#more like.....why put in the effort to monologue at the wall. it's not something i want to throw into the void

[lesenbyan]

Sometimes I get the Urge to make a Big explanation about my view and thoughts on the universe, like, metaphysically and then like. Remember it doesn't matter and no one cares.

[sugar-grigri]

Hello! With the discussion of Yoshida with your recent analysis, what's your perspective on Yoshida offering Denji the choice before: of being chainsaw man or having his family and how much of that was Yoshida enforcing his own ideas of what's good for denji vs his efforts to help denji in the limited scope of his position? I feel like this could have been talked about before on the blog but with added context from csm 156 interested in how this develops too

Denji is Yoshida's reflection that he refuses to see

The answer might be easy if I aligned myself with my own position, the one I established in my analysis 156, which attempts to theorize that Yoshida is on Denji's side

But you know I know I haven't convinced everyone with my blindness around Yoshida's hidden goodness. So I'm going to answer your question, but from the opposite position: let's explain Yoshida's reactions, whether as a non-ally of Denji or as an enemy. I know this may confuse you because you'd like me to analyze chapter 133 in relation to what I analyzed about chapter 156. But even if I assumed the opposite, I would have come to the same conclusion.

I love Yoshida, and even though I seem to have left him out of my analyses, I've always reflected on every one of his interventions. And something strikes me, Yoshida often seems to be talking to himself, even deluding himself almost as if to hold on.

In chapters 120/121, Yoshida invites Asa. Now fans (like me!!!) are fantasizing about rivals, a fake love triangle and a date. But in reality, it all falls depressingly flat.

But this chapter remains interesting for two reasons: two people share their experience of solitude as the only way to avoid disappointment and be happy. However, Asa projects herself into a possible love with Yoshida.

It's like reciting something to convince yourself but secretly wishing for the opposite…

But what's interesting is that we take the position of thinking that everything Yoshida said was linear.

Let's review. Yoshida knows that Asa was leering, that she looked depressed, and since he's watching Denji, he must have known about the date, hence the warning that comes later. So why get involved? As Asa's Nayuta-altered memory made him the executioner, why make her pain worse?

Because Yoshida must have had a childish reaction. It's as if, for once, he hadn't quite accepted his role as a spectator of events. I think Yoshida must have seen himself in Asa in some way. In chapter 121, Asa is all silence and Yoshida is for once almost in monologue. It was as if everything he said would convince him a little more out loud. Whether it was his theory of happiness up to........ "stay away from Denji". That point. Part of the points that concern him as much as they concern Asa.

I think and I'm convinced that even by not interpreting Yoshida as an ally, he became more sensitive and involved with Denji's plight and didn't always know how to place an emotional wall between them. Because Denji catches him off guard, makes Yoshida's smiling mask fall off. And this is something I've never verbalized before, but it's a pillar in my interpretation:

Being with Denji pushes you to be yourself.

Because Denji refuses the social game, doesn't tend to judge as teenagers of this age usually would, and has extremely sincere reactions that are so unpredictable that they don't allow for calculated responses, responses that form the shell of other characters like Asa and Yoshida.

What Asa liked about Denji, above all, was that he was able to give her confidence and make her proud when everyone else was putting her down. You don't like fish, so what? Eat starfish. Because yes, even if it was boring, I saw you, I listened to you and you made an impact on me. Because you're not insignificant.

Denji has that effect on Yoshida. Very symbolically, during their new interaction in part 2, the protagonist doesn't remember Yoshida. Of course, it's quite funny, because it can be interpreted in all sorts of ways, like the fact that Denji is so uninterested in guys that he forgets them so easily. But it's symbolic for Yoshida's character. He's so fake and so in control that Denji doesn't perceive anything in him.

And it's when he becomes more and more desperate as a result of these reactions, and when his mask gradually breaks, that Denji finally remembers his name. Because Yoshida acts less like a public hunter and more like himself, like Yoshida.

I think in chapter 133, it's really a way of trying to wake Denji up and help him. But then again, it helps to weaken Yoshida's mask. When Yoshida repeats that Denji has only two choices, that of his family or Chainsaw Man, Denji repeats that he has two. From Yoshida's point of view, this is fundamental.

The system offers only one choice, only one possible path. But Denji opposes both. In a chapter about protest, we also talk about his position towards the system. Oppose it, protest as if in the background, claim the symbol of Chainsaw Man or oppose it, see it as a societal evil, a danger of undermining the system. For I repeat, Yoshida has decided to believe in the system when Denji distrusts it.

So Yoshida gets angry, belittling Denji as if he can't see the absurdity of this dilemma imposed on a boy who has been given a choice. Who was only told there were only two choices when there were three. Rehearsing allows Yoshida to convince himself, but we see that this controlled mask has completely disappeared, giving way to anger and a kind of panic. Because Yoshida's ideals are unravelling.

Denji is a reflection.

Reflecting the cruelty of the mafia that Katana doesn't want to admit, the dream of going to school that Reze is trying to forget, allowing the trust that Asa thought impossible and the reflection of Yoshida: a teenager, who will trace a third path to the two that will be reserved for him.

If Chainsaw Man allows you to project what you want, have or be in him, hence the pandemic of CSM wannabe. Denji, hidden behind it, is doing something far more unbearable: showing us who we are.

Aki's vengeance gives way to a desire to be surrounded by loved ones, loved ones he may not be able to protect. Thinking only of oneself shows Power, through her sacrifice for Denji, that she is capable of love even if it goes against her survival.

So chapter 156 takes on a softer version. I repeat: why did you wake Denji up just to tell him he'd lost?

That Yoshida had warned him? Once again, through a strategy of self-conviction and self-protection, what Yoshida is doing is reminding us that complete alienation from the system is better than individual affirmation (which is what Denji is punished for, having repeated that he is Chainsaw Man). This identical public hunter's costume is the symbol of this submission. Yoshida is no longer even a fake high-school student. He's just a public hunter.

But I find this chapter takes on an air of funeral and goodbye. Yoshida's costume, taking on that of someone in mourning in a symbolic way.

Because saying goodbye to Denji.

It means saying goodbye to yourself.

So I ask you, Anon, and you, the reader, does Yoshida really want to continue refusing to see his reflection ?

[straycalamities]

so for some Reasons, the same reasons zombinoslayer is on indefinite hiatus, i have a question on like. Say there is a Truffula Flu-oriented plot, story. Y'know a narrative. Coming up, but the way it's being made is basically prose-based, how would you prefer to see that formatted onto a tumblr askblog/archive thing?

it does deal with two characters and two characters only (so far?)

rp-style is out of the question because of editing reblogs being killed

but...i have a few thoughts, but i'm not sure which one people would like to read and digest the most

for more clarity on what i mean with terms/styles: click under the readmore

when i say "prose-style" i mean it's written like a novel. it's 3rd-person limited and past tense.

The sun was baring down hard on Mikey's back as he trudged down the sidewalk. He drug his feet, pose hunched. Why did he have to run out of eggs on the hottest day of the year?

when i say "script-style" i mean that it's written how you would read the script for a show or a play. this is how i treated zombinoslayer's big scenes. it'd have progressive images for each action/dialogue, wherever i deemed an image needed/important

Mikey: [The sun is bright and harsh. He is walking down the sidewalk. He looks exhausted.] Why did I have to run out of eggs on the hottest day of the year?!

and when i say comic, well, that's obvious. i'd do my best to translate everything as well as i can into something that is heavily image and dialogue based that has comic frames and such.

pros and cons of all these being:

prose pros (lol): it keeps all of the character's inner feelings, struggles, and thoughts and even some motives out and easier to see, which with these scenes and with how these characters are, might be important or even very enlightening for people i also don't have to draw as much because i would only be illustrating significant parts and to make the posts look more appealing/interesting. thus updates would happen more frequently. easier to plug into a translator if english isn't your first language the images would be illustrations i'd actually put effort into since there would be so few of them

prose cons: it'll be a lot more reading overall less left to interpretation, i guess? less pretty pictures? it takes a lot more cerebral energy in some cases to take in prose and turn it around in your mind i just get that for some people, they don't like walls of text. like i, for one, have gotten very bad at reading so i get it

script pros: more pictures to look at then prose-style scenes move by more quickly and smoothly, everything focuses more on actions and interactions so maybe things are easier to digest than prose-style still translator-friendly updates still more frequent than comic-style, but less frequent than prose-style most likely full-color images. may or may not have a bg in every image (just think zombino-slayer style? but i might not render every time either like i did there because that was..phew..that took a lot out of me)

script cons: more images to draw for me the format might be wonky to some none of those inner thoughts/monologues, a lot of depth and inner feelings/struggles/references made in the characters heads are left out. it all focuses on the external with hints to the internal left to expression, body language, and dialogue and the reader's own bias/experience

comic pros: ALL THE PICTURES YOU COULD WANT! everything's images! if you're most comfy with reading comics or manga already, you'd dig this (obviously) the least reading and it's all together in one image (well multiple) very easy to soar through and take everything in since the focus is on images and dialogue Only (maybe narrative notes or thought boxes when really important) easiest to share i'd think? and easiest to get a feel for what's going on in a scene without having to study and/or think too hard about it

comic cons: oh my god all that drawing...updates would be slow as molasses tbqh.. unless i decided to do manga-style aka B&W or limited grayscale/monochrome. even then though again, everything internal would be left to the hints you'd get from the external i could give with imagery, panel-shape, dialogue, and such not translator-friendly (i know there's the google image translator, but i'd be handwriting the text (i just like how it looks best) and it's not always friendly to handwriting)

--

as far as specifics for each style, we'd work that out once one is picked

other notes: i do think i'm a pretty strong prose-writer, but i also think i'm a pretty strong comicsmith. so i don't think it's really up to what i'd, personally, be able to pull off best with the skills i own :3 (and i mean script-style is the most simple of the three. and i've already done it. it'd be almost identical to zombinoslayer. and it'd be most similar to Camp Entre's rp-style i think? even though Camp Entre was much more dialogue-based than anything else

i know i haven't uploaded too much of either, especially my writing, but trust...i'm pretty good at it. at least that's what people tell me.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 3 - Lost

Let's go on with the second chapter of this.

I admit that I'm having a good time writing this story :D

Prompt: Lost

Pairing: Fingon & Fingolfin

Words: 1 325

Warnings: Sadness, separation, dread

Findekáno stared at the heavy door, dazed and confused by its oddly perfect state.

Surely, a place so cut off from everyone and everything else should not have been so perfectly well-preserved, should it? There was something distinctly eerie about the polished wood that he couldn’t immediately place in his turmoil of fatigue and excitement.

Looking down at his scratched, bleeding hands as if expecting to find them altered, he realised that he felt as if he’d fallen into a different world—with every step towards the foreboding gateway he took, he sensed that time itself gradually relinquished its hold on him.

Should he knock? Did he even expect anyone to live in this desolate castle?

Resolutely, he shook himself out of the pervading stupor that sought to befuddle his mind and disorient him sufficiently to make him retrace his steps unwittingly.

“Father!” he called loudly. “Father, are you in there? I’ve come to rescue you.”

Something heavy scraped along what sounded like solid stone floors inside the potential prison—a place as enchantingly beautiful as it was intrinsically terrifying—and Findekáno threw himself against the unyielding gate in despair.

The mysterious sound was undeniably moving away from him.

He knew not why, but he couldn’t bear the mere thought of being abandoned by whatever strange creature or entity was inhabiting the impregnable fortress.

“Come back!” he pleaded. “I mean you no harm. Have you seen my father? We need him—the realm needs him. I’m begging you; we can’t have another King disappear into thin air! The people will tear themselves and one another apart in their frenzy.”

It was unlike him to monologue thus at a closed door, but he was heartsick and weary, and he yearned to know that all his selfless, painful efforts had not been in vain.

“If you want him back,” a voice so low it was barely audible whispered through an unseen crack or hole in the solid slab of dark wood, “you’ll have to take his place.”

Findekáno didn’t even need to think about that. “I shall. Just let my father go,” he declared, turning aside to keep a safe distance from the slowly widening gap between the massive, complicated doorframe and the portal to another dark dimension slowly swinging open.

A moment later, Ñolofinwë—haggard and dirty—staggered out and blinked into the fading light as one who’d not seen the sun in days.

“Flee, son,” he croaked. “A terrible beast has captured me! Run for your life!”

“No!” Someone roared from within the dense darkness of a high-walled, spacious foyer. “A bargain has been struck!”

Embracing his father shortly, Findekáno shifted around until he’d put his body between his emaciated father and the terrible gateway. “So it has,” he said calmly. “The Kingdom needs you much more than it needs me, Father. My horse must be somewhere beyond the field of thorns—follow the path I’ve hewn and let it take you straight back to my siblings’ care.”

The tears now welling up in Ñolofinwë’s eyes nearly broke his heart and resolve, but he lifted his chin defiantly and forced a soft smile onto his full, plush lips.

“I’m younger and hardier than you,” he said with frantic valour. “I shall be all right. Now, hasten home and don’t ever worry about me. I shall find a way back to you—I promise.”

Even as the words left his lips, Findekáno knew that he might well have perjured himself by accident or out of sheer ignorance, but his heart was true—he would try to return to the familial fold.

“You can’t escape them,” Ñolofinwë warned, making his son and heir look at him shrewdly. Thus far, the bedraggled King had only mentioned one beast, and the suggestion that there were several of them chilled Findekáno’s blood.

“If need be,” he said with wavering bravado, “I’ll tear the castle down or rebuild it to its former glory.”

He could feel that his time was running out as his future jailor’s patience wore thin; consequently, he threw his arms around his father once more and hugged him tightly.

“You’ve been an excellent teacher and role model,” he whispered. “I shall follow your example and do what has to be done, even if it means standing in as the pitiful replacement for a bigger man.”

When Ñolofinwë snorted, Findekáno’s grin grew genuine. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Now go! I’ve let Turno in charge, and ‘Rissë might have murdered him by now for having tried to convince her of a sensible match!”

Peering into the beckoning obscurity beyond the threshold, Findekáno squared his shoulders and stepped into the castle without hesitating or dawdling.

To his astonishment, he found himself utterly alone. In the distance, he thought he saw a flash of gleaming red, reminiscent of a huge, hunkering creature scurrying away much faster than could be expected of a being of that enormous size and girth.

Unnerved by that nonsensical vision, he gave chase at once.

“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing through the clean but empty hall. “I have done as you’ve asked—I’m at your disposal.”

Behind him, the door closed with an ominous creak, shutting out the last rays of guiding sun—he was now immersed in an inky blackness such as he’d never experienced before.

Still, he moved forward brazenly, always extending his foot cautiously before setting it down.

In the distance, he thought he heard the mournful song of a single harp. “You’re lost,” it seemed to wail. “You’re alone, and nobody will come to save you.”

Findekáno bared his teeth at nothing and no one in particular as he pushed ever-onward—he knew that this phantom melody was mendacious and refused to be led astray.

There had to be at least one other living, sentient being in the impenetrable gloom ahead of him. His father had been held against his will and consequently released, so there had to be someone at the root of both the unlawful imprisonment and the sudden deliverance.

“Show yourself,” he demanded, but all his overwrought senses could make out was the metallic whine of a blade being dragged along a hard surface and the persistent tune of the invisible harp.

Suddenly, after what felt like hours of aimless wandering, his eyes—now attuned to the ambient darkness—picked up a sliver of silver light, cutting across what looked like a landing some distance away from him.

Focused on his every step still, Findekáno noticed that the cold, bare stone floor had given way to thick, soft carpets, and he was mindful not to be tripped and felled by carelessly rumpled edges or slippery tiles between rushes at the last moment.

“Hello?” he repeated in a lower, more tentative voice. He was starting to feel rather foolish, and he wondered whether he should not try to make his way back to the door and flee.

Within his heart of hearts, though, he knew that the unseen and yet undeniable presence haunting these wide corridors and domed halls would not let him escape their grasp.

“Am I amusing you?” he scoffed and flinched when a sound akin to various tools and weapons clattering against a wooden cabinet resounded, tearing apart the treacherously opaque veil of oppressive silence in which his blind exploration had shrouded him.

The white beam of muted light broadened as he approached, and Findekáno could now make out an intricately decorated door just ahead.

When he extended his hand, the wood was smooth and warm against his damp palm.

He slipped into the room noiselessly and found himself in an archaic dining hall which appeared to have been deserted for long years—there were no signs of recent use, and even the smell of lit candles and fresh, steaming food had long since evaporated.

Instead, there was a lone figure, outlined starkly by the moonlight.

Before he could speak up, it turned around slowly.

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[oh--jeez]

FIRST OF ALL: there is nothing wrong with being bad at something, whether you are doing your best or not. you are obligated to nobody and nothing to improve your art or your appreciation of art, as long as you don't make it someone else's problem. i am MAGNIFICENTLY BAD at sewing, and i sew my own clothes anyways, and wear them! where people can see!! and if i download a sewing pattern and fuck it up - which is inevitable, given my dyspraxia and ADHD - that's on me, and i can either fix it or walk around looking lumpy. i choose lumpiness at least 75% of the time, because i am now old enough to be eccentric and not just unfashionable.

THAT SAID:

i keep seeing fic authors apologising for their clear, well-written, engaging fics being "confusing" due to reader complaints about, among other things, changes in narrator perspective, use of subtext, and (tagged, always) unreliable narration.

these are extremely basic narrative tools in story writing, and it's fine to use them.

stop apologising for your readers, who, until they found fanfiction written by other children their age, hadn't read anything they weren't assigned in school, for being functionally illiterate. stop apologising to people who prefer manga, and have decided to get mad at you for writing a wall of text instead of publishing your story as a dōjinshi manga.

you have done nothing wrong. you are writing a story, and you absolutely are not obligated or even advised to provide a humble apology with your author's note c-notes to people who want to read horny fic about tobirama in the potterverse, but refuse to engage with written medium at a level, frequency, and breadth of topic that would allow them to GET BETTER AT IT.

reading fiction is a practiced skill that gets easier and more enjoyable with time, barring the interference of chronic disabilities. there is a reason why we start with 'THE VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR' and work our way up to 'Hóng lóu mèng,' and it's not that little kids can't invent and enjoy more complex narratives, or that an adult, upon entering an adult literacy program, will automatically be able to take in and enjoy advanced literature with intricate grammar and subtle wordplay, simply cos they're adults. it's the reading. you have to put in the time and effort to get better at reading written language, and familiarise yourself with the function and utility of basic-to-complex grammar, even if you don't study the technicalities.

i ask you to stop apologising for doing nothing wrong, because people are starting to believe they're entitled to an apology from creators for creating things they don't like. i'm not talking about racist, misappropriated, or misogynist content, or people producing fetishising, transmisic, or pedophilic material for the delight of rapists and chasers. i'm talking about people just not liking where the story is going, or how you choose to portray inner monologues vs spoken ideas, or your use of techno-jargon. those are stylistic and creative choices by you, in your art, and if they don't like your flavour they can go read someone else. you are not responsible for entertaining everyone, all the time.

your readers are free to enlarge the text, use a dictionary, pay attention to who is talking instead of skimming cos the chapter is "boring" and "too long" (?!?!), or any other material or ephemeral adaptation they need to make it accessible and enjoyable to them, before coming to you and complaining that you're writing for a level of literacy they are unable or refuse to get to.

"reading with a dictionary what kind of nerd shit is that" the kind of nerd shit that wants to know what words mean so they can enjoy what they're reading, until they know so many words they don't need a dictionary to understand what's happening. it's what nerds used to do before the internet, when we didn't have a way to reach out instantly and demand the author explain their story to us, personally. we had to write LETTERS demanding that, so most - not all - of us opted to just open a dictionary or consult a grownup about what a turn of phrase meant instead of waiting a month for a reply.

to readers who want a story explained: the story you are reading is the explanation. that's the author explaining it to you. they have taken a piece of their heart and carefully written it out and posted it for you to read, for free. if you didn't understand it, read it again to see if you missed anything. if you don't want to do that, or you didn't enjoy it, move on. otherwise, you're like people who leave bad reviews on free advanced sewing and advanced knitting patterns, complaining that you tried it and it is too complicated for you. the world is full of accessible, beginner-level fiction and crafts. either resolve to get better at the thing you want to enjoy, or stop complaining that fun and challenging things exist for people who are good at reading, knitting, and any other pleasant recreational or cultural pursuit.

NB: if the author was being a bigot and not just writing about a bigot, by all means yell at them. learn the difference, first.

also, if you're fixing your mouth to talk about how i piss on the poor, this isn't directed at people with learning disabilities, of which i have several.

because of those, i'm not an author. yeah, imagine that: i'm someone who is passionate about being kind to creators and engaging with their chosen medium in an informed and honest way, without myself being a creator. it's called "being a person, and understanding other people are also people."

i could probably try writing fiction, and maybe get better at it, but it's not a pressing issue and i'm perfectly happy just reading. fic authors are magical beasts we should value and love, not treat like AU spank bank vending machines that ate our money.

EDIT: man this sure is a lot of words about how i don't write

[villains4hire]

☠ What does someone have to do for an instant unfollow from you? / ☀ What’s your rp pet peeve? / ☁ Have you ever forgiven a partner when you shouldn’t have?

//Spicy Goopy Time

☠

I think the following ways for an instant unfollow or block is that isn't in my rules:

1. Posting an opinion or supporting an opinion that ridicules criticism while also being critical yourself or supporting someone that does? It's super hypocritical, but I can get how people can get suckered into wanting to defend their content creators/idols, so at the same time I give a little bit of slack before a block. It just makes someone come off as really stupid or just someone that shouldn't be looking at opinions or 'actual criticism' who can't tell the difference between actual harassment on the internet, of all things. I think I see this happen with Vivziepop or her fans that defend her along with Vtubers the most in any rpc/content fandom at this point, but I usually have her tag/fandom tag muted and I only glance at twitter so yeah. They can have their opinions, Vivziepop/Vtubers too, but in the market place of free ideas? They just come off as really weak when coming at it from a dismissive angle rather than defend your points or actually engage if you decide to approach or just simply tell someone to fuck off if directly given to you, yeah. Mostly because if it isn't worth responding to? Then why even go as far to point people out is my thing? It's the paradox that you don't care but do care actually to the point of wanting to put things down rather than explain it, unless you have to, it comes off as insecure, but nuance I don't expect ppl to get it and it's fine, etc, it really depends as if you were dead on straight asked a question that was critical? I think it'd be fine to just say 'Yeah I don't care, this opinion/topic is worthless to me', then just move on lol, I would have INFINITE more respect for someone saying that and showing a bit of backbone rather than hiding behind any justification or their fans. I don't think I have anyone in my feed like that remaining to the point where I notice it on dash. As I have anyone like that get blocked as I can tell the difference between an opinion and then someone being just 'like that', and anyone who follows me for a while knows that I will just say what I feel like and know I'm rather neutral on the matter regarding for or against those I mentioned prior, I just have a deep annoyance for this mentality. This might just be a culture thing tho? My family and people I tend to gravitate toward ppl like us/different cultures, that are similar bc of it talk very directly and we see it as insulting/weird otherwise for us anyway.

2. Someone that is too 'soft' in how they react or too 'cold' or too 'cruel' in how they treat other people. I try to be balanced so I don't expect anyone to be perfect tho. I tend to just ignore these types but let them follow me, granted I will say that if I don't follow back it's not bc of that lol, I follow primarily on interest even if slight. I interact with all types of ppl regardless.

-

☀

I suppose someone who doesn't pull their weight in an rp and just monologues. It takes two to tango and so long as someone's pushing it forward, or making even a slight effort to throw something new on the wall? I greatly appreciate it and I tend to favor those rpers the most. As it doesn't even need a defined direction, but passive rps are literally the bane of any rper to keep an rp going with someone and a common mistake.

-

☁

I can't recall so probably no. I tend to close my walls when I've determined they've gone too far. And I've always been right in that assessment as I've been hurt a lot irl by ppl, so I know what to look for usually, even if the person in question isn't outright malicious whether intentionally or otherwise.

[hippienerrd]

Connor Murphy x pregnant! Reader

·Summary: when Y/N told her boyfriend about her pregnancy he left her on the spot, when Connor finds her crying he feels the need to help

·Genre: fluff

·Tw: considering abortion, weed, mentions of home abortion, mentions of attempted su*cide

Y/N sat leaned against a wall out front of her small towns highschool, tears streaming down her cheeks as she wonders what she will do having to raise a child by herself. None of the adults in her family accepted her, much less were happy for her and her unborn child, and her boyf- EXboyfriend had left her the second he found out. She had considered getting an abortion but that was quickly shut down when she realized she didn't know about the pregnancy until she was too far along to have one legally.

(shout out the new abortion laws/s, thanks for fucking afab people like Y/N in this imagine over)

As she contemplated the logistics of tracking down a wire coat hanger and going to town, her silent tears turned to sobs, which drew the attention of her classmates who were just trying to get to their cars and go home. Embarrassed by the stairs she got Y/N pulled her knees to her chest and put her head between the 2 semi bonny joints in an effort to hide.

Connor had been in his car joint in hand, due to his car being fogged out he hadn't noticed the distraught girl mere feet away from his parking space until it had cleared out a bit. Usually Connor would over look something like this and continue his day as normal but he felt compelled to sympathize with the mystery girl despite having 0 clue what exactly was going on in her life.

Connor opened his car door receiving glares from near by students who weren't pleased by the new found skunky funky smell in the air. As he stepped out he finally heard her sniffles, the sobs had faded mostly due to embarrassment. Connor took a seat next to Y/N in a similar yet more relaxed position, his knees were in the air but not pushed near as tightly to his chest as Y/N had hers while his head tilted back against the wall and his forearms rested on his knees.

Caught of gard by the smell of everyone's favorite leafy green wafting off of him Y/N looked up to find the lanky figure that was Connor. 'Great, the dude who beat up that kid with the cast the other day' Y/N thought to herself, she also couldn't help but wonder why he was sat next to her? What did he want?

"What's your story?" Connor questioned like he was in jail trying to make conversation with his cellmate or something. His awkward and strange attempt at starting this conversation made Y/N let out a soft giggle as she wiped her tears only further smudging her makeup.

"Do you really want to know?" answering his question with a question while she looked out at the trees and clouds ahead of her. "Well im here arent I? I didn't ask just to leave you here with no one to talk to." Connor spoke still continuing the evergrowing chain of questions whilst adding a 'yes, and..' twist. Y/N paused for a second wondering if she should share her personal life with this strange boy 'what the hell, my life cant get much worse anyway' she thought.

" My boyfriend left me..." she began explaining, Connor almost walked out on that statement and he would have had he not specifically said he wouldn't just leave her, his inner monologue screaming 'if I hear one more teenage girl cry over her boyfriend im gonna be fucking sick'

(No hate to anyone struggling with that i completely understand i just think this is how Connor would feel about highschool breakups)

"He left me,, pregnant,, with his child" she continued choking back tears causing her to pause frequently in addition to the long buffer between her first statement and this one. Connor mentally redacted his prior statement, knowing the full story really does change the meaning a lot, he gave a sympathetic look to the soon to be mother but still staying quiet so she knew she had the floor and he was there to listen.

"I took the test,, 2 days ago,, and I,, I finally found the courage,,, to tell him,, today. He called me a 'whore',,, said it wasn't his,, because we used protection" Y/N sniffled and let out a soft yet harsh laugh "News flash buddy condoms don't always work,,,, especially not when you keep them in your wallet like a dumbass,, looking back that was stupid of me to let slide" her pauses grew more spaced out and her crying seemed to subside for the moment.

(One more psa then ill shut up.. I think.. Anyway when condoms are kept in warm spaces especially like in a wallet with almost constant body heat from being in a pocket and frequent friction or bending, these things can cause them to deteriorate so please watch where you, your significant other, or any sex partner you may have keep condoms, stay safe)

Y/N fidgeted with a silver ring that held red stones. "Besides he's the only person I've been with since sophomore year,,, were seniors now,, I always thought i'd marry him one day." she began choking up more on that last statement. "Im so stupid." she spoke harshly as she tore the ring from her finger and threw it across the parking lot. Connor watched the ring bounce only to stop when it hit someones car while Y/N had retreated to her home between her knees.

Once Connor was sure Y/N had finished he spoke up "Your not stupid, you said it yourself he's the dumbass, its not your fault he was stupid enough to keep his condoms in his wallet, and now you're suffering the consequences his actions, its not fair to you"

Y/N looked up at Connor as he spoke. He looked as though he had more to say but couldn't find the words so she stayed quiet and waited. "Was that a promise ring?" He asked reluctantly knowing it may be painful for her to answer. Y/N nodded. "Did he give it to you?" Y/N nodded again.

Connor paused, the words coming out of his mouth felt sappy and stupid to him, but he knew if someone had comforted him like this when he needed it,,, maybe he wouldn't have attempted suicide a few months back, he knew he had to say them wether he liked them or not. "They say a man is only as good as his word,, with a promise like that,, and the way he left you,, I don't think he was a very good man,,, you deserve better, maybe this was some weird blessing in disguise"

Y/N smiled for what felt like the first time since she found her fate on the bathroom counter in the form of 2 red lines. "You gotta name?" She asked "Connor,,, Murphy" he nervously replied "I like you Murphy" she quickly stated as she rose to her feet. Connor cracked a smile too, everything that just happened was so out of character for him and he knew it, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

"I should get going, its getting dark and I need to find a place to set up camp for tonig-" "Whadoyamean?" Conner cut her off and spoke as if all 4 words were one and it was deathly serious. "My folks arent exactly on my team right now, i don't think they'll want me home, at least not for a while" Y/N explained. "Get in your car and follow me, I have a better idea" Connor said interjecting himself into the situation for the second time.

With way too much faith in this boy she just met, she agreed and the 2 made their way to their vehicles and down the road to wherever Connor was leading them. About 8 minutes later they approached a good sized house in a mediocre neighborhood where Connor and Y/N parked alongside 3 other cars.

As they entered the house Connor yells out "im home!" giving Y/N that moment of realization, this was Connor's house??? Before Y/N could say anything a women who looked to be Connor's mom had appeared lecturing Connor on being late and making her worry but before she could finish she noticed the presences of an unfamiliar girl.

"Connor, who's this?" She asked. Knowing Connor had not yet even asked her name Y/N jumped in to save him the embarrassment of not knowing someone who he was probably going to play off as a friends name. "Hi Mrs. Murphy, im Y/N" she smiled at the girl infront of her Connor continued for Y/N though "She needs a place to stay, her family has not been too welcoming" "We don't have a guest room here Con whe-" she polity protested before Connor interrupted "my room, its here or some walmart parking lot full of crack heads mom" "...ok" she reluctantly agreed.

As we climbed the stairs and went down the hallway we passed a girl Y/N recognize as Zoe, she went to our school too. She watched us walk with a bit of shock and simply said " Use protection" which Y/N almost laughed at due to the irony of her situation. "Shuddup" connor replied in a defensive and annoyed tone, it was very different from what Y/N had been seeing.

Once in Connors room he immediately ran to his chest of drawers pulling out 2 shirts and 2 pair of sweats. He plopped one of each on the bed and said "Get changed, no way after all of that crying are you not tired, were going to bed. You can change in here, just let me know when i can come in" Connor left without another word closing the bedroom door behind him and making his way to the bathroom to change.

When Connor was finished he approached the previously shut bedroom door to see Y/N asleep on top of the blankets. His face grew hot at the sight of her wearing his clothes, she was cuter than he had realized before. Knowing he wouldn't be able to take the blankets from under her without waking her he walked to the linen closet and grabbed a fuzzy throw blanket. He stood next to his bed as he spread the blanked over top of the sleeping girl, afterwords he turned off the lights and climbed in bed next to her.

The only noise left in the room was their soft breathing and Connor's final words for the night which he spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Goodnight Y/N."

W o w this was long and full of heavy subjects but i honestly kinda love it, i think its pretty good for my first fic in 2 or 3 years. I hope any readers out there enjoyed it at least half as much. Quick reminder that my requests are open and it'd be very much appreciated if i could get some requests to help with ideas.

Peace :)

[jungshookz]

smitten: y/n's note is in jungkook's bag and she needs to get it back like, right now

➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader

➺ genre; smitten!miniseries!! bff!kook & smitten!y/n!! university!au!! honk honk humour!! the boo hoo angsty wattpad-energy fic of your dreams!! unrequited love!! it hurts so bad but that's what makes it so good!!

➺ wordcount; 7.1k

➺ summary; y/n realizes her meticulously written i love you note is burning a hole at the bottom of jungkook's bag and the mere thought of him finding it is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

➺ what to expect; "well, maybe the reason why you're just friends is because the two of you won't allow yourselves to be more than that."

➺ smitten: part one [the almost confession]

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

[previously, on smitten...]

what?

where the hell is it?

you reach into the side pockets and you're disappointed when you end up pulling out old tissues and empty gum wrappers

it's not in the front pocket either — just your keys, a pack of bubblegum, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer

your brows knit together in deep thought as you settle back against your seat, your eyes flickering to the side as you-

you immediately pale

oh my god.

you're positive that your heart stops beating for three whole seconds the moment you realize where exactly the note is — because no, you idiot, you didn't shove it into your own bag earlier-

the note is in jungkook's bag.

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

the next thirty or so minutes of class seem to drag on at a snail's pace and you find yourself checking the time on your phone every five seconds to see when you can finally dart out those doors

your first instinct was to immediately get up and leave because of course you wanted to immediately get up and leave, but with only twenty-ish people in the class and the fact that you're seated near the front... well, it would be a little awkward to just pack up your things and trek up towards the doors without a legitimate excuse (you were tempted to tell your professor that your stomach wasn't feeling very good but the thought of your peers associating you with explosive diarrhea quickly changed your mind)

so, you decided to be a good student and wait it out — but, being perfectly honest, you haven't really been paying much attention to the professor since the thought of you shoving your hi bestie, i'm head-over-heels in love with you note into jungkook's bag instead of yours contaminated your mind five minutes ago

...

you let out a little huff before shaking your head to yourself

how could you be so careless?!

you don't even know how it happened

your bag was sitting on your right thigh, jungkook's bag was sitting on your left thigh... so how the hell did you manage to shove it into his bag??

on the bright side, at least you know where it is, right?

it's in the right side pocket of the bag, so all you have to do is unzip it and stick your hand in and out really quickly without jungkook noticing you rummaging around in his belongings

...but what if he's already read the note?

your foot taps impatiently against the carpeted ground and you reach up and start tugging at your earlobe anxiously, your eyes flickering up towards the dusty analog clock hanging on the wall

c'mon... c'mon...

your grip tightens around your pencil as you continue to trace circles aimlessly on the page, the paper crinkling slightly from the amount of pressure you're putting on it

the stress that's currently eating away at you is probably going to take ten years off your life

"-so, that's pretty much it from me for the day!"

you don't think you've ever been so happy for a class to end as soon as the screen goes black at the front and you waste absolutely no time in packing up

you probably look insane trying to shove your laptop and your notebook into your bag at the same time but you couldn't care less at this point because you need to get the hell out of here

"-please remember to contribute to the discussion threads online... at least four responses, please, and none of those bullshit 'yes, i agree!' responses. i'm definitely not going to count those as participation marks-"

you close your bag with a sharp ziiiip! and you hurry to fold the squeaky desk back into place, a couple of people turning to glance at you for the sudden abundance of clattering and knocking coming from your direction

"excuse me, pardon me-" you pull your backpack on as you step over multiple sets of legs, trying your best not to trample on any feet or knock anyone's tooth out with your bag, "sorry! excuse me-"

you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you jog up the steps two at a time, your brain immediately mapping out the route to the library jungkook said he'd be at

best case scenario: he hasn't found the note and your friendship with him is still very much in tact

worst case scenario: he found the note and is currently reading it at this point in time and your friendship with him is starting to crumble but you still have a chance to swoop in and pick up the pieces

the absolutely worst case ever in the entire world scenario: he's found the note, he's read the note, he's processed the note, and your friendship with him has been completely annihilated and now he's planning to change his name and leave the country so that he doesn't have to confront you about it

you use your shoulder to shove the doors open before bursting out into the open air, ignoring the concerned glances you're starting to receive from your obviously frazzled state

"oh god, oh god, oh god-!" your backpack flops wildly against your back as you rush down the narrow brick steps leading towards the main boulevard

realistically, jungkook's probably found and read the note, so all you have to do is come up with a short monologue about how all of it was fake and that the note was just a sick, twisted prank of some kind

i know that the note makes it seem like i'm telling you that i'm in love with you, but that's not the truth at all!

"woah, watch it-!"

you accidentally knock into someone's shoulder while sprinting down the lane and you turn around for a second just to hold a hand out while flashing the stranger a sheepish smile

"sorry! so sorry-" you turn back around, reaching up to keep your glasses secured on the top of your head as you continue to sprint, your sneakers slapping down against the pavement

as you read in the note, i made a point about how since we're friends, we should be honest with each other... and honestly, there are nothing but lies in the note! and there's a lesson in that, you know? words can be full of lies but we, as human beings, should be full of truths-

"nope, hate that-" you shake your head and immediately scrunch up that mental piece of paper before tossing it into your brain's garbage bin

you'd sound like an obnoxious philosophy student if you hit him with that explanation

it was a prank! i want to start a prank war with you and this is how i'm kicking things off!

that... that could work, right?

that's not bad!

just tell him that you wanted to start a prank war with him so you decided to go big or go home with an i love you, best friend note to see how he would react!

"so stupid-" you mutter to yourself, slowing down to a jog as you approach the doors to the library, "so, so stupid-"

the Super Epic Prank War ROFL XD™ explanation isn't the greatest excuse but it's the best you can do on such short notice

thankfully, it doesn't take you very long to track down jungkook considering the fact he always sits in the same area every time the two of you come here

your feet come to a screeching halt the moment you spot him and you quickly step to the side to hide behind the wall

you slowly lean over a little to peek at him

he has his headphones on and he's busy typing away at his laptop and you can tell he's concentrating really hard because he has that cute frown on his face and occasionally he'll mutter something to himself

jungkook in intense focus mode is something you find to be very endearing :-)

...

you quickly shake your head to snap yourself out of your daze before focusing on jungkook's face again

he certainly doesn't look like he just read an explosive love letter...

hm

you could still be safe!

...for now, that is.

"okay, y/n-" you stand up straight and let out a breath, giving yourself a mental pat on the head in an effort to calm your nerves, "better sooner than later, right? just- you just have to rip it off like a bandaid-"

your anxiety seems to build with every step that brings you closer to jungkook and you can almost hear the jaws theme song playing all around you

da-dum

jungkook, i swear i have a perfectly logical explanation for this...

da-dum

i know the note does a very convincing job of making it seem like i'm in love with you, but that couldn't be farther from the truth!

da-dum, da-dum

consider this your initiation into our very serious prank war, my friend!

dadumdadumdumdumbdumbdumbthisissuchadumbdumbidea-

"hi!" you greet a little too enthusiastically, trying your best not to make it seem like you just sprinted across campus to get to him even though you very clearly did

"sorry, seat's reserv- y/n?" jungkook looks up from his laptop before frowning, quickly glancing back down at his screen to check the time as he pulls his headphones off to hang around his neck, "aren't you- didn't your class end, like, literally a minute ago? why are you so- did you run here??" he asks incredulously, getting up from his seat as his brows knit together in concern

"no, no! of course i didn't run here, silly- oh, god, give me a sec-" you wheeze, bending down and gripping onto the back of the wooden chair in front of you as you try to catch your breath, your chest still falling and rising at a concerning pace from the physical stress of sprinting and the mental stress of the current situation, "it was more of a- of a brisk walk, if you think about it- jesus, i think i'm gonna throw up-"

"okay, you need to drink some water- come and sit next to me-" jungkook reaches out to help lead you around the table towards him, "god, i don't know why you thought you had to run over, it's not like i was planning on going anywhere-"

"i'm fine, kook, it's fine-"

"you're, like, literally radiating heat," jungkook turns you around and pulls your bag off your back before pulling out a chair and helping you into it, "and your face is all red!" he frowns, setting your bag down on the table and unzipping it to pull out your water bottle

"my face is always this red!" you force out a casual laugh, waving your hand to dismiss him as you lean back against the seat, "i'm fine, it's fine-"

"shut up and take a sip-" jungkook untwists the cap of your water bottle before shoving it into your hands and gently lifting it up towards your mouth, his head tilting up a little so he can check and see if you're actually drinking anything, "c'mon, hydrate yourself-"

you swallow a couple gulps of water before pulling the bottle away and reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "god, i love water-"

"yeah, i bet." jungkook chuckles, visibly more relieved now that he knows you won't be passing out from exhaustion anytime soon

as you put your water bottle away, your eyes lower towards jungkook's backpack slouching against the leg of his chair and almost immediately the anxiety that you thought you'd just swallowed down bubbles right back up

"so, are you going to tell me why you're acting like the cops are after you?" jungkook jokes, taking his seat before pulling his headphones off and setting them down next to his laptop

"i just, um-" you press your lips together as you slowly start to lean down, stretching your arm out towards the pocket, "i just wanted to see you, buddy!"

"i don't believe that for a second." jungkook snorts, turning to look at you

you shoot straight back up and pull your arm up and behind your head as if you're in the middle of a good stretch, "hey, what's with that tone? it's not a crime for me to want to see you-"

"you saw me at lunch! and that was only like an hour and a half ago-" jungkook turns his head to look back at his screen and you quickly revert back to your mission impossible secret agent mode

the forced smile drops from your face and you lean back down, your fingers blindly feeling for the cool metal of the zipper

"you know, you actually came at just the right time-" jungkook speaks up again and you pause just in case you need to pull away from his bag, but he makes no move to turn and look at you, "ji-eun was about to leave for her class but now you can meet her before she goes off!"

"uh-huh..." your tongue pokes out in concentration as you unzip the pocket in one swift movement, immediately sticking your hand in and feeling around for the balled-up piece of paper, "sounds gre-"

hold on, what did he just say?

you shoot back up

"did you just-" you choke and reach up to pat your chest gently, "i'm sorry, did you just say that ji-eun was here?"

"uh-huh!" jungkook nods, "i didn't know she had a spare at the same time as i did so i was surprised when she came over to say hi- it turns out our schedules are, like, sort of similar which oddly makes me kind of happy-"

it's at that moment that you notice the cherry-patterned tote bag slumped in the chair sitting across from you and you let out a nervous chuckle as you shift in your seat, "great! great, that's so- great, it's great that i'm meeting ji-eun today, out of all days..." you trail off, glancing around warily as you try to come up with some kind of an exit strategy

you're just really not in the mood to meet the love of jungkook's life today

you've already been hit with so many blows and it's only two in the afternoon-

"sorry that took so long! i couldn't find a bin but i bumped into my friends and they said they'd throw it out for me-"

oh, you have got to be kidding me.

your eyes widen in mild panic upon immediately recognizing ji-eun to be the girl who had overheard your entire monologue in the bathroom earlier today — and from the way her eyes flicker, it seems as though she remembers exactly who you are as well

"oh, no worries!" jungkook beams at ji-eun before pointing to you with his thumb, "this is my friend, by the way. the one i was talking about earlier! y/n, this is ji-eun."

you stay quiet as you continue staring up at ji-eun, your mind racing a mile a minute as you consider your current options

you can pretend like you've never met her before or you can make things awkward by telling jungkook that you met her today after she'd emptied her bladder

"...y/n?" jungkook lowers his voice, nudging you with his elbow before letting out a nervous chuckle, "please say something."

"i- yes, hello!" you blurt out, the feet of your chair scraping against the rough carpet as you get up from your seat to stick your hand out towards ji-eun, "it's- ah- it's- it's so nice to meet you! i'm y/n."

ji-eun stays quiet for a second before her lips turn up in a polite smile and she reaches towards you, gently taking your outstretched hand in hers (for the record, her hands are shockingly soft and supple), "it's lovely to meet you... as well, y/n. i love your glasses!"

you can't help but notice the immediate warmth that seems to surround ji-eun and suddenly it makes a lot more sense as to why jungkook's attracted to her

you're about as comforting as stepping into a puddle of water while wearing socks

you feel a slight sense of relief seeing that ji-eun is playing along but your new concern is whether or not she's connected the dots that your monologue in the bathroom was dedicated to jungkook

you didn't actually say his name when you were talking out loud, so you might be able to get away with this...

"oh, these old things?" you reach up to feel the glasses sitting on top of your head before flicking your hand at her, "i bought them on amazon. they're blue-light glasses- i can totally send you the link if you want."

"that would actually be great!" she gasps, nodding enthusiastically, "i desperately need a pair of blue-light glasses- seriously, i stared at my laptop screen for, like, ten hours straight today and i really feel like they're about to roll out of my head-"

"oh my god, don't even get me started. at this point it'd probably feel better to rip them right out of their sockets-"

"ji-eun, you ready?"

"let's gooo, i wanna get an iced coffee before we head off to class."

you and ji-eun don't get a chance to continue bonding over the pain of sore eyes when you're suddenly interrupted by two new voices

you look up to see two guys approaching the table and you subtly push your seat back a bit as you prepare yourself to say hello again

"oh! yeah, i'm ready, sorry-" ji-eun gestures towards you with a smile, "this is- this is jungkook's friend, by the way. y/n, these are my friends."

"hi, hello-" you get up from your seat again to stick your hand out, offering the two (very handsome, might you add) strangers a friendly smile, "i'm y/n, jungkook's friend- but you- you already knew that because that's what ji-eun just said-"

"i'm taehyung! you can call me tae-" the corners of taehyung's mouth immediately raise in a bright grin and he gives your hand a firm shake before nodding next to him, "and this is jimin!"

"hi..." you trail off, turning to give jimin a handshake as well, "so nice to meet you!"

"oh, i just- i actually just washed my hands, so-" jimin chuckles, looking down at your hand before taking a small step back, "but it's nice to meet you... jungkook's friend."

ooh

is it just you or did it suddenly get a little icy in here?

"oh, no problem! um, yeah, you too." you pull your hand back before swallowing nervously and forcing the polite smile back on your face, "i like your jacket, by the way! it looks really cool."

maybe it's because he's wearing giant sunglasses indoors but you can't help but feel slightly intimidated by jimin

you can't see his eyes but you can certainly feel them on you and you're definitely getting the vibe that jimin is already not the biggest fan of you for some weird reason

"thank you." he responds curtly, smoothing a hand over the leather before looking down at ji-eun, "so can we go now?"

"mhm!" ji-eun gets up from her chair before pushing it back into place, pulling her tote back up onto her shoulder before flashing a sweet smile at jungkook, "see you later, alligator."

"in a while, crocodile!" jungkook responds enthusiastically, watching with twinkly eyes as she turns and heads off towards the exit with jimin and taehyung glued at either side of her

god

she even walks prettily

and you were literally clomping down the boulevard like a feral caveman a second ago

you wait until they've disappeared to turn and face jungkook with a raised eyebrow, "...jimin was kind of a bitch."

"hey, play nice!" jungkook frowns, reaching over to give your arm a gentle whack, "he's a fashion major! ji-eun says being snooty is part of the degree requirements-" he grins, shaking his head slightly before leaning back against his chair, "she's, like, super funny."

"mm." you hum, still feeling a little uneasy about your interaction with jimin

you just hate it when first meetings don't go well and that first meeting definitely wasn't super great

but it wasn't like you did anything wrong, right?

you were great!

snooty jimin was the one who was being rude

whatever

hopefully you won't have to hang out with him too often if jungkook and ji-eun become an item

maybe you can just stick with taehyung!

he seems to be a lot friendlier

"oh, by the way, i-" you're suddenly reminded of your main mission and you turn to point down at jungkook's bag, "it's not a big deal, but i- i accidentally shoved something in your bag earlier and- could i just get it back from you?"

"you did?" jungkook frowns, leaning down to pick his bag up before unzipping it all the way and pulling both flaps open, "what was it?"

"it was- uh- just some notes on a scrap piece of paper!" you immediately feel the weight lift from your shoulders at jungkook's cluelessness to the situation, "i put it in the right side pocket-"

"wait, are you talking about, like, a balled up thing of paper?" jungkook pauses before looking up at you with wide eyes, "oh, shit- was it important??"

"um, i wouldn't call it important-" you snort, shaking your head, "is it not there? i swore it was in the right side pocket-"

"no, no, it was there! it was there, i just- ji-eun needed to spit her gum out and i thought it was one of my scrap pieces of paper-" jungkook winces, grabbing his phone and unlocking it with fumbling fingers, "i'm so sorry, y/n- let me text ji-eun and ask her which garbage can she threw it into and i can go dig it out-"

"no, no, it's okay!" you nearly let out a screech of delight knowing that your note now has a slobbery wad of gum in it and is living at the bottom of a trash can, "it's fine, i just- they were just boring notes for something. i just wanted to see if i had really shoved it into your bag or not."

"oh, okay-" jungkook's shoulders immediately slump and he sets his phone down on the table, "you're sure it wasn't important?"

"100%." you hold both hands out with a chuckle, "i needed to throw it out anyway so i guess ji-eun actually did me a favour-"

"okay, phew." jungkook sighs, zipping his bag back up and plopping it back down on the ground next to his feet, "anyways- i'm actually glad you're here because now you can help me plan out my date! i was working on it but then ji-eun came and obviously i couldn't have that google doc open in front of her-" he turns his laptop to show you all of his hard work with a grin, "check it out! i have a list of things i need to buy, i have outfit ideas, i even went on pinterest for inspiration-"

"wow, kook-" your eyes bulge out for a second at the sight of the extensive and shockingly organized google doc before you reach over to pull his laptop closer towards you, "i... i really don't think i've ever seen you... even make a google doc before-"

he even has the sunset time written down for the date

why would he need to know what time the sun is setting??

"i have everything planned for next week." jungkook pulls his laptop back to him as you settle back against your seat, "i already emailed my landlord to ask if i would even be allowed to hang out on the rooftop and he said it would be fine! he also reminded me to keep a brick wedged between the door so that i don't lock us up on the rooftop-"

"so you're definitely going with the rooftop picnic, then?"

"oh, i'm actually changing it to a rooftop dinner instead of a picnic." jungkook shakes his head before giving you a half-hearted shrug, "i think a picnic is cute but i really wanna try to impress her, y'know? i ordered this thing on amazon just now- basically, it's a medium-sized inflatable bubble tent! the description says it's perfect for two people and- i'm gonna, like-" he pauses and looks away from his screen towards you with a smile, "well, you know, i'm gonna do what you said and i'm gonna stuff it full of blankets and pillows and... hopefully i can string up fairy lights and stuff on the inside... so that after the date we can go in there and just talk and not have to worry about getting attacked by mosquitos!"

"wow, that's-" you cross your arms over your chest before leaning back and looking up towards the ceiling, "huh. that's actually a cute idea, kook. i wouldn't have been able to come up with something like that. i didn't even know transparent tents existed."

"i know." jungkook gives you a smug little smile before bursting into a grin, "but yeah, that's it! all we have to do is go and pick up all the supplies and stuff."

"we?" you frown, looking back down at jungkook, "i... wasn't aware i was part of this plan..."

"what? of course you are!" jungkook snorts, looking at you as if a third eye just sprouted from your forehead, "obviously you have to help me-"

"well, i just don't know if that's-" you chuckle uneasily as you rub the back of your neck, "i really- i don't wanna get in your way, you know? maybe you should- maybe you should just take care of all of this yourself! i mean, you basically planned everything already-"

"what? but- but you're my-" jungkook deflates and you instantly feel bad upon seeing his eyes suddenly turn sad, "okay..."

you press your lips together and wait for him to say something else but the next few seconds are filled with nothing but awkward silence and the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights hanging above you

you'd jump off a cliff if jungkook asked you to but helping him prepare and set up his date is something that you,.., definitely would not enjoy.,.,

but then again, this isn't about you, is it?

this is about jungkook, your friend, and he needs your help to set up this very important date that-

oh, damnit.

"i'm-" you clear your throat as you sit up in your seat, reaching over to give jungkook's hand a pat, "no, of course i'll help, kook. i just thought that- well, this date seems so important to you that i thought you wanted to take care of all the details yourself!"

the bright smile immediately returns to jungkook's face and you resist the urge to call him out on so blatantly guilt-tripping you like that-

"yes! you're the best!"

"i know."

»»————- 🖤 ————-««

although you and jungkook are practically inseparable on campus (and some would say it might be healthy for the two of you to give each other a little bit of space) — you don't think you'll ever say no to hanging out with him downtown

of course, hanging out with jungkook downtown would be a lot more fun if it weren't for the fact that the two of you have basically spent the entire day shopping for all the things he needs for his date

and if it weren't for the fact that he paid for lunch and treated you to a cake pop and a venti-sized iced coffee, you would probably be livid about having to carry everything for him because you really feel like your arms are about to pop right off in about two seconds

fancy cutlery, porcelain plates, fluffy throw pillows, a giant blanket, fairy lights... at this point he might as well buy an entire house for ji-eun

and look, you know you probably sound bitter and that-should-be-me about this whole situation, but that couldn't be farther from the truth!

it's just that listening to someone you like gushing about the person that they like for an entire day while you're carrying bags full of things for their date can get a little mentally and physically exhausting so if you're grouchy right now it's really not your fault

"i think we might have to call an uber back to your place, jungkook-" you mutter, adjusting the hefty tote bag over your shoulder with a grunt as you trail behind him on the sidewalk, "bringing all of this on the bus is going to piss people off-"

you stumble over your feet a little when the bag in your right hand knocks into a garbage can and you curse to yourself while resisting the urge to kick the damn thing over

"okay, grumpy, we'll call an uber home-" jungkook spins around with a smile before raising the notepad in his hand and tapping against it with his pen, "i just have one more thing i have to take care of and then we can go!"

"okay, well-" you set the bags down onto the ground with a fwump! before rubbing your sore palms together, "what else do you have to get?"

jungkook offered to help carry a couple of things but you insisted that you'd take it all and that he should just focus on ticking off all of the items on his list

you wince at the sight of the pinkish-red imprints now embedded into your palms from the straps of the bags

obviously you've now come to regret your generous offer

"flowers!" jungkook chirps, using his pen to point to the flower shop a couple of shops down, "i have to greet ji-eun with a bouquet of flowers as pretty as she is-"

"yeah, i understand-" you adjust the two bags on both shoulders before bending down to pick up the other two on the ground, "also, i'm not a genius or anything but i'm pretty sure the flowers aren't going to survive until the date if you buy them now-"

"duh, obviously not- i'm going to place an order now and then pick them up on the day of the date!" jungkook tsks, waiting for you to join his side before he begins walking towards the flower shop, "thanks for doing all of this for me, by the way. you really are the best." he hums, hurrying over to open the door for you

"i... yeah, of course, kook." you feel yourself soften slightly as soon as you see the sweet little smile on his face and you quickly scold yourself in your head for being so curt with him all day, "that's what friends are for, right?"

"mhm!" jungkook slaps his hands down on your shoulders from behind before giving them a squeeze, "and i am so letting you choose whatever you want for dinner tonight-"

"hello!"

"oh, jesus-" you and jungkook are immediately greeted by an overenthusiastic employee as soon as you step into the shop and you honestly probably would've knocked him out with one of your shopping bags if they weren't so heavy-

"are you two looking for anything in particular?" he smiles kindly before gesturing towards the large selection of flowers all around you, "we have flowers of all kinds! roses, tulips, lilies- i can even show you flowers from our new tropical selection-"

"actually-" jungkook nudges you aside before glancing down at the employee's nametag, "seokjin, i'd like to place an order for a custom bouquet, if that's okay."

"ah, a custom bouquet!" seokjin claps his hands and rubs them together enticingly, "what are you celebrating? i need to know so that i can help pick out the perfect flowers for your bouquet."

"well, i don't know if it's a celebration-" jungkook chuckles, his cheeks pinking slightly as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, "it's for a first date."

"a first date!!" seokjin gasps excitedly before turning his head to look at you, "you must be so-"

"-oh, not for me!" you let out a laugh before shaking your head quickly, "it's- it's definitely not for me. i'm just here to provide moral support and-" you lift one of the bags to show him, "muscular support."

"ah, i see... okay, well- why don't i take you around and introduce you to the different candidates you could consider for your bouquet?" seokjin turns back to look at jungkook, "each flower you choose will be very important in showing your future lover how much you care about them-" he pauses when he notices you hovering behind jungkook and he leans over a little with a bright smile, "why don't you go and wait by the front counter, darling? you can put everything down there and take a little break. there's some cucumber water and fresh puff pastry apple roses up at the front if you're interested!"

"well, i can't say no to free food." you snort, nodding before turning to head towards the front counter, "i'll just wait for you over there, then..."

you nearly let out a moan of relief as soon as you set all the bags down and you twist your upper body to the right and to the left until you feel the a satisfying pop! of your spine cracking back in place

your body was not made to carry heavy things

in fact, you'd like to argue that your body was made to lie down and do nothing

you take a seat on the wooden stool before turning to look at the apple roses sitting prettily in the display case and you almost feel like you shouldn't touch them even though seokjin offered them to you

even the pitcher of cucumber water looks too nice to touch

this place is awfully fancy

you didn't even know flower shops could be this fancy

you prop both elbows up on the counter before leaning back comfortably, your eyes lazily scanning around the store

"$15 for a single rose?" you gawk at the little wooden sign poking out from a large bouquet of neatly wrapped long-stem roses before making a face, "god."

you can't even imagine how much a custom bouquet is going to cost if a single rose is fifteen bucks

"-also write a note for you and attach it to the bouquet, if you're interested in that. it'll be an additional five dollars, but we handwrite it on the highest quality card stock with the most beautiful calligraphy and we even spray it with perfume-"

you perk up when you hear seokjin's voice and you look to see him and jungkook coming over to you

you have to admit that seokjin is great at his job because he's doing a good job at milking every dollar out of jungkook-

"yeah, that would be great!" jungkook nods enthusiastically, pulling his backpack off before unzipping it to grab his wallet, "i think a small note might be cute-"

"oh, that reminds me!" seokjin stops in his tracks right as he's about to lift the wooden slab to get behind the counter, "would you be interested in purchasing a teddy bear as well? if you add a teddy bear to your order, i'll give you a slight discount on the flowers."

"ooh, a discount!" jungkook gasps and you turn your head slightly so seokjin won't see you rolling your eyes at how much he's forcing jungkook to buy

you respect the hustle but this is too much

"where are the teddy bears?"

"right by the flowers!" seokjin smiles, wrapping an arm around jungkook's shoulders and spinning him around, "we can round back and take a look-"

"okay, i think i have to cut in here-" you chuckle, reaching out and grabbing the back of jungkook's elbow, "you don't- you don't think a bouquet of flowers and a teddy bear is a little too much for a first date?" you clear your throat quietly before offering a shrug, "i feel like that's just... a lot, kook. i mean, i would be overwhelmed if-"

"well, i guess it's a good thing i'm not taking you out on a date then, right?" jungkook teases, wiggling his arm out of your grip before turning back to look at seokjin, "onward to the bears, my good man!"

ouch

"yeah." you can't help but frown as jungkook and seokjin head back towards the flowers, "thanks for the reminder."

"that's gotta hurt."

"god-" you jump at the sudden appearance of an employee standing behind the counter and you place a hand over your chest before letting out a breath, "you scared me!"

"sorry." he shrugs, "we polished the floors this morning so my shoes are making, like, no noise."

"oh."

a moment of silence passes while you turn to face away from him again, but all of a sudden-

"so he really can't tell that you like him, huh?"

"you-" you immediately straighten up and your head spins around so fast that you're surprised you didn't complete decapitate yourself, "excuse me??"

"what? it's obvious." the employee snorts, spraying cleaner onto the counter before reaching up to yank the tattered rag off his shoulder, "it's painfully obvious, actually-"

you can feel your entire face starting to go red as this complete stranger continues to rip you a new one and you hold a hand out to shut him up, "no offense, but i-i don't think this is any of your business, sir-"

"it's yoongi." yoongi looks down at his apron for a second before frowning, "huh. i forgot to put my dumb name tag on again-"

"well, yoongi-" you place emphasis on his name in an effort to intimidate him and make him go away, "you don't know what you're talking about and i suggest you mind your own business-"

"you should tell him before it's too late." yoongi doesn't seem to be all that affected by your biting tone and you roll your eyes at the way he rounds back to the topic

"what are you even talking about?"

"well, i assume you're going to be his best man at his wedding. from the way it's looking, you're certainly not going to be the bride," yoongi purses his lips as he folds up the rag into a neat little square, "you don't wanna wait until you're fixing his tie at the wedding to tell him that you love him."

"what makes you think i lo-" you cut yourself off quickly before that word slips out of your mouth, "like him?"

"if you didn't, you wouldn't be here right now." yoongi points out with a tilt of his head, "and from how smudgy your eyeliner is, it looks like you've been working hard all day."

your jaw drops slightly and you can't help but scoff

the nerve of this guy!

"who do you think you are?!"

"i'm yoongi." yoongi raises a brow, "i told you that like a second ago- wow, you are not a good listener-"

"do you usually do this with all of the customers who come here?" you interrupt, crossing your arms defensively before leaning in slightly, "you're awfully nosy-"

"i only do this with the ones that seem to have something juicy going on." yoongi hums, leaning down to put the spray bottle of cleaner under the counter, "this is a flower shop. the most exciting part of my day is watching a bumblebee choose which flower to land on."

"well, nothing juicy is going on here so-" you twist back around before sticking your nose up in the air slightly, "sorry to disappoint."

"alright, fair enough." yoongi nods to himself, letting out a sigh as he slowly backs away from the counter, "i guess i'll just leave you to... wallow in self-pity... and continue staring at your friend with cartoon hearts floating around your head-"

"'you should tell him before it's too late-'" you swivel around and slap both your palms down on the counter, "why would you- why would even say something like that?! i can't tell him. are you insane?!"

a smirk twitches at the corner of yoongi's mouth at your sudden confession and he lets out a sigh before stepping back up towards you, "and why can't you tell him?"

"because- i just can't! he's-" you clear your throat before leaning in and lowering your voice, "he's literally taking someone else out on a date- we're here to buy flowers for his date-"

"so what?" yoongi interrupts, "it's just a date. it's not like you're stopping his wedding."

"so what? because he doesn't like me back, so what's the point?" you hiss, resisting the urge to reach over and smack some common sense into this very nosy and very stubborn stranger, "this isn't a romantic comedy- and even if it was, i'm very obviously not the main character-"

"you don't know that he doesn't like you back."

...

well now he's just toying with you

"i... i can't tell if you're kidding or not-"

"do i look like i'm kidding?" yoongi asks, pointing to his poker face before shaking his head, "you don't know that he doesn't like you back. you've obviously never asked him."

"oh, please." you scoff, turning around to lean back against the counter again, "trust me, i know it."

"well, did he ever explicitly say that he didn't like you?" yoongi leans over to peek at jungkook over your shoulder, "do you have a definitive answer to this particular question?"

"no, but he doesn't have to... we're just friends." you frown, your eyes wandering over to the back of jungkook's head, "he doesn't like me. i know he doesn't. we're just friends."

we're just friends.

(saying it out loud is a lot more depressing than you thought it'd be.)

"well, maybe the reason why you're just friends is because the two of you won't allow yourselves to be more than that," yoongi suggests, your head tilting to the side slightly as you force yourself to consider his surprisingly wise words, "it's obvious that you have a solid friendship so it would suck if a relationship ruined that- so maybe he does like you and is only asking someone else out to try to force himself not to like you..."

you feel your heart skip a beat when jungkook turns to glance at you over his shoulder with a soft smile while seokjin continues rattling off about the vast choice of teddy bears available for purchase

you bite back a giggle when he mouths a desperate 'help' at you before raising his hand and twirling his finger next to his head to tell you that seokjin is fully crazy

"...so i guess what i'm trying to say is that you're never really going to know how he feels about you if you don't ask him," you tune back in to the end of yoongi's little speech and you turn your head slightly to glance back at him, "but what do i know, right? i just polish counters at high-end flower shops."

🎙️tell jungkook he's being an idiot or tell y/n to get a backbone (send in an ask!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here? (full fics!)

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like smitten!)

🌟or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

[zeravmeta]

everyone on this website looooves to talk about Zuko having the best redemption arc ever but like. legitimately he does not hold a candle to Vegeta Something I feel people don't recognize is that Vegeta isn't a good guy until the END of dragon ball z. And I don't mean that in the “oh he warms up to them by the end” way I mean in the “he is 100% willing to let the main cast die at multiple points throughout the series and even kill them himself should they get in his way” way. He’s directly responsible for both Cell and Majin Buu getting as powerful as they did, and it ties back to his motivations in ways that are actually genuinely interesting. From the Namek saga, he’s committed to getting immortality specifically so he could defeat Frieza and avenge his race, and when Goku drags the rug out from under him and takes his deserved W, he shifts his life goal from defeating Frieza to defeating Goku specifically because his pride as a Saiyan and a prince are basically all he has left at this point. We see him vulnerable and even cry in the anime because of how important realizing the legend was to him, and then when he does achieve it but gets his ass handed to him, he becomes more and more volatile as the series goes on. Trunks dying was his first breaking point because suddenly he DOES have a family and he does care about them, but he also sees it as “settling down” and basically giving up on his principles entirely. And he’s extremely committed to his goals in almost suicidal ways throughout the series, as well. As far back into his shaky alliance with Krillin and Gohan in the Namek saga, he berates Krillin for not letting Recume kill him because Krillin could have used his death as the opening to land a fatal blow, to his first encounter with Perfect Cell where he almost blows up the planet (which would surely kill him, as well) just to take out his enemy, one of the most consistent points to his character is that he’s driven and always puts the effort towards his goals.

It’s easy to see why people call his actions in the Buu saga his midlife crisis bc it kinda really is. In the years following Goku’s sacrifice, Vegeta noticeably calms down simply bc there isn’t really a pinnacle for him to strive for anymore. He’s the current strongest, so there's nothing more he was to struggle for, and he even begins building his relationship with Bulma (compared to their initial one night stand lmao). When Goku comes back and shows Vegeta how ultimately outclassed he is in power DESPITE all the training he did do in the meantime, all his progress in the years Goku was gone just fly out the window because of what strength means to Vegeta. Unlike Goku who wants to get stronger simply bc he enjoys martial arts and wants to be the best version of himself he can be, for Vegeta it’s a way to gain back control of his own life. Even when he was supposed to be a prince, when Saiyans were supposed to be the strongest warriors in the universe, his entire life has been nothing but being oppressed, hunted, and getting the shit kicked out of him. Beating Goku is directly tied to Vegeta’s definition of his own security, because if HE’S the strongest then no one could possibly hurt him and his. When Shin tells him that his problems don’t matter after he accepts the power up from Babidi, he gets vicious because how dare he? How dare he tell him, after his entire life has been nothing but being stomped on and one upped in every turn, that his problems don’t matter? His monologue to Goku also does illustrate it best, that even with all his struggles and effort, it didn’t matter when a literal child became stronger than him just by getting really really mad. The sheer indignity of it all drives him up the wall in so many ways, because if none of his efforts mattered then why did he ever bother in the first place?

And ultimately, his redemption comes when at the end point of Buu murdering humanity, threatening to take the home he somehow managed to cobble together, and Current Trunks being forced to step up the same way Future Trunks did that, that he finally does choose to sacrifice himself for the sake of someone else for once in his life. It’s really interesting too that after he knocks out both Trunks and Goten that he talks to Piccolo about this, the only other villain-turned-hero whose redemption also came from finally choosing to sacrifice himself for someone else. It’s only when Vegeta can finally come to terms with not only the realization that he does care about others, but that they also do care about him back, that he really does become an ally. From an actual bastard villain to a genuine good guy whose even willing to swallow his pride if it means protecting his family.

[flowerypeaches]

Mothership

“What is that?”

Hero stopped their approach, a positively bored expression on their face. “What are you doing?”

Their nemesis, who was currently pointing behind Hero with an incredibly overexaggerated look of surprise, rolled their eyes, “Uh, giving you your cue?”

“My cue?”

Villain sighed loudly, dropping the egregious pose. “You're supposed to turn your head, in a suitably dramatic fashion of course, search for what I was pointing at, only for it to be revealed a ruse, granting me the opportunity to strike you unawares so I may gain the upper hand in our skirmish.”

“Mhm, and why would I fall for something so stupid?”

“Because you are stupid?”

“...”

“Ow, okay, okay!” Villain held a hand to their nose, grimacing as it came back bloody from Hero’s rather crude punch. “See, this is what I was trying to avoid. No story, no drama, no excitement. What if I let you get a few good hits in afterwards?”

Hero replied by kicking Villain’s feet out from under them, knocking them onto the cold and cracked pavement. “Looks like I’m already getting a few good hits in.” They leaned over Villain, arms crossed. “Now, are we going to actually fight, or are you going to keep trying to direct your own personal soap opera?”

Hero waited for Villain’s patented snarky response, specifically about how soap operas are a valid form of art and Hero would be wise not to disrespect it, yadda yadda, but none came. In fact, Villain wasn’t even looking at them.

“Uh, Villain? You still with me?” 

Villain’s voice was barely above a whisper, “What is that?”

“Seriously? It hasn’t even been a minute and you’re really using the sa-”

“I’m not screwing with you, Hero, there’s something in the sky!”

Hero had to admit, Villain’s acting had gotten much better in the last thirty seconds, but no matter how real it looked, they weren’t going to fall for it. Villain might be messing around now, but Hero couldn’t forget that they were a criminal, and a dangerous one at that.

They reached down, pulling Villain, who was still staring into the sky, up by their collar. “Look, I get that you never got the lead role in the school play or whatever, and want to make the world burn because of it, but could you, just this once, take our fight seriously?”

“I think it's getting closer.”

Hero ignored them, “I’m tired of the other heroes telling me I have it easy because my nemesis would rather focus on projecting their monologue to all of the hostages than actually rob the bank they broke into to begin with.” Sure, Hero was thankful Villain’s obsession with the dramatic kept them from causing too much destruction, but they had their own reputation to uphold, and constant stalemates with the theatre school reject did not help! “Let me tell you what. If you go down to the station without a fuss, then maybe I can get you into one of the nicer cell blocks. You know, the ones with the view of the hills. Does that sound good? Villain? Are you even lis-”

Blinding light filled Hero’s eyes and ears, cutting off every train of thought and any plan of action they might have had before then. They looked up, and despite the harsh light making their eyes water, they could make out the vague shape of a disc floating directly above them.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Told you.”

Hero looked back down to their nemesis, who looked much too smug for the situation at hand, and sneered, “Maybe if you didn’t insist on playing drama club, I might have actually taken you seriously.”

Villain had the courtesy to drop their grin, squinting up at the…  “Is it getting brighter?”

It was, and that meant it was too late for Hero to prevent what was about to happen. Familiar cold heat ran through their veins as their limbs locked in place.

A safety precaution.

Definitely not to prevent anyone caught in the beam from escaping.

“Hero? I-I can’t move.” Villain said.

Villain.

They shouldn’t be here.

Hero’s eyes widened, realizing just how screwed they were. They tried to relax their hands, to let go of Villain, to shove them out of the beam, anything, but only managed to twitch their muscles, as if they were encased in a steel mold.

Villain seemed to be doing the same thing, though the trembling may have just been the fear. Any other time, Hero would have loved to see Villain’s mask slip. To force them to acknowledge that, yes, Hero was a real threat to their criminal livelihood. Instead, Villain acted as if Hero was a fellow actor, asking for Hero’s thoughts on new scenes they came up with, or excitedly talking about whatever had happened in their soap that day, a neon flashing sign that indicated they were in desperate need of friends. Did… did that mean Villain thought they were friends?

Not the time.

Hero gave up on their efforts, and let the looming dread wash over them. This wasn’t acceptance, no, they were just giving themself a moment to rest before they faced what was up in the ship. Oh, they weren’t ready.

Two enemies, encircled and entrapped in an ever growing light, locked eyes. 

“We’re so f-”

And as quick as it had appeared, the burning light and mysterious ship attached to it, along with Hero and Villain, vanished into the night.

.·°·.·°·.·°·.

Light surrounded Villain. The ambient noise of the city was replaced by a low, droning hum. Any sense of direction was lost as gravity no longer affected them. They were weightless, and, even in this world of superpowers, nothing made sense. Where did the city go? Why couldn’t they move? How were they floating? The light was all-consuming, and Villain would have thought themself lost in it if not for the deathgrip Hero still had around their collar. 

Slowly, the light faded, and Villain felt their own weight return to them. Their legs wobbled, and in an instant, whatever force that held them in place disappeared. They would have fallen if not for Hero, who still held them in their grasp.

“What just happened?” Villain said, though not really expecting an explanation.

Looking around, they could see they were now in a circular, silver chamber. Dials and switches and lights and symbols dotted the walls, communicating something or other, and the floor was, what was that, carpet? Villain shuddered. Honestly, it looked a lot like a cheap sci-fi set for a tv show that should have been cancelled three seasons ago than a futuristic aircraft capable of teleporting human beings.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Villain jumped at Hero’s voice, and stumbled as their anchor let them go to run over to a wall.

Not a wall. A window.

Villain blinked.

A window that showed… Earth? No, that couldn’t be right. If they were looking at the earth, that could only mean...

“Shit, we’re already in orbit.” Hero said.

Villain blinked.

They were in space. Space. That was impossible, right? They couldn’t actually be in space. But here they were, staring at the little blue marble with their very own eyes. Was the room spinning? Or was it the spaceship?

Villain ran their hands through their hair.

They were in a spaceship. A spaceship. That was impossible, right? They couldn’t actually be in a spaceship. But here they were, having been abducted by the UFO just seconds ago. By what? Aliens?

Aliens.

Villain forced their gaze away to keep themself from spiraling, instead focusing on Hero, who has since moved on from the window to the numerous switches and lights, tapping the wall and looking at the symbols that popped up. Villain didn’t understand what Hero was trying to do, it wasn’t like they could understand what any of it meant.

Three deep breaths, and Villain made the best plan ever made in 24 seconds. They stepped up next to their nemesis.

“Hero?”

Hero’s hand was covering their mouth, muttering something to themself, and clearly not paying attention. Nevertheless, Villain continued, “Now, as much as I hate to say it, I think we may have to work together to get back on Earth.” Truth be told, in any other circumstance, Villain would have been ecstatic to work with their nemesis. Whether to defeat a worse villain or take down some other hero that had become corrupt, they would have welcomed the opportunity wholeheartedly. 

Why? Well, Villain would argue that it was more interesting, that their relationship, and subsequent fights, would have more dramatic tension. Definitely not because of any other tension that may arise from spending time together.

Villain puffed out their chest, “Lucky for you, I have decided to put aside our differences, and your lack of charisma, to take the initiative and save us both from peril. Yes, this does go against my better judgement, and yes, it may possibly be my most difficult role to date, but if it means I get to go back home in time to watch my soaps, then it’ll be worth it.”

Hero finally turned towards them, “Do you ever shut up?”

“Only for dramatic effect.” Villain said with an award-winning smile, earning an eye roll and a huff of annoyance. “So… what do you think we should do?”

“I thought you said you’d take the initiative?”

“Yes, the initiative in proposing we work together.”

“...”

Villain held up their hands, “Hey, hey, before you go punching willy nilly, why don’t you tell me what you were doing over here? Get anything useful from the flashing green triangle you were poking at?” They would have teased more, but Hero’s lack of response made them move on. “What are you thinking?”

Hero’s eyes flickered to the wall and back to Villain. “You need to leave.”

Villain blinked.

“Well, obviously we need to escape. We were abducted!”

Hero shook their head, “No, you need to leave. I’ll stay, and deal with-”

“What? And how are you going to figure out how anything works, huh? Even if you do, why wouldn’t you just come back with me?”

“It’s not that simple, I can’t re-”

A low, loud beep interrupted the enemies, and Villain turned their head in time for a wall opposite the window to open up and let someone through. Someone distinctly… humanlike. 

The person, an older woman by the looks of it, smiled brightly and opened their arms. “ .·°¯°·.·° .·°° ?”

That was distinctly not humanlike. It was like hearing someone speak through water, and an undercurrent of static scratched the inside of Villain’s ears. 

The woman—were they even a person?—walked closer, and Hero quickly stepped in front of Villain, shielding them.

She paid no mind, however, and spoke again, “ .·°¯°·.·° .·°° ,” looking expectantly at Hero, who, after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward. Her smile widened, and Villain was hit with a sense of deja vu. She pulled Hero close, and, were they hugging? Why was Hero letting her? What was happening? 

The woman whispered something to Hero, but it wasn’t like Villain could understand even if they tried. Hero turned back to Villain, giving them an apologetic smile before, “ ° .·°° ° .¯ .”

Villain’s jaw dropped.

Hero was replying to the woman. Which meant they understood her. Which meant they knew whatever language was being spoken. Which meant… which meant… Why were they abducted in the first place?

The danger presented itself fully to Villain.

They had been taken off the face of the earth by their mortal enemy, or someone who was well acquainted with them, at the very least, and had no possibility of escape. Villain considered themself clever, but trying to figure out how alien—alien!—technology worked was beyond them. They had to rely wholly on Hero, who, although Villain was loath to admit it, hated their guts. Hero could be plotting in front of Villain right now and they would be none the wiser.

Hero wouldn’t do that. Villain tried to reassure themself, because Hero wouldn’t send them off with some unknown alien being. They’d want to arrest Villain proper, right? Arrest and put them in some high security cell they’d break out of a month later. It was their thing. Villain didn’t want their thing to end.

Huh.

Villain shook their head, they’d have to examine and repress that particular line of thought later, because the woman was suddenly standing in front of them, startling Villain out of their thoughts. She reached out, clutching Villain's jaw with cold fingers, turning them this way and that. As if they were being studied. Was Villain wrong? Was Hero really getting rid of them?

“ ¯ .·°°·°¯ .” She said. Villain’s ears itched worse now that the woman was closer.

Maybe Hero thought they were doing Villain a favour, sending them off on an adventure, letting them create their own melodramatic space opera. Or maybe this was punishment for all the dated Space Trek references. Both were a possibility.

Familiar hands pulled Villain away from the woman and into Hero’s chest. They were not blushing.

“ .·° .¯°·°° !” Hero’s voice was raised, clearly upset at whatever the woman had said.

She, however, was unaffected by Hero’s outburst, gesturing between the two enemies with raised eyebrows, “ °·.°·.°¯°·. .” 

Hero shook their head, and Villain felt Hero’s grip tighten ever so slightly, “ °·.°¯ .·°°·.°°¯ .”

A strange noise came from the woman, sounding almost like… bubbles? It was clearer than the other times she spoke, and it was the way she moved that made Villain realize it was a laugh. She was laughing at Villain. Or Hero. Both?

Hero’s hands were shaking, and Villain couldn’t tell if it was with anger or fear. 

“ ·° .·° .” Hero was curt with her, and Villain recognized the tone from when they threatened to blow up City Hall. The tone that preceded their fights.

The woman seemed to recognize the tone as well, as she backed off a little, holding her hands up in a placating way. She gave Villain a small wave before nodding at Hero, “ ·.°.°¯°°¯° .· .·° .” and left, the wall closing up behind her.

The pair stood in silence.

Hero let go of Villain, letting them step away. Except, they didn’t. In fact, they did nothing of the sort. Villain spun on their heels and stepped forward, “What on ear–ugh, what just happened?”

“There, um, might be a slight problem.”

“Slight problem? You call this”—Villain gestured wildly around them, narrowly avoiding hitting Hero in the face—”a slight problem?”

Hero leaned away from Villain, avoiding their eyes.

“Care to explain? Anything? At all?”

“Where do I start?”

Villain’s theatrics, for once, wasn’t uncalled for. “Oh, I don’t know, how about the fact that we were abducted? That we are in space? Or, or!” Villain backed off, giving themself room to pace around the circular room and project their panic to an audience of one, “That there is an alien speaking to you, Hero, in an alien language, because no human could actually sound like that, acting like she knows you, and you, you reply to her? As if you know her too?”

“Yeah, that would be my… mother.”

“Your mother.”

Hero nodded.

“Your mother who lives in a spaceship. Who speaks an alien language.”

“Who is an alien.”

“Who is an alien.” It took a good second for the words to sink in. “Your mother is an alien?! Like, an alien from an alien planet?”

Hero nodded again.

Villain felt their brain short-circuit. “Does that mean…”

“That I’m an alien from an alien planet? Yes.”

Villain felt lightheaded. This was okay. This was manageable. This world-shattering, insane truth of the universe was perfectly manageable, and they were not going to spiral, not for one second. Deep breaths. One… two… three… Villain stopped pacing, facing Hero with the calmest expression the latter had ever seen on the former. “Okay, so now that you’ve had your nice little family reunion, we can go back, right?”

Hero’s face was a cross between a smile and a wince.

Villain’s expression twitched, but held firm, “And why not?”

“Well, my mother-”

“The alien.”

Hero tried not to get annoyed, but damn, did Villain make it hard. “Yes, my mother the alien. She, erm,” They groaned, covering their face with their hands, “She may have made a fundamental mistake about the nature of our relationship.”

“And what mistake would that be?” Villain grit their teeth.

“She may, perhaps, think that, we’re… dating.”

“Louder, Hero. Speak so everyone in the audience can hear you.”

“She thinks we’re dating!”

Villain blinked, completing the rule of thirds and simultaneously breaking their composure. So much for not spiraling. “Dating?” Their voice squeaked.

“Dating,” Hero nodded, “And-”

“There’s more?!” Villain turned away, back to pacing and practically pulling their hair out from the absurdity.

“And, the reason we can’t leave yet is because she invited us to dinner.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no no no.

“What’s wrong? I thought you loved drama.” Hero said, failing to lighten the mood. “Aren’t family confrontations and misunderstandings the bread and butter of soap operas?”

“My love of drama left me when we left the atmosphere.” Villain glared at Hero with enough ferocity to start a fire.

Villain walked up to the walls, flicking the switches and turning the dials, to see if, miraculously, they could make the ship go back to the city. The lights blinked mockingly in response.

“Uh, Villain?”

“There doesn’t happen to be an escape pod on this ship, does there?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“We’re really going to have to do this, aren’t we?” Villain said, turning to face their nemesis.

“Unfortunately yes.”

Two enemies, both flushed head to toe from frustration and embarrassment, locked eyes.

And Villain, lover of monologues and soliloquies, came up with the most profound, most thought-provoking line they could think of.

“We’re so fucked.”

Hero was inclined to agree.

[moonctzeny]

Work for it

Part II: Promotion

pairing: coworker! johnny x reader

other members as background characters: haechan as johnny’s assistant

genre: smut

warnings: explicit smut, semi-public sex, spit in mouth, pussy slapping, throatpie (omg I got so embarrassed writing this down)

word count: 5,792

summary: “One of your co-workers, the supervisor of the Sales Department John Suh, is arguably the hottest man you’ve seen in your life. You try to act on your crush but he is just plain oblivious to your efforts, but you won’t stop until your fantasies come true”

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

Work for you was living hell and no, it wasn’t for the normal reasons. You had a nice job as an intern in the Financial Department of a company, and with your hard work getting recognized, you were looking forward to being offered a permanent position soon.

Today was no different. You had made sure all your files were organized, calls made and deadlines in check. All you had left to do was look over a report in the office of none other but the man who was causing your suffering. Mr. Suh.

Mr. Suh, or Johnny as he insisted on being called, was the supervisor of the Sales Department but he didn’t let it get to his head. He was extremely friendly, willing to help his subordinates and brought a smile to everyone’s face. Working with him would be amazing if there wasn’t one little problem. He was the sexiest man you had ever seen.

Now, now, you weren’t some middle schooler. You came into this company committed to get the position you deserve, not beg for some man’s dick. But when he first welcomed you in the main elevator, tall height, hair pushed back and with a face of godly facial structure, you almost pressed the stop button so he could take you right then and there.

You brought some files along and ascended the stairs that lead you to his office on the top floor. It would be more convenient if Mr. Suh sent the report downstairs with his assistant and your best work buddy, Donghyuck, but you insisted on paying him a visit, saying something about how a little work out never hurt anyone.

When you saw Donghyuck at his desk, he didn’t even look up from his laptop, pointing at the door instead.

“Put your panties back on. He’s on the printing room”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, used to his teasing about your crush on mr. Suh and headed out for said room at the end of the hall. Johnny was hunched over a machine, shaking it from side to side.

You knocked lightly on the already open door to announce your presence, and he turned around, flashing you his killer smile.

“y/n, hello! I was just trying to get you a copy of the report, but the damn printer seems to be broken again.”

You tried to tell him that it’s okay, that you can use the printer from your floor downstairs, but then he bent over trying to locate the cause of the malfunction, giving you a perfect view of his ass in his fitted tracksuit. Rutting the machine around, he thrusted his hips forward, letting out the occasional grunt, and you took a mental picture for later. He must have shaken something a bit too hard, because ink started to spill out of the cartilage.

“Aww, it’s dripping everywhere”

He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and you couldn’t help but stare at how veiny and strong his arms looked as he pushed down. Your mind wandered off, imagining how nice it must feel to have him on top of you, applying this kind of pressure with his pretty hands around your neck as he-

“y/n? Are you ok?”

“Uh-um yes! Sorry Mr. Suh, it’s been a hard day”

It’s been your cute ass that made it hard for me to function around you was what you actually meant. He winked your way, and you were almost sure he did a double take on a skirt you wore that he had complimented before.

See, it’s not like you never thought of making a move on Johnny. You knew he was single, and he even told Donghyuck that he thought you were cute. Romantic relations between coworkers was not a rare thing, but the way everyone around here respected him made you nervous to approach him. No matter how many people fell for his charming personality and his visuals, he was never part of the company’s gossips and you knew the reason. The guy was denser than a brick wall.

You tried testing the waters with him, taking the light flirting a bit further, but he never seemed to catch the point. Maybe he was so used to getting this kind of attention that he dismissed your attempts as just friendly banter.

But you weren’t ready to give up.

“Sometimes I like coming here to relax. This place is usually so nice and quiet. It gives you privacy to do so many things”

What you said must have piqued his interest, since he gave up on the printer and turned his attention to you instead.

“Things, that the company wouldn’t approve of doing in here?”, he said in a lower voice than before and your throat felt dry when you answered him.

“Yeah. It’s just, we wouldn’t get caught in here, you know?”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean”

He took two steps towards you before lowering down to whisper closer to you.

“I actually know a place that has even more privacy than this room. I usually go there alone, but it will be so much more fun with you”

Droplets of sweat had collected on his temples as a result of his physical activity earlier, making his words sound so much more enticing. He looked around, checking if anyone was standing in the hallway, before whispering again.

“This will be our little secret, ok?”

You swallowed hard and nodded, ready to get your world rocked by John Suh. He reached for something in his back pocket, but instead of a condom, he whipped out something you’d never expect.

A pack of cigarettes.

“I told everyone I’d quit but the stress gets too much sometimes, you know? I didn’t remember you smoke, though”

Oh my god. Oh my god, you were so stupid. All this time you thought you coaxed him into a steamy, clothes-on, ass on the printer quickie and he meant sneaking you out for a guilt-drenched cigarette break??!!

“Right! You didn’t remember that I smoke because.. because I don’t! ...Anymore. I mean, I quit, just like you. And you know what Mr. Suh, we shouldn’t succumb to the needs of the flesh! Fight back to our bad habits and get healthier! Together!”

He was frozen in place, dumbfounded by your sudden anti-smoking monologue.

“Wow y/n I didn’t know you were so serious about this. Very impressed by your spirit though.” He patted you on the back before picking up the report from the printer and getting to the door. “I’ll tell Donghyuck to print this for you and deliver it to your desk. Won’t take too long, alright?”

And just like that, he managed to leave you in the printing room alone, horny, and one report down.

 ——————————————————

 The next morning at the office was as typical as any other, with the difference that it was raining cats and dogs. The low that was centered over the area caused continuous storms, the rain and moody atmosphere making it impossible for you to keep your eyes open.

You headed over to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, already the second one of the day, when you saw a very familiar someone occupying the coffee machine.

“Mind if you make me a cup too Mr. Suh? I hear you make the best coffee in the office”

He chuckled at you, instantly recognizing your voice.

“It’s my pride. I do love coffee” After turning on the machine he looked at you finally, a serious look on his face. “Listen, y/n, about yesterday, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to drag you down with me like that. You were right about the cigarette thing. I’ll quit for good”

You blinked at him, trying to grasp the ridiculousness of the situation and feeling a bit sorry for guilting him like that.

“It’s ok Mr. Suh don’t worry about it. No big deal”

“Oh and, please, call me Johnny. You make me feel a thousand years old. I’m not that much older than you.”

“Yes Mr.- Johnny”

Just at that moment, a lightning struck, making you jump in place. You glanced at the window, or rather the stormy mess outside, and sighed.

“Chose the wrong day to forget my umbrella huh?”

“You want me to drop you off?”, he offered, immediately making you panic.

“No no! It’s okay. The metro station is really close. It’s fine if I get a little wet anyways, I won’t melt, I’m not made of sugar”

You cringed a bit at your nerve-induced blurting, but it would all be gone in a second.

“You’re sweet like sugar though”

He poured the now brewed coffee on both your cups and you just stared at his movements in shock. Did he just? Initiate the flirting? And called you sweet?

Ok, this is it, you thought.

“Do you like sugar?”, you asked him seductively, making your arms touch. You had to take advantage of this opportunity. The ride home suddenly didn’t sound like such a bad idea.  

“Oh no thanks I drink my coffee black”

Looking at the clock on the wall he picked up his cup and took a sip, striding out of the kitchen and leaving you speechless, much like yesterday.

“I’m late for a meeting. See you later, y/n”

You groaned as you watched him walk away, pouring an excessive amount of sugar in your drink.

“That’s not what I meant...”

 ———————————————————

 Meetings usually meant making sure you had enough battery on your phone to silently play your favorite game, while you heard some old guy in a suit blabber on and on about the most boring topic on earth. Usually you’d be complaining about why they just had to take away valuable time of your day to talk about an issue that could very easily be briefed in a mass email, but not today. Because today, the man of honor who got to do all the talking, was Johnny.

To anyone else, you looked like the most eager intern in the company, taking in every single word that came out his mouth. In reality, you were just immensely turned on by his fluent English, his new suit, and his ability to capture everyone’s attention. You had no idea what he was talking about, but you could listen to him talk all day about how “Results are important” and “Taking a more aggressive strategy is vital”.

A sudden noise made everyone turn to the exit door, only to see that it was just the cleaning lady that had dropped her bucket as she was going down the stairs. You felt Donghyuck, who was sitting next to you as always, nudge you with his knee.

“Oh look, she brought a mop for your drool, how nice of her”

“I’m not drooling”, you whispered back with a glare, shoving him with your elbow.

“Right”, he chuckled, “you’re ready to get on your knees for him right now”

It was really hard to get the picture that Donghyuck had painted out for you off your head for the rest of the meeting. You pathetically rubbed your thighs together to get the slightest feeling of relief, and tried to mute out Johnny’s sexy voice with no avail. When the meeting was finally over, you walked out of the meeting room along with everyone else, when you saw Johnny catch up with you.

“Hey y/n”

“Hi Johnny! Nice presentation up there”

He beamed up at your compliment and you wanted to coo at him for looking so cute. His aura changed a color when he replied to you, turning solemn.

“Thank you. Glad to see you’ve finally dropped the formalities with me”. I can drop my panties too if you want, you thought to yourself, but you only smiled at him when he managed to leave you speechless once again. “Is it wet?”

Wet? Fuck, was Donghyuck right? Were you really so caught up on eating Johnny up with your eyes that he noticed? That he realized you were so turned on by him? He saw your confused expression and tried to futilely explain.

“Is it wet? Down there?”

You were losing it. Was he really asking you that in front of all your coworkers? Your face couldn’t possibly get any hotter, feeling as if you were burning up with a high fever. You realized you hadn’t said a word back.

“E-excuse me?”

“Wasn’t the cleaning lady going downstairs earlier to mop? I figured you’d know if the floor was still wet. Since your office is on the bottom floor”

Get your mind out of the gutter, y/n. Quick, say something already! Stop staring at him like a lost puppy!

“Uhh no I don’t know actually. I’m sorry, I have to go”

You turned swiftly on your heel to walk away from him, and save yourself from any further embarrassment.

If Donghyuck was here to witness this, you’d never get to hear the end of his teasing.

 ———————————————————

 You didn’t expect an email like that from the Sales Department. You were at your desk, minding your business when you got the notification, almost choking on the gum you were chewing on.

 y/n,

I have something very confidential to show you in my office. I think you’ll be very pleasantly surprised. Bring your sexy ass over here at 16:00 sharp.

Johnny Suh

 You must have re-read those 30 words about a thousand times to ensure you weren’t making things up. You freshened up your makeup, thanking the gods of sex that you decided to wear cute underwear this morning. All the things you were daydreaming about since your first meetup at the main elevator, were finally about to happen. Fidgeting around in your seat, you felt yourself getting wetter thinking of all the nasty things Mr. Suh was planning on doing to you in his office.

It was 16:25 when you walked up the stairs, not brave enough to make a man like Johnny wait. All his assistants were gone, probably send off somewhere to avoid having them hear your little unprofessional tête-à-tête.

You walked into his office, the door slightly open. He was sat on his chair, the back turned to you and you started to feel nervous. You didn’t notice he had changed his hair. And wasn’t he wearing a different suit this morning?

“Um Johnny? You asked to see me?”

He tsked at you, turning around.

“16:28? I thought you had more of a backbone than that, y/n. Also thought you’d come in here naked. Disappointing.”

The smug smile, the teasing voice. Donghyuck.

“The email was fake wasn’t it?”

“Luckily for you, yes, I was the one who sent it. I mean, seriously. This ugly brown suit for a dick appointment with Mr. Suh?”

When you graduated university with honors, you didn’t think you’d one day be charged with the murder of a company’s assistant. But right at his moment, as you grabbed the stapler from the desk and walked over to him ominously, you thought it was all worth it.

“Lee Donghyuck, after I’m done with you the only dick appointment you’ll make is with the ER doctor, to get these staples off your balls”

He got up, panicking, and started to back away from you.

“Somebody save me, please, mom!”

You were ready to grab him by his tie and fulfill your threat, when you heard someone clear his throat at the door. And this time it was the real Mr. Suh.

He had his arms crossed, a smile appearing on his face as you shoved your friend away and immediately dropped the stapler from your hold.

“You know, you two are always wasting time over here, messing around. Maybe I should punish you”

Oh god yes, please do.

It was Donghyuck’s deadpan expression that made you realize that you had actually said that out loud. Johnny raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“Oh, so you want the overtime?”

“S-sure why not? Not like I have anything better to do on a Friday night”

Your friend rubbed his palm over his face, cringing at the situation you got yourself in.

“Please, stop talking, I beg of you”, he murmured, when Johnny spoke up again.

“Well in that case, will you leave me and y/n alone to discuss some details?”

Donghyuck nodded, closing the door behind him and it seemed like he took all the oxygen along with him.

Johnny sat on his desk, whipping out some files for you. It might sound stupid, but the email, though fake, had put you in a certain mood, and having him sit so close to you wasn’t helping your situation.

“I will only give you the run down but please ask the supervisor in your department to explain further”

You tried listening to him talk about your overtime, you really did. But the way he was sitting on his armchair with his legs spread out, was practically begging you to do what Donghyuck had suggested yesterday and get on your knees already. You’d tell him to continue his work, challenge him to try and keep typing on his laptop as you’d palm him through his slacks. You’d wait for him to get a bit impatient, licking him over his clothed cock until it felt like it would rip from the fabric. He was definitely big, and you wondered whether you could take him. You’d put him in your hand and start sucking on the tip, then lick your way down to his base. Maybe he would have to take a call, and you would make it a goal to distract him by fitting him all inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. His little office slut.

“y/n. Get under the desk. Right now.”

His voice brought you out of your daydream but his words triggered another one. It felt like the world around you was shaking. Did he just ask you to get on your knees under the table? Could he read your thoughts? “y/n can’t you feel the earthquake? Get under the desk”

When you realized what was happening, you wished that the earth would just swallow you whole already, taking away the embarrassment with you.

Donghyuck met you outside. He had evacuated the building along with everyone else, happy that the small earthquake got them an extra five minutes of break.

“Did Mr. Suh pick you up in his strong arms like your knight in shining armor and save you?”

“Don’t talk to me I’m still mad at you”

He turned you around to face him, his lips pouting at you cutely and it was really hard to resist his doe eyes.

“I’m sowwyy I was just trying to help you out!”

“Help me out with what?”, you sighed, tuckered out, “he clearly doesn’t want anything more with me”

“Oh yeah? Is that why he hasn’t stopped checking out your ass ever since you left the building with him?”

You turn your head to Johnny’s direction, just in time to see his eyes shift from you and Hyuck to the floor. Maybe your friend was right. Did Johnny actually like you after all but was really just that oblivious to your crush?

“All I’m saying is”, he continues, “that you need to be clearer with him. He is the supervisor of another department than yours, he obviously won’t act out anything unless you give him the green light”

You nodded at him, a feeling of determination coursing through you. His words reverberated in your head until break time, planning out your seduction. You knew that there was no way you would be able to concentrate at work unless you gave it a shot with Johnny, even if it goes terribly wrong. Tomorrow, you promised yourself.

 ——————————————————

 And tomorrow did come, finding you right outside his office door. Taking long, confident strides, you walk past Donghyuck who for once, was speechless, eyes widening at your appearance.

Johnny’s favorite skirt hug your hips, garters barely peeking under it. Your shirt was a bit tighter than usual, an extra button undone, revealing your cleavage. The room was filled with the clicking sound of your high heels, that were as uncomfortable as they were sexy. It was barely considered work appropriate but you didn’t care. You hoped you’d manage to at least grab his attention, then let your talking do the rest.

Taking a deep breath, you knock at the door, slowly opening it. Johnny was typing away something, looking delicious as always. Your voice was way more sensual than you’d usually let it be in the workplace.

“Johnnyy~, good morning. I’m here for that file I need?”

He had his eyes still glued on the laptop in front of him, his tone as bright as ever.

“y/n! I would send Donghyuck over you didn’t have to- “

He finally looks at you, his eyes quickly moving from your chest to your skirt, only to stay for a bit longer on your legs. He seemed a bit taken aback, his breath hitching in his throat but he shakes his head lightly, regaining his stature.

“-you didn’t have to come all the way up here”

“I know”, you mewl, picking up a pen from his desk and clicking it closed, letting the tip rest on your bottom lip, “I just missed you”

You saw him stare at your mouth before he cleared his throat, coolly sitting back on his chair.

“I think you’ll take this back when you stay for your overtime tonight”, he laughed, too friendly for your liking.

“No, no. I would never get tired of you, Johnny. Besides, I have a great stamina”

“That’s good! Being mentally strong is very important in this business”

Ugh, take a hint already!

“Well, yeah, but physical strength is important too. You know, I’ve followed your footsteps and started working out. I can go on for hours”

His eyebrows lifted up at your statement, “Yeah? And you followed my footsteps?”

“Well, everyone in the office has noticed you’ve been hitting the gym lately, especially me. Maybe, you could show me some of your workout exercises later?”

He stayed silent for a moment, like he was contemplating his answer and you swore you saw the faintest blush on his cheeks. His answer, however, would disappoint you.

“I was thinking of organizing an online group aerobics class, actually. I think Yuta from my department might be interested in hosting it”

The feeling of defeat was written all over your face. You were done. Smiling politely, you told him it sounded like a nice idea and asked for the file. You felt so angry at yourself for listening to Hyuck’s advice, every painful jab your heels gave your feet seeming deserving.

Donghyuck saw you leaving the room and would follow you to comfort you but he fully understood your frustration. Since you left the door open, he had witnessed everything, and boy was he furious.

He barged into Johnny’s office unannounced, scowling at him. Boss or not, he had to give him a piece of his mind.

“Are you seriously that blind?”

Johnny blinked at him, surprised at his unexpected appearance.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you seriously telling me you didn’t get that y/n was flirting with you?”

“R-right now?”

Donghyuck licked his cheek with his tongue, getting gradually more and more frustrated. “Yes! Right now! The hottest woman in the office was basically throwing herself all over you and you didn’t even ask her out?”

Johnny was shocked, fumbling for an answer, “I thought- I thought she was just being nice”

“Nice??”, the younger man screeched then took a deep breath to calm down, placing both his hands on his boss’s desk.

“With all due respect dude, but either you fuck her, or I will”

 ———————————————————

 Nothing could make the horrible feeling you felt from your embarrassing incident earlier worse right? Wrong. Because it was Friday and you still had to go through with that overtime you had stupidly agreed with.

All your coworkers from your floor were gone, no one crazy enough to willingly work on a Friday night. You saw them all leave one by one, internally cursing them for their luck. The office was especially hot tonight and you were suddenly glad for choosing that skimpy outfit to wear today, even if it didn’t fulfill its original purpose.

In your deep concentration over the files scattered on your desk, you almost didn’t notice the shadow next to your office’s door. You could recognize these broad shoulders from miles away.

“Johnny, you didn’t go home yet?”

“I’ll leave soon, just wanted to give you some tips your supervisor noted for the work you’ll do tonight”

He smiled warmly at you, but his eyes held something you hadn’t seen before. Slyness, mischief maybe? You didn’t have much time to think about it anyways, because in a moment he was standing over you, next to your desk.

“You see, the loss of this week’s sales…”, he started, lifting the sleeves of his shirt up and revealing his veiny arms that you so adored, “...it’s much bigger than you think”

You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. His voice was deep, seductive, eyes staring right into yours.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yes. Doing all this paperwork, it’s very… hard. And it’s so hot in here, right?”

He kept his gaze on you, loosening the tie he wore around his neck. Was this your mind playing games with you again? You weren’t sure but he looked so good you couldn’t help your body from responding to him.

You got up from your seat, resting the side of your ass on the desk to be closer to his height. “If I got it right, you suggest that maybe you need to stay around for a bit? Help me out?”

He nodded, coming closer to you. You couldn’t stop gawking at the way his chest filled up his shirt so nicely, not caring if you were being obvious anymore. He was standing almost between your legs, and you could feel his breath fanning your face.

“It’s going to be tiring, but if you follow my orders you’ll get to finish. Think you can take it?”

Was it his suggestive words or his plump lips that made you feel so lightheaded? Either way, you wanted to dive in, to finally taste him. But you just had to ask.

“Johnny?”

“That’s my name”

“We aren’t talking about finance, are we?”

He stepped even closer, situating himself between your thighs that you gladly opened for him.

“Fuck no”

The way your hands grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a kiss, was almost animalistic. Johnny kissed you back with almighty force, open mouthed and breathing heavily. With the dominance that characterized him and a bite on your bottom lip, he pulls you up on your feet by the ID that was hanging from your neck. He tasted like smoke and mint gum.

“I thought you’d quit smoking?”

You felt his right hand grab your throat and he broke the kiss, forcing you to look at him. It wasn’t the pressure to your air flow but his eyes that had you on edge. The usual golden flecks adorning his orbs were hidden behind his dilated pupils. “I’m just a man. There are some things I can’t resist”. He dipped his tongue into your mouth, making you feel like you’re in a fever dream with the way all your fantasies were coming to life. “Open up”, he growled against your lips and you obey like you promised to. He spit in your mouth, in a manner so dirty it had your knees shaking.

You started unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to see more of him. Starting with running your hands over his raging heartbeat, you continue down his abs and end up fumbling with his belt. Johnny helped you, springing out his cock and, damn, he may be half hard but that was the biggest dick you’d ever seen in your life.

He chuckles at your widened eyes but instead of making some cocky remark like you expected he leans down, leaving soothing kisses on your jaw. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you”. He continued his kisses to your neck, all the while unbuttoning your shirt. Leaving it on you, he pulls your boobs over your bra and starts playing with your nipples. The tingling on your breasts was tightly linked it the one on your heat and you decided you needed more.

You took his fingers from your chest and placed them between your folds. Johnny cursed out with how wet you were for him, and started rubbing circles over your clit, occasionally dipping the tips in your entrance. He kept at it, relishing in your moans and he would have ripped his tight little skirt off of you if you were in his bedroom. The build up sexual tension along with the semi-public setting made you close to losing yourself in him. You just needed a push, and Johnny was more than happy to give it to you.

“You’re gonna cum for me. That’s what you wanted wasn’t it? Why you got all dressed up like that?”

“Yes, for you, fuck Johnny”

“Come on, let it all out. Cum so I can fuck the hell out of this tight pussy of yours”

You came all over his fingers, grabbing his arms for support. He gave you a moment, wiping the tears off the corners of your eyes while kissed you slowly. When you started kissing him back with a refuelled passion, signalling that you were ready for what he had to offer, he was back, rougher than ever.

He petted your pussy, collecting your wetness and spreading it all over your folds. You jumped up when you felt him slap over your clit, the lines between pain and pleasure from the overstimulation blurry.

You knew Johnny was strong, but the easiness with which he lifted you from the desk onto your armchair shocked you. Spreading your knees as wide as the cushioned seat allowed you, you stuck your ass out for him. He gave your ass a little slap while you waited for him to slip on a condom. He came prepared, you thought, probably planned on doing this from the moment he stepped into your office.

Johnny filled you up completely, your hypersensitivity making you feel his thickness in all its glory. He started off slow, careful of your tightness, but as he picked up the pace, your vision was all stars and constellations of pleasure. You must have moaned too loudly, because he stopped his thrusts and, in a moment, you felt him shove his tie inside your mouth.

“There’s still some people in the building, remember? Or do you like my cock so much that you don’t even care if they hear?”. You couldn’t muster an answer so you just kept drooling through the fabric your teeth bit into. Your pussy was dripping onto the leather, your wetness allowing Johnny to sink even deeper inside you. The feeling was so overwhelming that you opened your mouth wide in a moan, almost dropping his tie in the process.

You reached out your hand behind you to grab one of his arms in desperation. “I’m so close, so close, don’t stop”. He stared back at you with a crazy look on his face, and pinned your hand back on the headrest in front of you. Lifting one of your legs in the air, he starts fucking you so rough you thought the chair was going to break.

Your second orgasm hit you hard, your trembling body making it clear his size got too much for you. But there was no way you’d let him leave this office without cumming.

You climb down from the chair and got on your knees in front of him. Grasping his cock from the base, you started leaving open mouthed kisses on his balls first. You suck one in your mouth and glance up at him with the most innocent look you could muster, the contrast to your actions driving him insane. Johnny leans his weight on his hands positioned on your desk, letting you work your magic.

Returning on his tip, you ran your tongue in kitten licks on the slit, teasing him. An eyebrow raise from him compelled you to behave, pushing him all the way down at once. It was almost as if you pressed a button at the end of your throat with the way it triggered a guttural moan from him. He weaves one hand through your hair to keep you in place for a second longer and you gag. His dick pulls out, and the string of saliva falls over your white shirt making the fabric look see through. The sight of your lipstick on him, your watery doe eyes and your nipples poking through your now wet shirt was divine. He pushed past your lips again, and this time you made a good use of your tongue. You quicken your pace, his shaky groans and sharp gasps letting you know he was nearing his release.

Grabbing both his flexed thighs, you concentrate your breathing though your nose and deepthroat him again. Johnny growls, hips stuttering and eyes fluttered closed in delight. Warm liquid runs down your throat, almost choking you, but you take it all, relishing in his grunts and the way he moans your name.

After you catch your breath he bends down, planting a gentle kiss on your lips and offers a hand to help you up. You buttoned up in an awkward silence, not exactly sure what should be said after a session like that in a place like this.

“So, I’m guessing Donghyuck told you about my little crush on you?”

“Yup. You should thank him”. He smiles at you sweetly, pinching your cheek lightly and then moving his thumb in circles over the skin. “You also should have told me”

You rolled your eyes, “Not like I haven’t tried to! How much more obvious did I have to be?”

“I’m sorry! It’s just- you’re so pretty and I didn’t wanna be another one of the creepy guys that probably hit on you in the workplace”

Smiling at his thoughtfulness, you chose to forgive him and reached up for another kiss. He engulfs you with his long arms, and you push some hair off his eyes, admiring their softness.

“How about, I let you finish up here and we go for dinner after you’re done?”

“I’m not sure how I’m gonna concentrate after what we did”

“I’ll cover for you, but I can’t promise you that I’ll stop myself from distracting you”

[p-antomime]

dawn addiction.

— minors don't interact.

— wc: 3,3K

content + warnings: 18+, including: car sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, public sex (kinda of), unprotected sex, tummy bulge, pet names (dabi actually calls the reader "princess"), virginity loss (only mentioned), i bit of fluff bye

pairings: no quirk!dabi x fem!reader

— song: Press Your Number; by TAEMIN

After waking up alone one dark night without you sleeping next to him in the spacious bed placed in the middle of his room, Dabi catches himself thinking about you and feeling strange without having your warm body next to his in the bed. Thinking about Y/N was becoming a vicious habit for him and it was the kind of addiction that the more he fed, the more it seemed to swallow his sanity. However, he didn't blame you for not wanting to be seen or related to him, in a small town like the two of you Touya was the delinquent that people avoided interacting with lest they be excluded from that closed society.

He stretches to the side in order to get his own phone from the small table placed on the side of his bed and finds himself standing there for a few seconds feeling the smell of your body that permeated the pillow next to him. After taking a deep inhale, Dabi unlocks his cell phone to try to call you, but there is no answer, after all, it was past 1:00 AM in the dawn and Y/N was now probably lying in her own bed in her house trying to sleep.

The dark haired man lets out an impatient grunt before dropping the cell phone on the bed. He was deeply rooted in you and, because of that, feeling like an insane madman who was insisting on something that couldn't be his. But what could he do but fall in love with you after kissing your lips countless times and spreading your legs dangerously wide for him before claiming your virginity as his?

And the end of that night, just like all the others where you would finish fucking and you would shamefully put on your clothes to go home, would be filled by him masturbating with the thought of your naked body running through his mind.

Touya could feel the warm temperature of yours with little mental effort with his own fingers and would cling to the fading memories of the few non-sexual moments you had shared over the past few months.

That night, Dabi slept when the sun was already up, but Y/N, on the other hand, didn't even sleep a wink. She couldn't even take a lousy nap, because her eyes were glued to her cell phone screen waiting to see if he would call her again because on the first call of the night she wasn't brave enough to answer knowing that her parents were half a wall away. A coward? Yes, that's what she was. But there was a perfect daughter demeanor that she needed to maintain, especially if she wanted to continue to nurture her father's idea of letting her start studying at a university in the metropolitan area of the country.

Y/N would turn twenty a week from today — and if her father's promise to give you a car came true, her plan was already halfway done — and she didn't want to be stuck in that small, rural town forever. She had big dreams, and, ironically, in most of them the fulminating image of Dabi was present beside her. What if she was the only one there who wanted to leave that life? What if he didn't want to leave with her? But more importantly, at what point had their relationship become so deep?

It was now 7 o'clock in the morning, which meant that in about two hours your parents would wake up to go to work. You took a deep breath and reached out to grab the cell phone lying next to you on the bed, and then began to type a message as brief and vague as possible to your lover:

"Pack up all your stuff by next Friday. Take everything that you think is important or of value to you, pack it up, and meet me on the other side of the bridge that leads to the avenue out of town, the side that has the rusty 'Welcome to our town' sign. At two o'clock in the morning. No delays. And please try not to draw too much attention, wear the most decent, neutral clothes you have in your closet. Oh, and bring documents."

And all week long you could barely look your parents in the face without feeling guilty for wanting to break free from their protective arms, but you just couldn't take it anymore. You hated that small town, and you also hated being forced to go to church every Thursday and Sunday with your mother because she said that God would "bless you with all your dreams come true," so why didn't he just indirectly help you leave that town behind? Literally, the only thing holding you back in that town was Touya and you wanted to take him with you outside the boundaries of that town that looked more like a village forgotten by the rest of the world.

Y/N's favorite place to be was Dabi's lips, and even then, the girl's replies to him by messages and short calls that didn't last more than 5 minutes started to decrease drastically. The useless monologues continue to increase inside her mind. Until the Thursday before her birthday when Y/N was about to fall asleep after standing for almost 2 hours listening to the local church mass hoping that her mother would not notice her slouching and irritable posture, suddenly a sound of something banging against her bedroom window was heard. And initially she didn't bother to get up to find out what had caused the noise, until she heard it twice more and frowned as she got out of bed after seeing that it was almost two o'clock in the dawn.

You drew the curtains in front of the window, opened it and stuck your head out, looking down and suddenly feeling your cheeks heat up violently. And there was Touya looking at you with a look of sorrow and animosity. He pointed in the direction of the hidden backyard behind your house where the two of you in the beginning of your relationship used to hide just to spend some time together or have a make-out session that ended up leaving both of you sexually frustrated because neither of you had the courage to have sex in that place where anyone could see you if you made too much noise. However, Dabi was the devil in your life worth sinning for.

— What the fuck are you doing here? — Y/N asked almost desperately as she felt Touya wrap one of his arms around her waist to glue their bodies together.

— What? Can't a man miss his beloved and want to go see her? — He asked, holding her face with his free hand. — You barely answer my messages.

— I told you we were going to meet tomorrow, on Friday. — You rested your hands on his chest to move away just enough to look him in the face.

— And about that, you're killing me with curiosity, princess. What are you thinking of doing tomorrow? It's your birthday. — Dabi commented, running his thumb along her bottom lip affectionately.

— I-I know. — You replied, looking away. — I was planning on... going out... with you. — You just didn't say it was going to be an out-of-town trip with no intention of coming back.

— What are you hiding? — He asked, leaning down to place a simple, tender kiss on her lips.

— Would you follow me wherever I went?

— I would follow you to the ends of hell if you asked me to. — Dabi answered, and instinctively you grabbed his face to place your lips back on theirs in a kiss deeper than the one before in a frenzy of feeling.

— Then do it. — Y/N whispered against his lips staring into his beautiful turquoise eyes. — For my birthday the only thing I ask from you is to always be by my side, I don't need material gifts.

Seconds after you finished speaking, the sound of footsteps inside your house could be heard, and a shiver ran down your back as your hands desperately pushed Dabi away in the direction of the very door through which the two of you had entered the yard.

— Damn, not even at dawn I... — Touya began to complain as he walked briskly away from you and disappeared into the darkness of the night to return to his house.

— Shhh, shut up. I'll see you at dawn. Two o'clock, don't forget. — You whispered loud enough for him to hear you as you turned back and faced the back door of your house slowly opening to reveal to you the sleepy figure of your father.

— Honey? — He asked, and you gasped as if you were distracted by something while you could hear your heart beating rapidly. — What are you doing out here? It's late? and cold, you might catch cold.

— I... — Y/N looked around just to make sure there was no more sign of Dabi. — I heard a noise here when I went down to get some water and just wanted to come down and see if it wasn't an animal or something. But it was nothing, I guess it was just my mind playing with me. — It was a good enough lie considering that it wasn't hard to wake up during the night to go to the bathroom or eat something from the fridge.

And then your father called you inside and you promptly went. As the day went on, not even your father's birthday present with the car seemed to quell the anxiety inside you of going to see Dabi in the middle of the night with no intention of coming home. Y/N packed three backpacks and after watching your parents go to sleep, put them all on the back seats of the car after grabbing the keys that your father had left on top of the coffee table in the living room, and also grabbing some money from your father's safe that was in a secluded room in the residence.

After writing a short, albeit long, letter explaining to her mother that she was going to the metropolitan city — but without saying with whom — to try a new life there and that you would be fine because "there were friends waiting for you there" — which was a big lie, but she didn't need to know that — Y/N put on a sweatshirt and ran out of her now former home. Remembering all the various driving lessons her mother had made her take last year, you put the key in the ignition and made sure that your license and other documents were in one of the pockets of the three backpacks on the back seats. And you set off across town to reach the end of the bridge that served as both a gateway into and out of the city, parking exactly beside the welcome sign.

After about fifteen minutes, you watched a silhouette approach through the darkness, and if you didn't recognize the blue-toned sweatshirt with white details that Dabi usually wore when he didn't want to attract attention, you would surely lock yourself inside your car for fear that it was some sexual predator. Before he could finish approaching you at the agreed upon spot and open his mouth to vocalize something, you ran toward him to jump into his arms and kiss him fervently like you hadn't done in almost two weeks. He didn't fight your grip and responded to your display of affection instantly, he missed your touch more than he would admit.

— Where are we going? — He asked, analyzing her new car as he watched you open the back seat door and gestured for him to put his own belongings inside.

— To the big city. — You answered unlocking the door next to the driver's seat after hearing Dabi choke on his own saliva looking at you as if he hadn't heard you correctly. — Come in. — Your head swiveled inward.

— What do you mean we're going to the city? What about your parents? You have a loving family here, I have nothing to lose, but you? — Dabi put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

— I want to go to the city. I want to live with you. — Y/N replied feeling her cheeks heat up and looking at him expectantly. — You said you would go anywhere with me, to the ends of hell.

— And I will, but this decision... — You interrupted him.

— Please. For once in my life I want to do things my way. Without having to hide you from anyone, without having anyone judge me for being with you. Let's go to another city, live together, we'll figure it out when we get there. — You put one hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently.

Touya took a few seconds to process the information and after looking from you to the car, he said:

— Where are the keys? — You waved them in front of him, flashing an amused smile. — So get in the car, doll face. I'll drive. — He gave you a light slap on the butt before pushing you toward the driver's seat, getting into the car and putting the key in the ignition. — How long until we reach the city?

— About six hours, we can get there in the morning.

— Great. — Dabi started the car and began to drive along the deserted road while resting one hand on Y/N’s covered thigh and occasionally giving the area a gentle squeeze.

After about an hour of driving, you became distracted by fiddling with your cell phone until you noticed his long fingers sneaking up and over your thighs until they came dangerously close to Dabi's real intended destination. Her eyes cast a serious countenance at him as if she were silently saying: "Don't you dare" and in response his lips parted in a defiant smile as his hand on the steering wheel slowed and eventually brought the car to a full stop.

— C'mon. It's been almost two weeks since we had sex. — He said, lowering the two seats you were sitting on and pulling you to sit on his lap with your back against the steering wheel.

— And the best place you could find to have sex was inside my new car? — Despite your complaint, you didn't try to restrain his hands from reaching into your sweatshirt to grab and squeeze your breasts, nor did you object to the feeling of his knee pressing against the middle of your legs.

Touya lifts your arms and pulls up your sweatshirt and then concentrates on removing the simple tank top and lacy bra you were wearing, shortly after which he leans over your body to take one of your nipples between his lips to begin stimulating it. In response, you rub your hips against his leg as your hands grip his dark hair as a way to relieve the growing tension settling through your body. His hands slowly slid down your back, past your waist and into your pants, while his right hand also invaded your panties to run his fingers over your pussy lips and his left was busy opening the buttons of that garment.

Y/N put her hands on the hem of his sweatshirt, pulled it up, and was not surprised to see him with nothing underneath. Strangely enough, his skin was naturally too warm and it was not hard to believe that even with the low temperature outside the car he would only need a casual sweatshirt to not feel cold. And that was exactly why you liked so much to run your hands along his body exploring him calmly to make your touches last longer.

Dabi turned his body so that you were lying on the passenger seat and stood over you with a smug smile as his hands dug in and squeezed the skin of your legs after he finished getting rid of your pants with some difficulty because of the tight space.

— Keep your legs open for me or I won't let you cum, princess. — He whispered, sliding his mouth down her torso to her pelvis and pulling her hips up as high as possible before burying his fingers inside her pussy and enveloping her clit with his lips.

Y/N's hands gripped Touya's now messy hair and pushed his face against her hip in search of more of that mind-blowing pleasure she had missed for the few days she had been avoiding him. Suddenly the car became extremely hot, almost to the point where you both felt suffocated and ironically neither of you cared about that, not when Dabi was curving his fingers and sucking your clit in the way that always made your vision cloud and too loud moans escape your mouth. But, you didn't want to cum in his mouth, so your hands moved his face away from your hips and pulled his body up.

— Please, Touya, I need you inside me. — Her voice was slurred by her rapid breathing.

Dabi didn't need you to say anything else, he just stepped back briefly to get rid of the clothes that were still covering his lower body, adjusted your hips to his, leaned on the car door behind your body and guided his cock to the entrance of your pussy. As you felt him fill and enlarge you completely with his tip rubbing against your cervix, you groaned, leaning on his shoulders to face him and watching the small rise against your belly that was always present when that black haired man penetrated you.

Touya slid one hand down your neck and closed his fingers around your neck applying just the right amount of pressure to make waves of pleasure run through your body and not to hurt you. He began to move and Y/N passed her legs around his waist moving her body downward every time Dabi moved upward, occasionally he would take her lips on his just because he liked to feel her moans against his mouth and the rhythm of his hips gradually began to get harder and faster.

— I should cum inside you, hmm? — Touya asked, keeping eye contact with you every moment he thrust inside you again and making you clench your walls around his length without you even realizing it. — Damn, I love you so much, you have no idea what I would do for you.

— So show me. — You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still resting on your neck and squeezed it without too much force. — Make me your girl.

With a smug and satisfied smile, he continued thrusting himself against her insides to the point where her hips began to ache just seconds before she reached her own orgasm with her nails digging into the skin of Touya's arm and her back arching as spasms coursed through her entire body at a high rate of speed. He gave a few thrusts against your pussy until the white streaks of cum painted your insides and slowly pulled out of you, wanting to prolong the feeling of having you squeeze him some more.

Dabi let his tired body fall back against the driver's seat and concentrated on stabilizing his breathing while you did the same as you looked up at him with the following thought running through your mind: "This is definitely the man I want to be with forever". The thought made your cheeks burn and it didn't go unnoticed by him:

— What? — One of his eyebrows arched.

— Nothing, I was just thinking... about you, about us. — You answered, starting to look around the car for your clothes, and an amused laugh came from Touya's mouth, who looked at you tenderly.

— So I'm always on your mind?

— More than you think, yes. — Y/N answered, leaning over to place a tender kiss at the corner of his lips. — Now get ready, get your clothes, let's get back on the road.

— Can we fuck again before we get to the city again? — Her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

— Shut up, you idiot.

[five-rivers]

Okay no but Vlad just trying to womb Danny before Clockwork does, not bothering to explain one goddamn thing to the poor lad. Just a one-shot. Danny escapes and flies off at the end. Clockwork in his tower laughs/chuckles at Vlad's attempt. How would that go. What would the attempt even look like

If Danny were to make a list of his least favorite places to be, all iterations of 'Vlad's house' would rate somewhere below lovely vacation spots like the River of Revulsion, the Consuming Maw, and Hell. Despite this, he wound up at one or another of Vlad's residences with some frequency.

But he'd never been to Vlad's lair. He very much did not want to break his streak of 'not being in Vlad's lair,' because as bad as being in all of Vlad's other houses was, a ghost's lair moved according to its owner's will.

Which is why his current predicament (hit with the Plasmius Maximus and in one of Skulker's nets) was so disturbing.

"Uh, Skulker, when you said lair you meant his stupidly oversized castle mansion thing in Wisconsin, right?"

"Didn't you blow that up?"

"Oh. Well, yeah, but he rebuilt." Danny subtly began picking at the knots tying the net together.

"And then you blew it up again."

"Okay, I can see how you'd think that, but the second time wasn't me. It was the government."

"Right. Sure." If Skulker had recognizable irises pupils, Danny was sure they'd be rolling.

"No, really. But I'm sure I could blow up his actual lair, too, you know? So, I'm not sure why he'd want me there. Actually, I'm not sure why you're taking me there instead of, you know, skinning me yourself."

"Something I've been asking myself since you woke up and started talking."

"Always such a kidder. But seriously."

"Well, you see, I like having an independent existence," said Skulker, "and that takes money and resources. Besides, I can always hunt you again after this. You'll be even more of a challenge!"

"Why will I be more of a challenge in Vlad's stupid lair? You know he's just going to try and clone and replace me again."

Skulker snorted.

"How do you even do that in a robot suit?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out."

They came to a stop in front of a purple door decorated with elaborate gold inlay.

"Ugh, he's so pretentious," complained Danny, covering up the fact that his heart was currently beating out of his chest.

Skulker knocked on the door, which immediately flew open, revealing Vlad as Plasmius.

"Wow, were you waiting for us at the door? Needy much?"

Vlad looked down his nose at Danny. "I don't expect you to understand, Daniel. Yet."

"Do you practice being ominous in the mirror? I think you'd benefit from improv classes. More feedback from real people. I'd say get it from your friends but- Ow!" Danny yelped as Vlad hit him with a miniature ectoblast.

"You'll receive your payment in the usual way," said Vlad, blandly.

"Great," said Skulker. "Have fun, whelp."

Danny struggled reflexively as Skulker handed the net over. It didn't do any good. The door to Vlad's lair shut with a definitive thud.

"Whatever you're planning," said Danny, "you aren't going to get away with it."

"I daresay I already have, son."

"I'm not your son, fruitloop," hissed Danny. (The Plasmius Maximus might have rendered his ghost half dormant, but that didn't mean it was gone, or that he didn't retain behaviors learned from it in all forms.)

"Hm," said Vlad. He touched the back of Danny's neck through the net, then traced over his skin to the edge of his jaw, which he forced up so Danny had to twist uncomfortably, his hair catching in the net.

Danny scratched at the hand, but of course Vlad was, as always, wearing those thick gloves, and Danny's fingernails were currently very human and blunt.

"You're a feral little thing, aren't you?" He pushed Danny's neck into a position that was actively painful without the benefit of ghostly flexibility. "Not for long, though, I should think."

Without another word, he strode off into the depths of his lair.

Vlad's lair was much like his mortal residences. Vampire meets football fan meets dramatic gothic romance that missed the point. If Danny had access to his ghost half, he suspected he'd be able to feel Vlad's ectosignature permeating the ectoplasm in the air to an oppressive degree.

As it was, the heat was bad enough. His body had long since offloaded the task of cooling to his ghost half, and was having some trouble remembering how to act.

"Here we are," said Vlad, stopping in front of an especially fancy door. He opened it, and threw Danny in, then closed the door without entering.

Danny, a bit confused by this turn of events, took stock of his surroundings. The door had smoothed out into a tapestry-covered wall. The room was lit only by ectoplasmic glow and felt oddly... soft. All surfaces were upholstered with ornate, green and gold embroidered cloth. There were many pillows, but no hard furniture.

Also, the ectoplasm in the air was so thick it almost felt like Danny was underwater and so charged with energy his hair was standing on end. Even with his ghost half thoroughly zapped by the Plasmius Maximus, it was making Danny feel a little tipsy. If his ghost half had been active at all, he would have been blissed out and essentially immobile as he involuntarily gorged himself.

He shuddered at the thought. The energy here was probably very Vlad, not to mention putting Danny into that state was probably Vlad's plan.

Which, Danny decided, was the most disturbing part of all of this. Small doses of energized ectoplasm acted like side-effect free energy drinks for Danny. Sufficiently large doses, or prolonged exposure to high-energy ectoplasm, however, acted like a euphoric and a depressant for reasons Danny didn't understand. Since this didn't seem to be the case for any other ghosts he'd encountered, Danny had chosen to keep it quiet.

This meant that either Vlad had the same problem, and it was a halfa thing (no evidence, plus, if that was the case he'd have a hard time getting Danny out of here... assuming he'd eventually want to do that), or he'd been putting spy cams in Fentonworks again (historical precedent).

Either way, it meant that Danny had a time limit. Once the Plasmius Maximus wore off, it was limp noodle time for Danny.

He squirmed until he found the tied-shut opening of the net. As opposed to the structural knots, this would probably be easier to deal with.

... of course Skulker was also good at tying knots, darn it.

Eventually, with slightly raw fingertips, Danny crawled out of the net. Now what? The room had no doors.

If he had been in the larger Ghost Zone, he could walk through walls as a human with little effort, convincing unattached structures to go intangible around him through force of will. Even Walker's Prison, that he claimed and maintained, could be cajoled.

Lairs were different. Lairs were tied to the wills of their ghosts. Unless the power levels of the ghost in question was vastly beneath your own, attempting to fight a ghost in their lair was futile.

Getting this room to let him out would be hard.

But maybe not impossible.

Thing was, lairs were tied to their ghosts' wills. Not their brains.

(And Vlad wasn't the brightest guy to begin with.)

Danny put on his 'acting' face. "Wow, I sure love unkie Vwad~"

.

After several long, excruciatingly embarrassing minutes of monologuing about how awesome Vlad was and how cool it would be if he let him out, Danny was able to push through the wall into the corridor outside.

Embarrassing for Vlad, that is. Even having done it on purpose, Danny was still rather surprised that Vlad fell for it.

Okay. Now, all he had to do was find the door out, and assuming that Vlad's lair wasn't one that shuffled itself internally all the time...

There!

It wasn't even locked.

He dove through the door and out into the Ghost Zone, not caring that he couldn't fly in human form. Falling was fine. It was fast. There wasn't anything for him to hit.

Well...

He was inching closer to terminal velocity now.

It was mostly fine.

How long ago had he been hit by the Plasmius Maximus?

.

Far away in a very different lair, Clockwork smiled fondly at Daniel's antics. Plasmius, Plasmius, Plasmius. Didn't he know that he'd never get anywhere like that?

Clockwork set his chin on his fist as he watched Daniel fall and gently nudged various real world debris out of his path. He had a room like that in his lair as well, infinitely more suitable, waiting for Daniel. Waiting for the right time.

And, as Master of Time, Clockwork was sure it would come soon.

[ldouble]

You Smell Good | Harry Styles X Reader

summary: You and Harry prepare for the Met Gala. The only thing you fixate on...other than everything...is the way you smell. Harry on the other hand, can’t get enough of it.

if we like this enough...should it be a senses series?

----------

this gif is not mine credit to harryisart omg i love this

You can’t help but tug at your sleeves. Someone’s hand shoos it away which you let. That is until your collar seems off. When you’re bugged away from that part of your clothing you find another to busy yourself with. Then its your hair. Your makeup. Your nails.

You’re above to dive into your skin (it looks wayyyyyy too orange) when the hands finally have a voice.

“Stop it.”

You roll your neck dramatically, flopping your chin down to glare at Harry. Sitting in a director’s chair, getting his hair done. It was a ridiculous thought when he was first placed there, his holding a fourth of what you have attached to yours but it now makes sense considering he’s been there for about double the amount of times yours took.

At the thought of it, your fingers move up unconsciously to pick at your styled mane. But, having discovered his speech is much stronger than his hands, Harry tag teams the two.

“You look fine.”

“Says you.” You shoot back, going to pick at the skin around your fingers.

Suddenly all movement is paused as your hands are clasped tight in Harry’s, his eyes finding yours. His smile is gentle which makes his next words the most surprising.

“Says what about me?”

Your head tips back at his humorous suffering. It’s when he’s halfway through a monologue about the time and money and oh so painful hours of planning that went into his look, you’re clutching your stomach and begging him to stop.

“Now I’m really going to mess something up.”

Harry sighs, tilting his head away from the stylist to get a good look at you. “You could never.”

You suck in a breathe. The hotel room has been hot for hours. The people in and out, the steamers and blow dryers and the shots that Harry has been sending since lunch has made the whole space...staticy.

One more intense look or loving statement from your friend and you’re sure to stain the black dress you wear.

Said to be impossible but nothing is, not when you’re about to walk down the Met Gala pink carpet with your best friend since diapers.

Especially since you’re not wearing diapers.

You’re wearing clothes more expensive than what God himself wears in a suite straight out the montages of movies and the water you’ve been drinking is so heavy it makes you think you’re drinking liquid gold.

Or maybe that’s just the nerves bunching in your stomach that’s causing everything you send down to feel like its all going to come back up.

You put a hand to your mouth, close your eyes and try to count to ten.

But its the thing that touches you gently on the cheek that relaxes you.

It’s not six hundred dollar hair brush or a touch up from a celebrity stylist. The complimentary moisturizer of the hotel (which only exists in places like these) doesn’t skim your skin.

Its a priceless hand that grazes you, sending every worry and knot away just like room service was cleared earlier.

You can’t help but lean into his touch, take a deep breath of hair product and the horrible smelling perfume someone sprayed on you.

Your eyes open when you sense him leaning in, making you all but freeze. What could he be thinking?

“You smell terrible.”

Of course that’s what he’s thinking.

“You, Mr. Co Chair, put so much thought and effort and money into this thing,” You say, moving to look in the mirror he facing. The sight of you both so done up and put together (a real change from the sweatshirts you live in when back in London when watching all of the events like the one you’re about to be in) makes you stumble. Harry begins to turn his head, forcing you to grab him and face it back to your reflection. “And the one thing you fumble on in my perfume.”

“Trust me every choice was mine,” Harry defends as I stand to rumble through my suitcase. The duffel, a Year 10 gym bag you still use, had been useless all night. Until now of course. “Except that.”

You shrug, wandering back over to him, your own personal balm in hand. “Hey, I’m not the one who has to whisper in my ear and tell me how pretty I am all night and ingest a whiff of what smells like dog poop.”

Harry’s head tips back with a laugh as you uncap the bottle, handing it to him. “I thought I could whisper in your hear and tell you how awful you smell. Think of the faces you’d make for the cameras.”

“Don’t even.” You turn, holding your ponytail up (much to the dismay of the stylist packing up across the room. “Spritz a tad on my neck will you.”

“Interesting spot.” Harry mumbles, doing as told.

“I’m expecting a kiss from some celebrity there tonight.” You flip back once the cool mist hits you. Harry’s eyes are stuck on your exposed collarbone but you pretend not to notice as you reach for the bottle. “Can’t have him knowing I smell.”

“Right.” Harry squints.

You spritz your wrists, rub them together and then bend down to the slit in the back of your dress. “If you fan my dress out I can’t have you bunching up your nose.”

Harry takes the nose tap, grabbing your hand afterwards. He then dips down to sniff your wrists, a content smile on his lips as he looks up. “Much better.”

“See, if you had known you had an opinion on how I smelled, you would’ve thought of this earlier.” You shake the perfume bottle at him, straightening out your dress as he stands up, going as far to help you get situated.

“Like I would’ve been able to capture it.”

“Capture what?” You smile, accepting your purse form one of the thousand of people in the room. You do it absently mindly having not noticed them in a while. With Harry it always feels like just you two.

You assume he thinks the same, especially the way he ignores final touch ups and looks at you like you really are the only other breathing thing in the vicinity. “Harry.”

He purses his lips as you egg him on. You seem him bite the inside of his cheek and it amkes you want to out a hand on it. But the way the room got so hot when he did that to you. And now with everyone moving around and the nerves building as someone shouts out something about arrival approaching...you couldn’t take it.

You never could.

Why were you doing this? How did you ever say yes to going out there with him in front of everyone? This was the freaking Met Gala. You hadn’t so much as gone on stage with him. Being with Harry was great. Being with Harry with the whole world was horrible.

At least you thought.

You saw how other best friends were treated. Talked about. Lied about. Made up about.

He was your best friend.

You couldn’t take it.

“Capture all you are to me in some dinky little bottle.” He finished, bending down to grab your focus.

It works. He could take it. Your eyes. And he did.

He takes more than that though. Again the nerves fly away and the knots undo and you’re left just being you.

It’s good you smell like you too.

You shrug again, making your way to the door with his hand in yours. You’ve always had to pull him along. Never before had you thought you would do this at the Met Gala but the usual finds its self in the unusual.

“You’re just lucky. You might not have a supermodel date but you’ve got a girl who smells just like-”

“You.”

You look back at him, your purse falling to the ground at the sight of his eyes all hazy and his smile so sweet.

His words are stunning. God damn soulful.

Dressed in his Gucci sheer ensemble, it’s like he’s singing at the fanciest of events to the girl of his dreams.

But it’s just you. A girl wearing 10 dollar perfume from the corner store.

It’s his turn to pull you. You switch spots as you’re frozen in yours and he leads you into the hallway, grabbing your bag on the way.

“You smell like you and hair spray and the onion ring you just ate.”

Your hand flies to your mouth for a breath check when he pulls you close in the elevator.

“You smell great.”

You look up at him, a smile on your lips.

“And you,” Your hands can’t help but play with the ribbons on his collar. “Have smelled better nearly every other time.”

He chuckles, his top teeth hugging his bottom lip. The ding of the elevator sounds before the car stops with a thud. People are moving. There’s talking. There’s so much going on but all you can smell is....

Carpet cleaner.

And windex for the mirror walls.

And Harry.

You can’t wait to see what else you sense along the way.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

--

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

[dandelionflower]

Felinette Month Day 14

Shakespeare

“Hey there, Romeo.” She didn’t even look up from her sewing.

“It tore again.” Felix said, setting a jacket on her desk.

Marinette froze, looking up at him. “You tore it again. For the third time this week alone.” Her eyes were cloudy with rage.

“I told you, I didn’t tear it. I left it in my locker and it tore on its own. Probably your shoddy craftsmanship.” It was odd, actually expressing the cutting comments he usually bit down to maintain his composed demeanor. But Marinette… she brought something out in him, and he hated it.

They were partners in their drama class. Assigned partners, heaven knows he wouldn’t choose that bleeding heart even if she was Shakespeare himself. They agreed that Felix would do Romeo’s famous monologue, and Marinette would make his costume. This way they would have as little interaction as necessary.

At least, that was the idea.

His jacket kept tearing, time and time again. He would leave it alone for two minutes and when he came back the seams unraveled.

He couldn’t believe “fashion prodigy” Marinette Dupain-Cheng couldn’t sew a simple jacket. He tried to approach the subject delicately, but after the third time he was just annoyed.

“Maybe if you put a little care into something that wasn’t yourself, this wouldn’t keep happening.” She bit back, returning to her sewing. “Leave it here, I’ll have it done in a bit.”

“The show is tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.” She glared at him. “Which is why you should have taken better care of it.”

“I did. It was in a bag, in another bag, in my locked locker.”

“Well, it wasn’t enough. I’ll keep ahold of it until tomorrow.”

“I don’t need to be treated like a child.”

“Then stop breaking things like one.”

He didn’t growl. Not at all.

-

Marinette scurried around backstage, looking for Felix. Of course he’d be so self absorbed and distracted that he forgot the jacket he’d been complaining about all week. Sure, it wasn’t her best work, but it wasn’t her fault by any means that he kept ripping the seams.

And he had the gall to blame her for it! Her seams were perfect; Felix didn’t know what he was talking about.

Speaking of Felix, where was he?

He was meant to go on in ten minutes, he should at least be backstage.

“Alya. Where is he?”

Her eyes widened and she pointed a trembling finger at Felix who was brushing off his impeccable costume and checking over his lines.

“Felix!” He jolted. “Jacket. Come here.”

He must have seen her barely contained rage written across her face, because he obediently walked over and accepted the jacket.

She walked around him, observing every part of his outfit, when her eye snagged on his shirt. The fit was all wrong, and there was no chance Marinette would let anyone, even Felix, walking out in something so atrocious.

She stepped forwards, and immediately went to work.

“W-what are you doing?” He looked down from where she was scrutinizing his shirt, but she payed him little mind.

“Fixing it. Keep reading.” She grunted, pulling out a tiny sewing kit from her bag. “Hold this.”

Nine minutes later, he looked perfect and Marinette shoved him onstage with a grin and a “don’t mess this up for us!”

He almost stumbled when she shoved him, she was a little guilty about that, but he turned it into an easy stride, a lovelorn expression turning his features from “angry substitute teacher” into something more... attractive.

No. No, check that. Marinette would never find Felix attractive. Ever.

His voice drifted from the stage to the audience with ease, every word clear and filled with emotion.

Marinette found herself taken with the scene, leaning against the wall and picturing Felix in a garden of sorts, on his knees, taking her hands in his with a shining smile...

Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Not attractive.

But she had to admit, he was a good actor.

-

Felix laced anxiously beside the curtain. It was ten minutes until he went on stage, where was Marinette with that jacket?

Of course, she would be tardy on top of being clumsy.

He huffed. The show must go on, one way or another. He didn’t have time to worry about her. Felix had to practice his lines one last time.

“Felix!” And there she was, with her usual disregard for any social cues.

She handed him the jacket without many words other than “Jacket. Come here.” How eloquent.

She paced around him as he continued to read his lines, though most of his effort was going towards ignoring her.

Suddenly, she leaned close to his chest, grabbing at his shirt and sticking a few pins into it.

“W- what are you doing?” Too close. Too close.

“Fixing it. Keep reading.” A hand rifled through her bag and she handed him a small case. “Hold this.”

Am I supposed to hold this, or keep reading? You can’t just give two contradicting commands like that. He bit down the reply; Marinette was in a state he was certain would become terrifying if he was to shock her out of it.

Finally, just as he needed to go onstage, she finished and shoved him into the spotlight.

He just barely stumbled, but he resolved to yell at her for that afterwards. For now, he let a dreamy smile take over his face and threw himself into the monologue.

Marinette really was infuriating, but he had to admit, seeing her so focused, so dedicated to fixing his shirt before his performance, it was admirable, and the concentrated expression she had was almost cute.

No. No, not that. Anything but that. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was many things, but she was not cute.

He turned his thoughts to something more appropriate for the monologue he was delivering. His Juliet.

They would be in a garden, having walked and joked for a long period of time, before he turned to face her. He would murmur the words to her, replacing Juliets name for hers, cradling her face in his hands as he stared into those sparkling bluebell eyes.

No. No. Negative. He did not find Marinette cute.

But he had to admit, she was a good seamstress.

@felinettenovember @novicevoice