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ktheist · 4 years

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(why) we got married | m

synopsis. they say the 7th year of your marriage is always an uphill battle - but with the existence of your prenup coming to light thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend’s slip of tongue - first it reached your and his families, and then your family’s close friends and then your family’s close friends’ friends until - almost everyone is speculating on the grounds of you and taehyung’s marriage being anything but love.

you’re not sure if you’re even going to make past the second year mark in your marriage. but is the reason you got married really as important as why you choose to stay or leave?

muses. chairman!taehyung x stewardess!reader

alternative title. as you are.

inspired by. the 1 by taylor swift

genre. arranged marriage au with a pinch of drama and angst

words. 12.5k

warnings. explicit content

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

in your defense, neither you nor taehyung made an elaborated plan to deceive both his family and yours with the marriage which yes, had been founded upon a contract. but that’s not the point - the point is, your father and brother never sat down with taehyung and had a man-to-man talk. and his mother never sniffed out your reason for marrying her son being his abundance of wealth. but when all comes to light, thanks to taehyung’s lawyer slash family friend who made a slip of tongue - your parents and his were the ones most vindictive about who’s digging whose gold.

and to be completely frank, you were one article away from calling up your mother and telling her that you seduced taehyung into marrying you - just so she’d stop baring her fangs at mrs. kim. these days the headlines keep blowing up your mother and mrs. kim’s completely-by-chance meeting at a five star restaurant that erupted into manic yelling and pointing fingers.

“what did you say, you-” the audio bleeps for a split second before your mother in law’s voice comes back on, “-it was your daughter that seduced my son!”

“you crazy-” the audio bleeps again, “-you better watch your mouth or i’ll-”

the remaining seconds of the video are filled with bleeps that make it hard to even understand what either woman was saying. a wave of regret floods your chest as you scroll down the words strewn out into a juicy, tea-spilling commentary on your and taehyung’s past - the writer seems to pick up the minor little details that, in hindsight, leaves a big fat question mark out in the open.

when exactly did ___ ___ and kim taehyung start dating?

the answer was never.

the two times you and taehyung were photographed together was at a cafe near your office and the other, near his penthouse wherein you were discussing the terms of the contracts by yourselves. the one near taehyung’s penthouse being the final stage where you both signed it on your ipads. to the naked eye, you probably looked like you were on a date and being young professionals, it was only a given that both of you had some sort of electronic on you at all times - even during dates.

everyone just assumed you were together and with the assumption of being together, comes the conclusion that you were deeply, madly in love. was it the way the picture caught you two looking at each other with smiles on your faces? was it it’s sister picture that stilled you in a frame where you’re looking at your ipad and taehyung looking at you with the same - possibly remaining - smile from the moment the first picture was taken? that, you will never know.

but so it goes, you started going to socials together because taehyung needed some cleansing from his... charm-filled past. he used to go to those with different partners each week, and the previous woman that went with him always ended up refusing to talk about it or boasting about her ‘relationship’ with him. that was of course, after yoo now-kim jeongyeon got married three years ago. he used to attend those socials with her for the most part.

but someway, somehow, his public record was clean of any drama.

you would know, you’ve seen the man in action with your very eyes. on your 7th social event together, son chaeyoung had marched up to you and him like a ticking time bomb, red-faced and flaring nostrils and all. you were about ready to stand your ground when taehyung softly touched your hand that was around his arm and asked if you minded if he left for some fresh air.

of course you didn’t - respectfully, you couldn’t care less what taehyung does as long as it didn’t bring a negative light to you and him and the dynasties you both carried over your shoulders. everyone had their eyes wide open and ears perked for what was to come when taehyung walked chaeyoung out to the hallway. but nothing happened, and you were left to mingle on your own until he returned, looking devilishly handsome as always and strutted up to you with an air of refined sureness.

chaeyoung didn’t come back with him but everything remained quiet - not even a dramatic “stay away from my man!” at any point of your contract. you never asked how he did it - you thought it involved money, but over time, you realized it was just kim taehyung and all the things that made those women attracted to him. and just like a flame, he’d burned the moths’ wings until they couldn’t flutter over to him anymore after your wedding.

“uh, miss, we’re here,” the driver calls, meeting your eyes through the rear-view mirror.

it takes you a few moments to close the cover of your ipad and shove it into your handbag before pulling out bills that’s worth more than your car ride, “thanks, keep the change.”

and with that, you hop out of the cab, ready to put on a facade of grace and confidence. the staff who knows you greets you with a range of emotions, some with unhinged admiration from day one, others with curiosity on what’s truly hidden beneath those darken ray bans - without a doubt, aware of the drama going on between their boss’ mother and their boss’ wife’s mother.

either way, you make sure to return each smile and greeting like you always do. red lips sewn across your face like an ever smiling doll.

it’s only once you’ve entered the elevator and luckily left to your own devices, do you let your shoulder sag, the smile downturned into a frown all the way until a ding echoes into the small compartment and a red ‘8′ flashes on top of the doors.

you don’t fail to fix the secretaries a smile, relief flooding over you at how their warm - or was it profession-required - greeting hasn’t changed even after the rumors spreading about your inevitable divorce - of course, purported by you and taehyung’s mothers.

“son, if you don’t divorce that woman right away, i-i,” and here you see for yourself, the woman who called you ‘my daughter’ with the most loving voice, stuttering into a fit of rage, “i don’t think i can face my friends anymore - that bitch jihye has been slandering our family saying you used her daughter to get hold of the company!”

mina is about to knock on the door and announce your arrival when you hold a hand up before placing an index finger to your lips. she doesn’t need to be told twice when she nods once and steps back to leave you eavesdropping on your mother in law and husband.

“that’s fair,” there isn’t even a stuttered beat in his response.

“what-”

“that’s part of the reason we got married,” he goes on, “and ___ needs some help setting up her brother with some connection so it works out - and mom, please refer to ___ and mrs. jeon by their names, ___ is still my wife and mrs. jeon is the woman who raised her.”

“y-you-” mrs. kim stutters out in disbelief just when you decide to make your presence known, hand on the door, “you ungrateful child, oh my- oh my-!” you walk into the sight of the woman falling backwards with mr. ji the kims’ lawyer stretching his arms out to catch her, shouting “madam!” while taehyung launching himself across the room, “mom!”

mrs. kim ends up hospitalized.

“it was a case of stress and overworking that should go away with a good few days’ break,” chairman kim who also opts to assume his seat as part of the hospital’s doctor and a family friend of taehyung’s, fixes you with a reassuring smile.

the stethoscope and white robe gives off a more professional vibe than the sophisticated air you see him wear at family dinners.

“that’s a relief - it’s nothing life-threatening,” the smile you return doesn’t seem to sit right with him as his eyebrows knit together and a cloud seem to loom over his face.

“it’s really not in my place but,” he pauses, probably weighing out the pros and cons of offending you with what he’s about to say - but he doesn’t need to worry too much because after today, you probably won’t be seeing each other at dinners any time soon, “me and jeongyeon,” he means his wife and taehyung’s childhood friend, “are here for you if you need to talk - i know mrs. kim can be a little unreasonable at times, but give her some time. don’t give up on her.”

you nod once, murmuring a hollow ‘thanks for that, seokjin’ before watching the man strut down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps accompanying his leave. only when you’re left with the sound of your breathing, do you finally allow chairman kim’s words to sink into the deepest depth of your heart.

it’s not an easy task to keep your heart still and unbothered by your own mother in law’s words. even now, you can still hear her embellishing her headache, back ache, joint pains and every sort of non-fatal pains she has enough to get taehyung to stay by her bedside - so he doesn’t go home. doesn’t go back to the place where you two have built for yourselves.

and yet you can’t help but agree that - “if you’d divorced her just like i told you, i wouldn’t have fallen so ill!” she sighs, just as you’re about to slide the door open.

all of a sudden, the image of the delicate woman swaying and tumbling towards the ground flashes at the back of your head and you instantly recoil, as if the door was made from fire.

the fear of worsening mrs. kim’s health at the sight of you has you backing away, choosing to wait at the seat in the hallway instead. seconds stretch into minutes and minutes into hours until you feel your body being shaken.

your eyes which you never noticed fluttered close - snap open only to gaze at the face of an angel - a concerned one at that judging from the way his eyebrows knit together. and then you’re hearing the smooth baritone of his voice. you almost pulled out your phone from your purse to ask if you could have it recorded so you could listen to it as a lullaby.

that is, until you realize the angel’s disheveled wavy hair and eyes that look like they’re well on their way to falling asleep standing.

“taehyung,” the name slips out of your mouth with a surprised gasp as you note the pristine pastel background of the vip section, body jolting to sit up from your previously slumping position.

“have you been waiting all this time?” he takes a seat next to you - and only then do you notice the unkempt mess that he is.

the first few buttons of his shirt is undone whilst it hangs over his shoulders, untucked, tie hanging loose over his chest as he drapes his blazer over his arm. the sight is almost alien, especially coming from someone who can’t even stand a crease in his shirt.

“what time is it?” you wonder, reaching for your phone while he checks the rolex on his wrist - which proves to be faster than rummaging through your bag.

“seven-thirty - you’ve been waiting here for more than five hours,” and just your luck, right as the words hit the air, your stomach decides to remind you of the meal you’re about to miss if you stay here any longer.

the heat rushing to your cheeks a second later is immeasurably hot, “o-oh, okay.”

clearing your throat, you ask, “so how was mother? seokjin already told me but i wanted to hear it from you that she’s okay.”

“you know how mom is - keeps saying her head hurts from the fall even though mr. ji managed to catch her halfway,” in any other circumstances, you and him would have found humor in how your mother in law’s overembellished diagnosis to gain attention from you and taehyung - but this time, it’s only one of you she wants that from.

it doesn’t stop you from chuckling though, “it sounds just like her - maybe i should make some ginseng chicken soup to help her get better... or beef seaweed, you know, her...”

swallowing the lump in your throat is a feat - and unfortunately, you’ve failed terribly as taehyung gather you his arms.

only then, do you realize you’re sobbing like a child, emotions running wild as everything comes crashing in like a storm - his mother, your family, the whole fucking tabloids that’s being written and ready to be posted in the next few hours and the fact that the marriage may have been a fraud, but the bonds you made along the way had been more than just business. mrs. kim was a mother to you as much as yours is to taehyung. there may have not been any love between you two but you cherish his family like he cherishes yours.

“i’m sorry - for causing a- a scene - for causing mother to f-faint-” you weep and weep.

in your crying fit, you barely notice the way his arms tighten just the tiniest bit as he sways you left to right gently, one hand on the back of your head caressing your hair as he whispers something along the lines of “it’s not your fault” and “we’ll figure it out together.”

and so for the nth time in your one year of marriage, you’re banding together to capture mrs. kim’s heart again. the first time you visited her with taehyung, she narrowed her eyes at you and demanded taehyung explain as to why he didn’t come alone through the very same eyes next second.

when the man pretended not to notice and even placed a hand on your lower back just as your steps faltered in a ‘i’m with you’ kind of way, she opted to stare out the window while you unpack the broth you made onto the table. the portion you poured into the bowl you brought was getting colder by the minute as you spoke to her, “mother, i made beef seaweed soup, it’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

the only indication that she was listening was the way her eyes scanned the bowl of broth in front of her and proceeded to keep them on the window until you had to leave.

and so goes your second and third visits being received with shoulders made of ice a kind of silence that never fails to make your stomach churn with a sort of nervousness you should have felt when you meet your future husband’s parents for the first time. but the first time you met mrs. kim, your chest was filled with nothing short confidence and woo her you did along with taehyung’s relatives and closed friends. at the time, you didn’t think what you were doing - fooling everyone into believing that you’re marrying each other for love - would come biting you in the ass.

if karma existed then this probably you getting what you deserved.

on your fouth visit, you’d come alone because taehyung had an urgent meeting to attend. mrs. kim spared you a once over just like a rabbit who voluntarily and follishly hopped into the lion’s den.

“mother,” you offer her a smile, “how are you feeling?”

when silence is the only response you get, you quickly rummage through the paper bag you’d brought with you, “have you eaten? i made chicken soup-”

“don’t bother,” her voice cuts through the air like a blade. eyes as piercing as spears, “sit down, i know taehyung has an urgent meeting - it’s the only way to get him off my back.”

you’re not quite sure what she means but you have an inkling that the reason her hostility has yet to reach its pique is because taehyung has been giving her subtle looks to ‘mom, be nice to my wife’.

with a nod and a smile that seems to be glued to your face, you ask, “how was the bibimbap yesterday?”

though she didn’t cut you off, her response doesn’t exactly shed hope to your efforts being paid off when she dismissively says, “i gave it to mr. ji.”

the immediate ‘oh’ that tumbles out of your mouth is purely reflexive even though you know she’s never touched the meals you packed for her. but having her admit it is a different kind of heartbreak.

“i see,” is all you can say as you feel tears prick your waterline, a lump in your throat.

“this,” she places a folder of documents she seems to have ready by her bedside into your hands and without any explanation, sends you off with, “if you have any conscience at all, you’d sign these papers and stay out of our lives. even though i never read the contract but i’m sure a smart woman such as yourself would’ve thought to include the alimony as well - you understand what i’m saying right?”

you tried to say something - anything but at that point, the look in her eye already paints a picture of you clinging onto taehyung’s wealth. and yet you still tried, “m-mother, i-...”

but no words come out and as though her point had been proven, she’d huffed out a sigh and tuned you out like she always did on your previous visits.

so you walked down the hallway with shades covering your tear stained eyes and a skip to your step that oh-so-badly wishes to break into an unceremonious run to a place where nobody knows you. where nobody looks at you with rounded eyes for the briefest moment that easily translates to mrs. kim ___, wife of kadore’s chairman who married her husband for money.

but all you can afford to do is keep your head up until you reached the bathroom door, check each stall one by one to make sure no one’s inside before you finally set down the document and your handbag on the sink. the first sob hits the air as soon as you see the woman in the reflection’s reddening eyes and smudged makeup.

it takes you several breath-holding, eyes-shutting and a couple more sobs breaking through the cracks of your walls before you can finally pat some powder onto the patch of skin under your eyes and on your cheeks where most of the damage was done. by the time you’re back in the hallway with shades darker than the night sky, you find your feet melting and becoming one with the floor at the sight of a man with jet black hair standing at the reception.

and almost as though sensing the heat of your gaze through your ray bans, the man turns around to reveal a pair of doe brown eyes and the smile you’re so used to seeing now missing in action and replaced with a straight line.

“jungkook...”

“how’d you know i’d be here?” you start once you’ve both placed an order for your drinks at the counter.

“how long are you going to keep doing this?” instead of answering your question with a real answer, jungkook heaves out a sigh, eyebrows knitting together in vexation as he fixes you with one of those ‘i’m not telling mom and dad but this is our problem now’ kind of look.

“how ever long it takes,” is all you say, reverting your gaze to the smooth surface of the table.

“are those the divorce papers?” you refuse to look at him but you know he’s burning holes inside the beige colored folder sitting underneath your handbag on the seat between you and him.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, shoulders squared as you meet his eyes through your shades, “i haven’t opened it yet.”

but jungkook being jungkook, he takes that as a bare affirmation, choosing to interrogate you on a different topic, “have you seen what people have been saying about you?"

“i don’t really care about what people say,” is all you have to offer.

“you haven’t,” he nods in conclusion, “they’re saying you can’t have enough of your husband’s money... they’re saying you’re coming here everyday to grovel over his mother’s feet to let you stay married - that’s how i know you’d be here. and judging from the looks of it, they’re not too far off.”

it takes you a good solid minute to stomach the new found information. you haven’t been checking social media because of those same exact malicious comments but that was just the beginning of a downward spiral of your reputation - you never thought your efforts and hard work of burning your fingers on hot stoves and redoing dishes to get a perfect one would be met with an assumption of groveling over mrs. kim’s feet all for your husband’s money.

“god, i need a smoke,” jungkook huffs, receiving a look from the waiter that’s setting your drinks down. only after she’s gone does he present you with another set of questions. “was he the one that paid off dad’s debts? all of them? even the loan sharks?”

“that...” you nod once, failing to keep your head high as you twirl the straw of your frappe around but don’t even take a sip, “and the money i said i had saved up and lent you to start your company,” you quickly add,“- but taehyung doesn’t care about that - he wouldn’t accept it even if you wanted to pay him back twice the amount.”

“then why are you...” it’s the way his voice breaks at the end that makes you look up only to see a man whose eyes are a little sunken and cheeks a little hollow - almost as if he hasn’t been sleeping nor eating well because of his foolish sister, “why are you letting that woman trample all over you like this? wouldn’t it be easier to just get a divorce-”

“that woman is my mother in law, jungkook. at least, practice the same level of respect you’ve been preaching about,” you speak over him - it’s funny how taehyung once stood up against the same woman you’re standing up for, for you.

when all that follows is silence, you go on. this time, in a much demurred tone, “and it’s not about letting myself get trampled over... if mom found out you lied about something and she’s acting like mother does because she’s hurt, would you just go on with your life like nothing happened?”

it takes a moment for him to register what you said before taking on a much less hostile tone though still just as firm, “___, this is your life... i don’t know what kind of ‘happy family’ delusion you’ve been living in but i’m willing to bet all my money that it’s not taehyung that gave you those papers to sign and made you cry in the bathroom stall for thirty minutes-” he throws you look, “yeah, i saw you go into the washroom after coming out of her room. i was gonna call you but you looked like you had to take a huge dump so i waited but we know that’s not the case now.”

silence lapses between you for the umpteenth time before you stubbornly announce, “i could’ve been taking a dump - you don’t know.”

the sight of jungkook’s jaw dropping and hitting the ground is laughable, if not for the fact that he’s shaking his head five seconds later. vexed. irritated, “this is getting ridiculous - we’re going home. now.”

and he doesn’t mean the penthouse that you and taehyung shares.

shooting up, his hand grasps your wrist and he would have dragged you all the way to the car if you hadn’t protested.

“jungkook, no - i’m not going anywhere,” pulling your hand back, you stand a good one head shorter in front of your brother which doesn’t do much for your cause.

“___, if not for you then do it for mom and dad - they’re getting too old to be worrying about their one and only daughter’s marriage prospect,” he tries to coax, knowing full well your heart would wither like a flower at the mention of your parents worrisome nature - especially when your business is out in the open no matter how hard you try to hide it, “and you haven’t been answering their calls either.”

“i know, i just-” before you can even finish your sentence, a flash of garnet and bridal pink catches your eyes.

“____... jungkook, i didn’t think you’d be in korea. how are you?” taehyung’s warm baritone is laced with confusion as he stares at your brother and then at you for a sort of explanation but before you can even open your mouth, jungkook’s already has his hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, “yeah, well someone’s gotta clean up the mess you started. ___’s coming back home with me - back to her real home.”

“i’m not - stop saying that and let me go,” you tug on your wrist only to wince at the pressure of his grasp, “jungkook, you’re hurting me!”

“hey, let my wife go,” taehyung takes a peaceful step forward, “we can talk ab-”

“oh no,” the laugh tumbling out of jungkook’s mouth drips with malice, “no, see, you lost your knight in shining armor privilege after you quite literally lied to our faces about how you’ll take care of my sister until ‘death do you apart’ when all it took was mommy dearest pretending to get sick while everyone labels my sister a gold-digging wh-”

you taking a step forward with a balled fist, is completely instinctive and you would say taehyung prancing towards the dark haired man with a fist that actually hits the mark, was also instinct-driven. except that he probably has better aim and his punches hurt more than yours ever would.

the first one, you admit was satisfying but when your brother ends up on the ground with your husband throwing blow after blow, you have no choice but to intervene.

“taehyung, stop!” the shriek that echoes against the walls almost burst your eardrums. you would have believed it to be mrs. kim if not for the fact that she’s nowhere in sight and you’re the one with your hands grasping onto your husband’s arms, trying to hold him back from sending blow after blow onto your brother’s half-conscious face.

“taehyung, don’t stop,” you frown, taking a seat next to him while swiping the ice bag off his lap before gently pressing it to his darkened jawline, “seokjin said to keep the ice on the bruise for at least an hour.”

“ahhh - ow - ow-!” the man whines, eyes screwed shut as his grits his teeth together but doesn’t recoil from your touch.

“maybe you should’ve thought twice about throwing a punch at a trained boxer,” you shake your head, lips curling into an inevitable smile.

after taehyung’s had a round of punches in, jungkook managed to flip them over so that he’s the one pinning the elder man down. the events that unfolded after that were the least bit pretty. the nurses and doctors attending nearby patients rushed to the two struggling men and then there’s you, shifting the shouting to your brother to “god damn it, jungkook! stop being a dick!”

it took five men - doctors and just-arrived guards alike - to pry your brother off your husband who still tried to get a punch in and was held back by seokjin who finally arrived at the scenes with half a mind to knock the both of them out as he calmly orders for jungkook to be dragged into one of those empty rooms akin to the one mrs. kim is staying at.

because taehyung was the one who started the fight, seokjin decided that an ice pack would do for the taller man whilst he treats jungkook and orders the other doctors to go back to their post.

picking up the mixture of garnet and bridal pink roses, he stares at their wilted petals for the longest moment, face painted with dejection. they must have been specifically ordered for mrs. kim-

“these are for you,” your train of thoughts halts in its track at taehyung’s words. his hand levitating midair as though unsure of whether to hand the bouquet to you or toss them away, “or were,” then he captures your gaze and you don’t think you can ever find your way out of the maze he’s able to hold you captive in with just his eyes, “you deserve fresh flowers specifically plucked from its stalk - you deserve a whole garden, actually-”

“taehyung,” your free hand covers his as if to say, “they’re lovely, thank you.” placing the ice pack down, you cup both hands around the flowers, bringing them to your nose, “and they smell wonderful - i love pink roses.”

“i know,” the tiniest smile peeks from his lips, “you told me that.”

“i did?” you blink, surprised.

“at our wedding reception, you got a little tipsy and started sobbing because the roses were blush pink and not bridal pink,” the sound of his chuckles drums in your ears like hymns just like it did a year ago.

back when you were decked in an elegant off shoulder white gown after changing out of your wedding dress. you’d stood in the sidelines while your families and friends danced to their hearts’ content to the sound of the music. white champagne in your hand, the background beginning to turn fuzzy and your thoughts began to get louder.

it didn’t help that the object of your frustrations was smack dab covering every inch of the vicinity from the gargantuan rose covered backdrop, to the tiny vases in every single table.

the sob hits the air like the first raindrop. you had to clasp your hand to your mouth as if you were about to cough to hide your mouth stretching into your crying mouth - you don’t know how to explain it but your lips tend to morph into an unshapely sight whenever you cry and covering it when you feel the waterworks coming has always been second nature. as for the tears - they were concealable because the lights were dim enough.

but then there was someone next to you - he just popped up out of nowhere really and because you were standing in the darkest corner, you couldn’t pick out any defining features besides his height but you didn’t have much time to ponder on that as his question fills your eardrums, “so, how does saying goodbye to the bachelorette life feels like?”

“it’s terrible,” you’d wept some more and he shifted on his feet slightly, as though noticing the tear in your voice but luckily for him, he didn’t even have to ask because you were spilling your innermost thoughts out loud, “they- they gave me blush pink and garnet roses- i want bridal pink and garnet roses.”

“oh,” distinctively rang in your ears among the sound of instruments and joyful laughter.

then comes another input, “i didn’t know they messed up your request,” and you didn’t know why he’d sounded like he was about to murder someone.

“yeah and,” you sniffle, “- and i didn’t wanna say anything because- because i don’t wanna be that bratty bride who picks on every little detail.”

that morning, you woke up to a box full of roses and they were the lightest shade of pink. taehyung was already awake and offered to ring up breakfast for the both of you after he’d bid you a good morning and a “something came in for you.”

the gifts were prearranged to be sent to the penthouse instead of your suite but then again, there were chocolates and champagne bottles that made past the hotel doors because of its edible nature - the roses too... their fleeting livelihood seemed like you’d enjoy them better in your hotel room than a week later after you’d come back from your honeymoon.

the card didn’t even leave initials but had ‘roses for a rose’ playfully written in cursive black ink. your heart blooms a garden but your head is what makes you search for your newly wed husband, only to see him looking at you with a tender smile - one that you thought manifested because of your own involuntary smile when you’d read the note.

“i don’t think these are for us,” you could feel the frown setting into your features, causing taehyung’s own brows to furrow.

“i think these are for... me,” and so you told a tale of a woman with ambitions rather than stars in her eyes, who felt a compulsion to at least tell the truth to her husband and the stranger whom she met at her wedding. of course, omitting the teary eyed part and the blush and bridal pink roses part.

taehyung had easily chuckled while the staff set down plates of delicacies on the round meant-for-two-people-on-a-honeymoon table, saying, “he has fine taste - they’re from halls & tara,” after the staff left.

it didn’t occur to you that the h&t initials on the top right corner of the card stood for the most well known florist in seoul until he’d pointed it out, which could only mean he’d been suspicious enough to take longer than a glance at the flowers.

“do you mind if i keep them? at least, until they’re not as fresh anymore.” you quickly added the last part.

“you can keep them in a vase and have them live longer... why? are they not the shade of pink you wanted?” he blinked once, hand halting midair as he was about to take a mouthful of pancakes.

“well- no, they’re perfect actually - i love them,” you almost stutter in your haste to explain while trying to be casual about how devastated you would be if- “it’s just that... i really didn’t know him or who he was- but he obviously knew me because it’s hard not to know the lady of the day- i’m not breaching any terms-”

it’s the way the trickles of laughter filling the otherwise silent room that got you to clamp your mouth shut. the way kim taehyung looked so ethereal and majestic in the pristine black and white setting of the room.

“i don’t mind,” he’d clarified a moment later, eyes twinkling with the remnants of laughter, “i understand why he’d want to desperately send you these if only to see you smile softly like you did - you look beautiful when you smile, by the way.”

the compliment had caught you off guard and your heart might or might not have somersaulted but if there’s anything seven years of becoming a stewardess has taught you, it was to always prepare an adequate response to every situation - and at that time, kim taehyung was infamous for his quick wits and reputation with the ladies. of course, words sweet as honey would come easy for him.

“thank you,” and so were the words of gratitude on your part as you schooled a smile and dug into the pancakes your husband made.

but sitting on the black leather couch, holding onto a similar colored bouquet, you can’t help but blurt out, “that was you? i was bawling my eyes out because of some mismanagement to my husband who didn’t even recognize?” something between a disbelieving scoff and an irony-induced laugh escapes your mouth, “why didn’t you tell me?”

taehyung’s shoulder line shakes as he shrugs, hand going up to scratch the back of his head as he drops his gaze, as if searching for the answer only to look back up into your eyes with a, “i didn’t think you’d be as happy if you knew it was me,” his gaze falters, like a bud of fear blooming behind his irises,

“why wouldn’t i be?” you blink once, not quite understanding where he’s coming from.

that is, until a small smile slips onto his lips and it’s heartbreaking to witness and even more devastating to know you’re in no place to let your arms gather him into a hug like you wish. to kiss his forehead until his worries disappear.

he twines his fingers with yours, thumbing the diamond on your fourth finger, “i’m sorry that i took away your choice to marry for love - that’s a bit corny isn’t it?” he scrunches his nose and you can’t help but giggle, “it’s not just some short term contract since we both agreed divorce is never in the equation,” neither of you believe in tainting the sanctity of marriage - no matter what cause it was founded upon - with separation, “but god, the things you’re going through right now - i promise i’ll make things right.”

taehyung’s eyes tend to appear in different shades along with his emotions - though you know it’s most probably the lighting. dark brown is for when he’s scrutinizing the hollow smiles and empty compliments he gets at functions. but sometimes you find yourself catching hazel.

like right now, as they capture yours and look at you as if you’re the only one he sees.

“taehyung...” you thought you knew what you wanted to say when you said his name but as you get lost in the midnight dessert of his eyes, you’re not sure if you can even muster so much as a squeak without falling apart.

and that’s when a knock reverberates into the air like thunder, forcing you to jolt away from the man until no part of you is touching any part of him.

“hey,” a somber voice greets as jungkook leans against the doorframe, “so they fixed me up and the chairman wants me gone in,” he looks down at his wrist, “two minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

blinking away the remnants of the emotions away, you stand up, giving the man a once over. his button up is marred with a trickle of deep red a few inches over his chest, hair matted and face sporting different stages of bruising. the bleeding’s stopped for the most part.

“you’ve definitely seen better days,” you announce, walking around the couch to get to where the man is rolling his eyes at.

“sorry for calling you the w-word,” that’s definitely wasn’t what you were expecting which prompts the belated, almost suspicion induced,“...okay.”

“i did that because i needed to confirm something,” he goes on, eyes flitting over your shoulder where you know your husband is staring right back, burning holes inside your brother’s head before he looks back at you, taking a full 180 in attiude, “and don’t worry about mom and dad - i’ll take care of them.”

it takes you a moment to digest his proclamation, all the whilst hyperly aware of the hand that makes its way on your lower back as a familiar dior scent fills your senses, “so you’re not gonna drag me home?” as though disbelieving the words that came out of your mouth, you add, “that’s all it takes? a few punches to the face?”

the twitch of his eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by you. nor does the deep breath he forces himself to take at the blatant insult and insinuation of your future boxing lessons to which he warns, “don’t get any crazy ideas,” then he turns to the man next to you, “i let you hit me - let’s get that out of the way first.”

and before either you or taehyung manage to get a word in, jungkook hand comes flying to your forehead, a loud sound of skin smacking against skin echoing throughout the room as you tumble backwards with an audible “ow- hey!”, barely noticing the much larger hand that’s covering yours. inspecting the patch of skin where jungkook just flicked.

without even an apology for the uncalled for assault, he nods at something over your head, probably taehyung, “you take care of my sister, you hear me? cause there won’t be a second time.”

and then he’s gone like the wind - you would have tracked down that wind and give him a taste of his own medicine like you did when you were children. you’d jump on his back and attempt to bite a chunk of his head if your nannies didn’t pull you apart - but right now, you couldn’t escape taehyung’s hand on your waist even if you wanted to.

“let me see,” he instructs, gently coaxing your hand to unclasp the patch of skin on your forehead so he could softly blow on it.

you stay like that, standing at the doorway with your bodies too close and taehyung refusing to unhand you until your cheeks are replaced with a different kind of heat than the anger you felt for your god forsaken brother.

“god he’s an ass - you should’ve messed up his face more,” you huff, and you don’t know why - maybe it’s the way you stomp your foot, maybe it’s the way your cheeks tend to puff when you’re feeling vindictive or maybe it’s a mystery locked in taehyung’s head that you’ll never know but his chuckles sound like hymns in your ears.

and you thought that was the end of the electrified sensation on your skin where his touch lingers until you feel a pair of the softest lips on your forehead, right where the flick was supposed to throb. a grinning taehyung looking back at you as if asking, “my nanny used to do this to me when i bump my knee against a furniture...” a flash of worry blooms in his eyes for the briefest moment before he voices his concerns, “hope the magic still works.

the sight is heartwarming. endearing even. and you can’t help smile, cheeks hot, “it does - it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

and just as you thought he’s about to release you from the torment of having your heart skip multiple beats at a time and step back, he presses another peck on your forehead. a smile gracing his features, “another one for good measure.”

it’s a surprise your legs are still holding you up with how jelly-like they’ve become.

“th-thank you.”

mrs. kim discharged herself a week after the fight but not without standing in front of the hospital with her frilly fur coat and gucci handbag while she looks at the camera and consequently straight into the screen, “i have yet received a publicly apology for what jeon jungkook did to mine by the jeons. my taehyung couldn’t even kill a fly, let alone start a fist fight-” she shivers uncontrollably as though overcome with chills, “such a barbaric, uncivilized act can only come from-”

“you’re watching that?” a smooth baritone fills the room as a figure struts in beige slacks and oversized creme sweater, “again?”

he sits on the edge the backrest of the couch, looking down at you with an expression that makes your stomach churn. with butterflies or guilt for breaking your promise to stop checking out these articles, you don’t know.

“sorry,” you mumble, placing the ipad down a few inches from your feet as you bring your legs up against your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, “worrying about how the press twists mother’s words comes from the plentiful of time i have on my hands after being sacked, i guess.”

it’s been a week since you’ve received your new schedule. to which you received a call right after to head to the headquarters in the heart of seoul only to be told that-

“___, you gotta understand, this whole fiasco going on with your family... it’s giving the airline a bad rep,” mr. bang leaned back against his recliner, his eyes hiding behind the beam of his glasses, “people are leaving bad reviews on the website that has absolutely nothing to do with our services but has everything to do with you and your husband.”

he meant the growing dissatisfaction upon the revelation of the artificiality of you and taehyung’s marriage.

nobody’s caught jungkook and taehyung in a video but there’d been witnesses and ‘sources’ affirming the two getting into a fistfight at the hospital. and so another record has been made in your long list of family drama.

“sir, please,” you could feel your eyebrows joining together from the sheer frustration and reality anchoring into the pit of your stomach, “i’ve been working for korean air -for seven years now- check my reconds,” hope blooms in your chest as you suggest the idea to your superior, “i’ve never been late, never had a customer complain about me, never made any mistakes prior to this-”

“it doesn’t matter what you did before this, ___,” he cut you off, voice heavy with emphasis.

but you weren’t backing out that easy, “please, it’s not fair to lay me off for something i have zero control in.”

at your wording, the man physically flinched, almost as though struck by a spear before he shook his head, denying your claims.

“you’re not fired,” he corrected, “you’re on paid leave... until everything calms down.”

it took everything in you not to let the frown slip onto your face. first it’s paid leave and then it a one month notice before they officially sack you - you’ve seen how this played out one too many times.

so you smiled, “with all due respect, mr. bang, how long is ‘until everything calms down’?”

the man’s shoulder line jolted as he shrugged, lower lip jutted out in a nonchalant nature, “that depends on how you choose to solve it, ___... i assume you are working on a solution, yes?”

it was a trick question. if you answered the affirmative, it’d be admitting what mrs. kim and almost everyone have been demanding - a divorce. if you answered no, then you’re as good as jobless.

“my husband and i are working on it,” was all you say.

when taehyung found out later that night - he was livid. he was a phone call away from calling up mr. ji to sue the airline for discrimination. it took you stealing his phone away and running around the penthouse until you made him promise that he’d listen to you first.

he did, and you’d wanted to wait it out and see because, “there isn’t any damage to build our ground on anyway because i’m not fired yet.”

“well, dinner’s ready ” taehyung’s soft as silk voice tears you apart from your memroies, hand levitating midair until you take it, hoisting yourself up.

taehyung pushes himself off the couch, walking on the other side with your hand in his. it’s comical but endearing all at once and you giggle at how neither of you are willing to let the other go even though you’ll have to once you reach the four-people dining table.

“thank you,” you say as you lower yourself on the seat while he pushes the chair in for you.

home cooked meals have become a norm for the both of you ever since that day taehyung punched jungkook in the face. at first, you insisted that you should be the one cooking since he was injured but he stayed with you in the kitchen and you talked about your day and reminisced about your childhood and how you similarly had nannies that forbade you from coming into the kitchen.

then there was the peck on the top of your forehead he started doing a few days ago after you were sat and before he went around the table to get to his seat that’s across from you.

“did you go shopping today?” he asks in between cutting up the steak which he stole a whole plate from you into mini slices.

“yeah, with hwasa,” you nod - the woman had been all too delighted to see you after mismatched schedules and ghostly texts because of life and work getting in the way.

“the friend from high school?” taehyung surprises you yet again as he places your plate back in front of you, this time with the pieces all cut into edible bites. you’ve never mentioned hwasa to him - but it’s not a lie that she’s your closest friend from high school who got accepted into the same training programme as you at the beginning of your career.

“thank you-” you shoot him a smile before picking up the fork and knife, “and yeah, that’s her. we haven’t seen each other for months so we kind of went a little crazy with the dresses.”

he doesn’t look up when he speaks his next words which is why you have a trouble digesting them as you involuntarily blurt out a, “sorry- what?”

“the dresses you bought,” he reiterates, an amused smile on his lips - possibly because of your almost-choked state, “- can i see them?”

“oh,” clear your throat once, sipping down the red wine before chuckling nervously, “hwasa bought dresses - didn’t.”

taehyung hums, head tilting to the side as though trying to capture your avoidant gaze, “then put on whatever you bought that i saw lying on your bed - the door was open when i passed your room.”

at that moment, to say your heart quite literally crash against the floor, would be an understatement. it takes you a minute to gather yourself, another to force out a laugh as you attempt to brush the thought of taehyung seeing the black and red laces from savage x fenty hwasa adamantly insited you get after a story time on why you decided to get married to how something has definitely shifted between you and taehyung.

but no amount of gushing and squealing about made up scenarios brewing from hwasa’s little head could prepare you for what’s happening right at this moment.

“oh those?” a chuckle, “those are aren’t even worth showing.”

and just as you thought he’ll let the matter go like he would when you dismissively mention something that he inquired about, taehyung takes a full 180, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you don’t dare delve into, “that’s for me to decide,” he takes a sip of the wine, pushing his chair back as he stands up, “i’m done,” with that, he places his plate down where geom, your mixed breen papillion and silky terrier shouts out an appreciative woof at the pleasant surprise.

patting the canine briefly, he turns to you, those clouded eyes seeping into your soul, “put them on - i’ll be waiting in my room.”

his footsteps echo against the walls as he ascends the stairs and disappears into the hallway where his room lies across from yours. it is a whole solid minute later, once you hear the door of his room click shut, that you make a beeline for the couch where your phone lies lonely.

dialing up the only person you know you can hold accountable for, you quite literally scream at the ‘hell-’ with a “hwasa, he wants me to put the lingerie on and show him!”

while your voice drips with dread, the other woman, choosing to be willfully oblivious, screams into your ears, “oh my god - oh my god. then what are you doing calling me?! go put them on!”

and that’s how you end up holding in a breath while deliberately repeating hwasa’s not so helpful pep talk of ‘you’re the hottest’ and ‘kim taehyung will be wrapped around your fingers by the end of the night!’

“but it’s been over a year - i’m not sure if i even know how to moan!” you’d protested while pull the strap of the garter around your thigh.

that was half an hour ago.

now, you’re debating on whether to knock like you would have before you started cuddling into the other while watching tv. but before that, you’d never did anything together unless it was family dinners and gatherings.

so you opt for pushing down the handle. the sharp ‘click’ being the only announcement of your entrance. taehyung’s walls are a deep shade of maroon almost black with the lights on its lowest setting. the sound of music playing in the background barely registers in your mind as you focus your attention to the figure that’s pushing himself up from his laying down position.

you resist the temptation to run and hide under the comfort your covers - an opposed response compared to your confident stride, placing one foot after the other until you stand a good two feet away from the bed and taehyung.

“what do you think?” the smile brandished over your face is nothing like your racing heart whlist you do a little twirl- but then again, you’ve always been such an actress.

“if the world were made of diamonds, i’d choose the rose before me... because you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on,” you wonder how he doesn’t even blink as those words pour out of his mouth, hand finding its way in the dip of your waist. staring. admiring.

“always the charmer,” you want to curse yourself for the unoriginal come back yet taehyung doesn’t seem to notice as he lets you push him to the bed whilst his eyes undress what little piece of clothing you have on as you crawl on top of him.

your toes curl at the sound of taehyung’s excruciatingly slow exhalation - almost as though he intends for it to caress your ears and seep into your pores before settling into the pit of your core.

the sharp charm of dior fills your senses as you place kisses on his neck, tucking his flesh between your teeth ever so gently, not expecting the delectable surprise that slips out of his mouth.

who would have thought kim taehyung was a moaner?

the giggle that trickles out of your mouth is blamelessly involuntary but catches his attention nonetheless, “what?”

“oh, nothing,” you nibble on his earlobe before whispering into his ears, “just thinking of how cute you’ll look moaning for me.”

and you’ve easily add to the long list of things you won’t forgive yourself in the morning. yet you still caress his growing size through his pants, giggling when the delicious sound hits the air for the second time.

“take it out,” he whimpers after one too many teases, “please.”

“only because you said please,” the way his chin tilts to follow your lips after you pecked them doesn’t go unnoticed by you but you clasp your hand against his chest, pinning him down with a shake of your head “uh-uh, you get up when i tell you to.”

the excruciating ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips is what truly lights up the flame in the pit of your stomach. you watch as his hand goes up to run through his hair in a sexually frustrated nature but doesn’t attempt to push himself up after that.

it only takes a few pumps for the clear fluid of precum to trickle over your hand, letting you smear all over his hardened dick and causing it to glisten underneath the luminescence of the room.

sparks shoot through your core and strike your heart into an erratic rhythm when you lower yourself over him, holding the slit of the black lace undergarment apart until he’s hitting every delicious inch inside of you.

you’ve barely even started to move when you break out into a cry, falling into his arms like a puppet whose strings got cut off. the arms around you are gentle as they hold you against him until you’ve come down from your high.

by the time you push yourself up, your knees are still trembling yet you nod when he cups your cheeks and forces you to look into those concern filled eyes, “are you good?”

“i’m fine,” the sniffle is probably the last thing you need to convince him, “i lost myself for a moment.”

this time, it’s his turn to chuckle, lips curling into a smirk, “it’s completely understandable to admit that you couldn’t hold out for more than a minute because i stretched you out so good.”

you want to protest - want to gain back the control you lost when he hit that sweet spot not even, yes, as he says, a minute into taking him in. but one single thrust right against that same exact spot and you’re whimpering in utter submission and devotion.

“that’s what i thought,” that damned smirk is the last thing you see before you succumb to his every wishes and command until you find yourself with a strong arm banded over your stomach, another arm reaching for a pillow and puffing it up before you feel yourself being gently lowered face flushed into it - the smallest gesture of tenderness that you didn’t expect to witness when you decided to tease him in the beginning.

the yelp when taehyung’s hands slip under the strap of the garter, doesn’t even manage to form fully when a moan replaces it as he yanks the garter and consequently, your ass against him, forcing you to swallow his entire length in one stroke.

“god, you’re so big,” if you were a little sober and a whole lot more conscious, you would have added that into the list of things you said that you would cringe at in the morning.

but you’re already one orgasm down in the foreseeable long list of orgasms that kim taehyung promises you as he sinks into you, moaning out your name like a holy mantra.

“i know you love it,” he agrees oh so innocently for someone who’s about to thrust into you like a godless being.

five strokes in and you’re cursing and screaming out in pleasure, hands gripping onto the duvet for dear life as you feel you convulse into a state of toe-curling euphoria. the way taehyung stops moving and trails down butterfly kisses down your back until the tensed muscles in your lower abdomen simmers down into pleasured twitches, doesn’t go by you.

“you can move now,” another sniffle, but this one has completely and irrevocably succumbed to your rawest desires.

it’s the soft chuckle and the one last peck on your left shoulder blade that has your heart stuttering. ungodly opposite to the way he moves his hips as he thrusts into you without so much as a warning - your last two orgasms were just preambles. ones out of the many that night that has you writhing and moaning in pleasure. some of which were incited by sides of you, you didn’t know existed.

the last thing you recall is taehyung gathering you in his arms like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you even in his sleep now that he’s had a taste. it’s endearing and daunting all at once. because for the first time since your marriage, you’re afraid of losing him.

a few days after that, you’re tying away on your macbook when taehyung comes home looking less like the man you knew. his hair, disheveled from having run his hand through them more than his hair gel allows. his eyes, carrying a sort of weight that latches onto him like parasites - or maybe that’s just the papparazzo that you noticed have been following you around. their numbers have decreased considerably after the rumor of taehyung hiring a team of lawyers which was no rumor at all.

it was the morning after you woke up with tingly legs barely able to function like it should and muscles sore but a sort of fullness in your chest when you noticed the man whose arms are wraped around you like a protective cocoon as he faintly snored away.

then came the muted sound of your phone from the other side of the hallway where your room door beckons you into its domain. it wasn’t as obnoxiously loud since it was at least twenty feet away and you would have ignored it and gone back to bed if not for the short interval signaling the person calling had finally reached the mailbox or hung up on their own. that was, before they hit call for the second time.

slipping out of taehyung’s arms, you trudged to your room with half a mind to give whoever this caller is a piece of your mind - god’s sake, the flashy red digits on your alarm clock stares at you at 5:23 in the morning.

“this better be good, hwasa or i swear-” before you can even finish the woman is already screaming into your ear like she’s being chased by an axe murderer.

“oh my god, oh my god - have you seen the news?!” except no woman chased by a murderer would sound this exhilarated, she went on before you could even get a “no one in their right mind would be checking the news at ass crack-” out.

“oh shoot, it’s still 5 something in korea, isn’t it?” she gasped - if you weren’t on paid leave, you’d be in hong kong, probably sharing rooms and getting tipsy in some club there, “but anyway, kadore’s chairman is suing insight, pullbbang and other websites for slander!” she shrieked.

"what?” you could feel the muscles on your face pulling into a contorted confusion but

after hanging up and telling hwasa you were going to look into the matter some more, you’d come up with multiple articles stating a similar fact as your overly enthusiastic best friend did. still in denial, you’d confronted your husband about it- he was still sleeping soundly when you strutted in and shook him up to which he confessed, eyes droopy and face puffy. the sight was so foreign to you because you were used to seeing him fresh and suited up but you’d found yourself making a little space in your heart for barely-just-woken-up-taehyung to reside in.

first came anger - you didn’t ask for him to do this, “what would everyone think if i went to you crying about a little bit of criticism for something i did do?” then came confusion because what exactly did you do that was so horrendously heineous to warrant these websites to write such malicious statements about you?

taehyung had seen every flash of emotions that pooled in your eyes and tugged on your fingers - you weren’t sure if he’d meant it but it successfully pulled you from drowning in your own thoughts, “i told you i’d make things right - these people won’t be able to say another word about you unless it’s the truth- that you’re a hardworking, amazing woman who deserves everything she has and yes,” he fixed you the most tender, sleepy smile “that includes the money i make - what’s the point of working if i can’t even provide my wife with the best?”

taehyung tosses the beige tuxedo onto the handrest of the couch adjacent to where you’re sitting with one leg up in nothing but a loose fitted sweater that hangs off your left shoulder. the half empty wine glass lies untouched on the coffee table since you’d put it down.

with a thump, he sinks himself into the leather material of the couch, hands cupping his face, as though if he rubs it hard enough, the deadset frown would go away.

before you know it, you’re padding over to the couch he’s on, hands finding their ways onto his shoulders, massaging the noticeable tension in his muscles until a grateful sigh slips out of his mouth, hand guiding your own to his lips where he presses a kiss on your knuckles.

only when you go around to take the spot next to him, hand smoothing out his hair, do you finally say, “is it the board again?”

mina has been keeping you updated on the turbulence that was caused by your fraudulent marriage being exposed. the chairman seat became taehyung by default when he got married as per his father’s will. but the board members have been vocal about abrogating his rights to succeeding kadore.

“there’s talk about votes demoting me to director,” he’s never sound so fragile - in taehyung’s long list of fluctuating interest from women and men to art and sculptures and to yatches and sports cars, kadore is probably the only thing he’s ever taken seriously.

you would know - seeing him decked in armani with soft wavy hair contrasting his strong features, weren’t your only reason for accepting his proposal of marriage. it had more to do with the way he spoke about the company. in a dimly lit room just like now, with a wine glass in his hand and the cityscape underneath that gave an illusion of stilled fireflies scattered all across the city, taehyung had spoken of his unforgivable regrets. the deals he’d let pass by. the merges he’d settled with instead of aiming higher. the brands he didn’t reach out to.

those regrets birthed fears and those fears were what made him even entertain the notion of a beneficial marriage.

or as the board likes to call it, an atrociously wickedly schemed marriage.

“they won’t have a ground to depose you to a director’s position if they can’t provide a solid reason,” you say and he blinks, clueless, hopeless.

it’s almost as if you’re facing a whole different man.

“what do you mean?”

“i’m talking about us doing what we do best,” you fix him a smile - one that probably needs a little convincing and grounding but a smile nonetheless, “we show them that the kims aren’t to be messed with,” you pause, letting the silence settle into brimming suspense before finally saying, “it’s been awhile since we’ve made a public appearance together, hasn’t it? how does lunch sound like?”

and so goes your multiple appearances in the most top notch restaurant together. the lack of chauffeur wasn’t intentional but helpful nonetheless to prove that the chairman was hopeless and irrevocably mad for his wife that he’d drive all the way to wherever she was to pick her up and then drive them to the designated restaurant instead of the convenience of meeting at said restaurant from wherever you both were prior to that.

then there was the hand holding, hip grabbing and not going a minute without smiling and giggling about what the other said. to outsiders, it would have looked as if things hadn’t been all that different - except you’d finally came out of your 1 billion doller cave after the whole ‘fiasco’ with your families. but it was the little hand kisses and forehead pecks in between taehyung making mini runs to get to your side to open your car door.

and the ‘how was your day’s and which are followed by a ‘you’re still deadset on working, huh?’s each time you told him about your in-the-work resume since you’re ‘at the risk of getting a notice of resignation any time soon’.

“what if you started your own business? i could buy a whole building in nonhyeon-dong that you could make as your headquarters?” he offers in between twirling the pasta around his fork after you insisted that- “my job is the only thing that i’ve got going on for me to prove that i’m not a gold-digger that everyone thinks i am.”

“i was thinking more like travelling from place to place like...” you shoot him a ‘you know’ smile before adding, “a cabin crew.”

“one of korean air’s biggest shareholders are letting go of her stock because her color pencil business isn’t doing so well these days,” he nods, deeply contemplative, “they’re gonna be sacking a few employees if they don’t get buyers by the next two months,” he surmises with a concluding nod to which you end up laughing and almost choking on your food.

picking up the water on your right, you quickly gulp it down before clarifying as to why you found his statement so funny that you’d risk your esophagus in the process, “no, tae,” that nickname is also one of the little things that just happens - you don’t miss the tuck in the corners of his lips when it slips off your tongue, “it’s sweet of you to want to buy me a share of the airline i’m working for but that’s the thing, it’s your money,” you reach out for his hand, smiling when he meets yours halfway.

a warm pressure engulfs your hand as he squeezes briefly, “and i told you, what’s mine is yours.”

“likewise,” you fix him a grateful smile, “but i like flying. i like being a cabin crew - on top of holding onto my job to prove people wrong, of course.”

the longest pause hovers over you like a grey clouds with taehyung’s beautiful but contemplating eyes holding you captive. as though trying to take you out part by part, trying to figure you out.

“then, what would you like me to do?” the question catches you off guard, like being hit by a wild baseball even though you’re walking right next to a baseball field, “you’ve always been so good at taking care of yourself - when you broke down in front of me... at the hospital... i didn’t know what to do-” his lips quiver just the slightest bit, almost as though holding back invisible tears, “tell me what to do. because it feels like everything i do isn’t the slightest bit helpful. ”

all of a sudden, the sands of time seem to have stopped, levitating midair within the dip of the hourglass. it’s daunting but heartbreaking at the same time - the sight of raw fear and uncertainty that’s pooling within taehyung’d eyes like unmoving river - you never knew your attempts to hold up your values reflects as a declaration of nonessential to taehyung’s own attempts to reach out to you.

“i don’t need you - to fight my battles, to solve my problems for me - though i’m immensely grateful that you did,” you say after what feels like an eternity, “but i want you so... stay as you are, supporting me like you’re doing now.”

“i don’t know if that counts as support - i’m not doing anything,” he counters, eyes downcasted until you reach out your other hand to cover his that’s already holding your left hand.

“you are - you never invalidated my feelings of wanting to work, you encouraged me to do bigger things and that means you believe in me - maybe i will take up that offer in the future but right now, i want to keep doing what i always have been,” you fix him a smile, “and i want to do it with you by my side.”

the tiniest of smile that slips onto his face tells you that his heart is still in a state of unrest. unconvinced. but he’s trying as he nods, “if that’s what you want,” and you thought that’s the end of it. until the foreshadowing “but,” that comes a second later, “i’m not gonna stop worrying and trying to fix things - we’re married, your problems are my problems too.”

the chuckle escapes your mouth signifies the good natured jest of your next words as you summon your hands back, already missing the warmth of his much larger ones around you, “well we weren’t exactly on that term until just recently.”

a shadow casts itself over taehyung’s handsome face as he picks up his fork, “that’s something i’ll regret for the rest of my life - not getting to know you beyond the contract sooner.”

“everyone makes mistakes,” you shrug before taking a peek at his expression as you mention a certain free spirited woman, “besides, you were too caught up with jeongyeon on our first year of marriage.”

she had been one of the few people who’d managed to bring out a side of taehyung you never knew existed.

boyish. bratty. someone who actually bicker and whines about the littlest things and everything that was on the opposite spectrum the crisp, suit-wearing, slicked back hair, charming man you married. sometimes, when you go out to dinners or the little moments when you find yourselves alone while attending functions, you see glimpses of that playful, boyish side of him. the human side of him.

over time, you realize that that’s also part of what makes taehyung... well, taehyung. it’s just only recently that you start seeing more than glimpses of these sides behind closed doors.

the way his eyes widen is enough for you to know that you’ve hit the nail right on its head. if the incomprehensible stuttering isn’t, “that... i was... we didn’t-”

“i know,” you fix him a jesting smile, “you may be a certified charmer for the most part but you’re not a homewrecker, tae.”

lunch goes on with you talking about how your father and brother are thrilled to have you and taehyung over for your monthly dinner. to which the man was partly confused and partly shivered in his seat at the thought of sitting down at a table with two of your favorite men in the world no doubt shooting him daggers while you’re not watching - or pretend that you don’t notice.

“i can’t avoid father forever,” he laments, finally giving into his fate as you walk out the restaurant, “and i have a lot of owning up to do to your family.”

“as do i,” you hum in agreement once before murmuring a ‘thank you’ as he holds the car door open after tipping the valet.

it’s only five minutes into the ride, once the car rolls to a stop at a red light does he turn to you, “you know, you don’t have to... with mom, reconciliation is a two way thing and she...” you notice the way his grip tightens around the wheel, eyes darkening as he breathes in, grounding himself “- she even made you file for divorce.”

the papers she’d given you that day still lied in your drawer, hidden away from taehyung’s pyromaniac hands. you’d caught him almost setting them on fire when you he found it lying on the counter after he’d returned home. all because spent a good chunk of the afternoon staring at it before leaving it to take a hot bath, not realizing taehyung would be home any time soon. ever since then, he hadn’t been on speaking terms with mrs. kim. turned down offers for dinners and luncheons, as he had directly told her in front of you through a phone call, “...not until you apologize to ___ first.”

“tae, mother was hurt by our lies and i understand why, i can’t promise i’ll be as accepting if i found out the daughter-in-law i cherished so much didn’t marry my son for love like i thought they did,” you lightly pat his hand that’s on the gear but instead he captures your fingers between his and guide them to his lips as he traps you within those beautiful eyes.

“you’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” there they are again, hazel underneath the light. but clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

but before you can even muster a word, his eyes are already focused on the road as the car propels itself forward. but he doesn’t let go of your hand. he keeps it twined with his between yours and the gear. almost as if he didn’t want to be apart from you if he could help it. and neither could did you as you rub tiny motions into the back of his hand.

in your defense, you’ve stolen a precious gem from her that no money or gold could ever replace. and no matter how much you cherish the bond that formed after hours spent on shopping, tea times and mother-daughter (in-law) vacations, you’re not kind enough to unwrap him from your little fingers.

a smile curls on your lips as you guide taehyung’s hand to yours, placing a kiss on his knuckles and watching as his own lips tuck at the corners.

you’ll just have to make it up to mother some other way.

note. if you enjoy this then please leave a comment either below or in my inbox! and check out the other members’ installments to the series filed under ‘verse’ on top!

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avid-reader12 · 3 years

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Just Focus on Him Pt 2

A continuation of this fic, also for @whataboutthebard

Prompt: near death experience

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Warnings: none

The first thing Jaskier noticed when he woke up was the smell of lavender. The second thing he noticed was how much his jaw hurt. The third was Yennefer watching him from the chair beside the bed.

Instantly awake, he tried jerking into an upright position. His lungs shouted their protest, and his wrists threatened to give out underneath him. Yennefer frowned (but at least she was fully clothed this time) but made no move to stop him.

“You’re not supposed to be awake yet. You’re not fully healed.” She leaned back as her eyes raked up and down him. She had this unique way of making him feel exposed and inadequate all while fully clothed.

“Hello to you too,” Jaskier grunted out, sitting up. Most of his body was sore, but at least nothing was broken or bleeding, and Yennefer wasn’t making any moves to get closer to him. Even having her as close as she was sent shivers of fear down his spine. He needed to find Geralt and-

Geralt.

In an instant, images flashed before his eyes, Geralt chained up, beaten over and over again, bloodied, his arm broken, forced on his knees. The panic he’d felt then returned just as fierce. He had to get to Geralt. He had to help him, help him get free, help put him back together, help defend him.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was up out of the bed, and then came to a halt. He had no idea where he was, much less where Geralt was.

“Did you not hear me? You’re not supposed to be awake yet.” Yennefer hadn’t moved a muscle. She even had the audacity to look annoyed, as if Jaskier was the one being unreasonable.

“Yes, and that doesn’t change the fact that I am, indeed, awake. Now where is Geralt? Where am I? What happened?” He looked around the room, much too big and much too opulent to be the same building they were held in. Besides, it reeked too much of lavender and Yennefer, and not enough of old wine and pain to still be the same place.

Yennefer sighed and gestured behind her. “You’re welcome by the way. Through that door.” Jaskier locked his gaze on it and started moving, ignoring the way his body cried out to crawl back in bed. “Though if you wake him, I’ll beat you myself.” Before a threat like that from a woman like her would’ve chilled him to the bone, but he had to see Geralt, had to see if he was okay.

He bust through the door as quietly as he could, to another room just as big and opulent and clearly Yennefer’s design, and his eyes zeroed in on Geralt lying on the bed. He was so still, his face still mottled black and blue and red. His ragged shirt was gone, and the bruising only got worse down his chest. Thankfully a sheet hid most of the damage, but what he saw took his breath away. He watched his chest for a few minutes just to make sure that he was still alive. He’d never seen Geralt look so pale, so broken.

“He took quite a beating,” Yennefer’s voice sounded right behind his shoulder, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Geralt. “You both did,” she added softly.

Carefully, as if one wrong step would wake him up and bring everything crashing down around them, Jaskier approached the bed and held his breath. The more he took in, the bruises, the cuts, the faster his heart beat. He’d seen Geralt rough before, from close calls on contracts, to bar fights that may or may not have been Jaskier’s fault, but he’d always been conscious and dismissive of Jaskier’s concern.

Jaskier sank down in the chair beside the bed, his body thankful for the rest. Yennefer pulled up another and sat down beside him. “Even with his witcher abilities, he’s still pretty beaten up.”

Jaskier still couldn’t take his eyes off his witcher. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I’ve got him in a healing sleep, like you were supposed to be.” He ignored the way her voice turned sour. “He just needs time and rest now. It looks worse than it is.” Geralt’s hand twitched under the blanket. Out of reflex Jaskier reached out to grab it, desperate to give whatever comfort he could. But he stopped, he didn’t want to wake him up and risk him not getting better.

“Oh, go ahead. I’ve found when he’s actually asleep it takes a lot to wake him.” Yennefer got up from her seat to go rummage through glass bottles on a nearby table. Jaskier quickly grasped Geralt’s hand in his, thankful he was still so warm. Though, Yennefer’s comment left a bitter taste in his mouth to be reminded that she had a side of Geralt that he would never see. Geralt’s hand twitched in his again, but his witcher didn’t wake.

“Who were those men and why were they after you?” The hollowness of his voice didn’t surprise him. His voice wasn’t nearly as raw or broken as it was before.

Yennefer sighed before answering. “Unsatisfied customers from long ago. They think their misfortune was my doing instead of their piss-poor choices. But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, after you were knocked unconscious, Geralt broke his chains and nearly took care of the situation before I arrived to help.” Jaskier bit his tongue. They were beaten for hours, forced to watch as the other was tortured, feared for each other’s very lives, and Yennefer acted like it was simple mistake of serving them tea instead of apple juice. Geralt lay here, unconscious, paying the price for her bad decisions. For a horrible moment, he wished she was the one lying unconscious on the bed instead of Geralt.

Thankfully Yennefer didn’t say much after that, tinkering with her potions and flitting about the room. Jaskier was sure she watched him, but he found he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He wholeheartedly blamed her for this whole situation. If it wasn’t for her, he and Geralt would be who knows where, enjoying tavern ale after a successful contract and a good night of performing. But instead, the man he loved had to heal from Melitele knows how many injuries.

He didn’t keep track of how long he sat there, didn’t pay attention to the stiffness in his muscles, just watched his witcher sleep and pray for him to wake up and tell Jaskier he was going to be fine, that he was worrying over nothing. Every time he twitched or stirred in his sleep, Jaskier braced himself. But even all his anxiety couldn’t keep him awake.

___________________________________________________________

A grunt of pain roused Jaskier from sleep, his eyes fluttering open before he even registered he was awake. “Geralt?” His head slipped off the hand he rested on, and he jerked fully awake.

And what a sight to wake up to. Geralt sat upright, propped up by pillows, bare chest on full display. The bruising and cuts had healed to barely-there green patches and thin pink lines. He breathed deeper now, and he wasn’t nearly as pale. His face was now the same color all over, nose back where it should be, and oh, would you look at that, his hand still in Jaskier’s.

A half smile graced the witcher’s face, and a look of fondness as he watched Jaskier blink a few times, just to make sure he was really seeing what he saw. That fondness was quickly replaced by shock as Jaskier shot out of his chair, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard.

Oh. Oh shit. As usual, Jaskier’s brain caught up with him just a few seconds too late. He ripped himself from Geralt, from those deliciously soft lips, and waited for the worst. Geralt’s eyes were blown wide, the molten gold just thin slivers, and the look on his face would have been comical if Jaskier hadn’t just thrown himself at the man.

“I told you he loved you,” Yennefer piped up, from the other side of the bed. In horror Jaskier turned to her. Just lovely, he had to go and throw himself at Geralt, his best friend and muse, while his lover sat right there. Could this get any worse?

“Am I dreaming?” Geralt’s voice rumbled out, still a little raw.

Yennefer actually smiled as she stood up. Surely, she was going to blast Jaskier from here to Redania. “Not anymore.” Jaskier didn’t follow where she went, he could only turn back to Geralt.

I’m still holding his hand, he realized, and let go like he’d been burned. But Geralt held on tight, staring at Jaskier just as he had in that wine cellar, as if everything in the world faded away except Jaskier.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked softly.

“I don’t know, I didn’t mean to just throw myself at you, Geralt I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me-,” Jaskier’s words started running together as the panic set in.

“Shut up,” Geralt ordered. This time it was Geralt that did the face grabbing and the kissing. Their mouths slotted together, just a bit too hard, but oh was it heaven. Jaskier had to be dead, or dreaming, because there was no way Geralt would ever kiss him, much less like this. In all his daydreams it was never like this. There was a bit of teeth, and tongue, and Melitele above where had Geralt learned to do that?

For the first time in all the years Jaskier knew Geralt, he actually shut up. He shut up, climbed up on the bed, and focused on his witcher.

#what about the bard #whump the bard #but it got fluffy at the end #near death experience #everyone lives and is okay #Witcher #Geralt #Jaskier #Yennefer #first kiss #Yen ships it #my writings

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writemekpop · 4 years

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Lipstick On Your Collar (Part 4) | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairings: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Your husband Yuta cheated on you - so you cheated on him back. Fair, right? But when he finds out, he isn’t happy at all...

Genre: Husband!Yuta, Angst

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Infidelity, Sexual Content, Body Image

Gif: @leejenos

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ⭐

“Wait! I can explain.”

You took in Yuta before you. His nostrils were flared, chest rising and falling fast, the veins in his arms bristling.

You’d never seen your husband this angry.

You gulped. “For starters, why don’t you sit down?”

Yuta just raised an eyebrow; as if.

Sighing, you began. “Look, when you told me you cheated on me… it was just so hard to forgive you.” Your teeth wared away at your lip. Yuta’s frown did not soften.

“But then I understood why. You had all the power, and I had nothing. But now, I’ve… settled the score.”

Stepping closer, you placed on hand on Yuta’s arm. You felt the muscles tense beneath your fingers. “We can move on now.”

For a taut second, you searched Yuta’s steely gaze. Every smooth plane of his body was still. Then he scowled. “And you were planning on telling me when?”

You sighed. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I forgive you. I forgive you for cheating on me.”

Yuta turned away, crossing his arms. “So, all that stuff about rebuilding trust, focusing on each other for a while… that was bullshit?”

You twisted your lip in indignation. “Everyone has their methods. Why are you even mad? You did the same to me. No. You did worse.”

When Yuta turned to you, you saw his eyes were a glistening red.

“Why am I even mad? You risk our marriage for some childish tit-for-tat… and I’m meant to be just fine, huh?” As Yuta spluttered out his frustration, you could feel your body closing down.

Any moment now, the deafening pain would fade to a low hum. You stared at the scrappy carpet you never got around to changing, waiting to blank out.

You were shocked by an iron hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t, Y/n. Don’t you dare. Don’t do that… that thing where you space out because you’re too scared to finish an argument!”

Your mouth popped open. You’d lost your escape; you were slap bang in the middle of it now.

Just then, you heard the squeak of the door opening.

Two pairs of eyes: yours, a clouded caramel, and his, a furious mahogany, closed in on your bedroom door.

A tiny figure struggled to push it open.

It was your youngest son, Nico. His chocolate doe-eyes were gluey with sleep, and he clung his Paw Patrol bed cover round him like a cape. His soft pink lip was stuck out and trembling.

“Baby… what’s the matter?” you crooned, kneeling down and clasping his tiny hands in yours.

You could feel Yuta’s stare like heat on your back, but you ignored him. Some things mattered more.

“Mummy, my head hurts… and I can’t sleep.”

You stroked Nico’s chubby pink cheek, then gasped. It was burning. When you pressed your hand to his forehead, your fears were confirmed.

“He has a fever!” You turned to ask Yuta for advice, but you stopped yourself. He was clearly not in a co-parenting mood.

“Get back into bed, sweetie. I’ll bring you some porridge, okay?” You brought your son’s hand to your lips, then sent him out the door, blanket trailing.

When you turned back to Yuta, your gentle smile was wiped from your face. In its place was blank indifference.

“I’ll deal with this.” You said. “Don’t you have that big meeting today?”

Yuta rolled his eyes. “You barely know how to cook, Y/n. You go to work; I’ll make the porridge.”

In the end, you both stayed.

In military-style commands, you split up the tasks: caring for Nico, getting your other children fed and dressed, going out to get cold medicine.

But the whole morning was filled with stifling pain.

Each time you brushed arms with Yuta reaching for the cutlery drawer, or looked each other in the eyes by accident, your heart did a little squeeze.

At long last, Nico was fast asleep in his bed, lulled by your fingers stroking his hair.

For a moment, you let yourself just stare at your son. With his thick lashes, feathers of ebony hair and toffee skin, he was the splitting image of Yuta.

It was suddenly hard to breathe, and you couldn’t understand why.

Yuta was being totally unreasonable – you knew that. Then why did your heart crack every time he gave you that cold, cold stare?

You heard a rustle behind you, and hurriedly swiped your jumper sleeve over your wet cheeks. A clean, green scent, like a forest breeze, filled the room. You didn’t even have to look. It was Yuta.

You felt him crouch down beside you.

His deep breathing filled the silence of the tiny bedroom.

Then, to your shock, warm fingers threaded through yours. Yuta’s hand was slightly rough, and the perfect size.

Yuta squeezed your hand, vice-tight, and you suddenly understood. You felt Yuta’s pain, his remorse, his love surge through your body as strong as if they were yours.

In this moment, you weren’t a husband and wife broken beyond repair. You were two parents who needed each other.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Yuta murmured.

You heard what he really meant and felt it in your own heart. If we can make something that beautiful, maybe there’s hope for us, too.

But you didn’t say that. All you said was: “He’s perfect.”

Suddenly, you were interrupted again.

Rio, your eight-year-old son, swayed through the door, holding a huge tray. On it, was an omelette and a sloshing glass of orange juice.

Feeling like you’d laugh and cry at the same time, you took the tray from your son’s hands. The omelette – if you could even call it that – was peppered with pieces of eggshell.

“It’s for Nico. Because he’s ill.” Rio’s tone was perfectly serious. You and Yuta had to chuckle at his beaming brown face.

“That’s so sweet, honey! You’re the best older brother.” You hugged Rio close, though he tried to squirm away.

“Maybe next time, leave the cooking to Mum and Dad, huh Rio?” Yuta placed a kiss on his forehead, still smiling.

Yuta looked up, and suddenly you were staring into each other’s eyes. The moment wobbled, taking you off guard.

“I’m sorry, Yuta. All I want… is for us to have a second chance.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

Yuta looked down, and your heart sunk fast.

Then, he leaned close, and whispered, “I’m sorry too. It’s my fault, I was just too proud to admit it. I do care about us,”- he stroked Rio’s hair – “all of us – enough to try again.”

Then Yuta’s hand rose, slowly, up your shoulder, making you shiver.

Then it slid around your head, and knitted into your hair.

Yuta leant down and pressed his mouth onto yours. You almost melted at the feeling of his lips, they were smooth and velvety, and his kiss was so gentle it almost made you cry.

As your lips slid against Yuta’s, they were filled with promise. This kiss was a thousand times sweeter than the morning’s, because you had nothing left to hide and everything left to give.

When he pulled away, you realised that Rio’s curious gaze was locked onto you.

“Hey!” Yuta chuckled, “Stop your ogling, son. Let’s try this omelette, shall we?”

You shared a grin with Yuta. He lifted the fork, and took a bite.

Rio’s expectant eyes shone at Yuta. “How is it, dad?”

Yuta pulled a face. “Hmm… crunchy. Just how I like it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle.

Your relationship had gotten a little sick, that was all. All you needed was a bowl of hot porridge and a hug, and maybe you and Yuta would be alright again...

---2 years later---

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Yuta’s head rested on your bare chest, and his hand was wrapped tight around your waist.

You hummed your greeting, utterly content and completely worn out from last night’s lovemaking.

For the last few weeks, you’d been constantly in the mood, and Yuta being Yuta, was more than happy to oblige.

Your marriage was in a good place. The mayhem of two years back was just a bad dream, forgotten within moments of waking.

Yuta kissed the skin between your breasts.

“You know,” he murmured. “We’ve still got a few hours before the kids wake up…” His hand slid stealthily between your legs.

You curled your fingers into his feathery hair, then a revolting wave of sickness rushed over you.

You shoved Yuta off you. “I’m gonna be sick!”

You jumped out of bed and dashed into the bathroom, reaching the sink just in time.

“You okay babe?” Yuta meandered into the bathroom behind you, not bothering to put on any clothes.

You stared at him, heart racing.

His eyes rested on your thighs, your tummy, then your face.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Y/n… does this mean what I think it means?”

You smiled back tentatively. “A fourth kid… are we crazy?”

A large grin erupted onto Yuta’s handsome face. He walked towards you and pulled you into his arms.

“Crazy in love, more like!”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ⭐

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judejynerso · 3 years

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Geralt x Jaskier ficrecs

MY FAVORITES

Title: Woodash and iron and leather Rating: E Word Count: 9,874 Summary: Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear.

Title: With a Conquering Air Rating: E Word Count: 27,880 Summary: From the kinkmeme: AU Warlord!Geralt receives Tribute!Jaskier as a sacrifice to appease him in every way possible. Jaskier has no choice on the matter and he’s fully aware of the awful rumours that have spread about Geralt and his ruthless conquests. (But we all know those aren’t legit.) A classic angst with a happy ending please! A dash of smut to heal those scars and a sprinkle of new found love!Jaskier arrives at Kaer Morhen knowing his family gave him up without a second thought, and absolutely sure that the dreaded Warlord of the North will value him even less than his own blood did. But the White Wolf and his pack are not what Jaskier expected...and if he's unreasonably lucky, Kaer Morhen might become far more of a home than Lettenhove ever was.

Title: home is nowhere, therefore you Rating: E Word Count: 18,134 Summary: "Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

Title: The Witcher Wolf Rating: T Word Count: 11,448 Summary: It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s...Inspired by @kayivy's lovely art on tumblr.

Title: A Dandelion By Any Other Name Rating: G Word Count: 3,745 Summary: Jaskier is throwing up flowers and refuses to tell Geralt who has afflicted him so. As Geralt grapples with Jaskier's impending death, he comes to terms with a few things himself.//“Who’s the unlucky woman?” Geralt asks, stepping into the firelight. Jaskier starts, dandelions spilling from his hands. He hastily brushes them away. “Gods, Geralt, must you always sneak up on me? This is why you have an image problem, you know. Don’t get me wrong, the whole tall, dark, and murderous vibe is fantastic -- really brings out the color of your eyes -- but the skulking tips you firmly into the realm of, well, somewhat unhinged.” Geralt only glares at Jaskier, waiting for him to tire himself out, and sets about roasting the fowl.“Anyway, killing my beloved won’t cure me,” Jaskier continues blithely, “so don’t even think about it. Not all problems can be solved by whacking away at them with those oversized butter knives you carry around.” He settles cross-legged next to the fire with his lute balanced across his knees and strums a few chords.

Title: Weak, My Love, and I Am Wanting Rating: T Word Count: 2,443 Summary: Jaskier has written a lot of ballads about some woman who has stolen his heart. The thing is, he's been on the road with Geralt for the past month. He hasn't had any time to court a woman, much less have his heart broken by her. So who is this woman? The answer may shock you.//“There’s no lady,” Geralt says.Jaskier trails off. “Well, of course not,” he says instead. “I imagine a woman would take grave offense to the frequency with which we give our patronage to brothels, not to mention your unseemly habit of bathing in monster blood and other revolting gunk.” He wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps I should write an ode to your masterful powers of observation next.”“But you were talking about a woman tonight,” Geralt continues, ignoring Jaskier entirely.

Title: The Sweetest Poison Rating: M Word Count: 5,630 Summary: “And what do you want in return? Your freedom? Your safety?”Jaskier didn’t flinch from her scorn and Geralt could see his knuckles go white with the force of his grip around the small vial. “Save him.”The mage stared at him for a beat before letting out a burst of laughter that echoed off the wall like the flutter of vultures wings. “All this trouble for the Witcher?” she asked incredulously, “Tell me, boy, do you really think he would do the same for you? That he cares at all what happens to the bard who follows after him like a lost puppy?” She stepped forward, confident as a soldier preparing his death blow. “Oh, I know who you are, bard. I watched you trailing after the Witcher, eager for every scrap of affection or interest he’ll toss your way. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”Jaskier was breathing heavily now, jaw clenched tight enough that Geralt could see the muscles fluttering with effort.“Were you hoping this ill-conceived rescue mission would be enough to make him finally notice you?” she murmured with a mocking smile, “Poor little bard--always singing of love but never truly experiencing it.”

Title: live to tell Rating: E Word Count: 4,320 Summary: After what'd happened the first time Jaskier had dragged Geralt to some kind of royal ball as his bodyguard, Geralt really should’ve known better than to agree to do it a second time.

Title: unexpected outcomes; Rating: E Word Count: 3,225 Summary: "Get up here," he said like it was no big deal. Jaskier opened his mouth, closed it. "What?" he said eventually."You're obviously not going to be able to sleep down there," Geralt said. "The bed is big enough for two."/Geralt and Jaskier share a bed. Chaos ensues.

Title: A Blessing, A Curse Rating: E Word Count: 12,672 Summary: "For a while, Jaskier doesn’t know he’s cursed. It feels like free will, going back down that mountain, just as dangerous down as the way up, and alone this time, too. The descent is fast, maybe even reckless, but Jaskier’s feeling numb and out-of-sorts anyways, Geralt’s words simmering in his mind, and at the time it doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled on by anything but his own desire to get away."Based off a post that Geralt's words on the mountain are granted by the djinn.

ART IS BY DARIA

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier ficrec #ficrec list

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thespoonisvictory · 3 years

Note

Hamilton Hot Take: A Hamilton that kept in the deleted songs and workshop versions tell a superior story (So Broadway vs Off-Broadway version). And, no, I’m not just talking about Congratulations (although that one should’ve also been kept).

A significant part of Hamilton’s narrative focuses on the relationship between Burr and Hamilton. From the beginning, their ideologies and the way they get ahead are completely different. Burr keeps his true opinions and thoughts close to his chest. He never reveals anymore than what will make him most agreeable to others. His persona is one of inoffensively likable. Hamilton is quite the opposite. He is never indecisive, always shooting off his own opinions. He takes risks in order to grab at better opportunities, but often this leads him to gathering more enemies. And despite these differences, Hamilton and Burr remain good friends who have a lot of mutual respect (and envy) of one another.

Until the second act that is. And the second act is also unfortunately where things start getting cut and rewritten.

As the dsmp fandom would put it, Broadway A. Hamilton is made “smooth” compared to his original counterpart. He’s much calmer and more reasonable. He’s pride and short temper have been stripped away. And Burr, in comparison, is stripped of much of his more sympathetic traits. Aside from Dear Theodosisa (Reprise) and really any mention of his family being entirely cut, he’s made to be far more malicious and villainous in other songs, compared to their original lyrics.

Take for example, Schuyler Defeated. Both versions start on Eliza and Philip finding out about Eliza’s father being challenged for his seat in the senate. In the Broadway version, Eliza is very unconcerned with this development and she and Philip leave the song as quickly as they entered, happy to go and meet the new senator. The original, in contrast, starts out with a panicked Eliza, desperate to find Alexander because she knows exactly how he’ll take this. Hamilton’s characterization also vastly changes depending on the version. Broadway Hamilton is very calm, innocently asking about Burr’s change in party affiliation. Meanwhile, og Hamilton comes out swinging, already furious, he demands to know when Burr changed parties. Hamilton is far more personally offended in this version, framing Burr running against Schuyler as an attempt to “make a fool of [him],” compared to to the Broadway version where he seems more offended on behalf of his father-in-law. The only thing that stops Hamilton from doing anything stupid for what is essentially just running for senate AND not the personal attack Hamilton views it as, is Eliza and, later in the deleted song “Let It Go,” Washington talking him down from it.

Another example is the Broadway vs original versions of “Your Obedient Servant.” The Broadway version is undoubtedly framed in a deeply negative light. He is furious, unable to understand Hamilton’s support of Jefferson, viewing it as an attempt to keep him from winning, as something done to spite Burr specifically. Meanwhile, the original Burr is more calm in level headed in explaining his feelings. In both versions, Burd makes accusations towards Hamilton. In the original, he backs up his claims with a source in the form of a private letter sent in confidant, while Broadway Burr makes accusations of Hamilton calling him “amoral [and] a dangerous disgrace,” which is never said by Hamilton anywhere and has no basis. This combined with Burr already suggestion they can name a time and place I’d they have a disagreement, makes Burr come across as far more petty and eager to start a fight. Faced with accusation with no basis, Broadway Hamilton responds fairly reasonably, saying he would need to sight a specific source for him to be able to disavow those words, and provides his own list of disagreements with. Original Hamilton, however, is very flippant of the accusations, being incredibly petulant in denying Burr’s accusations, mocking the wording of them. And yes, while both Burr’s escalate the conversations to threats, the Hamilton’s responses show just how different these versions. Broadway Hamilton stands by what he says and defending himself by saying that everything he said is true and that Burr stands for nothing. Which is completely true, so Burr then challenging Hamilton to a duel makes Burr seem unreasonable and angry that Hamilton pointed out how his own ideology screwed him over. While original Hamilton makes the whole disagreement incredibly personal, for no reason, bringing up Burr’s dead wife to mock him. It’s only then that Burr challenges Hamilton to a duel, to which Hamilton agrees to almost immediately, showing how rash the original Hamilton is, compared to the Broadway version who thinks the challenge over for a few seconds before agreeing.

And finally, “Ten Things, One Things,” really shows how far their friendship and understanding of each other has fallen off. Burr’s perspective shows how much he wants Hamilton to apologize and back down from the duel, only realizing at the 8th count that this is a serious duel, and Hamilton won’t be backing down. Meanwhile Hamilton goes into the duel considering the possibility they might die, but as the counting continues he becomes more and more convinced he and Burr will survive. He is specifically is assured of this by realizing it’s not in Burr’s political interests to kill him. While Hamilton scrutizes the area, Burr’s own fear and paranoia takes hold, convinced Hamilton will shoot, Burr resolves to kill Hamilton first, so his daughter will not orphaned. All the while, is so assured of his safety that he starts to think about going to back to his house to see Eliza awaken. Neither one of them are able to fathom the possibility of the other outside of the image they’ve created of each other. Hamilton cannot see a Burr that wouldn’t wait, and Burr cannot see a Hamilton who would throw away his shot.

Far more emphasize is placed on Hamilton’s violent anger in the original, while in the Broadway version this is lost and Burr is pained more as the unreasonable instigator in their deteriorating friendship, when the original makes it so much more complicated than that. Broadway is so much more Black and White in the story it tells, where the villain Burr shoots our hero Hamilton, rather than the far more interesting story of a friendship between two men based on mutual respect, admiration, and envy and how that friendship ultimately changed both until they could no longer understand each other and how that inability to see how the other had changed, led to their ultimate falling out in the form of final duel.

I’m not saying the workshop versions of songs are better musically (I know jack shit about music) but they make Hamilton’s characterization and relationship with Burr so much richer and that’s why the story they tell is so much better to me.

TLDR; Hamilton is less of bitch in the Broadway version and it makes me >:(

I hope this makes sense, I started to ramble

^^^

god damn this is so good idk what to do with this other than nod and tell you to run my blog for me

also- this reminds me of what happened to off broadway orpheus vs live broadway orpheos, bc ob!orpheus is a self confident bitch who was charismatic and funny and I like him so much, and b!orpheus is a awkward little rat creature who doesn't make as much sense both as a character and in the narrative. he got smoothed

#asks #spoon talks musicals #I could talk a lot about the orpheus comparison

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justasparkwritings · 4 years

Text

Peace: Clowns to the West

Previous: Would It Be Enough?

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse/manipulation, Mentions of rehab, Scandals, Mention of fighting

Summary: Across the globe, Big Hit grapples with Jungkook’s outburst.

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift

This is officially the last chapter of peace. Mirrorball follows. Illicit Affairs precedes.

Peace Master List

“We can’t make them break up,” Mr. Cho, a Big Hit lawyer, told Bang and Sejin.

“Why not?” Bang asked.

“Both sides signed an agreement.” Ms. Lee, a second lawyer, reminded them.

“It’s in his contract, they have to remain secret,” Bang responded.

“They’ve been together almost three years and they’ve never had a slip up,” Mr. Yang said.

“This isn’t a slip up! This is a total disregard for decorum! For rules! For boundaries!” Bang yelled, voice echoing against the walls of the conference room.

“Do we know why Jungkook punched him?” Sejin inquired.

“Not yet,” Mr. Cho answered, eyes moving to Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang, conferring in silent glances.

“His hand is okay though,” Ms. Lee responded. “We got confirmation.”

“Good, who is posting it?” Mr. Yang asked.

“A few tweets have surfaced, no one on Weverse has said anything, and it doesn’t seem to be sold to anyone, yet,” Ms. Cho informed them. Her spectacled eyes stayed glued on her screen as she fielded emails, tweets and Weverse posts, mining for a hint that anyone knew what transpired.

“Do we have the name?” Bang wanted to know.

“We’re working on it, the lawyers in LA are fighting the clock to get the footage and receipts from the restaurant so we can narrow it down, we’ve got a team working on tracing him,” Mr. Cho said.

Mr. Cho, Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang had worked for Big Hit for all of three years. They had joined when Namjoon had led the insurrection, when BTS had demanded new contracts and lawyers that worked for the good of everyone, not only the executives of Big Hit. They worked closely with the band, fought for them, protected their rights and stood by them when Bang and Co were unreasonable. They had combed through the agency, ridding it of lawyers whose integrity was compromised, whose morals allowed them to turn a blind eye when discussions of what had happened to Jungkook occurred. They were poison, and Cho, Lee and Yang were resolute in their decisions to rid the company of them.

“The LA lawyers are arguing it was a hate crime, the man attacked first and Jungkook defended himself and y/n,” Mr. Yang said.

“No one knows about his fight with Namjoon, do they?” Sejin inquired.

“It’s been three years, sir, if someone knows, they would’ve sold it by now,” Ms. Lee told him.

“This cannot get out.” Bang reiterated.

“What if it does?” Sejin questioned.

“Jungkook pays for having it scrubbed from the web,” Bang responded quickly.

“What will ARMY say?” Sejin pushed. The ever-present fear, the thorn in their side, what would ARMY do?

“They’ll be livid,” Bang responded, looking at Sejin.

“Angry at the person who assaulted Jungkook, or Jungkook for having a secret relationship?” Sejin asked.

“Both, they want Jungkook for themselves. Not only is he in a committed relationship, which he has lied about for nearly three years, but he met her when he was sent to rehab, and he’s punching men over her,” Bang ticked off each reason on his chubby fingers, not pausing when Sejin wanted to interrupt. “They’ll find the man and harass him until the day he dies.”

“Are they closer to getting married?” Ms. Lee interrupted.

“We should ask,” Sejin said.

“We asked when Jungkook came to us the first time,” Bang reminded him.

“He didn’t have an answer,” Sejin shrugged.

“He specifically asked that he be given the chance to see where it could go,” Mr. Cho had pulled up the initial agreement, signed years ago, never amended.

“They’d already been dating for six months at that point,” Mr. Yang said.

“He was too good at hiding it,” Bang whispered, eyes drifting from Sejin to the pictures that lined the office, images from concerts, award shows, when they received their medals and spoke at the UN. Images of their accomplishments, of their status, of their power.

“Namjoon told him he had to tell us,” Sejin spoke softly, pulling Bang from his reverie.

“They gave us answers to our questions,” Bang responded, voice still soft.

”I’ve never met a woman so angry before,” Mr. Cho said laughing.

“She was rightfully angry with us,” Sejin stated.

Bang’s eyes grew wide, creases in his forehead appearing as his glare bored into Sejin, “She nearly tore them apart.”

“We nearly tore them apart” Sejin corrected.

“We?” Bang’s voice had gone from a docile whisper to a yell, a change in decibels that surprised Sejin.

“We asked Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon to ask those questions. We gave them the list, we told them when they had to do it. We manipulated Jungkook for years. We have nearly torn them apart so many times, it’s a miracle they are standing.” Sejin was fuming, the total disregard for their behavior sickened him. He hated the way Bang ignored their actions, hoping no one would notice if they were quiet about it. They signed the bands new contracts, they agreed to allow Jungkook to date and ease up on their restrictions. They made plans to be better and now, with Jungkook hurting, they were discussing the possibility of hurting him again.

“And out of the ashes, Jungkook’s relationship,” Mr. Yang replied.

“Out of the ashes, Jungkook rises, again and again,” Sejin corrected.

“They came back with nothing,” Bang repeated.

“Disdain and anger,” Again Sejin corrected Bang’s revisionist memory. “They felt that before they spoke with her.”

“They’ve done a good job keeping their relationship quiet. Can’t we extend them a little grace?” Ms. Lee said, bringing the men back to the conversation at hand.

“No, they signed a contract,” Bang snapped.

“It was self-defense,” Mr. Yang reminded him.

“No one will care,” Bang said.

“They’ll want her name, how long they’ve been together, how they got together,” Mr. Cho listed the questions they too had asked.

“We tell them that Jungkook met her on contract mandated anger management and rehab? That we sent him to an outpatient treatment on the ruse of working on music and choreography in LA, when he was really in therapy because of the decade of abuse he endured at our hands?” Sejin countered Mr. Cho, angered that they continued to gloss over these inalienable truths.

“Don’t forget that Namjoon went out there too,” Mr. Yang added.

“Yoongi and Seokjin as well,” Ms. Lee aforementioned.

“They met at a restaurant by chance, that part is true,” Mr. Cho took a sip of his water, tired from the hours long meeting.

“While he was in rehab,” Mr. Yang amended.

“That we drove him to,” Sejin interjected. Unlike Bang, he kept his fury under the surface, simmering, bursts of steam the only sign that he was angered.

“Or that our agreement stated if he attended treatment, he could date,” Mr. Cho shrugged, tossing back a few aspirin with his water.

“Him and Namjoon, two relationships,” Bang muttered.

“Both Americans,” Sejin added.

“It’s less of a headache, less to hide,” Bang stated.

“How long until the rest come knocking?” Sejin asked.

“We’ll have to deal with their, sexualities,” Mr. Yang reminded them.

“They can’t be gay and a pop star,” Bang scoffed.

“They can in almost every other country in the world,” Ms. Lee told them. She had been a lawyer in Korea for years, and never had she been so conflicted about the integrity of her career as she was working for Big Hit.

“They can’t leave us, do we have enough to stand upon?” Bang’s mind was moving to the worst-case scenario, Jungkook breaking his contract, the other six following. They were a unit, they were a team, they couldn’t stand without each other. They didn’t have to, and they never wanted to.

“Financially? Yes, for a while,” Mr. Yang answered.

“But what will our name mean?” Sejin pondered aloud, “Our legacy if the seven of them decide either after their next negotiations, after service, or before, that they don’t want to be represented by an organization that denies them love, relationships, a family?”

“We follow the same policies as every other agency,” Bang said.

“Yes, but do they have as much power and clout as we do?” Sejin questioned. “Who will we be if we don’t let them date who they want, love who they want, marry who they want?”

“Page Six,” Ms. Lee called.

“Who?” Bang asked, temper rising.

“Page Six and TMZ, they’ve got it,” Ms. Lee clarified.

“Get it down!” Bang roared.

“What if they won’t?” Mr. Yang asked.

Bang took a deep breath, regaining his composure before he spoke, “No amount of money is too much.”

“How much is Jungkook willing to pay?” Mr. Cho inquired.

“Call and -

“Don’t call, get it down and we can negotiate with him later,” Bang instructed.

“They’ve got video,” Ms. Lee told them.

“Video!” Bang and Sejin yelled.

“Let me see it, now!” Bang roared.

The video was tossed on the screen, and in grainy footage, they could see the man approach you. They could see him grab you, Jungkook telling him to back off. In fuzzy audio they heard bits and pieces of the various slurs and they watched as you and Jungkook froze before his fist collided. The video was coupled with dozens of bad photos, none miraculously, capturing his tattoos. In the rush to leave the bar, there was a single instant, a moment, where the undercut can be seen, the earrings flash, a slight blur of ink, and a side profile that looks almost, almost, like Jungkook flashes across the screen.

The team sat, clicking through the photos, watching the video over and over. For what it’s worth, and it’s worth a lot, you never yell his name. You never identified the man you’re with, and other than a blur of skin, your face couldn’t be made out. The only thing that was obvious was the man spewing hate. His volume louder than anyone else’s.

It’s in the moments of watching the video over and over, looping the audio, sending it to engineers to enhance, that more photos began popping up, better quality, videos with clear shots of Jungkook’s face.

Bang and Sejin are on the phone with lawyers and conglomerates, trying to pay by the hundred thousand, reaching out to their already made contacts in hopes of stopping this.

They could barely admit it, but they were scared.

Scared of ARMY’s reaction.

Scared of what this means for Namjoon and the others.

Scared for the safety of you and Jungkook.

Scared their stocks will tank.

Scared that BTS will walk.

Scared that their lies and manipulation will come to light.

Scared that hate speech and racial slurs will spill out from the dark corners they’ve been hiding.

Scared of the power they created.

Scared of the dynamic they were breathing in.

But more than that, they’re scared that they have, again, in an attempt to control him, given Jungkook too much.

It never matters what Big Hit has taken from him. Only what he’s given, and the promise of more in the future. A scandal of this size, a hidden lover, unsure if Jungkook would do anything to stop it, was enough for them to pay extra to have teams monitor for the next several hours, weeks, even months to ensure it doesn’t get out. It’s enough for them to put Jungkook on stricter orders, to attempt to amend his contract, to attempt to cage him in. They’ve got him on his tiptoes, spinning, shining for them with the threat of shattering looming above them all.

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 2 - Part Two

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for the Season 2 main storyline, which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Be sure to read Part 1 first!

Things get intense after Lu Yi discovers that a particular STF member didn’t participate in the investigation of MC’s company, and had touched the case of drugs when his teammate brought it back

That STF member’s Evol is swapping objects. Keep this in mind IT’S VERY IMPORTANT.

How his Evol works: He needs to touch two objects. The item he touches the second time can then be switched with the first

Gavin is wary that the suspect might swap himself with another STF member, so they decide not to engage in any large scale action

Gavin: Tang Chao. As arranged, let MC leave this place safely. MC, I’ll look for you later.

MC understands that this is STF territory, so she agrees to leave

The STF member who leads her out is wearing a mask and is really shady...

While MC follows behind the shady STF member, the cogs in her brain start whirring: How could the culprit verify that the drugs were real or fake if he wasn’t at the investigation? -> What if there were two people?!

She prepares to press the earpiece to talk to Gavin, but hears his voice:

Gavin: MC, get away from that person! He’s F-45!

In the earpiece and behind me, I can vaguely hear the sound of explosions.

My feet halt. After hesitating for a second, I run in the direction where we came from.

He knew he’d definitely be discovered by Lu Yi, and so made a switch beforehand!

F-45 touches her and she gets swapped with F-45′s partner to view THIS MAGNIFICENT SIGHT:

In the next second, I see the cold muzzle of Gavin’s gun. Cold light is on his face, and it’s filled with austerity.

A startled expression flashes across his face for a moment, and his eyes widen slightly.

But the sharp bullet is already flying in my direction, and time seems to stand still.

The whistling of the bullet is the only sound remaining in the world.

The fired bullet continuously draws closer to me, as though it’d split my head apart in the next instant.

I know that F-45 has switched us. He must have touched his partner in order to carry out this plan.

To let me die here.

All the truths will be silenced with my death.

I know I can’t be faster than the bullet, but I still grit my teeth, wanting to turn my head to the side.

I’ll never give up struggling. I’ll not just die here!

A violent wind whips up instantly.

Gavin: Get down!

Gavin’s eyes are stricken with terror. He stretches out his palm, green veins popping out on his forehead.

The frigid wind is mixed with an abnormal darkness, but all its strength is accurately and quickly concentrated at the front of the bullet.

The gale is at the fore of the bullet, as though they are engaging in a sharp confrontation.

The speed of the bullet is too fast, and it spins rapidly in the small windstorm.

In the next second, I see a strange figure behind Gavin.

MC: Gavin! Behind you!

The gale is next to me. In the windstorm, the bullet continues spinning fiercely.

Gavin lifts his hand, and the bullet flies off in the same direction.

It brushes the side of Gavin’s face lightly, hitting the person behind him.

F-45: Ah!!

In the next moment, F-45 touches himself. A small police emblem is swapped with where he stood previously.

Gavin protects me from the front, glaring at the STF emblem on the ground. His icy gaze is fixed on the two people.

The bullet had hit F-45′s thigh. The other culprit hits the emergency button.

MC and Gavin get trapped behind metal grilles while the culprits run off

Lu Yi speaks to them via the earpiece and identifies the other culprit, U-2, who joined STF 10 years ago. His Evol is creating explosions

U-2 uses his boom boom powers to destroy the cameras

While dramatic music ensues in the background, this happens:

MC: Gavin, can we break the glass behind us to escape?

Gavin: It’s a wall.

MC: Huh?

Gavin: It’s a projection. To beautify the environment.

Even under such circumstances, Gavin explains things to me seriously. It makes me feel like laughing.

I look at the two traitors, and my worry suddenly turns to ease.

MC: What should we do next?

Gavin: Protect yourself. Then, trust me.

He doesn’t turn his head, but his tone is specially slowed down and made tender for me. At the same time, a fierce wind whips up in our surroundings.

The sparks in the man’s hands flicker. Behind him are surveillance cameras set ablaze and knocked to the ground.

I look at Gavin, who has had his shoulders straightened all this while, and I feel vaguely uneasy.

Is Gavin still afraid of fire?

The bright blood red colours flood Gavin’s eyes. He clenches his tense fingers slowly, his entire body seeming to react more slowly than usual.

As U-2 moves his palms, explosions ignite all around us. Broken circuits sizzle with electricity. Together with the crackling sparks, they create raging flames.

??: Save mum! I beg you to save mum!

??: It’s not that I’m standing idly by. You’re too incompetent. You lack the ability to save your mother! From the start, you shouldn’t have been born. You’re the biggest flaw in my entire life!

The monstrous flames shroud his mother’s expression of despair, and Gavin’s own powerless cries for help.

A similar image suddenly surfaces in his mind, overlapping with a small voice, as though reminding him of his powerlessness.

He is unable to register the scalding sensation in his fingers. From that day onwards, something had changed.

It’s just like wanting to write an important letter on a drenched sheet of paper. No matter how much hard he tries, the writing will always be hazy and unclear.

He shifts backwards unsteadily, stepping against the tip of the girl’s shoe.

The girl’s soft and gentle fingers pause on his back, causing his shoulders to tremble slightly.

He turns his head to look at her face. The light in her eyes are crystal clear, without a trace of fear in them.

She grips his slightly trembling palm gently, giving him a smile filled with confidence.

Just like her unreasonable smile on that rainy day.

His fingers gradually regain their warmth. The explosions outside the wind-constructed wall become even more violent.

U-2: Are you going to keep hiding?

Gavin blinks slowly, his eyes flickering with light from the flames. But this time, there isn’t just fear in them.

Behind him, there’s someone he needs to protect.

In his fiery orbs, Gavin seems to see that tiny him.

There are scars all over his body, deep unwillingness and sorrow in his eyes. Tears are streaming down his face as he walks towards himself.

When he walks to his side, Gavin tousles his head gently. Their profiles intersect. But this time, he walks in the direction of the fire.

Who exactly should decide one’s value?

He steps onto the ground resolutely, looking at the man and the reckless flames, no longer retreating.

Gavin knows that this blood red colour will still be his nightmare, but she will be behind him.

Which is why he will not back down.

And this nightmare - someday, it will welcome the dawn.

Even though he can’t answer that question right now, his existence is definitely not defined by other people.

The value of this existence - he will find it himself, and will prove that he has never been a flaw!

The incisive and limpid wind courses through countless sparks, channelling even bigger flames.

The man didn’t seem to expect that the fire would grow this ferocious. He lifts his arm and retreats slightly.

At this moment, Gavin breaks through the light.

He crosses the wall of fire, one leg kicking the man onto the ground, using one leg to kneel on his back.

Without turning his head, he immediately lifts his gun, firing it behind him.

The bullet barely brushes past F-45′s finger just as he lifts it up.

Gavin: Don’t move.

Wind brushes Gavin’s hair lightly. He handcuffs the man steadily.

The man is on the ground. While he struggles, a faint branding of a snake appears on the back of his neck.

The guy suddenly spits out blood and smiles ferociously at Gavin

Gavin realises what he’s about to do and INSTANTLY LUNGES THROUGH THE LARGE FIRE TOWARDS MC T-T

The guy smashes his head on the ground, causing a gigantic explosion

In the midst of the fire, MC is surrounded by a gentle wall of wind T-T

Gavin is panting slightly, his left arm leaning against the wall of wind, looking as though he’s fine.

MC: Gavin...

Gavin: I’m fine, it’s just a small wound.

Just as I plan to lean over to take a careful look at his wound, I hear soft choking noises from afar off.

F-45 is still alive!

Gavin is prepared to stand up, but MC stops him by pressing on his shoulder, and it’s hinted that it’s coated with blood T-T

She says she’ll bring F-45 over. Despite Gavin saying she can’t carry him, he still lets her go, using his Evol to pave a small path for her amid the flames

I turn my head to look at Gavin. The corners of his lips are lifted. His head is turned to the side, the light of the fire rippling slowly in his eyes, clear and resolute.

Gavin: Go carry him.

MC manages to get to F-45, but he’s on the verge of dying so she reads his memories:

There’s a little girl crying and telling F-45 about the class president who keeps bullying her. F-45 says he’ll fetch her from school from then onwards so no one would dare to bully her

In the next image, MC sees a dark hall. Someone speaks: “The existence of Evolvers was a mistake. They will only increase the despair in this world. They shouldn't have appeared in this world. We are Gray Rhino. We will get rid of Evol, for the future of humanity.”

F-45 is in the crowd, and everyone has a snake branded on different parts of their bodies

The next image: The warehouse transaction, and a face she can’t see clearly, though he has a mocking look in his eyes

The images vanish. F-45 is dead.

My hand trembles uncontrollably as I shut his eyes gently.

Gavin: MC.

In my blurry vision, Gavin stretches out his palm.

I walk to his side slowly, and he pats the top of my head gently.

Gavin: This isn’t your fault.

Feeling awful, I nod, knowing clearly that now isn’t the time to be despondent.

What I can do is remember the anger I'm experiencing right now.

She tells Gavin what she saw, and Gavin explains that Gray Rhino is an organisation which is against the existence of Evol, consisting of normal citizens and victims of Evol

STF has been investigating them, but didn't expect them to be related to the drugs

MC notices that Gavin is sounding very fatigued, and realises he’s been concealing his back from her

The fabric on his back has long since been scorched by the flames, revealing his skin which is gradually oozing droplets of blood. The shocking large patch of red seems to emanate heat from the flames.

Simply looking at it tugs at the nerves which perceive pain.

Even though he quickly blocked off that man’s explosion, the violent explosion still completely lashed at his back.

All of the wind was encasing me, leaving only a little for himself.

Because he still used his Evol in his injured state, his wound has been exacerbated.

Waves of heat continuously rise up my chest. I grit my teeth and look at Gavin, who’s putting on a brave front.

He looks as though it doesn’t bother him, coolly and clumsily preventing his wound from getting lapped by the flames.

MC: Gavin you big fool! What do you mean by “small wound”!! You lied to me!

Gavin: [weakly] This isn’t life-threatening...

I don’t feel like talking, and only glare at him harshly.

He seems to realise something from the way I’m staring at him. He lowers his eyes, somewhat at a loss as he places his hand on the back of his neck.

Gavin: [hisses in pain]

MC: Don’t touch your wound!

I hurriedly pull on Gavin’s hand, but he unfurls his hand and grips onto mine tightly.

Gavin: Don’t be mad. Talk to me.

An unsuppressed fatigue is in his eyes. I end up reluctantly setting aside my pique, and look at him.

MC: What do you want to talk about?

Gavin: Anything is fine.

MC: Then... could you tell me why you suddenly left school?

Gavin freezes for a moment, his brows furrowed slightly. His fringe drifts with the wind. Light falls into his eyes, reflecting several dark and gloomy images.

Gavin: Back then... did you go to the library?

His tone seems to be expectant. There’s a tightening in my chest, and I hurriedly turn around.

MC: No! I...

I wanted to make an explanation, but thinking of what happened in the end, my voice grows soft. I lower my head defeatedly.

MC: I’m sorry. This time... I still didn’t receive your letter.

Gavin: This time?

There’s some shock in his expression, as though he didn’t expect that I’d say that. But I don’t explain further, but continue keeping my head lowered.

MC: They said Minor left a bloodstained letter on my desk and thought it was a threatening letter, so no one dared to go near it.

MC: But by the time I went back to the classroom, the letter was gone.

MC: I searched for such a long time... but couldn’t find it...

MC: I thought I accidentally threw it into the dustbin, so I looked through it for a long time. But... I couldn’t find that letter anywhere.

My voice grows even softer at the end, and I don’t dare to lift my head to look at him.

Even if this world were to be reset, unexpected events still present such regrets.

Like a merciless joke, an antithesis to my unwillingness to be powerless.

Gavin: That’s not important anymore. Back then, I had already left before the arranged time. So it’s all right.

MC: But...!

Gavin: MC, lift your head.

I purse my lips, staring at the floor blankly. Gavin doesn’t hurry me, but simply waits at the side quietly.

After a long time, I lift my head. Gavin is leaning his head against the wall of wind, and he reveals an evident smile.

Gavin: A few years ago, I suffered from a small injury during training.

MC: Your “small injuries” aren’t small injuries at all.

He laughs softly.

Gavin: Back then, I felt a little tired, just like in class.

MC: ...and then?

Gavin: I don’t know why, but I suddenly thought of you.

His gaze, from afar off, slowly drifts to my face.

Gavin: At that time, I was thinking...

Gavin: “What are you doing right now”?

The large fire scorches incessantly. Once again, he seems to sweep away all the regrets in my heart plainly and simply.

Gavin lifts his hand, rubbing his palm along a lock of my hair.

Gavin: All those things aren’t important anymore. The important thing is that we’ve met again.

Part Three: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #T-T

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obaby-me · 4 years

Note

Ok how about this, all of the brothers (or Belphie if you can't) reacting to an m/c who died and became a very angry ghost

This was so hard. You gave me an out, and I instead took that as a challenge. And a helluva fuckin’ challenge it was.

I thought it’d be pretty repetitive if the MC died the same way each time, or haunted each person in the same way. So I tried to give a variety of scenarios for what an “angry ghost” might do. Haunt a specific person, haunt a place, and different ways to haunt someone. Hopefully you at least find it interesting.

Lucifer

You’re screaming. You’re sobbing. It’s an echo down the halls, a reminder of his guilt: Why?

Why wasn’t he there? Why did he let this happen? Why did it have to be you?

Why, why, why?

Lucifer knows why.

Because he’d scoffed at your warnings.

Because he wouldn’t even consider that anything could happen.

Because you were his.

And he was Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride. The first of the seven lords. None would oppose him. None would dare. He so adamantly believed so.

He should have been more careful. He should have listened. He should have been there.

He’ll shoulder the burden, just as he has with Lilith. But there was a small saving grace for his sister.

There was none for you. And you were resentful, and unforgiving. And you had every right to be.

So, he’ll bear this punishment; he’ll listen to every scream, and he’ll take every hit—because he knows this is what he deserves. He failed you, and he’s willing to pay for it.

If there’s even a modicum of hope to give you a chance at peace in the afterlife, he’ll do all he can to give it to you. It’s the least he can do.

Mammon

It hadn’t been anything to do with you. It shouldn’t have involved you in any way shape or form. You were an innocent bystander in a dispute between himself and a loan shark.

He was scum, everyone said so. You’d never thought so. You defended him when no one else would.

But in your death, he’d proved himself scum. Proved to you they were right.

It was his fault. All his fault. If he could be anything else other than greed incarnate, this wouldn’t have happened. If he’d never gambled himself away. If he hadn’t taken that loan. If he hadn’t then ignored that loan.

If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t, if he hadn’t. If, if, if.

You’re watching him constantly. Empty eyes boring holes in him, following him, judging him. You say nothing, but you communicate to him just fine just how much you hate him. Just how much you loathe him. Just as he deserves to be.

Despite the guilt he feels with your presence, despite the way his skin crawls when he sees you hovering around him, he doesn’t want you to leave. It’s sick, in a way. But it’s still you after all. And seeing you is a reminder of what was, what could have been. And he holds on to that, clings to it.

He hasn’t got anything else.

Leviathan

Levi’s use to being alone. But somehow, it’s lonelier now than it’s ever been before.

There’s a void in him he can’t fill. No game, no concert, no show, no manga ebbs the pain—the clench in his chest.

For once the excitable avatar is quiet, every so often, quiet sobs choking him until his ducts can’t produce much else. While he’s always been terrible eating, now it’s nearly non-existent. It’s only when his brothers demand and watch him eat that he manages to get anything down.

He spends most of him time lying in bed, sleeping because at least then he doesn’t have to feel it anymore.

Yet, there’s no real safety in sleep. You torment him. You’re shouting most of the time, though he never understands what you say. But he doesn’t need to. He knows what he is. He knows what he’s failed to do. He knows you know it too.

Sometimes you only sob, frustration welling up in your eyes, brows knit. You don’t bother to look at him. And he thinks that that’s worse than when you’re screaming.

If he could save you, spare you from this, stop your tears, make it so you stopped harboring so much hate, he’d do it in a flash.

He just hasn’t the first clue as to how.

Satan

His brothers are terribly concerned. There’s been an unusual increase of outbursts, violent and unreasonable. They’ve no idea what has come over him.

None know but him.

You’re uncontrollable, you’re inconsolable, you’re furious—and there’s no one who understands that feeling better than Satan himself.

What they’d done to you was unforgivable. The way he’d found you, unrecognizable as the bright beacon he’d known you to be, lifeless there on the floor—the rage he felt, indescribable.

You’d always been his much-needed balm. The one to soothe him, calm his temper, end his tantrums. All that yet remains of you is your fury, too stubborn to let go.

And now? Now you were fuel to his fire. Now you encouraged him to lose himself into his anger. You whisper into his ears—dark encouragements to indulge in.

He can resist you only for so long before you become demanding. He’ll appease you with whatever you suggest, letting go and wreaking havoc. But never enough to satisfy you. He makes sure to reign it just enough.

You can’t leave him alone again. He misses you. He misses you terribly. But you haven’t left him yet—you’re still here, so long as he holds on, so long as he rages, you’ll be here.

Asmodeus

Asmo visits the same alley every day. He brings a flower or two, sometimes a whole bouquet. It really depends on what the florist has—and he’s sure to bring the best.

It’s dark and it’s damp, and it’s cold and it smells. It sinks the reality of the horror you must have experienced here deep into his skin; crying out for help, left for dead on the pavement.

Just around the corner used to be a nightclub, one of the liveliest around. Demons would line up, right down into this very alley for a chance to get in there.

But the club’s since closed down. Occupied by just one.

Occasionally he’ll see a curious demon or two camped out inside the building, wondering if the rumors are true that a human haunt its walls.

You tend to verify it quickly. Violently. Sometimes they make it out without injury to more than their pride. Other times they’re lucky to be alive.

While Asmo doesn’t camp in, he does come to greet you at least once a day.

Sometimes you recognize him. You’re even happy to see him on some days. Asmo loves those days. He comes just for those chances, those moments. He holds on to those and stays for as long as you can hold your sense of self.

But it’s never for very long.

He has to leave quickly. Abandoned remnants of the club become weapons—chairs, tables, shards of broken bottles and windows.

You screech obscenities, you threaten death. Your form contorts warped by your hatred. Crawling, oozing, reliving that night where you cried for help, dragging yourself out of the club in attempt to find safety.

You suffer terribly and Asmo wishes desperately to relieve you of it. But you remember so little, and he has so few leads.

An entire club full of people and not a one remembers a thing—or doesn’t wish to say if they do. But one day he will. One day you’ll be freed of this. This he swears.

Beelzebub

Every week, on routine, Beel goes for a run. He runs mile after mile until he reaches the fields on the outskirts of the devildom where you were last seen alive.

At 6:57PM exactly, you flicker into existence and he watches as you float on a pre-determined path. You look as if you’re being carried by your arms, and you head moves wildly from side to side, eyes staring into air, but seeing something that causes you fear. He can see your mouth moving, he knows you’re screaming. You’re begging. You’re pleading.

You’re thrown to the ground and you flicker out. It’s a scene you play out, every week, on time, without fail. You’re carried away, and thrown to the ground. These are the final moments of your death. They’re the only hint he has to know what has happened to you.

You’ll be back again soon; he only has to wait. You’re being dragged this time, but to where he has yet to determine. He has to be quick. He has to be quiet. You can’t be alerted or you’ll break from the scene.

But he’s never been able to follow you yet. There’s always something that interferes. A branch out of place, an animal that rushes past, another demon camping out nearby.

And then his only lead he has disappears, only to be replaced by a nightmare instead.

The image of your battered, decomposing body rising to confront the distraction, as you screech and wail. You’re terrifying to see, to hear, but the worst is the way you latch on and thrash about, with a strength that tosses even the heaviest set demons to the ground.

It’s a heart wrenching experience every time to see you this way. It breaks him down, piece by piece; emotionally, physically. His meals have halved, and his workouts decreased. He cries more than he sleeps, and he does so little of both these days.

But he comes back every week. He comes back to try again. He has to. Your body is out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.

He couldn’t save you then.

But maybe he could save you now.

Belphegor

The avatar of sleep ironically gets very little these days. He struggles to stay awake, knowing that the second he falls asleep, he’ll be reliving the nightmare. Your pleas, your scream, your gasps for air, and that gargle of blood that choked you.

He’s terrified to sleep. And even more terrified of waking up.

When he wakes, he knows you’ll be there. Hovering just above him, pinning him down with a strength born of your malice. The lethargic demon who never would want to move now praying he could, but the paralysis you impose would never let him.

You wanted him to see. To remember.

You’ll replay your grief for him, re-enacting your death for him, wailing and begging the way you had in your final moments before quickly fading. The sleep he used to love you’ve warped into his greatest fear.

Nodding off feels dangerous. Like you’re waiting at the edge of his consciousness for him to drop.

The guilt of what happened was overwhelming, but the exhaustion even more so.

He’ll do anything to make it stop. If only he had any strength to do so.

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ohnobjyx · 4 years

Text

A sudden snow storm

Part 2: March

(Okay, second time I’m writing this post, as soon as I finish it, I’ll post it).

Disclaimer: I try to keep things objective (if I include my personal opinion, it’s in cursive and in brackets), but I’m biased because of the XZ friendly content I’m usually exposed to and by my own views of their situation. Open to discussion, but please make sure you’ve enough information to do so.

First of all, let’s keep in mind that I present here a rather negative part of the C- society. That’s because we are placing a magnifying glass on a small part of the fandom, so by no means all C-fans are like this. These are all a minority.

However, in the midst of so negative things, we find the reason why I think XZ will overcome this. He is overcoming it.

Targeting his endorsements

So, taking it from the first part, antis and haters were furious because they believed that XZ’s Studio had paid w/ibo to take his hashtag down of the hot search list. Some of them started to say that the only acceptable outcome for them was that XZ retired from the entertainment industry.

That night, Olay was to air a livestream with a product that XZ was going to endorse, and antis realized that they had a new way to express their anger. They turned to the “live comment” option of the livestream and flooded it with hate comments about XZ. Their comments and their interventions during the event made it impossible to progress adequately, and the announcement of XZ endorsing the product had to be put off.

So when they realized what they could do, antis and haters started to announce that didn’t just reject the products endorsed by XZ, they also rejected the brands that worked with him. In the face of such controversy and boycott, more and more brands chose another spoke person temporarily for their commercials and banners, removing XZ’s from their websites. Some of the companies even terminated their contracts with him, fearing the boycott from the antis.

From March, the antis centered themselves around the topic “Not buying products XZ endorses”, making his value go downwards at least for that time.

Douban

By the 3rd day ao3 was down, the reality sank in and people turned to douban, were C/QL, The Joy of Life, Jade Dynasty were in the top 3, all of them series were XZ is lead actor or secondary actor. The antis placed bad reviews on each drama XZ acted in, to the point of bringing down the score of C/QL from 8’5 to 7’9 in a single day (we are talking of around 1′5 million reviews in total), affecting every project he has worked on since the beginning of his career as an actor.

Public scorn

XZ as well as XZ fans became the objective of public scorn. From the 1st of March, some of the accusers apologized for “the problems caused”, and the one that had led the report posted a public apology and deleted every post related to the reporting. However, it seemed obvious to the rest of the users that they were apologizing against their will, and that they still thought they weren’t wrong, but it was done in an effort to preserve XZ’s public image, as well as their own image as XZ’s fans.

The conflict ceased between XZ’s fans and cp fans, now uniting in an effort to do damage control. They agreed to bring down the tone of the discussion, and once things cooled down a bit, XZ Studio posted a public apology, asking people to support their idol rationally, to speak and act carefully, as well as saying that XZ was currently quarantined at home.

With the attention on the antis, they started to dig up the dirt of XZ’s fans. It’s a sad truth that some of his fans had taken sometimes unreasonable measures to give him the spotlight, such as:

Making him the center of attention in a tv drama in which another actor was the male lead. They took over the community in w/ibo and started to remove all of the other actor’s fans from the group.

Some fans attacked WYB, so XZ wouldn’t have to “share” his success from C/QL with him. They reported WYB for not having a “host degree” (whatever that is). This was shot down by a statement from Hunan TV, by the way.

(By the way, WYB’s antis also tried to attack him using this incident, saying that his company and he had paid millions to create the smear campaign against XZ, to bring him down so WYB wouldn’t have to “share” endorsements with him... but these were all deemed ridiculous by most people, and it is).

Attacking whoever says that they don’t have any interest in XZ’s works (a professor was asked to have a look at his works, and he refused, so XZ’s stans started to attack him).

(A lot of people resented XZ’s fans for the 2/27 incident, and wanted a scapegoat. You can’t chase hundreds of people on the Internet, it’s easier to make a celebrity your target, which also hurts the people who offended you in the first place. It’s a “you take away what I love, so I’ll hurt what you love” kind of thinking. However, “professional” antis... they have their own agenda, which I’m not completely sure of what it is).

XZ Studio’s apology didn’t do much and the drama continued to unfold. Maybe XZ’s Studio wanted to wait for the storm to pass, and since acknowledging the issue would give it importance, they waited until they couldn’t put it off anymore. I don’t know if this was actually right or wrong, but people weren’t satisfied with this apology.

XZ’s fans would try to argue with the antis, and thus keeping the image of obsessive fans, even if many of them were actually right.

Fanfiction writers, mostly from the BJYX fandom, would receive insults and attacks from antis and XZ’s stans still pursuing their original stance, so a lot of content has disappeared.

(To this point: I don’t like RPS. I don’t read RPS fanfics. I didn’t like seeing them and adjusted the filters in ao3 so I could only see fanfics from CQL. But attacking the authors this way is also terribly wrong).

To take responsibility

XZ had previously signed contracts with several companies, with WJJW being the main stockholder. Since he was under so many companies, none of them wanted to take responsibility of the incident and try to solve it. Thus, it was left to XZ’s Studio and his public relations team to try to fix this problem.

Investors, directors and brands’ representatives all thought that this would take at least half a year for XZ to recover from this blow. It also depends greatly on how his next work is received by the general public. He still has the support from his fans, but that alone wasn’t enough in the face of such boycott.

Though the reaction of the entertainment industry will be detailed below, it’s also noteworthy that in the first days, some people (the MC from his 爱不是si interview, a critic) posted that XZ should step up and say something about the matter. There were only a couple of cases, and the positive responses outnumbers them, but since they are public figures, it attracted a lot of attention.

(I’m not so surprised that they’d choose to side with the public opinion... but to add oil to flames like this doesn’t seem very kind to me. But, again, this a very competitive industry).

XZ’s fans public welfare project

So, in the midst of this situation, which was very serious at the time, XZ’s fans public welfare group was founded with the support of XZ’s Studio.

It served to contrast with the disruptive, obsessive behaviour of the sasaengs, and proved that idols can use their influence to unite a large group of people to serve purposes that are beneficial to the society.

It came in a “good” moment, because if nothing else, XZ can’t afford that the first that comes to mind to the general public when they see him or his fans is this small group of people, who are the representation of the worst part of fandom culture.

(Since this project has the support of his studio, he must know of it and must have given his approval. But he is not the one to actually initiate the project, that was a collective effort from his fans, to do welfare projects in his name. He collaborates with welfare projects, he has done it before, and did it again in June. This a reflection of a more positive part of fan quan culture, which will be explained in part 3).

However, because he was in the middle of great controversy and criticism, this move was also considered “hypocritical and insincere” by the antis. Nonetheless, the influence such a large group of people have is undeniable (in promoting local commerce in this case), and the local representatives thanked them for their support. They kept on with their projects these months, usually promoting agricultural products from impoverished provinces. They were also praised by the media for the results they achieved.

For those who are inclined to doubt whether this was a move to improve his image, here it’s a compilation of charity and public welfare projects that XZ’s fans pushed forward in 2019, collecting money for numerous projects and 620.000¥ as epidemic relief effort during the coronavirus period, that started in December 2019.

This group also became a source of controversy in later months. It seems some people will never be satisfied, no matter what we do.

Support

However, people did realize (I think) that most of his fans gives him support silently. There are of course fervent people who jump to defend him, but that kind of behaviour is discouraged by XZ’s studio (what I said in this post that ignoring the antis is the greatest way to defeat them).

When seeing those comments and false rumours from the antis, fans tried to contribute posting positive things they had seen XZ doing or remembering his gestures with the people around him. Even people who weren’t his fans, also supported him. For example, a lawyer analysed the incident and declared that the fanfic had indeed violated Chinese laws (for damaging his reputation).

(However, there is an opinion that I agree more with: not liking a content doesn’t give you the right to manage it. That’s the responsibility, the duty and the right of the platform that hosts it. If you find a content unsuitable for that platform, you can report it to the platform and they’ll take it down if it’s indeed unsuitable. But to report it to the authorities seems overdoing it for me).

And now, no matter how important it’s the support from his fans, fact remains that his fans are people who don’t know him personally. Fans only get to see his public persona.

So it was extremely important and a very good sign that people from inside the industry expressed their support.

People he had worked with (actresses, actor, directors) posted comments praising him or expressing their dismay for his situation. One of them praised him in a direct livestream. Later in May, a screenwriter and director also posted a bewildered comment of why he was being attacked like that (to name a couple of cases).

I think that this was essential to his “recovery”. It’s a true give away of XZ’s character that well-known people step up and speak for him, especially if we take into consideration that they are facing a group of unreasonable antis and a very competitive industry, where one down it’s one less to compete with.

(For transparency reasons: some of them would actually be benefited if XZ’s reputation is recovered, like his coworkers from OOL. This is also a dangerous move, because it may turn the antis’ attention on them. But it’s also true that there were people who were “neutral” to this: supporting XZ didn’t bring them any benefit in the short term).

It was also a good sign that while brands still avoided his image, tv programs didn’t shy away from his image. Happy Camp emitted a video in which XZ appeared, so fans interpreted this as a sign of silent support from the program and the tv channel.

This was also very important. There have been cases before, when an actor was being seriously criticized by the public, that tv stations refused to work with him. In the case that an episode had already been filmed, they used photoshop to erase his image and simply cut the episode so all of his interventions and interactions with other participants were deleted.

(To those who are curious, this man had been a very successful actor for many years. He’d been “happily” married and has a 20 years old son. But when it was revealed that he had been keeping a mistress for two decades, he fell out of public favor. Quick.)

(See that space there, between the girl with cargo pants and the man in blue suit? Such are the miracles of Photoshop.

We are talking here about a week’s time. The episode was filmed on Friday and due to be aired next Friday. His affair was found out that week. In less than a day, the post-production team successfully deleted his every trace in the episode. So, if they believe it necessary, they can be very resolute and decisive).

So if an actor has really committed a mistake, the entertainment circle will not hesitate to take away their support. It’s also a way to say that they disapprove of what that person did.

XZ’s very brief appearance in Happy Camp was an auspicious sign for his future, meaning that he will work again in the industry since tv stations don’t refuse to work with his image, and that his dramas will likely be aired in spite of everything (I’ve never been happier to be wrong, since I thought this would take longer to pass).

It was also positive that in spite of everything, the sales of the products he endorses remained high and in the lead, in March, and the trend continued all the way to July.

←Part 1: First snowflakes | Part 3: Why does it snow?→

#gg's situation #part 2 of 7 #my post

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Changed Your Name (Captain Rex x Jedi! Reader)

This can be seen as a sequel to Uncharted or predating it

Summary: You and Rex don’t always have time to call but you do find ways to talk

Warnings: none except for some slightly suggestive language, I put it into a text conversation format and I used female pronouns

Word count: 2383 words {masterlist}

[Cyar’ika]

!!!

Three exclamation points. This was how this conversation started. Now, Rex would like to think that he has holochatted with you enough times to get a grasp on the bizarre shorthand you used. You had explained to him that the people of your planet primarily holochatted (or ‘texted’ as you told him it was called on your home planet) using shorthand. So, naturally, Rex made it his duty to figure out how to communicate the same way. However, the captain wasn’t particularly good at it and he still had a lot to learn. Case in point: the three exclamation points. What did those mean? Were you in trouble? You were supposed to be on leave right now. Suddenly, the captain’s earlier anxieties returned. He never liked leaving you alone on Coruscant (even if you weren’t really alone, you had your entire battalion along with the Jedi) but now he was extra concerned because there was little he could do to help you as he was off-world and currently setting up camp for the night.

[Captain Rexy]

What? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Was there an attack?

Cyare, what’s going on?

The captain was on the verge of a crisis and suddenly very grateful for the helmet aiding in disguising his growing panic.

[Cyar’ika]

Rlx, Rexy, m fine. But look-

You sent him a picture and Rex sighed in a cross between affection, relief, and soft frustration at his needless worrying. The picture wasn’t of great quality, a little grainy and very dark which told Rex you were out at night. However, before he could begin to panic because you were out at night and anything could happen to you, Rex took notice of the corner of a sign indicating you were in the alleyway beside 79’s. Most likely, you had headed to the clone hang out with your boys and had simply stepped out for a breath of fresh air. Rex knew that you weren’t a people person and that you could easily be overwhelmed even by your own men.

Rex could also see the tip of your thumb slightly covering part of the picture which told him that you had taken this picture in a rush. But what had caused that rush was in the center of the image; a little tooka kitten that looked to be a light shade of blue with darker, almost black spots dotting over its face and back was sitting on top of your boot-clad foot grinning up at him seemingly through the image.

[Cyar’ika]

Can we keep him?

he’s so cute

he jst plopped down on my foot

[Captain Rexy]

No.

[Cyar’ika]

wut

Why not?

[Captain Rexy]

You already have a tooka that goes on missions with you.

[Cyar’ika]

Yeh but this would be OUR tooka

[Captain Rexy]

As tempting as that is, no

[Cyar’ika]

[Captain Rexy]

Still no.

[Cyar’ika]

:’’’’’’’(

[Captain Rexy]

Cyare…

[Cyar’ika]

We could name him Rex Jr. too

Rex couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh whilst ignoring the way his face warmed. You were always like this whenever you saw an animal you deemed cute. He remembered the first time you had shown him the tooka you adopted early on in the war and Fritz told him the story of how he argued with you for maybe five minutes before you eventually went ahead and adopted it anyway. You named it Snake due to the markings it bore which gave it a reptilian look and it was the unofficial mascot of your battalion. And the damn thing hated Rex. So, the captain wasn’t ready to share your affection with yet another living being.

[Captain Rexy]

No.

[Cyar’ika]

But he could be the mascot or the 501st

[Captain Rexy]

We can’t keep him.

End of story.

[Cyar’ika]

Boo.

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cptn Stick-In-The-Mud]

Really?

[Cyar’ika]

How did that happen?

…[Cptn Stick-In-The-Mud] changed [Cyar’ika]’s name…

[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi]

Didn’t know you thought you were texting Anakin this whole time

A chuckle escaped Rex as he read your response, catching the attention of some nearby troopers and the general in question. The captain was quick to disguise his chortling as a random coughing fit so he wouldn’t have to explain himself. Anakin, however, still sent him a raised eyebrow that Rex quickly waved away before returning his attention to your ongoing conversation when the general was distracted by a ding coming from his wrist.

…[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi] changed your name… …[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi] changed their name… …[General Ice] added [Anakin Skywalker] to the chat…

[General Ice]

Tell your captain to stop arguing with me

[Anakin Skywalker]

Oh, so it’s you that’s got my captain so distracted.

Rex, stop arguing with Y/n.

Rex pulled a face underneath his bucket before sending an incredulous look at Anakin who was smugly smiling back at him. He would have liked to say that he was taken aback by you adding Skywalker to the conversation but you’d done this before.

[Captain Rex]

But, sir, she’s being unreasonable.

[Anakin Skywalker]

How so?

[General Ice]

I want Rex to make this little guy the mascot of the 501st

You sent another picture. In this one, it was clear that you were back in 79’s, crammed into a booth with Commander Fritz on one side and Bolt on the other, and peaking out over the top of your shirt was the little tooka. The little furball was smiling again, this time in contentment as he was undeniably warm and safe. The captain felt the familiar worm of ugly green wriggling around; he should be lying against your chest, not that little monster.

[Anakin Skywalker]

Force…

He’s adorable

[Captain Rex]

No, not you too

Why don’t you keep him?

[General Ice]

I would, gladly, but look at him-

Another picture, this time of only the tooka as he was curled up in the palm of what was probably Fritz’s hand.

[General Ice]

Look at his lil ol’ face

Yet another, zoomed in on the creature’s face.

[General Ice]

Plus he’s blue

And I already have Snake

[Captain Rex]

And that brings me to the very first objection I made

[General Ice]

That was not

[Captain Rex]

Yes, it was, general

Your reply didn’t come through immediately and for a second, Rex was worried he had angered you by using your title. He knew that you didn’t like being referred to by it. But, his fears were laid to rest when your response came through.

[General Ice]

Ok, so, maybe it was

But still-why can’t he be your battalion’s mascot?

He’s friendly, protective, trustworthy and v loyal

Jst like the men of the 501st

[Anakin Skywalker]

Those are all valid

Why can’t we keep him, Rex?

The captain suddenly felt like walking into the ocean. By now, he had taken off his helmet and switched to his datapad as he sat by the fire beside the other general he was now about to argue with.

[Captain Rex]

General L/n had the added luxury of Snake being partially trained when she found him

None of the men in our battalion would have time to train the little guy.

On top of that, General L/n has her own apartment where the tooka can stay.

You do not, General, so, he would have to stay aboard the Resolute.

Or, he’d stay in the temple or the barracks where he’d only be underfoot.

The captain leaned back in his seat, eager to see the response to his well-crafted arguments. Anakin’s eyes were busily flicking over the screen of his own pad as he tried to think of a comeback and Rex could just imagine you making that ridiculously adorable face you always make when you know you can’t win an argument but are determined to try. Your eyebrows would knit together and your lips would form into a minuscule pout, after that, your nose would crinkle just a little bit as your eyes would focus on something unseen. Then, suddenly, you’d snap back to reality with your rebuttal on your tongue. Maker, he missed your face.

[Anakin Skywalker]

I hate to say it, Ice, but Rex has a point.

We can’t take him.

[General Ice]

It’s alright

But we have to do something for the little guy.

He was just shivering on top of a trash can when I walked by the alley.

He perked up when I made him realize I wasn’t a threat

And he’s so skinny, he could die and it’d be my fault.

There you go again, letting the facade of the ‘Ice general’ melt away to reveal the compassionate, loving girl Rex held so close to his heart. A wave of guilt suddenly crashed over the captain and he wanted nothing more than to hold you. Rex caught Anakin’s eye and they both seemed to share the same guilt though Rex wasn’t certain the general understood how far his feelings delved.

[General Ice]

Wait, didn’t Padme say she wanted to get a tooka?

[Anakin Skywalker]

Yeah, how did you know?

[General Ice]

I overheard part of your holo call like a week ago

I recommend making sure your door is shut before you do those btw

Do you think she’d want the little guy?

[Anakin Skywalker]

Maybe, how old do you think he is?

[General Ice]

Not sure, I’d wager around two and a half months old

[Captain Rex]

And you’re sure he doesn’t belong to anyone?

[General Ice]

Positive.

So?

[Anakin Skywalker]

I think that’s perfect!

Thanks

[General Ice]

Thank you, actually, for taking that off my conscience

I’ll take him to the vet and get him all checked out tomorrow

For now, he’ll be living in my room in the temple

Oh, and I request visitation rights

[Anakin Skywalker]

Pfft, I’m sure Padme won’t mind

[General Ice]

Oh, and one more thing.

[Anakin Skywalker]

[General Ice]

Padme needs to make him the official mascot of the 501st on Coruscant.

Rex’s face dropped as he stared apathetically at his datapad, by now most of his brothers had retired for bed and thus he could be a bit laxer with his facial expressions. Of course you would figure out a way to undermine him. Anakin could be heard laughing to the captain’s right and Rex just bowed his head in defeat.

[Anakin Skywalker]

Done.

Alright, I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to gross couple talk now

[General Ice]

It’s not gross!

And you can’t say that when you have ‘gross couple talk’ with Padme at two in the morning!

[Anakin Skywalker]

How did you…?

[General Ice]

Shut. your. door. and. WINDOWS. hotshot.

My room is right next to yours, peedunky.

…[General Ice] removed [Anakin Skywalker] from the chat… …[General Ice] changed their name… …[Y/n] changed your name…

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

Cyare…

I’m sorry.

[Y/n]

Y’know, maybe I should start dating Fives-

He at least likes to have fun

Rex snorted unceremoniously, seeing right through your bluff.

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

Please, we both know you’d strangle him when he got a little too handsy

Besides,

You knew that we couldn’t keep the little guy

…[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud] changed [Y/n]’s name…

[Cyar’ika]

I know

I just got excited at the idea of having a little one for us to take care of

:’)

Rex’s face grew warm once again. The two of you had talked about your future together and whether or not you eventually wanted children. You’d been on the fence about it...until now.

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

I wish I was there to hear you say that in person

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

Believe me, I wish you were here too

;)

Oh...Rex’s armor suddenly felt a little too tight. The captain couldn’t help but smile at your boldness as he struggled to craft a flirty reply.

[Cptn Sexy]

There isn’t a moment where I stop missing you

...

[Cyar’ika]

Ner mesh’la alor’ad…

That’s so sweet

…you changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

Why did you change it?

It’s accurate

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name...

[Cptn Sexy]

Y/n…

[Cyar’ika]

;)

...you changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

[Rex]

Cyar’ika, please

[Cyar’ika]

:(((

[Rex]

[Cyar’ika]

You’re catching on

[Rex]

...you changed your name…

[Captain Rexy]

Better?

[Cyar’ika]

(*.* )

Almost

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

There

[Rexy]

Whatever makes you happy.

[Cyar’ika]

Oh, believe me, this does

I miss you-please hurry home

[Rexy]

I’ll try, ner cyare, I’ll try

[Cyar’ika]

I know you will

You sent another picture. In this one, you were already in bed, hair fanned out over your pillow with the duvet pulled up to your nose but the covers weren’t enough to hide the dazzling smile. Just above your head was the infamous tooka, Snake, sound asleep on the pillow. His deep red fur looked glossy and freshly brushed and the black markings on his face added a seriousness to his furry little image. You must have snapped this picture mid ear-twitch because one of his black striped ears was blurry. In the curve of Snake’s body was the younger tooka you had found who looked like he had received a bath and a brushing for his fur looked less matted and much shinier than in any other picture. Both of the animals were completely passed out and it was easy to tell that you would soon be following their lead. You just had to turn off the lamp on your bedside and Rex knew that you would be dead to the world for a few hours till you woke up curled around his pillow with the tookas wedged between you. You looked happy but Rex could still see the longing in your eyes.

[Cyar’ika]

We’ll see you when you get back. I love you, always.

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name...

[Cyar’ika] Good night.

[Riduur] Good night, ner riduur.

And as night settled on the captain like a heavy blanket and Anakin ushered Rex to get some rest, he couldn’t help but think back to the image of the little tooka curled into Snake and the adoring smile you sent both the animals and him. He knew you loved him and he knew you loved those two. And suddenly, the idea of sharing your love with a little one didn’t seem so impossible.

#clone wars #captain rex #star wars: clone wars #help me I'm obsessed with this animated man #danger-xylophones

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pixiegrl · 4 years

Note

and one more because I'm an emo Lashton lady "please don't leave me alone" 💜💜

Well, I couldn’t get bar fight out of my head, and you also asked for “I would love for you to write a pre-barfight piece with either the original fight or the time where Luke was alone without Ashton.” So...here it is. The angst of the breakup.

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267046

It all comes crashing down on a Tuesday. Tuesday is date night. It’s been a long standing tradition for Luke and Ashton since they started dating about a year ago. It’s not that they don’t spend time together the other days of the week, since they’re always over at each other’s houses for band reasons or boyfriend reasons, but they always make it a point to go out on Tuesday. They get dressed up and they go out to dinner and they have a good time.

Well, Luke has a good time. He likes going out with Ashton, holding his hand, stealing kisses in between bites of food. Luke’s favorite thing is telling their waiter that “this is my boyfriend, we’re on a date,” and smiling when the waiter says something sweet back. Ashton however, seems to tense up as soon as they’re in public. He’s fine when they’re at home, stealing kisses from Luke, and he’s fine in the car, holding Luke’s hand over the center console. He’s even fine in the restaurants they go to, makes a point of going to the smaller ones where they’re less likely to be recognized. Luke gets it. He doesn’t want random fans interrupting their dates, doesn’t want to be harassed during private times. However, as soon as Luke says we’re on a date, Ashton clams up. His smile looks fake and he looks stiff. He thaws out eventually, holding Luke’s hand under the table and sharing bites of his food, but there’s always that initial hesitation. Luke was hoping after 12 months, Ashton would get better, but clearly, he hasn’t.

Tonight is worse. They’re going to a slightly more popular restaurant, something that they keep getting rave reviews about. Michael had gushed about the place when he took Crystal on a date last month and Calum had said something similar last week after a date with his girlfriend. Even though Luke and Ashton typically avoid those kinds of places, for fear of being recognized, the reviews had swayed them. Besides, Luke has reasoned, it’s a Tuesday night. What could happen on a Tuesday night?

When they get to the restaurant, it’s crowded. Not in the way it would be if it was a weekend, but enough that Ashton drops Luke’s hand and puts space between them. Luke’s heart drops at that. They’ve been holding hands since Ashton picked Luke up from his house, greeted him at the door with a kiss. Now, Ashton barely looks in Luke’s direction as he talks to the hostess, like he’s worried that if they so much as acknowledge each other, a neon sign proclaiming that they’re together will go off.

The hostess leads them back to the table and they sit across from each other. Luke thinks it’s silly when people on dates sit next to each other and he’s said so many times. Luke reaches across the table, reaching out a hand for Ashton. Ashton takes it, interlocking their fingers and squeezing. The waiter comes up, asks what they want to order, eyebrows raised when she seems to recognize them. Ashton drops Luke’s hand, straightening up, and placing his order. Luke’s heart drops. It’s fucking date night and it’s been weird since they walked in and he was hoping sitting down would make it better, but it didn’t and now he’s not even going to get anything from his boyfriend because Ashton’s worried about being in public.

It’s been an ongoing argument since the first month they dated. Anything Luke tries to broach the topic, hesitantly brings up the idea about coming out, telling the world outside of their family and the band that they’re dating, Ashton shuts him down. It’s an old, played out explanation that Ashton’s worried about their image, about what people will think, about the insults and the names and what the industry will think of them. Luke’s tired of it. He’s tired of feeling like a secret, like Ashton’s ashamed of him, of them, of his own sexuality. Usually Luke can brush it off during a date but for some reason, he can’t shake it tonight, watching how stiff Ashton is during their meal, half listening to Luke’s jokes. It’s only once they’re out of the restaurant that Ashton eases up, taking Luke’s hand again, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Luke relaxes, eases into the touch, fond.

Then, they run into some fans on the street. It takes them both by surprise, the girls coming up to them, gushing about the band, asking for a photo. Luke doesn’t mind, always happy to interact with people who love their music. Ashton agrees, smile stiff and body language hesitant, like he’s worried they saw the kiss, them holding hands, like they’re going to run and tell the world that Luke Hemmings and Ashton Irwin were making out in the middle of the street. It leaves a sour taste in Luke’s mouth, puts a cloud on the rest of their date, that follows them all the way to the car and back to Luke’s house. The drive is filled with stiff silence, awkward tension. They’re walking on a tightrope, neither of them wanting to be the first to break it, snap the rope and bring it all up.

They’ve barely made it through the door to Luke’s place, shut it behind them before Luke finally opens his mouth and breaks the silence.

“Ashton, do you not want to keep dating?”

“What gave you that idea?” Ashton says, pausing in his movement to hang up his coat, looking over at Luke. Luke twists his ring around his finger, shrugging as Ashton finishes, turning fully to face Luke.

“It’s just...it’s been a year. We’ve been together for a year and you still don’t want to come out. Which, I respect and I understand that it’s your decision, but I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like a dirty secret, like a skeleton in your closet.”

“That’s not what I think of this relationship.”

“It doesn’t feel like that. Tonight was date night and you spent the whole time putting as much space between the two of us as you could.”

“I like my privacy Luke, you know that.”

“And I like my privacy too, but there’s a fine line between privacy and literally hiding the fact that you’re bisexual and that we’re dating,” Luke says. He’s trying to keep his voice level, hoping that Ashton will understand what it is that Luke’s saying, what it is that he’s asking of Ashton.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that it’s been a year. It’s been a year and we’re happy and I want to be able to tell the world that. We don’t have to post every little thing about our personal lives, but fuck Ash, I want to be able to hold your hand in public and not have you flinch away.”

“I love you Luke, but I don’t know that I want to come out,” Ashton says, hesitant and slow. Luke’s heart stops.

“What?”

“I don’t want to come out. I don’t want the whole world to suddenly start judging us based on that. I don’t want people to look at our music and the only thing they can talk about is how we’re dating. I don’t want that to influence how often our music is played on the radio, or who listens to our music. I want to keep the two things separate.”

“What the fuck?” Luke asks, shock and anger bleeding into this tone.

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No we haven’t. You’ve mentioned wanting to be private, but you’ve never hinted at the fact you just don’t want to come out. That you’d rather keep us a secret forever than let our relationship taint the music.”

“You’re twisting my words,” Ashton says, voice rising, hands clenched at his sides.

“If you don’t want to be out, why don’t we just break up then?”

“Luke, that’s not what I want, you know that’s not what I want.”

“How can I know? You won’t even talk to me. You just keep saying how you don’t want to come out, don’t want anyone to know about us. Like you’re ashamed of us. I want to plan a future with you and you won’t even hold my hand in public,” Luke’s shaking now, can barely hold on. If Ashton won’t talk to him, he just wants him to go.

“Luke, please. It’s not about being ashamed of you at all. I just...I don’t want to have our sexuality or our relationship cloud people’s judgement of our music. I don’t want it to be the only thing people think about when they see us.”

“Ashton, I want to talk about a future with you without you constantly second guessing us.”

Ashton pauses, glancing away from Luke. Luke feels cold, ice in his veins. Ashton’s silence is deafening, Luke’s heart sinking.

“Ashton, you do think about a future for us?”

“I just...we’re so young Luke. I don’t want to give you promises and words that might not be true in the future. I don’t want to hang everything on where we are at 25.”

“But you’ll hang everything on starting a band at 16. You’ll hang everything on that. You’ll tell me to my face that you don’t think we can last when we’ve known each other for 10 years.”

“We’ve only been dating for a year. I don’t want to lock you into something so soon.”

“You mean, you don’t wanna fuck up the band by coming out and dumping me later,” Luke says, tone clipped.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it,” Ashton snaps back, brows furrowed and anger bleeding into his tone.

“No I don’t Ashton! You’re suddenly telling me all this shit about how you don’t think we’re going to last or have a future together. What’s the fucking point of us dating if you know you’re going to break up with me in the future?” Luke snaps. He can’t believe he’s thought about a future with Ashton only to hear that Ashton doesn’t think they’re long-term enough.

“I’m not having this fucking conversation with you right now. You’re being unreasonable.”

“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking you to be open about your sexuality and us. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking if you want a future. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking my boyfriend to stop acting like he’s ashamed of me.”

“Well, you’re being pretty fucking rude and I’m not talking with you right now.”

“Then go! If you don’t give a shit, if you don’t want to try, then just fucking go!” Luke screams. He’s blinded by rage, flare in his chest at the idea that Ashton doesn’t even want to listen to him, doesn’t even want to try.

Luke’s words hang in the air, the implication in them clear. Luke’s just about declared a break-up without saying the words. There’s a beat, where Luke and Ashton stare at each other, surprise mirrored on their faces.

“Is that what you really want?” Ashton asks, hard edge in his voice, face stony.

No. “Yes. If you won’t listen to me, to anything I have to say, then I don’t see how this relationship can keep going,” Luke says. He’s shaking, begging for Ashton to prove him wrong, for Ashton to stop for a moment and just talk to him. The words hang in the air, the finality of the statement.

There’s a moment where Luke thinks maybe Ashton will be the reasonable one, that he’ll call Luke out on his attitude and how he’s acting and say they’ll talk about it later, that he’ll come over and kiss Luke because you can’t go to bed angry, and everything will be fine. Instead, Ashton nods, face unreadable. Luke’s heart drops.

“Right then. Guess I’ll just...head home,” Ashton says. Ashton turns around, heading towards the door. Luke stays rooted to his spot, hands shaking. He’s scared that if he moves, his legs will give out and he’ll fall to the floor. The idea that a year of dating, a lifetime of friendship, is ending right here as Ashton grabs his jacket off the hook, gets his hand on the doorknob.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Luke whispers, sorrow opening up in his chest, empty broken feeling. Hoping that maybe if Ashton will hear him this one last time, he’ll stay. Ashton stills, hand on the doorknob and Luke thinks for a moment that maybe, maybe Ashton will turn around, apologize, that it was all a misunderstanding and they can be together, that Ashton won’t leave Luke. Instead Ashton turns the knob.

“I’ll be back to get my things,” he mumbles, words distant and broken as he walks out the door, shuts it behind him. Luke collapses, shaking with tears and the overwhelming idea of what’s just happened. He wraps his arms around himself, sobbing, begging for Ashton to come back through the door and say he’s sorry and pull Luke into a hug, for Luke to get up the courage to call him, apologize, beg him to come back.

Neither of those happen. Luke’s left alone, on the floor of his living room, crying salty wet tears until his body is wrung dry and he can’t do much more than sniffle, broken and alone, trapped in misery of his own making.

***

Luke wakes up, jolted awake by yet another nightmare. He reaches out, chest tight, breath shallow, trying to grasp for Ashton.

The bed is empty next to him. Luke groans, rolling over, mouth wrapped around the syllables of Ashton’s name before his head catches up with the rest of him, heart stopping when he realizes that Ashton isn’t there. Ashton’s not there and he won’t be ever again because they’ve broken up. It’s been four days and they’re not together anymore.

Luke collapses onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The room is basking in the light glow from the moonlight. Luke doesn’t dare touch his phone or look at his clock, knows that if he does it will relieve that it’s far too early for him to be awake.

It keeps happening. Luke can’t sleep anymore. The bed is too empty, vast and barren without Ashton. Luke can’t fall asleep without Ashton pressed behind him it seems. Luke hates that he’s grown so accustomed to Ashton’s presence that it’s interrupted his ability to do something as basic as sleeping. He just can’t fucking sleep. He keeps closing his eyes or laying on his back, exhausted, but unable to actually shut his body off. Everything is too big, too loud. Things he never noticed before, like the sound of the air kicking on or how bright the nightlight in the bathroom is, keep him up. The shittiest thing is that even once he falls asleep, he’s jolted awake by some form of a nightmare. It slips through his fingers as soon as he wakes up, unable to place the panic in his veins and the pounding of his heart. All it’s doing is cutting down on his already short sleep cycle. He barely sleeps through the night and what little he can nap during the day is usually interrupted by the simple fact that he’s awakened by something else.

So Luke’s barely sleeping and he’s barely doing anything else. He hasn’t left his house in four days, probably hasn’t showered in at least two, and he can’t place when he last ate. Luke hates how apparent it’s become that he needs Ashton to do basic human things. Without Ashton to remind him of time passing or routines or meal times, Luke finds that he’s losing track of what he needs to do. Dinner is less appealing when there’s no one to make it with, to share it with. Showers don’t matter when you have no one to see. Sleep apparently is pointless without another body there with him. Luke hasn’t had nightmares like this since he was 16. Now they’ve overwhelmed even his most basic body function. It’s the first time in a long time Luke’s been truly alone.

Luke rolls over again onto his side, curling up into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut. Whether he’s trying to will himself to sleep or stop the tears from coming, Luke’s not sure. Luke can’t believe how much he’s cried in the last few days. He certainly isn’t drinking enough water for how many tears his body seems to be making. Everytime Luke thinks he’s finally done crying, a new wave of tears overtakes him. Luke’s miserable, missing Ashton, and made even more miserable by the fact that it’s his own fault. If he hadn’t started the stupid fight, told Ashton to leave, he wouldn’t be having this problem right now. If Luke could just work up the courage to call Ashton, to apologize for what he said, beg Ashton to come back, he wouldn’t be having this problem. But Luke is stupid and stubborn and he doesn’t want to admit to anyone that he’s having this problem. Not Michael or Calum or his mum or god forbid, have Ashton find out. Luke doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s a stupid 24 year old who can’t survive without his fucking boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend his brain supplies, sending Luke into a fresh spiral of tears, burying his face into the pillow as he sobs.

Luke hears noise at his bedroom door, looking up to see Petunia wandering, snuffling her way around the room. Luke holds a hand out to her, cooing until she makes me way over. Luke knows she misses Ashton, confused by the missing body that’s usually in their space, complaining about getting in his way, while also feeding her snacks. Sometimes, Luke thinks Petunia likes Ashton more than him.

Petunia comes to the edge of the bed, putting her paws up on the bed and sticking her nose in Luke’s face, sniffing. Luke sits up, picking her up and getting her onto the bed with him. She pats at the bed, trying to smooth down the covers into a position that she likes before settling in. Luke curls himself around her, burning his face into her fur, trying to muffle his own tears.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he whispers into Petunia’s fur. She snuffles, unaware of what’s going on around her, how much her owner’s life has been altered. Luke knows it’s silly, asking his dog to not leave him, but he’s hoping maybe if he says it enough, that maybe he’ll stop missing him. That maybe the hole in his heart will repair itself and he can stop being so broken. Maybe everything will be alright (Or maybe, the voice in his head says, that maybe if he says it enough, Ashton will come back. Maybe Ashton will come back and he won’t be so alone). Either way, Luke thinks as his body gives up and he drifts to sleep, it’s late night, empty promises to himself that everything will be different in the morning.

#5 seconds of summer #lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #angst #nothing but angst here folks #break up #my writing

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overclockedroulette · 4 years

Text

anyone say vega mochizuki content? no? i literally haven't mentioned him on this blog once? i do not care one bit i love him

for context, he worked with avarice and fabrica when they drugged redglass and him and avarice have this? sortof rivalry?

he's from a separate (slightly more normal, but not at all less inhumane) research facility, and is fully aware that aubilon essentially raises their workers from a Very young age. he makes fun of avarice RELENTLESSLY for that. (see, his choice of insults: show animal, trained dog, circus lion, etc)

also, he was born in a cult and his sister is basically jesus. so you can imagine the kind of stress he is under.

(also, he's very scared of thunderstorms. although that might be an understatement.)

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“Stupid? It’s completely logical. Just because your halfwit mind can’t comprehend anything on a scale larger than one person-”

“At least my ‘halfwit mind’ works properly, psycho.”

“For the last time, I’m not crazy you piece of-”

“Can you two shut up?” Both scientists turned their heads to Fabrica, resting her head in one hand and rolling her eyes. “You’re both being ridiculously antagonistic. At least have the decency to put up a pretence of goodwill, for my sake. You’re acting like children.”

There was a short, surprised pause. Avarice was the first to respond: a curt nod in the royal’s direction. “Of course. My apologies.”

Vega bowed slightly, in a similar fashion, not pausing once before looking to his side and smirking. “So, the dog does know how to behave.”

“I will end your fucking bloodline, Mochizuki.”

Vega gasped falsely. “Oh, I’m so scared,” he mocked, devolving into laughter. “Least I have a family. Say, were you bred for your work, too?”

“Were you bred for your little ocean cult?” Avarice snapped, taking great satisfaction in watching Vega freeze up.

“You shouldn’t know that,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Avarice laughed.

“Oh, please. The name ‘Delta Mochizuki’ isn’t exactly underground, if you know where to look,” he teased, as if he hadn’t spent an unreasonable amount of time in Aubilon’s library trying to find something to hold over the pompous ass. “Plus, you smell of salt water all the time. I just put two and two together, but thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

He had to say, watching Vega panic internally was incredibly satisfying. Of course, Fabrica was less than amused, but he couldn’t help himself; the bastard deserved a little panic, even if the queen was now glaring daggers at the both of them.

“Did you- did you research my family? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Interesting that you assume I didn’t already know about your little cult. Why, are you supposed to be all subtle because you’re related to their messiah?”

“Shut your thrice-damned mouth before I-”

“Shh,” Avarice quieted him with a finger to his lips- which, surprisingly, actually shut him up. “Is that why you insist on acting like you’re better than me? Because your little sister was chosen by your god? Because all you’ll ever be is the saviour’s big brother?”

Vega wrenched himself away fairly quickly after that statement, slapping away Avarice’s hand and scoffing. “Oh, so now the guy who never had a family is lecturing me on mine? How the fuck would you know?”

“I’m just saying what I see,” he shrugged.

“Well, you’re seeing wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Gods, you’re a prick.”

“The sentiment is shared.”

“Asshole.”

“Insect.”

“Lunatic.”

“Coward.”

“This isn’t going to stop, is it?” Fabrica murmured to herself, drumming her fingers on the arm of her throne. “Fine, whatever,” she sighed and stood up, grabbing the side of a curtain. She was sure the others hadn’t noticed, but it was raining fairly heavily outside, interspersed with flashes of lightning or thunderclaps. It also just so happened to be a full moon.

And Avarice wasn’t the only one who had done his research.

She cleared her throat, just enough to get both of their attention for a moment, before yanking the curtain open. It took less than a second for both scientists to be brought to their knees on the tiled floor of her throne room.

It really was interesting, how such a strong-willed, stubborn pair could be reduced to the pitiful state she was witnessing in such a short amount of time. Delirious and trembling, such a juxtaposition to the contentious way they had been speaking just a moment before. Vega was barely recognisable, his hands brought together in some fearful parody of a prayer, pleading in some primordial language she didn’t recognise; the words didn’t have the same rhythm as if he were praying - she was sure she could recognise it - but instead sounded more like he was begging. For what, she didn’t know. She could guess, of course, but her information on how to break the unruly scientists didn’t extend to why they could be broken down so easily.

Avarice, on the other hand, could be understood without much extrapolation. After all, Fabrica spoke Celestial, and she recognised the old prayer that sounded as if it was being dragged forcefully from his lips. She didn’t need to know why a fallen aasimar who knew that prayer had such a fervent reaction to the full moon. She did, briefly, wonder about the bloody scratch marks on his ears, but she quickly put that thought aside. For some reason, he was uncomfortable to look at like this. The same sort of discomfort she had so thoroughly hidden with smug vindication when sending her brother to be burnt alive.

Maybe it was because they looked alike. That was probably it.

After a good while (she wasn’t sure exactly how long - she had gone to make tea after a couple minutes), Fabrica decided that this was probably enough to discourage them from fighting - at least, in front of her - and slid the curtain and window shut, muffling the sound of the rain and obscuring the moon from view, before settling herself back down to drink tea and wait for them to recover.

Vega came to his senses first - or, at least, he was the first to show it. He didn’t bother to stand up. Just stared weakly at nothing, waiting to be addressed first. He made some attempt at a muttered apology, not exactly stable enough to form coherent sentences. Fabrica sipped her tea and waited, and, sure enough, Avarice soon managed to bring himself back to a state of coherency. Well. ‘Coherency’ was probably the wrong word, all things considered. Sure, he wasn’t completely enveloped in nonstop feverish muttering as he had been for a while now, but the image of genuine fear in his eyes as he forced himself to even out his breathing and choke back the visible waves of nausea was just as off-putting, coming from him.

“Stand up,” she commanded. They both complied immediately, albeit a little shaky. “You’re going to get along now, I presume?”

She was met with unquestioning affirmation, as she had expected - both of them left unsettled and desperate to please as they were, like scared children. She didn’t expect it to last - of course not - but she was fairly sure they wouldn’t act up in front of her again, which was a relief. Their incessant bickering was starting to hurt her ears.

“Good,” she smiled, standing up to leave. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

As she left the throne room, she couldn’t help but notice that neither could meet the other’s eyes. She supposed that was to be expected, but they’d get over it. She’d talk to them tomorrow.

#i have another fic that's technically supposed to be before this one #but it isn't finished and this one is and i'm impatient #YES this is badly paced i cannot fix it i tried #also i love their dynamic so much #tw panic attack #avarice kiriatta #vega mochizuki

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sweetscentences · 5 years

Text

Small Changes: Chapter 4

Can be read on AO3 here. I’m posting this update early because I wanted to get through the halfway point of this fic before life gets too hectic <3

Sengoku brought a stack of heavy medical books to his third meeting with Law. Two of them were impressively sized encyclopedias, while another was titled ‘Medical Oddities of the East and West Blues’, and the last was called ‘Traditional Remedies in Modern Times’. Law snatched them up immediately, ignoring Sengoku’s explanation that they were sitting unread in his study for months.

Rosinante was certain he just bought them. The last title was the only one he could see appealing to Sengoku, but he hardly had the free time to read a book that size.

The sentiment was sweet.

“You know he can’t be bought, right?” Rosinante asked, lighting a cigarette and his sleeve. Sengoku put the fire out with a few practiced slaps before it could spread.

“I’m not a fool,” Sengoku huffed. His sharp eyes were fixed on Law as he flipped through the books. “I don’t expect his affection. I’m only hoping for tolerance.”

Tolerance was a realistic goal, in Rosinante’s opinion.

“You’re halfway there already.”

Law had stopped looking at Sengoku like he wanted to rip him apart. Or at least he had when Sengoku was out of uniform. Any reminder of Sengoku’s position would snap him back to loathing.

He hated the Fleet Admiral. He could stomach Rosinante’s father.

It was a difficult balance for all of them, Rosinante knew. But they were trying. Rosinante for them, and them for Rosinante. It warmed Rosinante’s heart.

“Bringing Vergo down is going to be tricky,” Sengoku said.

Rosinante hummed. Took a deep drag from his cigarette. Pretended he didn’t notice Law stop reading to listen in. He was surprisingly subtle about it. Rosinante wasn’t sure if Sengoku noticed. It made him unreasonably proud.

“You’ll need my testimony, won’t you?” Rosinante asked. He already knew the answer. It was obvious from the way Sengoku flinched.

Rosinante nodded. He wouldn’t make Sengoku say it, not when he was so visibly stressed by the thought.

“He’ll try to drag the trial out as long as possible. Maybe implicate me too. Law will need to be under guard the whole time. I don’t want him brought into this.”

Law tensed- the slightest hitching of his shoulders. Rosinante ignored it and settled on meeting Sengoku’s steely eyes. He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette into the floral ashtray Makino set out for him.

“I won’t let Vergo walk away from this.”

Rosinante would kill him if he did.

Sengoku nodded. “I know.”

He understood what Rosinante didn’t say, no matter how much he might deny it.

Rosinante always tucked away the crueler parts of himself. The parts that reminded him of Doflamingo. He wasn’t as bad as his brother, he knew. But he wasn’t soft either. Not by anyone but Doflamingo’s standards. Sengoku chose not to see it sometimes, the same way that Rosinante did.

But there were reasons Rosinante made a good spy. Reasons he made a good sniper. Reasons he made a good pirate.

Some awful part of him would always love his brother.

He never loved Vergo.

It would be easy to put a bullet between his eyes.

Too easy, if Law’s life was on the line.

Rosinante could picture it clearly. Could practically feel the smooth curve of a trigger beneath his finger. He tapped his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray again to distance himself from the thought, from the image.

“He’ll either get the firing squad or Impel Down,” Sengoku said, watching Rosinante carefully.

Impel Down was more likely. Rosinante’s lip curled. He took a long drag from his cigarette. Part of him wanted Vergo to bleed out. Another part of him wanted Vergo to rot slowly in the darkness.

He supposed both could be arranged. After all, he still had a few contacts in Impel Down- Marine and criminal alike. Life was cheap there. It wouldn’t be too hard to hire an assassin.

But that could wait.

“What do you think?” Rosinante asked Law. He didn’t startle like he’d been caught eavesdropping, and he didn’t pretend not to know what Rosinante was asking.

“Impel Down is meant to be hell, right?” Law’s eyes were fixed on Rosinante, bright and cold. Somehow more hateful than they were when he first met Rosinante.

The world shaped Law into something that could be cruel, just like it did Rosinante.

Just like it did Doflamingo.

Rosinante nodded. Law’s lips twitched up into a sharp, amused smile.

“He should rot,” he said simply, and turned his focus back to his book. It was opened to a diagram of a human heart. Law traced it with a careful finger. His shoulders lost some of their tension.

“We’ll push for Impel Down, then,” Rosinante told Sengoku. His cigarette had burnt down to almost nothing. He lit another.

Sengoku watched Rosinante and Law carefully. He agreed with a sigh, and took a sip of his tea.

“Would an Admiral be enough of a guard?” he asked.

He got a sense of Law over the past few days. He knew that his relation to Rosinante was the only reason Law would be in the same room as him. He understood that one Marine hovering over Law would be more palatable than twenty. But still…

“Depends on the Admiral.”

If Rosinante had any say in the matter, which he damn well did, Akainu wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of Law. He was an unapologetic and unrivaled bastard. His ideas of justice and righteousness would have Law out for blood in seconds.

(Sometimes, they did for Rosinante too. He just had a reason to hide it. If he were ten years younger, he might throw that aside and attack Akainu when he had the impulse anyway.)

“Aokiji owes me a favor,” Sengoku said. “But it’s a simple enough task that he might do it just to avoid the trial.”

“He hasn’t changed much since becoming an Admiral?” Rosinante hadn’t seen him in a few years, certainly not after his promotion.

Sengoku huffed an unfriendly laugh. “He has more authority to be lazy now.”

Rosinante grinned. “Aokiji could work.”

He was powerful. Easily strong enough to take on Doflamingo or his best. But he also wasn’t likely to bring up the Navy on his own. Unlikely to act like a Marine. Unlikely to be offended by Law’s hate.

Aokiji could work.

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Sengoku and Garp left at the end of the week, before dawn. Garp pulled Rosinante into a brief, crushing hug that forced all the air out of his lungs. After releasing Rosinante, Garp offered Law a handshake that was, predictably, refused. Then he started off into the woods to say goodbye to his grandsons.

Luffy was the only one he brought around Sengoku intentionally. Sabo made two delightfully chaotic appearances, one of which ended with Garp’s pants catching on fire. Ace, on the other hand, was hidden and carefully spoken around.

It was an impressive act of subtlety, from Garp. Sengoku might not have noticed what, exactly, was happening. Rosinante certainly did.

He had a few ideas. None of them were good.

There was something eerily familiar about the cut of Ace’s grin. Something about the shape of his face, the ridge of his nose. Something about the fact that, according to Law, Ace thought his father was a demon.

For all that they had been enemies, Garp and Gold Roger respected each other. Enough that Garp might grant any final wish Roger had. Enough that Garp might even lie to Sengoku, if it meant keeping that wish safe.

It was a messy situation, if that was the case.

“Garp really could handle that better,” Sengoku sighed, speaking Rosinante’s thoughts aloud and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rosinante raised an eyebrow. Law glared up at Sengoku, but that wasn’t a noteworthy change in his expression.

Sengoku sighed again. “I’m not going to ask what it is. It’s better if I don’t know.”

“Plausible deniability,” Rosinante laughed.

Sengoku’s lips twitched up. His expression softened and he reached up to pull Rosinante into a hug. Rosinante fell into it, resting his head on Sengoku’s and holding him close.

“I’ll make arrangements immediately,” Sengoku promised, pulling back enough to meet Rosinante’s eyes. “We’ll do this right.”

“We have to,” Rosinante said, reaching down to ruffle Law’s hat. His nose wrinkled and his lips curled up, but he didn’t slap Rosinante’s hand away when it rested on his head. All bark and minimal bite.

“It was good to meet you,” Sengoku told Law. He didn’t try to hug him or offer him a hand. He knew better, by now.

Law looked torn between aggression and sincerity.

“You could be worse.”

It seemed he settled on both.

Sengoku smiled. He’d grown used to, and maybe even fond of Law surprisingly quickly. Law had a sharp-edged charm, and Sengoku had a soft spot for children who lost everything but kept on living. Rosinante knew he inherited that from him.

“We won’t be here much longer,” Rosinante told Sengoku.

Last night he pinned a map of each of the four Blues to a wall in his and Law’s room. The dart Law threw landed where neither of them wanted to go, but they were both too stubborn to throw it again.

“Where are you headed next?” Sengoku asked. He understood the twitchiness, the unease, that gripped Rosinante in the past days.

Sitting still too long meant death.

“North Blue. Swallow Island,” Rosinante said, choking down his fear. Law pulled Rosinante’s hand off his head and squeezed it. Some of the anxiety sitting heavy in Rosinante’s chest uncoiled. Eased.

Sengoku nodded. Rosinante pretended not to notice the tight, worried pull of his mouth.

“Hiding under his nose. I’ll run an investigation on the Marines stationed there.”

They both knew Rosinante would run his own, slightly less legal investigation. Neither of them mentioned it. He knew as well as Garp did there were things Sengoku shouldn’t be told.

“Be safe,” Sengoku said, his voice rough as he pulled Rosinante down to press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes settled on Law. “Both of you.”

“We’ll try,” Rosinante said, blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

It was the closest thing to a promise he could make.

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Rosinante and Law stayed in Foosha another week, until Law was well enough to travel and the need to move was eating Rosinante alive. The mayor and Makino came to see them off, along with Garp’s grandsons. Rosinante was glad for that. It meant he could pull Ace aside as Luffy held everyone else’s attention.

Everyone but Law, who kept half his focus on Rosinante, and half on Luffy’s story.

Ace looked at Rosinante suspiciously when he invited him over, but he sat next to Rosinante on the dock without complaint.

What Rosinante saw of his wild, self-loathing temper reminded him of Law. A younger, less homicidal Law, but the sentiment remained. He didn’t know what it was about caustic, hate-filled children that made his protective instinct flare up so much.

(He could figure it out easily, if he wanted to. But he really, really, didn’t.)

“My brother is a monster,” Rosinante told him, and Ace’s eyes snapped up to his. “Truly a monster. He killed our father when he was around your age. Shot him and cut off his head. Now he’s the reason Law and I are on the run.”

His father’s death was one of Rosinante’s earliest memories. One of his most vivid memories. The smell of the gunpowder. The smell of the blood. The sound of the body hitting the ground, still, lifeless-

Rosinante took a sharp breath.

“Our father was the kindest man I knew.”

Rosinante wished he was more like his father. As generous, as forgiving as he had been. As gentle as his romanticized memory made him out to be.

Death had a way of making men into saints.

“But Doffy still became what he is. I still… I still became what I am.”

Rosinante found violence disturbingly palatable. He accepted it as a part of life when he was far too young. The careful way Sengoku raised him didn’t change that.

Once, when Rosinante was still a recruit, a ship he was on was attacked by pirates. He and the three other trainees were forced into the battle. Forced to fight and kill for their lives. The other recruits spent the days after sick with grief and guilt. But the only thing that bothered Rosinante was the fact that the ship’s seasoned Marines kept asking if he was alright. He killed four men, and lost no sleep over it. Not even once in the decade since.

Ace’s brows pinched in a frown. “But you’re really nice,” he said.

Rosinante forced a grin. “Maybe I am. But I am not my father. No one is.”

Ace ducked his head. Rosinante gently ruffled his hair. It was the same rich black as Law’s but thinner, softer.

“Everyone deserves the life they’ve been given, and the freedom to make it what they want.” Rosinante waited until Ace met his eyes to go on. “You chose your brothers. I chose my father, chose my son. There’s more to a family, more to a person, than blood.”

Ace’s head dropped down again as he scrubbed at his eyes. Rosinante didn’t push him, only ruffled his hair again before walking back to Law.

“What did you say to make him cry?” Law asked, his voice sharp and teasing. Rosinante lightly cuffed the back of his head, and ignored his furious hiss.

“Thank you for everything,” Rosinante told the mayor and Makino, who watched the whole exchange wearing matching grins.

“A friend of Garp is a friend of ours,” the mayor said, holding out a hand for Rosinante to shake.

“You’re always welcome here,” Makino promised, stealing a quick hug from Rosinante before offering Law her hand.

It pulled his attention from where he was watching Sabo and Luffy dogpile onto Ace.

He took Makino’s hand and shook it carefully. Rosinante couldn’t bite down his grin if he tried.

After a few more goodbyes, he and Law boarded a ship set for the edge of East Blue. They perched at the rail as the ship drifted out of the harbor, waving to the group at the end of the dock.

“Say ‘hi’ to Gramps for us!” Luffy cried from his perch on Ace’s shoulders, his arm bending unnaturally as he waved. “Torao! Go fuck yourself!”

Rosinante choked. He turned to glare down at Law, only to be startled when a loud laugh burst out of him.

Law doubled over, winding an arm around his stomach. His eyes crinkled so tightly at the corners they almost shut. A smile Rosinante had never seen before stretched across his face.

The admonishment died on Rosinante’s tongue. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

A few Northern swears weren’t so bad, really. Not if it meant Law would smile like that.

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The trip to Swallow Island was long, but bearable. When they crossed into North Blue, Law spent most of his time on the ship’s deck, breathing in the cold air with clear lungs. It was an incredible feeling- the cold in his mouth, his throat, his chest.

It was biting and so, so familiar. It had been years since Law was able to breathe so clearly. He got used to choking on every breath. Got used to the heavy, burning feeling in his chest that grew every day.

Breathing without it was difficult to adjust to. He kept waking up and thinking, for a horrible moment, that curing himself was a dream. Standing on the deck, feeling the sting of the frozen air, it helped Law remember that it was real. If he was still sick, he wouldn’t be able to imagine that feeling.

He didn’t need to explain it to Cora. He was good at understanding that kind of thing. Good at reading Law.

He took to joining him on the deck, sitting next to Law with his back against the rail.

The sun was long since set. Law’s dreams the night before were unusually awful. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so instead he leaned against the rail, his chin propped up by his hands.

Cora didn’t ask anything, didn’t try to drag Law to bed. Instead he settled next to him, warm by Law’s side, and tipped his head back on the rail to watch the stars.

They shone so brightly in the Northern sky.

The familiar feeling of silence brushed across Law. Before he could ask why, Cora spoke.

“Celestial Dragons come of age when they’re fifteen years old,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble.

Cora coming from a family of nobles was still something Law struggled to wrap his head around. He wasn’t a coward like Flevance’s royal family was. He didn’t see himself as a god, like Doflamingo did. He was only a man. A good man, maybe, but a man nonetheless.

A human being, like Law. Fallible, flawed, and wonderful.

Cold wind rushed across the ship. It filled Law’s nose, his mouth, with the smell and taste of salt water. He breathed deeply, trying to hold onto it, and shuffled closer to Cora.

“There’s a special celebration. They call it a ‘saint ceremony’. I went to my cousin’s.”

Cora had a strange look on his face, something between wistful and pained. Law turned and sat down, pressing himself against Cora’s side and letting him wrap an arm around him. Cora was a tactile person. It was no secret that he craved touch. That he wanted to hold and be held. Law would offer him that comfort, when he could. It was the least he could do.

He would never admit that it was a comfort to him too.

“At the ceremony, a star is dedicated to you.”

Cora pointed up, and Law followed the long line of his arm to a very familiar pair of stars. The star on the right was bold and bright. The left had the same brilliant glow, but was difficult to see when looked at dead on. One had to look to the left of it, to catch it in the corner of their eye to truly see it.

“My mother said that the star on the right would be for my brother, and the star on the left would be for me.”

It suited them. Cora was just as bright, as brilliant, as Doflamingo. But he was difficult to pin down. To understand. To see.

But Law knew the trick to seeing that star. He was learning the tricks to see Cora too.

“We called them the bells, on Flevance,” Law said, resting his head against Cora. “The left one always pointed South East. I’d follow it home from the hospital with my father.”

It was a fond, fading memory. The long hours looking over his father’s shoulder, watching him work. The way his father would wind his own scarf around Law’s neck before they stepped outside. The two of them walking home through a world of white- snow and buildings blending together, glittering as brightly as the night sky. The warmth of his father’s hand around his, his other hand pointing up to the left bell, laughing and telling him to look, Law, look.

Was his laugh warm, or was it sharp like Law’s?

“I can’t remember his voice,” Law whispered, and Cora pulled him closer.

His father’s voice, the finer details of his face, they were fading. His mother and Lami’s too. The sounds of their laughs. The little songs Lami sang to herself as she went about her day. The way his parents slow-danced together in the living room, after long nights spent apart. The way they dragged Law and Lami into joining, once they were caught out of bed. The old prayers his mother whispered as she combed through Law and Lami’s hair. How Lami’s hand felt when it curled around Law’s.

All of it gone. All of it stolen. All of it burnt away.

Last night Law dreamt of them- their faces blank and white, their voices gravelly and garbled. Their hands reaching for Law. Grabbing him, tugging at his clothes. Dragging him forward as a fire started at their feet and grew to swallow them. Grew to swallow Law with them.

Law shuddered. He pressed his face against Cora’s chest and tried to breathe, tried to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

The smell of death crept into his nose. Crept into his throat.

Death and fire, cloying and thick.

The smell of sickness. The smell of burning flesh.

Law choked on it.

He thought he heard a voice, but it was drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears. His throat was closing up. A hand rubbed slow circles onto Law’s back. Something against him rose and fell slowly. Law forced himself to match his gasping breath to the feeling, digging his nails so sharply into his palms they drew blood.

The pain was real. The smell wasn’t.

The only real smells were cold air and stale cigarette smoke.

Law’s heart slowed. He breathed.

He was in Cora’s lap, pulled up to lean against Cora’s chest. Some part of Law wanted to rip himself away from Cora, to snarl that he wasn’t a child, that he didn’t need to be coddled, and go hole himself up in some corner of the ship where Cora wouldn’t see him break down. But Cora was warm, and safe, and humming a low, smooth melody. Law’s head was foggy with fear and exhaustion.

Cora was safe, carefully taking Law’s hands and cleaning the blood from them with a cloth he pulled from his pocket.

“Think they’ll need stitches, doc?” Cora asked, his fingers gentle as they brushed the cuts.

Law huffed, the sound more amused than annoyed. “Don’t be stupid.”

Cora didn’t say anything about the way Law’s voice wavered. Instead he grinned down at Law, bright and silly. Law tucked his head back against Cora’s chest so he wouldn’t see him smile back.

When Cora let go of Law’s hands, he wound them into Cora’s shirt. He didn’t protest, didn’t warn Law against getting blood on his clothes. Didn’t say anything about the way Law’s hands were shaking.

“It’s a good star for you,” Law said, and Cora’s chest rumbled with his hum.

“When do people come of age on Flevance?”

Law grounded himself with the sound of Cora’s voice. Deep and calm. Alive and steady.

“Sixteen,” Law told him. “If you weren’t studying medicine you’d pick an apprenticeship. If you were, you’d graduate from the medical school and choose a mentor.”

Law’s parents fought, teasingly, over which one of them would get Law. They had both known he’d pick his father, if only because surgery caught his interest more than anything else.

“You started young then, if you’d be done school at sixteen.”

Law nodded, let his eyes fall closed. Let himself relax into the warmth of Cora’s hold.

“Eight years old.”

Two years before his world fell apart.

Law ignored that thought. He focused on the sound of Cora’s heartbeat. A heavy lullaby.

“We should do something special for your sixteenth birthday, then,” Cora said.

Law liked that idea. Liked the thought of Cora still being there in two years.

“Do I get a star?” Law asked, his teasing tone swallowed by a yawn.

Cora laughed. “If you want one.”

His heartbeat was a steady sound. Proof that he was alive. Proof that Law saved him. Proof that they both got to live.

Law remembered something then. The blood in Lami’s hands didn’t circulate properly. They were always cold when she held Law’s.

He drifted off without realizing it.

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They settled onto Swallow Island quickly; Rosinante buying a small cottage at the edge of the port town with the money Sengoku gave him. Within two weeks the cottage started to feel like a home. Never more so than when Rosinante and Law sat in front of the fireplace, watching the evening snowfall and carefully figuring out Law’s Devil Fruit.

It had a strange, unnerving quality to it, but Law was a quick learner. The notebook he was working in was filling up faster than Rosinante expected.

Rosinante spent the days investigating the island’s Marines. There was only one small base on the island, settled at the heart of the port town. Rosinante hadn’t found anything dangerous yet- only three men with gambling problems and one woman who bought her wife flowers every day. Both habits swallowed an impressive amount of money.

Law spent the days doing god knew what. Rosinante was fairly sure he was exploring the island. He didn’t stop Law, only made sure he still had the knife Rosinante gave him.

When Rosinante was seventeen, he found a small collection of parenting books in the back of Sengoku’s study. He flipped through some of them, hoping to find something to tease Sengoku about, only to see careful notes scribbled in the margins of each one. It was too endearing for Rosinante to mock, and he put the books back. Luckily, no one was there to see him shed a few tears over it. He remembered one of the books mentioned allowing your child to have the freedom they needed. He had the feeling Law needed more freedom than most.

Rosinante realized he should have asked what, exactly, Law was getting up to when he brought a polar bear cub home.

Rosinante was sitting in the front room, drinking tea while reading letters and reports from Sengoku, when Law damn near kicked the front door open. The bear was draped half over his small shoulders, shuffling on its hind feet.

It took Rosinante a moment to recover from the strange sight. It took him a moment longer to realize that the high-pitched voice apologizing over and over in Grand was the bear and not Law adopting a weird accent.

Rosinante took another sip of his tea. Not a bear cub, then, but a mink.

The mink was covered in various scrapes and bruises, red staining its white fur. Law’s knuckles were bloodied.

Law didn’t acknowledge Rosinante, dragging the mink over to the couch and pushing it down. Then Law disappeared under the couch, reappearing a moment later with a first aid kit. It was one of four scattered around the small cottage. There was so little that Law called his own in the last few years, so Rosinante might have been spoiling him a bit to make up for it. Medical supplies seemed to be Law’s favorite thing to collect. Medical supplies and strange coins. Law was a little magpie when it came to hoarding coins. It was downright cute, even if Law threatened to cut off the tips of Rosinante’s fingers the last time he poked at his collection.

It wasn’t like he was going to follow through on the threat. Even if he did, he would reattach Rosinante’s fingertips before too long. It was a neat trick Law learned with his Devil Fruit. Rosinante hoped he wouldn’t take it any further, but knowing Law he absolutely would.

Law cleaned and neatly wrapped his bloody knuckles with a practiced ease. The mink shot Rosinante worried looks as Law set about treating its wounds.

Rosinante took another sip of his tea, carefully closing the folder he was flipping through.

Sengoku would send someone to bring Rosinante to the trial soon. Would send Aokiji to protect Law. But Rosinante could think more about that another time.

“Law,” he called. “Did you beat up this poor mink?”

The mink made an anxious noise, attention snapping back and forth from Rosinante to Law as Law tied off a bandage on its arm.

“I didn’t beat him up,” Law hummed, grabbing one of the mink’s paws to pluck something out of it with a pair of tweezers.

The emphasis wasn’t lost on Rosinante. He raised an eyebrow.

The mink whined, pained and sharp, as Law succeeded in pulling out what he was looking for. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he cried, ducking his head down and covering it with his free paw.

Protecting himself. Hiding.

“Don’t apologize,” Law snapped. “It would’ve hurt more if I was slow,” he said, bandaging the paw in his hand and ignoring, or not noticing, how the mink flinched away from him.

“Law, I think you’re scaring him,” Rosinante told him. Law tied off the last bandage and sighed. The second he released the paw, it joined the other in covering the mink’s head.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Law said. His voice didn’t sound particularly soothing, but it was enough to have the mink uncurling some. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Bepo.”

The mink’s arms dropped from his head. He stared at Law, silent and wide eyed, for so long that Law started scratching at his arm in discomfort.

“You did say your name was Bepo, right?” Law asked, his cheeks darkening.

“You remembered?”

Law looked offended. “Of course I did,” he hissed. This time, Bepo didn’t flinch away from the sharp tone.

Instead he started blubbering, dragging Law into what was probably an extremely fluffy hug. He rubbed his face against Law’s shoulder as Law squawked, flailed, and tried futilely to escape the hug. After a while he gave up, wrapping one arm around Bepo’s shoulders and awkwardly patting his head with his free hand.

Rosinante wished he had a camera with him. This was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen.

Law’s eyes turned to Rosinante, to the grin on his face. His expression sharpened into something venomous. His teeth bared. Rosinante took a sip of his tea to hide his smile, trying not to laugh. Law was scratching Bepo’s ears, seemingly without realizing it.

After a few minutes, Bepo calmed down enough for Law to slip from his hold. He sat on the couch next to him, and Rosinante joined them, setting his mug on the table.

“Not that you’re in trouble, but would you mind explaining what happened here?” Rosinante asked, carefully taking Law’s hands to check his bandages.

They were perfectly wrapped, as Law’s always were, but Rosinante still liked to make sure of it.

Rosinante worried about Law more than he would ever say, would ever show. Law had no patience for coddling, he would think Rosinante considered him weak. Rosinante knew damn well how strong Law was. That was half the reason he worried as much as he did. Checking Law’s bandages was one of the few ways he indulged that worry. One of the few things Law allowed as well.

“I was coming back from Wolf’s when I found Bepo getting beaten up. I brought him back here because I didn’t have anything to help on hand,” Law said, taking back his hands when Rosinante let them go.

Rosinante had a few questions.

No, he had many. So many he wasn’t sure where to start.

He settled on asking, “who’s Wolf?”

That seemed to be the most important thing to know.

“Some weird old man who lives up the mountain,” Law shrugged. “He’s been letting me see his experiments.”

Rosinante had more questions. He wound his fingers together and rested his hands in front of his mouth. He took a grounding breath.

“Law,” he started. “Do you understand why that’s a concerning sentence?”

Law looked up at him, confusion and irritation warring on his face. Rosinante bit his lip.

“Not weird like that,” Law hissed, before shrugging. “Besides, he’s old. It’s not like I can’t handle myself.”

“I am not encouraging you to commit murder.”

Part of Rosinante couldn’t believe he just said that. Another part of him was surprised he never said that before. Bepo made a worried noise. Law’s glare sharpened.

“I never said anything about killing him,” he huffed.

Rosinante didn’t think he had any right to be so offended. Even if he mellowed out considerably, murder was still a perfectly valid concern when it came to Law. Rosinante loved him, but that love didn’t mean he was delusional.

“Will you take me with you the next time you go to see Wolf? I’d like to meet him,” Rosinante said. Law’s sharp expression softened with understanding.

“Sure,” he said, quickly killing any sentiment in the moment by stealing Rosinante’s tea. The mug looked like a bowl cradled in Law’s hands. It was endearing enough for Rosinante to forgive the theft.

He also forgave it because it meant Law might have an appetite that day. His eating habits were unpredictable at best. Some days he was ravenous. Other days he could barely stomach simple broths. Rosinante would take any chance to get something in Law’s stomach, even if that meant giving up a cup of his favorite tea. He could always make another.

“Back to Bepo, then,” Rosinante hummed, offering the mink his most reassuring smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bepo nodded frantically, wringing his paws. “You too, mister, um-”

“Cora,” Law said, looking up from the tea. “I call him Cora.”

“Mister Cora, then,” Bepo smiled. At least, Rosinante thought he smiled. His teeth were worryingly sharp.

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Rosinante promised. “You can just call me Cora, or Rosinante. Any friend of Law’s is a friend of mine.”

Bepo looked a bit overwhelmed, his black eyes wide and shining. He didn’t seem to know what to do with kindness. It was as heartbreaking as it was surprising. Rosinante wouldn’t have expected Law to have the patience or gentleness for a personality like Bepo’s.

Not that Law was behaving gently by anyone’s standards but his own.

“You’re a mink, right?” Rosinante asked. “How did you get here? We’re a long way from the New World.”

Bepo curled in on himself again. “I fell off Zunesha’s leg,” he mumbled. He sounded near tears. His sniffed loudly, his black button nose twitching. “I got lost. It’s mean here. Everyone wants to hurt me.”

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. Law glared up at him before, shockingly, leaning against Bepo’s side.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Law asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’ve got claws. And teeth. It’s not like they were strong.”

He had to be talking about whatever fight he pulled Bepo from. Rosinante hoped whoever was involved hadn’t been killed. Or maimed. Really, Rosinante just hoped they were able to walk away in the end.

Bepo drew his legs up to his chest, tucking his head against them. “Zepo said humans break easily. That I have to be careful if I meet them.”

Law knocked back the rest of Rosinante’s tea, dropping the mug on the table and glaring at Bepo. It seemed his patience had run out.

“You don’t have to be careful if someone’s hurting you,” he snarled. “Do you want to die?”

Bepo uncurled enough to stare at Law. “No,” he whined. “I don’t.”

“Then don’t let yourself be killed. Fight. Back.” Law’s teeth were bared, his chest heaving, his hands curled into fists. “You can’t expect anybody to save you. If you want to live, then fight for it.”

Rosinante set a hand on Law’s back. He didn’t shrug it off. He uncurled his shaking hands, breathing slowly and carefully. Bepo stared at him, slack jawed, his black eyes shining.

“Are you alright?” Rosinante asked. After a moment, Law nodded. “You like this bear, don’t you?”

He waited for Law to nod again before turning to Bepo. There weren’t many people Law liked. If he’d gotten attached to Bepo this quickly…

“You’re welcome to stay with us, if you have nowhere else to go,” Rosinante offered, meeting Bepo’s wide eyes. “No one will hurt you here.”

A moment later, Rosinante had a lapful of sobbing polar bear mink. Law shot him a smug look, which was quickly wiped off his face when Rosinante grabbed him and hauled him into the hug. He protested, loudly, but he didn’t try to pull away.

After all, Bepo was incredibly fluffy.

#mine #cw: panic attack #its brief and nothing too graphic but i still want to tag for it #chapter is about 6k #small changes fic #donquixote corazon #donquixote rocinante #donquixote rosinante #trafalgar law #sengoku the buddha #bepo #!!!! i can finally add that tag #my writing #one piece #one piece fic #two chapters left!!

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