never had to lie about her to Rose. As she was already running around after Lila trying to make sure she was comfortable, Marinette just fell by the wayside. Either way Marinette can see that changing in the near future with how livid Lila looks that Marinette got the slightest bit of positive attention.

“I know jetlag can be bad, with all my travels,” Could you get to the part where you antagonise me already? “But don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?

“Sure Lila,” Marinette sighs, actually getting a few shocked gasps from the class.

They all probably thought that if Lila said the sky was blue Marinette would disagree. Well she would probably double check. Plus the sky is black at night. And multicoloured during sunrise and sunset. You know what? Screw it, Marinette would not trust Lila if she said the sky is blue.

“So Lila,” Alya speaks up, “ What's the worst jet lag you’ve ever had?”

“Well..”

Marinette doesn’t bother listening. She does get the side eye from Alya.

This doesn't mean I like you

Feelings mutual buddy

However it does allow her to lean against Kagami for the rest of the night and doze off. Marinette doesn't pay anymore attention to Lila’s lies the rest of the night until it comes to getting back to the hotel. They are all piling into taxis when Lila weasels her way into getting her own. Covertly Marinette slides a hundred to the driver and sends them to a less than savoury part of town. Now it’s just up to Starling to keep up.

Luckily for her Lila decides to be an idiot, and actually gets out of the car. So Starling drops in front of her when the taxi drives off.

“You!” Lila backs up into the alley, really ?

“You stole something,” Starling stalks forward, appearing every bit of threatening as a sleep deprived guardian of the miraculous can be, which is pretty fucken scary when the Miracle box is on the line, “Where is it!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Lila tears up.

“Do not lie to me ,” Starling punctuates the threat by bending a discarded metal pipe in half.

Lila squeaks, as she backs up against the wall, Starling cages her in.

“WHERE IS IT!”

The absolute terror on Lila’s face is so gratifying for a moment. Then a cold terror runs down Marinette as Lila smiles. The same smile that promises to ruin her life every day.

“Help!” Lila cries, her voice quavering in a poor imitation of the actual fear she just saw, “Please anyone!”

Anyone turns out to be the hand on her shoulder that rips Starling back. They go to grab her arm but she flips out of their grasp, getting enough distance to come face to face with The Batman!

Before she can even think about formulating a response Batman lashes out, going straight for her gut. Starling side steps, twisting around to stand in Batman’s blind spot, making him turn to see her.

“Why are you attacking a civilian?” He demands, a knife she dodges barely grazing her cheek.

“She stole something,” Marinette drops down as he swings a punch at her head.

“That’s not true!” Lila cries, huddled up against the wall, “They broke into my hotel room today! And then they attacked me! They’re trying to kidnap me!”

“She’s lying!” Apparently that’s not convincing enough as she dodges a kick, having to roll away, thankfully towards the exit.

She tries to make a run for it, getting halfway up the fire escape of the next building when a Batarang pins her cape down. She tears it out, throwing it back at the shadow who hangs in midair.

Wow that is not aerodynamic at all

She watches as it tapers off to the side, falling to the ground. Batman swings onto the staircase of the fire escape. She dodges, she slips on a stair, losing her balance. Batman aims a punch for her sternum she has no choice but to block. It hurts getting an armoured glove full impact onto her relatively light arm guards. In her defense she never prepared to fight The Batman.

He seems to be taken aback that she is able to block his punch, or is re-planning. She takes the opportunity to use her bit of super strength to push him off the fire escape, double checking he still has his grappling hook. He falls down as she bolts up the stairs. By the time she reaches the top he is already on the roof

She has no weapons to defend herself against another Batarang. She can’t slip away like she did last time so has no choice but to dodge.

“I don’t want to fight you!” She yells, rolling out of the way of another Batarang.

“I’m sure you don’t,”

“Not like that!” There's no reasoning with him then, he made up his mind and is going to beat her before asking any questions, “You know what never mind!”

She sprints to the edge of the building. He doesn’t particularly try to stop her, after all he thinks she has no escape route. Which means he was not expecting her to jump right off the building.

“Kaalki, Full gallop,” She says quietly to her Kwami, putting on her glasses.

She transforms, opening a portal inches from the ground, she lands in her hotel bedroom. Dropping the transformation, she collapses onto the bed. She pants lungs burning, soon she realises she hasn't been taking any air.

What does she have to be stressed about? So she lost the Miracle box, an ancient treasure able to harness the gods? So it was all her fault for shirking off her duties for fun. So it was all her fault that she technically attacked a civilian without any proof. So it was her fault Batman attacked her and she’s probably a criminal now. So what?

She chokes around words, apologies to her Kwamis, to Master Fu, to everyone she has failed today. Instead her vision blurs and she has to take gasping breaths, shuddering in the warm room. She curls up on top of the blankets tucked in too tight to provide her with comfort. Too perfect, too well done, everything she isn’t.

Tikki nuzzles into her cheek, Marinette shudders out a breath, curling more into herself. Kaalki comes to rest near her heart. The magical thrum of the Kwami calming her heart beat. There are no words. There don’t need to be. There’s no one here to send Akuma after them. For once Marinette can cry, let her emotions run rampant. Then she’ll harness everything she has into protecting the Miracle box.

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

Taglist:

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[sage-nebula]

Game Review — Blue Fire

One of my all-time favorite game series is The Legend of Zelda. My favorite game of all time is The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. And my second favorite game of all time is Hollow Knight. So it would make sense, then, to think that a combination of the two would be the most amazing thing the world had to offer me.

Overall Score: 7/10

Well . . . it could have been better. It also could have been worse, absolutely, but it also could have been better. For more detailed thoughts, jump below the cut (and view on blog due to formatting).

The Pros:

The graphics and animation are beautiful. The specific Zelda game the graphics brought to mine (despite the color palette, which was clearly more Hollow Knight inspired) was The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker. Whatever reason the developers had for going the cel shaded route (maybe they had an artistic vision in mind, or maybe it was easier somehow) it was a good one to make. In particular, all of the glowing and flame effects were lovely, the shadows all fell in the right places, the characters were charming to look at, et cetera. Everything worked well with the acrobatics as well. Visually, the game is beautiful.

For the most part, the platforming is fair and even platforming challenges are doable with enough practice. This is particularly true for the overworld / main dungeons, rather than the Voids, which are more extra dungeons that you don’t have to complete to beat the game (although doing so certainly makes the game easier given that each completed Void gives you another life heart). While there were some areas where the game lagged for whatever reason and threw off crucial timing, as well as some Voids that were definitely more Platform Hell than simply platforming, the platforming puzzles were very well put together for the most part and were enjoyable to play.

The fast travel system, when unlocked, is incredibly convenient and takes a lot of the headache out of traveling around the world, particularly given that you use the shrines for a number of things (fast travel, saving, char—spirit equips) and there aren’t any maps present in this game whatsoever. It does take some time to unlock fast travel and you’re not exactly pointed in the direction to get it (in fact I had to look up to figure out where I was supposed to go to get it), but once you have it it’s a well-developed system that took a lot of pain out of playing that would have otherwise been there.

A minor thing that I liked, but (just like in Hollow Knight) when you die, your spirit or soul is left behind. Also like in Hollow Knight, it keeps all of the money you had on you when you died. Essentially, it is the exact same thing as the Shade from Hollow Knight, but white instead of black. Anyway, the minor thing I liked about this is that if you die in a boss fight, your spirit waits for you directly outside the boss arena, meaning that you don’t have to try to reclaim it while the boss is trying to kill you. It was a nice bone the developers threw the player.

While no tracks in particular standout, and while the OST doesn’t live up to the OSTs of the inspirations behind this game, there were times when the music was very nice, which is always a plus.

While the main quest is very short, there are numerous sidequests you can do even apart from the Voids that give you things to do in each area, making them feel a little less small and giving you a bit more time with the game, as well as unlockables as rewards (mainly in the form of new costumes, but still). There are lots of little secrets hidden around in each area too, which is nice to discover if you’re someone like me who loves exploring in games. 

The Neutrals:

The story. The story is . . . how do I put this . . . okay. So, it’s clear the developers wanted to write a story with the aesthetic of Hollow Knight (ruined kingdom, lots of shadow / light dichotomy, fallen kingdom, et cetera), but with an overt storytelling style like The Legend of Zelda. So you get a lot of exposition about what happened in the past, and what you as the main character are supposed to do now . . . but the thing about the exposition is that not only is the same thing repeated about fifteen different times (such as the constant harping on about how the main character contains both light and shadow within them), but also there are huge chunks of seemingly important detail that are just left unexplained. Like for instance: we know that the Fire Guardians from the Fire Keep were one of the last strongholds against the Shadow (who was also the sixth god and has also corrupted the queen yadda yadda). And we can extrapolate that the Fire Guardians were specifically trying to create a warrior that was both light and shadow based on the fact that the game starts with the main character breaking out of a test tube with a bunch of corpses that look just like the player scattered around, seeming to be failed experiments (i.e. just like how the Pale King created the Hollow Knight in Hollow Knight). But the only Fire Guard that we see around is Von. I think he mentions briefly once that the Fire Guards were trying to make the warrior, or had made the warrior, or something like that, but we’re never told why, exactly. We don’t know what processes led to that. We don’t know who was in charge. We don’t know why this specific type of warrior was needed except “since you have both you may be the answer.” And the fact that there were apparently a bunch of failed experiments is never really touched upon either. Furthermore, we’re told that the five gods had lifted Penumbra (the world) into the sky to protect it from the Shadow (a la Hylia raising Skyloft to protect the people from Demise), but that it didn’t work and the Shadow ultimately got to them anyway. So allegedly this is a post-apocalyptic land. But the only thing to really be ravaged is the Temple of Gods, where apparently the corrupted queen sleeps. Everyone else seems mostly fine as long as they avoid the monsters? It’s like they were going for what Hollow Knight did, but didn’t quite want to go the full route of having corpses literally everywhere on-screen at all times. Although weirdly enough, there is also a distinct lack of NPCs which makes the world feel more empty than Hallownest despite the circumstances . . . What I’m getting at here is that there definitely is a story, but it was told in a way that was pretty sloppy. It’s not so sloppy that it detracts from the overall experience, but it’s like too much was piled on in some areas and not enough was explained in other areas. Or like they took some things they liked from other games (e.g. making the creation of the “warrior of light and shadow” reminiscent of the creation of the Hollow Knight) without following through on what made those things work. Like it wasn’t just that there were a lot of failed Knights and that their corpses were tossed into the abyss and that The Knight had to try to claw his way out (as did Broken Vessel and others) while the “successful” Hollow Knight was raised by the Pale King. It was also that we know that the entire reason why the Hollow Knight was created in the first place was to contain the Radiance / the Plague. It was also that these hundreds or thousands of corpses were the Pale King’s children. It was also that the Pale King has a monologue over that segment saying, “no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering” as requirements for the Hollow Knight to be considered successful. The horror didn’t come just from the corpses being tossed down the pit around you as you had to climb up in an attempt to get out, but also at all of the surrounding context, which was left entirely out of Blue Fire’s version with the warrior of light and shadow. Not that they should have copied it (although if they had it really wouldn’t have been surprising), but it’s clear what they were trying to do and where they failed because they didn’t have the follow through to go with it. I feel like the above paragraph is so critical I should move it to The Cons, but I do want to say that I don’t think the story itself was terrible. It borrows so much from both Zelda and Hollow Knight that it really isn’t original and it doesn’t follow through on things that made those stories work, but overall it doesn’t ruin the experience, even if all of the repetition gets old pretty quickly. Although as a final note, I’ll also add another thing that bugged me, which is that we never learn what the people of Penumbra are. Like we know the Shadow is bad, but they all look like Shadow people. We know there are creatures called “onops” but we don’t know what they are, or if everyone is an onop. Whereas in Hollow Knight we know that all the characters are bugs. It’s just another little thing that wasn’t explained but probably should have been.

On a less long note, the combat is also pretty mediocre. Again, it’s not bad. There is a parry system that, if you learn to time it right to actually pull off the parry, is pretty cool. But although you are given magic, which is useful for killing long-distance enemies, the magic can’t do a single thing for you in boss battles no matter how many times you upgrade your mana. Additionally, it is very much a “mash Y to win” type of game, where Y is the button you use to attack and you just mash that while jumping around. There’s no complexity to the combat at all or any strategy that is really required. It’s not bad, per se, but it’s nothing to write home about either.

The charms in this game are called spirits, and while you can buy a majority of them from shopkeepers, you can also “capture” your own by coming across the spirit of a dead person and trapping it to use its power for yourself. This is made apparent when you go back to a young child who is dead the second time you go to see them, and capture their spirit for use. Also when you literally murder an NPC for a sidequest and then later capture their spirit to use for your own use. And aside from the sidequest giver being horrified you killed the NPC and telling you to keep it hush-hush (without even knowing that you can and will capture the spirit of that murder victim for your own use) this . . . is never really remarked upon. Ever. And the thing is, it creates a sort of dissonance, because your character is treated as a hero in this game. No one seems horrified by you, there’s never any question of whether your existence is moral or not, nor any reason to think that your character would be amoral. In Hollow Knight, the Knights were created to be soulless husks who were there to be vessels for the Radiance / infection. Hornet in particular calls out your cursed existence and how she does not like you because of it. But although you can learn “emotes” from statues (which is teaching your character either actions or emotions, it’s unclear), no such deal is made here. So this aspect of the game is strange, even if I can at least appreciate that they tried to make their spirits a tiny bit different from Hollow Knight’s charms. Though with that said . . .

The Cons:

It’s one thing to be inspired by other games, but the sheer amount that this game cops from The Legend of Zelda and Hollow Knight is, at least to me, incredibly distracting. Just a handful of examples off the top of my head: — In Hollow Knight, you have a Shade that lingers where you last died and keeps all of your money from when you died. In Blue Fire, you have a spirit / soul (again, it’s unnamed) that lingers where you died and keeps all of your money from when you died. You have to retrieve them before you die again to get your money back. — In Hollow Knight, you have different circular charms that each have a different design, name, and grant you different abilities. You can only have a certain amount equipped at a time (though you can increase how many you can equip at once) and you can only equip them at save points. In Blue Fire you have different spirits that are contained in circles that each have a different design, name, and grant you different abilities. You can only have a certain amount equipped at a time (though you can increase how many you can equip at once) and you can only equip them at save points. — Everything I explained above about how the main character breaking out of a test tube at the beginning, surrounded by corpses just like them, felt like an echo of the Knight’s creation in Hollow Knight (but again, not as effective for reasons outlined above).  — The default tunic has a hat that is exactly like Link’s from The Legend of Zelda. This is made even more obvious with the dyed green tunics. — The story segment detailing how the five gods created Penumbra was copped from how the golden goddesses created Hyrule from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. To compare the dialogue: Ocarina of Time: “Din. With her flaming arms, cultivated the land and created the red earth.” Blue Fire: “Dina, God of Land. With her mighty body of stone, Dina carved mountains, deserts, and landforms in the earth.” It’s in the exact same cadence, to the point where I half expected the artifact they created at the end of the story to be the Triforce (instead it was called the Oath of Sarana).  — In Hollow Knight, the titular Hollow Knight is housed inside the Temple of the Black Egg, and is in fact locked inside that Black Egg to seal the Radiance / infection. There are three locks on the egg, and each one will only be broken when one of the three Dreamers dies. You have to break all three locks to face him, a corrupted “final” boss. In Blue Fire, the corrupted queen is housed inside the Temple of the Gods. There are three locks on her door, and each one will only be broken when one of the three Shadow Lords dies. You have to break all three locks to face her, the corrupted final boss. — It’s implied that, especially in places like the Temple Gardens, that the humanoid enemies that attack you are not monsters, but are people who were once completely normal and even forces of good who were corrupted by the Shadow. This is exactly like how all of the enemies you face in Hollow Knight (with the exception of, say, Hornet) were also once normal bugs before they were turned into zombies by the infection. I could go on. The point is, it’s perfectly fine to be inspired by something. Hell, it would be hard to find an action/adventure game that wasn’t inspired by The Legend of Zelda at this point. But it’s one thing to be inspired by something, and another thing to completely rip-off your inspiration to the point where the similarities are distracting to your audience. And it’s not just me; when I was looking up the exact dialogue for the story of the gods from Blue Fire, I found others who were pointing out just how similar everything was to Hollow Knight in particular, including someone who, like me, realized that the Temple of the Gods was essentially the Temple of the Black Egg. When things are this blatant, it feels a whole lot less like inspiration and a whole lot more like plagiarism.

The Voids all have a star rating to indicate how difficult they are. These star ratings are completely meaningless. Granted, partly it’s because everyone is going to have different abilities and so it will be hard to create an overall difficulty scoring that will be accurate for every player, but it’s also telling when a four-star course is miles easier than a two-star course, which I found to be the case on more than one occasion due to level design that was, at times, kind of bullshit. 

Although there are NPCs, there are none who are memorable or standout, despite the fact that most of Penumbra’s populace is (maybe?) still alive. Unlike in Hollow Knight, where there were characters like Elderbug, the Last Stag, Hornet, Quirrel, and so forth that were memorable and lovable, all of the NPCs in Blue Fire feel rather the same and are pretty easily forgettable.

The world itself is incredibly small. While the fact there are no maps makes this kind of a good thing, on the other hand it’s a bit disappointing that there are a total of two towns and then a few small connecting areas. It doesn’t really make it feel like the kingdom that it’s supposed to be. 

On that note, why aren’t there maps? The fact that there is fast travel is really more of a necessity than mere convenience because there are no maps to help lead you around. If you put down the game for a while and then go back to it, you might not remember how to get to different areas in the game, and if you haven’t unlocked fast travel yet (since it is something you have to unlock) you’re going to be pretty much boned due to the lack of a feature that is in basically every other game. 

Overall, while this is not a game I think I would ever go back to, it also isn’t one that I regretted purchasing and playing. It could definitely have been better, but it also could have been worse. My only hope is that the next game this studio makes is more original, rather than copying so much from other, more successful titles. (Or at the very least, that they study why certain things worked in more successful titles, instead of just copying at the surface level and calling it a day.)

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader 

Chapter 5 - A Question of Trust 

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 

Summary: First day in New York brings new challenges and fears. But one thing is certain, your relationship with Neil is changing.

Warnings: Minor cursing.

Author’s Notes: So this is sort of an unplanned early update because I loved what I wrote and had to share it with you. Hope you enjoy this quieter chapter before things kick off very soon...

Also this has been severely inspired by ‘A Question of Lust’ by Depeche Mode so I’ll post the link in another post!

Despite being severely jet-lagged, the next two days, you did not get much rest. You and Neil were thoroughly briefed by the TP on Saturday, and the plan seemed simple: arrive in New York; check into the hotel; research the target (a weapons dealer named Steiner); set up a meeting with Mr. Steiner; rehearse the cover; get intel; leave New York unscathed but with valuable information.

You have received a Glock (just in case), a burner phone with emergency contacts, and a dossier filled with the information about your cover. As far as you have managed to learn so far, you and Neil were supposed to pose as ‘partners in crime’ hoping to get your hands on the mysterious nuclear material. It did seem easy. But that did not help the stress you felt the closer you got to the departure.

Monday morning, you stepped onto the Amtrak train to New York Penn Station and followed Neil to the First-Class compartment. You had two seats with a large table and a window in a relatively quiet carriage. This time, sadly, you have not taken your notes with you and have been desperately looking for a distraction. Neither of you has mentioned the moment on the terrace, and you felt like it was a cause of mild tension. But instead of addressing it in any way, you decided to stare out of the window. After going through the same onboard magazine for the third time, you heard Neil clear his voice deliberately. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow:

“I’m bored” he shrugged and grinned at your eye roll “Want to talk?”

You searched his face for any signs of wicked intents. But he seemed genuinely interested.

“As long as you won’t make me drink again and embarrass myself” you turned towards him with a pointed look.

“I promise” he smiled and leaned onto the table separating your seats 

“However I must correct you and say that you haven’t embarrassed yourself on the plane” when you glared at him with disbelief, he added “At all”

“If you say so”

His piercing blue eyes were fixed on you with fondness that made you want to turn away. But you held his gaze until he grinned and asked:

“Excited to go on your first mission?”

“If by excited you mean scared then yeah” he laughed, and you beamed back “Though I suppose if my first outing is with you I should consider myself lucky”

“Oh you’re certainly lucky in that regard” he winked, grinning smugly “I’ll keep you entertained”

The smirk and look in his eyes were far from innocent and you felt your face heat up at the sight. But you did not want to let him win easily.

“I’ve no doubts about that” you stared back defiantly.

Your staring contest finished when he smiled and reached out for your hands that were folded on the table. He squeezed them.

“We’ll manage just fine together, I’m sure. It’s a simple mission” he reassured you softly.

“Can’t say I’m convinced” you looked back sceptically and frowned “I’m a bit surprised you’re willing to go into the field with a rookie”

“TP said it has to be us” he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

Your hands felt cold without his touch.

“You do trust him enough to do anything he says?” you asked with curiosity.

All that you have learned during the meeting with the Protagonist was still fresh on your mind. You struggled to understand how on earth you could be important to the story. But it was made quite clear that you would have to wait for any answers.

“Yes” Neil’s tone was quite serious “I’ve learnt from past mistakes that he really does know how things will go”

You haven’t missed the distant look of sadness in his eyes. You made a mental note to one day learn the story. He must have noticed your scrutiny as he schooled his features and added:

“And it’s better to listen to him. No matter how difficult it might be” he looked at you with a faint smile.

You did wonder if he thought about the moment on the terrace in that instant. But before you could dare ask, he closed the subject with a definite statement:

“I know for a fact that you’ll be much better than a random rookie” he grinned, and despite feeling conflicted, you smiled back.

Then he quickly changed the topic to New York itself, and you rather enjoyed talking to him about your travels and experiences with other cities. While you were still stressed, when you arrived at Penn Station, you were much less tense. The conversation has distracted you enough to forget about the worries. You wondered if that was why Neil wanted to talk in the first place.

*** You took a taxi to the hotel, which was situated far off from the main city centre. It was a comfortable and stylish four-star establishment with a booking system that did not mind fake identities. Your rooms were on the sixth floor and were joined by a set of locked doors, as you were informed by the receptionist (with a wink). You were not sure what to do with this information but, as usual, Neil’s charm saved you.

“Thank you, miss” he smiled at the clerk and snatched your keys from the counter “It’s good to know” he smirked and walked away.

You followed him to the lift, where you could finally ask:

“What was that about?”

“I suppose she thought that we’re not here for…” he took a moment to think about the right word “Strictly business reasons” he enunciated every syllable “But rather for fun while keeping up the appearances”

Your eyes widened at the implication.

“Right” you didn’t dare think why she got that impression.

Neil chuckled as he led you to the rooms, pausing to hand you the key. Only once you saw him open the door to his room you sobered up:

“Wait, what do we do now?”

“Come to my room once you’re ready. I won’t lock the door” he winked and disappeared into his room.

You stared at the closing door before shaking your head and entering your own room.

He can be impossible sometimes, you thought with fondness and disbelief.

The room was quite big, with a queen-sized bed, a sofa with a coffee table, and a large bathroom. The view came out onto the maze of skyscrapers that you associated with New York. The barely visible sky was grey and threatening with rain. You decided to quickly shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and fix your make-up. All that took twenty minutes and you were quite proud of yourself. You opened the door leading to Neil’s room and hesitated at the second set. Trying the handle you found it unlocked and tentatively came in.

“Finally” he gave out a theatrical sigh from his place on the sofa.

He changed into yet another shirt and dress trousers. You did sometimes wonder how many sets of those he had.

The next thing you noticed was that while you were getting ready Neil has ordered quite a big selection of food from the room service. It has taken the whole space on the coffee table, along with water and teapot.

“Wow” you grinned at the sight, feeling your stomach rumble.

“Thought we might need it” he shrugged and motioned for you to join him on the sofa.

“I know I did” you quickly dove for the toasties before he could snatch them.

He laughed at your enthusiasm for food, but you could not care less at the moment. You felt his fond gaze for a little longer before he too started the feast. After you ate, Neil cleared the table and spread out the dossier along with any files you received.

“So…” you both looked down at the mess of papers and photos “Today we need to get to that bar” you squinted at the name “Benny’s and set up a meeting with Steiner?” you looked up at Neil for clarification.

“Yeah, that’s it” he nodded and picked up one of the documents “We’re a pair of weapon dealers who want to know a bit more about that mysterious piece of plutonium” he explained.

“That’s a manageable cover” you mused while trying to memorise your new identity.

“Well, I was hoping they’d make us fake married or something” Neil retorted innocently, and you glared at him sharply.

“What? Wouldn’t you want to be married to me?” the wounded look on his face made you laugh.

“Sounds horrible” you swatted his arm playfully and reached for another document.

But before you got that far, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You met his soft gaze and smiled back, admiring the sparks in his blue eyes. After a beat, he let go of your hand.

“I think we’d be a perfect match” he sent you one last smug smile and got up “We should get going if we want to catch Raul and establish contact” he added.

A perfect match? You observed as Neil put on the tie and suit jacket and considered his words with curiosity. You did like him, there was no denying that. And you felt like he enjoyed your company too. But before you could dwell on it too long, you felt his intense gaze. Caught in the act of staring, you felt yourself blush. But he only grinned and offered you a hand to get up from the sofa.

“C’mon, we need to get going” he ushered you towards your room.

Right, first mission. You took a deep breath and started to get ready. The time has come.

*** The first part of the plan went without any major fuck-ups. You and Neil met Raul at the bar, and he gave you all the information you could need about Steiner. It was clear that you both had to learn your roles perfectly as he tended to be suspicious. After that Neil went away to set up the meeting with the weapons dealer for tomorrow’s evening. All you could do was entertain Raul with random stories from your training which proved rather easy.

Once Neil came back, you both decided to go back to the hotel to get much-needed rest and prepare. The fact that so far everything seemed to go along the plan, made you feel a tiny bit more confident. But nerves were still there, and you could barely contain them when you made it back to the hotel. You lied to Neil that you were tired and shut the door before you could even look at him again.

But after showering, changing into sleeping clothes, and having a cup of herbal tea, nothing got better. You tried lying down in the darkened room only to quickly get up with a pain in your chest and shallow breath. After sitting in the dark and trying to calm down your racing thoughts for close to an hour, you gave up. You put on a cardigan and looked at the door leading to Neil’s room. It was past 1 AM but you had the feeling he was not sleeping. You knew there was no way you were able to rest now. Oh, why the hell…

You tried the handle of the connecting doors and found it unlocked. Of course. 

Neil’s room was covered in darkness, save for a bedside table lamp casting a warm glow. You were struck by how neat everything looked, with his suitcase in one corner and clothes folded on the chair. Only the bed was in disarray with papers thrown on it and Neil himself sat in the middle. He glanced up as you came in, surprised:

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I tried but…” you shrugged helplessly “Just couldn’t get my brain to shut up”

The worry in his gaze made you freeze. He was sat on the bed with ruffled hair and a wrinkled shirt. He was probably very tired. And you were weak and overreacting again. Suddenly you realised what a mistake it was to come here:

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… I’ll go now” you blurted and started to turn away.

You heard the rush of papers falling onto the floor and then Neil’s voice.

“No, stay” he sounded concerned.

Slowly you turned around to face him again, trying to put on a brave face. It was pointless though because he saw right through you. He got up from the bed, scattering all the documents onto the floor. Seeing you hesitate, he crossed the distance and took your hand in his, guiding you towards the bed. That only increased your panic.

“What are you doing?” you tried not to step on all the papers “Don’t we need those?”

He looked down at the pile with a surprised look, almost as though he forgot about them. Then he quickly made up his mind and looked up at you with determination.

“We do. But more so I need you to calm down so get in” he gestured towards the bed.

Your mind was blank. There was so much that could go wrong. But he noticed your uncertainty and unceremoniously pushed you onto the bed. You stared in shock before recovering enough to retort:

“You know I’m pretty sure there are better ways to make a lady sleep with you” You heard him laugh as he collected the pages.

“Certainly” finally he got up and dumped the pile onto the coffee table “But it worked” he shrugged.

Neil watched as you clumsily shifted to sit up with your back against the headboard and then joined you. After a few minutes of awkward silence, you asked:

“Sure you don’t want me to leave so you can go back to work?”

You felt extremely self-conscious in your sleeping clothes, with uncombed hair and tear-streaked cheeks. Neil’s intense gaze did not help it either but before you could even think about getting up, he replied:

“Perfectly sure” he smiled at you softly “Now tell me what’s wrong”

You sighed and let yourself relax slightly, leaning on the pillows. Staring straight ahead at the wall, you explained:

“I felt very anxious and hoped that maybe the shower and tea will help. Nothing changed so I tried to go to sleep but… my chest started aching and I couldn’t breathe” you finished while feeling the tears well up at the recollection.

You felt the bed shift as Neil moved closer and took one of your hands. You watched with curiosity as he traced the lines of your veins to the pulse point on the wrist and held his pointer finger there, checking your heart rate. You felt a nervous flutter at the gentle way he cradled your hand. You were pretty positive he will detect a pulse of 100bmp. After thirty seconds of intense focus, Neil released his hold on your hand and smiled:

“Apart from a very fast heart rate, you’ll be fine” he winked, and you looked down flustered.

But you were not allowed to get lost in shame for too long as he scooted even closer, leaving no space between you, and gingerly placed his arm around your shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking at you with genuine concern.

Your breath hitched at the closeness of him, but you quickly suppressed the feeling and nodded. After a few more tense breaths, you relaxed into the embrace, feeling him trace circles on your shoulder.

“What made you so scared?” his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Think it’s just the idea of the first mission” you admitted “And ever since you and TP told me about the plan and the algorithm, I felt this tension rise and I guess it just hit the fan” sighing helplessly, you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I probably would have been more concerned if you took all this without questions”

“I guess I reacted that way because I never expected to be important… Definitely not in something of that scale” once you started talking the honesty did not seem to stop “I’ve spent so much time looking for my place in the world and now when I think I’ve found it, I’m not sure I’m good enough” 

After your admission, you felt Neil’s embrace tighten. You propped your head on his shoulder, so it was resting in the crook of his neck again, enjoying the warmth and safety.

“You are more than good enough” when he finally spoke you were almost surprised “And I’m not only saying that because I believe in what TP says”

You looked up at Neil and met his earnest gaze.

“Since the day we met and I showed you how inversion works, I knew that you will be amazing at it” he smiled at you softly.

“Even though I nearly passed out in the training zone?”

“Yeah” he grinned at the memory fondly “I just had the feeling that you’re supposed to work with us, with me”

You would swear that his eyes briefly glanced at your lips. But as quickly as the thought entered your mind, he reached out to brush away a stray hair from your forehead and you lost the ability to think entirely. He tucked the strand with care and brushed your jawline with his thumb.

“TP was right, you know” he was looking at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“About?”

“Me taking care of you” he smiled and admired your dazed expression. You could only stare, too overwhelmed with feelings to say anything. And you probably would have kept on staring if it was not for the extreme tiredness that begun to catch up. Before you could say anything, a wide yawn made you cover your face with your hands. The spell was broken.

“Think you’re tiny bit tired” Neil grinned at your sheepish expression.

“No shit” you mumbled and moved to get up, but he kept his grip steady.

“You can stay here” he answered your surprised glance.

You quickly considered the options, admitting that it was tempting. You felt safe with Neil and his presence definitely made you calmer. But it did feel like crossing some lines.

He was still looking at you with that hopeful eyes and that sealed the deal.

“Thanks… for everything” you smiled at him, hoping to convey even a quarter of what you felt through it.

“Always” he grinned back.

You both quietly shifted so that you were lying down with a small gap between you, both staring at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, he turned off the bedside lamp and turned to face you.

“Good night” you heard him whisper and turned to look at him too.

“Sweet dreams, Neil” you replied while trying to make out his features in the darkness of the room.

“Oh I know they will be sweet” you could picture the sly grin.

And with that, he turned onto the other side. No longer than five minutes later you heard his breath level off and make way for quiet snores. You could not help but smile at the adorable sound. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad in the end.

*** You have not slept so soundly in days. When you woke up, the first thought that came to your mind was that you were being cuddled. An arm was thrown over your waist and you felt warm breath near your ear. Then as the morning fog slowly ascended, you remembered it all clearly. Neil. As though he was reading your mind, a second later you felt him stir and mumble:

“Morning sunshine” he sounded cheery.

Before you could react you felt him brush his lips over your temple. You froze, feeling the flutters in your stomach return with tripled force. Taking a deep breath to calm down you slowly squeezed the hand that was draped over your waist and sat up.

“Hi” you glanced at him only to be astounded by how unkempt and yet adorable he looked.

His hair was completely ruffled, with strands sticking out in every direction. And the shirt and trousers were crumpled to the point of needing starch treatment to ever be wearable again. And yet he still looked good. Especially with that boyish smile and sparkling eyes. One could suppose that you were not immune to him. At all.

“Do you always sleep in that?” you gestured towards his outfit, trying to divert your thoughts.

“No, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you last night” it was that shit-eating grin again “Did you sleep well?” he sat up now too but kept his distance.

“Very well” you admitted with a blush “But it’s late and we should probably prepare” you used the most sensible excuse to get up.

Before you could do that, Neil reached out and took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Just don’t you dare feel sorry for this” you knew he was serious from the look in his eyes.

“I’ll try” you smiled slightly and used this chance to leave his room in haste.

While you did indeed try not to feel embarrassed about what happened, it was difficult. You were not used to people seeing you as vulnerable as you were last night. But at the same time, he did not seem to mind and that took you by surprise. His kindness and thoughtfulness were certainly not helping in trying to be more objective about him.

You managed to get changed and prepare yourself for the day relatively fast, considering what a mess your thoughts were. Once you were done you grabbed the needed documents from the coffee table and made beeline for Neil’s room without thinking too much. As usual, the door was unlocked.

The moment you stepped into his room you knew you have fucked up. He was there, just in front of where you entered, in a new pair of trousers and no shirt. Your eyes widened when you registered that last detail.

“Shit, sorry! I shouldn’t just come in…”

“No worries, darling” Neil drawled out the nickname expressively.

He looked at you with a grin, clearly enjoying it more than you were. It seemed as though he slowed down the process of putting on a new shirt just to tease you. It worked. You stared at his rather fit body and felt your cheeks grow warmer. He caught your wandering gaze with a wink and held it with an expression that was far from innocent. The knowing smirk told you that he was aware of what he was doing. But still, you held your ground, letting yourself openly look at his toned arms and chest. If he didn’t mind then there was no harm in looking, right?

Finally, he finished the process of buttoning up the shirt, while still keeping his gaze fixed on you. He assessed your expression with one last look and grinned:

“Let’s get to work, sunshine”

You wanted to punch him in that perfect jaw.

[pikemoreno]

face to face

pairing: din djarin x reader

summary: a beautiful day in a safe, pleasant place gets din thinking about the future.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: absolute mush, mild suggestion, not well-edited?

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist

You were never going to be able to leave this place. You'd decided it now. The child was far too enthralled with the puddles, staring at his rippling reflection in each one, intermittently looking back to where you and Din were sitting in the grass. His little green fingers pointed to each patch of water as if to say, "Do you see this too?"

You were seeing it.

And you had been for the previous ten puddles as well.

The riverlands of Dantooine were absolutely gorgeous. The sloping valley below ended in the clearest winding river you’d seen on any planet. And as its singular sun began to set, the river changed to glitter with the most magnificent purples and oranges and pinks. While the little pit stop on the way back from the nearby marketplace was unintentional, you were grateful for the little ade noticing beauty where you were about to miss it in your hurrying. 

Granted, his beauty was himself, but the sentiment remained. He was in no rush today, and you shouldn’t be either. You had a rare couple of days on a beautiful planet where no one was trying to kill you. Why go back to a dreary hunk of metal when you could sit in the soft grass and sweet air with your two favorite people?

“How long do you think he’s gonna keep looking at himself?” Din leaned over and whispered with a chuckle. You chuckled too.

“I’m gonna try something.” You gave Din’s hand a squeeze as you stood, stepping through the tickling grass over to the kid, your shoes long forgone for the feeling of the breeze on them. You kneeled beside him and he grabbed at your pant lag, excitedly pointing at his reflection once again, making a silly face into it and giggling. 

He froze completely when your foot went right through the rippling face in the surface, the water splashing onto him. He looked as though he’d been betrayed and shot: completely frozen, mouth gaping. 

But then he decided he liked it. He slowly, tentatively put his hand in the water and moved it toward you so the water would hit your ankles. That was absolutely hilarious to him, so he took it a little farther, throwing the entirety of his tiny body into it and cackling at splash. You acted shocked that he would splash you back and that made him laugh all the harder, running to the next puddle and splashing into that one-- and the next, and the next, and the next. You grinned and moved back to sit with Din, looping your arm through his and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“And the purpose of that was what? Tracking as much dirty water into the Crest as possible?” He couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. You could hear the humored lilt in his voice as it crackled in the modulator-- the most pleasant sound you think you’ve ever heard. 

“You’re thinking too small,” you teased, “The kid is going to completely wear himself out and then we’ll get the whole rest of this day off to ourselves.” You looked up to find the little green one practically somersaulting into the puddles, big ears dripping wet. “Maybe tomorrow too, if we’re lucky.” He hummed in response, interlacing your fingers and his.

“I like your thinking.” There was a beat of silence, comfortably normal for you as you didn’t know any better, but filled with hope and anxiety for the man next to you. “That, all of this really, reminds me of something else I’ve been thinking about.”

“What’s that?” You were beyond casual in your prodding to continue, but as you sat up and away from his shoulder and looked to your left, you noticed the darkened visor of the beskar didn’t turn to face you. It remained set on the Dantooine sun setting before you. He wasn’t looking at you-- couldn’t look at you. It was an odd gesture for him. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, he was very keen on maintaining his eye contact with you usually. It felt intimate to him. 

“I was wondering if you would want to marry me.” 

You stopped. No, more than that. Time itself froze around you. The question was so out of the blue you could call it casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he was fidgeting and not meeting your eye. It had him freaked. But since your brain had now all but stopped forming coherent thoughts, all you could manage was a blank, wide-eyed question back:

“Why?”

“Is that a no?” he asked with a humorless laugh, trying to diffuse his apparent rejection.

“No, no,” your hands flew to your face in a flustered manner. You looked back at him after a moment of collecting yourself, “Not at all, Din. You just surprised me. I had no idea that was something you’d ever thought about.”

“Have you?” he asked. His tone wasn’t interrogating or accusatory but curious. 

“I have.” The face of his helmet turned to you. He sat a little taller and stiller now, no longer fidgeting with his hands and scraping at the grass with his boots. You had his full attention and you moved to sit in front of him, your hands on his bent knees. “Every time I can’t sleep and find you in the cockpit with the kid asleep on your lap and you both look so peaceful, I want to wake up to that forever. Every time you risk your life for mine I think about how lucky I would be to have you with me for the rest of my life. Every time I hear you laugh I think about the fact that it’s my favorite sound in the world and how much I would give to hear it without the modulator. I love you Din Djarin, you know that. I have thought so many times about the prospect of marrying you,” you smiled a watery smile, leaning in so your forehead bumped into his in the most intimate gesture of love you’d been able to experience with him so far. You both breathed into it, his shaky exhale the loudest sound in the peaceful valley. You pulled back as he started speaking.

“I’ve thought about marrying you so often. All the time. But especially now, seeing you and the kid so safe and happy, not worrying about chasing or being chased. I want that. This,�� he gestured, arms spread wide to indicate the river valley around and, even more so, to indicate the general feeling surrounding your little clan. “I want this.” 

“Let’s do it then,” you grinned giddily as you sat back down next to him, watching the sunset sky’s colors morph and swirl as the little one remained blissfully unaware of what was happening. The new arrangement wouldn’t change much for him anyhow. Ceremony would only make official what he already held to be true: you were his buir just as much as Din was. 

“I’m happy to do whatever you want, cyare. However your home planet does it. But for now, I was hoping we could do the Mandalorian vows. The riduurok. Tonight, if you’re willing.” 

”It’s that easy?” 

“It is. Just us.”

“And I’d get to,” you suddenly felt yourself become a bit bashful, flustered, “See you? Tonight?” He nodded lightly.

“If you want.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

***

As you had predicted, the kid had totally worn himself out playing in the puddles. He was incredibly grumpy as you pulled him from the water, pouting and whining all the way back to the Crest, reaching grabbing hands back out to the hillside. But he was dead to the world the minute you got him out of the wet, dirtied clothes and settled into the pram. 

You found Din sitting outside, looking out into the sky as it changed into its final dark purples before the sun disappeared on the horizon. You sat next to him, suddenly unsure and nervous for the first time since you really started getting to know him well over a year ago. Both of you sat in a heavy, burning silence for a moment. It was nervous and joyful, anxious and excited, and deathly quiet. There was no one within twenty klicks of the Crest. You could almost hear the river in the deep valley below. 

“Last chance to back out,” he murmured.

“Now why would I ever want that?” You heard a short, pleasant huff from beneath the beskar and guessed he was smiling too. You got antsy as you wondered what that smile looked like, antsier still upon remembering just how close you were to finding that out. He stood up, holding his hand out to you to bring you to your feet as well. As you planted your feet beneath you, he held onto both of your hands and breathed out a nerve-filled exhale, preparing himself to speak. 

“I’m going to go through the riduurok slowly. Repeat after me, alright?” You nodded quickly, but added:

“Would you tell me what it means in Basic too? It means more to know what I’m promising you.” He nodded once in response. The request made his heart leap in his throat and he simply couldn’t trust his voice. He pushed past the knot and began:

"Mhi solus tome. We are one when together.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeated to the best of your ability. 

“Mhi solus dar'tome. We are one when parted.”

“Mhi solus dar'tome.” Din corrected your pronunciation and you repeated once again.

“Mhi me'dinui an. We share all.”

“Mhi me'dinui an.”

“Mhi ba'juri verde. We will raise warriors."

“Mhi ba'juri verde,” you finished.

“Good.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So we’re--?”

“Yes, riduur.” You grinned at the term, one of the few words in your sparse mando’a vocabulary. 

The silence returned then, still nervey and unsure, but so much sweeter. It bubbled and flowed as two people redefined their relationship and attempted to understand how to be in it now. It was broken by Din clearing his throat and the sound of his feet shifting unsteadily in the grass. His stance was small and meek, lacking his usual assured confidence. He knew what was coming next: simultaneously what he was looking forward to and dreading the most. 

He hadn’t exactly heard many comments on his appearance over the years. It wasn’t often that even he knew what he looked like at any given moment. He had little concept of comparison and truly had no idea how he would compare to anyone else you’d ever been attracted to. Now, he wasn’t ridiculous enough to actually believe that you would really care all that much. You’d been through too much together. You agreed to marry him with no basis of appearance at all. It was more than unlikely that you’d change your mind based on appearance now. He knew that.

Of course, that wasn’t on your mind at all. Or, it was, but not in the way he thought. You weren’t taking the trust this required for granted. It was no small thing to have the privilege of seeing Din Djarin face to face. But there was no fear in your mind, only excitement, pure excitement to be that much closer to the man you loved. To touch him, to feel his warmth, to kiss him, to look directly into his eyes and tell him you loved him: all of the things you’d had to experience through a thick layer of opaque, stifling metal thus far. Appearance and potential attraction had much less to do with the weight of this moment for you. Your nerves now came only from respect, not wanting to overstep your bounds. Did you initiate? Surely not. So what did you do? Maybe you were expected to take off the helmet after all? Din must’ve read your racing mind because he took your hands and placed them on either side of his helmeted head, letting them rest there before he moved his own away. 

“Go on,” he whispered. It’s funny, the whispers through the beskar and modulator are so much louder by design. They’re clunky. They crackle and echo strangely, in a way whispers never should. Whispers are for softness, tenderness. Sweet words shared that no one else can understand. You wondered at how even whispers would change after this, finally done as intended. 

It’s high time to find out.

You slowly put pressure on the cooled metal, pressing in and up until it lifted slowly.

You don’t miss the tiny scars at the base of his neck. You wonder what they’re from. You’d have to ask later.

Warm tawny skin.

Lips, lovely and pink and twisted up into the smallest of smiles. 

A strong jaw, scattered with a light stubble-- you liked that a lot.

A perfect nose. 

And-- oh, gorgeously deep brown eyes. One was lit up by the light coming from the open Crest. The glittering light revealed so much in the mahogany: love, adoration, flecks of a lighter shade.

As the helmet cleared the top of his head and you let it fall to the ground with a thunk, dark hair flopped onto his forehead in waves of darkest brown-- nearly black in the dimming light. 

That was it. Both of you were holding your breath. You took it all in once more: bottom to top, eyes gazing at every crinkle and scar and the winkle of his brows as he expectantly watched your eyes trail over him. This feeling was new to him too. Of course he’d been seeing you for the past year and a half, but always through the lens of an obstructing visor. It was far from natural. The new eyelines were almost as special to him as they were to you. 

His nerves were clearly evident on his face now, you didn’t have to rely on his-- admittedly very telling-- body language. It didn’t register to you that he would have anything to possibly be nervous about, but the feeling only grew in him as your eyes watered. He became increasingly tense. 

Were tears good or bad?

Usually bad right? 

Shit. What was wrong? Was it that disappointing?

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked out loud, heart deflating. The sound of his unhindered voice made them well up just a bit more. You couldn’t speak for a moment for fear of your voice cracking. He continued, “I-- I’m sorry. I’ll just--” He gestured lamely. What could he do? Put the helmet back on? Maybe just run away?

“What?” you finally sniffed, clearly seeing how absolutely horror-struck he looked, “No. Nothing’s wrong,” your hand rested on his arm, still beskar-clad, in a reassuring manner. “It’s just,” you exhaled a sharp breath, “Overwhelming. Seeing you, hearing you. I don’t have the right words to describe it.” You laughed, wiping gently at your eyes as your vision cleared now, “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s not you. I mean it is, but not like that. You’re--” Your rambling was interrupted by lips meeting your own. 

And there was nothing timid about it. 

You bumped noses briefly then readjusted with smiles that couldn’t be contained.

That first kiss was soft, but confident. It was in no rush, knowing it had all the time in the world. There was plenty of time later to dive deeper in exploration. The kiss was just there on the surface and yet the thrill still sent your toes curling. Delicate and slow, yet it demanded to be felt right then. It had waited far too long already. It was strong and wanting and unapologetic about it. 

You pulled back for a breath, being able to finish your sentence, “Beautiful.” 

He responded in that coveted sweet whisper, previously impossible, “And you even more. Mesh’la. Mesh’la.”

The second kiss followed, leaning more into its confidence, bound to immediately take your breath away. Your lips slotted together, his bottom lip between yours. The light pressure you put on it, taking it into your mouth just slightly, seemed to strike a chord with him. He gasped slightly and his hands flew to your hips. He pulled back from the kiss, returning and changing position so he could use that same bit of magic on you, capturing your lip in between his. It was no less intoxicating to you.

More kisses followed in quick succession, each exploring that much more, experimenting with tempo and weight and position. Sure you had all the time in the world, but why wait for it to come? 

You pulled back eventually, letting your foreheads rest against each other as you caught your breath, much in the same way as you might’ve in a keldabe kiss previously, but this new way of it occurring flesh to flesh sent goosebumps up your arms. Your hand meeting clanking metal when you brought it to his upper arm reminded you that there was more to be done, new ways to get closer. You slid your hand down to his as you pulled back from the embrace and deftly removed his glove, then the other, letting them fall to the ground next to the helmet. You kissed each scarred knuckle and he laughed lightly, murmuring,

“Tickles.”

Oh, the unmodulated laugh was better than you could’ve imagined. You laughed too, looking back up at him, “The fearsome Mandalorian is… Ticklish?” 

“Ne'johaa,” he responded playfully, leaning forward to nudge his nose against yours. Shut up, he had said. Another one of the few mando’a phrases in your vocabulary, funnily enough.  

“Now. I think you’re still wearing far too much beskar, riduur.” 

In an instant he had taken the helmet and gloves off of the ground and you had him back in the Crest. With every piece of beskar removed, you pressed a kiss to the spot through the much thinner cloth that’d been beneath it-- a reminder that there was more to explore later.

Forearm. Kiss.

Bicep. Kiss.

Chest. Kiss. Lingering and loving, sending shivers up his spine.

Hip. Kiss. Another ticklish spot. 

Thigh. Kiss. A groan from Din. You grinned.

You moved back up to press a quick kiss to his lips once again, your arms slipping around his waist as you tightly embraced him-- what was really him-- for the first time. He was ridiculously warm and you wondered if that was a normal occurrence or a result of the kisses and touches. You pressed your face into his chest, breathing in his scent: smoke from the marketplace and the light-smelling soap he used that morning. His arms found their home around your shoulders in turn, gripping onto you as though you might float away if he let go. He buried his face in your hair with a hum, pressing sporadic kisses as you stayed in each other’s arms for a moment. The unprecedented amount of touch was completely overwhelming in the best way. 

Being face to face was better than he could’ve dreamed. 

And he had. More than a few times. 

He couldn’t believe that he could do this. It felt almost wrong in a way, like there was no way he should ever get to feel like this. He let a tear or two slip as he breathed in the smell of your hair: like the strange, vaguely fruity shampoo you found at a market a couple of stops back and a hint of the woodsy smell of spending a day outside.

“Thank you, cyare,” he whispered eventually, sniffing a little.

“For what?

“For wanting this too,” he sighed, “I won’t disappoint you. You and that kid are going to have the best, happiest life. I promise.” You pulled back, looking into his eyes intently. You wanted him to hear every word clearly.

“We already do, Din. If we live in a house here on Dantooine or some mansion on Naboo or on this ship for the rest of our lives, it’s going to be the best, happiest life I could’ve asked for.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. Let’s go to bed while ade is asleep.” You suggested, mischievous smile reaching your eyes as he led you back to the cot by the hand, pressing feather light kisses to the inside of your wrist, a brand new sensation that thrilled you both. He smirked. You could see it now, clear as day across his face, but it would’ve been more than evident in his voice alone.

“Whatever you want, riduur,”

Being face to face was far better than he could’ve dreamed. 

permanent taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee​​ @marydjarin​​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​​ @miss-leto​​ @spacegayofficial​​ @winters-buck​​ @phoenixhalliwell​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @mrpascals​​ @aerynwrites​​ @jigglemiwa​​ @manda-not-lorian @dindjarindiaries​​ @pancakepike​​ @huliabitch​​ @sammiesweet​​ @randomness501​​

din taglist: @buckstaposition​ @dirty-dancefl00r5​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​

[tsarisfanfiction]

I think I drank too much - with ma boi John Tracy, Eye in the Sky?

(I hope you wrestle uni into submssion)

A Bad First Impression

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, John, Penelope

Brain is in default Scott mode (when is it not?), so more Scott than John, but it is John saying the line, so that counts, right?  Haven’t proof read this or anything, but alcohol+John gave me one idea straight away, so here we go!

4am so the other prompt currently sitting in my inbox will have to wait until post-sleep (and probably post-more uni work), but feel free to send more in!

(Uni is... not going down without a fight but I have got my lecturers on my side so it’s not quite as terrifying as it was the other day.  Still got a heck of a lot of work to do, but hopefully it’s survivable now.)

Lightheaded/Fainting Prompts (I know it says ‘starters’ but I figure as long as the line’s in there somewhere it counts).  Or honestly any other prompt games I’ve reblogged are fine, too, just make sure to tell me which one it’s from!)

Scott glowered down at his phone, where his message was stubbornly remaining as sent.  Ideally, he wanted a reply, but it had been five minutes and it still wasn’t even showing as read.

People were sending him disapproving looks, no doubt seeing a stranger with a backpack lurking outside a door and drawing their own conclusions the longer he remained slouched against the wall.  Apparently even in England, people didn’t take too kindly to loitering, and Scott would appreciate it if his brother would hurry up and let him in.

Maybe for some people, five minutes was too soon to be getting cranky, let alone worried, and any of his other brothers, in any other situation, Scott wouldn’t expect an instantaneous reply, but it was John, at midnight.  He should be wired into whatever technology he was playing and receiving messages instantly - especially as Scott should be expected.

The journey had been a long one, jet lag was hammering hard, and he just wanted to greet his brother, catch up for a bit, and then crash out on the couch.  It had been too long since he’d last seen him - why John had decided to go to college in England, Scott had no idea.

Seven minutes, and still no answer.  No little icon assuring him John had even seen it, even though John had known exactly what flight he was on and had been the one to tell Scott how long the taxi would take from the airport.  Scott had fully expected his younger brother to open the door just as the taxi pulled to a halt.

The fact that he was still standing outside, seven minutes later - and midnight in Oxford was not warm - had Scott one part annoyed to three parts worried.

The looks were getting dirtier.  He was surprised no-one had confronted him yet, and hoped that didn’t mean they’d decided against talking and skipped straight to calling the police.

“C’mon, John,” he muttered.  “What’s taking you so long?”

Looking up from his phone again - nine minutes - he caught sight of a pair staggering their way in his direction.  One was ginger, and he straightened, more than a little disbelieving when his younger brother staggered right past him without looking and pawed at the door ineffectually.

“Honestly, John,” the girl he was with - petite, blond, and in high heels that made Scott’s feet ache just to look at (his younger brothers didn’t know about his time in high heels and it was staying that way) - sighed, although the giggle that followed it ruined whatever gravitas she was trying to exude.

There were many things wrong with the sight, from John being not inside, to John looking like he’d been at a nightclub, to John apparently bringing a girl home, but the thoughts all temporarily abandoned his head as John swayed just a little bit more.

“I think I drank too much,” his brother commented, in that sort of detached fashion Scott recognised from his own nightclub experiences, and ignoring the girl, he lunged forward just in time to catch John as he crumpled.

This wasn’t the greeting he’d been expecting.

Nor was the stiletto kick to his chest, winding him and almost making him drop his brother.  It was fortunate his first instinct was always to hold on tighter, otherwise John would probably have just gained a concussion to go with the hell of a hangover he was going to be facing in a few hours.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the girl demanded, drawing herself up to her full height - and even in those dagger stilettos, still failing to reach Scott’s chin.  “Unhand him at once, or I’ll call the police.”

Scott was tired, grumpy, and had no patience for irritating girls trying to get in with his not interested younger brother.  He straightened, hefting John into his arms - he might be tall, but John had never been a challenge to lift on the rare occasion Scott had carried him - and made a show of looking down at the small female.

“And I suppose you were planning on carrying him inside?” he challenged, shifting John’s weight until he could slip two fingers into his pocket and extract his door key.

John always kept his key in the same pocket.  Scott was glad that hadn’t changed.

“And now you’re trespassing,” she huffed as he fumbled the door open.  “No-one invited you in.  Leave, before I call the police.”

“Actually, I was invited,” Scott snapped, stepping through the door.  “You, on the other hand, are not welcome.  Go home.”

He kicked the door shut with his heel, knowing Grandma - and probably John, in the morning - would be furious with him for leaving her outside by herself at midnight, but not finding it in himself to care right then.

The apartment wasn’t large, just a kitchen with a sofa and a door that Scott determined had to lead to the bedroom and en suite, which meant he heard the front door open again as he shouldered his way into the bedroom.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded.  Scott ignored her as he settled his brother on the bed - planets and stars embellishing the otherwise plain navy comforter.  “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Scott pulled his brother’s sneakers off and set them down on the floor, making a mental note to find where John kept his shoes and put them away properly before his occasionally-clumsy brother tripped over them later.

“Why are you in his apartment?” he asked, kicking off his own shoes and letting his backpack fall onto the floor before pulling himself up onto the bed.  John could sleep in his clothes just fine, but that coat and jumper had to come off before he overheated.

“Are you stripping him?” she shrieked.  “That’s it; I’m calling the police.”

...Okay, Scott could see why it might look bad if she didn’t know who he was.

“Look, miss,” he started.

“Your ladyship,” she interrupted.

“Uh, what?”

“It’s your ladyship,” she said.  “Not miss.  I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, and I insist you tell me who you are and why you’re manhandling my friend.”

“John has friends?”  John did intellectual peers, but he’d never cared for friends, mostly because he found it tiring when people couldn’t keep up with him - or tried to force him into socialising, which Scott was starting to suspect this girl, Lady, whatever, had done tonight.  His friends were computers.

“Of course he does, you pervert,” she snapped back.  “Now answer my questions, and if I don’t like the answers, I’m calling the police.”

“Perv-”  Scott interrupted himself with a sigh.  “I take it John didn’t bother to tell you I was coming to visit for the week?”

“Your name,” she insisted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Scott Tracy.  I’m his brother, so if you could stop the ridiculous accusations that would be great, thank you very much.”

“You don’t look related.”

Oh, for-

“You should see the rest of them.”  John shifted against his chest in a quickly-aborted attempt to sit up.  Scott tightened his grip.  “Scott, Lady P.  You won’t get rid of her.  Trust me.  Lady P., my big brother, Scott.  You won’t get rid of him.  Trust me.”

“John-”

“So stop arguing and let me sleep.  My head kills.  Penny, why did you let me drink so much?”

“I was curious what you’d be like drunk,” she answered, completely unapologetic.  “You didn’t tell me your brother was coming.”  She paused.  “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to get you earlier?”

“You’d have accused me of lying to get out of going,” John muttered.  “Sorry, Scott.  Thought I’d be back before you turned up.  Wasn’t expecting to drink so much...”  He trailed off with a yawn, and Scott helped him lie back down.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said - not strictly true, but as far as reunions went it was already terrible.  He had no intentions of worsening it with an argument.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll find you something for the hangover in the morning.”

John was asleep again before he’d finished talking, and with a fond smile, Scott slipped off the bed and pulled the covers loosely over him.

Then, he eyed the blonde in front of him.  John didn’t like socialising, and yet she’d dragged him out regardless - and apparently never took no for an answer.

Scott did not like the implications of that.

“We need to talk,” he said, quietly enough not to wake John, but seriously nonetheless.  Blue eyes flicked from him to John and then back again.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “I suppose we do.”

[kettle-on]

All right, here we go. My first Monty Python fanfic, and only my second attempt at writing fanfiction since 2005. Bear with me.

This one is Eric/Mike/OFC. I do hope you enjoy! Here’s Chapter 1 of I don’t know how many yet, and it’s a bit of a slow start.

Chapter 1/? January 1978 Heron Bay, Barbados

          As the taxi pulled away and he got his first deep inhale of ocean air, Michael Palin quickly discovered he’d made a very good choice indeed to join his friends and colleagues for a working holiday in Barbados.

          At first, the idea of travelling abroad just to continue working around a table on their typewriters had seemed mostly unnecessary and rather expensive. Together with Terry Jones, he believed they’d made – as usual – the sober and sensible choice to stay at home in England and finish the script for their next film there. Much more convenient and economical.

          Unfortunately (or, fortunately, in this case), their colleagues Eric Idle and John Cleese could boast enough enthusiasm to coax Terry’s curiosity, and bend even Michael’s righteousness. Now they found themselves outside an enormous coral stone villa, and surrounded by trees and grasses that reached up into the bluest blue sky that either of them had ever seen.

          An elaborate Victorian door creaked open, and from inside emerged a red-faced John, an especially golden Eric, and the rarely seen but often spoken-of Y/N, who Eric had now been seeing for many months and with whom he declared he fell instantly in love.

          “So you’ve come to join us at last, have you?” called John, striding toward them and lazily wrapping a warm drunken arm around Terry’s shoulders. “Did you really need quite so much convincing?”

          “I suppose I did, yes. Mike not so much,” Terry admitted, coolly slipping free of the Cleese grip. He surveyed the impressive stonework and columns in front of him, and slowly he, too, warmed to the idea of a working holiday in the sun.

          “How are you both?” Eric greeted them in an unusually relaxed tone. Clearly the combination of sunshine, warmth, and probably a good woman by his side had done wonders for him.

          “I hope the trip was awful,” he added.

          “Absolutely dreadful,” said Michael, “I’d packed all twelve of my favourite books, ready for the flight, and hardly got past a chapter before I conked right out and missed everything.”

          He could feel the jet lag slowly sinking in, but a warm laugh from Eric and Y/N kept Michael alert, and he gazed wide-eyed at his surroundings.

          “You’re looking well, Y/N,” he said, taking in her now familiar appearance.

          “It’s so good to see you, Mike,” she replied with a disarming smile, and tried to remember when they’d last seen each other in person. “That’ll be all this sunshine and fresh air, I think.”

          “Yeah, sunshine, eh? What a concept!” said Eric, “Christ, if I never see snow again, I’ll be a happy man for the rest of my life.”

          “I suppose it does have its charms,” Terry conceded, already very pleased that they’d decided to travel after all. “Come on John, show me where I can find whatever it is that’s got you like that.” 

          His and John’s voices followed them through the door and down a corridor, echoing off of the stone walls and floors as they headed to the nearest drinks trolley for a cocktail.

          “Ooh yes, that’s a good idea,” squeaked Eric. “Now come on, love, I’ll show you to your room.”

          “You’ll do what?” Mike exclaimed with pretend outrage, “You mean I’ve come all this way, to this big grand mansion which has seen the likes of Churchill himself, and I don’t even get to choose my own room?”

          “Well, I figured if I left it up to you, darling, you’d wanna kip with me, and we can’t be having that,” replied Eric in his favourite Mumsie voice. “Well, not just yet, anyway,” he quietly added with an exaggerated wink.

          Even on holiday, the lads of Monty Python took any opportunity to jump into character.

          “Oh Mike, you’ll just love it,” Y/N encouraged, herself adopting a strange and posh character of her own creation. “There’s a simply marvelous view of the road from your room. Truly inspiring!”

          Michael returned her phony sentiment with a squinty, full-cheeked smile and shifted his bag strap onto his shoulder before following Eric up the front steps and indoors. Y/N stayed behind, choosing to give the two old pals some time to catch up alone.

          “I still think we could finish the script much more quickly in London, but I see why this place is so enticing.” Michael conceded to Eric, who had returned to the soft and kindred version of himself that Michael knew very well, but only ever when they were alone. In a crowd, Eric was loud and gregarious, with endless jokes and witticisms to keep his company rolling with laughter. But there was a side of him, reserved for only his closest confidantes, that was quiet, thoughtful, and romantic. Here was the man behind the madness.

          “Pretty special, eh? I told you you’d have to see it for yourself.” Eric smiled. “I dunno if it’s the walls, or the porticos, or something about the way the breezes sweep the sun in through the windows… I think this must be what being a god feels like, y’know? Do whatever you please, driven by nature and desire, with absolutely no thought as to the consequences. Brilliant.”

          “That’ll be the Jagger effect, then,” said Michael, hinting at his friend’s rockstar associations.

          “The what?”

          Michael looked at him with all-knowing raised eyebrows.

          “Do you – do you know?” Eric questioned with hushed concern. Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones had asked Eric’s help in hiding him and model Jerry Hall somewhere beautiful and discreet, out of view of the press and public. Jerry was the girlfriend of singer Bryan Ferry, and in a very rock ‘n roll fashion, they had met up, gotten cozy, and ran off together. They were staying nearby in a fairly glamorous hut, and Eric and Y/N had already been enjoying villa visits and beach terrace dinners with the scandalous couple for a few weeks.

          “Of course I know. You bloody well told me, you silly fool!” Michael tutted, and recalled a phone conversation he’d had with a fairly drunken Eric a fortnight earlier:

          “‘Come on, Mikey,’ you said, ‘you’ll love it down here. Mick’s here with Bryan Ferry’s girlfriend, and we’ve all got our tits out!’”

          “Blimey. Trust me, eh?”

          “Never mind, Eric. Your secret’s safe with me,” Michael assured him with a sturdy pat on his shoulder before turning into what he decided would be his room for the length of his stay.

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

*SHORT SERIES

Part 1: Church (smut)

Member: pilot juyeon without the strikeout :D

Genre: holy water smut idk pls send help

“I'll make you feel like never before”

“so what did happen after you got back to your place with your secret admirer?” sunwoo side-eyed you, trying his best not to completely turn his attention from the road to you. 

hyunjun was leaning forwards and sticking his head between you and sunwoo, arms resting on the top of the seats. 

“uh,” you fumble through your bag, pretending to make sure all the necessary items you needed were in it. “nothing... much.”

there was absolutely no way you could’ve told sunwoo or hyunjun what you were like when you were drunk and in the mood to play games with a stranger. 

it didn’t matter if you’ve been friends for so long; you knew they wouldn’t shut up about it once they knew. 

“‘nothing much’?” hyunjun scoffs, noticing the flush that was appearing on your cheeks. “what, did you two sit around and watch a movie while you retched? because i’m pretty sure you had a truckload of vodka.”

sunwoo snorted and pressed his foot against the accelerator when the green light appeared. 

“we just... hooked up, that’s all.”

hyunjun raises a skeptical brow at you, squinting his eyes as you struggle not to look at him. “hooked up or hooked up and smashed?”

“why does it even matte-- shouldn’t you be strapped to your seat?” you turn around and start whacking him on his head. “sunwoo literally just learnt how to drive. how are you so calm with sitting in his car without a seat belt?”

sunwoo opened his mouth in exaggerated shock, quickly glancing at you while you were shoving hyun jun back into the back seat by his head. “hey! i could’ve declined your request to drive you to the airport!”

“my request? you were the one who said you’d drive me without even giving me an option,” you turn back to face the front, glaring at him while you said it. 

“‘you were the one who said you’d drive m--’ ow!” he winced when you punch him in the arm. 

the scent of the airport wafts through your nose the way waffles would smell to anybody else. travelling has always been something you enjoyed, and now that you were finally going overseas for a job opportunity, it made the wait and the effort all the more worthwhile. 

hyunjun helps pull your luggage and sunwoo becomes your mobile clothes hanger while he carries your coat and you triple check to make sure you’ve got everything you need for the next year in new york. 

you reach the departure hall, and the familiar sight of the immigration officers at the gantry checking the passports of other passengers was so comforting. but you turn around, only to see hyunjun giving you a little pout and sunwoo looking away, trying not to become emotional. 

“i’ll be back in a flash,” you whisper, pulling hyunjun into a tight hug. the ankle boots you were wearing boosts you up about two inches, so you were able to wrap your arms around his neck without much effort. 

“call us when you touchdown, okay? no matter the time,” he instructs, pulling you away from him and ruffling your hair. you nod and give him a bro-fist, turning to sunwoo, the man who has an ego the size of a horse. 

“aw, come on~ don’t cry...” you tease loudly, grabbing his arm and shaking it like you were trying to wake him up.

“ah, ah, okay, okay, stop it,” he waves his hand infront of you before raising his arm. you shove yourself into his chest and tighten your wrap around his torso. “don’t come back with a baby, please.”

“i’m there for work, not to fuck around,” you snort and remove yourself from his warmth. he hands you your coat and you wrap your fingers around the hard plastic handle of your big, bulky luggage. passport in hand and constantly looking your shoulder back at them, you let the immigration officer check your identification in your passport and he lets you through. 

“bye!” you mouth to the two of them once you were in the hall, aggressively waving while they try to wave you off. you give them one last smile and turn, dragging your heavy luggage behind you while you walked to the designated gated. 

you look out the glass windows on the other side of the departure hall and the lights from all the planes outside looked like stars hanging too low from the night sky. the airport was one of your favourite places to be because there was never a moment this place was asleep. there was always a flight somewhere, and there were always people waiting around. 

just knowing that mankind had come so far to let ourselves travel the world to the most magnificent views of the world was just so endearing to believe. 

it was a little difficult to believe you were going to new york yourself, to be part of a production company that you’ve been working so hard and long for. 

you were about to shove your earpieces into your ear canals when your train of self-reflection broke off due to a conversation you overheard.

but it wasn’t the content of what they were talking about. 

it was someone’s voice. 

you look up, only to see a group of air stewards and stewardesses dragging their small luggage behind them, all fit in their uniforms. 

then you eyes catch sight of the lone pilot amongst them. 

you would’ve tripped over something if you didn’t abruptly stop in your tracks. 

“ah, he’s here already?” 

“yeah, he said he was sending off a family member here anyway.”

you could feel your throat drying up like the sahara desert as they walk past you, a safe distance away. 

it was him.

the stranger who...

you deemed a worthy opponent...

in bed. 

he’s a pilot?!

you suck in a deep breath and proceed to stick your earpiece into your ears, trying to mount your attention to your phone and your music of choice while you awkwardly trail behind the group of them. 

but you couldn’t handle walking behind them like this, not when you just had a one-night stand with the pilot. what were the odds of even running into him for the second time in less than 24 hours?

you break away from your path and head for the nearest cafe, grabbing yourself a cup of coffee to keep you awake on first few hours of the flight.

that was what sunwoo told you to do anyway, to help you adjust to the time difference and prevent jet-lag. 

you find yourself seated in the lounge meant for the business class ticket holders, and there weren’t many passengers around. most of them were in suits and blazers, not to mention caucasian. it made you feel a little out of place, your white turtle neck and jeans with the coat draped over your forearm made you look like you were going on a holiday. 

the coffee finishes in your stomach, and the book you were reading becomes a little boring when the idea of going to new york was becoming nothing short of reality. you tilt your chin to the ceiling and let your neck ache from the constant looking down, and your attention naturally gravitates to the movement in the lounge. 

a stewardess had just come out from one of the lounge rooms to talk to the officer manning the gate for the business class, and you realise she was one of the stewardesses in the group you saw before. 

you frown to yourself, shaking the ignorant, unrealistic thoughts out of your head as you try to continue your book. 

but the coffee rushes through your digestive system a little too quickly and you pull out the earpiece, grabbing all your belongings and searching for an empty private room where you could leave your things before running off to look for a bathroom. 

the hallways look a little like hotel rooms and the smell of diffused aromas were slowly getting to you. you turn around the corner, eyes digging into the words of your book with your hands full. 

you step on someone’s shoe, and your left shoulder rams into someone’s arm, the impact causing you to drop the book on the floor. 

“oh, sorry! my apologies, miss.” 

you took a step back, feeling a little sorry about being so engrossed in your book. “oh, crap-- no, i wasn’t--”

your entire body turns to stone as you immediately register the face in front of you. the book was held out to you, your hands balled into tight fists and you could feel all the blood rush from all over your body to your face. 

it takes him a second to realise who he’s bumped into, and a look of pleasant surprise pulls a smile across his lips. 

what the hell is he doing in here?

“are... you here for a flight?” the book was still held out for you, and he raises a brow in curiosity. you swallow in attempt to dampen your dry, hoarse throat at the sight of him. he was in the pilot’s uniform: navy blue blazer, tie and white dress shirt. all he was missing was the cap.

“are you alright?” 

his small laughter pulls you away from your thoughts, and you realise you had been scanning him from head to toe. he traps the book between the side of his chest and elbow, eyes never leaving yours. he reaches out to your passport that was messily stuck in the pocket of your coat, careful not to fold or tear any of the small documents stuck in its pages. 

he flips it open and his eyes widen ever so slightly when he checks your boarding pass, and he looks up through his lashes at you with a look of satisfaction plastered on his face.

oh, no.

“nice to know that i’ll be your captain for the next 16 hours or so,” he neatly stacks your ticket and boarding pass back into your passport, gently placing it back into the pocket where he took it from. “well, the flight’s about 14 and a half hours so, give and take.”

it was so difficult to believe that the man who completely ruined you last night, and beat you at your own game, was standing right in front of you. nicely fitted into a professional uniform, and you were going to be on the same flight as him for the next 16 hours?!

he removes the book from under his arm and waves it next to his head, already used to you standing there like a statue for the last few minutes or so. 

“do you still want this book? or am i going to need to keep it until you’re done being an iceberg?”

your mind yanks you back to the previous night, when he asked you different questions in the exact same tone. 

“can i have their permission to bring you elsewhere? or are they responsible for sending you home safely?”

“you don’t happen to still be thinking about last night, are you?” your vision comes back into focus and the smaller gap between the two of you was now apparent. your pupils flit around him, noticing that there was nobody down the hall, because everybody was in the waiting area, too busy working on their laptops and ipads to even think of coming to the private rooms.

the hell does he mean ‘still’? how does one forget such a night so easily?

“judging by the lack of vocabulary you have right now, i guess you are.”

you blink in embarrassment, gulping and looking away in hopes that the dimmer lighting the hallway had to offer was going to mask your reddening, burning face. 

he straightens himself, hand still holding onto your book. 

this could not get any worse.

“well,” your urge to pee has long gone, and you were already turning on your heels to back away from him. “i’m gonna go and--”

“whoa, whoa, wait,” he grabs you by the arm, and he gently tugs you back towards him. “so, are you?”

his face was so disgustingly innocent, you wish you had your book to whack him across his face.

but that wasn’t you, that was you when you’re drunk. 

it was difficult to come to terms with how different you were with a little alcohol confidence, but you’ve learnt to live with it once you realised you were your own champion.

that is, until this guy came along.

“you’re awfully quiet right now, don’t you think?” he looks up above you where a digital clock was hung. watching only his eyes shift but his entire body doesn’t sends a dangerous signal to your head. “especially with whatever you were saying last night.”

your heart was about to rip itself out of its cage and you purse your lips, trying to writhe out of his grip. but his hold reminds you of him yanking you to the edge of your bed by the ankles, and you mentally berate yourself for even thinking about it in this moment. 

he holds the book with only his thumb and index finger, the rest of his hands looking for the handle of the nearest private room and pushing it open. 

your eyes widen when the realisation hits you in the gut, and before you knew it, the door swings shut behind your luggage. he locks the door and pries your fingers off the luggage handle. pushing it into the corner of the room by the sofa, he places the book down on the cushion with caution. 

“if it makes you feel any better,” 

his large strides make it easy for him to reach your feet in just a few steps. you grit your teeth and feel your rear hit the small dressing table in the room. the lights lining the mirror were the only source of illumination, and since it was coming from behind you, it did nothing but highlight all his features. he cages you with both his hands gripping onto the edge of the table, and your constant shifting back into the furniture pushes it further into the wall as if it wasn’t already placed against it. 

“i can’t stop thinking about it either.”

his leans forward and presses his lips into yours, the taste of him dangerously intoxicating. your eyes flutter shut, the kiss sends chills down your spine and into your fingertips.

the previous night, you could taste the alcohol he had been drinking, not to mention the vodka that you were mercilessly pouring down your own throat.

but now all you were tasting was the fresh mint of what smelled like toothpaste. 

his hands travel up to your waist and he hoists you upwards, high enough for him to place you on the table. he pushes your legs open by your knees before resting his palms on your thighs. 

the surface of the table wasn’t very wide, so it was easy for you to feel the material of his blazer brushing across your inner thighs. your hands were gripping onto his forearms, his warm hands pressing on the material of your pants while you enjoy the taste of mint lingering on his tongue. 

he breaks the kiss and huffs, licking his lips and offering you a laugh through a smirk. “you really took me by surprise when you didn’t say anything outside,” he grabs your hands and rest them on his belt, the bold move struggles to anchor itself into your logic. “for a moment, i thought you were a twin sister or something.”

he dips his nose into your neck and to your ‘unfortunate’ dismay, he remembers your sweet spot. your eyes seal shut and a gasp gets sucked down your throat, but the sound was so sharp and apparent, even you felt awkward.

his palm flies up to your face and covers your mouth, turning your head so you were looking at him dead in the eye.

“there are no cameras but this room isn’t soundproof.”

his voice was so lustfully low, you hated how needy you were getting, even in the fucking airport.

“so do me a favour and try not to make a sound.”

his hand slowly leaves your lips and your blood starts to rush south when he starts fiddling with the button on your pants. 

burying his lips between yours again, your fingers instinctively start to undo his belt, the cold metal sending little shocks through your hands. 

he aggressively pulls your pants off from under you, and he pulls it over your boots so that they were now on the floor in a crumpled mess.

the amber lighting of the room paired with the diffused scent of wormwood was only alleviating every sense in you. goosebumps erupt all over your legs upon the contact with the cool air. 

you undo the button on his pants and the zipper slips down easily with the growing bulge under his boxers. he pulls away and snakes his left arm around your waist in attempt you pull you nearer to him, and your hands push down the material of his underwear to free his length. you attach your eyes to his as your hands now pressed flat against the back of his neck, begging him to kiss you again. 

he complies, tasting the remnants of the coffee you previously drank. you feel his fingers push your underwear aside and your wetness gets exposed to the cold air, sending shivers up through your gut. 

he breaks the kiss for a moment to wrap your legs around his waist and over his long blazer. lining himself with your entrance, he lets you swallow him inch by inch. 

a strained moan slips out through your lips, and he decides to tame it by wrapping his fingers around your throat. he doesn’t apply much pressure, but you know it’s a reminder for what he told you before. 

his lips find your sweet spot on your neck again as he picks up the pace. every thrust was so well controlled that the table doesn’t ram itself against the wall. the only sounds that were audible were the soft grunts in the back of his throat and the light mewls that were spilling out your mouth. 

your hands grip onto the edge of the table, and you feel them start to whiten with the strength you were investing. his pelvic bone begins hitting your sensitive nub, and you harshly bite on your bottom lip to prevent any lewd sounds from spewing out. 

the wrap on your neck starts to tighten against your skin, and for a moment you felt as high as you did last night. 

this man was making you feel drunk even when you were not.

the heavy breaths that were escaping through his lips were landing on your neck where his fingers didn’t cover, and he starts hitting you in places inside your core that you didn’t feel before. 

you could tell he was worried he was choking you, for his grip loosened and the palm of his free hand flattens itself against the curvature of your hip. 

continuous thrusts and bucks of his hips against yours was producing a heat that was beginning to fog up the mirror behind you. you could feel your fingertips getting numb from holding onto the edge of the table so violently, and the tingling sensation in your heat comes back in less than 24 hours. 

“oh, shit--” the words were hoarse and comes out almost like a whisper, your eyes rolling so far back into your head your vision flashed white. 

he provides you a few more thrusts to let you reach your high, his lips finding yours just before you could let your orgasm expose itself through your lips. 

without breaking the kiss, you feel him empty your entrance and he shoots his load onto your legs like the previous night. 

the kisses were sloppy and slightly exhausted, your chests were heaving up and down with ecstacy and satisfaction, but it doesn’t last very long when he pulls away and your eyes begin to focus on the blazer he still had on.

the uniform he had on while he was fucking you in a private room of a business lounge in the airport. 

he gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down under his skin on his throat, and you lean your head back towards the mirror. he pulls out a drawer next to your legs (that were now dangling limply) at the edge by the table, and he finds an elegant, silver box with little napkins in them. 

the airport logo was printed on it, and you couldn’t help but marvel at yourself and how huge of a whore he’s made you. 

without a word, he cleans you before he cleaned himself, and within minutes that you felt like seconds, he was already patting down the creases of his pants and blazer. looking at the mirror behind you, he fixes his hair and straightens his tie, eyes travelling to you, who you know looked utterly ruined, even without seeing yourself in the mirror. 

a smirk appears on his lips, but it suddenly -- abruptly -- turns into a service smile. 

his ability to switch back and forth was nothing less than demonic.

“later when you reach the gate, tell her you know the captain.”

you scoff, wearily rolling your head against the mirror and shaking it against the ceiling.

“and how the hell will she know i’m not just messing with her?” you eye him with tired eyes, watching him gently tug on his collar around his neck. 

“because i know yours now, y/n.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3: No Mercy

A/N: DRINKING MORE HOLY WATER

[alexiessan]

Never alone - Chapter Twenty - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Marinette was a bit sad when they had to go back to Paris. They had only three days of Holiday left, and it was better for them to have a day or two to get rid of the jet lag.

She had been so happy to meet Damian’s family as a whole and relieved that she got along with them. She was also sad that she had to say goodbye to Titus, she has grown attached to the big dog.

They were, however, very happy to see Cloud again as they picked her up from Claude’s house. The fashion designer laughed as the puppy ran to them and Damian picked her up in a hug, forgetting about everyone else.

“Thank you so much for watching over her, Claude. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience to your family,” she said with a smile as she rummaged in her bag.

Claude waved her off. “Of course not! She was lovely and got my family wrapped around her… paw,” he laughed, “we’re sad to see her go honestly. We wouldn’t mind keeping her a little longer.”

“Absolutely not,” declared Damian, his voice muffled as his face was burrowed into Cloud’s white, fluffy fur.

Marinette smiled and patted Damian’s back fondly. She handed Claude a few bills but he waved his hand in front of him.

“No way I’m accepting money from you guys!”

The Eurasian girl frowned. “Why not? Your family already fosters a lot of animals and you had to take care of Cloud too. We’re not letting do that for free,” she said as she forced the money into his hand. “I also have a box from the bakery as thank yous. And before you start arguing, I’m happy to give them to you. You and your family really helped us here.”

Claude accepted the box reluctantly and smiled at her eventually.

“Thank you, you’re as sweet as these pastries, you know?”

Marinette shoved him playfully, a smile on her lips.

“Well, we won’t bother you any longer. Plus, I think Cloud and Damian need some time alone,” she winked playfully, “we’ll see you on Monday!”

Claude waved at them. “Yeah, see ya!”

As they walked away, the blue-eyed girl took the puppy from Damian’s arms.

“Come on, let me have my dose of Cloud,” she grinned and hugged the dog tightly.

They went to a nearby park, where they finally let the dog on the ground and watched as she spent all her energy running around.

“Are we still meeting with Chat Noir tomorrow night?” asked Damian.

Marinette nodded, taking his hand in hers absently and rubbing circle with her thumb. “Yeah, we have to talk about our progress,” she sighed at the look the threw her, “yeah, I know, there isn’t a lot of progress, so we need to talk about what we’re going to do now.”

She put her head on his shoulder and smiled as she felt him kiss the crown of her head.

“I can’t wait for it to be over. I think I’m going to have a good, long cry when it’s finally over.”

“Can’t blame you, I bet you have a lot of buried feelings,” he breathed as he put his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to him.

She scoffed. “You have no idea.”

They fell silent for a second, watching as Cloud tired herself out and came back to them, falling at their feet.

“Speaking of which,” she started again suddenly, “we’ll need to watch out for Alya and Nino.”

She didn’t see it, but she could guess his frown in his voice. “Why?”

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you?”

He smirked at her. “Tell me what, exactly?”

She groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!” she took a deep breath, “Nino told me and Kim, before I came to Gotham, that he found his soulmate.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. And he decided to wait until school starts again to tell her. So it could give him time to figure out how to tell her,” she mumbled, “so either of them could get akumatized.”

“I can easily understand why he needed so much time to figure out a way to tell her. There is no way to know how that harpy is going to react.”

She audibly gasped. “Damian!”

“What?” he shrugged, “that girl always reacts first and thinks later, and it always makes people very cautious when they have something sensitive to tell her.”

Marinette pursed her lips. It was true that Alya had a tendency to react violently sometimes.

Okay, a lot of time, but still.

“That’s just how she is,” she said in a small voice, trying to defend her friends.

Damian kissed her forehead. “I know. I’m not a fan of the girl, but she’s still a good friend to you. But I can already see how she’s going to hog all your time, now.”

The dark-haired girl let out a startled laugh. “So that’s what it’s all about! You’re jealous that I might spend more time with her.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, hiding his face between her neck and shoulder.

She smiled fondly, stroking his hair lovingly. “You don’t have to worry. Alya ditched me a lot of time to spend time with Nino, so she should understand that I want to spend time with my boyfriend as well.”

“She better.”

She laughed, her arms circling around his torso and bringing him closer to her. “Now, hold me tighter, I’m cold!”

He complied immediately.

Ladybug watched over Paris, City of lights. It was something she both loved and hated about this City. It was so bright during the night, offering a really nice view from the rooftops, but when you looked up to the night sky, you couldn’t see the stars. She could see some, like the three belt stars of Orion, but it wasn’t as beautiful as it was in the countryside.

Chat Noir wasn’t here yet. He was ten minutes late, actually, and she could feel Robin getting restless next to her. Nightwing had taken his notebook out, reviewing his notes, a frown on his face.

The red-clothed heroine checked her yoyo to see if there was any message from Chat Noir and was about to call him when she heard the familiar sound of his baton on the roof.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he apologized, sounding breathless, probably because he ran as fast as he could to get here. “I couldn’t get away from my father.”

Ladybug frowned. She didn’t know a lot of things about her partner’s life — what with secret identities and all that jazz — but he mentioned his father a few times, and from the few bits she got, the man seemed very controlling of his son.

Nightwing waved him off. “No worries there, but we should get started, you kids have school tomorrow, yeah?”

He looked sheepish at the look the three other heroes — or vigilante, in Robin’s case — threw at him.

The older man cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s get started.”

They all sat in a circle on the roof and Nightwing put his notebook in the middle, allowing the others to see his notes.

“So, we still don’t have a lead on who Hawkmoth could be. We tried interrogating former victims of akumas but no one could remember anything from their akumatization, so we didn’t get anything out of that.”

He crossed out the idea on the page.

“Then,” he continued, “we tried following the butterflies after they got purified, to see if they went back to their Miraculous, but they just disappear somewhere in the city. So, that’s out too.”

He paused then, looking at each of them.

“Now, there is something I’ve done recently that I haven’t told you yet.”

He took a tablet out of a bag next to him and played a video.

“That’s the day of the first Akuma,” Chat Noir mused as he watched Hawkmoth’s face, made of akumas, making his evil speech.

“Yeah. We got an idea of his face, but the mask is taking 90% of his face and it’s made of butterflies, so we can’t run a facial recognition. And we don’t have images of him when he appeared on Heroes’ Day since the journalist covering the event was among all the people akumatized that day.”

He paused, and Ladybug had a feeling that he was doing that on purpose, just to be dramatic.

“But,” he exclaimed, giving her reason, “what we do have on this video, is his voice.”

She gasped. “You analyzed it!”

Nightwing nodded, and continued after her, “and I ran it into the computer so it could compare it with voices from security cameras that Red Robin hacked, and from television and radio apparitions.”

Ladybug couldn’t contain her joy even when Robin’s hand on her knee — it couldn’t stop moving in her excitement — tried to keep her from getting too excited. “So do you have a result?!”

Nightwing sighed. “Now, that’s where it gets a bit more complicated. I have more than a thousand results.”

Ladybug visibly deflated at that, and she could see Chat Noir deflating too. “Oh.”

The older man smiled at her and put a hand on her shoulder, lightly squeezing it. “But that’s not bad news! All we have to do now is make a profile on Hawkmoth, and compare his voice with the people we think and compare the voice again with those persons.”

Chat Noir looked at them, frowning. “Can’t we run an analysis again on the thousand or so people?”

Robin shook his head. “The software is not perfect yet. It’s already a good thing it gave us only a thousand results.”

Nightwing nodded, a pen in his hand that she hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah, I was actually pleasantly surprised. Now, I need to know a few things. The butterflies that akumatize people. Are they real butterflies or do they come with the Miraculous?”

“Tikki told me that it could be both. The Butterfly Miraculous can create them, but it takes a lot of time. If the holder doesn’t want to spend his energy in creating them, he can corrupt real butterflies.”

Robin hummed next to her. “With the number of Akumas we have to fight, I’m willing to bet that he does both. What if the type of butterfly had an influence in the Akuma’s power and strength?”

Chat Noir frowned. “What? you think that the victims akumatized by butterflies coming from the Miraculous are more powerful than those akumatized by a corrupted butterfly?”

Robin smirked. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened. She had never thought of that before. And that would explain why the Akumas were more powerful than before. Hawkmoth has decided to take the time to create some of his own.

“But where would he find butterflies?”

Nightwing showed her his tablet, where she could see a web page with several results of butterflies breeding in the countryside not too far from Paris.

Ladybug frowned at that and passed the tablet to her partner so he could see it. “Either he owns one of them or has actions in it.”

Robin nodded. “That means that Hawkmoth is a man with a lot of money.”

Nightwing beamed at that. “Yeah, so it cuts a lot of people out of our list. See? We’re getting somewhere! So he’s a rich guy, but what’s his motive?”

“To make a wish, obviously,” answered Chat Noir.

“But why does he want to make a wish? Why does one want to alter reality?” Nightwing asked, looking at each of them pointedly.

The cat-themed hero scoffed, “Because he’s an evil bastard?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Except that. There must be a personal reason. For example, if you could make a wish, what would you do it for?” he asked, looking at everyone.

“I would do it if someone I loved died, I guess. I would want to bring them back, to see them again,” Ladybug whispered.

“Yeah, that would be a reason for me too,” breathed Chat Noir, arms crossed against his torso, looking deep in his thoughts.

“That would be the only reason I would be willing to take the risk of a wish too,” said Nightwing, noting something down in his notebook.

“And that’s the same for me,” he said, looking at Ladybug. “So we should look out for rich people who lost someone dear to them. A child, a spouse, a parent, a sibling… And in the last five years or so.”

As Nightwing noted everything down, Robin’s hand found its way in her hair and slightly tugged at it, getting her attention. “Didn’t you suspect Gabriel Agreste, once?”

Ladybug nodded, but Chat Noir was quicker to react. “But it’s not him!” he exclaimed, looking almost panicked, “he got akumatized a few years ago!”

The oldest among them hummed. “Yeah, but we don’t know the extent of his power. It’s possible he akumatized himself on purpose if he thought you guys were closing on him.”

Ladybug agreed with him. “He lost his wife a few years ago. He’s rich. He meets all the requirements.”

Suddenly, Chat Noir stood up, startling her. “No!” he yelled loudly, “Ladybug, we’ve already written him off. It’s not him.”

And without another word, Chat Noir left.

It’s Robin’s oldest brother comment that broke the silence.

“He sure does feel strongly about Gabriel Agreste. Giving that the man is a recluse and only interacts with two people in his life…” Nightwing said, staring at Ladybug, as if trying to communicate something with her.

Oh.

Chat Noir was Gabriel Agreste’s son.

Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste.

“Well, it’s gotten even more complicated now,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hands.

Robin’s hand stroking her back was comforting.

“I’ll search for anything related to a butterfly breeding and run a comparison between Hawkmoth’s voice and Gabriel’s tomorrow. If it’s him, we’ll need a plan of action next, but we’ll see that once it’s confirmed.”

Nightwing then looked at her, taking her hand in his in a comfort that was so brotherly that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Tell me,” he started, “if Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Adrien has a confirmation of it, what will he do?”

She would like to tell him that Chat Noir would help them. That he would fight Hawkmoth with them.

But then, she thought of times Adrien spoke of his mother. His love for her was obvious, and he had hope that she would reappear one day, since he didn’t know anything about her disappearance.

Ladybug sighed, shaking slightly and leaned on Robin’s side, in a side hug.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

Tag List:

@bigpicklebananatree​ @animegirlweeb​ @crazylittlemunchkin​ @northernbluetongue​ @cutechip​ @justafanwarrior​ @iloontjeboontje​ @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood​ @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff​ @toodaloo-kangaroo​ @mikantsume​ @dast218​ @amayakans​ @zestyzealot​ @lunarwolfspn​ @corabeth11​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @olynix​ @aestheticnpoetic​ @hot-neighbour-nextdoor​ @thehufflepuffranger-blog​ @k-poplunardreams​ @tis-i-beanbandit​ @bluesimani​ @laurcad123​

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!) 

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts,  Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject. 

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit. 

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all). 

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it. 

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him. 

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway. 

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at? 

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio. 

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

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier). 

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke. 

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt. 

“How was class?” 

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.” 

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal. 

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?” 

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes? 

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet. 

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction. 

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

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes. 

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him. 

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic. 

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think). 

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does. 

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad. 

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though. 

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.

[ill-skillsgard]

Bred For Blood - Part 16 - Eye in the Sky

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *this part contains death, blood/injuries, drug use, mentions of sexual manipulation*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description:  A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: Over the months and months I’ve developed this story, a lot of it has changed. I’ve adhered to the same general storyline I originally came up with, but it’s taken on a different life. I’m realizing I fall under the “discovery writer” category more than ever. So, thank you for taking this fun journey with me as it unfolds! I appreciate all the comments and kind words <3 Let me know your thoughts as we travel toward the end of this funky little series I started forever ago.  

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Axel gaped at his wounded palm. An uneven split forced his middle and ring finger apart at a nauseating angle. The longer he stared, the more his arms trembled from the sight of his bisected tendons. Blood cascaded down his arm in swaths, more blood than he had ever spilled, collecting in sandy globs. In his horror, he almost forgot about the man bemoaning his death several feet away. Axel tried clenching a fist, but blistering agony shot through his wrist and forearm, crackling along severed nerves and stiffening his stained fingers. Disotto had been right; he’d never use his trigger-finger again.

Acid boiled in Axel’s stomach, a mixture of anger and dread. He turned to Rex writhing on the ground, assessing his wound crusted with sand and coagulating plasma. The hunter keened over Rex’s worse condition. Again, the Zeronauts failed to kill him, though his vision grew cloudy. Axel found his knife and shifted his weight off the side of the Rover, toward the man whispering prayers through bubbles of blood. When Rex caught wind of Axel’s approach, the man cowered, shielding his face with his tarry hands.

“I’m only following orders,” the slashed man shouted. “Please! If you’re gonna kill me, just do it.”

“No, I won’t put you out of your misery. I want your death to be slow and painful. Like how you left Glott back there,” said Axel.

The hunter shimmied closer, flipping his knife in his right hand to carve off an unstained strip of Rex’s cotton jersey shirt. Rex quivered as Axel wrapped the cloth around his left hand tightly. The blue material blossomed with blood, turning a deathly shade of indigo in seconds. He went for another swath of the man’s clothing, ripping the sleeve off to fold over the hole in his hand. Axel glimpsed the open wound in Rex’s side, then looked up at his wild eyes, shifting around in their sockets like a dying animal searching for an escape.

“Tell me about this Dal guy you and your buddies were talking about. Is he your leader or something? He calls the shots?” Axel asked.

Rex spat a gob of blood, laughing as it rolled down his whiskered chin. “What do you think?”

Axel held the knife under Rex’s nose. “I think you’ll die with a few more nasty cuts on your body if you don’t tell me where I can find your leader. I’ll carve you like a turkey, my man.”

“That’s the thing about us... We don’t have leaders, just as the Unity intended. There are Brights, and there’s Uns, and it’s us against them. You kill one of us, and there’s a hundred more to take our place,” Rex claimed.

“No. It’s not you against them; It’s you against the planet. The Brights are the ones saving your sorry asses. You anarchists can’t seem to understand that we need them.”

Rex’s stone-grey eyes fluttered as he took in a trembling breath. “Why do you fucking care? The Unity wanted you dead, too.”

Axel looked down at his fake teardrop. If he hadn’t been fighting in the war, would they have considered him for immunization? It was a question Axel asked himself a thousand times, and the answer was always negative. He should have died in the storms, but he hadn’t. The spores didn’t reach the ocean, and therefore, never had the chance to infect him or the small crew of abandoned soldiers sailing home.

Axel grimaced at his stained forearm. “That doesn’t mean I want to kill every brightblood I find.”

“No. But you’ll use them to protect yourself. Just like we do,” Rex said with a sticky smile.

“Fuck you. Your little band of outlaws is exactly the people they tried to eradicate. People who only see others as slaves.”

“The Brightlings you care so much about are bred for blood. Blood that we need to survive—that you need to survive. The Unity branded them like cattle for easy picking.”

Axel rose to his knees, wincing from the slash above his ankle. “That’s the thinking that’s getting you and all your merry men killed. Rapists, slave-drivers, murderers... There's no room for you on this planet.”

“What does that make you, Mister Zee?”

“Yeah, I’m a killer. And I’ll die a killer if it means getting rid of scum like you,” Axel said, spitting on Rex’s dirtied face.

A low chuckle rumbled in Rex’s esophagus, tapering off as he shut his eyes, limbs turning limp where he lay sprawled over the sand.

Axel sat for a moment to catch his breath, then crawled from body to body, checking their pockets and patting down stiff torsos for anything useful. He found a few rounds of ammunition, a half-full pack of cigarettes, a glass pipe with a burnt and bulbous end, another butane lighter, a folded piece of paper bearing his likeness and several uncut rubies. He tossed the crack pipe and kept the rest, stuffing it all into his pockets with his left arm pressed to his side.

A dry wind swept in from the South, the direction he needed to go if he could only haul himself to a stand. He sat slumped over, unlacing his boot to get a better look at his wounded ankle. The cut was deep and gushing still. He bandaged his ankle in the same way he had his hand—with the jersey cotton stripped from Rex’s shirt. After winding the dressing around his foot, it was too bulky to stuff back into his boot, so he left it behind as he crawled toward the duffle bag of papers from Glott’s lab. He emptied his pockets into the bag, then grabbed his rifle. A grisly piece of meat from the other Zeronaut’s face still clung to the butt where Axel had cracked his mouth apart. Though he couldn’t shoot acid, the weapon doubled as a club if he encountered more bounty hunters.

Stretching his right arm behind his back, he found the mushrooms he’d tucked in his pocket. In the bright afternoon light, the brown fibres glistened, white spots speckling the meaty caps atop long, feathery stems. Axel licked his lips but refrained from ingesting the mysterious fungus he found growing inside Glott’s supply closet. The last thing he needed was to poison himself. He was already sure he would die in the desert, if not from blood-loss, then from dehydration. The mushrooms were a last resort. He pocketed them again.

Axel assessed his itinerary. Although he’d sustained severe mutilation and a punctured ankle, he came away with another gun, more cigarettes and a few hundred thousand dollars' worth of stones. Axel saw no use for the rubies, but some people still valued objects more than human blood, so he kept them. It seemed unlikely he’d cross anyone who only wanted to trade, but the stones gave him a sense of comfort in case he happened upon a post.

If he was to consider what Rex said about a hundred more Zeronauts taking his place, Axel had to assume everyone was now an enemy. How many Zeronauts were there? Had they recruited more survivors, swelling their ranks while he pissed away his time in Kinderfeld? He shook his head and wobbled from dizziness. There was no more time for contemplation. Axel had to remain present.

On foot, getting back to the domes would take days, but with two of his limbs decommissioned, it would take much longer. He took all he could carry from the Rover and packed it into the duffle bag, including his last inches of water and two mystery packs of army rations. Axel scanned the horizon, took a step and cried out from the bolt of pain in his leg. Limping without a crutch was impossible, so he lowered to his knees and crawled in the direction from which his three assailants had come. They must have had a camp or a vehicle he could raid somewhere.

In the desert heat, with the duffle bag more cumbersome than ever, Axel’s lag proved difficult. Pain blazed through his leg with every bend of his knee, and his elbows supported his entire weight plus the full bag pressing on his back. He army-crawled through the sand, stopping every few shuffles to rest.

Axel made it over a steep dune before the dryness entered his lungs and sucked the moisture from his mouth. He paused for a gulp of water and grieved over how little he had left.

When he found no traces of Zeronaut vehicles, he looked back and considered returning to the Rover. Even on deflated wheels, he might get farther than what his aching body could manage.

Turning back was suicidal. Axel couldn’t waste another hour retracing the trail he left behind. It was onward or nothing.

Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids after long. The agony of using his arms to pull himself along depleted what little energy he had. Axel retired his injured appendage and used his right arm and leg to shift himself over hills and rough patches of stone.

His muscles stretched and burned as the sun beat down on his skin. The strain on his body caught up with him quickly, and he had to rest before he passed out from weariness. Axel shifted the duffle bag over his head to shield from the sun, took another sip of water and laid in the dust with his eyes closed. Every few minutes, he snapped awake, unable to doze for more than a few minutes before panic shook him.

As the sun set, Axel ripped open a foil bag and devoured the tomatoes, slimy noodles, and bits of chewy sausage swimming inside. Any other day, Axel might complain about the meal, but in his weakened haze, it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. Washing down the food with his last bit of water, he tossed the package and crawled several yards before a dull pain in the back of his head dizzied him again.

Frequent breaks frustrated Axel, and the emerging fog disoriented his sense of direction. Soon the night took over, and Axel shivered from the icy touch on his inflamed skin. He was burnt and filthy, head pounding while his ankle and hand throbbed without end. Though he’d eaten and drank the last remnant of water he had, a persistent thirst scratched in his throat.

“Fuck, I’m gonna die,” Axel croaked. “This will be your fucking grave, Cluney. You’re done.”

When he imagined dying with the duffle bag full of invaluable information, Axel’s heart clattered in his chest. That discovery in the hands of those who wished slavery upon the brightbloods would be disastrous. If he couldn’t make it back to Kinderfeld, he had to make sure the secret died with him. Nobody would get their hands on Zed because of his negligence, he vowed.

He scaled the sands until his body gave out. Muscles screaming in pain, Axel rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky through a thin veil of fog.

“I’m sorry, Lea. I’m a fucking failure. Valter... Fuck. I should have been there for you. I’m such a fuck-up. Such a selfish, stupid fuck-up.”

Axel closed his eyes and let the darkness take him under.

When the sun peeked over the hills, Axel awoke, spitting dirt from his mouth as he coughed and winced from the agony living in every atom of his body. He couldn’t believe he was still alive to see another powder blue sky. However, his shoulders had seized from over-exertion, and the only movement he made was the desperate intake of air. Anguish pinned him to the ground until he summoned the strength to unzip the duffle bag and rummage around, one-armed, for a cigarette and lighter.

Axel smoked while sprawled in the sand, watching puffy clouds sail overhead. There was only an hour of mild temperature before the sun climbed higher and burned away the moisture left from the misty night.

“Why am I not dead?” Axel asked himself.

A strong wind swept sheets of dust over his latent form, blinding him until his eyes watered. If he stayed where he was, by noon, he’d be half-buried. But he could barely move to stop this from happening. He saved his energy for rolling onto his stomach to fish the mushrooms from his pocket. It took half an hour to accomplish this, and by the time he had hold of the speckled caps, he did not argue against consuming them.

He gnashed the sponge and grainy strands to a pulp, swallowed, and hoped for the best. The woody flavour reminded him of old times taking dried psilocybin mushrooms as a teenager. What effects Glott’s fungi produced remained a mystery.

Axel sighed and tried not to think about Lea and Vee. He closed his eyes, picturing simpler times and places that brought him joy until he realized there were few scraps of memory that provided him with any relief. He had left home at a young age as his parents acknowledged his brother’s accelerated development and put their focus into nurturing his intelligence instead of disciplining a boy who laughed in the face of authority. While Axel set off to take drugs and contract sexually transmitted infections that required horse pills and multiple shots in the ass to cure, his family grew tighter without him. Vee grew into a man. Then came the army and quest for structure. But there was no structure in the military either. There were routines and discipline, but no sense of permanence. It only threw him into further chaos, showing him real horrors that made his small-time forays in local crime seem like a joke.

He remembered the boat ride home, the piercing silence of a desolate group of men who’d been long abandoned, forgotten by their superiors and the world. They were throwaways, disregarded by the country who first outfitted and weaponized them. Ivar was his only anchor to life without torment, and even he had changed from the war.

The only memory that didn’t haunt him was the recent times he’d spent with Azalea. She didn’t judge him harshly—only when he deserved it—for she didn’t understand the gravity of his past transgressions. Axel would give anything to be back in their conjoined apartment, drinking acidic wine with Vee, playing board games like they were kids again.

Behind his heavy lids, Axel saw the sun break without opening his eyes. A sliver of white light grew into a crescent, a half-moon, an eyeball with no iris. It blinked, staring at his feeble body with judgment.

What are you doing lying in the sand?

“I’m dying,” Axel answered the ominous voice overhead.

So soon?

“Maybe not soon enough,” said Axel.

How boring. Zeitgeist, the famous headhunter, reduced to dirt.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

The glowing orb sighed, giving off radiation Axel could feel. A red aura, wriggling like a crown of worms, throwing off golden hailstones that burst into a fine mist.

“When I was in the Middle East, I got the feeling I’d die like this. Maybe I’m some kind of low-level prophet.”

Predicting one’s own death is hardly a show of prophecy. You’ve spent your life doing things no regular person should survive. This death... This is a lifetime of poor decisions catching up with you.

“Am I talking to myself, or am I tripping?”

Perhaps a little of both.

“Hm... At least I’ll die high out of my mind. These scientists sure make great psychedelics.”

Axel opened his eyes and gasped at the sprawling panorama of white dollops convulsing over a roiling screen of blue. The clouds came closer, and he drew a breath in through his nose, tasting the thick air as he rose his good hand to the amoebic spectacle before him. The wind curled through, skewing the shapes into fresh forms, erasing and reforming them with every gust: flowers, sailboats, insects and gaping faces.

“Wow. That’s crazy,” Axel whispered, smirking.

The sand softened and welcomed his battered limbs into a cradle of warmth. A blissful smile unfurled on his face as the clouds continued their spastic dance across the never-ending sky, showing him dreamy visions of abstract figures.

“I wish I was home. I never took Lea out to ride dirt bikes.”

Then go home, Axel. Go back to your family. Tell them what you know. Be the hero, not just the man with the best gun and biggest balls.

“But I can’t move!” Axel whined.

The ground buzzed underneath him as though each grain sprouted legs to carry him through the desolation. Millions of tiny ants worked together to haul his body across the desert as if they understood the importance of his return to Kinderfeld. He longed to scratch the itch at his back, but his arms were leaden.

“What happens if I die and they never find out about Lea?”

Then you die, and they die not long after.

“No. Don’t say that.”

You’re the one saying it.

A sinking sensation opened in Axel’s chest as his nerves responded to the numbing effect of the mushrooms. Soon, Axel was floating on a cloud, the ants falling away as his pupils expanded, and his brain’s chemistry changed.

Take her to the Maw. That’s what Glott said. Get up and go home.

“She hates me.”

She trusts you.

“I’ll die before I get there. It’s pointless.”

If there’s no point, you might as well keep crawling.

“But I’m so comfortable. Is this what dying really feels like?”

I guess you’ll find out soon enough.

Axel sighed. “Maybe it’s not so bad... Dying.”

Sure, you can die on a cloud, smiling like an idiot, while your enemies are out there looking for a way into your home to kill your brother and rape the woman you promised to protect. Or you can keep crawling.

“Y’know, for the sun, you have a dark sense of humour.”

Better get going before someone else finds you and gets their hands on those papers.

Muddled and rash from the whiplash of the mind, Axel reached back into the duffle bag, feeling around for the hand-written documents. When his fingers skated over a smooth sheet, he crumpled it and brought the loose wad to his mouth. Axel stuffed the paper between his teeth and chewed.

Through a mouthful of paper and ink, Axel giggled and reached for another sheet but found his lighter instead.

He burned the rest, chuckling as tears poured down the sides of his head.

~*~

Zed watched Ivar’s chest expand and retract while they laid together in a nest of damp sheets. Silent, she bit down on her lip as the king turned to her, an elated smile revealing all of his teeth.

“Wow,” he whispered. “That was... Wow.”

Zed flushed from the silly look he gave her. “Stop it.”

“Lea...”

“Ivar?”

The King turned on his side and pulled her close, tucking his face under her jaw. She embraced him while staring up at the billowing ceiling. She wondered what the Chrysalis looked like stripped of all its livery. Was it still as beautiful without the ornate clothing? She shook her head and fluttered her eyes, pushing away irrelevant thoughts.

“Can I be honest with you?” Ivar asked.

“I hope so,” Zed whispered, shuffling her nose into his rose-scented hair.

“I’ve had a lot of—I mean, I’m no prude, but that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Ivar drew back to peer into her in the eyes, his playful smile replaced with palpable seriousness. “I’m telling you the truth. Your body... It’s like you were made for me. You're so beautiful, I want to drape you over me forever and wear you like ear-muffs.”

“What would you know about ear-muffs, oh king of the desert?”

“Plenty.” Ivar’s smile returned. “I hale from the North. They don’t call me Viking for nothing.”

“Right,” she said.

Ivar put a little more distance between them, sensing her discomfort.

“What’s the matter? You’re okay with what happened, right?”

Zed snapped a smile over her lips. “Yes! I don’t know how many times you asked for my permission. It was only a matter of time before we...”

“Made love?”

The thermal rush of nerves returned to her cheeks. “Yes. Made love.”

“I don’t want you to regret it because I don’t. The moment you walked into this place, I swore off all other women. I only wanted you in my life. And I’m glad you pulled off whatever mischievous thing you had to get in here. Waking up to your face was heavenly.”

Zed welcomed him back into her arms. He laid his head on her chest. "I’m glad you’re not mad at me," she said. "I worried you’d send me away. But it was worth the risk."

Ivar stroked her bare skin, sighing. “It’s only for our protection.”

“But they can’t get in here. Not unless we allow them.”

Ivar stared across the room at the curtained entrance. “I don’t know anymore, Lea.”

“What do you mean?” She whispered.

“There are many hostiles out there now. More than I ever predicted.”

“How do you know this?”

“I've seen them.”

Zed’s heart plummeted, skipping a beat as a wave of dread squeezed her throat. Ivar rolled onto his back, ready to admit things to her he had told no one. Not even Axel.

“Do you remember that night I cancelled on you?”

“Yes, we were supposed to have dinner.”

I had dinner with Axel instead.

“It wasn’t because dwellers were looking for trade and shelter. It was a group of scavs looking for Zee.”

“The Zeronauts?” Zed gasped.

Ivar nodded grimly. “There’s a bounty on him—a big one. They came looking for Zee, threatening to blow up the compound if I didn’t turn him over. I said he wasn’t inside, that he’d left a while ago. At first, they didn’t believe me, but I guess I must have convinced them.”

Zed sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “What did you do?”

“I suppose my acting skills paid off. They wanted to take me up on my word, search around the village, but I refused. By then, they realized the firepower we had and backed off. I didn’t expect them to return so soon.”

“But... Axel went out there. What if they found him? What if he’s dead?”

Ivar closed his eyes before tears emerged. “I know. But what can I do? He made his own choice. He didn’t want to stay, and to be honest, Lea, I didn’t want him here either. Not after what that filthy scav said.”

Zed’s nerves flared. “Now you listen to me. What Monk said was not true! I did not have sex with Axel in that camp. And if you refuse to believe me, then... Maybe I will end up regretting what we did.”

“It’s so hard to buy that, Lea,” Ivar said.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He gave a discourteous snicker and rolled his eyes. “Because I know Zee. A lot better than you do.”

“You’d take the word of a total stranger over mine?”

“I wanted to reject what the scav said. But he said something that struck me. Something I couldn’t discount.”

Zed glared at him. “And what’s that?”

He scoffed, unable to produce the words until he weighed the insult on Zed’s face.

“Wanna go boing-boing on Daddy’s dick?” Ivar mocked.

The heat fizzled from her face like a hot iron in cold water. Ivar shot her a knowing glance and nodded. “See? That look tells me everything. I’ve known Zee for years. We’ve shared enough that I know all his cheeky little lines.”

“We didn’t have sex! Yes, he pretended I was his slave to protect me. We didn’t know what we were walking into. He said it was a commune, but when we arrived, the Zeronauts had already taken over. They had a dozen guns pointed at us. It scared us, Ivar. You need to trust me. If you have feelings for me, you should believe when I say I never touched Axel like that.”

“What about the night you bugged out and leapt into his arms?”

Zed lowered her voice as her heart shuddered. “He was my only friend. You and I had just met, and the stories about you... I wasn’t ready. I spent a year in the desert by myself. I’d never done drugs, never met anyone like you guys. He helped me.”

“I want to believe you, Lea.”

“Then believe me!” Her voice rang through the room. “No one ever believes me! Not you, not them, not my friends when I was taken advantage of.”

Ivar cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

Tears flowed over Zed’s cheeks as ghosts of her past breathed vexing reminders in her ear. What she read in Axel’s journal unearthed the memory she hated most and forced her to relive it in tainted colour. Now Ivar’s incredulity brought back the sting of betrayal she wished to forget.

“The first person I ever had sex with used me as a joke! He pretended to love me, and after I gave myself to him, he told everyone disgusting lies. He conned me out of my virginity. Someone who vowed I could trust him; that would protect me and make sure I was happy. I was nothing but a conquest. Bragging rights. And the worst part is... While I was being lied to, while he took my innocence, you and Axel were overseas fucking strippers! You behaved the same way that pig did! Then I finally trusted again—after you and Axel promised to keep me safe—and both of you fucked me over! Why do men only believe each other? Does what I say hold such little meaning to you?”

Ivar’s face froze.

“You are the only other person I have ever let inside me, and you’re making me regret it just like he did,” Zed cried.

“Lea—”

“Why would I lie to you? Why would Axel lie to you? He loves you like a brother, and I’ve seen how much he values his family.”

The king took her in his arms, and she rested her damp forehead on his shoulder.

“How do you know about that stuff?”

“I read Axel’s journals from the army. Vee gave them to me. He thought they might help me stop missing him.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you read in those journals, but I promise you, I’m not that man anymore, Lea. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to him. Everyone loves Zee. Any girl I liked always wanted him because he’s famous. Handsome. Funny. My jealousy got in the way.”

“You’re all those things too, Ivar. Everyone here loves you. They made you a king, for Christ’s sake!”

“Only because Zee didn’t want to lead. But I get it, and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I should have trusted you. Both of you.”

Lea sniffled, blinking against the remnants of tears, and hugged Ivar close. “We wouldn’t lie to you, Ivar.”

He smoothed his fingers down her spine, nuzzling into her braided hair and the closeness he’d almost chased away.

A quiet moment passed before Zed spoke up. “We have to search for him.”

Ivar shook his head. “No. We’re not leaving. Nobody is. Not while those scavengers are prowling. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ivar—”

“I’m serious, Lea. Nobody leaves. Zee can take care of himself.”

“It’s more than finding Axel. Everyone is scared, Ivar. We need medical equipment, doctors, something. People are dying here, too. Not just out there.”

A stubborn line appeared between Ivar’s brows. “We can hold out for a while. Supplies will come to us. There will be more dwellers at our door. We can start a trade with people who already know the outside. It’s too dangerous to send anyone, and we need all the men we can get to protect the village.”

Zed wanted to grab Ivar by the shoulders and shake and scream in his face, but they were both still too raw from the revelations they’d shared. She had to make calculated moves, one of them recognizing when to hold back. Ivar was bullheaded, but she had chipped away a layer of his mistrust. If she could convince Ivar to value her word as much as Axel’s, there was a chance of progress. Zed knew sleeping with him wouldn’t throw open the gates, but she made a bit of headway, and that was enough to settle her stomach for now.

"Fine. You're right. We should stay here and wait," Zed conceded.

The couple spent the rest of the morning tangled in the sheets. Zed did not suggest an excursion beyond the walls again, but maintained her resolve when Ivar let his feelings gush forth. He claimed to love her, but Zed suspected the king viewed his world through a romantic veil. Ivar couldn’t be in love. He didn’t know her well enough. But she let him revel in his fantasy.

She wondered if she was capable of love. With her trust in others injured and the state of the world in ruins, love seemed a burdensome child, hanging onto the ankles of a society struggling to recover. Fine to dabble in, like drink and drugs, but not a motto for advancement.

News of Axel’s bounty shocked her to the core. While Ivar pulsated between her legs, whispering words of praise and adoration against her neck, Zed stared at a distant spot on the wall, numb, hoping beyond hope her friend was still alive.

After breakfast, Ivar relinquished his grip on her, and she made her way to the lab to find Vee.

Zed entered the facility and found the gurneys empty. Confused, she searched the rest of the lab, turning up nothing, then made her way to Vee’s apartment. She rapped on the door, but nobody answered. She knocked harder, waited, then sighed and turned down the hall. The locked door to the incubation room opened, and Vee stepped out, looking surprised and relieved to see her.

“Lea! Finally. I was worrying.”

Zed noticed the whites of his eyes veined with red, the ditches beneath them dark and heavy. Light blond stubble lined his jaw and upper lip. It looked like he hadn’t slept since their last conversation.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

He shook his head, unsure of where to begin listing off the things that had gone wrong through the night.

“It’s a long, long story. And I’m starving. Do you have time to sit down?” He asked.

“Yes, of course,” Zed replied, worry rushing her tone.

Vee led the way to his apartment and held the door open for her. She took a seat on the sofa and waited for the scientist to return with a plate of dry-fried zucchini cakes. The scent wafted toward her, making her stomach growl.

“So, our patient died of his kidney failure last night. He never woke up,” Vee said before taking a bite of a cake. “I wish we had hot sauce in this place. Or salt.”

“What? Are you serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We expected it. He knew it; we saw it coming. There was nothing we could do.”

Zed stared at Vee, awe-struck by his nonchalance. “What about Serena?”

“That I’m not sure. I think Sheraya took her back to the Hives to be alone.”

“What did you do with the body?” Zed asked.

“I didn’t do a thing. I was too busy dealing with the incubators we lost,” Vee supplied. “Lora had the guards remove him. She spent all night sterilizing the lab while I cleaned up after the lost specimens.”

She gasped. "What does this mean?"

"The experiments are gone—failed."

The sleep-deprived man finished a portion of his meal and offered the rest to Zed, who held her hand up in refusal.

“My work is truly lost, and the guards had to bury six children and one adult last night.”

“I don’t understand,” Zed shook her head. “How did the incubators fail?”

“Well, it’s not that they failed per se, rather we failed them. We don’t have the emulsions left to simulate amniotic fluid. Like I’ve been saying for weeks: our supplies are bone-dry. The people who built this place did not supply it with enough to bring a fetus to term, or they banked on traditional implantation, and I, for one, have no idea how to accomplish that. I studied advanced chemistry, not how to create humans from scratch. As much as I’d like to play God, I’m just a fucking scientist making do with what I have—which is nothing.”

Tragedy after tragedy, woe after woe, Zed buckled and fell against Vee, shaking and scrabbling for comfort. He set his half-empty plate aside to hold her close. The misfortune already had its chance to wrack his body, hence the dark blue crescents masking his eyes. By then, Vee was almost catatonic. The dread of telling Zed the news was part of the reason he hadn’t slept.

“I tested them though... The specimens. The mutation carries.”

Zed rolled her face on his shoulder, sopping the tears from her eyes as she pulled back with a sniffle.

“Really?”

“Yes. So, that’s some good news, right?” Vee said, lightening his expression for her comfort.

She nodded weakly. “What about the mixed-bloods?”

“One carried and one did not. Mine carried too,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Despite a positive report, Zed still couldn’t find it in herself to smile back.

“Vee, I’m so sorry about all of this. I wish there were something I could do, but I’m afraid my efforts last night yielded no results. Ivar is dead set on keeping the gates closed. And... He told me something else. Something terrible,” Zed said, picking at a cuticle as she avoided her friend’s stare.

“What now?”

“He said there’s a huge bounty out on Axel. He knew about it this whole time, and he just let him walk right into a trap.”

Vee leaned back, a flat expression on his face. He swallowed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to rest on the sofa.

“Of course there’s a bounty on him,” he sighed.

Zed continued picking at a hangnail. There was nothing of comfort she could offer, so she shifted closer to Vee and laid her head against his shoulder. Vee brought his arm around her and rested his head on hers. They stayed that way for a while, unsure of how to progress. In all the bleakness of recent times, Zed was thankful to have someone who understood the gravity of their worsening situation. Vee was the only person buoying her above the most profound depression she’d felt since losing herself in the desert.

Despite the barbed strikes against them, Zed couldn’t hold back another sombre dirge. Every shred of hope slipped from her grasp. She wanted her mother and father—someone to hear and share her sorrows and offer her guidance.

“He’s going to die out there, isn’t he?” Zed asked.

Vee squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t know, Lea. That might not be comforting, but it’s the truth. Who knows what will happen now?”

“And sleeping with Ivar got me nowhere. I feel so foolish,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I was stupid to think I could change anything.”

Though she couldn’t see it, Vee frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. You shouldn’t have had to resort to doing something you were uncomfortable with.”

“It was fine... Ivar was more than courteous. But I don’t think I love him. Maybe before all this, I could have, but now... He won’t open his eyes. He sees what he wants to see,” she said.

“Power can do that to men. They're blind to their surroundings. But I don’t want you thinking for that any of this is your fault or that you should have done more. You’ve done what you can. We all have. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Wait for life... Or death. It’s all the same.

“Please, I need you to at least pretend to be hopeful. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. You can’t go down with me.”

As the pair sat propped against each other, sighing and fretting in silence, the door swung open quietly, and a pair of bespectacled eyes peered into the apartment.

The thrum of Vee’s heartbeat lulled Zed’s weariness, and she placed her hand on the scientist’s chest. Locked in their embrace, Vee kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulder.

“If there’s one thing that’s brightened my horizons these last couple of months, it’s you, Lea. I’m glad Axel brought you here. It might have been the one moral decision he’s ever made,” Vee told her.

She lifted her head and nuzzled into his shoulder, smelling the remnants of cleaning solution clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so sweet, Valter. Even though I feel positively useless—”

“You are positively useless!” A voice cried out.

They snapped glances at the door, startled, and saw Lora standing there with her fists tight at her sides, shoulders hunched to her ears.

“Are you cheating on me with this brainless twit?” Lora continued.

Vee unhanded Zed and stood up, a stony expression wiping the calmness from his face. “What the hell are you doing in here, Lora?”

“I came to tell you I finished organizing all your files, but it looks like you’re too busy with the village bicycle to care!”

“First thing’s first, Lora, you and I are not together. And even if we were, Zed’s my friend, and I don’t appreciate you insulting her! This is my goddamn apartment. You can’t walk in here whenever you please!”

“Why? Because I’ll catch you sleeping with her?”

A fiery ball burst in Zed’s gut, igniting the anger that had been accumulating little by little until it shot up her throat. “What the hell is your problem, Lora? Ever since I got here, you’ve done nothing but spurn me! What did I ever do to you?”

“Are you stupid? Everyone here knows you’ve been sleeping with any man you can get your hands on. You’ve earned nothing, yet everyone treats you like you’re some kind of deity. You promised to help in the lab, but all you did was cause a rift and chase away the only person bringing in supplies. Now we’re screwed, and it’s all your fault!”

“Lora, stop!” Vee demanded.

“No! Someone has to say it! I’m tired of everyone giving her credit when I’ve done the grunt work and get zero thanks. You’re probably not even a real scientist!”

“Enough!”

Lora turned to Vee, malice puckering her lips. “I knew it’d only be a matter of time before she infected you, too. All you men are the same. An easy lay comes by, and you forget everything.”

“You’ve got a lot of shit to say for a lab assistant,” Zed hit back.

The ball of heat in her stomach threw off flares, awakening a fit of familiar anger that stiffened her muscles and set her jaw. When she stepped forward, Lora took a step back, and a heady rush of adrenaline caused her heart to pound and lips to curl into a sly smile. It was the same aggression she’d felt when the poachers attacked her in the desert, and while killing off Zeronauts after they’d forced her to strip at gunpoint. The sensation lent her fervency. She didn’t understand why the hostility fuelled her, but she embraced the burn, let it guide her actions.

“I’ve killed men three times your size. I suggest—if you like your bones intact—you shut your mouth and go back to doing what you do best: staying quiet and minding your own fucking business.”

Both Vee and Lora drew back from the heat of Zed’s threat. Scowling, Lora backed into the hallway, then turned and started away. When her footsteps faded down the hall, Vee went to Zed and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped from the sudden contact, then relaxed.

“Jesus, Zed,” he scoffed. “I know she deserved it but that was harsh.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide with remorse. “I’m not sure where that came from. I’m so tired of the accusations. Everyone thinks they know me, but they don’t!”

“It’s okay,” Vee said. “I know you. And you know you. Who cares what anyone else says? Lora’s been jealous of you since the second you walked through the lab doors. She sees every other female as a threat. Her ego is fragile.”

“Seems everyone's ego is paper-thin,” Zed muttered.

“Don’t worry about her, Zed. It’s done.”

Zed looked out into the empty hallway. Something told her the tension was only just taking form. There was a change in the air, a bitterness that permeated the domes, and she shivered, wondering what new troubles might fashion themselves in the coming days.

~*~

“Son... You alive, sonny?”

A man looked down at four sunburnt limbs—two of which crudely bandaged—jutting out from beneath a half-open duffle bag. Expecting to find a corpse under the heavy canvas, he kicked it aside and found the person alive, although for how long that life had left was a cause for concern. Though the person remained unresponsive, his blacked-out eyes roamed the sky, wide as sand dollars.

His camel sputtered as if to debate their investigative stop. He turned toward the animal, shrugged, then looked back at the gangly form upon which they stumbled.

The man aired out the flaps of his stained coat, making himself presentable as best he could.

“Can you hear me, son?”

Green-rimmed pupils dithered as a faint noise squeaked from his throat. The man in the long, thin coat retrieved a skin of water from the pack on his camel, then squatted next to the barely conscious person and poured a small measure of water between his dry, cracked lips. He swallowed, and the man in the coat smiled.

“Atta boy.”

He spied the teardrop scar on the man’s forearm, squinting at the mark to analyze its edges. It was a fake. Not unusual in these parts, but interesting to come across.

“Up for some more water?”

Another small sound drew his ear closer—something between a whimper and a syllable.  

“Ma... Ma.”

“Ma? Speak up, son.”

“Muh.”

The man in the sand-stained coat tapped his chin. “Not to worry, sonny. The good doctor is in! Say, how about we take a look at that hand there? See what we’re working with?”

“M-ma.”

“Plenty of time to look for your mama after we patch you up.”

The camel snorted and received a mildly threatening look from its owner.

“Enough out of you, Rudie. I’m the one with the oats, and I say we give this fellow a hand. You have nowhere to be anyhow, so cool it, you oversized donkey. Now, let’s get you up. Ol’ Rudie here will be your chariot, good sir. Assuming you don’t intend to use that rather vicious-looking gun on us when you come-to. But, judging by your state, I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything for a while. You’re lucky we found you, son. Mighty lucky.”

@dreamtherapy @reinamysterio @skarswhat @mightbelindsey @sexual-rendezvous-blog @billskarsgardx @michaeliskindahot​ @tigers-pat​ @rainbowmoosie​ @tinygayfungi​ @pancake-blonde​ @bskarsgardlove92​ @sarah2057​ @ohcaptains​ @loveforbillskasgard​ @vikingsmania​ @billdreamy69​ @lordeofther1ngs​ @theredheadsbookcorner​ @1-800-imagines​ @readsalot73​ @nicolehoran-maybe​ @weirdlilwitch​ @enchantedreadersworld​ @allkundsofwrong​ @loey-bae​ @bill-istvan​ @army-crawl-andersen​ @sunshineandskarsgards​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @whoplansthese​ @evaolii​ @frappylou​ @alylanaeblack​ @billullabies​ @bohemianfortunes​ @moondustmemories​ @terry2227​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ @alltimesamantha​ @amelia-in-w0nderland​ @thestonerosas​ @skrsgvrd​ @sorryimviolet​ @tweakersqueaker​ @inforapound​ @eff1ngqueen​ @skrsgrd-my-boi​ @rekdreams-fandom​ @b-afterhours​ @anastasiaskarsgard​ @ainatirb-j​ @voodoo-queen​ @quiche-pocket​ @awkward-haux​ @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @originalclodmakergarden​ @skrsgardspam​ @tumblingdwntherabbithole​ @xbuckxnastyx​ @skadithegoddess​ @whiskeyxinxaxteacup​ @calumculia0​ @bethskarsgard​ @ohhoneyaaaaaaa​ @ziamhathrisen​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @bitchwelcometoparadise​ @maggiescarborough​ @anacerta​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​ @spitch0​ @grandpa-sweaters​ @mamaloser1​ @mycrimsonsparrow​

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[sdottkrames]

Purple Peter Eater

Summary: @comfortember prompt 1 - rescue

Halloween is interrupted by none other than Flash Thompson, and when he’s mean to her big brother, Morgan has something to say about it. After all, even superheroes need rescuing sometimes

Read it on A03: here

***If anybody would like me to tag them, please let me know. I don’t have very many followers, and I don’t know how many read my stories, but I’ve seen tag lists and would love to start one of my own!***

“Petey! Psssssst. Petey!!!” something nudged at Peter’s side. “Wake up!”

Peter groaned and turned over in bed, opening his eyes to meet his little sister’s unfathomably energetic ones. He looked at the clock, rubbing his eyes until the blue numbers revealed themselves to say 6:15 am.

“Mo, it’s too early,” he mumbled, rolling back onto his back and closing his eyes again. “You need to go back to sleep.”

She climbed onto the bed and started patting his cheek insistently. “But PETER!” She paused to take a breath as if the next word held all the weight of the world. “ Candy!”

Peter’s eyes cracked open and he gave her a small grin as he remembered the day.

“Okay, okay. I understand why you’re excited. Why don’t we go downstairs and turn on a movie until breakfast?”

Morgan’s eyes widened and Peter could see the plan forming there. “But no candy for breakfast, little monster. We’re going to watch a movie, and that’s it.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get to eat plenty of sugar tonight after Trick-or-Treating.” He ruffled the little girl’s hair as they headed down the stairs into the living room of the Stark lake house.

Once Morgan was settled on the couch, snuggled into his side with Frozen II playing quietly in the background, Peter slowly fell back asleep.

He was jolted awake about an hour later as Morgan shouted joyously along with Elsa as she discovered Ahttohallan, and he giggled at her enthusiasm. Like most girls her age, his sister loved Frozen. He was surprised that she wasn’t wearing her white Elsa dress already and figured Pepper must have hidden it for that exact reason. Morgan would wear that dress day in and day out if she were allowed. She’d been begging to wear it for weeks, and he knew Pepper wanted to save it for Halloween.

“You excited for tonight, Momo?”

Morgan turned around and leapt into Peter’s arms. “SO excited!”

He kissed her forehead, natural as anything, and hugged her to him. When he’d first met Morgan, he was definitely a little scared. Scared because suddenly he was questioning his place in Mr. Stark’s life. Now that he had a daughter of his own, how would he ever find time for Peter? Peter was just…some kid from Queens that Mr. Stark had taken pity on. Morgan was real flesh and blood.

But then that little girl had looked up at him with wonder and awe in her eyes, and any doubt that Mr. Stark loved him started to fade as she said, matter-of-factly, “You’re Spider-Man. Daddy’s told me about you.” She had hugged him then, her little arms firm around his neck. “I’m so glad you aren’t lost anymore.”

Peter had most definitely cried. And then his fears morphed into something else. Suddenly, he was a big brother, and that scared him. He’d never had a sibling; how would he even know what to do? Would he be a good example? Would he be able to protect her? Would she love him when she got to know him more? But Morgan fit into his life just as naturally as she’d fit into his lap, and soon the two were nearly inseparable. (Tony denied it, but he got teary-eyed when he saw his two kids together, alive and well.)

Peter could hear and smell bacon sizzling in the kitchen, and soon Tony called them in for breakfast. The next few hours passed in a blur. They ate and then took on the battle of keeping Morgan entertained until she was allowed to get into her costume. Pepper coerced her into helping clear the table and helping Tony feed Gerald, and then Peter is enlisted to entertain her. He took her swinging in the woods near their house, raked a pile of leaves for them both to jump into (cause c’mon, it’s a pile of leaves! Of course, Peter jumped in them too!) and even played tea party in her backyard tent.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, Morgan got more and more impatient until it was close enough to trick-or-treating time that she could finally, finally get into her costume. Pepper made it a whole thing to make Morgan feel special, curling her hair slightly and letting her wear makeup (Pepper and Tony had decided she would wear make up until she was at least 13 except on very special occasions). Morgan preened in the living room as Happy, May, Peter, Tony, and Pepper smile and clapped and assured her she looked beautiful.

The adults dressed in casual outfits, but Peter had been roped into being Kristoff for Morgan. It hadn’t been too difficult to find a costume, and he wasn't going to complain about an excuse to dress up and get free candy, no matter his age.

So they headed out, the adults in their jeans and halloween shirts (Peter insisted on some festivity from them, thank you very much) and Morgan in her white Elsa dress and a white jacket, and Peter bundled up as Kristoff. He wore a brown shirt under a black sweater, coupled with black pants, brown boots and a red belt. He even found a black beanie to really commit to the look.

Morgan was thrilled, and Peter couldn’t ask for more.

They headed into New York, because the lake house didn’t have many neighbors, and Morgan threw herself into getting candy with gusto, knocking on doors like it was her day job. The adults lagged behind, leaving Peter, with his limitless energy, to keep up with Morgan.

Time suddenly slowed down and stopped as Peter made eye contact with a familiar face, and not in a good way.

“Hey, Flash,” Peter said, and Morgan paused as she watched Peter’s face fall, shooting a frown at this newcomer that made her big brother’s smile go away. He was some kind of character in a purple suit with green hair and some weird scars on the side of his mouth. Morgan didn’t know what he was supposed to be, but he reminded her of the song her dad had played this morning, Purple People Eaters.

“What’s up Penis,” Flash sneered. “Aren’t you a little too old to be Trick-or-treating?”

“Aren’t you?” Peter shot back, finding strength as his sister’s hand slipped into his. His hand still trembled and his heartbeat was loud in his ear, but he had his sister at least.

However, that presented its own problem.

Why, of all places, is Flash here? Peter wondered bitterly, and prayed that the bully wouldn’t say anything more. He was determined to be a good example to Morgan. He couldn’t let her hear what they said about him, what he sometimes let himself believe. She was too good and pure.

“Duh. That’s why I’m not.” Flash grinned and pointed to a house down the street that was lit up, colorful lights filtering through the windows, and music seeping out the front door, pulsing like a living thing. “I was at this thing called a party, which you might have heard of if you were ever invited to one. Too bad you don’t have friends.”

Suddenly the small hand that was holding his wrenched away, and Peter looked over at Morgan, surprised. Only...she was already several steps away, marching right up to Flash, her eyes blazing and mouth set firm in the way she does when she really doesn’t like whatever they’re having for dinner.

“That is my brother ,” she said, glaring up at Flash, who stood about twice her height. “He is the best big brother in the whole wide world, and you should be nice to him. It’s not nice to be mean to people.” She took a breath and her glare became a little less frosty. “But Daddy says that when people are mean to other people, they are hurting on the inside, so we should be extra nice to them.” She sniffed, considering, and then shocked the heck out of everyone (because by now the others caught up and heard Morgan’s little speech) as she wrapped her arms around Flash. His face goes completely blank. “So I’ll be nice to you. But now you have to apologize to Petey.”

She pulled back to level the teenager with a look that is so Pepper, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she gestured to Peter. Nobody, absolutely nobody , can resist that look, even given from a five year old, and Pepper preened a little with pride.

“Sorry, Peter,” Flash mumbled, not meeting Peter’s eyes.

Peter’s eyes widened slightly. “Thanks. Happy Halloween, Flash.”

“You too.”

Flash looked like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, his defenses crumbling slightly, bravado effectively brought to nothing by a little girl. He brushed past the group, heading towards his car.

Peter marveled at how good and mature his little sister is. Here he was worrying about being a good mentor to her, and she taught him! He decided to follow her example and extend some good will.

“Flash,” he called. “Do you wanna come with us? You’re never too old for free candy.”

Flash flushed. “Thanks, but I actually have to go,” he said vaguely. “Places to go, people to meet. You know.”

He quickly turned and hurried off, and Peter looked back to his little sister.

“Thanks, Mo.”

“Even heroes need rescuing sometimes, Peter,” she said sagely, wrapping her hand in his again.

“I guess you’re right. You’re my hero then, Princess. Now, your majesty,” he said with a flourish, offering Morgan his arm. “shall we go procure some more candy for our loyal subjects?”

With that, they resumed their activities, knocking on doors and filling their baskets with more candy than anyone could possibly want.

They didn’t notice Tony quietly following the boy, Flash, to his car.

“Aren’t my kids just amazing?” He asked, grinning to himself when the boy jumps.

“Do I know you?”

In answer, Tony flipped off his hood, gratified even more when the teenager’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open.

“Y-your kids, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, Princess Elsa and Kristoff over there. I believe my daughter made you apologize for being mean to my son?” Tony raised his eyebrows, and Flash’s mouth moved, but not a sound came out. Tony’s eyes softened, and he decided to take pity on the kid. “Here’s the deal, I bet you’re a good kid. Probably got a rough home life, so you take it out on other people. I get it. But how about you stop doing that. You might make some real friends that way, yeah?” Just to be sure he got the point across, Tony hardened his voice again. “But if I ever hear about you harassing my son again, I will find you, and we will have another little chat. And I won’t hesitate to bring the little girl, either. Understand?”

Flash nodded mutely, practically jumping into his car after Tony patted his shoulder and started heading back to his family, now a block away.

Once Peter and Morgan have filled their baskets, they head back to the lake house to snuggle by the fire, watch Hocus Pocus together, and eat as much candy as they possibly can. Tony situated himself on the couch with Morgan between him and Pepper, and Peter on his other side. Happy and May elected to avoid the already squished couch, instead snuggling on the loveseat.

“Tony, quit stealing all the Reece’s!” Peter complained as his mentor pilfered a fifth one.

“Fine.” Tony rolled his eyes and took one of Morgan’s instead, eliciting a loud complaint from the little girl.

“Daddy, we already gave you so much candy. You can’t have more.”

“Will you guys pipe down,” Happy grumbled, and the others laughed before turning their eyes to the screen.

But Tony’s eyes never left his kids- his beautiful, brave, selfless, kind kids- watching as they slowly slip into a sugar-induced food coma.

Once the movie is over, he carried them upstairs, kissing his love and whispering his assurances into their hair.

Happy Halloween,” he whispered, standing in the doorway, drinking in the still somewhat overwhelming sight of them snuggled together on Peter’s bed before shutting out the lights.

Morgan really couldn’t have a better role model. Morgan may have rescued Peter earlier that day, but she learned it from him.

What a happy Halloween, indeed.