#so sometimes he looks way too smug when happy or disappointed rather than sad or insulted rather than surprised

[bigeloo]

Angel expressions...

[orange-waterfalls]

Unnecessary Feelings

The Host x gn!reader

ty anon for the request

A/N: BRO. Bro. Bro I. I am so proud of this one don’t even look at me. Also happy spooky month! Might do something with that, idk though. This is more of another character study with the Host, I’ll be honest. I still think it’s pretty cute, though. I didn’t read back through this, lmk about any mistakes. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.4k

Unnecessary Feelings

Host isn’t particularly looking for a relationship, of any sort. Not necessarily. It would be nice, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. It’s not that important. Change is weird. He’s been in his same office, writing the same kind of stories, with the same kind of people. That’s fine. He likes that. He likes his novels, his protagonists, and his office.

He explained all of these things to Wilford and Darkiplier, but neither was having it. That’s how he ended up staying at the manor for a while, while his place was being “renovated”. He didn’t know how much he trusted Wilford to “renovate” correctly. 

Wilford likes pink. A lot. Host doesn’t. He can't see it, but he knows it. Pink was loud. Pink smelled like raspberries and icing and cherry blossoms and shrimp. It sounded like fair music and joyful screaming and chalk scraping on the ground. It felt smooth and soft and squishy. It tasted like sugar, sugar, sugar, too much to be healthy. Pink made his brain hurt. He doesn’t like pink. Wilford likes pink. Wilford… Wilford fucking loves pink. And Wilford will say it’s pink, and Host will know it’s pink, and even though he can’t see it, he’ll be upset that it’s pink. He doesn’t like pink. He doesn’t know how to say it. So he doesn’t. And he copes.

He takes the opportunity to talk to the others staying at the manor, which was pretty much just Dr. Iplier and… you. Dr. Iplier was a… reasonable man. He was boring. Very boring, really. He directed every conversation to discuss your health or a weird patient he had recently, neither of which really interested the Host. He didn’t enjoy talking to Dr. Iplier too much. 

You, however…

Were also kind of boring?

Well, you mostly just wandered around, reading, cleaning, sleeping, not doing much else. He didn’t initiate conversation and neither did you. If you sat next to him on the couch and he sat a little straighter and breathed a little faster, that was simply a coincidence. And the urge to talk to you about his novel for hours was simply boredom. And the desire to listen to you talk for hours was… it was none of your goddamn business is what it was. He didn’t like you, but he didn’t dislike you either. He felt nothing. You made him feel nothing. This didn’t mean anything.

Really. 

It didn’t.

But, entirely too fast, Dark and Wil were done. Or rather, whoever they hired was done. Which was good. Host bid you two goodbye. Dr. Iplier told him to drink plenty of water but not too much, and you told him you’d keep an eye out for his newest novel. He felt like he should be blushing right now, he felt it in his face. Nobody commented, so he assumed he didn’t. He felt a thing happen in his chest as he looked at the two of you. 

He didn’t like either of you, and if he kept telling himself that, maybe it would come true.

He received a new office. It was much cleaner and brighter, and he actually had room to think. There was an espresso machine in the corner atop a pink table, a “dandelion” yellow couch next to it, a pastel pink desk against the opposite wall, and a few “motivational” posters on the baby blue walls. At least from what he’d heard. Wilford did his best to explain the room. He appreciated that the walls were not, in fact, pink like he expected.

He had to walk around a few times, keep track of his steps, and get used to the new layout. It’s a good room. Clean. No nails sticking out of the floor, no rats scurrying around, no cobwebs, no holes, no nothing. Clean and quiet. Clean. And. Quiet.

… 

He fucking hates the goddamn room.

Who likes silence? Who enjoys that? Who wants to be stuck in a suffocatingly clean office with nothing but their thoughts for hours at a time? Homicidal people, that’s who.

Ignore the fact that he has homicidal tendencies and has almost killed/has killed several people, that doesn’t matter right now.

He can just sit and deal. He can take the office, try to coax the rats into coming back, buy some spiders, and write. No big deal.

Except what if he didn’t deal? What if he told them he hated it and couldn’t work in these conditions? What if he was forced to stay at the manor again? What if he could… talk… and interact with people? Without anything barring him from doing so?

He’s… not lonely. 

He’s not lonely. 

He’s not.

But if he stays in the manor again while Wilford talks about how he has no taste and Darkiplier decides to be in charge of the renovation now, that’s not his fault.

Bim, Eric, and you were staying at the manor when he had to. For the second time. Bim had a thing for rom-coms and dramedy movies, and Eric had started to pick that thing up. You and Host also watched the movies, but whether you actually liked them was beyond him. Usually, you made fun of them together. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear a lot of the ridiculous dialogue. He could drop two random people in a closed-off room together and they’d have more chemistry than half of these Hallmark Christmas Movie couples. You were very quiet during “To All The Boys I Loved Before”, however, so either you loved it or you hated it. He couldn’t really tell.

You two talked a little less than before, you being preoccupied with Eric. Host was fine with that. He could just… talk to you whenever you were done. But you apparently had a low social battery and trapped yourself in a room whenever you were done talking to Eric. That was fine. Host didn’t need to be happy anyways. 

He may or may not have showed up at your door first thing in the morning sometimes to get the chance to talk to you. You didn’t know, so it was fine.

But Eric and Bim were smart. They picked up on the Host’s… “feelings” and desire to talk to you. If either were in a room with you and Host, they immediately left so that you could talk. It worked, and Host was happy, but he felt kind of bad.

No. No he didn’t. He felt no emotion towards anyone or anything. The suit he bought for Bim and the journal he bought for Eric meant absolutely nothing. It was a business transaction. You can’t prove anything.

Somehow quicker than before, the room was fixed. Again. And you, Eric, and Bim saw him off. Eric’s voice sounded wet and Bim sounded a little sad as well. You sounded… fine. But he had a suspicion that you knew you were going to see him again soon. And Host was not upset, of course not. And if he was thankful his eyes weren’t exactly working properly because otherwise he might have shed a few tears, it was completely unrelated. You can’t prove anything.

The new room was completely black and white. Black laptop and a white desk with a black chair. White walls and a black floor. A white couch against the wall. No espresso machine this time, which slightly disappointed the Host. 

Darkiplier sounded proud when he explained the room. Host could see why, it sounded very pretty. Which he tried to say when he turned to Darkiplier. But his traitorous mouth instead said:

“Host asks if this room is meant for the Host or you?”

The Host was teleported back to the manor this time. Wilford was standing out in front, Host knew because he heard the man’s distinct yell of surprise. He also smelled gunsmoke and wine.

“Wilford.”

“Host. What are you doing here?”

“The Host asks what you are doing here?”

“... I asked you first.”

“The Host asked you second.”

“... business. You?”

“... business.”

“Ah… well, cheers.” Quick footsteps get quieter as Wilford runs away. Host stood for a moment,  debating whether or not to apologize to Dark. Before he could decide, the door opened.

“Host?” You asked. Host instantly felt himself straighten up and ball his fists.

“Hello.” He said stiffly.

“Another renovation?” He heard the smile in your voice and forced himself not to smile back.

“Host assumes so.” He nodded.

“So…” You sighed.

“So?” He tilted his head.

“Are you coming in?” You asked. Host let himself smile as he walked into the manor.

He didn’t see you all too much for the rest of the week, and he was severely disappointed. There wasn’t really anybody staying there, just a few people visiting over a few days. Yancy, Illinois, and maybe Bing, if the sound of a skateboard at 3 in the morning was any clue. He was pretty much alone. And that was fine. He was usually alone. He was used to it. This was fine.

Maybe he should stop lying to himself so often.

All too soon, he was on his way back. Again. You were the only one to see him off this time.

“Well… um…” You started. The tension between you two was like a punch to the gut. You were perfectly fine before. What happened?

“Host bids you farewell,” He nodded politely and turned around. Maybe if he left quickly, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Wait, Host!” You called. He froze. “I’m, uh… I’m coming with you.” He spun around to face you.

“Host… asks what you mean?”

“I wanna… see your office. I mean, if I’m… allowed to visit?” You said meekly. Host felt his heart quicken.

“The Host would love-like that,” He coughed as he corrected himself. 

“Ok, good,” He could hear the smug smile in your voice. Damn him and his… feelings.

The commute to his thrice-new office was almost silent. Neither of you said anything. You most likely wanted to wait for the Host to start the conversation, but he didn’t want to bother you if you didn’t want to talk. It was a little awkward. But after a while, it became comfortable. He liked just being in your presence.

He thought that was what he would miss most about the manor.

You both stood outside of his office door when you arrived.

“Well… here we are.” You whispered. Host nodded solemnly. “Do you want to do the honors.” Host lifted his hand to the doorknob, feeling himself shake. He clutched the doorknob, not moving an inch. He could feel your eyes on him. You were worried. This was fine. 

You could visit. But what if you didn’t want to? What if you saw his stories? What if you thought he was cruel? He was, but not to you. He would never be to you. He could stop. He could write different stories. He could write a romance! It would still affect people’s lives, but for the better? At least until the story ended and he had no control over it. What if you wanted him to stop? He couldn’t just stop. Would you give him an ultimatum? You wouldn’t… would you?

“Host--” You started. He whipped around to face you.

“The Host does not want to enter the room.” He said, voice wavering a little. He cleared his throat. Embarrassing.

“What? Ho-”

“The Host wants to talk to people. The Host… wants friends. The Host wants to stay with you and the others.” He grits out. God, this was pathetic. Was he begging? 

“Host, open the door.” You sighed. The Host froze. What? Why were you… what?

Oh. So that was it. You were seeing him off… for the last time. You didn’t… you… didn’t like… 

Right. Yeah. You were a polite person. He should’ve known.

“But…” He trailed off and faced the floor.

“Host, I really think you should open the door,” You said, the smile clear in your voice. His eyebrows furrowed. Well, you didn’t have to be so eager about it, Jesus.

The Host grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open with a crack against the wall.

“Jesus, man!” Bim’s distinct game show voice sounded from inside the room. Left front corner. “What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“I always thought he was a boxer-briefs man.” Dr. Iplier said from the opposite side.

“I can confirm that he is, in fact, a boxer-briefs man.” Google said from the same place as Dr. Iplier.

“I honestly would’ve thought commando.” Eric’s voice was muffled, as if he was facing away from everyone else.

What… What the fuck?

“What. The fuck.” He said loudly. You clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Surprise! We’re invading your office. Please don’t resist.” He could, again, hear the smirk on your face. He almost wanted to be mad. Almost.

“What?” He turned to you. You let go of him and stepped in.

“We fixed your room! You got your bland-ass beige walls, your hardwood floor, cobwebs, dust, and I think there’s a rat somewhere in the walls…”

“His name is Remy!” Eric said happily.

“Sorry, Remy is somewhere in the walls.” Host didn’t move, still processing this whole situation.

“The Host… doesn’t understand…” He rubbed his temples.

“Well, you seemed… lonely. And we like spending time with you. So… we’re gonna spend time with you!” Bim explained.

“You don’t have to do things alone anymore. Just… call someone up and we’ll come hang out.” Dr. Iplier said.

“Only if you ask, though.” Eric added softly. Host didn’t move for a long while.

The others began to fidget, thinking they did something wrong. Eventually, he took a breath, and everyone else held theirs.

“Is… is the Host’s equipment still here?” He asked.

“Your writing stuff? Yeah, it’s on the desk.” You answered. Host went quiet again, thinking.

“Do… You guys want to help the Host write something?” He mumbled.

“Hell yeah we do!” You clapped your hands once. Host made his way over to his desk. All the others, including you, crowded around him as soon as he sat down, pushing each other to get a good look.

This was slightly claustrophobic and pretty uncomfortable… 

…

It was perfect.

[tellmenauineo]

colored by you

pairing: mingyu x reader, vernon x reader

genre: soulmate!au, angst, fluff, smut, comedy (at some points)

warnings: mentions of alcholol and weed, language, unprotected sex   

summary: eventually, we fall in love with people who the universe destined us to. but there are complications sometimes. 

word count: 11k (i refuse to comment) 

a/n: tell me what you think even if you found it bad 🤧🤧 i’m in NEED of feedback,, stay safe during the pandemic and feel free to talk to me!! i’m sorta back 🤠🤠

“I'd prefer if you showed more enthusiasm about it. Success is never an accident,” your mother reads you a lesson, a reproach can be heard in her voice. Your sigh, wishing this conversation to be over so you’ll finally be able to hang up your phone. 

“Some people aren't built happy, or cheerful, or forever excited, you know,” you mumble. “I'm satisfied with my academical success – but maybe it isn't a thing I want to achieve now. I don't know.”

“Of course, people aren't built happy – that’s why the Universe made a soulmate for each of us. To make us happy. That's how it works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“One day you’ll understand,” your mother continues. “And you will be happier, happier than ever. Your time will come.”

You won't understand.

The Universe made a soulmate for each of us. The Universe made sure we’ll be aware who is the one, the one, as your mother says, who’ll make you happier and complete, too. It's pretty simple. First words addressing you that you would hear from your soulmate get imprinted on the skin of your ribcage. Close to your heart.

The mechanism of The Universe is perfect. But, sometimes, even perfect-made things get broken.

You won't understand because you already have words tattooed on your skin.

“I guess, we can say love is an accident, isn't it?” you say. “Anyway, I gotta go, mom. I'll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself. And don't stay up late.”

“We both know I'm gonna stay up late,” you smile. “Bye!”

It happened in cold January, four months ago.

“Shrimp Pad Thai?” Chan asks you.

“Mm, yes,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. Chan gasps and raises his eyebrows in a fake disbelief, but you don't let him open his mouth to say something very sarcastic about you and your habits in eating. “I'm your customer, where are your manners? What if I leave?”

“Then you'll leave and won't have our Shrimp Pad Thai which you order five days a week,” he shrugs.

“I'm older than you – pay me respect!”

“I do? Always? Our very important customer who always eats the same,” he playfully sing-songs and you roll your eyes, trying your best not to give him a smile.

“Go and get us food already,” Momo says. “Both of you better not play on my nerves when I'm hungry.”

When the orders are made and Chan leaves to the kitchen, you get up from your seat.

“I'm going to wash my hands,” you announce, and your friend nods at it.

On your way to the restrooms you recognize a bunch of boys sitting at the window booth. Kim Mingyu, Wen Junhui and Jeon Wonwoo – all of them are in Soonyoung’s group of friends. Wonwoo smiles and waves his hand and you return the gesture. You nod at Junhui and Mingyu – who looks incredibly soft and cute in his light-gray hoodie with his rose cheeks – seems that the ramen he is eating is too spicy for him. He gives you a little “hey”, smiling at you, and you immediately feel how your own cheeks turn blushy. To prevent your embarrassment in front of them, you try to speed up, but, suddenly, collide with someone.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You look up at the source of the voice, Chwe Hansol, the new Soonyoung’s roommate you heard a lot about (and you’re aware that Soonyoung not just can’t stop telling embarrassing stories about you to his roommate, but also shows him your pictures, because yes, in Soonyoung’s words, it’s a crime if you don’t put on display your best friend and your wonderful, a movie-worthy, friendship) and, apparently, there is no bottle of chilli sauce in his hands. A smug smile is playing on his lips and his chocolate eyes are glistening with a mischief.

“Nice try,” you don't hide a hint of a wipe in your voice as you start moving towards the restrooms – you swear a trip to them never took that long.

You catch Hansol's gaze on you on the way back to your and Momo’s booth and you have nothing to do but narrow your eyes at him, making him smile even wider.

“He's cute, though. The Hansol guy I mean,” Momo concludes after you finished your dinner. “But no shit they're loud.”

You cast an eye at their boost. Mingyu is the loudest and the most talkative among them – but, somehow, looking at him telling something, wildly gesticulating, makes your heart melt a little.

Stupid, you think, it's almost close to feeling happy. 

You spot the tattoo when you go to take a shower that night.

Your heart sinks at the sight of the words.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You don't tell anyone.

“I can take it as an offend, you know,” Soonyoung whines. “You've been turning down my home party offers for more than a month!”

“Um, you haven’t had any,” you say.

It’s true – you try your best to avoid Hansol, and it works even despite the fact he lives with your best friend (sometimes you’re wondering how Soonyoung and Hansol, the pair of complete opposites, rub along okay together, but maybe opposites indeed attract?). You’re not fond of the idea you reduced all your social interactions, but at least you do your huge amount of homework in time – that’s why Soonyoung once called you a homework-doing machine.

Yes, that’s lame.

“It’s because you didn’t come!”

You’re clearly under pressure. You can crack under it a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“Because I-” you forget what you want to say to explain yourself. Or, rather, to fudge up an excuse to trick Soonyoung and keep staying from Hansol as long as possible. “It’s complicated. Besides, your roommate sticks at home for days on end, and if I want to spend time with you I want us to be alone,” you point at him with your pen.

His eyes are getting wider and wider with each millisecond and finally he gasps,

“Are you in love with me?!”

Well.

“What if I am?” you challenge. At the end of the day, that’s the words of the woman who has nothing to lose.

“I-” it’s Soonyoung, who is under pressure right now. “I love you, you know it-”

“But, there’s always a but,” you sigh in a fake manner. “I understand. Maybe I haven’t yearned it yet,” you place your hand over his, and his eyes are glued to your hands. “But, Soonyoung, I want to hear ‘horanghae’ from you someday. Will my dream come true?”

He lifts up his eyes to you. Soonyoung’s known you for over a decade and he clearly can say you’re on the verge of bursting into a hearty laugh despite your dying attempts to keep your face straight. He snaps his hand away and stands up.

“Yah! You betrayed me!” he points a finger at you. “Yah!” he continues in a voice that is a few octaves higher than his usual. “You are gonna pay for your betrayal!”

“Sure thing,” you manage to say through your laugh. You’re well aware that almost all eyes in the campus cafeteria are on you, but it was quite common when the two of you were together. “I’ll see you in court, horangi.” 

You wish you were in court.

Instead, you’re in Soonyoung and Hansol’s kitchen, mixing the sickest possible cocktail ever – and you’re not proud of yourself.

“Why it looks like wiper fluid but tastes like lab alcohol?” Seungkwan asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Your mirror his expression.

“Um, the creator would like to take to his own grave the secret receipt of this… shit,” you say.

By the creator you mean Soonyoung. You’re on duty tonight – it’s Hansol and Seokmin’s double birthday party and you’re in charge of everything – your best friend had no mercy for the cafeteria joke.

“Don’t tell me the upcoming birthday cakes have the same creator,” the boy says, patting his blond locks back into place. You assume he was dancing, or, more likely, slamming in the living room, while you hide in the kitchen, still avoiding Seokmin co-star of this night, Hansol.

“Nah, I ordered them in the bakery. Customized ones!”

“You should’ve asked me to bake the cakes,” the third person enters the room, and your heart skips a bit. Mingyu walks towards you and Seungkwan and leans on the counter, still having his eyes on you. “I need to improve my baking skills.”

You feel how your cheeks flushing up. Shit, you curse in your head, he just made an appearance and you’re already turning into mush.

“Next time maybe?” you ask, your voice is much more gentle than usual. “Whose birthday is next?”

“Mine,” smiles Mingyu. “But I don’t want to hold a party this year – wanna share a dinner tete-a-tete with someone.”

“Such a great plan! Except for one thing – you don’t have ‘someone’,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“I’ll find one,” Mingyu’s words are steady but his movements are not. His right elbow slips off the counter, and the boy hisses. “I’m already working on this.”

“Sure thing, tiger,” you smile despite feeling that something is scratching your guts in your belly – disappointment? jealousy? sadness? Maybe all of them and maybe none.

You have a soulmate for fuck’s sake and it’s not Mingyu.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan mutters. “I’m going back to the party and I strongly recommend you to stop hiding here,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “He won’t bite you, you know?”

“What are you talking about?!” you exclaim, but Seungkwan only shrugs.

“Have no idea.”

You want to follow him, take him by the shoulders and ask about everything he knows about – did Hansol tell him about you? Seems so. Has he, Seungkwan, launched the making of the two of you a couple campaign? If yes, you’re doomed.

Mingyu stops you from storming out of the kitchen – you’re back to the reality with his warm hand wrapped around your wrist and you turn to him in surprise, your cheeks already flushed.

“Yes?” you manage to mumble.

“Who are you hiding from?” he asks, and you almost hear concern in his voice. Or maybe you imagine it all.

“Um- no one? He’s being delusional like always, you know?”

“You sure?’ his hand is getting lower, and unexpectedly you find your fingers intertwining with his. Mingyu’s hand is much larger and warmer than yours, his hold isn’t tight, but it magically makes you forget about the whole the soulmate and his wingman thing.

It makes you forget about everything except for this particular moment – Mingyu’s dark eyes on you, your hand in his and the echo of the music playing in the living room. His bronze skin’s glowing in the dim kitchen light (one of the bulbs is dead and neither Soonyoung or Hansol wants to do something about it), his face is innocent and the only thing you can think about – your uncontrollable desire to kiss off two worry lines between his perfect eyebrows.

You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath, too afraid to interrupt the moment.

“I’m sure,” you whisper and he nods. Mingyu probably can hear the beating of your racing heart, and you don’t mind at all – you would eagerly tell him how he makes you feel if he wants to know.

He leans closer to you, his breath is tickling the soft skin of your cheek and you hear him ask,

“May I?”

But before you can nod, Seokmin’s piercing voice, like a bolt out of the blue, is calling your name,

“Soonyoung’s trying to kiss me!”

He is louder than any bomb, you think, and that’s enough to take you out of the trance. You slowly turn to him, letting go of Mingyu’s hold on your wrist.

“It’s his way to wish you a happy birthday,” you negotiate, but Seokmin’s gaze is wandering between your and Mingyu’s bodies. His hand follows his eyes, gesturing at the two of you.

“Are you-”

“No, no, no,” you cut him off.

“Man, you need me to get the thing squared away?” Mingyu sounds irritated. You turn your head to steal a look of him. You never saw him like that – at least, not with his friends. Even when his team was defeated at the bowling a month or so ago he seemed worn out, but no hint of irritation on his face – just an exhausted smile combined with a self-mockery behavior. That night you almost regretted saying your wrist was injured so you spent the whole game sipping bubble teas instead of helping your team from sinking to the bottom.

(Jeonghan didn’t buy that spectacular performance, by the way)

“I came to complain?” he looks at you, the eyes so innocent, calling for help, so you smile in response – it’s always like this with Seokmin – the boy can melt even stone hearts.

“Let me check on him,” you say to Seokmin, and he eagerly nods. You pat on Mingyu’s right forearm, your fingers stay on his hard bicep for a little too long, and it makes you lick your lips. “And if he needs to get into bed, I expect some help from you, Mingyu.”

His face softens, and he chuckles, closing his eyes for a second.

“Let’s get it then.”

“I ain’t leaving till I help you with this,” Mingyu says, referring to the apartment that looks like a battlefield (of beer pong). “You already look tired.”

“I’m tired,” you admit. “But you have classes like in…” you check your watch. “…four hours.”

“I’ll sit in the back of the classroom,” seeing the question in your eyes, he adds. “I’ll catch some sleep, don’t worry.”

“Sounds stupid, but I guess nothing would change your mind,” you give up, and a proud smile appears on his face. “The living room is yours then,” you give him an evil smile, your hand lands on his firm chest, patting it twice. “Have fun!”

When you step into the kitchen, a sigh of disappointment leaves your lips, despite your vain attempt to suppress it.

Hansol sits in the white plastic chair, mindlessly scrolling through whichever app is it’s feed. He looks up at you, but he next second his eyes are back on the screen.

Your body feels stiff, like you’re made of wood, but you force yourself to approach the counter. The desire to disappear is so strong that you find yourself not breathing at all – like if you make less noises, the more Hansol is unaware you’re in the same room with him.

You grab a handful of orange peels to throw in the trash can under the sink when you hear Hansol voice, “Why didn’t you throw out all of them?” You turn to the boy, cheeks already red, and anger is bubbling in your stomach. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he lets a hoarse laugh.

“I’m joking, jeez. No need to sulk.”

You don’t return his smile, instead turning away from him to take the leftovers, and say,

“It couldn’t fit in my hand.”

He coos at your words, and you feel stupid.

“Soonyoung was right. You’re an absolute doll.”

“Not impressed,” you roll your eyes, but you feel no confidence in your voice. You face Hansol again, a mischievous glint in his big eyes can be spotted even from across the kitchen. “Your eyes are red,” you notice. “Are you stoned?”

“Maybe so,” he yawns, stretching out in the chair that is about to crack under his weight at any minute. “I don’t mind you tucking me in, though. You seem to be a pro.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” you say. “The scientists say weed makes people stupid.”

“And affects their memory,” he adds. “But it makes me copy.”

“With what?”

Hansol shrugs and his gaze falls to his knees. He radiates hesitation, and you gulp the pulse in your throat, afraid to hear the truth.

“With me being avoided by my own soulmate like I’m sorta of a plague? Sorta.”

A wave of pure heat that feels like a fever, a bad fever, runs through your body. The whole soulmate thing was supposed to be a blessing, but it feels like a curse. Without thinking, you pathetically mumble,

“I thought you don’t care.”

You really did. For the last few weeks you’ve been living in the bubble made of your own sorrows, disappointments, and self-pity, and the thought of what Hansol feels and thinks about it never crossed your mind.

“Whatever,” he says. “I got your point.”

Hansol doesn’t wait for the unspoken words that are stuck in the back of your throat, ringing in your ears over and over as you watch him leaving the kitchen. He stops at the doorframe with his hand in his dark locks – it’s so odd to see him not wearing a beanie – and slowly turns to you.

“Leave this shit to Soonyoung,” he says.

“Okay,” you mutter.

He calls your name, shooting the arrow of guilt right into your heart.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

When Mingyu returns to ask where he can find another bag for trash, you cling to the boy’s chest, and skipping all the questions on the tip of his tongue, Mingyu clasps his arms around you. His chin is snuggling upon your head and you feel pressure inside of the bubble reducing a little.

But a tremendous guilt envelops you with each minute.

Momo stares at your figure as you sit across her – your hair cascading down onto your hunched shoulders, your face is covered with your hands, and the girl only huffs.

“Should I expect some fake sobs?”

You spare a fiery glance at her, but she just waves you off in dismisal. Momo doesn’t even trying to hide her irritation with you – the first thing she asked you after you finally had decided to spill the whole situation to her was ‘Could you have taken any longer to tell me?” and you can’t blame her.

“Yah, leave these tricks for your future sweetheart Sollie. I’m not buying it.”

“He is not my future sweetheart,” you argue. “It doesn’t work!”

“Because you never gave it a chance,” she isn’t convinced, and her stern tone makes you consider the words more carefully.

“He hates me now!”

“First, you deserved it. No offense. Second, he seems like a crackhead, such people don’t hate other people, they just don’t care about them.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” you exclaim, and her face breaks into a triumphant smile. “What?”

“Look at you, already defending your soulmate,” she says in a saccharine voice. “Ask him out and fall in love. Choose life. Choose a loveseat coach.”

“Isn’t it from Trainspotting movie?” you question, narrowing your eyes.

“And what about it?” she huffs once again. “It doesn’t make me wrong. It always starts with a crush. Just let it happen.”

A crush, huh? A crush that makes your heart beats harder; that sends you floating in your daydreams; that makes you the happiest person in the whole universe, but at the same time has the power to make you sadder than the most distant and loneliest star from the Sun?

Just like the one you have on Mingyu?

Momo still doesn’t know how you feel about the tall, black-haired boy, and you aren’t ready to tell her the truth. Partly because you want to protect this thing from the outer world, make it special, make it a secret that can be kept by the two only, and, partly because you’ll face the wall of misunderstanding. You could fool around with the boys before, but now you’re certain with the one who is destined for you. And you can’t – you shouldn’t – seek for another lover. It’s wrong.

The ability to make all your problems yourself will never fail to amaze you.

“Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “If you’re so smart.”

“I could’ve been your mother, though. You should follow my every word.”

“Momo, we literally were born in the same decade,” you sigh, but the girl has no intention to follow any of your words.

[mingyyuu 17:13] it’s so cold today!! stay inside  🖤

[you 17:14] too late :// plans!!

[mingyyuu 17:16] any plans for tomorrow?

[you 17:16] not yet

[mingyyuu 17:17] now you have some!

 The boy continues to type, but you have to put the phone in the back pocket of your jeans – you’re awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other at the doorstep, not able to say anything – even a small ‘hello’.

“Soonyoung’s at the dance practice,” Hansol breaks the silence.

“I know his schedule better than he does,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I came for your soul.”

Hansol raises his brows, his eyes never leave yours as he steps aside to let you in. The boy helps you with your jacket, and you mutter a small ‘thank you’, hoping he’ll take the initiative, even despite the fact it’s you who came to talk.

“How are you doin’?” maybe it’s a soulmate thing to read each other’s mind? You look at Hansol and you have a feeling that you’ll never be able to go through the guard around him and straight to his head. His expression is neutral, and you admit that he doesn’t even need to try look beautiful.

“Nothing much,” you response. “What ‘bout you?”

“Okay. Wanna drink something?”

“A pepsi please?”

“We only have a few cans of coke, do you wanna?”

You already feel strange of that crazy amount of questions for the beginning – the situation becomes more and more awkward that you’re able to feel the pressure of the air in the room. Your temples pulse a little, threating a headache.

“Nah, I’m fine then,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I came here to say I’m sorry and-”

“And?”

“Do you think we should be together?”

“It how it works,” he lets out a dry laugh. Hansol looks down to your face, his hand reaches out to stroke your shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

The grip on your temples is too tight to bear, and you let out a heavy pant.

“My head hurts,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut – the light is too bright.

“You need to lie down,” Hansol says. “It’s probably because the temperature difference between inside and outside. I’ll bring painkillers to Soonyoung’s bedroom.”

You nod, heading off to the bedroom. What a great wat to talk - show up at someone’s doorstep just to say you have a headache. Great. Not bothering yourself with discarding your clothes, you collapse stomach-down onto the bed without removing the cover, your face is buried in the soft material.

“Shit, you’ll suffocate if you stay like this,” Hansol’s deep voice wafts on your ears. You slowly lean on your elbows to steal a glance at him. After placing the glass of water and the blister of painkillers at the night stand, he gets down on his haunches, his eyes at the same level as yours. You stay like this for some time, not saying a word, mesmerized by his face.

“What did you do before I came?” you ask out of sudden. Hansol seems to be taken aback with your question.

“Tried to make some music,” he gawks, blinking at you.

“Really?” you ask in a low voice.

“Mostly checked the mic with some ‘yeah’s’ and ‘yo’s’”, he admits, an amusing laugh escapes his mouth. “I’ll try to do something while you’re resting, good?”

You nod you head and smile at him. He gently squeezes your shoulder and stands up. Before he disappears out of the bedroom, you say,

“Do you have any siblings?”

He turns to you, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah. I have a little sister. You?”

You shake your head no and he nods.

“But it was easy to guess you’re not the only child, though,” it’s difficult to see his face in the darkness, but your eyes never leave him.

“How so?”

“You offer a compromise when it's unnecessarily,” you sniggle. “A man of settled habits.”

You see his wide smile in the dark.

 You force your eyes open and sit up in the bed, your hair disheveled and slightly damp at the back of your neck. Headache has gone, at least for now, but your throat feels dry. When you come to the kitchen, you see the note in Hansol’s infamous unsteady handwriting left on the counter:

you can find pepsi in the fridge!

You smile at the gesture and inside you sense warmth.

 You knock at Hansol’s bedroom door twice and after the boy calls out for your entry, you slip through the door.

Hansol sits at the table, bobbing his head in time with the song that hums from the speakers. His eyes are glued to his laptop, the headphones rest above his ears.

“Does the work go smoothly?” you ask, sitting at the corner of his bed. He turns to face you; a soft smile is playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it’s okay. There are many things that I think I’m lacking in, but I work on them,” he says in a serious tone. “But I’ve finally finished the song that had been haunting me for weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great!” you beam at him.

“Your snoring from the next room inspired me,” he places his hand over his heart. “I’ll be forever grateful for that.”

You lightly kick his calf, and the boy laughs. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he draws his attention back to you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer. Nodding, Hansol notices your gaze focusing on the screen of his laptop. There’re the unknown for you tools placed on his table, except for the microphone, of course, and you’re wondering what kind of music he’s into.

“Wanna hear it?” he asks, once again showing his amazing ability to read your mind.

“Yes!” you hearty nod. “Want my headache to be back.”

Hansol rolls his eyes, muttering a small ‘sure’ under his breath, and places the mouse cursor over the play button. The speakers are small, but even despite it you sense the music vibrate through your body. The beat is harsh, his voice is piercing, and it feels like the most Hansol’s thing he could’ve ever done, but at the same time you’ve got an inkling that the tune and the lyrics were created by his mysterious twin.

“You really made this?” your eyes are wide and your hand clutches hold of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he hums nervously, bringing his free hand to rub at the back of his head.

“It’s good! I can’t believe you haven’t signed a ten-million dollars contract yet!”

“You heard just one song,” he smiles in a protest. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m right, though,” you say, your hand leaving his as you smile at him. “You should be a star! I can’t say what I liked about it ‘cause I don’t know anything about music, but the whole thing is perfect!”

He looks up to you, your cheeks flushed with passion and your eyes glisten as candles burn bright, and it brings a proud smile on his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts.

“You’re beautiful too,” your words are sincere, filled with pure appreciation you have for this melted chocolate eyed boy. The idea of you frightened of meeting him a few hours ago seems like a pure absurd right now – when the two of you sit that close to each other, you having a string of questions to ask him about his life, interests, hopes and dreams, and on your tongue the whole story of your life is tingling to be uttered at the same time.

“It was unexpected,” he chuckles. “Thanks again.”

“Thanks for the pepsi,” you return. “I thought you had only coke?”

“Um, I went to the convenience store across the street while you were asleep,” he says, his eyes are wandering on the wall. You can hardly take a breath.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say.

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs. Nodding, you slip off his bed and go toward the window. Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you take a deep breath.

“Is Soonyoung still at the practice?” you ask, your voice is low.

“I guess,” Hansol perches at the windowsill. “I kinda lost track of time.”

You feel the heat his body radiates. Theoretically, you think, you find him somewhat sexy, really manly. His long scraggy neck, broad shoulders, a spectacular torso you can notice even under his oversized t-shirts, and athletic thighs. A month ago, your informant told you that Hansol barely shows up in the gym, and you wonder if the boy was gifted with capability of being perfect without even trying.

And still, he isn’t Mingyu, who makes you feel being in love.

You want to tell Mingyu the truth about your wrong destiny, your aching heart that can be healed with his smile only, and the feeling of your stomach filled with butterflies. You want him to hold your hand, pushing all the doubts and fears away, and make you his. His, despite the cruel joke The Universe played on you.

You think, you have a feeling, he would understand it, because he believes in strength of choice. Mingyu is in a constant state of moving forward, overcoming all obstacles he might face.

Would it be the first time when he stops?

 You and Hansol both stay silent till the whole apartment echoes with Soonyoung’s ringing voice.

“Woah, I like the pictures!” Mingyu approves with a hum, adjusting something on his camera. “They’re perfect.”

“Because they’re pictures of me or because it’s you who took them?” you smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you nudge him.

“Let me think,” the boy stops in his tracks, his brows furrow in a fake manner, indicating he is absorbed in his thoughts. “Both.”

“Wow,” you play along, shaking your head and pressing your lips together. “Groundbreaking.”

He giggles and slides his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Wish I could tickle you right now, bit your jacket doesn’t give a chance.”

You shove off his hand and see a small pout forming on his plush lips.

“It’s my protection from pervs like you, Mingyu,” you smile innocently, casting sheeps eyes on him.

“Pervs don’t ask for a permission,” he opposes matter-of-factly. You raise your brows at him in question, and it doesn’t take long for him to explain. “Let me kiss you.”

You raise your head at Mingyu to see him smiling down at you with shining eyes, his cheeks are glowing from the frosty air.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he leans down and kiss you. His lips are warm and sweet, and you never expect to feel care through a kiss as his mouth is covering yours. His hand cups your cheek while the other is placed tightly at the base of your neck. You trace your tongue against his lower lip, his tongue is eager to meet yours. You tease the inside of his mouth, and Mingyu lets out a small groan, which is enough to bring you to senses, and you break the kiss.

“We’re outside, Guy,” you softly remind him, your grip at his forearms is loosen.

“And so?” he whines, tugging at your sleeves to keep you body close to him.

“And we’re late,” you try to reason, but frankly speaking, you better would have stayed in the previous position you shared with Mingyu than going anywhere. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we leave.”

The idea of karaoke night seemed promising, to say at least, but with Seungkwan occupying the microphone and Seokmin taking the guise of being his bodyguard, preventing any attempt of borrowing the tool out of his hands, ebullience faded into despair.

Jun is scrolling through his phone, and you find it okay; Soonyoung is busying himself with fourth bowl of ramen in a row, and it begins to worry you; Jihoon is yawning in thirsty eight second intervals, and the fact of you really counting begins to worry you; Mingyu’s playing with your hands, his head rests against your shoulder, you find it normal too.

You toy with his dark hair and lower yourself to whisper in his ear.

“Take me out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mingyu smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He straightens up off the sofa and extends his hand to you. You stretch out your own hand and place it in Mingyu’s warm palm.  

After wrapping everyone, except for Seungkwan who is too absorbed in the singing and waves the two of you off in dismissal, for a goodbye hug, you go downstairs to put the clothes on.

“Stop staring,” you say to Mingyu, catching his gaze in the mirror, a smile parts your lips. You pull up the hood of your jacket and turn to the boy.

“Can’t help it,” he admits, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb is stroking your cheek gently, and he leans to steal a kiss from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” Seungkwan says, puckering his face into a frown. “Came to say my goodbye, but this,” he gestures at the two of you.

“Grow up,” Mingyu shrugs his shoulders. Seungkwan’s glare bores a hole right through your head, and you can only silently pray for him to not allow his anger  upstage his reason.

“Seungkwan, please,” you say. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Sure,” the younger boy rolls his eyes. “It’s not me who you should talk to, though.”

“What’s the problem?” Mingyu groans in frustration.

“I don’t know. What’s your problem?” Seungkwan scoffs, shifting his gaze from Mingyu to you and back to Mingyu again.

“It’s none of your business,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood for one of your soap operas.”

You storm out of the building, your blood is boiling with the mixture of anger, fear, and realization of all things you used to have fell to pieces in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, wait,” Mingyu grabs your hand, and you stop, too afraid to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

You’re struck by an incredible sense of fear, of confusion, of vulnerability, but you finally have to face the reality.

“The problem is,” you sigh. “Hansol is my soulmate.”

“Don’t cry,” Soonyoung tries to conciliate you, his hand is rubbing against your back, and he tightens the embrace. “I’m here for you.”

At this point, you even hate yourself for the damp spot on his sweatshirt made with your tears. You want to concentrate on Soonyoung’s words uttered in a small voice, almost whispering, but as you think about Mingyu, about how on his face thoughts and feelings seemed connate – his pained stare said everything, – standing in front of you, you feel a sharp pain in your heart.  

“Do you despise me?” your voice sounds desperate.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask such a shitty question to my best friend,” he says. “You’re the best.”

You laugh bitterly. Soonyoung treats you too nicely – without asking why you’d been keeping so many secrets from him till this night, rebuking Seungkwan for standing guard over Hansol’s feelings, promising Mingyu will pay dearly in the nearest future for his superior sense of morality or whatever.

“What about Hansol?” you ask him, your eyes still are full of tears and pain, but you force a small smile.

“Will kick him out,” his voice is firm, and you sink your face into the soft material of his cloth, suppressing a bigger smile that threats to appear on your lips.

“Soonyoung, I’ve made four enemies this year, and it’s only the end of February,” your voice is muffled as you keep pressing your face onto the boy’s chest. “Momo, Mingyu, Hansol, Seungkwan – all of them hate me for being stupid, for not telling the truth, for being a bitch, for-”

“Shh. It’s their problem, not yours. It’s them who won’t survive ‘cause they made enemies of us. Listen to me,” he calls your name, making a passionate appeal. “We’re undefeatable, you and me.”

You lift your head at him, finding him keeping his eyes on the ceiling in a dramatic way, and you snicker. His lips twist into a broad smile, and he looks at you.

“They don’t hate you,” he says. “Life is complicating, so are we. They know about it.”

You meet Mingyu at the library. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’s surprisingly quiet.

“Seungkwan said Hansol fell for you only after Soonyoung’s countless ramblings about you. He indeed stared at your pics, I suppose.”

He’s in pain.

You feel empty inside; a terrible anguish seizes your heart.

“Do you feel the same about him?” an involuntary question slips off his tongue.

You want to say it’s him, it’s only him who made you fall, who made you feel at ease, who made you want to give and not just to take, but you can’t.

He waits for a response you’ll never be able to come up with.

This night you cry yourself to sleep.

Weeks go by.

The three of you – you, Hansol, and Soonyoung – glue your eyes to the television set placed at the wall of the boys’ living-room. Watching different tv series with them somehow has turned into therapy sessions – despite experiencing triggers at almost everything that is shown, you feel you’re not alone. The two of them act like nothing happened, and all of you are ready to meet your soulmates someday.

But, if nothing happened, why Mingyu’s name is forbidden from saying out loud because it would fill you with pain?

“You have popcorn crumbs on your shirt,” you notice, pointing at Soonyoung with the remote in your hand.

“I preferred watching tv to reading books when i was younger,” the boy says, dusting the crumbs off his torso and lap.

“And it shows,” you tease. Soonyoung gives you a light pinch on the side and straightens up with a huff.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces. “The bathroom is occupied for the next thirty minutes.”

Hansol nods and bids Soonyoung goodnight as you blow him a kiss – his laughter never fails to boost your mood.

“Resuming?” you ask Hansol. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Neither am I.”

It’s completely dark apart from the television’s dim yellow glow. Somehow, you find yourself being distracted by almost everything – the pattern of the wooden floor, the material of the couch, the streetlamp right outside the window, the plant that is going to die soon due to Soonyoung and Hansol’s lack of care.

Hansol.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching you staring at him. You don’t look away.

“Am I more interesting than the show?” he asks, not expecting you reply with a quiet ‘yes’. A blush coloring his cheeks can be spotted even in the poorly illuminated room.

“You’re so shy sometimes,” you remark in a low voice. “You didn’t seem so when I first met you.”

“I felt some courage out of nothing,” he shakes his head, his long and slender fingers tapping his knees. “When I saw you.”

You sigh. How the Universe can be broken? Maybe you’re broken?

“I read that if you’re dealing with schizophrenia your emotions are mixed up – you feel something you shouldn’t have felt and express something you don’t feel.”

“Scientific facts again, huh? You’re referring to me?” he grins.

“To myself, I guess,” there is no smile at your features as you sigh. “Or maybe it’s – I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Hey, I know its not gonna work but I’ll say it anyway,” he reaches out his hand to yours and gently squeezes it. “Don’t think shit about yourself. Don’t say shit,” he pauses. “When the words appeared I was surprised, no shit. But as I find out more and more things about you, all of it start to make sense. I don’t want anyone’s words but yours on me. That’s it. That’s the thing I feel.”

He’s beautiful, you think, very beautiful.

Your eyes wander over his face and finally stop at his lips. The contour of his mouth is perfect – Hansol’s lips aren’t plump, but neither are thin – just perfect – and the little bruise on his lower lip makes you unable to brush your overwhelming desire to have a lick over this exact spot. You hesitate – and even now the image of Mingyu settles on you.

But when you feel Hansol’s lips on yours, you let him in. He claims your mouth passionately, and you slide your hands into his hair, pulling on his locks, and he groans in your mouth. When you pull back for a moment, your eyes flooded with haze, Hansol traces his thumb over your slick with his spit lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans onto you again, his lips ghosting over yours, the redolent scent of his musky cologne makes your head even more dizzy.

“I want you,” he whispers into your lips, his voice is cracking.

“You can have me,” you breathe out, closing your eyes as his lips decorate your neck in sloppy kisses.

You can have me, but can you have my heart?

The question finds lodgment in your mind.

You might lose the thing you love the most, but life goes on… and here we stand.

You’ve discovered you’re an excellent pretender.

Pretend you think nothing of going without sleep for several nights and then attend your classes. Pretend you’re not tired. Pretend you like the tasteless dish in the restaurant Momo brought you to. Pretend it’s not painful to be in the same room with Mingyu. Pretend you love Hansol back.

“My legs are killing me,” Seungkwan whines. “I just don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

Same, you think, fucking same.

“Wait a little more and I’ll buy you a hotdog,” Mingyu promises, looking over his shoulder to see you wearily stagger behind them. The combination of the three of you is weird, you find, but life goes on, isn’t it?

It’s May, and the three is you are stuck in Ikea’s mazes – Mingyu needs to buy some new furniture – this is what brings him to the mall, but also Mingyu needs someone to keep him company – and this is what brings you and Seungkwan to the same place. Mingyu calls your name, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows in a question.

“You good? How ‘bout a few hotdogs after?”

“And milkshakes,” Seungkwan adds.

“Just an ice cream please,” you mumble, and he nods. Sometimes it’s so awkward – to be around him. Sometimes it’s natural. But mostly it’s painful.

 Standing in the parking lot, waiting for Mingyu and Seungkwan while they’re stuffing the things Mingyu bought into the trunk of his car, you dumbly watch the ice cream steadily dripping down your hand.

Damn.

No ice cream can help you feel good even a bit. 

You enter Hansol’s bedroom and find him at the wooden floor, lying on his back, eyes closed. With his arms and legs splayed out, he reminds you a giant starfish.

“Are you even breathing?” you chuckle, bending over him.

“I am,” Hansol smiles, his eyes stay closed, and he taps slightly on his chest. “C’mere.”

You oblige, your head nestle against his chest, and you hear his steady heartbeat. He wraps his left arm around you and inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes out of sudden, and you turn your head to look at him. “The first words were stupid, and you’ll have them for forever.”

“Suit us very well,” you poke, and he sniffs, reaching out to slightly pinch your cheek. “Hey! Stop!”

Hansol laughs, squeezing you tighter, and the sound of his slow and steady breathing lulls you to sleep. Your gaze is directed at the ceiling as you try to fight against sleep. “You’re so composed, but also so goofy, but also so delicate,” you sigh, thinking out loud as your fingertips trace up and down the soft skin of his wrist. Hansol’s warm. “But the first words were wacky,” you chuckle. “What’ve done to deserve them?”

“It was Russian roulette, baby,” he hums, and you can hear him smiling.

You fall asleep like that. You dream about buying the beige sofa you saw in Ikea and Mingyu’s endless attempts to change your mind – the green one is a way better, he insists. The green one would suit the interior perfectly, you agree with him, but the beige one is so classy, and maybe even a little obligatory? Every apartment should have one, but Mingyu only shakes his head in frustration.

“I'm not sure you’re one hundred percent positive about what you’re convincing me of,” he purses his lips.

Dreams that are hardly can be distinguish from reality are exhausting. You wish there was a way to put this worry to bed once and for all.

“Okay, so the concept of your birthday party is dubstep,” you verify. “And the main dish excepted for a barbeque duck is an ice cream cake?”

“I scream, you scream, gimme that ice cream,” Soonyoung’s enjoyment is evidenced by his wide smile. You playfully roll your eyes, not really hiding the excitement you share with him.

“Why do I feel that we’re constantly hanging out at birthday parties?” Hansol asks, peering at his phone screen, not bothering to straighten his head from its bending position.

“Because our friend group is too huge for people our age,” you make a point.

“It’s so expensive to have a lot of friends,” Soonyoung complains, but when he meets your questionable gaze, he adds. “But for you, my bestie, money’s no object.”

“Good to know,” you laugh, your fingers leisurely run above the rim of the empty cup of matcha latte. “I’m more upset about my dear boyfriend didn’t show any interest in volunteering at preps for the party.”

Hansol smiles, tapping on his phone, his eyes are anchored on the screen, and you narrow your expression at him, shaking your head in a scolding manner.

“And now he pretends he doesn’t hear me,” you say. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Hansol’s face brightens and broadens out into a beaming smile, and the sound of Soonyoung’s giggles fills the air.

“I’ll ask Seokmin to help you,” the older boy suggests, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I know you’re saying it for the best of reasons, but Seokmin rather is a distraction than a help,” you debate, and Soonyoung raises his small hands in surrender, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped due to his laugh.

“Okay, I’ll send backup,” he promises. “At the end of the day, Mingyu’s good at cooking and cleaning.”

It would’ve been hard for him not to realize he put his foot in his mouth mentioning Mingyu as the mood tensely shifts. You freeze, alike Hansol, his thumb is hovering over the phone screen for seconds. Soonyoung offers you an apologetic smile, and you smile at the boy back, reassuring him it’s okay – he really did nothing wrong. Hansol’s avoiding your questioning gaze, hiding his eyes behind his curly bangs, and you gently brush a section of his hair from his face, wanting to see him clearly.

“Are you jealous, Sollie?” you try to joke, a soft smile playing on your lips, your hand placed on his cheek. As he raises his eyes at you, nerves are evident in them, your heart sinks, and you feel breathless. He won’t ask you if he should be, he won’t make any scenes – but he may shut himself off, locking his feelings deep inside, and you fear it the most. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you’re still providing him a good amount of pain – he isn’t an idiot who can’t figure out that Mingyu’s never really left your heart.

“No,” he simply says. “I’ll help you with everything.”

“You’re a bigger distraction than Seokmin for me, but how can I say no to my sweet boyfriend?” you take his offer, your thumb is stroking his cheek, and the action soothes away the tension he has. Hansol smiles gently at you, and for a second, you’re wondering if he is as good at pretending as you are.

“How did you manage to rent this beach house?” Soonyoung asks in a pure awe. “Such places are always booked!”

“Nothing’s impossible when you love your friend,” you muse. “Besides, thank Hansol – he used his “music industry contacts” to make you happy.”

“Hey, you insult me using air quotes around ‘music industry contacts’,” Hansol slides his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him, and places a quick peck on the tip of your nose. You stab him in the chest with your index finger, and he fakes a gasp.

“Eavesdropping?” you ask.

“Learning a lot about me,” he grins and draws his attention to the birthday boy. “Like the party?”

“No shit,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’ll like it better if you dance with me,” he says your name, his eyes sparkle brighter than colorful lights blasting through the house.

“Anything for a five stars rate.”

You’re out of breath, the clothes stick to your covered in sweat body, and you wince.

“I’m done,” you announce to Soonyoung, his batteries fully charged as he continues his active dance.

“Get some fresh air and come back!” he yells over the music, and you nod. Crossing the room to the back porch, you spot Hansol in the corner, talking to Joshua and showing the older boy something on his phone screen. Unnoticed, you go directly to the shore until the music of the party drowns in the sound waves, and inhale warm salty air. The water seems so tempting, calling you to step into the waves, their rhythm is hypnotizing you, and you kick your shoes off, perfectly understand the night water is too cold for swimming.

A familiar voice stops you, calling your name. You turn around, greeted with Mingyu’s tall figure, shining like a bronze statue, his tanned skin sheens magical when graced by the evening sun.

“Why do you always tend to sneak out?” he asks, once he made it up to you, a warm smile already crept onto his mouth as he saw you.

“I don’t know, maybe I just like being in crowds,” you shrug your shoulders – it’s true. You really don’t know the answer. He moves closer to you, and you finally spot a small bouquet in his hand. His eyes follow yours, and he chuckles.

“It’s for you,” he shyly passes you the flowers, his teeth press into his bottom lips. “I passed by those wildflowers on my way here and picked them for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” you laugh. “But thank you, I love it,” you say, nuzzling your nose against the tender petals. You look up at the boy and lock your eyes with his, a tickling feeling spreading in your chest. The waves are lapping on the peaceful and quiet shore, but you feel electricity surging through your body. You stand on your tiptoes and place a delicate kiss on his soft cheek, the action is innocent, but for Mingyu it’s like hearing a starting whistle.

“You’re still in my thoughts,” he breathes. “Still here,” he reaches over to grab your hand and place it over his chest, and through your fingertips you’re able to feel his rapid heart. Tears are starting to form at the rim of your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred. Your fingers crawl into the flowers he gave you, pressing against the vulnerable stems. “It’s egoistic, I know, you’re dating my friend, your soulmate, but why does it feel like you’re mine?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. The next second you find yourself against his firm chest and you inhale his scent that feels like home. Not a place where you live, but home. He plants a kiss to the crown of your head and puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Look at me,” the golden boy suddenly says. “Please.”

You look up at him and see his eyes briefly dropping to your lips, and despite yourself you feel that familiar tingling in your gut, wanting him to kiss you. He reads you like an open book and he is kissing you, his lips softly press against yours, a tender flavor on your tongue.

“Mingyu,” you whisper in a small voice, pulling out from him. “I can’t. I can’t do this to Hansol.”

The boy looks at you with a pained expression, and in his eyes you can see that he wishes he didn’t have a heart at all.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters, and you nod your head, your heart is swelling at the nickname.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

You lock yourself up in the bathroom, hoping no one saw your state while you were hurrying upstairs. Suddenly, someone tries the handle, but it jingles with no success.

“It’s occupied!” you try your best to sound calm, but your voice is trembling.

“It’s me,” Hansol’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Let me in.”

You turn the lock and face Hansol, your eyes are all red and watery from crying. The boy locks the door behind him and turns to face you, his piercing eyes burn right into your soul.

“You love him,” he says, too delicate to torture you with questions, and you feel even worse – if it’s possible – paralyzed with fear and regrets, guilt eating you inside out, and you swallow the lump in your throat. You let out a wet sob, not being able to look into his sad eyes.

You broke his heart.  

“I’m sorry, Sol,” you say, feeling powerless, loss for words to say to him, to explain yourself, to apologize. “I don’t know what should I do. I don’t know what should we do.”

“If he makes you happier than I could,” he looks above your head. “I’ll accept it someday.”

“You don’t deserve this,” you say, feeling so stupid, only wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Maybe soulmates aren’t bond only by romantic shit,” his deep voice comes to you through the mist. You don’t ask him to give you a chance, don’t change his mind – maybe this painful reveal of the truth will make your heart feel a little bit lighter one day, even if right now you’re sure this is never going to happen.

You don’t complain and do not want pity from anyone – you’re sick and tired of Soonyoung tiptoeing around you, trying to keep you from collapsing; of the silent treatment Seungkwan gives you, scornful looks he spares you every single time you see him get you to another level of anger; of a constant scratching sense of guilt you’ve been racked with since your break-up with Hansol, but somehow he never blames you even if he should; of Momo dragging you to the shop malls and making you keep shopping until you cheer up.

Of you can’t getting up the nerve to answer any of Mingyu’s calls, too afraid of something you can’t even describe.

Momo’s straight face catches you off guard, and you only gasp,

“He what?! No, no, no,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re making this up.”

“What for?” the girl rolls her eyes back deep into their sockets. “Mingyu invited you to his picnic party or whatever through me cause you’re too deaf to pick up your phone, nothing special.”

“Will you come with me?” your eyes meet hers in the bathroom mirror, your expression makes Momo give you her infamous crinkly-eyed smile.

“He didn’t ask me to come – only you,” she purrs, taking her lip gloss out of the small bag. “He’s so fucking in love with you, you little witch.”

“I-” you stutter, the crimson red blush spreads across your cheeks, and Momo laughs and gives you a playful shove.

“Don’t you dare to say no,” she warns. “You’ll deal with me.”

“What would I do without you, Momo?” you smile at her. Even if you asked playfully, you really mean it – and the warmth in your chest proves it.

Mingyu seems nervous as he clumsy steps into your apartment, his chest is tensed with the breath he holds. The boy is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and high-wasted velvety pants, and you sigh in relief – the picnic party - as Momo called it - obviously wasn’t planned as something fancy.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you smile.

“Thanks for coming. Means a world,” he says, poking his cheek with his tongue, a shy smile follows his words. You missed him. Missed everything about him – the small giggles he lets while talking with that slight lisp to you, the shake of his head when he can’t understand something, the pout appearing on his plump lips when he realizes the item he wanted to buy is out of stock, the bright smile beaming on his face while he spills out his ideas for photography, the warmth of his palm holding yours in the pocket of his woolen coat.

“Who else is gonna be there?” you ask during your drive to the beach – Mingyu found the place perfect for a picnic, especially in the hot summer.

“Um,” he hesitates for a moment, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at you. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Oh,” you breath. “I see. Momo didn’t tell me.”

“Blame yourself for leaving me on read,” he grins obnoxiously and you roll your eyes defensively. “Now you’re stuck with me. I forgot to mention one thing, though.”

“Which one?” you rake your eyes over him, admiring how the sun’s rays paint his skin in a golden glitter. “It’s a date.”

You dig your toes into the cool sand, glancing into the evening sky. Mingyu follows your eyeline.

“You can’t see the stars for reflected light from the city,” you notice. “But here we have a chance.”

“No way,” Mingyu protests. “And you know why?”

“Why so?” you turn your face to him, a big smile spread on his lips.

“All Seoul’s stars are in your eyes,” he is smiling so wide that his cheeks must have hurt and he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you, tugging you into his lap.

“Shut up,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest, your fingers touching the soft fabric of his shirt. Mingyu’s lips are ghosting over your cheek for a moment before he speaks again,

“But I have lots of things to say,” Mingyu murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe, and a very familiar feeling creeps up into the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?”

“Like, let’s swim,” he takes you aback with the suggestion and you blink at him dumbly. “I didn’t bring my swimsuit with me,” you say.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “We’re alone here. No one’ll see.”

You push up from his body and meet his eyes glossy with playfulness and challenge, and you nod at his words. Mingyu grinning at you mischievously, while he removes his clothes – his shirt and pants find their place at the sand – as you see each piece of his skin revealing itself. You inhale deeply, and he leans his head closer to yours, the warm palms rubbing up and down your arms.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, and you’re surprised he can tell this just from your body language, and it makes your heart flutter, pounding even faster against your ribcage. His words encourage you, and he silently watches you removing your dress, the only pieces of clothing on your skin are your bra and panties. Mingyu gently squeezes your hand, his thumb softly strokes back and forth over your knuckles. “Catch me.”  

And within a couple of seconds, he is already pushing into the water, everything below his waist out of sight.  You slowly step onto the sparkling waves, a lazy smile playing on your lips, as you see Mingyu splashing over to you with a childish pout on his face.

“You’re supposed to catch me, but you don’t even try,” he whines and steps closer to you, pressing his hands to either sides of your neck, his thumb rubbing the hollow of your throat. He looks dreamlike with his skin stick from the water, making him glisten in the soft evening light.

“It’s not the only thing I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I was born to live without you, remember?” you whisper against his wet lips as he leans over you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hums, letting his fingers brush against the words inked on your side. “I don’t need to be told who I love.”

You’d been feeling like you were drowning for too long, drowning in the cool water of sorrows, doubts, and self-destruction for too long, but only now you can breathe -

“You love me?” you say in a quiet voice, almost as if it was a secret, and the soft look on his face makes your heart skip a beat, overflowing with love and affection.

“I do. So I ask you to stay with me,” he pleads. Not just for tonight, not for tomorrow morning, but-

“Take me home.”

Rattling keys, the sound of giggles stopped with the kisses, Mingyu’s hot mouth on your pulse point, your hands tugging at his black silk locks, and the heavy weight of the wall meets your back.

“Right in the corridor?” you hum, panting into his ear. “Where is your decency, Kim Mingyu? Not bringing your lady to the bedroom is-” Mingyu doesn’t let you finish, forcing his leg between yours. He is grinning at you with his bottom lip between his teeth as he guides your hips into motion against his thigh, satisfied with the garbled moan ripped from your throat. Bringing his lips to the side of your neck again, Mingyu plants wet kisses on the soft skin. He licks your ear, gently tugging the lobe between his teeth. When the boy releases the tender flesh, he hisses,

“This… you made me forget about my good manners,” Mingyu drawls and attaches his lips to your throat. His voice is sweet, but the material of his pants is rough and the combination drives you crazy, whimpering into the air between you, your clit aching.

“Please,” you whine, grinding yourself harder against him.

Suddenly, Mingyu smiles, brightly and happy, before his lips press into yours, his tongue mapping your mouth. The boy lifts you up and it gives you an opportunity to kiss his neck in return, biting red marks into his tanned skin. Then, ever so carefully, Mingyu places you on the soft surface of the bed, kissing you passionately, but slower, trying to find out what you like the most.

“Can I take your clothes off, please?” he whispers in your mouth and you moan, your hands gripping into his biceps.

“Good manners are back,” you coo. “Go ahead.”

Mingyu helps you to sit up, undoing the upper buttons of your summer dress, kissing the skin it exposes, and finally pulling it over your head.

“Don’t forget to take the rest off too,” you breathe, and his lips stretch into a smile. His arms twist behind your back and then he is sliding the fabric down your arms and tossing it away.  

“Do you want me to touch you, princess?” Mingyu murmurs, the tip of his nose traces the side of your neck as his fingers are ghosting over the wetness of your panties.

“Like you don’t know the answer already,” you hiss and he chuckles, his hands move to palm your breasts. You bite your lower lip when he rolls your nipple between his fingers before slowly circling it, a blush slowly creeps down your neck. His mouth finally covers your nipple as his warm palms are parting your thighs, his fingers firmly pressed against the skin. Without being told, you rise your hips to help him remove your soaked panties.

Mingyu sits back on his haunches and marvel at your spread thighs and the pretty wet curves, and your legs separate to make room for him beyond your control.

“You’re so pretty,” he admires, his eyes – glassy with desire and adoration – don’t leave your face. His palm slides up from your hip over your stomach and further still, gently cupping your breast.

“Gyu,” you plea, but before you can even think about the words, Mingyu tosses his shirt somewhere behind his back, already yanked his slightly ruined with your wetness pants and the underwear to the floor.

Then, he is putting his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before slowly bringing them to your pussy, the pads of his fingers ghosting over your slit. You moan and he takes it as an invitation, drawing a circle around the hood of your clit. Craving for more, you shamelessly grind your hips into his palm, your fingers grasping at the sheets.

“Baby, I want to taste you so bad,” Mingyu purrs, thrusting his fingers into your pussy down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of his fingertips dragging against your pulsing walls, and he increases the pace of his digits inside of you. “You smell so good.”

His words only sending you near delirious. But his tongue feels even better.

Mingyu runs the flat of his tongue up to your clit, humming happily at the moan escaped through your red and swollen lips, your fingers tangled in his hair. His grip on your thighs is firm, screaming lust in big neon letters. He sucks on your clit, focusing his hot mouth on the swollen bundle of nerves, as he is pulling and pushing his fingers through your entrance. 

The boy groans deeply, nuzzling his pretty face deeper into your core. The delightful pleasure clings to your stomach, swells at you abdomen. Your eyes screw shut and your chest heaves, the back arching off the bed with a high-pitched cry. Mingyu is leaning over your, adjusting his body on his elbows supporting him either side of your body. His breath is tickling the skin of your neck and you giggle, your hand lazily draws some patterns onto his back. The boy silently observes your features while you reach down to his cock, lubricating it with his pre-cum. Mingyu groans, but you swallow the sound with your mouth, your tongue catching on flesh of his mouth that tastes like you. He is desperately grinding against your stomach, the tip of his dick leaving a wet trail over your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips and, slowly and carefully, positions the reddened head to your entrance. You wrap your legs around him, heels pressing into the ample swells of his ass as Mingyu buries himself deep inside you. He presses his teeth on your collarbone as he hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his delicious thrusts.

Mingyu is here – his arms caging your face, his mouth never leaves yours, and his chest is pressed tight against yours – Mingyu is here and you love each other.

He rolls his hips against you, sinking his cock into your heat, his fingers toying with your sensitive clit. Suddenly, he speeds up, pulling an extremely loud moan from you. Feeling you clench around him, Mingyu groans and lowers himself to suck on your nipple, muffling the sounds he makes against your skin.

“Let it go,” he pants out and you oblige, a gasp tumbles from your lips as your fingers curling in his hair. Your walls spasm around his cock, enveloping it with your release. He thrusts in you, his cock twitching inside of you before he lets out a drawn moan. He stills in you as his cock milking your pussy, panting loudly. He opens his dark eyes and his face softens for you as he places a gentle kiss on the side of your jaw.

“We weren’t meant for each other,” you whisper, your hand playing with his damp locks. “But I love you more than anything.”

“We are meant for each other,” Mingyu is persistent. “Since our first meeting.”

“Okay,” you give in.

“I win,” his smile is radiant in the night, and his eyes hold the whole universe in them.

You never thought of you as a rule breaker. No one did.

With each day Mingyu helps you realize you shape the universe you live in.

And you ask him to make your nose look smaller at the portrait of you he have been painting for two weeks already. 

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Welcome to the Back - Interlude

Adrien centric. Basically an apology for all that chameleon induced salt I had on him during wttb.

Masterpost

Adrien sneaked a look outside. There was a gap between the panels that made up the background of the show, just large enough to peek out without being seen. It was quiet here, away from the bustling make-up artists and designers, hurrying to put finishing touches on their assigned models. His father wasn’t among them of course. He was Gabriel Agreste and didn’t need to improve anything, his designs long since perfected during late nights in his atelier. And he had full faith in his son!

(“I trust that you know how important this is,” he had said this morning, with face like marble, “how crucial it is to not lose face when working with the competition. I have no doubt you will behave accordingly.”)

Still. His happiness that his father had taken the time to build him up did not keep him from scanning the crowd for him. Was he there already? Or would he arrive in a way his mother called “fashionably late”?

Sighing, he turned away from the panels. He wasn’tsad that his father didn’t visit him before the show. Really, he had already talked to him only hours ago and was doubtlessly busy; Adrien shouldn’t be selfish.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was on his own.

“Are you nervous?”, he asked the other model when he returned to their private changing room. “There are so many people out there!”

Felix Leanne rolled his eyes, but his finger was tapping on the table relentlessly.

“Of course there are many people. Otherwise this whole ordeal wouldn’t be worth the hassle.”

“You’re dodging the question,” Adrien noted with a tiny hint of smugness. He liked Felix, even though he was a little cold sometimes. They had worked together often enough to be on friendly terms, both being the only models of each other’s age in their shoots. Both fairly isolated, both so busy.

Felix sighed.

“I’m not. Nervous, I mean. Just impatient.”

His eyes flitted towards the door.

“Mum… Mum said I can start accompanying her to work if I do well tonight. I’d get to see how everything actually works! I wrote down so many questions I want to ask. I just want to be able to askthem already.”

Adrien frowned.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be so interested in… company math?”

“We’re the same age, Adrien.”

“Exactly! The same youngage.” He couldn’t hold in a deep sigh. “If mymom offered to let me do anything I want, I would ask to go to a real school. No more homeschooling, just… doing something normal for once. I’d get to meet so many people, to make so many friends!”

Felix pretended to shudder.

“Ugh, people. Horrific.” He ignored Adrien’s giggling. “Seriously, they’re everywhere.”

“I bet you could go to school with me!” he, in turn, ignored Felix’ nagging. “Then we’d already know someone there. Plus Chloé, of course.”

Felix grimaced at the name but refrained from commenting. He’d learned that Adrien didn’t handle it well if you openly disliked his only friend. He wouldn’t have had the time, anyway, because just then a blur of oranges and yellows stormed into the room, carrying dozens of safety pins and wearing several dozens more clipped to her dress.

“Felix!”, Evelynn Leanne squealed, “you look wonderful, darling, navy blue just makes your eyes pop! Let me see the jacket, will you? Oh, this looks a little tight! It doesn’t chafe, does it? Does it?”

“Mum, stop it! Personal space, please.”

Felix pulled a face when his mother gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back.

“Of course, of course. It’s just… Ugh, you look adorable! Doesn’t he, Ms. Cess?”

The Leanne’s assistant, a round black woman that looked absolutely unshakable, gave Felix a small smile.

“He looks like a professional.”

Felix didn’t beam. Adrien was sure his face was physically incapable to. But the hint of a smile that graced his usually tight lips might be his version of that.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely, before sobering up again. “Now, if you’d leave me to prepare? Also, I’m pretty sure you have more than one design to check up on.”

Evelyn sighed, just the way her son was prone to do.

“Let me have my moment, will you? But fine! I still haven’t heard any news from the missing accessory line, and that Sancœur lady was very adamant that it be complete. Good luck, Felix! You too, Adrien! Love your tie, by the way.”

He perked up immediately.

“Thank you, Madame Leanne!”, he tried to answer, but Felix was already hurrying her and Mademoiselle Cess out of the door. When they were gone, his coworker was leaning against the door in relief and Adrien’s throat felt weirdly tight.

“Sorry about that,” Felix said nonchalantly, “she’s been a little clingy since… you know.”

Of course. The divorce, he’d read about it in the newspaper. He couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be to lose his father like that, how terrible Felix must feel.

“Are you okay?” the (slightly) older boy asked after a moment. “You were so quiet.”

Adrien shook his head, shushing those thoughts.

“Of course! Your mother is great, I just… Mine can’t be here today. She’s still not feeling well.”

An understatement, he feared. His father wouldn’t let him into her room to say goodbye before he went to the show. He was just worried, of course! And he’d explained it to him.

(“Don’t bother your mother now, Adrien. She needs her rest.”

“I just wanted to see her before the show. To say goodbye- “

His father flinched at that; his tone sharp.

“There’s no need to- She’ll still be here after the show! Don’t- Don’t let your nerves get the better of you.”

Then, a little softer: “You can talk to her tomorrow.”)

Felix looked at him through somber blue eyes.

“I’m… sorry to hear that. But your father will be here, yes?”

Hurrying to smile, Adrien nodded.

“Yes, we’ll drive home together.”

At that, Felix’ eyes narrowed.

“Uh… great? But before that he’ll want to see you, won’t he?”

To be honest, he was never quite sure what his father wanted. But that wasn’t what this was about, anyway!

“He is very busy,” Adrien explained. “Managing the Show, and all that. But that’s alright! It’s very important to him, and I’m happy to be part of it. It makes me feel… I don’t know, closer to him.”

Felix’ did not relent.

“But don’t you want him to say Good Luck or something? Surely, he can’t be thatbusy.”

“Well…” he admitted. “I… I did hope he’d come by. Like your mom always does. But I don’t want to be greedy! He’s needed elsewhere, probably.”

He straightened.

“Besides, I don’t want to complain to you. With all that… divorce business you’ve already got on your shoulders.”

It was a cheap trick to change the topic, but it worked. Felix scoffed and turned away.

“Oh please, I’m happymy Dad isn’t here. Not that he would care, anyway. I barely saw him even before Mum kicked him out, and what I saw of him was distant, dismissive and derogatory at best. Really, I could never see him again and not lose any sleep about it.”

Adrien couldn’t believe anyone could truly feel that way about their father. Sure, he was disappointed in his father from time to time, sometimes even angry. But he was still, well, his father.

“I’m sure he does love you.”, he tried to comfort his friend. “Maybe if you gave him another chance, he would- “

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Felix snapped, still not looking at him. “He had thirteen years’ worth of chances. I won’t let him… I won’t stand for that kind of inconsequence.”

With that, he straightened his shoulders and turned around.

“Besides, you’re hardly unbiased. It’s rather obvious you’re projecting.”

His voice was harsher than intended and it showed. No sooner than he said it, his eyes widened and he looked away.

“I… I meant…”

“I’m not projecting.”, Adrien said. His voice was oddly quiet to his own ears, and his chest felt cold. “I’m not- I love my père. He’s not- I love him. You don’t know him. He’s just- I’m sure you love your father too, deep down.”

He didn’t know what his own face looked like, but Felix looked stricken.

“Yes,” he said softly, caving, “I guess so. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“It’s okay,” Adrien quickly assured him. No need to be so upset. He was just getting emotional again, and that so close to the beginning of the show. “I know you didn’t mean it that way. I’ll just…” – he pointed towards the door – “…leave you to, y’know, prepare.”

He was out of the room before Felix could protest, towards the back entrance. He needed air, just for a moment. To ground himself.

The heavy door swung open and the security personnel outside gave him a curious glance, but let him pass without question. Cool evening air hit him, soothing and clear. It helped. It always helped.

He could always think more clearly when he was outside. Felix hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant it, because it wasn’t true. Adrien’s father wasn’t dismissive. He wasn’t distant. He cared, and he loved him. Adrien knew it. So what if-

The crash of a shutting door around the corner caught his attention.

“…know who I am?!”, an angry voice shouted. “I have a right to be here!”

Curious, Adrien came closer until he could see the speaker. A light-haired man with impressive sideburns and an expensive looking suit was raging against a closed door, or rather the person who had shut it.

“You can’t keep me out! Tell her that! Tell her she’s a- “

The man fell silent when he spotted Adrien.

“What are you looking at, boy?!” he snarled and Adrien took a step back. Oh god, had he been staring?

“S-sorry,” he muttered, “I didn’t mean to- “

That’s when he noticed his eyes. Blue-grey, like cold stone. Like Felix’ eyes.

“Monsieur- Monsieur Leanne?”, he asked tentatively. The man in front of him flinched, then towered over him with something in his eyes Adrien couldn’t place. It frightened him.

“It’s Bordeaux.”, he spit, emphasizing every syllable, “René Bordeaux. And who are you?!”

Oh god, he was doing everything wrong today. Leanne was Felix’ mother’slast name.

“Adrien- Adrien Agreste,” he pressed out, not knowing whether to apologize or to run. His fear was misplaced, however. Within mere seconds Monsieur Bordeaux relaxed, all hints of aggression evaporating like boiling spaghetti water.

“Agreste!”, he said cheerfully, a dizzying contrast to his previous demeanor, “Gabriel’s boy, I take it?”

“Y… yes!”, Adrien confirmed quickly, relieved that the situation was apparently saved. Had he imagined Monsieur Bordeaux’s anger? There was no trace of it now! Perhaps he had read the situation wrong… it wouldn’t be the first time. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Well, I’m a big fan!”, the reporter beamed. “Of you andyour dad. Excited for the show? You must be so nervous, being the main star!”

Flattered, Adrien shrugged.

“Oh, it’s not… not a big deal. But thank you, Monsieur Bordeaux.”

“But it is!”, Bordeaux insisted. “Call me René, young man, no need for formalities.”

He put a hand on his shoulder, lowering his voice.

“To be honest, I’m very impressed how well you are handling all this pressure. I have a son your age, and I know he would be at a total loss for what to do.”

“Oh. Oh!”, Adrien realized, “You mean Felix! I’m actually working with him tonight!”

“Oh? You don’t say!”

“It’s true! He’s doing great, though. A real professional!”

Monsieur- René sighed.

“I’d love to believe that. The Felix I know tends to be… stubborn. I fear he’ll refuse help from everyone, even those who have his best interest at heart.”

Adrien frowned. That was true, Felix was stubborn. But Adrien hadn’t noticed anything the other boy might need help with, so he couldn’t judge. It just didn’t sit right with him that his dad didn’t believe Felix could do it.

“Really, you can be proud of him!”, he tried again. “He’s gonna be flawless, you’ll see at the- oh.”

Another mistake. René wouldn’t see his son, because he was not allowed at the show.

“Well, yes.”, Felix’ father agreed, patting him on the back as if to say ‘no worries’. “There’s the problem, you see?”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Ah, don’t be! It’s not your fault. Really, that’s between me and Evelyn. She just… doesn’t want me to be a part of Felix’ life anymore. All because of some small mistakes I made. And now, now Felix will never…”

“Give you a chance.”, Adrien concluded. René smiled wistfully.

“Exactly. I just want… another, uh, chance.”

He was looking into the distance, before promptly jumping up and turning to him.

“Wait a minute! You are the star of the evening! What if youbrought me in with you? Then I could see Felix before the show!”

Adrien blinked. He… he could do that! But…

“I… I don’t think that would be a good idea. Felix said he doesn’t want to see you.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did. But sometimes, what people say they want, and what they need are two entirely different things!”

…that sounded familiar, but not quite right.

“I don’t understand.”

“See,” René began, crouching down to his height, “take your dad! He’s probably very busy, isn’t he?”

He didn’tflinch.

“That’s fine! I am supporting him!”, Adrien said, voice sharper than intended.

“Of course you do! And you probably tell him that. You don’t wanna nag him, am I right?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“But surely, deep down, you would like him to see you more, wouldn’t you?”

“I… I guess. And you think Felix is the same? Even though he is mad at you?”

“Let me put it that way. I did some tinythings wrong, and now Felix wants to punish me for it. But you make mistakes too, don’t you? And you don’t want to be abandoned for them either.”

“No!”, he gasped, horrified, “No, of course not!”

“See? And you’re right! Know why?”

René gestured into the distance.

“There’s good people, and there are evil people, who do evil things, like bombing churches, or kicking puppies. But people like you and I – Good People, the rightkind of people – wecan change.

“...or explain why we didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. There’s always two sides, and all that. Nothing is made better if everyone just turns away from us! Punishing us for mistakes doesn’t make them disappear. Only if we are given another chance we can make things right.”

Something still didn’t sit right with Adrien, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“But… but what if the mistake is really bad?”

René’s face darkened, before lighting up again.

“Clever kid, you! Even then, punishing bad things never made them good, am I right? You can only” – he snapped his finger – “suck it up and support others to do better. And you are exactly the kind of person who would know better, clever as you are. Really, Felix could take a page from your book!”

He stood up, looking down on him.

“So, what do you say, young man? Do you wanna be my hero and help a worried father care for his son?”

Adrien looked back at the private entrance. The security people who would do as he said. The building his own father was probably in.

“I…”

Felix would thank him, eventually, right?

“I’ll do it.”

-

“So, here we are!”, Adrien announced to his companion. “Welcome to the back... stage. This is the hallway that leads to the stage, there you’ll arrive at the stairs to the audience, and here’s the way to our private changing room! Do you want me to tell Felix you are coming, or do you want to talk alone?”

René wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were darting over the many settings on his camera, then towards the changing room.

“Know what, kid? Maybe don’t tell Felix I’m here just yet.”

Adrien’s smile faltered.

“But… but the show is going to start soon! Don’t you want to wish him good luck?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.”, René dismissed with a wave of his hand, “Luck is the last thing he needs. Tell you what, I have something… special planned. You don’t want to ruin the surprise, do you?”

That made sense. He shook his head, and the reporter grinned.

“That’s what I thought. No off you go, get ready for your modeling gig!”

Adrien’s chest felt tight. He didn’t like the expression in René’s eyes. But he had been wrong so often. Felix would thank him eventually, he reminded himself. René just needed another chance.

Felix would thank him.

-

Felix did not thank him.

An hour later, there was press everywhere, and at least one police car. Adrien was lost and stumbling around between running people. Camera’s clicked, someone was yelling, he could see Felix’ mom talking to an officer. Her make-up was running. Was she crying?

“Adrien!”, a hoarse voice yelled, and suddenly Felix was there, pulling at his arm, “What did you do?!”

His eyes weren’t like stone anymore. They looked like thawing ice. Cold and watering andbreaking.

“I-”

“What did you do?!”

“I only wanted- I was just- “

“What?! Whatwere you?! Trying to ruin everythingfor me!?”

“No! I didn’t think- “

“There you are!”, a familiar voice called and Adrien almost sagged in relief. Nathalie pulled him away from Felix with no effort at all, instructing the security personnel to drag the kicking and cursing boy back to his mother. Then she pulled Adrien with her, towards the private box where his father sat.

Adrien gulped.

Gabriel Agreste was utterly motionless, looking down upon the chaos below. Not a hair was out of place, not the hint of an emotion in his eyes.

“That would be all, Nathalie.”, he said simply, and Nathalie let go of Adrien to return to her tablet.

“Father…”, he said, voice breaking. “I don’t understand what happened. Did I… did I do something wrong?”

His father was still watching the crowd below. The press, trying to get a shot of Evelyn Leanne. The police, running around and interviewing people. A blonde boy in navy blue, so small from above, blocking his ears and trying escape the cameras.

A show in ruins.

“Sir,” Nathalie spoke up again, before Gabriel could even turn to his son, “we heard back from Madame Bourgeois. She wants to reconsider doing her Fashion Highlights article about the Gabriel Brand instead of Leanne’s. And there’s a British perfume company looking for a new partner in fashion.”

With that, Gabriel stood up. His son lowered his head, trying to sink into the ground before the yelling could begin. But instead of raising his voice, his father raised his hand and –

“Let’s go home, Adrien.”

–…pat him on the shoulder.

“Father?”

He was confused. He’d been so sure this was his fault, that he had messed up somehow.

“Shouldn’t I- shouldn’t I go talk to Felix first?”

His father looked past him, towards the Leanne’s.

“I doubt you will be working with him again.”, was his reply. He looked almost… content when he turned away from the scene. “Let’s not waste our breath.”

With that, Gabriel Agreste started walking away.

And Adrien, ever the obedient son, followed.

—

Many things would happen between that fateful night, and another night that promised to be even more fateful.

Adrien had lost his mother.

Adrien had gained friends.

Adrien had gone to school; Adrien had left it.

He had been a hero and a villain, and through it all, a child.

A child that had to be better. A child that now knew, he could become what had become of René Bordeaux.

A child that would not.

He would not become like Bordeaux. Like Lila. He wouldn’t allow it.

And he would prove it!

He would do better, be better. So that he could return to school, to his friends, and show them that he wouldn’t let them down again. If they’d still have him.

He would show Nino that he’d never ever lie again.

He would show Alya that he’d never let her be used again.

He would show Marinette that he would never abandon her again.

And… he would show Felix that he got it now. That he wouldn’t disappoint him again.

And maybe, that would show Ladybug that she had been right to trust him one last time. Even if it wasn’t as her partner.

The door to his room opened, and Adrien held his breath. Nathalie would have knocked.

“Adrien,” his father greeted him, an even for him atypical amount on tension in his face, “we need to talk.”

“We do,” Adrien agreed, opening the tab with the list of therapists he’d been considering. Then he remembered himself and bit his lip. “Uh, you go first.”

He didn’t know if his father had even heard him. He was turned towards the window, before looking back at his son.

“I always wondered… I knew you were hiding something. Your behavior was so… unlike yourself.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed.

“Father?”

“I am not mad at you Adrien, though I admit, at first…”

He turned around, simmering anger in his usually cool eyes.

“I couldn’t believe you would be able to hide something of that importance from me. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Father, I- “

“No. Listen to me, Adrien. This might be our chance, our onlychance. Your mother’s only chance.”

The room seemed to get colder. Gabriel talked on.

“I never thought I would be able to involve you, always thinking you might be too… fragile. I see now that this was a mistake. If I had been more open in my endeavor, this would have ended a long time ago. But maybe it needed to happen. It needed to happen, so that you would truly understand what needs to be done.”

What do you mean, Adrien wanted to ask, but his mouth was frozen shut. Something icy was growing in his chest. In his pocket, he clutched a colorful little lucky charm like a lifeline.

“Adrien.”

His father stepped closer.

“I know that you were Chat Noir.”

Somewhere, deep in his soul, his subconsciousness was already connecting the final dots, only waiting for his mind to catch up. It kindly refused the invitation, choosing to revel in blissful ignorance for a few more minutes.

“I… F-father, I… I swear- “

“It’s alright, son. Everything will be alright. Look at me, Adrien.”

He did. He did, and he did not know who he was looking at.

“My son,” his father said, and there was a spark in his eyes that scared him, “it seems so fitting. That all of us would carry such a burden, at one point. As if fate itself kept a close eye on our family.”

“You are Hawkmoth.”, someone said. It took both Agreste’s a few moments to realize it had been Adrien who’d said it. And even then, it took Adrien’s mind several more to put ‘blissful ignorance’ back into its box and catch up with his subconscious and mouth. The lucky charm in his pocket felt cold, so cold, like it had felt only once before.

At TV1.

“You are Hawkmoth,” he repeated, and his voice didn’t falter. Neither did his father.

“I understand if you feel… betrayed.”, the latter said slowly, pronouncing the last word like something spiky he didn’t want to get too close to. “There is much you don’t know yet. But until I show you, I need you to remember that we are family. And that we have a common goal, and since quite recently, a common enemy.”

In his head, his thoughts were racing, too fast to be of any use to him. He felt numb. But fifteen years of experience with his father had taught him when to be quiet, and when to ask questions.

“A… common enemy?”

“Yes.”

His father smiled. It looked wrong.

“You were a hero. You were the Black Cat, you were Chosen. But they took that from you. The moment you didn’t meet their expectations anymore, they tossed you aside. As if you hadn’t sacrificed so much for them. I saw you, everything you did for them. For her.”

“Ladybug.”

The word felt odd in his mouth, as if it didn’t want to be said. His father’s smile widened.

“Ladybug,” he agreed, and if the name had hesitated on Adrien’s tongue, it positively rebelled on Gabriel’s. It sounded poisonous, dripping with disdain. “And the Guardian. And, not to forget, the imposter that took your place.”

Adrien looked up at him, slowly.

“You akumatized me.”

His father didn’t flinch. But he blinked, once, before stepping back.

“So I did.”

He turned around, towards the window. Towards Paris beyond, that feared him every day.

“Imagine my surprise when I learned that the one I was doing this all for was the one fighting me, all along. That the key to our happiness had been beneath my very own roof.”

He shook his head.

“The past is in the past. I know exactly how you felt, in that moment. I could feel it firsthand. How alone. Abandoned by those that should have stood with you.”

He turned back around, facing his son. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was genuine emotion on his face.

“Adrien, if you still feel that way, then we can fix it. Together. We can retrieve your Miraculous, and every other Miraculous too!”

He gripped his shoulder with unexpected strength, eyes wide.

“Adrien, I know just how deep Ladybug’s betrayal cut you. But now that you see her for what she really is, you have the power to make her regret. To take back what you deserve, what you are owed.”

He remembered Lila. Her power to make people believe anything. Just by knowing what they wanted to hear.

“Imagine it, son.”

Adrien imagined.

Being Chat Noir once more. The thing in his life he had loved so much, so much.

But he knew, it hadn’t been the costume he’d loved. When he thought of being Chat Noir, he thought of Plagg’s annoying voice. His constant company, his purrs. He thought of Ladybug and laughter, and racing over rooftops with someone that believed in him.

He thought of escape. Why did he want to escape?

Alone. Abandoned by those that should have stood with you.

He hadbeen alone, for so long. He had been abandoned.

“I love you, Father.”

He looked up. His father looked confused.

“I will always love you.”, he added, and the words felt right. They felt true. He smiled.

“Of course I will help you! I have always supported you, no matter what.”

Because what else could he do?

“I knew I could trust you.”

He was no hero anymore.

“I am so proud of you.”

And he was no villain either.

“You’ll see, Adrien.”

He was a child.

“It will all be worth it, in the end.”

A child that knew he could become everything his father wanted him to be.

A child thatwould not.

“Of course, Father.”

He would not become like Bordeaux. Like Lila.

Like Gabriel Agreste.

“Let me show you the reason for all this.”

Adrien felt like he knew already. Like it would be painful. Like it still wouldn’t change anything. And yet, he smiled. He smiled, the exact same smile he had always worn when his father ignored another birthday. The smile for when his father turned his back yet again. The smile that was so false it hurt.

The smile that would have given him away if his father had looked at him just a little bit closer, those past few years.

“I’m right behind you,” he said, reaching out with one hand for his father’s, with the other for his phone. He had no way to contact Ladybug now. But he knew someone who could. Whose lucky charm was in his pocket, comforting and warmonce again.

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t angry. He knew exactly what needed to happen, and that she would makeit happen.

“With your help, Adrien, this will all be over soon.”

Alone. Abandoned.

Oh yes.

Distant, dismissive, derogatory.

He was right.

I will not disappoint you.

More so than he knew.

“My son,” his father said, and Adrien was so sure he could see love in his eyes. “Now I know that we will be victorious.”

With that, Gabriel Agreste started walking away.

And Adrien, no longer the obedient son, followed.

[ur-jinji]

Heyo!! You’re incredibly talented and I was wondering if I could request a Sokka x Reader using the fluff prompts number 32 and/or 23? Anyway thank you so much and I’m glad I’m not the only one who also loves Varrick

a/n: AHH THIS IS SO CUTE OMG and thank you 🥺🥺 also us varrick stans are superior hehe

fluff prompts

23: “don’t get me wrong. i like the kissing. i’m all for the kissing. more kissing, i say.”

32: “your lap is my new favorite seat.”

good old fashioned lover boy

sokka x f!reader

college aged & modern au

summary: y/n was a firm disbeliever in love, but sokka helps in changing her mind

warning: mention of a cheating & toxic relationships

masterlist

Y/N never believed much in love.

She was never lucky when it came to relationships. Her first boyfriend cheated, and her second was manipulative and toxic, but she could see through that bullshit. She escaped those relationships with a few mental scrapes and bruises, but the experience matured and hardened her. Y/N decided she didn’t really want to try to find love anymore. If it came, it came, but either way, she was content. Her main goal was to just focus on looking out for herself. But, that ephinany didn’t last forever.

Enter... Sokka.

Sokka was Y/N’s goofy friend who never failed to put a smile on her face. He was always making attempts to hang out, in which she’d decline. He even went out of his way to beg his other friends not to show up the movies so he could be alone with her. It was no secret that Sokka was highly attracted to you. He made moves. Constantly. It started with flirty texts, telling Y/N how good she looked that day. He once even made the cringey “without me? ;)” text message when she said she was going to take a shower. The texts quickly turned into in-person flirting. He would call her “pretty” or “a snack” almost every time he saw her. He would also tease her, saying rather suggestive comments, have lingering touches, or try to play footsies under the table on nights out with their shared friends.

Unknowingly to her friends, but Y/N always bit back. It wasn’t always obvious, but she found herself being just as playful and suggestive. She wouldn’t lie, she was very flattered. She enjoyed the attention he gave her and the reactions he would give when she played along. She loved seeing him try harder when she gave him that signature look when he called her pretty. Y/N would even go as far as to admitting she found Sokka attractive. But, she always told herself to not let that attraction and excitement form into anything else. But little did she know, Sokka’s behavior was all out of love, not just the excitement of the chase. That kid was completely whipped. All he wanted was Y/N. He loved when she teased him back. He loved when she whacked his shoulder, trying to a hide playful smirk that would show she enjoyed it, but failing horribly. He loved when she would keep a blank face in front of her friends, attempting to hide that she was playing footsies back with him under the table. (There was an awkward conversation or two when she accidentally started touching someone else’s foot). Sokka loved it all.

Sokka’s heart nearly imploded the first time Y/N kissed him. She had been drunk, but when they woke up in the same bed together, she wasn’t repulsed and/or regretful like he was afraid she would be. But, he was disappointed when she gathered her belongings and secretly made a walk of shame back to her dorm and never brought it up again. The same exact situation happened two more times after that. The second time, Sokka realized that Y/N would always wait until they were alone. And that every time, she was drunk. It was like that was the only time she could be somewhat vulnerable and let her guard down. And he was right.

Y/N found it hard to publicly show any form of affection towards Sokka. She wanted to lie to herself, but she couldn’t. So, she lied to those around her. It was known by her friends that she despised relationships. But, she was really confused about her feelings, and wanted to always keep that guard up as much as she possibly could. What wasn’t well known by her friends was the fact that her walls would come down when she drank. Sokka was the only one who had any idea, and that was because he knew from personal experience.

Sokka was able to chip at Y/N’s wall when she agreed to hang out alone in his dorm not long after the final drunken hook up. They watched a movie and ended up practically spooning, but when his roommate returned to the dorm, Y/N didn’t waste any time to scramble away and put some distance between Sokka before the roommate would see. It’s not that she was embarrassed of Sokka. She was embarrassed of breaking the promise she made to herself.

Y/N found herself at Sokka’s dorm yet again a few days after that incident. He had brushed it off, putting the pieces together on own as to why she didn’t want anyone knowing. She sat down on the edge of his bed. Sokka was seated at his desk chair towards the end of his bed. There was an awkward silence that drove him crazy. He noticed her bouncing her leg, and her eyes nervously shifting around the room. He sighed dramatically and stood up, making his way over to the girl. He wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up.

“Sokka! Stop! Put me down!” Y/N squealed in surprise. She thrashed around in his grasp. He moved over to the desk chair and sat down, sitting her on his lap, his arms remaining around her waist. Almost immediately, she stopped thrashing and calmed down, seeming rather content. Y/N turned her head to look at Sokka.

“You’re so annoying,” She said, breaking a smile. She swatted gently at his shoulder, earning a smile from him.

“You like it,” He teased her, giving her waist a squeeze.

“You’re despicable!” Y/N shouted before giggling.

“You like it,” Sokka repeated.

“You’re right,” She admitted softly, breathing out a laugh and shrugging nonchalantly.

“We’ve just had a breakthrough. You admitted to liking something about me!” He exclaimed.

“You ruined it,” She told him before gently swatting his shoulder again.

“Disappointment,” He replied, jokingly looking sad.

“Stop. What do you want me to say?” Y/N questioned, throwing her hands up. Sokka nodded smugly.

“Something you’d never admit. Like, that my lap is the best lap. My lap is your new favorite seat,” He said, smirking. “We both know it’s true.”

“Again, you’re so annoying!”

“Mhm, just what I thought.”

“Fine. Your lap is my new favorite seat,” Y/N responded, secretly meaning it. “I guess it’s a little comfy.”

“Hah! I knew it,” Sokka declared, giving her yet another squeeze. “You’re fun to squeeze.”

“You’re fun to hit,” She replied before softly hitting his shoulder and giggling.

“Well, you’re just fun to be around,” He said, closing his eyes and giving you a thin smile that read ‘Yeah. I said it. What’re you gonna do about it.’

“You’re okay, I guess,” She admitted, meaning a lot more than she said.

“Hah! Another breakthrough!” He shouted before giving ANOTHER squeeze, this one tighter than the rest.

“Oh, hush,” Y/N said, then leaning in and planting her lips on his to silence him. Sokka responded very needidly, craving it. His arms unwrapped around her waist, and his hands replaced them. Their lips started to move a little faster, but Y/N pulled away with a smug look.

“Betcha weren’t expecting that,” She said before pecking his lips again quickly.

Sokka was at a loss for words. He was surprised his heart hadn’t leapt right out of his chest. Not only was this kiss amazing, but she DID shock him. This was the first kiss they shared sober. The wall she had built had been successfully dented.

“Jeez, if it’s that bad, you just say so,” Y/N said, closing his slightly gaped mouth by pressing a finger under his chin. “Guess that’ll have to be the last from me.”

Sokka cleared his throat.

“I’m just shocked you were the one to kiss me. Especially while sober,” Sokka explained.

Y/N shrugged. “Again, if it was that bad, just say so!”

“No! Don’t get me wrong. I like the kissing. I’m all for the kissing. More kissing, I say,” He started, leaning in and kissing the girl again for a moment. “I just don’t know what changed?”

“I don’t know, Sokka. I just trust you, I guess,” She informed, shrugging again.

“Y/N, I’m crazy about you,” He suddenly blurted out quickly. He wanted to facepalm himself for saying that out loud. This wasn’t going to be good. He knew it. The silence was deafening. Y/N was now the one at a loss for words.

“Please say something,” Sokka eventually muttered anxiously. She paused.

“I don’t know... I-I like you, too,” Y/N admitted just above a whisper, eyes darting around as if to make sure they were alone.

Sokka swore his heart stopped for a second. Was this really happening? Was the girl he’d been so infatuated with since the moment he met her really saying she liked him back? The girl who said she didn’t believe in love? The girl who said on more than one occasion that she’d be more than happy to be single for the rest of her life?

“Now you please saying something!” Y/N hollered, whacking his shoulder. Sokka had no words. No words could express how long he’d been wanting to hear those words come out of mouth. Hell, a text message would’ve been good enough for him! A passenger pigeon! Anything!

He placed lips on Y/N’s, kissing her passionately. She responded back to the kiss quickly with just as much passion, and even deepened it. Sokka moved his hands down to her hips. They stayed there like that for a while, taking in the moment that meant the world to both of them. Y/N had secretly been wanting this like Sokka had. They eventually separated, both breathing deeply.

“Would you want to go on a date with me sometime?” Sokka asked nervously. “Like, a real one. I take you to a movie and then we go out to eat and hold hands and stuff?”

“Yes, Sokka. Eventually. Give me some time to take all this in, okay?” Y/N responded, pecking his cheek gently. “I surprised myself here today, too, y’know.”

Sokka quickly nodded, grinning. He’ll take that.

“Another breakthrough!”

-

taglist: @missmorosis

[elvish-sky]

The Magic of Books and Peppermint {FilixModern!Reader}

Anon Request from Tumblr: Hello! And happy new year! I love your blog! (Especially the funny dialog posts! They really make my day when I read them!) If you're doing requests, can I ask for one between fili x fem!modern!human reader? Where Bain/Legolas is into her and makes obvious advances but Fili is in love with her too and gets super jealous so that's how the reader finds out he returns her feelings? If not that's cool too and I hope you have a great and wonderful new Year! :D

*To make the story work you are in one of those booths that has openings on either end. 

A.N: So I set this around this time of year just because I’m still hanging on to that holiday mindset so I hope that’s ok! Also, no, I am not addicted to peppermint drinks, why on earth would you think that? Anyways, thank you for the request lovely Anon! I’ve never written modern au before and I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you like it and that you are having a wonderful start to 2021!

Word Count: 2,398

Pairing: Fili x Fem!Modern!Human! Reader

Summary: Fili gets jealous of Bain’s attention towards you.

Warnings: Unwanted romantic advances, fluff, some angst, jealousy.

****

The Magic of Books and Peppermint

You slid into the coffee shop booth, peppermint mocha in hand, and, upon taking a sip, sighed in happiness. December was your favorite time of year, not just because you got to come home, but mainly because coffee shops sold peppermint flavored drinks. Sure, it was nice to see your family and get a break from college, but man, peppermint mochas were good. Kili, one of your best friends, laughed at you from the other side of the table, as his brother Fili tried to take the cup away from you with little success. You had known them since you were five, they had moved in next door with their uncle while their mom was away, and you had been best friends ever since. 

“Y/N,” Kili commented, “I honestly don’t think it's good to consume that much caffeine and sugar.” “What are you talking about?” you answered. “This is only my fourth drink of the day, and one of them was a peppermint hot cocoa!” Fili and Kili just shook their heads at you as the “Ding!” of the bell at the door announced the arrival of Legolas and Bain, completing your little group. Bain and Fili were older than you, Legolas, and Kili, but somehow the four of them had taken you into their group when you had become friends with Kili in seventh grade. Legolas swung a chair around to sit at the head of the booth, and Bain slid in next to you and slung his arm around your shoulders, prompting a glare from Fili which you missed. Bain had become increasingly touchy-feely every time you returned home from college, and you were unsure why. You figured it was probably just because he missed you, but you never saw him act the same with Fili, who was a year ahead of you at the same out-of-state college. 

“Bain, Legolas, tell Y/N she drinks too much sugar,” Kili demanded. “Why?” Legolas wanted to know. “It’s eleven in the morning, she can’t have had too much already.” “This is her fourth drink today!” Fili exclaimed, looking exasperated. “That’s it, Y/N,” Legolas snatched your cup out of your hand and slid it across the table to Kili, who chugged it with a smug look on his face. “You’re going to join me in a sugar-free lifestyle.” You sighed. Legolas had been sugar-free since your freshman year of high school, as he wanted to stay fit for sports. It had paid off, he had gotten a full scholarship for gymnastics, but you sometimes thought he went a little overboard. Kili had also gone to college on an athletic scholarship, for basketball, but as evidenced by the fact that he had just chugged your entire mocha, he was not on any sort of health kick, nor had he ever been. “I will consider going sugar-free after New Year’s,” you told Legolas. “But after New Year’s we all go away again and I won’t be able to keep tabs on you!” he exclaimed. “That’s exactly the point, Legolas,” you leaned back with a smug look on your face. “Well, I don’t think Y/N needs to do anything of the sort,” Bain interjected, “She’s gorgeous as is!” A tad uncomfortable at this statement, you shrugged out from under his arm, missing the disappointed look on his face, but noticing the slightly triumphant look on Fili’s, as you did so. 

After you had finished your sandwich, you announced, “Well, I’m gonna head over to the bookstore,” as you slid out of the booth. “I’ll walk you down there,” Bain said, sliding out of the other end. “I have to stop at the hardware store down the street anyway. Da wants me to carve Tilda a slingshot, and my pocketknife is dull.” Making your way towards the door, you heard a muffled thump and turned around to see Bain sprawled on the floor next to your booth. “What happened?” you gasped as Legolas helped him up. “I have no idea,” he answered, shaking his head while walking towards you across the linoleum. “Let’s get going.” You didn’t hear Kili whisper “I know you tripped him,” to his brother as you left.

Bain had left you at the bookstore with a promise to come back once he was done with his errands. As you entered the store, you heard the jingle of the little bell and breathed in the air. Kili had always made fun of you for your love of the way bookstores smelled, but to you, there wasn’t anything better. You wound your way through the tall shelves bursting with novels until you got to the YA section. Grabbing a random title off the shelves, you collapsed into the beanbag in your favorite nook of the store with a sigh and became engrossed. You were pulled out of your reverie sometime later by the sight of a head peeking around the corner of the shelf in front of you. 

“Fili!” you beamed as you jumped up from the chair. “You never come to the bookstore!” “I go to the bookstore all the time, Y/N. You just don’t see me.” He countered with a grin. “I’m at either this store or the one near campus all the time, so when could you possibly be here if I didn’t see you!” you questioned with a skeptical look on your face. “I’m an English major, I help out at the bookstore on campus a lot, and Uncle Thorin’s friend Balin owns this place. I can get into any of them any time I want!” “I can’t be your friend anymore.” you dramatically stated as you fell back into the beanbag. “You have unlimited access to two bookstores AND YOU’VE NEVER SNUCK ME IN?!?!?!?” This shout was met with a shushing noise from Balin who was arranging the shelves nearby. Chastened, you glanced back up at Fili only to see a glare on his face. You followed his gaze to the end of the aisle and saw Bain walking towards you. “What’s up, Y/N?” he reached you and yet again slung his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close to him. “You finished or should we stick around until you’re done with that book?” He gestured to the open paperback on the chair. “Nah, let's go up to the counter and I’ll buy it.” And with that, you made your way to the counter and paid. Laughing with Bain, you exited the store with Fili trailing behind you, looking rather angry. 

You made your way down the street only to be ambushed by a snowball to the head from a giggling Legolas, who had somehow perched himself on top of the lamppost and was now scooping more snow off of it to use as a projectile. Kili, who was balanced on the roof of the building next to you, dumped a bunch of snow onto Fili’s head, who, spluttering, yelled up at him, “I know you have your crazy ways of getting up there, but Mum’s gonna kill you if she sees you on top of another building!” Kili ignored him, and so Fili hit him in the face with a well-aimed snowball. Bain had pushed you down and was attempting to protect you from Legolas to no avail, as the blond was now swinging around the lamppost like a monkey, firing off snowballs at random. “Legolas, how did you get so much snow up there?” you queried while cowering from the onslaught. In response, he pointed to his coat, which was full of snow and tied to the lamppost so that he could reach it. “Movable ammo, Y/N!” he declared. Meanwhile, Fili had attacked Bain when he saw him protecting you and was now in the process of shoving snow down the back of his jacket while Bain squirmed as the cold hit his back. Fili let go and backed away, looking immensely pleased with himself. Kili clambered down from the roof as Legolas swung from the lamppost, did a flip, and stuck the landing, all while firing off two more snowballs to hit the brothers. He slung an arm over Kili and Bain’s shoulders and they set off down the road, with the sound of Legolas’ voice trailing behind them. “What’re we having for dinner, Kili? I hope your mom made something good!”

You trailed behind them next to Fili, who still looked like something was wrong. You were a little worried about him, and especially about the way, he was acting with Bain lately. Making up your mind, you blurted, “Hey, Fili. Can I ask you something?” He nodded, and you continued, stomping your boots on the icy ground as you spoke. “You’ve been a little off ever since we came home,” you continued. “Especially with Bain, you seem a little bit mean, if I’m being honest, and I want to make sure everything’s ok and nothing happened with you guys.” “Nothing’s happened with us. We’re still all good, and I’m really happy for the two of you.” As he said this you were focused on his eyes, which seemed to hold depths of sadness, and his smile, which seemed very forced. You studied them, and then stopped walking as the implication of what he had said sank in. 

“Happy for us? Why would you be happy for us?” “Because you’re together,” “What?!” you exclaimed. “I’m not..we’re not…” you trailed off as your head spun, everything finally making sense. “Wait,” you grabbed Fili’s hand and pulled him closer to you, “you’ve been jealous!” He shuffled his feet on the ice, eyes stubbornly fixed on his boots. “I was not jealous! What do I have to be jealous over, anyway! It’s not like you and I are…” his voice dwindled as he purposefully avoided your eyes. “But we could be.” You grabbed his hand, and twined your fingers with his, hoping it would send the message you wanted. He stiffened at first but then relaxed. “Would you like to be?” he asked, looking like he regretted speaking the second he did so. “Yes, Fili. I very much would.” 

“So, nothing is going on with you and Bain?” he asked as you started walking, hands swinging in between your bodies. You laughed at him, “No! Bain’s like a brother to me, the same as Kili or Legolas!” “Ok,” he blushed. “Just thought I’d clear that up before I did something else stupid.” Hand in hand, you followed behind your friends, looking forward to an excellent dinner when you arrived at Fili and Kili’s house.

Later that night, after your family had joined Thranduil, Legolas’s dad, and his husband Bard, who was Bain’s father, at Fili and Kili’s house for a delicious New Year’s Eve dinner, you lay in your bed mulling over your day. You had talked to Bain after dinner, just to let him know that you were now taken. It had been awkward, but you were proud that you had both handled it well. You just hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you soon, and that the fact that you were now dating Fili wouldn’t sting too much. 

You were startled by a tapping on your window, and, rising from the pillows, opened it to see Kili, Legolas, and Bain standing below. “What are you guys doing?” you hissed from the second floor. “Just get dressed and climb down!” Legolas whisper-yelled back up to you. Sighing at the fact that whatever they had planned meant that you wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night, you threw on leggings, a hoodie, a flannel, and your beanie, wanting to be warm, and then shimmied out of your window, dropping smoothly to the ground and somersaulting to break your fall. “Wow, Y/N, I didn’t know you could do that!” Bain effused as you set off. “I’ve spent too much time around Legolas to not be able to somersault,” you shook your head as you remembered the many times that that skill had gotten you into, or out of trouble. “Where are we going?” you asked. “And where’s Fili?” “You’ll see when we get there,” Kili answered with a smug grin. You rolled your eyes at his vagueness and quickened your pace to keep up. 

After about fifteen minutes, Kili halted in front of the bookstore, gesturing for you to open the door. “It’s closed, Kee! I can’t break in!” “Just trust us, Y/N” Legolas whispered. Sure this was just going to end in you tugging on a locked door while the three of them laughed, you yanked the handle, surprised when the door opened. You stepped inside, hearing the soft tinkle of the bell as the door swung closed behind you. You turned around to see the three faces of your friends pressed up against the glass, and Kili gestured for you to keep going. You saw a faint light at the back of the store and wound through the shelves until you reached your favorite little nook. You gasped at what you saw arrayed in front of you as you rounded the corner.

Fili was standing there with a bashful grin. “You were mad I’ve never snuck you into a bookstore before.” He motioned for you to sit down and so you sank into the beanbag next to him, a look of shock on your face as he handed you a mug. “What’s this?” you took a sip and sighed with delight. “Peppermint hot chocolate!” Fili smiled at your blissful expression “I figured we could just stay here tonight, maybe read to each other.” You blushed at his thoughtfulness in knowing that this would be your perfect first date. There was nothing more magical than books and a peppermint drink. “That sounds wonderful, Fee. Thank you.” You snuggled up close to him with your hot cocoa warming your hands, his arm wrapped around you as he began reading. You recognized the first sentence as the beginning of your favorite book when you were little, and you contentedly rested your head on his chest as his voice rose and fell with the story. “I love you, Fili,” you murmured. “I love you too, Y/N.” He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and continued to read as you sighed in content, knowing there was no place you would rather be. 

Everything tag💗: @entishramblings @boyruins @itgetsatadhazy @anjhope1

[gotpineapple]

Blessed with youth Tywin Lannister x Tyrell!Reader Part 2

(gif not mine, but dang do I love it)

THIS IS LONG,(2,4K words), and it has nsfw content, I will mark it with ***

“My, my, I never would’ve guessed that, you my girl, would succeed to this extent”, Olenna said proudly looking at her son’s oldest daughter. She took a sip of her wine giving a small laugh while doing so.

Y/n was sitting in the gardens with both of her siblings and her grandmother. Her father was not allowed into the conversation as Olenna knew, her son would create problems with his simple style of viewing the world.

“If I recall correctly, I have not succeeded in anything, for I was not planning to even get to this point”, Y/N says quite frantically. She was very confused after the conversation with the Hand of the King. She was leaning against her hand which was perched on the armrest.

Everything felt very confusing. She was going to marry a man, who is the age of her grandmother. Yet something about him made her feel surprisingly content. His dominance was really attractive to her kind heart. The stability and security that she was seeking for was there, even if it would be for a fleeting moment.

“Do not belittle yourself sister. You two truly have been doing a great job. Margaery seduced the powerful puppet and Y/N seduced the puppeteer. Now I don’t need to seduce the beast that gave birth to the puppet”, Loras smirks with his usual boyish charm.

Y/N and Margaery giggle at the beast part, but Olenna doesn’t give a reaction. Her face is very serious as she looks at her grandchildren.

“I must say I’ve never been as surprised as yesterday when the great Tywin Lannister came to change our plans at marrying you to Jaime. I was glad. He is not a good man, but he will at least have respect for you. That is more than many could ask for from an arranged marriage”, she tells wisely. Her own story was a lucky one. She knew this was not going to be the case with her oldest granddaughter, but she at least she wouldn’t be in immediate danger because of Cersei’s jealousy.

“Mutual respect is a stable base for an uneven marriage”, Y/N says smiling at the cup in her lap. In all honesty she was afraid of her future seat of power. One thing was for sure, she was safer with Tywin than with any other lord from a great house. Lannister soldiers were too afraid of their Lord to rebel against him and get rid of his wife. 

“My child, Tywin will be a committed husband, if you can play your way to the back of his head. The Lion is mighty and frightening, but his skin is not impervious”, Olenna says taking Y/n’s hand. Margaery finishes her grandmother’s thoughts. 

“Lord Tywin ruled the seven kingdoms but Lady Joanna ruled Tywin. You, dear sister, cannot just stay content with a stable base”

Somehow those words did not calm Y/N’s frantic mind. 

— — — 

“I see you are not content with my decision”, Tywin says rolling his eyes as he listens to his daughter.

“First you plan to marry my son to that barely-dressed harlot and now you want a piece of that other doe eyed whore? Our family will be a laughi-” the Queen’s rant was interrupted by a sharp scoff from her father. Jaime and Tyrion were listening with interest feeling much like children. Now it was Cersei’s turn to feel like an impudent child. 

“You are my daughter and you WILL LISTEN. My decision is far from the disgrace you have managed to create with your brother. The vile rumors, the both of you acting like impulsive brats towards Ned Stark and lastly letting that impulsive brat of yours do whatever he WANTS” Tywin was now standing up and looking at his daughter. Cersei’s eyes were downcast to her lap and she took the lecture as she had done often. The bitter voice in her head told her to scream to him that she was the queen, but she knew it would be in vain. Her father would always have a few steps ahead of her. 

“And how ironically only one of you who can control the brat is a dwarf”, Tywin finished with a humorless scoff. Even though it was also a slight towards him, Tyrion couldn’t help but smirk. He was the least favorite child, yet he was the only one who even got half a praise. Hell, he’d take a quarter praise for smacking that kid and it’d make him happy. 

“I will not be marrying anyone, will I father?”, Jaime dares to pipe in. Tywin looks at him like he is about to roar. Instead he leans to look at Jaime and takes a snide mocking voice, “No, my son. So you better not lie about your skills”

Tyrion is beyond amused at this point. Oh how he enjoyed the looks on his siblings’ faces as they had to submit to the lecture. About time they were not the ones picking the flaws of the less fortunate. 

“Father, may I ask, when shall the wedding take place?”, he dared to speak. The formal way of words did not match his smug tone. 

“In a week”, answers the great lion. The casual tone makes Cersei fume. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a betrothed to please”, Tywin says and strides out. 

And oh the smirk on his face spoke very much of accomplishment. 

———–

Y/n was strolling through the gardens arm-in-arm as they chattered away. 

“Do you ever wish that the marriage could actually lead to something?”, Y/N spoke timidly. She had been thinking a lot about it. Her gentle soul was very interested in the concept of love. Unfortunately, her husband was probably drained of all the romantic feelings he could provide. 

Margaery smiles and leans to her sister a little bit more. “Oh you little romantic, sometimes I wish you were a lowborn and could marry a poet”, she giggles. “But I think about it too, you know. Not in your sense, but I do not want a completely cold marriage either. Being the Queen will fill the empty void, if it should come to that”

That was the big difference in the sisters. Y/n desired no power. She wanted to have a quiet life, but also a life where she could use the smarts she had. Tywin was a good option. If she would be able to get under his skin. Thought of getting the affection did not make her sad either.

“I cannot have the cold marriage if I want any gain from the union. Would he not care for me at all nor trust me, he will not tell me anything nor will I be able to influence him. And that crosses out my romantic thoughts at the same time. I have to succeed to the point of trust at least”, Y/n points out dryly. 

“I’d be quiet if I were you”, Margaery whispers quickly. I turn around hurriedly towards her gaze and see my future husband approaching. 

“Lady Margaery, Lady Y/N”, he nods as he reaches the women. “I would like to borrow lady Y/n”, He says offering his arm. 

“Of course my lord Hand”, Margaery says pleasantly and Y/n grasps Tywin’s arm. 

—–

There were no words to describe how tiny Y/n felt on the arm of Tywin. The Great lion oozed nothing but authority and judgement. Her heart was pounding so loud she could feel the pulsing in her ears. 

“Do you like the capitol?”, asks the baritone on her left. She jumps from her thoughts and speaks evenly “Would you rather I try to please the history of this city or tell the plain truth?”

Tywin smirks. This woman was able to keep her cool, even under pressure. “Yes this city is foul as ever. Once we are married, I can send you to visit Casterly Rock with my brother. It is a beautiful place, I’d say it rivals Highgarden. But as you understand, you cannot stay there without me for long. My men are loyal, but loyalty can only cost so much” He explains. He was leading her to the Tower of the Hand. It was going to be her chamber too soon enough, so it would only be wise to accommodate her with the concept. The Lion walks with slow yet graceful steps, alarmingly confident steps. 

Y/n walks with much more timid and feminine steps. It makes her feel even more small. She doesn’t not mind it though. It makes her feel like a woman. Only the thought being in his mercy makes her flush. 

“I thought the Rains of Castamere was more than decent rival for money”, she says knowingly. Tywin looks at her from the corner of his eye. He would lie if he said that it did not inflate his ego, that he could rise such a flush to a woman’s neck and face by not even trying. 

“You’d to well to remember that song, when you lie in the same bed with a lion”, he speaks lowly. And her reaction does not disappoint his ego. 

She looks at him with her eyes wide and mouth gaping. The reaction for such words rivaled the reaction she had for the rowdiest of books, she and Margaery had found. 

They walked in silence till they reached his chambers. The guards open the doors for the soon to be couple. Tywin steps behind Y/n and holds her upper arms. “This is your future chamber. You will get used to it. My wife will not sleep in another bed, nor will she be undressed by maids. If I cannot get my wife free of her clothes, you can sleep with them on”, he says confidently.

Y/n bites her lip and turns to look at the man behind her. They are so close that Tywin can only focus on her wide blown eyes and the flush on her cheeks. 

He smirks and takes a hold of her chin “It seems that I do not have to be blessed with youth, to get your blood flowing”, he whispers and presses his forehead to hers. Y/n feels like one of her romance book characters. She almost faints as the lion rubs his nose with hers and pulls her to his chest. “It feels like your clothing is bothering you, my lady. Would you like some aid?”, he rasps. 

**********TIME FOR THE NSFW PART; STOP READING IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE*************

Y/n lets out a small whimper as she holds onto the labels of Tywin’s jacket desperately. Tywin. It was all she could feel. All she could think about. Slowly the lion starts kissing the sensitive neck of the flushed woman in his arms. He can feel the tremors as he showers her neck with affection. Responsive little thing. Tywin muses. Innocent little thing. 

The Lord’s hand moves to her breast and starts fondling the mound with gentle movements. He did not intent to frighten the girl. The desperate whine and the way the girl presses against him makes his loins stir. He presses against her even more and she gasps. The innocent desperate face that she looks at him with tells more than a thousand words. “Ty-Tywin, d-drowning”, her head was spinning. Tywin could see the little desperate tears waiting to run down those beautifully flushed cheeks. She was submitting to him. Completely and utterly under his mercy. 

Tywin engages her mouth with a slow passionate kiss. His other arm going around her back to tangle his hand into her hair and the other finding it’s way to the hem of her skirt. He starts lifting the material till he has the full access. His cock was as hard as he could get with no skin to skin contact, but he was content where he was. Kissing this young woman, drowning her with pleasure. If he were a young  and not experienced, he could’ve spent into his pants just by looking at the erotic desperation on her face. 

Slowly his fingers find her undergarments. As he puts a little pressure to her flower through the fabric, Y/N’s hand snaps to his wrist with a whimper. “I-no-I don’t know”, she whines in haze. Tywin moves his hand and cups her face. “I will not let you drown, I have you. Your body and your mind. The way you look at me, the little noises you make, are all mine to see and hear. Let the pleasure wash over you, for I have you now”, he soothes. Then his eyes harden. “The lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp my lord, as long and sharp as yours” he sings. Y/n presses her hand on the back of his neck and kisses him with all she has. 

He was her rock. For now. She had never felt like this. Like she was burning, the place between her legs was feeling so sensitive that she couldn’t press her thighs together without jolting. Everything felt so sensitive. 

“OH” she gasps against his lips as Tywin’s fingers find her flower again. Slowly he strokes her through her underwear. The garment is wet and her hips are jumping. She had of course touched herself before, but having someone else doing this, felt so overwhelming.

“Ah, T-tywin, oh-h my”, she whimpers and tears start sliding down her cheeks. Tywin circles his finger around the sensitive little nub and she wounds up and starts trembling. As she starts trembling more violently Tywin presses his lips against the spot behind her ear and sucks. “I-NO”and there she falls apart, standing in the middle of his chambers. Scared of the overwhelming pleasure, trembling like a leaf. 

She is sobbing with pleasure as Tywin guides her through it. Slowly she comes back to the real world, holding onto the man pressed against him, still shaking. “I-I apologize, my lord. I-”, she says and bursts into tears. 

Tywin sighs. He doesn’t handle emotional people well. But he cannot bring himself to be curt, the woman must be feeling very vulnerable and raw, there in his arms, just fallen apart. So he picks her up and lays her onto his bed gently, not minding his throbbing erection as he sits next to her as strokes her hair and holds her hand. 

“As I said, I have you, Y/N. Under any circumstances I have you”, he says as gentle as he can. Y/n sighs. “I was so frightened”, she says feeling very hollow. He hums and gives a something that resembles a smile. “You submitted to pleasure, to me” He says moving his hand against her brow. 

“Might we try again?”, she asks timidly. And Tywin cannot resist the flush on her cheeks. He smirks. Oh he did not need youth, 

[enbiart]

Rooted Deep

In which Angeal has always struggled with depression and the like. TW for suicidal thoughtd and attempted suicide.

If he was being completely honest, it was always a problem for him. His monstrosity was just the icing on the cake, the straw that broke the camel's back. Before the truth of his birth came out, it was pretty manageable. Sure, he'd have his bad days, but no one ever caught on, so it couldn't have been that bad.

At least, that's what Angeal told himself.

It started when he was little. It had probably been a problem since before then, but the first time the full thought crossed his mind was on Genesis's 13th birthday. He'd never tell a soul, but the class difference between him and his friend. . . He'd never put it against his friend, Gaia no, but jealousy was only human, and he had a lot to be jealous of.

His Mom raised him right, though, so jealous thoughts never lingered long. What did linger, though, were the feelings of shame and inadequacy that often acquainted jealousy. He tried so, so, so hard to be proud of his family, of his Mom -- but sometimes, sometimes he'd look at Genesis and his home, at his fancy clothes and new toys and private tutors, and then he'd look back at his measly shack, at his ragged, patchy clothes and lack of playthings and books that Genesis had to lend him so that he could learn how to read good because despite how much his Mom loved him she just couldn't afford to send him to school the whole time, and he'd wonder if there was some sort of joke he was missing. He'd wonder why someone like Genesis, the Mayor's son, the richest kid in town, would bother with someone like him. He'd wonder when Genesis would realize just how much he was lowering himself to spend time with someone like Angeal, and give up. He knew, really, that Genesis wasn't that kind of person, and he felt awful thinking of his friend that way.

Still, on nights he had trouble sleeping, he wondered.

He felt so, so guilty on the days he found himself wishing he had even half the money his friend has, when he wished he could've been born in a different family. He felt so, so guilty because that wasn't fair to his Mom, who tried so hard and gave up so much for him. His Mom was an angel, his hero, and whenever he caught himself being ungrateful he beat himself up over it. His Mom deserved a son that would be satisfied and grateful for her efforts, not one that stole apples just because she couldn't afford to give him three meals a day.

On Genesis's 13th birthday, though, he realized he was a worse son than he ever thought imaginable.

It was an important day, obviously. The day he would transition from child to teen, and he'd been looking forward to it for a while. Angeal had been, too. He was excited for his friend! He couldn't wait! The whole town was looking forward to it, with Genesis being the Mayor's son and all. There would be a huge celebration throughout all of Banora -- The Rhapsodoses didn't often pay attention to their son, but they did often flaunt him to the townsfolk. (A fact that Genesis often resented, but just this once he was too excited to care.)

Angeal was so excited, and so, so nervous, because what the hell was he going to get him? For all of his earlier birthdays, Genesis told him not to worry about presents or anything, but they'd always celebrated his birthdays privately before then. This was in front of the entire town! There's no way he could get away with just a card, or, Gaia forbid, nothing!

So, yes, Angeal was very nervous about that. His Mom, bless her heart, took notice, and often tried reassuring him. Genesis was his best friend, he'd never get mad over something like this. There was truth in her words, he knew, but (he thought of the shame, the embarrasment, the fact that this was going to be one of the most important days of his friend's life and he could just imagine the look of disappointment, or worse, the understanding, the pity) just once, he wanted to be something more than the son of a poor widow.

He had no clue what the hell was going through his head when he did it, but Angeal would regret every day for the rest of his life that he stole from his own mother. He normally felt bad enough when he stole from just the neighbor's trees when he needed to eat, so he had no idea how he managed to convince himself to sneak into his Mom's bedroom after dark to rifle through their measly Gil savings. All he knew was that the party was tomorrow, Genesis had been talking nonstop about the new Materia the shop had just gotten, and he still didn't have a present.

The morning after his theft, before his Mom even woke up, Angeal had shot out of the house to wait for the Materia shop to open. As soon on the doors opened he'd ran straight for the display on the front counter, the one that had the new, shiny Fire materia, and traded all of his stolen goods and savings for the magic little orb. The shop owner gave him a curious look, no doubt recognizing him for his poverty, but in the spirit of the day didn't say anything. The little sphere was warm in his hands, and he cradled it carefully as he brought it back to his room, laying it in an admittely cheap and flimsy box. The gift itself would more than make up for it.

Later that day, when the party began and all the townsfolk crowded the streets, he was nearly bouncing in anticipation. He followed Genesis around as he went around enjoying the festivities, and eventually came the time for gifts. He was excited! Finally, he was going to be one of the people that gave things instead of taking them. He ignored the way Genesis looked surprised at him being in the group of gift-givers, brushing off his protests with a "Just open it!" and waiting in eager anticipation.

The look on his friend's face when he took the green materia out was one of pure bliss. No matter how much guilt and regret Angeal had about that day, he fact that he was the one that made his friend so happy would always be something he'd be proud of. He was proud then, too. Proud and relieved and just a little bit smug, because throughout the rest of the party, and the whole month, really, Genesis never lost that bright-eyed look, never stopped showering him in thanks and praises. It was amazing to be the source of so much happiness in his friend.

And then, one week later, he overheard a conversation between his Mom and the grocer. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, and only caught bits and pieces, but what he did hear completely shattered his high.

". . .buying less and less lately, Mrs. Hewley. Everything alright?"

"Fine, it's just. . . I think we had a break-in last week. Only took about half our Gil, though, so. . ."

He didn't stay to hear the rest of it, the gravity of what the hell he'd done hitting him, and he locked himself in his room the rest of the day. It was then that he realized how much his Mom had been frowning since the birthday, how small their meals were, how little she'd been eating. How little he'd been eating. There were few days he found himself completely full, but he'd never been this hungry in a long time. Already, his Mom was looking a bit thinner, staying at work longer, trying to make up for the loss in funds.

Oh, Gaia. What was he thinking?

His Mom sacrificed so much for him on a daily basis, and this is how he repayed her? With shame, embarrasment, and bitterness? With theft? She gave him so much love, and what does he do? He leaves her to starve herself just to feed an ungrateful brat. He was awful. He was terrible. He - He --!

He shouldn't have been born at all.

Twelve years old, guilt-ridden and ashamed beyond belief, that one thought led to another, more horrific thought.

Maybe he should just kill himself.

It would've solved so many problems -- His Mom could use all their money on herself instead of wasting it on him, Genesis wouldn't have to make the choice between his class and his friend, he --

He cut the thought off quick, because he was starting to scare himself. So, he ignored the train of thought he had taken, got a pencil and paper, and decided to plan a route that would let him take as many dumbapples from as many houses in one night, because despite how much he hated stealing at that point, he'd rather think on how he could make this up to his Mom than whatever he was thinking about earlier.

He should've told someone, probably, that he'd considered it at all. He was too scared and ashamed to even think about it, though.

So he didn't.

So, it probably shouldn't have been as shocking as it was when it became a recurring thought, because now that the idea crossed his mind it just wouldn't leave him alone.

In the dark recesses of the night, he often found himself wondering just how much the planet benefitted from him remaining alive. Thinking, really, how much difference did it matter in the grand scheme of things if he died or not? His Mom would be sad, of course, and so would Genesis, but they'd move on, wouldn't they? Just how big of a deal would it be, really, if he just stopped breathing in the middle of the night?

It became a bit of an morbid curiousity, almost. Just something to ponder when he was bored. He'd wonder what would happen if he threw himself into that pond on the other side of the orchard. He'd wonder what would happen if he swallowed all of the pills in his Mom's medicine cabinet. He'd wonder what would happen if he snuck one of the kitchen knives into his room. The answer to all those questions was that he'd die, of course, but what then? How much better would the lives of the Banorans be with one less mouth to feed?

He never acted on those thoughts, Gaia no. He knew, logically, just how much he meant to the people that loved him.

Still, though, it persisted.

He got used to it, and he still refused to tell anyone.

(He wanted to, sometimes, though. When he started getting bad days, and it was so hard to find a meaning behind anything he did, when it seemed almost impossible to justify the space he was filling, and he questioned the validity of others' love for him -- He wanted to just lay everything out, to tell his Mom his thoughts and have her tell him it was okay, for Genesis to argue himself out of his self-deprecation.

He doesn't, though, too ashamed of himself for being so dissatisfied. Too determined to burden his Mom with as little as possible. Too busy trying to help Genesis deal with his own array of problems.

Too honorable to be any bigger of a problem than he already was.)

Joining SOLDIER helped, in a way. The intensity of cadet training often left him too exhausted to humor any thoughts about his place in the world; There was no room left in his head to think about the many ways he could kill himself with whatever was in a room when it was stuffed full of materia theory and tactics. The physical aspect also provided a surprisingly nice distraction -- he found himself enjoying the rhythmic swing of a sword, and whatever built up feelings of aggravation and inadequacy oftentimes were taken out of the training dummies.

It'd been a long time since he last felt so comfortable in his skin. It was nice.

Not to say his problem was completely gone, no, nothing was ever that easy. As time and promotions passed by he got more and more used to the rigid schedules and new responsibilities, and soon enough his mind started wandering. And once again, it latched onto its apparent favorite subject: death.

Once he'd passed that point, he made a rather worrying discovery. While the routine and resposibility of his rank might have helped when it came to considering the futility of his continued existence, the mako injections had the opposite effect. In fact, he'd even go as far as to say that it completely undid whatever progress joining SOLDIER had helped him gain. When fresh mako ran through your veins, there was a period of time in which everything was enhanced tenfold. Sight, sound, sensation, smell, taste -- and while it was true that once the mako was fully absorbed into the body, your senses would level out, Angeal would've liked to have warned that, apparently, emotions were also included on that list. He learned that fact the hard way.

The "hard way" being Genesis finding him sitting in his bathtub with a knife to his wrist.

Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending on when you ask him), his mako-addled mind couldn't tell right from left and cut the wrong damn wrist, but the intent was clear as day. When he finally came down from his mako high, it was to find himself tucked snugly into bed, bandages wrapped around his right hand, with the sound of Genesis crying coming from his living room. To say that he was overcome with guilt was a massive understatement.

When he finally mustered the courage to leave his bedroom, he was a bit shocked to find that Sephiroth was also there. The man in question looked unbelievably uncomfortable, what with Genesis hanging onto him and crying all over him (and the thought that Angeal had managed to scare him enough that he'd called in Sephiroth of all people for comfort almost made him want to finish the job), but he'd yet to move away, and was even giving what he probably thought was a comforting hug, but looked more like he was about to snap the redhead's neck. He didn't have long to take in the strange and oddly heartwarming scene of his friends not at each others' throats for once because as soon as his feet hit hardwood floor, both heads shot up, and suddenly he was the one with an armful of distraught Genesis.

"An-Angeal, you -- I -- you scared the shit out of me, wh --," His friend cried out, frantically alternating between holding onto him and grabbing his face to look it over. It seemed like he could barely speak, tears coming back full force now that Angeal was actually awake and could answer his questions. "What the hell were you -- Y-you could've died, were you trying --?! Why --?!"

In the end, Angeal just couldn't take the sight of his friend to barely kept together, and pulled him close into a back-breaking embrace. Genesis held him hard enough to leave bruises, and probably did, but he was too focused on rubbing comforting circles into his back and trying to soothe his sobs. In his peripheral, he could see Sephiroth hovering, unsure, and with an unreadable expression.

He didn't know how long it took for Genesis to finally calm down; In fact, he didn't even know how long it had been since he had been caught in the act. As soon as his friend composed himself, though, he found himself sat down and told in no uncertain terms that he would explain himself, and that he would do so promptly and in full. He was reluctant. It had been his dirty little secret for so long, to tell someone about it now...

He was nervous, ashamed, a little scared, and tried very desperately to avoid the subject. Surprisingly, it wasn't Genesis that finally made him relent; Sephiroth had simply given him THAT look, the one he reserved for hysterical troops on the battlefield, and he'd cracked like an egg.

And so he spilled. From start to finish. He told them about the guilt, the shame, the everything that was wrong with him -- haltingly, at first, then gaining momentum as finally, finally he could just let it out. He didn't look at them while he spoke, knowing it'd be futile trying to read Sephiroth and not wanting to see the horror and guilt he just knew Genesis would wear, instead watching the way his hands shook ever so slightly with a sort of detached amusement. By the time he was done, his voice was hoarse and he felt like his insides had been scraped out, leaving him raw and empty. He felt tired, and strangely numb, as if the words had stolen his strength and left a shell of a man in its wake.

He didn't realize he'd been silently crying until, once more, a blur of red collided with him. This time, though, he was the one being held. It was a bit awkward, given the size difference, but in the blink of an eye he found himself held snugly against his friend's chest, a soft stream of "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry..." in his ear. He was momentarily confused; Normally, he was the one doing the comforting, not the other way around. And what did Genesis have to apologize for, anyway? He didn't get it. He didn't get to question it for long, though, because the longer he stayed in that embrace, the tighter his chest began to feel. Something was squeezing his heart and his lungs, burning his eyes, and making his breath hitch. There was a weight on his back, and while he couldn't muster the strength or energy to turn his head, he just knew it was Sephiroth, and when the solitary weight of a single hand became the encompassing warmth of yet another embrace he just couldn't take it anymore.

(The last time someone else had hugged him, had gone out of their way to make sure he was okay was the day he left for Midgar, when his Mom had pulled him aside and hugged him with the kind of strength that only a distraught mother could. She told him through teary eyes how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, how sure she was that his dream would come true and that she just knew he would be a fine man when he finished growing up.

He almost cried that day, but didn't.

Even then, when he was the one being held, he had to be strong for her.)

The dam broke.

Later that night, after a whole day of pampering and soft words and comfort and a promise of more just like it, what with the week of leave the others had managed to get him, Angeal found sleep elusive. It wasn't for the usual reasons, though. This time, as he lie in bed, sandwiched between two warm, comforting bodies, he was not kept awake wondering the numerous outcomes of his death. Quite the opposite, in fact; He found himself looking forward to the endless doors of opportunity now open to him.

[walters-tampon-string]

Realizations

Fandom: Batman

Rating: K+

Warnings: Angsty as hell, kind of depressing.

Characters: Edward Nygma/The Riddler, Bruce Wayne/Batman

Relationships: None

Description:  There are some things one is just better off not knowing. Edward learns that the hard way.

Edward Nygma looked at the images in his hands, swallowing thickly. Part of him wondered if he was being played for a fool right now, like the photos had been tampered with somehow. But they couldn’t of been. He had checked the bug he had used to get the info three times over, making sure that no minute detail hadn’t been changed or rewired. What he was seeing was real.

Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

Edward, of course, had always had his suspicions. After all, he knew the Batman had to be rather rich, or at least attached, to someone who was rich, in order to have the armor and gadgets he had. Edward knew from experience; tech wasn’t cheap. And unless the Batman was being an utter hypocrite to his message of opposing crime and all of that typical vigilante crap and pilfering materials, then he had to be shilling out billions, or at least, millions in order to get more and more tech seemingly every mission and to get it all repaired.

Since he had long since established that the Batman had to be someone rich, he looked at the list of billionaires. There was only a few billionaires stupid enough to live in Gotham City.

And only so many who were as ripped as Bruce Wayne.

Edward had kept his eyes out on the man… but some part of his mind never seemed to think that the Bruce Wayne being Batman theory was truly possible. Or maybe, his mind didn’t want to think of it as being possible.

After all, he had met Bruce Wayne, personally, only a few months before his first stint as the Riddler. He had been invited to one of Bruce Wayne’s three million charity galas. It hadn’t been that glamorous of a meeting, or, at least, nothing too exciting. The two of them had shook hands in greeting at the opening, and after a while of just milling around talking to random strangers, he decided to find Wayne and strike up conversation. He figured he might as well get a feel down for the guy. After all, having one of the most power and influential men in all of Gotham as an acquaintance would probably benefit him more than it would hurt.

However, during the short chat, Edward had found Bruce Wayne to be quite disappointing.

Don’t get him wrong, Bruce Wayne came off as a nice enough guy, though it seemed like a trained sort of likability. Like he was an actor going through the motions of a conversation. Edward could practically read the commands going through his mind. Smile and nod when someone told a personal anecdote. Give a small laugh whenever appropriate. Feed and encouraging line or two to show the person you are truly listening and actually give a damn about anything they were saying.

But he supposed fakeness was an inevitability in celebrity life. And even though he could see that some of Bruce Wayne’s boyish charm was clearly artificial, the man seemed nice… though a bit too dense and naive for Edward’s taste, and entirely too much of a goody-two-shoes.

All Edward did was tell one dark joke and Bruce Wayne was making some sort of comment.

Edward could tell nearing the end of the conversation, although Bruce Wayne was still keeping cordial, that he wanted to go. Things like that tended to happen with Edward when he met new people. He was one of those types one either loved or hated and it definitely seemed like his charms weren’t working with Bruce Wayne.

So Edward had snipped the conversations, feeling quite disappointed that Bruce Wayne had been so predictable. Just a typical, fake, generous rich person.

And that idiot was the one wearing the suit? The one who had undermined Edward time and time again? The one who had beaten him to the floor until he was black and blue? The one who was standing in his way? The one who solved all of his riddles and tricks was just a billionaire playboy.

He realized he was holding the picture much too tight and he eased his grip. He couldn’t just crush evidence, no matter how frustrating. Yeah… he could see now, why his mind had never wanted to accept it. The humiliation alone was overpowering. He wanted so hard to deny it. He really did. He wanted this to be a trick. A dirty trick… but it wasn’t. It was real and he was going to have to face it. He ran a hand through his hair and grit his teeth, resisting the urge to smash the table in front of him into a million fucking pieces.

Amidst all of the emotions stewing within him - anger, sadness, hate, humiliation - he also felt a sense of disappointment. Of course, that would be natural, given the nature of the news, but this disappointment felt like it was for something different. He desperately tried to search his feelings, trying to get to the root of it… but he couldn’t place it.

“So now you know,” a deep voice suddenly said, cutting in from the dark.

Edward nearly leaped out of his skin, nearly falling over in the process, only managing to catch himself by placing a hand on his table. Whirling around, he saw the Batman standing in the middle of the room. He was so used to the Batman making showy entrances, like smashing through windows or glass, that he sometimes could forget that the man was actually quite good at stealth, especially given how heavy that armor was no doubt heavy.

Edward looked at him in surprise, “How did you-” He had an alarm system that was supposed to read heat signatures. If anyone even approached this location, it was supposed to make a noise to warn him. But he supposed it was stupid to wonder what happened. Batman no doubt had a tool that helped him out with that. Shaking his head, Edward decided instead to just bristle and hiss, “What are you gonna do, Wayne? Kill me?”

Probably not the smartest thing to come out of his mouth, seeing as the man in front of him probably had the power to kill him if he so wanted to, or at the very least, knock him into a coma. Sure, he had that little moral code, but maybe to protect his identity he was willing to break it just this once. It wasn’t like he and Edward had the best of relationships, after all. However, Edward found he didn’t care at this point. He said what he said, and honestly, with this revelation in place, a part of him almost did want the Batman to just finish him off, if only to save him the humiliation.

Batman - Bruce Wayne - didn’t say anything, infuriatingly enough. Edward felt his teeth clench. Glaring vehemently, he said, “How did you even know, anyways? I got all the bugs. They hadn’t been touched.” The only way Wayne could get access to the information he used was if he had found his network and-

Suddenly, Edward solved that little mystery. How much of an idiot was he for not double-checking that. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he raised his hand to silence Wayne. He wasn’t sure if the man was actually going to explain how he had managed to find the location or not, but if he was, Edward didn’t need his stupidity repeated to him. He was already feeling low enough tonight. “Whatever, you know what. I figured it out. It doesn’t matter. Just tell me what are you planning on doing, Wayne? Beating me up and putting me in Arkham like always? Locking me away in the Batcave? Killing me? Giving me some of that fortune of yours-”

“That depends on what you’re planning to do with the information, I suppose,” the Batman’s deep voice said, causing Edward to jump. But no, that deep voice was just a voice changer. Bruce Wayne said, “You are planning on telling people, right?”

Edward opened his mouth to say he was indeed. And it didn’t matter if Bruce Wayne grabbed the photos out of his hand and ripped them to shreds. It didn’t matter if he destroyed that network. Edward was at least smart enough to save the information any place he could. It was too valuable to just give away. The only thing Bruce Wayne could do was hold off the inevitable for a while… but Edward could get it out at any point. He could send the pictures to all of Gotham if he wanted. However, he couldn’t find himself agreeing immediately for some reason. Why this was, he didn’t know…

Did he not want to let the world know that he had been beaten countless of times by Bruce Wayne?

Maybe that was part of it. But there was still something wrong. That wasn't all of it. It wasn’t the whole piece of the puzzle.

Once again, before Edward could mull things over in his mind, Bruce Wayne continued, “In fact, you don’t seem very happy with the information you found at all, Edward.”

Edward felt a flare of indignation shoot through him. How dare the man act smug when Edward had him trapped in a corner.

“Of course, I am happy with this news, Wayne. Just a little work from me and I could ruin your whole life. Your whole purpose of life would be over. Your life, as you know it would end. Then, I, the Riddler, will have the credit of having taken down the Batman, something the Joker or Ra’s al Ghul or anyone else cannot claim! I will have won!”

This was all true. So why? Why was he still not believing his own words.

Edward knew it was just his imagination. The mask didn’t allow for much emotion to be expressed through them. All they were was a bunch of glowing lights. But he swore, he saw a look of pity almost cross the Batman’s features as he looked at him, and the thought made him mad. He was not to be pitied!

He felt tempted to throw something, but he resisted the urge, knowing the Batman would just dodge whatever he threw anyways. Bruce Wayne continued, “And what then? What will you do after you win this “game”, so to speak, Edward?”

Edward jerked back, surprised by the question. Was he just baiting him to talk, just for one of the Robins to do the window smashing trick and beat him up? But he already resigned he won, beating or not, so he said, “When I win? Well, of course I will-”

Then he paused. What was he going to die once he put an end to the Batman? Commit more crimes? What crimes? Was he just going to have to fight the Justice League, who no doubt were probably even more challenging foes, seeing as they had powers? Deal with any embittered rogues who would no doubt he got the claim? Was he just going to live comfortably?

He wasn’t sure. Where was he going to go from there? Edward’s eyes widened. Had he really not planned his life this far ahead? What did he even want from there? He wasn’t exactly sure.

Then suddenly, it hit him. The disappointed feeling, again. And this time, he knew why it was there.

The Batman was infuriating. He was an idiot who only got what he wanted from beating it out of people. He just destroyed and hurt, like so many others in Edward’s life. But Batman, at the very least, kept him motivated. Every time he was in Arkham, every time he was out of Arkham, he tasked himself with defeating the Batman. And every single time he thought he had the perfect invention, the Batman or one of his Robins managed to wreck it and he would be sent back to Arkham. There, he would come up with a new plan, an even better, more complicated one, and then he would escape and the cycle would repeat.

And in a way, it benefitted Edward. In a way, the Batman forced him to become better. It forced him to become smarter, wiser… to feel shame. But it also wrecked him in a way. How much of his life had he wasted away simply trying to kill the Batman or reveal his identity? Probably a scary long time.

And now, he had the final piece. The checkmate, if you will to the whole game. He could end it all.

But then where would he be?

What would he do?

He didn’t know.

Suddenly, the satisfaction of victory didn’t seem as satisfying as he thought it would be. In fact, all it seemed was empty and terrifying. This was not the feeling Edward wanted to go with this.

This was not what Edward wanted at all.

Could he even continue this game? All the mystery was gone. He knew who the Batman was. Sure, he could have the satisfaction of capturing him and finishing him off, but it would all lead to the same conclusion.

With the Batman gone, he didn’t know what to do with himself… and most of the options he had already gleaned, lead him back to the same place he was before… constantly having to defeat enemies and spend hours of his life building contraptions. Vigilantes and villains crawled out of the woodwork all the time. There was no shortage of them. He would be constantly having to face one person after another.

The thought made Edward suddenly feel numb.

Bruce Wayne seemed to sense this. Coldly, he turned away and said, “Do what you want with the information, Edward. I can’t stop you. But I would also think about your own life, for once.”

Then with that, the Batman left the room. Edward made no moves to stop him.

He just looked at the photo in his hand numbly before he tossed it into the nearest trash can and slumped to the floor and wept.

[jacobeblack]

New Girl (Jacob Black love story)

Paul?! Prt-3

Jacob's PoV

"Hey Em sorry were late! Quil promised Claire he would go visit her as soon as he was done with patro..." Heading into the kitchen to apologise to Emily before we got our usual lecture I trailed off mid sentence at I made eye contact with a girl I've never seen before.

She had the most beautiful hazel green eyes I've ever seen it was like they were pulling me closer to her, suddenly it was like my whole world shifted around me and she became it's centre. Nothing else mattered to me in that moment but the girl standing opposite me. Her hair pulled away from her beautiful face, her mouth slightly agape as she stared back at me. What was her name? Why was she here? Not that that mattered to me so much. SHE was here standing I front of ME, the reason I was put on this planet. My entire reason for being what I am. My imprint!

The thought suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks, she's my imprint! it's her. My mind swirled with so many emotions: surprise, happiness, relief and somewhere deeper sadness.

I felt my feet carrying me to her before my brain had caught up, it was like an impulse to be close to her. Emily's gasp and the sound of a pan hitting the floor caused me to break eye contact with her as the rest of the guys rushed into the room.

Looking at each of them I knew they had realised what had just happened. Giving them all a knowing look and pleading eyes to say nothing I drew my attention back the the girl. She had made her was over to Emily and was helping her pick up the mess she had made.

Setting everything back on the counter and turning back to face us all she stood awkwardly beside Emily, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands playing with the cuffs. I took this time to run my eyes down the rest of her body noticing her small frame, long legs despite appearing to be an average height and obviously much smaller then me. Her oversized clothing prevented me from seeing much else -which I was disappointed by- so I trailed my eyes back to her face. Noticing again her big beautiful eyes -that I'm sure I will be dreaming about- surrounded by thick dark lashes, her cute nose and full lips that made me clench my jaw and have to take a slow breath.

She looked more than a little uncomfortable and I wanted to do nothing more that to run to her side and make her feel better. Seeing as I was probably one of, if not the main reason she looked like a deer caught in headlights at this moment I kept my feet planted on the ground much to the imprints disapproval.

I was more than a little shocked that it was Paul who came to her rescue. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side he gave me a smug look that made me want to rip his arm off and beat him to death with it.

"Guys this is Ren, Ren this is Quil, Embry and Jacob"

Paul spoke gesturing between us all. Ren? That had to be short for something. Don't get me wrong it's beautiful like everything else about her but it was bugging me slightly not knowing her actual name. From my right I heard Quil speak.

"Ren? What kind of name is Ren? Not being rude but it's kinda...weird" Snapping my head round to tell him to shut the hell up! I opened my mouth to speak but before I could say a word she spoke with the most mesmerising voice I've ever hear.

"Maybe in future you should keep thoughts like that to yourself! Umm Quil? Right? Somehow I don't think you of all people should be questioning anyone's name" She sent him a glare that was obviously joking before her face softened to a smile as the rest of us laughed at the now seriously embarrassed Quil.

Sam came to stand beside Emily reaching over her head to mess Rens hair.

"See quick! I told you she'd fit in just fine" He laughed giving Paul a wink as she pushed his hand from her head.

How long had she been here to gain that kind of playfulness with Sam of all people.

A feeling of jealousy turned in my stomach as I watched Paul tickle her causing her to squirm further into his side. It was nowhere near as strong as the second wave I got when he tried to detach himself from her to leave and she quickly grabbed onto his arm. Gazing up to him with a look of horror as he tried to leave her. He laughed at her pulling his arm out of her grasp

"Don't worry princess, these three idiots are harmless, although they might annoy you to death, but that is something not even your knight in shining armour wants to stick around to save you from" He squeezed her shoulder before turning to leave the room Jared in tow, Sam and Emily close behind.

Glaring at him all the way I turned back to my imprint, she had turned her back to us and was cutting up lemons, muttering under her breath. "cazzo! ricordami di nuovo perché mi sono fidato di lui per portarmi qui?"

Obviously she had no idea that we could hear her thanks to the heighten wolf hearing, not that it mattered as it clearly wasn't English. Knowing she speaks a different language only made her more fascinating to me, finally giving into the wolf inside me who was screaming at me to know everything about her I finally opened my mouth.

"So umm Ren, what brings you down here? We don't get many visitors outside of the pa.. um group?" I managed to stutter out.

I've never been so nervous to talk to someone in my life, but I guess I've never spoken to someone so important in my life before, and of course I had to make myself sound like a complete idiot, way to go Jake!

Putting down the knife she turned around looking between all three of us but giving me no eye contact. Maybe she felt it too! The pull, the feeling in the pit of my stomach? It's not something I've ever actually asked.

I mean it's not like I could ask Claire she's two, Kim was already obsessed with Jared before he imprinted on her so she probably wouldn't even know the difference and I try to stay out of the whole Sam/Emily imprint fiasco as much as I possibly can so I've never asked her. If she did feel it will that make this whole imprinting thing any easier?

"Umm I guess Paul invited me..kinda" She answered sending us what seemed to be a nervous smile rather than a genuine one.

Paul? How did he know her? She couldn't be a new girl he's stringing along because one: he'd never bring one of them here and if he did Sam would not be so happy about it.

Two: if she was some new girl it had to be very very new. I was patrolling with him yesterday I would have heard him think about her or worse picture her like I had see with may other girls he's had flings with.

Thirdly she just can't be with Paul it's against the rules for a start -not that he would have known because I only imprinted on her like five minutes ago but that's besides the point- but I don't think I could handle her being with someone else but especially not one of my pack brothers!

Embry must have sensed my panic even without wolf telepathy and stepped in before I could say something else that would probably be stupid.

"And how do you know Paul exactly? He's not usually one for making friends" He smirked as he sat on the counter next to her.

She sighed pulling at her sleeves again clearly something she did when she was uncomfortable.

"He... saved me I suppose" She laughed nervously, a whole new kind of panic took over my brain and I found myself walking closer to her my eyes scanning her body for injury.

"Saved you? From what? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?" I rambled coming to stand directly in front of her.

Placing my hand on her arm but suppressed the urge that was coarsening through my veins to pull her into my chest just by being this close to her. Her laugh broke me out of my panic but only replaced it with confusion.

"Whoa big guy! I'm fine I'm not hurt, I got myself lost in the woods. I only just moved here and stupidly though I could roam around on my own, luckily Paul found me before I was eaten by wild animals and brought me back here!" She laughed pushing my hand off her arm and taking a step around me to the fridge.

Going in and grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, I took a few steps back as she came to stand at the counter once again.

"You really shouldn't be going into the woods by yourself Ren it's dangerous even if you do know your way around" I said trying to hold back the sterness of my voice.

I don't want her to think I was telling her what to do but the protective side of the imprint was not happy with the thought of her wandering on her own, not when leeches are around anyway!

"Yeah don't worry about that! It was not a fun experience and I don't plan on repeating it any time soon. But umm thanks for the concern Jacob" She turned and smiled at me

"It's Jake, all my friends call me Jake" She looked up at me though her long lashes a smirk playing on her lips

"Oh yeah? Well who said we were friends"

————————————————————-

About an hour later we had all eaten dinner and I was in the kitchen washing up. Not something I usually volunteer for but I needed five minutes to myself to think about what had just happened it was all a lot to take in, and of course I didn't want Ren to think I just sit around and let Emily do all the work.

I was lost in my own train of thought when I heard her voice break through.

"Well I don't mean to be rude but I should really be getting home my mom will probably be going out of her mind and Max will be missing me" She said politely as I could her her chair scrape across the wooden floor.

Who is Max is he her boyfriend,her dad maybe? But why would she call him Max? Maybe it's her brother? Ugh this is all giving me a headache

"Jacob? I'm leaving but it was nice to meet you! I'll maybe see you around sometime" Or all the time! I thought as I turned to her.

An idea came to me and I walked over to the door way she was standing in.

"I'll take you home if you want, can't have you getting lost again" i suggested staring  down into her beautiful eyes

A few seconds passed before she opened her mouth to speak, unfortunately I never got to hear what she had to say as Paul interrupted

"No need Cinderella! I already said I'd take her. Was actually the main bargaining point to get her to come back with me in the first place! Come on princess we don't have all day" He took her by the hand and dragged her to the front door as I stayed in the door way and watched.

She made her way down the steps and he followed her but not before turning to send me a wink.

The jealousy from earlier returned not only because he thinks it's okay to call MY imprint pet names in front of me just to piss me off! But he clearly thinks he has some kind of bond on her just because he's known her a whole hour longer than I have and I don't know if I'm okay with her feeling the same.

Something tells me this ain't gonna be as easy as it's supposed to be.

*A/N The part that's in a different language is Italian, unfortunately I don't speak Italian so it has been translated from English so if any of you do speak Italian and it's wrong I'm sorry! It's supposed to say

"Dick! Remind me again why I trusted him to bring me here?"

Please let me know what you think guys!

[shiny-armin]

their relationship develops a bit further… than just workwise :3- What do you think it would take for that to happen? Shiping aside there definitely is still some walls there. They don't like to open up to each other about their own problems or deeper thoughts (1146 just happens to eavesdrop/spy on her). I'm thinking either way 1146 is going to have to be the one to push their bond to a new level. 3803 has been the main mover so far and she could be stubborn about keeping things as they are.

2. he was somewhat manipulating her… for her own good, of course! Perhaps if she learns about that someday, I don’t think she’d get mad, but would feel rather disappointed in herself /gasps/- That's honestly very interesting to me. She'd act thankful/happy to him. But you're right, on the inside she'd be sad that such a defining moment in her life was not all on her own like she wanted. Once again 1146 held get hand through it all. That's honestly a interesting part of their dynamic. 1146 is such-

3. mother smother friend. He hates not being able to help someone who's hurting. Particularly someone he cares about or who reminds him of someone he cares about. When it comes to 3803 he showed a lot of oveprotectiveness of her and her happiness. Enough to manipulate and stalk her everywhere. W/only the best of intentions! But still I do wonder if independent 3803 might get irritated at him smothering her or wonder how much he really believes in her like he says he does. Ah couple conflict!

4.  My favorite development of 1146. 1146: (when Killer T goes on a long detailed smug speech about why 3803 is going to die painfully while doing her job and she's now terrified) eh, he's probably. Anyway I got a job to do so let's go. Don't slow me down. -_- (Later when Killer T makes the blunt observation she did her job right after being incompetent. 3803 can't hear him) 1146: Hey! Don't you dare speak about her like that! She's the goddess rocking my world! Everyone needs to love her now. =D

5.  For some reason I can imagine, after being in a relationship after awhile, 1146 suddenly going from nervous awkward duck when being affectionate and letting 3803 make all the moves to suddenly becoming really forward and bold. He suddenly wakes up with confidence and before 3803 utters a hello he pulls her into his lap like a boss and has a intense makes out session with her. She's so surprised that for once she turns into the flustered blushy one as she goes limp in his arms while he teases her

6. 1146 being the grumpy one among his friends is always funny because on the inside he's so soft and happy. XD For some reason he gets into so many weird situations and because he's more socially awkward he just -_- everything in his sassy grump galore. He's not as easygoing or peacefully resigned to the chaos as 3803 has chosen to become. XD

Hello anon! Sorry for taking so long to answer :( I love fangirling with you about cells jshsshasjas

Okay, if I’m being honest, I can see it in two ways: 1) the author might stretch their development all she wants, since it’s one of the aspects that keep people hooked on the manga (besides the cool concept, sciency stuff and such). So I think it's safe to say that if they're becoming a thing, it'll happen toward the end of the manga, and idk how much that'd take. Since it's got a periodic base, it could go on forever as long as diseases exist lol. And 2) analyzing their current state (I love analyzing ships oh my god), they're still pretty green imo. As you said, they just idle talk most of the time, and don't get in too deep. I also see 1146 being the one stepping up things, otherwise I'd call it a day lmao, 3803 doesn't look like she's gonna do something anytime soon. NEUTROPHIL, SIR WAKE UP!

But still I do wonder if independent 3803 might get irritated at him smothering her or wonder how much he really believes in her like he says he does.- HMMMM that's really interesting *steeple hands*. I think this new side of her might cause her to get mad at him if he keeps acting like a nanny. That is, if she finds out bc she has no clear idea about that. If that ends up happening, well... poor 1146 he'd feel like an abandoned puppy. 

That's a strong character development game you got there, sir. Ooooh, he'd become such a bold boy after making sure she'd be okay with all that eagerness he had been hiding out of shyness. His sudden affectionate outbursts would take her by surprise but she'd like them so much, I mean, she gets his aloof boyfriend becoming a clingy mess out of the blue, and that's hawt lol. I think 1146 would be usually submissive around her, but sometimes he’d take the lead for a change, and that makes their relationship exciting for her uwu

1146 is an old git pass it on. Jk, but he's an actual dad. Whenever I see fanart/official art of them, they're all so smiley and flashy and he's just: :l  lol, I bet they don't mind because they know him, and know he's the softest of them all. I love the contrast between them. I think that's why it's funnier to see 1146 in odd situations rather than the other wbc's, he feels so out of his comfort zone and acts weird. 

[kittenwritesstuff]

Always the same

Fandom: Doctor Who Pairings: Tenth Doctor x reader, Eleventh Doctor x reader Genres: mild angst, regeneration, platonic fluff Words: 1.640 Summary: Reader forms a friendship with Tenth Doctor after he visits her bakery a few times. After a while of not seeing him, an oddly familiar-looking man appears, which she later finds out it’s Eleventh Doctor - requested by Anonymous

March 12th

To do list:

Stock up the kitchen Learn new decorating technique Look for grandma’s cinnamon rolls recipe

Notes:

There was a strange man today in my bakery. Not creepily strange, but he looked rather odd compared to my regular customers. He asked for a muffin with green frosting and was very happy when I sold him one. Apparently, he never saw a muffin with green icing. Although, when I am thinking about it now, I remember seeing him outside a few times. He never came in, only waved at me with a smile.

March 23rd 

To do list:

Start preparing Easter chocolates Buy a spring-themed cupcake moulds

Notes:

The strange man came again today. He wore a bright wide grin and I got a bit startled by it. Nobody’s that happy at such an early morning hour. He asked for something salty this time and I gave him a muffin with salty caramel filling. He promised to visit more often, telling that my muffins are the best in the whole universe. Pretty unique compliment, but I’m sure it’s an exasperation.

April 6th

To do list:

Never sell sweet rolls to Mr. Munroe !

Notes:

He calls himself the Doctor. Not a doctor, like a profession, he told me it’s his name. Which makes him even more strange but I quite like him. He’s something new, something exciting in my small town and the stories he’s telling are so funny! He stated today that he met Charles Dickens. He’s such a chatterbox, it always brightens my day.

I also noticed that when he’s here, a police booth is near, too. Weirdly enough, I never saw it before. But I know that sometimes things that we look often at become somewhat invisible. Like our nose, for example. It’s there but we don’t really notice it.

______

“A journal?” the Doctor asks, leaning not very discretely over the counter to look at your writing.

“I keep it mostly to remember what to do in the bakery,” you explain, closing the notebook. His expression is a bit disappointed but as soon as you flash him a warm smile, he lights up.

“Can I have a muffin with blue icing? Do you make them?” he asks politely and you step into the kitchen at the back, where a tray of said muffins are awaiting to be put behind the glass.

“You’re lucky, Doctor. I just finished them, they’re still warm,” you hand him one and he instantly sticks out his tongue, licking the icing first.

“Oh, blueberry! I love it!”

“I’m glad it tasted good. It’s my first time making it.”

“Well, believe me when I say it, it’s the best in the entire universe,” he says seriously and you giggle, shaking your head a little.

“What?” the Doctor asks, looking confused. He quickly finishes the cupcake and asks for another one, which lands in the pocket of his beige trench coat. Weird, you didn’t think the pockets would be so capacious.

“How can you know it? Does the universe have bakeries somewhere else than on Earth?”

“Oh, a lot of planets have bakeries.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah! They just don’t have pastry as delicious as yours,” he gives you a wide grin and you blink for a few times, trying to register what he just said. He must be joking, right? How can he know such things? Nobody can travel on other planets just like that, it’s impossible.

Well, there’s an explanation as to why he’s always cheerful and tells stuff like that out of the blue and with absolute sureness. He’s mentally ill and he ran away from a mental hospital.

“Doctor, do you suffer from some kind of mental illness?” you mutter, your face becoming pale as you focus your wide opened eyes on him.

He frowns and dabs a finger against his lips.

“No, no that I know of. I’ve been called crazy though, not once, I tell you that,” he cackles and you force a tight smile but he notices how nervous you suddenly became.

You are alone in your shop, at an ungodly early hour, with a man you tells you about different planets as if he’s been there. Yes, you like him and you always looked forward to his visits, but now you want him to go away. It seems that he’s dangerous and you don’t think you can defend yourself.  

“I’m a Time Lord,” the Doctor states out of sudden and your mouth falls agape. Another unbelievable statement.

“A what?!” you manage to ask and the Doctor sighs as he’s face becomes serious.

“There once was a race, Time Lords, living on a planet called Gallifrey. I’m one of them.”

“Y-you’re an alien?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t look like one! You look… you look like a human!”

“And you look like a Time Lord, Y/N,” the Doctor smiles softly at you and, despite your common sense screaming that it’s 100% sure that he escaped a mental hospital, you decide to believe him.

“O-okay. Can you, uhm, tell me more?”

“Sure, gladly,” the Doctor looks around and takes a seat at one of the small tables, waving a hand at you to join him. You do, after making you both a tea and once you’re sitting opposite him, the Doctor starts his story.

“As I said, I come from a planet called Gallifrey. It doesn’t exist anymore, it was destroyed in a war with another race, the Daleks. I’m the last living Time Lord. And my mission is to save as many as I can.”

“Tell me about Gallifrey. How did it look like?”

“The sky was orange, the vivid shade of orange and I loved looking up at it…”

________

The Doctor hasn’t been in your bakery for over two weeks. You started to worry. If he really took upon himself to save other planets, then there was a possibility that he would not come back from one of his adventures.

You’ve missed him, in a way you missed a friend or a family member. You figured that the Doctor didn’t want any romantic relationships and you were fine with that. You appreciated him as a friend.

One by one you are putting the rolls and muffins on the display when suddenly a doorbell rings and you snap your head up to look at the first customer of the day. It’s barely 6 am, not every day you have such an early visitor.

“Good morning, how may I help you?” you ask, eyeing the man. He’s tall and quite young, a soft smile playing on his lips. He has a funny hairdo and a bow tie and you quirk up a brow.

He looks somehow familiar, even though you are sure that you’ve never seen him before.

“Hi, Y/N. A muffin, please, with a blueberry icing,” he says politely as he nears the counter and you gape at him in shock. How does he know your name?

“Do I know you, sir?”

“Yes, although I had a different face when I met you.”

You knit your brow, trying to make sense of his words. How could he have a different face? Did he have a plastic surgery or something? His words are senseless, unusual and after a moment of thinking you realize that there is only one person who can say things like that.

“Doctor!” you clap your hands together as you quickly round your counter and come to him, hugging him tightly. He lets out a surprised yelp but wraps his arms around you and leans in to place a kiss on your forehead.

You tilt your head to look at him, examining his every feature. He looks differently, yes, but his eyes are the same – those sad, sad eyes with so much history in them.

“Why the bowtie?” you ask, patting said garment and the Doctor’s lips spread into a smug smirk.

“Because bow ties are cool.”

“Yeah, right,” you come back behind your counter and slide a muffin he asked for towards him.

“Oi, they are cool! Don’t I look good?” the Doctor bites into the cupcake and grimaces, you instantly starting to worry if you made it right. Seeing a panic on your face, the Doctor swallows the bite and smiles shyly.

“I thought I’d like it but I’m not really fond of blueberries, apparently.”

“How? You did like it before.”

“Yes, but I was… not me. It’s hard to explain-“

“No, I get it. I think. You change into a different person, with completely new face and different taste, bur the memories stay. Right?”

“Oh, you’re so clever, Y/N!”

“Thanks. So, do you want to try something else?”

“The yellowish one?”

“Custard? Sure,” you reach for the cupcake and hand it to the Doctor, who eagerly takes a bite.

“That’s the right one. Custard. I like it,” he announces cheerfully and grins with his mouth full of the muffin. You giggle as he practically devours the pastry.

“Come on, Y/N. I’ll show you the universe, what do you say? You can try space food.”

“Will you take me to a space bakery?” you bite at your bottom lip, not really convinced if you should go with an alien, who’s offering to take you for a ride across the galaxy.

But then again, the Doctor is your friend, a very kind man, who never did anything wrong by you. And well, the space food does sound tempting.

“Sure I will!” he hops a little and offers you a hand, which you gladly take. He leads you outside and waits when you turn the sign on your door to “Sorry, we’re closed” and lock the door.

The Doctor smiles at you as you eagerly follow him to the TARDIS.

Well, you would lie if you said that you never dreamt about an adventure like that.

[toseehowthestoryends]

A Different Fate - Chapter 23

Summary: Fiona learns that Rumplestiltskin is the Dark One shortly after Cora breaks his heart, and leaves the Dark Realm to find him. Slowly, they build the relationship they should have had - and Fiona grows determined to restore the destiny she cut away from her son.  Years later, when Belle makes a deal to become the Dark One’s maid, she never expects to find his mother living with him, or to find Fiona encouraging her growing relationship with Rumplestiltskin.

Read it on AO3 | FFN | tumblr tags

Chapter 23—“On Their Own”  

“I was going to point this really obnoxious sheriff her way, but she seems to be playing with this buffoon of a knight named Gaston.”  Tink heaved a sigh, not sure how to frame the situation for Fiona. “I really have no idea what she’s up to.”

Fiona scowled.  “She’s as self-centered as she is unpredictable.  I’d love to kill her, but…”

“But what?” Tink was against killing on principle, but she had to admit that the world without the Wicked Queen in it would be a nicer place.

“Oh, it’s not worth the price, that’s all.”  Fiona’s shrug was a hair too casual, but Tink didn’t press.  She had something else on her mind, anyway—particularly since any distraction from Zelena’s romantic shenanigans was welcome.  

“Where’s Belle?  I thought I’d say hi to her while I was here, but the castle’s as quiet as a mouse.”

“She went home.”  Fiona’s sigh actually seemed disappointed.  “Rumplestiltskin let her go.”

“Why? Did he get sick of her?”  Tink hadn’t been sure what to think of the strangely friendly relationship between the Dark One and his maid (who she knew he’d made a deal for; every fairy knew about that poor girl).  Belle seemed entirely at home in the Dark Castle and seemed to have few, if any, duties, but Tink  hadn’t really wanted to dig into that.

“Oh, far worse.  He fell in love with her.”  

Tink gaped. “He…what?”  

“Oh, I know, you’re thinking of Blue’s party line, about how those steeped in darkness cannot love.”  Fiona snorted.  “Well, allow me to tell you what a lie that is, in case you hadn’t already figured that out.  I can most certainly love, and my son can as well.  He let her go because he loves her, and I’d hoped she’d be back.”

“Why?” Thinking of how uncomfortable being the Dark One’s love interest would be made Tink shudder, until she thought of the glowing smile Belle had so often thrown at Rumplestiltskin.

“Because love can save as surely as darkness can doom, of course.”  A sad smile.  “A mother always hopes for the best for her child.”

“Um, yeah. Right.”  Tink didn’t really have an answer to that, so she took a deep breath and forced a smile.  “You want me to keep an eye out for her?  Just in case something’s happened?”

“That would be quite lovely.  Would you know, I’ve grown a bit fond of the girl.”  Fiona shook her head.  “Despite my best efforts, she does tend to grow on you.  Rather like mold.”

“Fiona!” But Tink had to laugh.  She really didn’t want to like the Black Fairy, but she did.  And now she’d become Fiona’s unlikely—and sometimes unwilling—partner in heavens-knew-what, but at least it was going to be interesting.

And at least I get to help some people I like along the way.  Snow, Charming, and the Merry Men were all good people, and Tink was proud to fight by their sides.  She found it a little strange that when she asked Fiona if she could borrow a magical ring of healing that she’d seen in the Dark Castle, the ring was freely given, without even a price asked for in return.  Blue would have found a band of outlaws, even one surrounding a princess, to be beneath her notice, but Fiona was willing to help.  Not for their sakes, of course; Tink wasn’t naive enough to think that Fiona cared about the Merry Men.  But she was willing to give the ring to Tink as a friend, and that meant a lot to Tink.  

Blue had been ready to throw her out for helping Nova; Fiona was willing to give her the means to help her friends.  If she had to pick one of the two as a mentor, it was absolutely no contest.

Rallying people to her banner was easier than Belle had expected.  Oh, some old men looked at her like she should go back to playing with dolls instead of assembling an army, but most people were happy to know that someone was willing to stand up to Gaston.  A few days’ worth of investigating told Belle that Gaston had already tried to bleed the countryside dry, gathering “taxes” that weren’t due for months, demanding tribute, and threatening to “collect” young women for his bed.  He hadn’t taken many women yet, but a few had disappeared into the castle, and Belle put finding them near the top of her list.  For a man who’s anticipating marriage to two different women, Gaston certainly has no idea what fidelity means, Belle thought bitterly.  He’d made a mess of her father’s holdings, and it was going to take months to win the people’s confidence back.

Despite the damage Gaston had done—or perhaps because of it—Belle, Mulan, and LeFou were able to gather a surprisingly large following in just three days.  From there, storming the castle turned out to be ridiculously easy.  Most of the guards deserted Gaston as Belle and her forces rushed in, and then Mulan led their people against those still loyal to Gaston.  The resulting battle was short and bloody, but in the end, Belle found herself looking down at where Gaston lay on the ground in the castle’s courtyard, with Mulan’s sword at his throat.

“Let him up.” Her heart was still racing, which meant Belle was surprised by how calm her voice sounded.  But she’d done it.  She’d led her people to victory, and Gaston had lost.

She still had to deal with Zelena, but the Wicked Queen wasn’t here, and so far as Belle could tell, Gaston didn’t have a way of calling for her.  If he did, she had no doubt Gaston would have done so already.

Mulan twisted to look at her, jerking Belle free of her thoughts.  “You sure?”

“I am.” She couldn’t afford to mention how unsure she was; Belle wanted to send Mulan down to find her father, but she needed her here.  LeFou had disappeared, though, and that was a little worrisome.  Gaston’s former squire had proven helpful so far, but what if he was playing another game?

She’d been around tricky and twisty people for too long.  Belle was starting to see loopholes everywhere.

“You can’t possibly think that you can hold me.” Gaston climbed to his feet wearing a superior scowl, making Belle wonder if he even registered the fact that a woman had knocked him flat on his back.

“You’ve lost, Gaston.”  Belle held herself as straight as she could, too aware of how her former fiancé dwarfed her. “That’s what matters.”

He snorted. “No one will stand for a woman usurping a man’s place like that.”

“No, what no one wanted to stand for was you usurping my father’s place,” she shot back.  “These aren’t your lands, and I’ll never marry you.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when my allies arrive.”  Would nothing wipe the smug expression off of his face?  Belle was going to have to deal with the potential of Zelena—or Zelena’s army—arriving soon.

“I doubt that.”  Belle tried not to roll her eyes, but it was hard.  “In fact, I’m not sure any of them will think you’re worth the work.”

“Just you wait, Belle.  I’ll have everything I want, and you’ll be reduced to nothing except the discarded whore of a beast!”  Gaston lunged towards her, but Mulan stepped in his path, tripping him before he could move more than two steps.

Gaston crashed back to the ground at Belle’s feet.  After a moment, she stepped forward to look down on him.

“I am not a whore, and Rumplestiltskin is not half the beast you are, Gaston.”  Belle looked up, ignoring him before he could sputter out an answer.  “Take him away and put him in the cell my father was in.”

“You wouldn’t dare!  You—Oomph!”  Gaston cut off as Mulan buried a fist in his stomach, and by the time he’d caught his breath to object further, someone else had shown up.

“Belle!”

Whirling around, Belle saw her father emerging from the castle on LeFou’s heels. Without thinking, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him.  “Papa!”

Her father caught her easily, and for a moment, Belle felt like she was a little girl again, safe and whole.  She’d been so worried about her father over the last few days, terrified that Gaston would take revenge on Maurice because of her disappearance.  But Maurice appeared all right, aside from being a little thin and pale, and the smile on his face told Belle that her father would be just fine.

“Oh, sweeting, I was so worried about you.”  He held her tightly for another moment before Belle drew back to shrug.

“I was fine, thanks to Mulan and LeFou.  It was you I was worried about.”

“I didn’t mean these last few days.  I mean when you were with that—”

“Rumplestiltskin let me go, Papa.”  She didn’t want to hear the word beast come out of her father’s mouth, particularly not now.  “And he always treated me quite gently.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration; Belle still remembered being yelled at for crying and threatened more than once.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had always been more bark than bite, and after the first few weeks her stay at the Dark Castle had been quite wonderful.  Belle had often forgotten that she was supposed to be a prisoner, let alone a maid, and she knew that Rumplestiltskin had, too.  Just thinking about him made her heart skip a little, but she forced away the dreamy expression that wanted to land on her face. There would be plenty of time for that, later.  First she had to set things to right here.

“He did?” Maurice looked like he was certain she had to be lying, so Belle squeezed his arm.

“Truly. He respected me far more than Gaston ever has.”  And I would marry Rumplestiltskin a thousand times over before I’d marry Gaston once.  The thought appeared unexpectedly and unbidden, but that didn’t make it less true. Belle’s heart hammered hard in her chest before she could push the associated emotions aside, but she had to. For now.

Maurice peered at her doubtfully.  “And he let you go?  At what price?”

“He said our deal was done.”  Now wasn’t the time to tell her father that she’d fallen in love with the Dark One. Not with so many people watching. Belle knew that Maurice would take it badly, but she’d have to tell him eventually.  In private.

For now, however, they had to finish making sure Gaston’s stooges couldn’t hurt anyone else, and figure out how to deal with Zelena.  So, Belle turned the subject to practical matters, and hoped that the truth coming out wouldn’t go too badly.

“There’s a curse coming,” Beans announced one afternoon after a particularly bad case of visions.  Fortunately, they were alone, although Tiger Lily and Bae both stopped cold.

“A curse?” Bae managed to speak before Tiger Lily could get the words out; the worst feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach, something dark and cold and terrible.

“The darkest of all dark curses.”  Beans shivered.  “It will be meant to take us all away.”

“Away to where?” Tiger Lily bit her tongue hard to avoid asking more.  This was starting to sound familiar in the worst ways.

“Another land.  A land without magic.”

Fiona.  Was she still trying to banish all of the children to the Land Without Magic?  If so, why?  Bae and Beans were children, but only barely.  Yet Beans had said ‘us all’, which had to refer to the children, didn’t it?

“I’ve already been there.  It’s not much fun.”

Those words made Tiger Lily twist to look at Bae in surprise.  “You have?  How?”

“A magic bean.”  Bae shrugged. “You’d heard most of the story, I guess. The shadow took me instead of the family I was with.  I was just there, not here.”

“Oh.” She almost asked why he’d taken a bean to the Land Without Magic, but that really wasn’t important, was it? Instead, Tiger Lily turned to Beans. “When will the curse come?”

“A long time, I think.”  Beans cringed, and Tiger Lily immediately headed over to get him some tea.  Seeing inevitably gave Beans headaches, and the longer the vision, the worse the headaches were.  “Not sure.”

“Well, then we have time.”  She made herself smile, but inside, Tiger Lily made a mental note to find Fiona and try to talk sense into her old friend.

She promised me that she would bring her son back to the light, but I’ve seen no evidence that she’s done so, she thought angrily.  Granted, the Dark One is hardly tormenting the countryside, but he’s clearly still out there, and that means Merlin’s prophecy still hasn’t been realized.  And now Fiona was planning on casting that damned curse again.  But what could be the purpose?  The children Fiona had once wanted to vanish were all dead, now, and Fiona herself had become the evil she’d fought against.   None of this made any sense.

Finding Fiona was going to be hard enough, too.  Without magic, Tiger Lily had no way to track her down, and she was not about to steal someone’s baby and make the weirdly-traditional offering that drew the Black Fairy in.  Asking Blue for help was out of the question, too.  Even if Blue considered helping her, Tiger Lily had too much pride to go crawling home.  Blue hadn’t been wrong to blame her for Fiona turning to darkness, after all.  Tiger Lily should have stopped her earlier, and she was determined to fix that problem without involving her old friend and mentor.  

Assuming Fiona would let her.

Tink couldn’t believe that Zelena had found her own handsome-but-brainless-and-willing boytoy.  She’d actually grown fond of the idea of pasting Zelena and Nottingham together! Nottingham was enough of a bastard that she didn’t even feel bad about pointing him towards Zelena, but he was too dense to help Zelena accomplish anything.  Unfortunately, right before she could work up the required magic to fake pixie dust pointing Zelena to her “soulmate”, Zelena up and found herself an obscure knight named Gaston.  And he was even more braindead than Nottingham, a fact that still left Tink rather flabbergasted.

At least she could still be a spy.  Zelena’s romantic adventures had no bearing on that, or wouldn’t until Zelena decided she didn’t need Tink around.  Zelena was still after her friends, so keeping an eye on what the Wicked Queen was up to was far more important than finding her some idiot lover, even if that was supposed to be Tink’s ticket through the door.  Still, Zelena didn’t seem inclined to throw her out, so Tink decided to make the most of the situation while she still could.

Still, running into a leather-clad man with a hook for a hand did give her a little bit of pause.

“Is Zelena accessorizing her harem, now?” The words blurted out before she could stop herself, so Tink figured she might as well go for broke and gesture at the hook, too.

Miraculously, the dark-haired man didn’t look offended. Instead, he rolled his eyes. “And here I was about to say that I thought you were shorter than Zelena’s usual type, love.”

“I’m not your love.  I’m a fairy.” Tink glared.

“And I’m a pirate.  Fancy that, neither of us seem to be members of the dear queen’s heartless harem.”  He grinned at her, and the expression was almost a leer.  Tink found it a little off-putting, but she had the feeling that the expression was more a defense mechanism than a true attempt to get under her wings.

“Then what’s a pirate doing here?” She crossed her arms, studying him.  Zelena had plenty of less-than-moral allies, but most of them had magic.  This pirate definitely didn’t; Tink would have spotted any magic easily.  Except he definitely has been somewhere magical, she realized, squinting at him narrowly.

“Serving the queen, of course.  For now.” His wry smile didn’t waver, and then he offered her a courtly bow, kissing her hand with a flourish. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service. I’m also known as Captain Hook.”

“That’s a really creative nickname.”  Again, the words slipped out before she could stop them, and Tink could have kicked herself. “I’m Tinker Bell.”

“Sounds like I’m not the only one here with a nickname.  Don’t you fairy sorts usually go by color?  And yours seems rather appropriate for this castle, if you catch my meaning.”

That made her scowl.  “Touché.” His ability to match her sarcasm didn’t answer her questions, though.  “Why are you working with Zelena?”

“Revenge.” He shrugged.  “Treasure.  All the things that keep a pirate’s dark soul warm at night.”

“And Zelena’s going to help you get that?”  In Tink’s experience, Zelena was only out for herself.  She wasn’t likely to help anyone else, not unless it directly profited her.

Hook gestured airily.  “It passes the time, at least for now.  Having a patroness never hurts, either.”  What he didn’t say—but Tink still heard—was that Zelena probably had someone watching him.

That was interesting.  Hook was definitely Zelena’s type; she liked them tall, dark, and handsome.  Tink had originally thought that poor Frankenstein was yet another one of Zelena’s playthings, but it turned out that she only wanted him around to figure out how to bring her mother back to life.  That hadn’t worked, of course, which had resulted in Frankenstein narrowly escaping Zelena’s wrath just a month earlier.  His rescuer—ironically enough—had turned out to be Fiona’s son, who had whisked the mad doctor and the hatter away from Zelena’s temper before she could start killing anyone.  That had turned Zelena onto other pursuits, but Tink still couldn’t figure out where Hook fit into that, unless he was Zelena’s lover.

The caution in his expression, however, indicated that Hook wasn’t.  And that meant he might be of use to Tink’s cause. After all, she was already consorting with outlaws.  A pirate couldn’t be much worse, could he?  She’d have to be careful, but Tink thought she could manage this.

Talking her father into getting everyone together within a few hours of securing the castle took more effort than Belle anticipated.  Maurice insisted on allowing everyone a chance to clean up, and while Belle couldn’t blame her father for not wanting to wear the soiled clothing he’d long been imprisoned in, she disliked the look he gave her when he hinted that she should change out of the trousers and tunic she was wearing. Her clothes were comfortable and serviceable, and far more suited to fighting for her kingdom than a ball gown was! As far as Belle was concerned, the battle wasn’t yet over, so why should she dress up as if it was?

Fortunately, her father was too happy to see her to do more than hint that he didn’t like her clothes.  And then he raised a toast in her honor, which promptly made Belle forgive him for the slightly disapproving look he’d shot her trousers.

“To Belle!” Maurice raised his glass high, and much to Belle’s surprise, his assembled advisors did the same.  “Without her bravery and her courage, we wouldn’t be here.”

Her face went red even as her heart leapt; all of her life, Belle had waited for a moment like this, but now that recognition had arrived, she was all too ready to move onto the next problem.  “I had help.  A lot of help.”  She glanced over to Mulan and LeFou with a smile, which made both nod their thanks. “And we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Sir Gaston is in prison, and his remaining men are being rounded up now.  I think things are well under control.”  Captain Thenardier, one of her father’s advisors, gave her a funny look as he spoke up, but there was something in his eyes that made Belle uneasy.

“I meant Zelena.”  Using the Wicked Queen’s name seemed to make the air go out of the room, and several people actually gasped.  “We have to figure out how to counter her magic.”

“The Queen—the Queen was Gaston’s ally, yes.”  Even her father looked a little scared, and that made Belle wonder what exactly had happened while she was gone.  But there was no time to ask.  “But we can hope that if we pay her tribute, she won’t return.”

“That’s not going to work.”  Belle had met Zelena enough times at the Dark Castle to know that she was both petty and cruel, and she wouldn’t accept the loss of a client kingdom so easily, not even if they gave her all the jewels they had to offer.  “She’ll want to punish us for overthrowing her pawn.”

Those words brought about another long silence until Mulan spoke up.   “How do we fight her?  Even witches have weaknesses, and there has to be something we can do.”

“She’s too powerful.”  Maurice shook his head mournfully.  “Force of arms wasn’t enough to stop her last time.  She’s the one who took over the castle, not Gaston.  We have no weapons here that can face her.”

“We don’t need to face her,” Belle cut in, hating the defeated expression on her father’s face.  “The best way to fight magic is with magic.”

“Sweeting, no one here has magic.”

“No, we don’t.”  Belle supposed that having to spell it out for her father was no surprise; she’d had to lead him to calling upon Rumplestiltskin in the first place.  Now she just looked Maurice directly in the eye.  “But we can make another deal.”

“No. Absolutely not.  I won’t have you going back to that beast when you’ve only just now escaped!”

“I didn’t escape, Papa, he let me go!”  Belle could match him shout for shout all day long; somehow, arguing with her father didn’t seem nearly as daunting after she’d had screaming matches with the Dark One. “And even if he were a beast—which Rumplestiltskin is not—he’s predictable in that he always keeps to the letter of his deals.  He’s also more powerful than Zelena.”

“Which you know exactly how?” Captain Thenardier sounded suspicious, but Belle just rolled his eyes.

“Because I spent nearly a year in his castle, of course.  I met Zelena there, and I know she won’t cross him.”

That wasn’t strictly true, of course; Belle was certain that Zelena was crazy enough to cross Rumplestiltskin if she wanted something badly enough, but she also knew that Zelena would lose.

“It’s still out of the question,” Maurice cut in.  “I won’t have you sacrificing yourself again.  You’ve already given too much.”

“It’s my life, Papa.”  Stepping forward, Belle put a gentle hand on her father’s arm. He looked truly distressed, and she wished she could explain that going back to Rumplestiltskin was something she wanted to do—but Belle knew better than to do that in front of everyone.  Mulan would understand, and she thought LeFou might believe her, but the others would simply say she was under the Dark One’s spell.  “I’ll do whatever I need to if it means saving our people, and besides…Rumplestiltskin was kind to me, before.  He will be again.”

Perhaps he would be better than kind, but Belle couldn’t count on that.  She’d been gone for months, and while she missed him dreadfully, she had to wonder if he felt the same.  Just the thought of going back left her breathless with excitement, but what if Rumplestiltskin didn’t want her back?  Yet she knew that was wrong.  She remembered the pain in his voice.  I expect I’ll never see you again, he had said so sadly, sounding so very human and broken.  He had let her go out of love, Belle knew.  If he hadn’t insisted she leave, Belle never would have, and she’d always intended to go back.  She just hadn’t meant for it to be like this.

He was insufferable, but he was the only person who would know the truth.  

Fiona waited until her son was off with the hatter to visit the Apprentice.  She knew that Rumplestiltskin hated the stuck-up prig as much as she did, and his presence would only pour oil on an already simmering blaze.  Still, enough time had passed that she had to face the fact that Belle was clearly not coming back, which meant that her hopes of using True Love to free Rumplestiltskin had been dashed.  Perhaps the prophecy meant some other Dark One, the voice of pessimism pointed out.  Or maybe Tiger Lily was wrong, and it was always too much to ask for any Dark One to turn the darkness to light. There had to be a reason why it had never been done, after all.  So many Dark Ones had inherited the mantle since Nimue drank from the grail, and none of them had ever strayed from the dark path.  Perhaps Tiger Lily had simply expected too much, and she’d foolishly gotten Fiona’s hopes up.

Yet a part of her refused to stop hoping, which was why she had come to visit the Apprentice one last time, even though logic told her she ought not bother. Particularly after she’d turn him into a ferret last time.

“Back again?”

She should have known that she couldn’t sneak up on him.  Not with the magic Merlin had long ago bestowed upon his favorite student. “Do you always state the obvious by way of greeting, or is this just your way of complaining that I left you with a little gift last time?”

“I will not be so careless again.”  The look he shot her was anything but friendly. “If you are here about the young woman your son took—”

“I am not.” Fiona didn’t know what the Apprentice thought had happened with Belle.  He would never believe her if she told him that Rumplestiltskin had let the girl go, so she wouldn’t bother.  “I am here about the prophecies Merlin made concerning the Dark One.”

That earned her a narrow-eyed look.  “There are not many.  Nimue trapped him in that tree before even a century passed.”

“I am quite aware of that,” she snapped, and then forced herself to take a deep breath. “I know of one.  I would like to know if there are others.”

“You speak of the one about a Dark One who will turn the darkness back to the light.” Merlin’s Apprentice shook his head sadly.  “You cannot possibly believe Rumplestiltskin can do so.  He has been the Dark One longer than any other, and is irrevocably stained by the darkness.”

“Oh, now you’re starting to sound like the Blue Fairy.  Is that on purpose?”  She shot him her sweetest smile.  No one wanted to be compared to Blue.

The insult clearly struck home.  “I am not nearly that narrow-minded, thank you.” He glared, and then continued: “I do not doubt that it is possible for a Dark One to turn the darkness to light.  But it cannot be someone who has reveled in the darkness for so long.  I am sorry, but it will not be your son.  It cannot.”

“Just tell me what was said.”  Fiona bit back the urge to shout at him; further antagonizing the Apprentice would not get her what she wanted.  She had assumed that Belle’s kiss would be the vehicle by which Rumplestiltskin was freed, but she had been wrong.  Please tell me there is another way.

“He said that someday there might be someone worthy of holding that much power without letting it burn through to darken their soul.”  The Apprentice threw a sharp look her way.  “But Merlin also said that it would be simpler by far to destroy the darkness so that no one would ever have to.”

Fiona snorted.  “Yes, that’s worked out quite well for all of you.”

“Do not make light of the many efforts to snuff out the darkness.”  Now the Apprentice looked offended—but she really didn’t care.  Yes, he was the keeper of the Sorcerer’s Hat and what remained of Merlin’s magic, which meant that he was the closest thing the world had to a human master of magic. He had tried several times to remove the darkness from various Dark Ones, but even Fiona knew that had never worked.  Some news always made it as far as the Dark Realm.

I want to save my son, you fool, not destroy him.  Fiona crossed her arms impatiently.  “Did he say anything else?”

“Only that once darkness takes root, it never truly leaves.  Love can overpower it, but such a love is but a candle in the vast darkness if not tended properly.”

“And what if it were?”  The question slipped out before Fiona could stop it.  “What if love was enough?”

“Then the darkness would still fight back.”  The Apprentice shook his head.  “Centuries of toxic power cannot be wiped away; the darkness will always fight to remain in power.  To be truly free of it, a Dark One would have to choose to let go, and none of them can.”  He studied her for a long moment as Fiona’s mind whirled.  “I know you care for your son, despite what one would think, but he will not give up the power any more than the others would.  A part of him may love you, but not enough to give up his power.”

“I would never ask him to give up his power.”  Fiona found the entire idea ridiculous; her power was as much a part of her as air.  Why would she ever ask anyone else to give up magic for a nebulous thing like love? Love was precious and love was light, but power was security and provided the ability to get things done.

One should not have to exist without the other.

“Ah, but you think of power as a natural part of you because you were born a fairy. His power is not.”  The Apprentice held up a hand.  “Magic taken through darkness comes at a price.  And the price is his soul.”

“Which you think he’s already lost.”  Fiona didn’t need to see the Apprentice’s nod to know that he believed as such, but she knew he was wrong.  Rumplestiltskin loved Belle enough to let her go, but did he love her enough to give up the darkness?

Fiona chose not to prolong that conversation and left shortly thereafter.  She had work to do, and answers to find.

A/N: I apologize for the long wait between updates – juggling a full time job that just doubled my responsibilities and a full time degree is more challenging than I expected!

Stay tuned for Chapter 24—“With Me Forever More”, in which Rumplestiltskin receives an unexpected summons, Hook plays things smart, Belle tries to make a deal,  and reunions are had.

[viscomamelia]

Editing my TED Talk Transcript

My transcript from my chosen TED talk was over 2000 words, and the brief specifies it has to be 1300-1800, so I had to edit it, by cutting out jargon, extra unnecessary words and uninteresting text.

I managed to get it down to 1784 words, still keeping the feel, personality and uniqueness of the talk.

Edited transcript:

I would like to begin with a little experiment. I'm going to ask if you would close your eyes and see if you can work out what emotions you're feeling right now. You're not going to tell anyone anything. The idea is to see how easy or hard you find it to pinpoint exactly what you're feeling. OK? Right, go.

How did it go? You were probably feeling a little bit under pressure, maybe suspicious whether people actually do this experiment. Perhaps you felt a distant worry about that email you sent this morning, or excitement about something you've got planned for this evening. Maybe you felt that exhilaration that comes when we get together in big groups of people; the Welsh called it "hwyl," from the word for boat sails. Or maybe you felt all of these things. There are some emotions which wash the world in a single colour, like the terror felt as a car skids. But more often, our emotions crowd together until it is quite hard to tell them apart. Some slide past so quickly you'd hardly even notice them, like the nostalgia that will make you reach out to grab a familiar brand in the supermarket.

Then there are others that we hurry away from, fearing that they'll burst on us, like the jealousy that causes you to search a loved one's pockets. There are some emotions which are so peculiar, you might not even know what to call them. Perhaps you had a little tingle of a desire for an emotion one eminent French sociologist called "ilinx," the delirium that comes with minor acts of chaos. For example, if you stood up right now and emptied the contents of your bag all over the floor. Perhaps you experienced one of those odd, untranslatable emotions for which there's no obvious English equivalent. You might have felt the feeling the Dutch called "gezelligheid," being cozy inside with friends when it's cold outside. Maybe if you were lucky, you felt this: "basorexia," a sudden urge to kiss someone.

We live in an age when knowledge of emotions is an extremely important commodity, where emotions are used to explain many things, exploited by our politicians, manipulated by algorithms. Emotional intelligence -- the skill of being able to recognize and name your own emotions and those of other people -- is considered so important, that this is taught in schools and businesses and encouraged by our health services. But despite all of this, I sometimes wonder if the way we think about emotions is becoming impoverished. Sometimes, we're not even clear what an emotion is.

There is a theory that our entire emotional lives can be boiled down to a handful of basic emotions. This idea is about 2,000 years old, but some evolutionary psychologists have suggested that these six emotions -- happiness, sadness, fear, disgust, anger, surprise -- are expressed by everyone across the globe in exactly the same way, and therefore represent the building blocks of our entire emotional lives. If you look at an emotion like this, then it looks like a simple reflex: it's triggered by an external predicament, it's hardwired, it's there to protect us from harm. You see a bear, your heart rate quickens, your pupils dilate, you feel frightened, you run very fast.

The problem with this picture is, it doesn't entirely capture what an emotion is. Of course, the physiology is extremely important, but it's not the only reason we feel the way we do at any given moment. What if I was to tell you that in the 12th century, some troubadours didn't see yawning as caused by tiredness or boredom like we do today, but thought it a symbol of the deepest love? Or that in that same period, brave knights commonly fainted out of dismay? Or that boredom, as we know and love it today, was first only felt by the Victorians, in response to new ideas about leisure time and self-improvement? What if we were to think again about those odd, untranslatable words for emotions and wonder whether some cultures might feel an emotion more intensely just because they've bothered to name and talk about it?

The most recent developments in cognitive science show that emotions are not simple reflexes, but immensely complex, elastic systems that respond both to the biology’s that we've inherited and to the cultures that we live in now. They're shaped not just by our bodies, but by our thoughts, our concepts, and our language. The neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett has become very interested in this dynamic relationship between words and emotions. She argues that when we learn a new word for an emotion, new feelings are sure to follow. When we look to the past, it's easy to see that emotions have changed, sometimes very dramatically, in response to new cultural expectations and religious beliefs, new ideas about gender, ethnicity and age, even in response to new political and economic ideologies. There is a historicity to emotions that we are only recently starting to understand. I think to be truly emotionally intelligent, we need to understand where those words have come from, and what ideas about how we ought to live and behave they are smuggling along with them.

In the late 17th century, in the Swiss university town of Basel, there's a dedicated student living some 60 miles away from home. He stops turning up to his lectures, and his friends come to visit, and they find him dejected and feverish, having heart palpitations, and strange sores breaking out on his body. Doctors are called, and they think it's so serious that prayers are said for him in the local church. It's only when they're preparing to return this young man home so he can die, that they realise what's going on. Once they lift him onto the stretcher, his breathing becomes less laboured. By the time he's got to the gates of his hometown, he's almost entirely recovered. That's when they realise that he's been suffering from a very powerful form of homesickness. It's so powerful, that it might have killed him.

In 1688, a young doctor, Johannes Hofer, heard of this case and others like it and christened the illness "nostalgia." The diagnosis quickly caught on in medical circles around Europe. The English thought they were immune because of all the travel they did in the empire but soon there were cases cropping up in Britain, too. The last person to die from nostalgia was an American soldier fighting during the First World War in France. How is it possible that you could die from nostalgia less than a hundred years ago?

Today, not only does the word mean something different -- a sickening for a lost time rather than a lost place -- but homesickness itself is seen as less serious, sort of downgraded from something you could die from to something you're mainly worried your kid might be suffering from at a sleepover. This change seems to have happened in the early 20th century. But why? Was it the invention of telephones or the expansion of the railways? Was it perhaps the coming of modernity, with its celebration of restlessness and travel and progress that made sickening for the familiar seem rather unambitious? You and I inherit that massive transformation in values, and it's one reason why we might not feel homesickness today as acutely as we used to. It's important to understand that these large historical changes influence our emotions partly because they affect how we feel about how we feel.

Today, we celebrate happiness. Happiness is supposed to make us better workers and parents and partners; it's supposed to make us live longer. In the 16th century, sadness was thought to do most of those things. It's even possible to read self-help books from that period which try to encourage sadness in readers by giving them lists of reasons to be disappointed. These self-help authors thought you could cultivate sadness as a skill, since being expert in it would make you more resilient when something bad did happen to you, as invariably it would. I think we could learn from this today. Feel sad today, and you might feel impatient, even a little ashamed. Feel sad in the 16th century, and you might feel a little bit smug.

Our emotions don't just change across time, they also change from place to place. The Baining people of Papua New Guinea speak of "awumbuk," a feeling of lethargy that descends when a houseguest finally leaves. You or I might feel relief, but in Baining culture, departing guests are thought to shed a sort of heaviness so they can travel more easily, and this heaviness infects the air and causes this awumbuk. So they would leave a bowl of water out overnight to absorb this air, then very early the next morning, they would have a ceremony and throw the water away. 

One of my favourite emotions is a Japanese word, "amae."; a very common word in Japan, but it is difficult to translate. It means the pleasure felt when you're able to temporarily hand over responsibility for your life to someone else. Anthropologists suggest that one reason why this word might have been named and celebrated in Japan is because of that country's traditionally collectivist culture, whereas the feeling of dependency may be more fraught amongst English speakers, who have learned to value self-sufficiency and individualism. What might our emotional languages tell us not just about what we feel, but about what we value most?

Most people who tell us to pay attention to our well-being talk of the importance of naming our emotions, but these names aren't neutral labels. They are freighted with our culture's values and expectations, and they transmit ideas about who we think we are. Learning new and unusual words for emotions will help attune us to the more finely grained aspects of our inner lives. I think these words are worth caring about, because they remind us how powerful the connection is between what we think and how we end up feeling. True emotional intelligence requires that we understand the social, the political, the cultural forces that have shaped what we've come to believe about our emotions and understand how happiness or hatred or love or anger might still be changing now. Because if we want to measure our emotions and teach them in our schools and listen as our politicians tell us how important they are, then it is a good idea that we understand where the assumptions we have about them have come from, and whether they still truly speak to us now.

[anoldwound]

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together - Claude/Bennet [Heroes]

Title: I Love It When a Plan Comes Together Rating: PG-13 Characters/Pairings: Claude/Bennet, implied Matt/Mohinder Word Count: ~2500 Spoilers/Warnings: Some language, possible spoilers for 2x01 Summary: A medieval lesbian attacks Claude, Bennet uses a fork as a weapon, and Claude and Bennet go on a road trip. Disclaimer: Not my characters, etc. A/N: You can blame fantasticpants for this one. “So,” said Claude, chomping on his waffles, “what’d you call me here for, Bennet? Wanna reminisce about the good ol’ days, do you? Remember that time you shot me? What a barrel of laughs that was.” Bennet glared at him from behind his newspaper. “No. I called you for a meeting of minds.” “Meeting your mind is something I never intended on doing, Bennet. Especially in a crowded diner at six in the morning.” He swallowed and slurped his coffee. “These poor people just might have to witness me beating your head in with my fist. Are you ready for that sort of humiliation?” Bennet’s lip curled. “Do you think I’d let you get close enough to ‘beat my head in’, as you so eloquently put it?” Claude grunted and shoved a fistful of waffle into his mouth. “Regardless,” said Bennet, and put down his newspaper to take a quiet sip of his own coffee, “it’s not just my mind you’re meeting. You’ll be meeting several other minds as well.” “Oh, yeah? Like whose?” He wiped his mouth with his hand and gave Bennet a suspicious look. “Got your people here, do you? They spying on us now? Planning an ambush?” “Of course not,” Bennet said calmly. “I haven’t worked with the company for months, Claude. You know that.” “You said that,” Claude corrected. “And forgive me if I’m finding it a bit difficult to trust you.” “You came here, didn’t you?” He bit his lip, and didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought.” He looked pleased with himself. “They should be here any minute now.” Claude blinked, and all of a sudden a beaming Japanese man and a tall, surly-looking woman wearing medieval clothes were sitting across the table. “Holy---!” He almost choked on his waffles. “You found a bloody time-traveler, Bennet?” “That I did.” He looked even more pleased with himself. “This is Hiro Nakamura, and…” He frowned slightly. “I don’t believe I’ve met you, miss.” “This ish Beatrix!” Hiro announced enthusiastically. “She help me find dragon.” “Dragons? Bloody dragons? Jesus Christ on a cracker…” Claude mumbled to himself. “Why, exactly, did you decide to travel to the medieval time period?” Bennet asked, raising an eyebrow. Hiro shrugged, and his grin grew even wider, if that was possible. “I wanted to slay dragon.” “It’s a rather good thing, too,” Beatrix finally spoke, peering through her long black hair at Claude, who suddenly felt unexplainably uncomfortable. “The dragon was destroying the forest. It would surely have gone after our village next.” “Well. Excellent that Hiro did, then.” Bennet took another sip of his coffee. “Yes, it is,” she said fondly, patting Hiro on the head. “She’s such a talented girl…” Her eyes looked oddly lustful. “She? Huh?” Hiro scrunched up his brows and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I am not a she! I am a boy!” “Oh…” She snapped her hand off of his head and placed it on her lap. She looked disappointed. Bennet cleared his throat. “Anyway, onto business.” He pulled a large file from seemingly nowhere. “I have a plan.” “A plan to do what?” Claude asked. “Nothing in particular. I just have a plan.” “What---how could you have a plan and nothing to use it for?!” “I always have a plan,” he answered simply. Claude groaned and rubbed his forehead. Ten minutes with Bennet and already he was getting a headache. “Never mind. Just…who else is coming?” “Suresh and Parkman were supposed to come, but they might’ve gotten sidetracked,” said Bennet. “So I guess it’s just the four of us.” “Fantastic.” They sat in an awkward silence for a while, until Hiro said, “So…what is it that we do?” As Bennet whipped out a few sheets of paper and went over the plan with Hiro, Claude grew increasingly uneasy under Beatrix’s intense gaze. “You look like my father,” she suddenly said, causing Bennet and Hiro to look up from the plan. “Er…all right,” said Claude, uncertain of whether this was a good thing or not. But judging by the expression on her face, it was most definitely not a good thing. “He was going to force me to marry this hideous, grotesque, old, hairy man,” she said with disgust, and she scowled at Claude angrily. “I’m sorry.” “You should be sorry,” she said quietly. Then, all of a sudden, she lunged across the table and started throttling him by the throat. Hiro’s mouth fell open comically, and Claude clenched his hands on Beatrix’s arms in order to shove her off, but she had a surprisingly strong grip, and oxygen was fast becoming scarce. Why was no one else in the diner paying attention them, anyway? They were all just sitting there eating their breakfasts like he wasn’t being choked by a psychotic medieval lesbian. Bennet quickly grabbed a fork lying nearby and held the prongs up against her neck. “I could stab you with this, you know,” he said conversationally. “I suggest you let go of him.” Beatrix eyed the fork and slowly took her hands off of Claude’s throat. Claude began coughing uncontrollably and slammed his fist on the table. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, and coughed some more. “Hiro, please bring your friend back to her time period. She doesn’t belong here any longer,” said Bennet, and the stunned Hiro gave a vague nod, grabbed Beatrix’s shoulder, and they were gone. “Jesus.” He let out a few more hacks and took a deep breath. “I think this was an elaborate scheme of yours---whole point of this was so I could get choked to death by a bloody crazy medieval tart.” “No, it wasn’t.” He said this with such finality that Claude felt forced to drop the subject. “So,” Claude said, finishing off his waffle. “What’s next?” “I think we should implement stage one of the plan,” said Bennet, folding up a section of the newspaper and sticking it into his pocket. “Which is…?” “Road trip.” Claude groaned. “You and your bloody road trips.” “Oh, this one won’t take too long. Not more than a couple of hours, anyway.” He stood up and tossed a few bills onto the table. “Are you coming?” Claude looked up, and instantly froze under Bennet’s cool blue eyes that were looking upon him pleadingly---not that the average person would be able to pick up the pleading look in his eyes, but Claude knew Bennet much, much better than the average person did. “Fine.” He grabbed his coat and slid out the booth. “But don’t think I’m happy about this.” Bennet smiled. “Didn’t say you had to be.” As they walked out the door, Claude could’ve sworn he saw Bennet smirk with a smug satisfaction. Nah. He was probably imagining it. *** “Do you even know where we’re going?” Claude asked as Bennet turned onto the highway. “Yes.” “And where would we be going?” “I’m afraid that’s classified information.” “You don’t know where we’re going, do you.” “I actually do know. I just can’t tell you.” Claude rolled his eyes and looked out the window at the passing trees. “Whatever you say, Bennet.” *** “We’ve been driving in circles for the past two hours.” “No we haven’t.” “Yeah, we have. See that oddly-shaped tree over there? Yeah, we’ve passed it about twenty times now.” “You’re imagining things.” “Am not.” “Are too.” “Am not.” “Are too.” “Am---oh, sod off,” he muttered, and crossed his arms. He heard Bennet give a low chuckle, and firmly resolved to kill him the next chance he got. *** “Will you just admit that we’re lost already?” Bennet gave a deep sigh. “Okay. We’re lost.” “Thank you.” A pause. “So now what?” “It’s almost midnight now,” said Bennet, glancing at the clock. “We should stop in the woods and get some rest.” “I cannot believe that we have been driving for this long,” Claude complained as Bennet pulled over to the side of the road.   “Oh, suck it up,” said Bennet mildly, and Claude shot him a death glare. “I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Bennet,” he said, and furiously climbed out of the car. Honestly, he had no idea why he was doing this whole “Plan” thing. A Plan that he didn’t even know the details of. Or the goal of. Or anything about it at all. He should just leave. Just turn invisible, steal Bennet’s car, and drive off into the night. But he didn’t, for some inexplicable reason. “We can start a fire,” said Bennet, clearing away some branches. Claude grunted and began gathering some tinder. “Never thought I’d have to build another fire with you, Bennet.” “Neither did I.” There was something almost sad in the way he said this, and Claude had to fight the strange lump in his throat. “I’ll get my matches.” “No.” “What do you mean, no?” “I mean no. I can’t trust you with matches, Bennet.” “You can’t trust me with anything, apparently.” “That’s right.” He made a “gimmee” motion with his hand, and Bennet reluctantly handed over the box of matches. Soon enough, the fire was burning, and they were sitting with their palms near the flames. “Remember the last time we did this?” Bennet asked, rubbing his hands together and placing them back in front of the fire. “Yeah.” He snickered. “Damn telekinetic nearly chased us out of the country.” “We had some good times.” Bennet looked up at him cautiously through those damn glasses of his. “I guess. Except that part where you shot me in the gut.” Bennet winced slightly. “Thought we’d gotten past that.” “It’s a difficult thing to get over, Bennet.” He nodded, and stared so intently at the fire that Claude couldn’t help but stare at it also to see what Bennet found so damn fascinating. “It was hard for me too,” he said. “I’m sure it was,” Claude replied sarcastically. Bennet gave him a withering look. “I’m serious. You try killing your partner sometime and see how you feel afterwards.” “I know how I’d feel. But I’ve always suspected you of being some sort of morally grey robot.” A small chuckle escaped from Bennet’s lips. “I’m not a robot, as far as I know.” “Could’ve fooled me.” He smiled to let Bennet know that he was kidding---well, he was only half-kidding, but regardless. They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. *** When he woke up the next morning, he opened his eyes a crack and saw Bennet dialing a number on his cell phone. “Whozz you callin’?” Claude asked blearily. “No one,” said Bennet. “Go back to sleep.” He was happy to oblige. *** “This is a pretty crappy motel, Bennet,” Claude observed as Bennet carefully put his suitcase on his bed. “You sure this is the only one for fifty miles?” “I’m sure.” Claude sighed and slammed his own suitcase onto his (separate) bed. “I’ll go get us some ice,” said Bennet, and left, door snapping shut behind him. Instantly bored, Claude began searching for things to do. He spotted the Bible lying inside one of the drawers, and idly started tearing pages out of Leviticus. Leviticus had been a tight-ass, anyway. Bennet returned several minutes with, not a bucket of ice, but…a puppy. “What---?” Claude gaped at him and the puppy, verses 7:11 – 7:28 lying limply in his hand. “I found him outside,” Bennet explained, setting the puppy down on his bed. “But why did you bring him in here?” “I thought he might enjoy some company.” Bennet picked up the puppy and faced it towards Claude. “What do you think? Cute, isn’t he?” “Did you just say---” But his sentence trailed off into nothingness as he saw the look on Bennet’s face. That all too familiar, grossly unfair, puppy dog look. Dammit, Bennet knew he was unable to resist that. So…wait. He wanted to… Oh. “You’re an evil, evil man, Bennet,” Claude said disapprovingly. “Don’t I know it.” A smirk curled up his cheek. “Get that damn dog out of here.” *** A while later, they were naked and tangled up in the sheets, thoroughly exhausted. “That was an adventurous evening,” Bennet commented. Claude snorted. “You’re tellin’ me. So…you ever gonna tell me what this plan of yours is?” “This is it.” “…Huh?” “This is the plan.” Bennet grinned at him. “Wait…so your Master Plan was to shag me?” “That’s right.” “Huh?!” He sat up and stared at Bennet in massive confusion. “You can’t possibly be serious, mate.” “I am. You were right…Beatrix choking you was all part of an elaborate scheme.” “Please tell me you’re being sarcastic.” “I’m not.” “Explain,” Claude demanded. “Now.” “Well, there was supposed to be a meeting of minds in the diner, but I decided to take matters into my own hands,” said Bennet. “I told Hiro the legend of the dragon, and of the angry lesbian villager, and I knew he would become fascinated enough by the story to go slay the dragon himself and bring the unhappy lesbian back with him in order to take her away from her father, who I also knew bore a huge resemblance to you.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Hiro isn’t the only time-traveler, I’m sure you know. We had others at our disposal at the company.” “Right. Continue.” “Anyway, I knew she would attack you when she saw you, thus giving Hiro a reason to bring her back, giving you and me time to escape. As for Parkman and Suresh, well, I anonymously sent them a little…a little gift.” “You did not send them a sex toy.” “I did. I knew it would keep them occupied for several hours.” Claude shook his head. “You’re messed up in the head, mate.” “I’m not finished. I also deliberately got us ‘lost’, giving us time to reminisce and get some closure over that shooting incident.” “Incident?! You’re calling it an incident?!” Bennet ignored him. “And do you remember that piece of newspaper that I ripped out and put in my pocket back at the diner?” “Yeah.” “It was an ad for a puppy. I called while you were sleeping and had it delivered to this motel. I used it to ensnare you.” “Dear God, Bennet!” Claude exclaimed. “You’re…you’re…I don’t think there’s even a word for what you are. That’s the most bloody insane plan I’ve ever heard in my life!” “It worked, though, didn’t it?” “Well…yeah, it did.” “I made flow charts. Do you want to see them?” “No.” “I labored over them extensively. Are you sure you don’t want to have a look?” “I’m bloody positive. And don’t try those puppy eyes on me again. I won’t fall for it this time.” “Oh, I think you might have miscalculated your resistance quotient.” He did The Eyes. …Dammit, he had miscalculated. “You’ll be the bloody death of me, Bennet.” “I know.” He grinned mischievously and went under the covers. It was going to be a long night.