#this is my first attempt at a full and detailed background let alone one at an angle TwT it was a pain but i like it

[mhin-t]

pov: you fell off the bar stool

[roseaesynstylae]

Well, I just read the flashback of Senor Pink's past. Here are my thoughts.

There was a detail I wasn't aware of before; specifically, Gimlet died a week before Pink returned home and learned about it. That explained something I'd been puzzled over, namely, how Russian went from learning that her husband didn't work where he said to realizing he was a pirate. She had a week to put the pieces together. It also adds to the tragedy of the entire thing. Senor Pink had no idea his son had died for a week. Russian was alone and utterly devastated for a week. She had a week to let the full weight of the loss of her son and her husband's lies sink in.

In another story, Gimlet might have been murdered or harmed in a way that caused his death. But I think the way the story actually goes feels more impactful. It was a fever, something that could have happened to anyone. There's no one to blame, nothing that can be done to avenge his death. It was just so random and unfair, and it makes the pain of the flashback more visceral.

Gimlet died on the same day Senor Pink left and he had no clue. As far as he knew, everything was fine and happy at home. That's both completely devastating and very scary, the idea of thinking everything's fine when in reality things have gone horribly wrong.

Senor Pink is completely struck dumb by the news of Gimlet's death. He can't defend himself when Russian confronts him with the truth because he's still in shock. And, just to make things sadder, I get the feeling that even if he could defend himself, he wouldn't. Russian was completely right to be furious and hurt that her husband had been lying to her since they first met about being the very thing she hated and Pink knew that.

There's some kind of horrible irony to the fact that Pink first met his wife because it was raining and he lied, and that he lost her because it was raining and he lied.

There's a really effective moment when Pink is with Russian in the hospital and he tries to talk to her. I think he might be trying to apologize but at the same time recognizes that there is no amount of apologies that will help the situation. There's nothing that his skill as a fighter or his Devil Fruit can do to fix anything. No wonder he put on the baby costume.

I found it a little odd that he just happened to have a baby bonnet with him at the hospital, but there is a possible reason why and it's just as sad as the rest of his past. I think he got the bonnet as a present for Gimlet while he was away and during the ensuing loss, he just held onto it because he didn't know what to do with it. He brought it to the hospital in the hope of getting some kind of reaction out of Russian. It did, just not in the way he expected.

I like the fact that he initially put the baby bonnet on in an attempt to make her laugh (well, that's my interpretation). Laughter and smiling are major themes throughout One Piece, and that's reflected here. Yes, it doesn't make Russian laugh, but it does make her smile, and while it doesn't technically improve the situation, it does give her husband a spark of hope that he can make her happy in some way.

I wasn't sure going into it how I was going to feel about Pink lying to his wife about what he was doing, but I ended up feeling that it honestly made everything sadder. I get the impression that he lied because he liked Russian and he didn't expect their relationship to become so serious. When they did get married and have a child, I feel like he didn't want to tell the truth because he knew that it would cause neither of them any form of happiness. Keeping in mind that Doflamingo recruited his crew members from very unhappy backgrounds, it's possible that Russian was the best thing that had ever happened to Pink.

I have to wonder if the rest of the Donquixote Pirates knew about Senor Pink having a wife and child, and what happened to them. I imagine Doflamingo would know, but the rest... I got the impression that Trebol and Diamante didn't know when they were mocking Pink about his change of wardrobe (and if they did, that's a serious dick move, even by their insanely low standards). I wonder if any of them ever found out?

In conclusion, despite only being a few pages, this is easily the saddest flashback during the Dressrosa Arc, and yes, I'm including Law's backstory. Its brevity really works in its favor and the relatively mundane aspect of the tragedy really just makes it even sadder.

[jcwriting]

Written in the Stars

summary ↬ being soulmates with a werewolf? pretty easy. being jungkook’s soulmate? the easiest thing in the world. there’s only one teensy tiny problem. he doesn’t want to fuck you.

pairing ↬ werewolf!jungkook x reader

genre ↬ soulmate!au, abo verse, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort (this is so fucking dramatic and for what)

word count ↬ 10.4k my hand slipped

warnings ↬ swearing, angst (but with a happy ending bc im a sappy bitch), jk is stupid in love (emphasis on stupid), mentions of violence (very brief and i don’t go into too much detail but just to warn yall), slight nsfw (sex is a big topic for like half of this but not sex is had...i know im shocked too), half of this is background info/setting up the story the other half is finally addressing the summary lolol, jk is kind of an asshole but he has reasons!!!!!

authors note ↬ hello lovelies! here’s a small little thing for you all (laughs in 10k word count). this has been sitting in my drafts for fucking ever and i just needed to get it out there and out of my hands. im thinking about writing a part two where the actual ~*/sex/*~ is had but im still on the fence about that. please let me know what you think! i literally crave your interactions so pls dont be shy,,,,,okay love you bye :)

(ps i was so close to naming this Rewrite the Stars but since this has absolutely nothing to do with The Greatest Showman i didn’t. but i was close,,,,so fucking close)

You always knew Jeon Jungkook was destined for great things.

It was written in the stars, your mother had told you after he had first stepped foot into your family-owned grocery store. Your mother didn’t have any special powers, she just had a thing for astrology. While you normally shrugged off her random proclamations about divine intervention and planetary alignments, you found that Jungkook was something you couldn’t ignore or chalk up as your mother’s latest tea leaf reading.

From the moment you set eyes on him you knew he was different. While your family held zero claim to any sort of mystical or magical inclinations, you were well aware of those who did. It was no secret that non-humans roamed the Earth in plain sight, even though it had taken humans eons to realize this. After years of savage wars and civil unrest, agreements had come into place and governing bodies were adjusted to accept the changes that had finally been made. But, this was all before your time. You were the generation that was born into the period of peace, the first children to not experience bloodshed before they could walk. The world you knew now was almost a complete one-eighty of what it had been.

Where before those who were not of human blood had to do everything they could to blend in, now could be free of the shadows. Your classrooms had both humans and non-humans in their rosters. Some of your teachers were hybrids. Curriculum expanded to teach humans about a world that had once been entirely unknown to them. One of your favorite teachers was a witch who regaled your tenth grade class with stories of goblin wars, wizard duels, and vampire covens. All tales that you had once thought were nothing but fiction were now anything but.

Which is why, the second Jeon Jungkook entered the grocery store that your parents owned and that you had worked at since you were old enough to speak in full sentences, you knew who he was. You didn’t even question it.

He was a werewolf. A powerful one. You could see it in the way he carried himself. The purposeful strides he took down the narrow aisles, the confidence in his broad shoulders. Humans weren’t nearly as sensitive as their hybrid counterparts but you also paid attention in your classes. Or, perhaps you were more aware than other humans. Never in your life did you have the issues other faced when meeting a non-human for the first time. You always knew who they were without them having to tell you. You just knew.

So, when Jeon Jungkook stepped up to your register with a bottle of water and some raw beef, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t bend under his dark gaze or shuffle your feet in an awkward attempt to break the silence. Instead, you flashed him your customer service smile and rang up his items. He didn’t say a word as he paid, barely sparing you a second glance as he strode out of the store.

“He’s going to be a great and powerful man,” your mother said in that feathery light voice of hers. “It was written in the stars.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

Jeon Jungkook came into your store everyday for the next month. He bought the same thing every time. A bottle of water and a package of raw beef. The only time he spared you any words was to say thank you or the occasional hello if the sun was shining. Usually, he was alone. Sometimes, he came with a few members of his pack. You liked those days. He smiled a little brighter and talked a little louder when they were around. Especially around Taehyung.

Then, after a month, he didn’t come in. Not for an entire week. From Monday to Sunday, you hadn’t seen a hide nor hair of him. A part of you was worried, so worried that you almost stopped Taehyung in the middle of the street to ask of Jungkook’s whereabouts before realizing how insane that made you look, the other part was chastising yourself for caring. Jeon Jungkook was a customer. Nothing more, nothing less.

The following Monday had come and you had finally stopped glancing at the sliding doors every five minutes. You no longer expected his commanding presence to rock your little world. Instead, you continued your day as if it had been any other. That was, until, Jeon Jungkook stepped through the entrance looking as if he was walking on air. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“Did you have a good heat?” You asked when he stepped up to your register. Jungkook fumbled the water bottle he had been setting onto the conveyer belt before turning to stare at you.

“What did you just say?”

You didn’t shrink under his intense glare. “I was asking if you enjoyed your heat. Seems like you did.”

“How do you know I was in my rut?”

“Oh, is rut the correct terminology? Sorry, they always interchanged them in class, I was never sure what was appropriate.” You shrugged and rang up his items. “It was kind of obvious, though. You seemed pretty agitated about a week-and-a-half ago, then you disappear for a week, and now you’re back looking happier than ever. If it wasn’t your rut then I want to know where you went on vacation because that’s where I’m heading to next.”

Jungkook laughed. That almost made you jump out of your skin. You had never heard him laugh before. It was throaty, it was deep, and it was wonderful. “I’ll be sure to send you the link to the Airbnb.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He smirked. “I’m here every day, aren’t I?”

You tilted your head as you accepted the cash he handed to you. “Clearly, you’re not that reliable.”

Jungkook laughed again. It was becoming your new favorite sound. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to appear flaky.”

“You’re forgiven,” you decided as you handed him the plastic bag of his purchases. Teasingly, you added, “just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He flashed you a smile that showed off his sharpened canines. “Don’t worry, darling. I never make the same mistake twice.”

Jeon Jungkook kept his promise. He showed up everyday, like clockwork. Bought the same thing. Arrived at the same time. The only thing that changed was how he treated you. It wasn’t that he treated you badly before, he had always been polite. But now, he talked to you. He asked you questions and answered yours. More often than not, he laughed.

(It had become your favorite sound.)

For three months, this continued. The two of you had settled into a comfortable routine, something you relied on and expected. Until, he changed that.

Until, Jeon Jungkook asked you out on a date.

“What did you just say?”

“Are you free? Tonight?” You glanced around, almost expecting to see some sort of supermodel posing behind you to explain the absolute absurdity of the situation. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the hidden cameras. I think I’m getting Punk’d.”

Jungkook sighed and placed both hands on the counter that separated the two of you. “Look at me.” You did. Slowly and warily, but you did. “Does it look like I’m lying to you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you regarded him carefully. He seemed serious. But, then again, do you ever really know someone? “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen you lie before so I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Fine. Ask me what color my shirt is.”

“What color is your shirt?”

“White,” he deadpanned. You glanced down at his chest. His shirt was black.

“Jungkook!”

He threw his head back and released a full bellied laugh. Even in your exasperation you couldn’t help but soften a little. “I’m sorry, darling. I couldn’t help myself.” Annoyed, you huffed and spun to face the cash register. Stabbing your finger onto the touchscreen, you ignored Jungkook’s obvious presence on the opposite side of the counter. Until his hand reached around the card reader and grasped a hold of your chin. The warmth of his fingers forced your head to turn to meet his.

“Come to dinner with me.” His voice was nothing but a rumble in his chest, his eyes so black and all-consuming you couldn’t do anything but agree with him. He seemed pleased by your response as his fingers tightened against your skin and a grateful smile flicked past his lips. His gaze darted down to your mouth and your breath froze in your chest.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” You tried to shake your head but his grip didn’t allow you much movement. He was taken aback by your answer, a small frown tugging at his mouth. You quickly backtracked to fix the situation. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in a grocery store. That’s a new low that I refuse to reach.”

Jungkook chuckled and tapped your chin gently. “Alright, darling. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Again, he kept his promise to you. He showed up at your parents house exactly at seven, wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. The tulips he had gotten for you was thrust into your hands the moment you opened the door. Flashing him a genuine smile, you hurried into the kitchen to set them in water while your mother grilled him on his birth time. You were quick to drag him away, practically throwing him towards the car as you waved goodbye.

“Sorry,” you sighed as Jungkook opened the passenger door for you. “She has a…thing for astrology. She’s probably creating your star map or whatever right now.”

“It’s okay,” he responded once he got into the drivers seat. “It’s sweet of her to care.”

You snorted. “She’s delusional is what she is.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t believe in astrology?”

“Do you?”

Jungkook shrugged as he pulled out of your dirt driveway. He looked so damn attractive behind the wheel it was honestly unfair. “Not really saying I do or don’t. All I know is that there are a lot of things out there that are out of our control. If believing in the stars and planets helps you gain some of that control back, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“God, don’t talk like that in front of my mother. She’ll want to start dating you.”

He grinned and placed a hand on your knee. “Tell her I’m already taken.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond to that. Not that he didn’t give you one, it was just that you literally had nothing to say. With just one sentence he opened the floodgates of your brain and the amount of thoughts that were flying through your conscious was painful. Anxiety fluttered in your stomach and you pressed your lips together to keep you from word vomiting onto him. No, it was better to keep your mouth shut and let the moment pass.

By the time you reached the restaurant you were a trembling mess of nerves. Were you guys dating? You thought this was just a ‘testing the waters’ date, not a ‘you’re my girlfriend now’ date. Did you have to make it Facebook official? You hated that shit.

Jungkook didn’t comment on your obvious distress, though. He merely placed a hand on the small of your back, ignoring how you jerked in surprise, and led you into the quiet bistro. Nodding politely to the hostess who was practically panting at the sight of him (you honestly couldn’t blame her) and pulled out your chair for you. When he sat down, he started talking. Idle chat at first. Commenting on one of the dishes, asking about the college classes you were taking at your local university. Before you realized it, wine was in your glass and your shoulders were loose. Previous nerves forgotten, you lost yourself in Jungkook. You drank, you ate, you laughed, and genuinely enjoyed his company. Honestly, it was the best date you’d ever been on.

“I have to be honest with you,” Jungkook spoke after he finished his raw steak. “I have an ulterior motive for asking you here tonight.”

“Oh,” you mumbled around the shrimp you had just tossed in your mouth. “So…this isn’t a date?”

“No, it is,” Jungkook clarified quickly around a dry chuckle. He seemed…nervous. It put you on edge immediately. “This is definitely a date. And, also, more.”

“More? What, is this a proposal too?” You were joking. A 100% joking. But Jungkook was staring at you so seriously it made you panic. “Jungkook, if you get down on one knee here I swear-”

“I’m not proposing,” he assured you. “This is something more than that.”

“More?” You parroted. Jungkook sighed.

“Do you know what a true mate is?”

Right there, in that quaint little bistro, on a date with quite possibly the most untouchable man you’d ever met, he explained how you were irrevocably his. His true mate, his soulmate.

Jungkook explained everything in great detail, which you appreciated, because honestly, you had no words. He explained how when he was born, the witch who cared for him told his father that his future glared brightly ahead of him, but only when he met his other half. True mates were rare. Mating was common, the wolves in his pack could have multiple mates or a lifelong one, but true mates were destiny. Someone or something out there had forged the two of you together. You were essentially each others other half. He was made for you and you were made for him.

“But…aren’t true mates only for wolves? I thought it’s impossible for a human to be a true mate,” you asked in a shaky voice once Jungkook took a breath.

“It was supposed to be impossible. Until, I met you.” Jungkook stared at you with a sort of reverence that made your entire body blush. “I have no idea how you are. I’ve spent hours researching. I’ve consulted with members of my pack and others. No one knows why.”

“Are you sure, though? I mean…what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook shook his head. “I visited the witch right after I met you. She took one look at me and told me that I had finally found my true mate. She said she’d never seen a future so bright before.”

You had no words for that. For the first time in your life, you were speechless. Jungkook seemed to understand. He let you sit in silence as he paid for the bill and walked you out to the car. The drive back to your parents house was the same. You couldn’t speak. The shock rendered you stupid.

By the time Jungkook pulled into the driveway you still hadn’t spoken a word to each other. You stepped out of the car before he could open the door for you. Walking up to the porch steps in a trance, you didn’t hear him follow you until he clasped your wrist in his hand. Turning to face him, you were surprised to see his brown eyes so big. They practically sparkled in the moonlight and he looked so soft and sweet you nearly melted into the wood beneath your feet.

“Please,” he whispered. “Can you…just - are you okay? You’ve been so quiet. I’m worried I’ve scared you off or something.”

With that voice, it was impossible to deny him. So, you said the first thing that popped in your head. “Do we have to make it Facebook official?”

Jungkook stared at you before bursting into laughter. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

You blushed and glanced down. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I can’t remember my Facebook password so even if you wanted to change it I don’t think it’ll work.”

“So that’s why you never accepted my friend request,” Jungkook teased. Before you could squeak out a response, he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you forward. You kept your arms crossed across your chest but let yourself fall against him.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whined as you buried your face into his shoulder. He smelled so good, a mixture of pine and spice. “My brain hasn’t worked since you told me I’m yours, so bear with me.”

Jungkook chuckled and gently swayed you from side to side. “Does that mean you’re okay with this? All of this?”

Sighing, you lifted your head up and stepped away from him. Jungkook was not impressed and pulled you back to him. Your heart swelled in your chest and you wrapped your arms around his neck in consolation. “Honestly? I haven’t really processed anything. You’ve had your whole life to come to terms with this. I just found out thirty minutes ago that I’m someone’s soulmate. It’s a lot to take in.”

Jungkook nodded as he tapped his fingers against your hips. “I know. It’s a lot…I’m a lot. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be with me. I won’t-”

Now it was your turn to burst into laughter. You couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth. It was easily the most absurd thing you’d ever heard. “Jungkook, I want to make something very clear. I have no problem being your true mate. That’s not the issue here. Well, there really isn’t an issue. It’s just…hard to believe, I guess. I have to process that this is my new reality.”

“Really?” Jungkook perked up and looked so fucking cute you couldn’t help but cup his cheeks. His skin was so warm despite the cold autumn air that surrounded you both. “You want to do this? Be with me? Be mine?” All you could do was nod. You were so overwhelmed with emotions. The shock was evident, but a piece of you was so happy. You felt whole.

Jungkook’s face split into a wide smile that caused his nose to scrunch up. He wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. Squealing, you slung your legs around his hips and held on. Normally, you’d rather die than show this much affection to someone. But, this was Jungkook. Your soulmate.

“So…what do we do now?” You asked once Jungkook set you down. “Is there, like, a ceremony or something?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted as he stared down at you. He had a hand against your jaw and was rubbing your cheek tenderly. “I really didn’t think I’d get this far.”

You scoffed at his ridiculousness. While recognizing you were Jungkook’s true mate was going to take some time, believing that he thought you’d deny him was utter nonsense. “What if…what if we date, first?” You suggested timidly. “I know that sounds kind of weird considering we’re supposed to be the loves of each others lives. But, I don’t really know you all that well. And, I think this is going to take sometime for me to get used to. Maybe we should date, get to know each other, and just learn how to be with one another.”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook agreed. “We can do whatever you want. Just as long as I have you, I’m happy.”

Two years passed.

Two blissful, wonderful years. Two years of dating, two years of loving, two years of being Jeon Jungkook’s. It was everything you could’ve asked for and more. You had never felt so loved and cherished in your entire life. He respected you, he took care of you, and most importantly, he was there for you in every sense. Since the moment you met him, you hadn’t been alone. He hadn’t let you. Jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

And, it was the same for him. You were there for him when he transitioned into the leader of his pack. You were there when he took over the CEO position from his father and encouraged and supported him every step of the way. You let yourself be loved and in return he let you love him. It was wonderful.

Except, for one tiny thing.

While the emotional aspect of your relationship flourished and bloomed into something beautiful, the physical side remained stagnant. Make out sessions and heavy petting were a norm in your relationship. At first, it didn’t bother you. In fact, you loved that Jungkook was taking things so slow and so seriously. But, eventually, your needs began to grow. You found yourself wanting him in more ways than one, wants that only he could satisfy. Jungkook refused. Every time.

It wasn’t like he refused your every need. No, Jungkook was extremely attentive. When it came to himself, that’s when things got dicy. He had no problem spending hours between your legs, worshipping you until you were crying from the overstimulation. Yet, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near him. Not without lack of trying on your part. The minute your hands went down to his waistband, he pushed you away. Every time you tried to dip your mouth to the obvious bulge in his pants, he lifted you up and kissed you breathless until you forgot your name. It wasn’t until after a year of dating that he finally let you grind on his clothed cock. Even then, he held off until you finished and then walked out with quite possibly the worst case of blue balls. You hated that he did this to himself. The worst part was, you couldn’t understand why.

The one time you had brought it up to him it had resulted in the worst fight the two of you had ever gotten into. It was the only argument that was never really resolved. After the yelling and the tears, all you got out of Jungkook was that mating with a wolf was not pretty. It was extremely dangerous and he refused to put you in that kind of danger. End of discussion. No matter how hard you tried to persuade him or broach the subject, he shut it down. Hard. Eventually, you gave up.

He even spent his ruts away from you. Every three months, he left you for a week. You knew he had a place somewhere up in the mountains and you assumed that’s where he went. You had no idea. There was no point even asking to come along. You loved your boyfriend and didn’t want to purposely give him a heart attack. You hated it when he left. As much as you tried to hide it and convince him that you were just fine, he wasn’t stupid. Being away from him was tough. A piece of you was missing whenever he was gone. And you were only whole again when he returned.

This past week had been one of those weeks. He had left on Sunday for the mountains. He was agitated and clingy, how he normally was pre-rut. Jungkook wouldn’t let you leave his side and you spent most of the weekend on his lap or wrapped in his arms. Not that you minded. When he left your parents house on Sunday night, you’d had to coax him out of the door. Promising him that you’d be okay and that you’d see him next week. It wasn’t until several kisses later did Jungkook finally leave.

While you’d been doing this for two years, it never got easier. More manageable? Sure. But definitely not easier. All you could do was go through the motions. You went to work at the local bakery, came home and helped your mom with dinner, watched TV with your dad before going to bed. Taehyung and Jimin would visit often, threatened by Jungkook to keep you company. While you assured them it wasn’t necessary, you secretly didn’t mind. They made you laugh and made you temporarily forget your boyfriend was miles away from you. Sometimes, if you were lucky, he’d call you to tell you goodnight. But those times were rare. Normally, you didn’t hear from him until Friday or Saturday when he was finally coming out of his rut and returning to the world.

By the time Sunday rolled around, you were a jittery ball of nerves. Not in a bad sense. You were just excited. The anticipation killed you and it took all of your willpower to sit and wait for his text to tell you to come over. Your parents always left you alone on these Sundays, unable to deal with your hyperactiveness and constant fidgeting.

This Sunday was no different. You puttered around your room for the better part of the day. You spent the other part in the kitchen, baking like your life depended on it. Jungkook loved your cookies and you always made sure to come over with at least three batches after his ruts. He always said that was his second favorite part about coming home, after seeing you, of course.

You had just finished packaging the final batch in a glass cookie jar when your phone dinged. You didn’t have to read the message, you knew exactly what it said. Pure joy rushed through your system as you threw on your coat and shouted a hasty goodbye to your parents. Juggling the cookies and car keys, you sprinted to your car. The drive to Jungkook’s was thankfully not long. About ten minutes, as long as you didn’t hit any traffic on the main road. Luck was on your side, though, and you showed up at Jungkook’s house in eight minutes.

Taehyung’s car was in the driveway when you pulled up, which wasn’t odd. Although Jungkook owned the house, the members of his pack were almost always around. While most preferred to travel in their wolf forms, you knew Taehyung and Namjoon preferred cars. Something about being able to listen to their own music without comments from the peanut gallery. You didn’t really understand and didn’t really need to. You had just chalked it up as one of their many quirks.

Carrying the trays of cookies in both hands, you shut your car door with your foot before speed-walking up the stone walkway to Jungkook’s home. The screen door was shut, but the wooden door was swung wide open. You had just reached for the metal handle when you heard it.

A deep, threatening growl ripped through the peaceful quiet and froze you in place. You knew it was Jungkook. While you had only heard it once, you’d never forgotten it. It was when the two of you had attended a party and an alpha from a neighboring pack had cornered you in the hallway. Jungkook had found you cowered against the wall as the other alpha had caged you in. The sound that had left his chest had given you equal parts comfort and fear. Comfort, because he was there and you knew you were safe. Fear, because you could see in the way he bared his teeth and how his muscles vibrated, he had been furious and bloodthirsty.

That’s what you felt now, fear.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

From your vantage point in front of the screen door, you could see directly into the kitchen. Taehyung was leaning against the granite countertop and Jungkook was seated at the island. The tension was so thick you practically choked on it.

“Enough, Taehyung.”

“No,” Taehyung snapped, seeming just as angry as Jungkook. “I’m not dropping it. Not this time.”

“Yes, you will,” Jungkook snarled. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Too fucking bad.” While Taehyung was also an alpha, he acted so much like a beta you never really noticed. Until now. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you do this to yourself anymore. Not spending your ruts correctly is only causing you more harm than good.”

“I’m doing things the way I want to, and it’s working-”

“The hell it is!” Jungkook growled at the interruption but Taehyung ignored him. “It’s not working, and you know it. Anyone with two fucking eyes knows it. It’s getting so bad that the pack is noticing, too. Even Namjoon has realized something is wrong, and he’s as oblivious as they come.”

“If they have a problem with me they can take it up with me.”

“No, they can’t. Because you won’t listen. Your head is so far up your ass you can’t even hear yourself anymore. What you’re doing right now is not working. Something needs to change.”

“Like what?” Jungkook spat.

“You know what,” Taehyung bit back. Jungkook was practically vibrating from rage. You knew you needed to go get someone, someone from the pack to calm the two of them down. Things were only escalating, but you couldn’t move. Your brain screamed at you to run but your legs were rooted in place. “That’s is what’s so frustrating, Jungkook. This, all of this, could be solved. She’s right there-”

“Don’t.” Jungkook stood up so fast the chair he sat on flew backwards and hit the wall with a resounding crack.

“Why?” Taehyung threw his arms up in the air. “Why not? I don’t get it-”

“Because I don’t want her!” Jungkook yelled, the force of it rang throughout the house. You had no idea who the she was that they were referring to. You assumed it was someone from the pack. It was well-known that wolves with human mates sometimes turned to other she-wolves to help with their ruts. You figured that’s what Jungkook did whenever he went away for a week. It had bothered you at first, but you knew he had his needs and that they were at a biological level. You refused to make him feel guilty or ashamed for taking care of himself.

“You don’t want her?” Taehyung was enraged. You could tell by the way he straightened his spine and unfurled himself to his full height. Jungkook bristled in response and the muscles in his back strained against the thin material of his shirt.

“No, I don’t!” Jungkook exploded. “What don’t you understand about that? I don’t want her around me. I don’t need her, I’m fine on my own. The thought of having her there when…God - it makes me physically ill.”

“She’s your girlfriend. Above all of that, your true mate. You’re seriously going to deny yourself of her, for what? Just because you don’t like having her around?”

Oh.

That’s when it hit you. They weren’t talking about some random she-wolf. They were talking about you. You were the one Jungkook didn’t want. You were the one Jungkook didn’t need. You were the one he didn’t like having around. As the weight of the words sunk into your mind, you felt your chest becoming tighter and tighter.

Then, you’re heart broke right in half. You dropped the container of cookies and didn’t flinch when it shattered against the wooden slats. The sound unstuck your feet from their position on the porch and your fight or flight system took over. Without a second thought, you turned on your heel and ran.

You didn’t know if anyone was behind you, you didn’t turn around to check. Hands fumbled for the car door as you threw yourself into the drivers side. Pain ricocheted throughout your chest cavity and you struggled to breathe. Your brain was blank, the only thing your mind did was move your body to get you somewhere safe. You had to leave and you had to leave now.

Miraculously, your fingers found your keys and inserted them into the ignition on the second try. A flutter of movement occurred to the left of you but your eyes didn’t let you look that way. Instead, they focused on the rearview mirror as you reversed out of the driveway. Your right hand found the gearshift and moved it to drive. Soon, you were tearing down the street as your ears refused to register the agonized howls that echoed behind as you kept staring forward. Adrenaline pumped through your system and your body shivered in response, the splash of hormones had created a blanket of fake calm over you. The emotions, the pain, the thoughts were swirling inside of you, ready to break free and drown you, but your brain wouldn’t allow it.

It wasn’t until you reached the end of your long driveway that you felt the original spike of adrenaline fade away. Your mother was in the front, tending to the flowers, and looked up when she saw your car fly into its usual spot. She stood up and her face twisted into a frown when you got out of your seat.

“Honey, your aura…it’s concerning.” The blanket was yanked away and the pain crashed over you.

You couldn’t say a word, all you could do was collapse in your mother's arms and cry, cry, cry.

It took you two days to calm down. The tears had stopped rolling and your shoulders no longer shook from trying to hold your sobs behind your teeth. Your mother hadn’t left your side, leaving your father to answer the door whenever someone knocked. The only person who did was Taehyung and Jimin. Jungkook never showed up.

Well, that was a lie.

Jungkook did show up every morning and night, without fail. But he never came to your doorstep.  Instead, he was in the woods behind your house, patrolling, not daring to leave the protection of the forest. A part of you wondered if he was respecting your obvious need for space or if your mother had paid a witch to set up boundary lines that didn’t allow him to cross. Either way, you were grateful that you couldn’t see him. There was an incessant tugging in your heart to be near him but you staunchly ignored it, which would’ve been impossible if you saw his achingly beautiful face.

I don’t want her. I don’t need her. Having her there makes me physically ill. Those three sentences played in a constant loop in your head, like a horror movie you couldn’t escape from. You were the protagonist who couldn’t escape the maze, but the villain wasn’t kind enough to kill you off. No matter what you did, your brain wouldn’t stop repeating those three sentences. Your mother burned sage, she pressed crystals into your palms, she muttered ritual after ritual, but nothing worked.

You hated how affected you were. You had always told yourself that you would never be the girl who’d get so wrapped up in someone else they didn’t know who they were anymore. Independence was something you prided yourself on, but you seemed to be at a complete loss now. You couldn’t stop the waves of sadness and self-hatred at your depressed state. It was amazing how empty you felt yet so full of pain at the same time. Your mind and heart couldn’t seem to decide which hurt worse; your heart for having your soulmate so obviously reject you, or your brain for trying to make sense of the situation. When did this happen? How did this happen? How had you been so blind as to not see it?

“I don’t think we’re soulmates,” you rasped to your mom on the third morning. It had been the first words you had spoken to her since you had fell into her arms. She looked up from the bundle of herbs she was smoking.

“Why do you say that?”

You stared at your hands that had curled in on themselves. “I don’t make him happy. I-I never realized how uncomfortable I made him. I wish I had known. How did I miss it?”

Your mother tutted gently and gathered you in her arms. She smelled of lavender and wax. “This is good. I’m glad you’re letting yourself have this moment. Let’s sit in this and allow yourself to be embedded here.” But you didn’t want to have this moment. You didn’t want to have any moment and you’ve felt enough to last a lifetime. Instead, you rolled over, let sleep overtake you and tried to ignore the distant howling that rattled your window pane.

By nightfall of the fourth day, you were forced out of bed. Partly by choice, partly by force. Your parents had dipped out to run to the grocery store, despite your mother’s insistence that she could stay. You and your father managed to convince her to leave and you had gotten up to wave them goodbye. Sure, your heart was broken, but the least you could do was kiss them on the cheek before they left. You had turned around to shuffle into the kitchen to try and shovel something down your dry throat when a loud knock sounded at the front door. Hesitating, you carefully peeked through the kitchen window and saw Jimin on your front doorstep, dressed in all black.

Sighing, you stumbled over and pulled the door open. You figured you couldn’t avoid them for much longer. “Hey, Jimin.”

“Christ, you look like shit.”

You huffed out a laugh as Jimin stared at you in horror, not having the energy to be offended. You also knew, in a weird way, that this was Jimin’s way of caring for you. “Yeah. My mother’s covered all the mirrors in the house.”

Jimin nodded as he glanced at you from head to toe. “I want to ask if you’re okay but…” He gestured to your gaunt frame swaddled in a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. For the first time in two years, they were your own clothes, not Jungkook’s.

“I’m fine, Jimin,” you heaved a heavy sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want to come in? I think my mom boiled some tea not too long ago.”

Jimin shook his head. “Can’t. Jungkook would have a fit if I got that close to you right now. I’m already pushing my luck just by showing up.” He doesn’t care, you thought bitterly, and almost said it out loud but you caught yourself at the last second. Jimin wasn’t stupid, though. He knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes going soft, “are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” You shook your head. A wave of sadness washed over you but the telltale prick of tears didn’t come.

Jimin understood. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he rocked back onto his heels. “Are you going to talk to him?”

Letting out a heavy breath, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know I have to. I just…I just need time.”

“Take however long you need.”

It was another 48-hours before you finally snapped. While you had spent the majority of the two days that had passed to make yourself resemble a human being, you couldn’t focus. You couldn’t move on. Why?

Because Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone.

His presence was constant. He circled your house every hour of ever day, the large shadow of him in wolf form darkened the trees behind your house. The howling had stopped but the pacing hadn’t. You hoped he was at least sleeping, but then you got annoyed at yourself for caring. You didn’t know why he was out there, it made no sense. Jungkook’s words were so different from his actions it made your head spin.

But, you needed to move on with your life. You had to. The only way it was going to happen was if Jungkook did too. It hurt. God, did it hurt. Yet, as sad and utterly pathetic as it sounded, you were used to the pain at this point, had resigned yourself to it. A part of you worried you wouldn’t know what to do without it.

Shaking off that depressing thought, you tugged on your rain boots and stepped outside for the first time in a week. The air was heavy with the promise of rain, the clouds low and gray. You tugged the hood up on your sweater to prevent your hair from completely frizzing out before you walked to down the back deck steps.

The backyard of your parents house was expansive. The home you had grown up in sat on top of a sloping hill that your mother had turned into her personal greenhouse. You stepped past rows of raised garden beds and pruned plants until you reached the line where the neatly mowed grass met the twisted ferns of the forest floor. As you had suspected, the ground was scorched with the evidence of past rituals. While your mother hadn’t out right admitted, you had figured someone had come and created a boundary line. It was obviously specific to Jungkook since Jimin and Taehyung were still able to visit. While your mother’s methods were extreme, you understood. As difficult as it was to move on with your life with Jungkook sequestered to the forest, you couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like if he was within a few feet of you.

With a deep inhale, you sat down on the damp grass and waited. After a few minutes, you could hear the faint sounds of paws hitting the wet earth. The galloping got louder and louder until there was a momentary stretch of silence before it changed to footsteps.

When Jungkook emerged from the trees, you weren’t prepared. Although you knew you wouldn’t be, you still weren’t expecting it to hurt this bad. Your chest squeezed painfully at the first look of his broad form. Technically, it had been two weeks since you two had truly seen each other, the longest you’d ever gone. What hurt the most was how badly you longed for him. You wanted nothing more than to run straight into his arms, bury your face into his chest, and forget everything. Just forgive and give your heart what it wanted. But you remained firmly in place.

Jungkook looked as if he had seen a ghost. Which, to be fair, was probably true since you hadn’t seen the sun in seven days. His normally golden skin was pale and even from where you sat you could see the dark circles bruising under his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping. You hated that you noticed. You hated that you cared. He was dressed in all black and his chest strained against the material of his sweater. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side and the sight reminded you of why you were here.

“Hi.” Probably wasn’t the best start but it was the best you could do. Jungkook didn’t respond so you soldiered on. “I-I know you don’t want to be here, so I’ll make this quick. I just…wanted to apologize. I had no idea I made you so uncomfortable. I’m not sure how long you’ve felt this way about me, not that it really matters, but I wish you had told me sooner. Maybe things would’ve been easier for you, who knows.” You released a heavy sigh and tried to shove down the stone in your throat as you forced the next words out of your mouth. “But, all of that doesn’t matter anymore. I think I understand what you need, now. I know you loved me at one point, but I’m obviously not what you need anymore. And…t-that’s okay - I swear it is. All I want is for you to be happy, Jungkook. And I think, in order for that to happen, I need to move on. We both need to move on-”

“Stop it,” Jungkook broke in with a harsh voice that cut your sentence in half. “Stop talking.”

It felt like he had slapped you in the face. A wave of humiliation washed over you and you visibly flinched. Staggering to your feet, you locked your gaze onto your boots in an attempt to hide the tears that dripped down your nose. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, not expecting it to change anything. You began to turn away but Jungkook stopped you in your tracks, again.

“Wait, no - stop. Stop. Please…don’t go,” he pleaded. When you turned around, his eyes were frantic. Jungkook’s hand was raised from his side as if he thought about reaching out to you but something stopped him. His words were at war with one another and you were caught in the middle, at a loss for what he was trying so desperately to convey to you.

“Jungkook, I’m so confused.”

“I know. I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Jungkook tucked his head into his hands before dropping down into a squat. “This is all wrong. This is all so wrong.”

You knew you should walk away. You had said your piece, it was time to move on, just as you had said. Yet, you couldn’t. It was as if your heart was tethered to him and your body couldn’t handle the pain of walking away. “Listen-”

“I don’t know what to do.” He cut you off but the bubbles of anger that had risen from being interrupted popped once you saw how lost he looked. His tattooed fingers threaded through his hair, allowing you to see the pure anguish that twisted his features. “Whenever I feel like this, I come to you. Because you always know what to do. Any situation, no matter what, you can handle it. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”

The way he spoke to you now, so reverently and so full of awe, made your head spin. Nothing made sense.  It was such a blatant contrast to the brutality that he had spat out a week ago. As much as you wanted to believe what he said now, those stupid words could not get out of your head. It was a constant reminder that never shut up.

“I don’t know what to do either,” you admitted in a quiet voice.

“Tell me,” Jungkook begged, as if he couldn’t and refused to comprehend what you had just told him. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Whatever you want from me, I’ll give you.”

You were shaking your head before he could finish. “There’s nothing you can do, Jungkook. Nothing.”

“Don’t say that.” He stared at you, horrified. “Don’t say that to me. Please, there has to be something.”

“What could there be?” You cried. Tears streamed down your cheeks now. “You said it yourself, being near me makes you sick. Why would I stay? Why would you want me to? I refuse to make you uncomfortable anymore - so that’s that.”

“It isn’t,” Jungkook argued back. “It can’t be. I-I can’t lose you, I can’t. I need to make this right, please just let me. Please.”

But, you were tired. You were so fucking tired. You were exhausted of the emotional rollercoaster that you were on that you just wanted to crawl away and hide. All the fight seeped out of you as your shoulders slumped forward. Jungkook saw this and the blood drained from his face. You were giving up, he could see it, and it scared the shit out of him.

“Jungkook, I need to go, okay? I-I can’t do this.”

“No!” Jungkook shouted and shot up to his feet. The pure panic that choked his voice brought on a fresh set of tears that you struggled to hold back. “Just let me explain, okay? I swear to God, after you hear what I have to say, if you still want me to, I’ll let you go. I won’t fight you on it. But, please let me tell you the truth. Give me a chance to make this right. You deserve that.”

You hesitated for a moment. Deep down, you knew you should let him talk. Not because you necessarily thought he deserved to, but because he was right. You did deserve the truth, no matter how much it broke your heart. With a heavy sigh and a quick swipe of your cheeks, you nodded. Once Jungkook was sure you weren’t going to leave, he began pacing. Looking every bit like the wild animal you knew him to be but never got to see.

“Mating with a werewolf is…brutal. It’s intense, it’s painful and it isn’t pretty. It’s essentially a breeding session where I use you as a vessel to fulfill my innate biological needs. It’s not romantic, it’s not gentle. Even for she-wolves it can be too much. The thought of subjecting you to something like that - that type of pain…I couldn’t fathom it. I don’t think you understand just how precious you are to me. The image of you being battered and bruised because of me, something I did…it tormented me, day and night.” He paused for a moment, the pained look in his eyes made you shiver. You hated that he had gone through all of this turmoil on his own, and you especially hated how you never made more of an effort to try and relieve him of it.

“I couldn’t do it. That’s partially the reason I waited so long to tell you that you were my true mate. I knew ruts were something I would never expose you to even though it’s such a huge part of my life, a wolf’s life.” Jungkook looked you straight in the eye, the intensity of his dark gaze took your breath away. “I know the practices other wolves partake in when their own heats or ruts arrive. I know you know them too. But, I need you to understand something. The moment you allowed me to be yours and vice versa, I haven’t had anyone else since. I swear on my life, I’ve spent every single one of my ruts alone. I wouldn’t and I won’t do that to you.”

“Isn’t that painful, though?” Your voice cracked but neither one of you acknowledged it. While your knowledge on ruts were expansive, having done plenty of research since being with Jungkook, you had obviously never experienced one.

“It’s manageable. It’s way more painful for a she-wolf to go through her heat alone than it is for a male.” Jungkook clenched and unclenched his fists as he resumed his pacing. “The worst part is being away from you. I’ve been going through ruts since puberty, I can handle them. But not being able to be with you for a whole week…I hated it. Still do. I dread that three month mark. And as time went on, I became more and more miserable. Being apart from you was almost unbearable but the other option…I never even allowed myself to consider it.

“It came to the point where the pack was noticing. I wasn’t getting the proper pheromonal release from my ruts and it was beginning to affect those around me. Taehyung has been on my ass for months now to get over myself and take you with me during my next rut. Each time I’d give him some excuse, but it was getting harder and harder to justify what I was doing. At first, I was convinced it was because I was protecting you. But you’ve been so understanding and so patient with me and my life, those excuses were becoming useless. Eventually, I think it was because I was protecting myself. I was - am - so scared. I’m terrified that I could hurt you when I’m like that. That I wouldn’t be able to notice or worse, ignored, if something happened to you. Living with that type of fear became debilitating. So, I just kept my mouth shut and kept you away from that part of me.”

Jungkook shook his head and chuckled humorlessly. “Now I know that was the worst possible thing I could do. That I was just hurting you more. What you walked into last Sunday was a culmination of my frustrations that I was refusing to deal with. While it’s not a valid reason, I’m well aware of that, I need you to know that what you heard was not the truth. It couldn’t be further from it. Because the truth is that I’m hopelessly in love with you and the thought of being without you hurts worse than I ever thought was possible.”

It wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time that Jungkook left you speechless. It took you a full minute to process what he had said. Jungkook granted you the silence although he became increasingly more agitated as time passed. His boots scuffed the dead leaves that littered the ground and his pacing led him closer to the ashes that lay before your feet. Then, he’d suddenly stalk off with a growl as he was forced to keep away.

“I-” you cleared your throat around the lump that had found a home there. “I had no idea. This whole time…I thought it was because you didn’t want me.”

“God, no.” Jungkook swore heavily as his muscles bunched and coiled beneath his clothes. “The - the fact that…you - fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s not it, that’s not it at all. You’re my dream girl, you’re the love of my life, and I want you every second of every day.”

Maybe it’s because you were emotionally drained and had no mental strength left. Maybe, you needed to hear those words from Jungkook more than you realized. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t worth trying to figure out an explanation as you sunk to the ground and burst into tears.

Jungkook lost it across from you. Broken whines stained the air as he carded through his hair anxiously. He kept trying to get to you, to try to soothe you. But the boundary was unfortunately doing its job and each attempt was met with failure. Curses were spat out until eventually, he got as close as the boundary would let him and fell to his knees. He began spewing whatever came to mind first, unsure of what to do. All he knew was that you were crying because of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He thought hearing you cry from your bedroom window was torture, but nothing could compare to hearing you break down in front of him. Nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sorry…please, I’m so sorry. I - don’t cry, darling. Please don’t. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

It wasn’t tears of heartbreak that leaked from your eyes. Instead, it was tears of relief. While your heart had wholly accepted his words as the truth, the logical part of you reminded yourself that the two of you had way more talking to do. This was far from over, but the relief of knowing that he loved you and he was yours…it was indescribable.

You finally lifted your head up and were shocked to find Jungkook’s cheeks glistening with moisture. Your only thought was to comfort him as you scrambled forward to do just that. Instead of feeling his smooth skin against the palm of your hand, you were blocked by what felt like a wall although nothing stood in your way. Frowning, you realized with a start that the boundary worked both ways. Jungkook let out a frustrated growl as he glared at the ashes that was stopping both of you from getting what you wanted. It was silent for a few moments until an idea popped into your head.

“Wait here,” you announced before jumping up and taking off for the house. Ignoring Jungkook’s distressed cry, you ran inside. You yanked your car keys off from their designated hook and quickly typed out a text to your parents to let them know where you were going before spinning around and sprinting back outside. Jungkook was where you left him, although he stumbled to his feet when he saw you reappear.

“I’m going to your house,” you announced, breathless. “No witch is stupid enough to go that far into werewolf territory. If you want to talk to me there, then follow me.”

Jungkook stared at you for a heartbeat until the words you spoke clicked. “Y-yeah. Yes. Okay. I’ll be there.”

With a curt nod, you ran to your car. For the first time in a week, a faint sprout of hope bloomed in your chest.

It was the longest and shortest ten minutes of your life. The drive to Jungkook’s seemed to last a lifetime but also was over within a blink of an eye. The tears had stopped flowing by the time you pulled your car into his driveway, but you felt the telltale prick in your eyes when you saw him burst from the trees. Your heart ached as his long legs ate up the distance between you two as you wrestled with your seatbelt and threw the car into park. By the time you freed yourself, he was at the hood of your car.

The two of you stared at each other for a few breathless moments. You weren’t sure who moved first, but it didn’t matter as you crashed into each other’s arms. The moment his searing warmth enveloped you, you dissolved into another puddle of sobs. The feeling of his thick arms banded across your back, his torso molded to yours, and his hair tickling your ear, felt so right. Another wave of crippling relief washed over you and you practically melted against Jungkook. But he held you up, just like he always had.

He leaned against the front bumper while his hands were everywhere. Cradling your head into his neck, smoothing over your hips, or running circles over your shoulders. He was crying, you could feel the tears dampening your hair. But you were soaking his shirt so no one was in any position to complain.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t,” Jungkook hissed fiercely as he squeezed you tighter. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, not in the slightest.”

“Kook,” you sighed and pulled your head back to get a good look at him. “It takes two to tango.”

“Not this time,” he argued. “You’ve put up with so much. You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more. It was my own fears that got in the way and created this mess. And I’m so sorry for that, darling. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shushed him gently, running your thumbs over his cheeks to swipe at the dried tears. “I know you’re sorry. I believe you.”

Jungkook dipped his head further into your touch with a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest. He kissed your palm gently, sniffing at your wrist. It made you giggle. “Missed that,” Jungkook mumbled as he stared at you with stars in his eyes. “Missed you. Missed you so much.”

A fresh wave of tears cascaded down your cheeks. You were positive that you looked like a mess, hair in a knotted bun, face red and puffy and you kept sniffling every two seconds. But Jungkook looked at you as if you held the world in your hands. “Missed you too,” you murmured in return. “Please, next time, just talk to me. I may not have the answers you’re looking for all the time, but I’ll always be here to listen.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispered. “There won’t be a next time, promise. If I happen to be stupid enough to put us in this position again, I give you full permission to punch me in the face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You lifted yourself onto your toes to brush your lips against his, dropping back down to your feet when his head chased after yours. “Or maybe I just won’t kiss you for a week.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened comically and he actually looked terrified. “I’d rather you just punched me in the face.” You tilted your head back and laughed. Jungkook tugged you closer and nosed your throat before peppering gentle kisses along the exposed skin. Sighing happily, you tilted your head to allow him better access and rested your cheek on his shoulder.

“I love you,” you said quietly. Jungkook froze for a split second before he sank against you. Squeaking in shock, you scrambled to brace yourself against the sudden weight pressing you towards the house.

“Say it again,” Jungkook pleaded. You couldn’t deny him. Dusting feather light kisses to the shell of his ear, you repeated those three words again, and again, and again. Each time you did, Jungkook held you a little tighter and cried a little harder.

Eventually, you’re murmured promises became softer and softer until the two of you just enjoyed each others presence. “C’mon,” you finally whispered as you started to lift yourself off of him. Jungkook growled and refused to let you move an inch farther. “Kook, come on. Let’s go inside. Your ass must be numb by now.”

“Don’t care,” he grumbled but he at least shuffled forward a bit more so that your combined weight wasn’t squashing his ass against your car.

“You might say that now, but you won’t be saying that later.”

Jungkook grunted at your logic but he at least raised his head and looked at you with the sweetest eyes. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

Giggling, you asked, “do you want me to?”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. “I want you here forever.” Jungkook tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, you should just move in with me.”

Christ, this boy was going to give you whiplash. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Jungkook, we just made up. The whole reason we were in this mess is because of poor communication. Don’t you think we should work on that first before anything else?”

“But…we could work on communication all the time if we’re together 24/7.” Despite his pout, you knew he wasn’t totally serious. Although you were sure it was going to come up again.

“Alright, you maniac,” you said fondly. “Take me to bed.” Jungkook’s chest rumbled happily as he lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his trim waist.

It wasn’t a long walk to his bedroom, but the exhaustion of the past week caught up to you and the gentle rocking of his steps lulled you into a serene state. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. You were aware when Jungkook placed you on his bed, practically engulfed in his scent. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was the words Jungkook pressed into your hair has he slid in behind you.

“Love you forever, my darling girl.”

©jcwritings Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

LINKS:

masterlist

ao3

TAGLIST:

yzkyzkuniverse

[akaashigiri]

Sleepy Jaegers

summary: eren and y/n are at a gathering at armin’s place, and their 2 year old is exhausted. eren is equally as exhausted.

pairing: dad!eren jaeger x fem!reader

word count: 1.69k

warnings: none, fluffff

a/n: sigh my baby fever possessed me to write this 💔 might make armin a father as well if people end up liking this one (i will anyway) 😋

These gatherings were almost like a ritual to the group.

There wasn’t ever a specific place they met, they would always gather in different places, wether it’d be the beach, a park, or at one of their homes. It didn’t matter where it took place, just as long as everyone was there. Everyone was obligated to come.

So of course that includes the littlest Jaeger.

It was mid September, and although the weather wasn’t bad at all, some didn’t really feel like going out to public places like the local park, so the group decided on Armin’s new place, since Sasha and Annie still have yet to see it (their homes are farther from the rest)

They were all gathered in the spacious living room; Jean and Sasha on the long couch, while Mikasa and Armin sat on the smaller one. Historia and Ymir shared the beige-colored chair in the corner of the room, while Annie sat on one of the kitchen stools as she watched Y/N and Connie do the dishes (Armin insisted, but the two almost threatened him if he were to touch a dish).

As soon as Eren walked in, he all but restricted anyone from sitting on the big beige reclining sofa, claiming that he deserved it for helping Armin pick it out. Eren was grateful for going to Ikea that day with Armin to pick out the sofa he was now slouched on, recliner out and all. It was now his favorite spot in the whole house (besides the kitchen, since he loved playing around with the smart refrigerator).

As Y/N passed another dish for Connie to rinse and dry, she suddenly felt a tug on her pants, looking down to meet the tired eyes of her daughter.

She was quick to rinse and dry her hands to pick her up, giving all of her attention to the little girl. “Aw, what’s wrong Mimi? Everything alright?” She asked, already noticing the fatigue on her face.

She only snuggled into her mother’s neck, giving her the simple response of, “Tired.” Her vocabulary was fairly short, due to the fact that she was only 2 and learned her words from the ones around her (Eren got in big trouble the day Y/N heard the word ‘shit’ come out of her daughter’s mouth).

Y/N wasn’t surprised she got tired easily today, since Jean gave her more candy then Y/N would usually allow. And with the way her, Ymir, and Mikasa were running around in the yard earlier today, Y/N already saw this coming.

“You’re tired?” she asked again, earning a nod from the crook of her neck. “Okay, mommy’s almost done. Go sit next to daddy until I finish, okay?” She tells her, moving her head back to face her daughter again. Myra nodded, allowing her mother to put her down.

Walking tiredly, Myra slowly moved through the kitchen and made her way to the living room, spotting her father laidback in the corner of the room, limbs sprawled out on the sofa.

Eren wasn’t sure if it was the father instincts, but he was the first to notice her presence in the room, stopping the ghost story Jean swears is real to bring his full attention to his daughter.

“Mimi’s come to save us, everyone!” Eren exclaims, throwing jazz hands up as everyone joined and cheered her on for simply walking in. Jean didn’t like what Eren was implying, but clapped nonetheless.

“You’re not funny. Aren’t dads supposed to tell good jokes?” He questioned, attempting to steal a fry from Sasha’s plate, but failing miserably as she only swats his hand away.

“No Jean, I think it’s the other way around, they’re supposed to be corny.” Armin butts in, watching with a smile as Myra finally starts walking towards her father.

Eren could already see the fatigue on her face, holding his arms out for her once she got a little closer. “What’s up Mimi, you tired?” Eren questioned, laughing as she instead of answering, simply lifted her arms up for him to take her.

She responds with a nod, her hair falling over her face as she was lifted onto his lap. As soon as she was situated, she wasted no time in making herself comfortable, wiggling out of her dad’s grasp and laying her stomach down on his, her head right above where his heart was.

“Nevermind.” he sighs, making the whole room burst out into laughter. This only made Myra whine, the loudness distrupting her attempt at sleeping. “Sorry Myra!” Sasha whispered, finally giving a fry to Jean afterwards.

“I wonder what got her so tired.” Annie questions, making Jean sink into the couch out of guilt as Eren sends him an irritated glance.

“Jean went and gave her a sugar rush before we got here. It was absolute hell.” Eren’s eyes furrow in frustration as he remembers earlier today and how hard it was for him to catch a nap without his energetic 2 year old jumping all over him. All while Jean was happily eating lunch with his wife.

“Okay, but I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to have that much candy! Kids eat candy like crazy, right?” He attempts to defend himself, looking around the room for support, only to be met with silence.

“Yeah, thing is she’s not a kid! She’s a toddler! Dumbass.” he mumbles the last part, hoping that Y/N somehow wouldn’t hear. But she always found a way how.

“Can someone please slap Eren for me?” She yells from the kitchen. “Stop cursing in front of Myra!”

Eren has no time to defend himself as volunteers step up to do what their friend asked, but Mikasa was the quickest, and Eren was even quicker. He swiftly grabs Myra’s frog blanket from the bag sat beside him and hids his face in it, saving it from the harsh blow of Mikasa’s hand.

“You’re lucky I didn’t miss completely, I just don’t wanna wake Myra.” she confesses, walking back to her seat.

“God, I cant believe we almost named her after you.” Eren groaned, blanket still clutched in hand.

“Mimi’s close enough for me.” She smiles, noticing the way Myra starts to squirm a bit. “Throw the blanket over her, I think she’s cold.” She suggests, bringing Eren’s attention back to the little girl on his chest.

Eren is quick to unravel the rather big blanket from his grasp and take it in both hands to bring it in the air, watching it fall perfectly onto her small figure. The blanket basically covered his whole torso, the end tickling his neck a bit.

“Thanks again for the blanket, Historia. She loves it so much, a little too much.” he says, feeling his daughter move under the blanket so that her little arms were wrapped around his torso as far as she could go. “She won’t use the one I got her anymore.” he says with a slight frown.

The group laughs again, but quietly this time, not wanting the little girl to possibly wake up in a fit.

“I wouldn’t blame her, to be honest.” Jean shrugs, giving Eren a knowing glance, as well as a sly smirk. He knows how mad Y/N would get if he were to disobey her, especially a few minutes after she scolded him. Since Y/N was only a few feet away, Eren aggresively sticks his middle finger up to the man. It’s not like Myra could see through the blanket anyway.

“Are you gonna finish your ghost story, Jean?” Annie asked, although she didn’t believe a word. She just wants to see him make a fool out of himself.

Jeans eyes light up, snapping his fingers together as he sits upstraight again, ready to go into full detail once again. “Right! Okay, okay, so right when I went to shave my beard...”

Eren let’s Jean’s apparent ghost encounter story fade in the background, focusing on the shallow breaths coming from his daughter. He felt himself getting a little drowsy himself, as if her sleepiness was seeping into him.

He doesn’t waste time lifting the blanket a bit to wrap a protective arm around her small figure under it, adjusting his posture on the sofa and crossing his ankles over one another. His let his neck sink into the back of the couch, letting his head go as well so he facing the ceiling. With the warmth of the blanket and the little girl under it, he couldn’t help but close his drowsy eyes as well, finally giving in.

A few minutes pass and Jean is done telling his story, but of course, no one believes him. All except Historia. “Thank you, Historia! See I’m telling the truth. Morons.” Jean rolls his eyes at the way Armin and Sasha curl up as they laughed, Mikasa and Annie trying their best to hold in theirs.

Jean soon notices the person who would’ve regurlarly had the most to say was being awfully quiet. Getting ready to scold him for not listening, Jean is met with a site he has to admit, is the cutest thing he’s seen all year.

Eren was deep in slumber, soft snores coming from him and the little girl that rested as peacefully as he did on top of him. The print of his arm around her could be seen through the green blanket, as well as both of their steady breaths. They looked so comfortable, it would be a pain for them to get up soon, which they would have to eventually.

“Awww, they’re adorable!!” Historia exclaims from the other side of the room, which seemed to catch Y/N’s attention all the way from the kitchen.

“What’s happening? Is something cute happening? Someone take pictures!” She exclaimed, wanting to abandon the plates and take them herself, but thinks that would be rather rude to leave poor connie alone.

“On it!” Sasha and Jean say in unison. Both are quick to pull out their phones, Jean getting the more unappealing angles, while Sasha actually put some effort into it and snapped a few photos.

These were being sent to every single person on her contact list.

this was written at like 2 am sorry if there are typos i swear i reread 💔

also i’m currently working on a mob fic idk if ppl still like those but i most definitely do so watch out for that one :p

hope y’all liked this one lol

-aysha <3

[imaginesntingz]

Imagine Gaara comforting you when the depression and anxiety hit

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Swearing(?)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is my first post on this blog. I hope you all enjoy it <3 Please don’t copy any of my works. It’s all originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into my pieces. Please ask me before reposting.

————————-

You were curled up in bed staring into nothingness. The past week or two you’ve tried to keep it at bay, but you felt the ever lingering depression creeping its way in. Nothing in particular happened. It was just always there. There wasn’t a time you could remember it not being there. Sometimes it was muffled like background noise and other times the volume was turned up so loud it was the only thing you could hear. It was your constant companion following you like a shadow. And to top it all off, anxiety was right behind it. You thought about overthinking and overthought about thinking. Racing thoughts kept you up sometimes until the sun shone through the blinds.

Everyone wondered why you were so quiet at times, but they couldn’t hear the ass beating you were getting from your own mind that made it almost impossible to be in the present moment. Nor could you find the energy, the language, nor a fuck to give to even begin to explain the war going on inside you. Temari invited you out to what you thought would be a small kickback yesterday that ended up being a full blown party. Gaara, who was supposed to go with you, was inevitably called in for village business. You ended up socially tapped after just a few hours in. Although Temari was with you and you met up with some chill friends . . Although you were surrounded by people, you still felt completely alone. Although you heard the words coming out of their mouths, you couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Although you were physically there, you weren’t there. You wanted so badly to just enjoy yourself like everyone else, but it was what it was. After pleading with your sister in law, you finally went home only to find that Gaara was still in the office. One final push that sent you

Spiraling

down

And there you were exhausted but painfully awake in the darkness of your shared room. You didn’t know how long you were lying there. There was no time, only the bottomless ocean that swallowed anything and everything you tried to drop into it. No amount of journaling, affirmations, meditation, prayer, movement, walking, entertainment, pet cuddling, food, water, medication, vitamins, herbs, epsom salt baths, incense, face masks or any of the methods you’ve tried felt tangible to you in that moment. What was the point when you didn’t even have the will to move? How could you think of going on a mission next week when you couldn’t guarantee you’d attempt to leave your room tomorrow? How were you going to take care of your hair if you couldn’t even braid, twist or put it up for the night? How could you call yourself a caring friend when you’re thinking about canceling the dinner you’ve already rescheduled twice?

“My love? Why are you still awake?”

Your husband’s soothing voice jolted you out of your inner dialogue. You hadn’t even heard him come in, too lost in the wall in front of you.

“ . . . Can’t sleep.”

You heard the sound of the door closing and hushed shuffling as he moved around the room. A few moments later, you felt his weight dip the mattress beside you. A warm arm wrapped around your middle, gently pulling you to his chest. His hand moved to intertwine with yours as he spooned you from behind.

“How did it go with Temari? Again I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go with you. I hope you had a good time.”

“It’s fine. It was fine.” you replied flatly.

Gaara caressed the back of your thumb with his own as silence filled the space between you. His lips met the skin of your shoulder and you felt your body gradually relax into his embrace. He was never one to push you when you weren’t ready to talk and always made you feel grounded back to earth with his very presence. Even amidst his many responsibilities as Kazekage, he always made sure to check in on you and provide whatever you may want or need. He would do anything for you if it meant you would feel loved, safe, balanced and happy. Gaara, sweet Gaara, was the love of your lifetimes and you, his. He knew you better than he knew himself and picked up on every detail. Your likes and dislikes. How you took your tea in the morning. Your sensitivities. Every expression. Your body language. The tone in your voice. The slightest change in your eyes. So it was no surprise that he picked up on the shift in your mood right away.

“(y/n) . . . Sweetheart, It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but please know that I am here. I love you more than words can express. I am here to listen and support you in any way that I can. I always will be. You know that, right?”

And with that, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Your body trembled as he maneuvered you to face him. He wrapped his arms firmly around you, cocooning you into the safety of his hold. You buried your face into his chest and the calming scent of earth and cinnamon enveloped your senses. Your tears and running nose wetted the shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. Soft kisses were pressed to the crown of your head as his fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine, occasionally drawing soothing circles. You turned your head to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart pressed against you before finally catching your breath to speak.

“I-I’m just so tired of fighting just to be okay all the time. I’ve been taking steps to take care of my mental health, but it still feels like it isn’t enough. It’s like one day I’m fine and a couple days later it feels like I’m back at square one. I just want to exist sometimes. No expectations. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be.”

He squeezed you gently at your words, pausing thoughtfully before responding.

“You once told me that your dream is to become the peace within and despite the chaos inside of you. The chaos all around us. You said that you wish to heal yourself and pass on healing to others. I know it is easy to lose sight of it when you’re in the midst of what feels like a never ending battle, but I wanted to remind you of it because I never want you to lose hope.”

Your eyes widened in shock and turned glassy as he continued on.

“You have brought me out of the depths of the greatest despair and have played a huge role in supporting me in healing from my past. Your love is medicine to my heart. There were times when I was lost that you reminded me to never lose sight of my dream. To never lose sight of what truly matters. Even in the most difficult times, you have always found hope where others have felt hopeless. That is one of the many reasons I love you. I am your husband, so let me be your strength when you are tired and feel you can’t go on because you are my strength, dear wife. We can get through this together. Remember that healing is a lifelong journey, not a destination. So take it one day at a time. Hour by hour or minute by minute if that’s what it takes. You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, but look how far you’ve come to be here. Right now. How much you’ve grown. I want you to know that I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I hope that you can come to be proud of your accomplishments too.”

A fresh wave of tears came over you, but for a completely different reason this time. You practically tackled your poor mans onto his back and your lips met in an intense yet equally loving kiss. His hands worshipped the expanse of your hips and time fell away. Vibrations hummed throughout your body as you pulled back to look into those seafoam green eyes. His red hair and pale complexion highlighted by the light of the moon peeking through the window. He was ethereal.

“I love you, Gaara. So much. I am so happy that you exist. Honestly when you speak so openly and directly like that I feel like my heart is gonna burst through my chest . . . fuckkkk. In a good way though! But seriously, thank you for being you. I never thought I’d be able to say this to someone without fear, but . . when I am with you, I know that I am home. You are my home, love. ”

His eyes softened before a huge grin spread across his now blushing features. Gaara didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a sight to behold. It was like feeling the warmth of a sunrise for the first time. An all encompassing glow.

He sat up and cupped both of your cheeks in his hands, tears now mirroring your own. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Do you know how beautiful you are? Truly? Your beauty radiates from the inside out. Honestly, what have I done to deserve you?”

“Sir, have you taken a good look at yourself lately? That’s my line. Fight me. Right now.” you deadpanned playfully.

A look of genuine concern crossed over his face. His hands settled on your waist and his posture noticeably drooped.

“(y/n), I would never fight you.”

“ . . . Gaara, I was just joking. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Mhm.”

“ . . . Right. I should have known. I’ll do better next time.” he sighed dejectedly.

Your body shook with laughter at your man’s adorably serious face. He’s always trying his best. Only Gaara could go from holding space through your tears of sadness, to making you cry from happiness, to having you doubled over with laughter within a matter of moments just by being authentically himself.

“I love you so fucking much, my sweet Gaara.”

“And I, you. My beautiful (y/n).”

You both slept soundly that night in a tangle of limbs, not knowing where one ended or the other began. Two, who together, are one.

[moralesispunk]

Better Than the Art

Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: as you guided a school trip around the museum you were joined by a handsome stranger who just so happened to be an FBI agent working in art crime.

I was inspired for this when I found the photo below on Pintrest!

Thursdays are your favourite day to work at the museum and that is because on Thursdays the museum is open for school trips. 

It was a routine you had grown to love. You start your day walking a group of tiny humans around the exhibits from Renaissance to Baroque to Neoclassicism to Romanticism, winning them over just before moving them to the canteen. After lunch you let them run free around everything from surrealism to pop art, watching their faces react to the strange and wonderful works of art that line the room. By the end of the day they are lying on their stomachs in a room full of classics, legs kicking in the air while they draw their own piece of art to stick to the wall on the way out. As their teacher walks them towards their bus a little more interested in art than they had been before they walked in they yell a chorus of thank you and you get to pay attention to their small works of art in more detail. There are drawings of them and their friends, or their dog, or the occasional attempt at a recreation of one of the paintings they saw during their tour. It is a wonderful day, listening to them talk about the art in the most simple way rather than give a twenty minute, or pretentious, response to “how does this art make you feel”.

They say exactly how it makes them feel; happy, sad, excited, bored. It is refreshing to listen to what they have to say about the art that you get to look at every day.  

As you walked around with the group of 10-year olds today you noticed they were a lot quieter than your usual groups. You had spent most of your morning hearing your own voice and for once you were excited that lunch was coming up after this next room. You stopped at the first painting in the room and turned to the circle that had formed around you.

"How does this painting make you feel?"

The question echoed around the hall for a moment before a voice that was far too deep for a ten year old came from your side.

“Happy.”

You turned to the man, dressed in suit trousers and a shirt with a suit jacket folded across his arms. You were taken aback by how handsome this man was; his hair slightly messy and a few crinkles by his eyes from the small smile on his face.

“Look at the way their smiles are painted,” he stepped closer towards you so he was now in line with the group of children in front of you, “the way she paints a smile is just so... real. I feel as though I’m right there, dancing with all those people. I can feel their happiness.”

You couldn’t help the wide grin that was now covering your face at how enthusiastically this man spoke about the art on the wall or the warmth that was now creeping up your cheeks at how his eyes never once landed on the actual painting but stayed locked on you. 

“I agree,” you sighed contently, a moment passing where you almost forgot that you were in the middle of a busy museum guiding a school trip rather than standing alone with this stranger. You cleared your throat, shaking yourself and turning back to the children, “does anyone agree with Mr...”

“Pike. But please, Marcus.”

“Marcus,” you smiled at the man, “does anyone agree with Marcus.”

A sea of hands flew up as the quiet group finally began to speak about how they liked that the people were dancing in bare feet or that they could see them singing along to the band painted in the background. As the chatter continued you mouthed a thank you to Marcus and he shook his head with a smile.

“Let’s move on then,” you called out, stepping round the group to lead them to the next painting.

“Mind if I tag along, get the free guided tour?” Marcus walked next to you.

“Not at all,” you smiled back.

You guided the tour around the rest of the room, the children now more involved than they had been before Marcus joined you and were talking about their favourite parts of the art you were showing them. Marcus stood a few paces behind, listening carefully to your description for each painting or sculpture, biting back a smile when you got really excited as you spoke about your favourite part of the painting and your voice got that little bit louder while you spoke a little faster. 

At the end of the hall you walked into the canteen and the children’s teacher sat them all down at one of the tables, pulling out their lunchboxes as the loud chatter began.

“I’ll come back and collect you all in forty-five minutes?” you said to the teacher and she nodded before you turned back to Marcus.

He had waited for you at the edge of the room, half reading one of the information plaques next to a painting as he watched you walk towards him. You never were usually this forward with someone but he was handsome and you were intrigued.

“I know this might be a strange request but do you want to get lunch with me?” you asked when you finally reached him, clasping your hands in front of you to stop yourself from fidgeting.

“I would love to,” Marcus held his hand out towards the exit, “lead the way.”  

There was a cafe next to the museum that you liked to frequent on your lunch breaks and you decided to take Marcus there, telling him that they sold the best sandwiches you had ever had on the walk over.

“Its the ratio!” you laughed when Marcus asked how the sandwich could be that good, “the bread to sauce to contents, its a perfect balance.”

Marcus threw this head back in a laugh before speeding up to reach for the door before you could. When you stepped inside you were glad that it was quieter than usual today, leading Marcus towards a table in the corner beside the window. A waitress you recognised walked over towards the table and you ordered two sandwiches before she headed into the back.

“I hope you like the sandwich after I hyped it up so much,” you laughed.

“You seem like you have good taste so I trust you,” he flashed you a smile and you could feel your cheeks warm before you cleared your throat.

“So, are you from around here?”

Marcus shook his head, taking a drink of the coffee that had been placed in front of him.

“I moved from Dallas a couple of months ago but things had been so hectic with work that this is the first chance I have got to check out the sights, the museums.”

You hummed, letting the cup of coffee warm your hands before taking a sip.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“FBI. Art crimes,” he replied plainly.

“Oh, wow,” you laughed, “well Agent Pike, busy with all the undercover work since you arrived then?”

“Yes actually,” your eyes went wide in time for the sandwiches being placed in front of you and Marcus laughed, “it’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

“I doubt that. Anyway, Bon Appétit.”

The both of you went quiet as you bit into the sandwiches, Marcus letting out a groan that almost made your cheeks flush before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This is... the best sandwich I’ve ever had. You sure didn’t lie about that.”

“Told you!”

“You’ve got a little,” Marcus waved towards the side of your mouth before lifting his thumb to the side of your mouth and swiping some sauce away, “got it.”

“Oh, thank you,” you dipped your head down to hide your blush, hearing Marcus chuckle a little as you did so.

Lunch went by quickly, the conversation never stopping between you both as you told him why you moved to DC and more about your friends and family. He told you about his move here, slightly divulging into a failed engagement that made the smile fall from his face and so you quickly changed the subject. 

Laughing at something he said your eyes caught the clock on the wall.

“Oh shoot, I need to head back,” you pulled your purse from your bag and Marcus leaned across the table to stop you with a palm on top of your hand.

“Please, let me,” he pulled out his wallet to leave some money for the check and a tip.

“Marcus, I-”

“No buts, my treat,” he smiled.

“Thank you, Marcus. How about I let you join in for the second half of the tour then, if you’re not busy?”

“I’d love that.”

By the time you and Marcus reached the canteen the children were all ready to go and so you took off in the direction of this afternoons exhibits. The children were a lot more enthused with this art; the bright colours and wacky subject matter setting a chatter among them that didn’t stop until the end of the day.

Every so often you would look up to Marcus who was focused on what you were saying and he would flash you a smile. There wasn’t a time that when he smiled that gorgeous smile you didn’t lose track of what you were saying and had to shake yourself to get back to the tour.

When you reached the final room, filled with the most famous pieces of art that the museum held, you gathered the children in the middle of the room. 

“Now, I want to see your art,” you pulled out the paper and pencils, handing them to each child sitting on the ground, “you can draw yourself or you friends, or a landscape piece...”

You headed towards Marcus who was now sitting on a bench a bit further back from the group.

“Can maybe even attempt drawing a piece of the art,” you handed a piece of paper to Marcus as well and gave him a wink before turning back to the children, “whatever you want.”

You let them draw for fifteen minutes, walking around quietly as you watched their art come to life. Every so often you would glance over to Marcus who was now sitting with one leg over the other as he leaned on one of the gift shop tour guides. His face was set in stone, his tongue peeking out slightly whenever he sat back to look at what he was drawing before leaning back down to finish it.

“Alright, I think everyone is about done. On the way out there is a wall of art and I want you to stick yours up there so add your name at the bottom.”

When the group of children were finally herded together by their teacher, their art pinned on the wall and a cheer of small thank yous shouted in your direction, you finally turned back to Marcus.

“I drew something better than the art,” he handed you a piece of paper.

When you looked down at the paper there was a shaded in drawing of yourself. It was... beautiful. You smiled down at the paper, your finger tracing over it for a moment.

“Today was the best day I’ve had since... since I can remember and I would love to get to know you more,” Marcus’s voice brought your attention back up to him.

“Marcus, this is- I- thank you,” you finally managed, holding the paper to your chest, “I would love to see you again.”

“I don’t really know the area that well but theres a nice Italian near my place if you like that sort of food?”

“Sounds perfect,” you nodded, turning around and grabbing a spare bit of paper to scribble down your phone number, “call me?”

Marcus nodded, folding the note and placing it in his trouser pocket. You decided to lean into the new-found courage you had gathered today, leaning forward while balancing yourself on Marcus’s arm and placing a kiss to his cheek.

“See you soon, Marcus.”

//

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @dihra-vesa​ @queridopascal

[bubblegumbeech]

Haunted Towers and Hidden Truths

Phic Phight prompt by @lexiepiper

Write a more traditional ghost story. How would things change if ghost powers weren’t super powers, but closer to old horror movie tropes?

“We shouldn’t do this Danny,” Sam said, ever the voice of reason. “This place isn’t like our usual haunts.“

But Danny shook his head, “No Sam, I have to do this. I have to know what that dream meant, if it was really a dream or something else.”

He moved to take a step forward when his other friend, Tucker, grabbed his arm, “I don’t know man, I think she’s right. There isn’t a possessed item to destroy, or an overactive ghost to try and calm down, heck even Vlad has a weakness we can exploit, we don’t know anything about this place. What if we don’t make it out of this one?”

“Come on Tucker,” Danny argued, his own confidence nothing but a mask, “It can’t be as bad as the haunted video game right? You die in the game you die in real life!”

Tucker didn’t laugh, “this is serious Danny, I know that dream had you messed up, but what if it was just that? A dream?”

“Or,” Sam cut in, “What if it’s a trap? Remember how Desiree tried to get us with that monkey’s paw when she realized we were getting involved with every scary story and urban legend in town and she didn’t want us to find out about her?”

There was also the time a ghost discovered Danny’s secret and decided to haunt him personally and make his life a living hell until he and Tucker were able to exorcise it. It had involved a gorilla, a lot of research into dead safari hunters, and one of his parent’s inventions that they rigged to do what they needed before destroying it so it couldn’t be used against Danny himself. 

“We made it through all of those things together, remember when we first saw Cujo? And we thought he was to blame for Valerie’s mother?” Danny said.

Sam deflated, “and then we did research and discovered that Cu Sith only foretell death, not cause it… But Danny, we tried to research this place, remember? We found nothing. It’s like it doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah man,” Tucker scratched the back of his neck uncertain, “I couldn’t find so much as a blueprint. No building plans, nothing. The only thing we have to go on are stories from reckless kids trying and failing to spend the night.”

“You don’t have to follow me, the last thing I want is to put you both at risk. Especially after last time.” 

Tucker groaned, “Danny you know we aren’t going to let you do this alone right? Especially not after Walker’s prison. Who knows what would have happened if we didn’t come in and save you?”

Danny smiled, “I probably would have starved to death to be fair, but yeah, I’ll try to avoid getting locked in any metal cages, deal?”

“To be fair,” Sam said, returning his smile with one of her own, strained though it was, “you probably would have died of thirst first.”

Chuckling at his friends' attempts to lighten the mood once they realized his mind wouldn’t be changed, Danny finally let himself look up at the place in question. It was a tall, crooked looking clocktower with old, brittle wood and peeling paint. In the low light of the evening it looked almost purple and with the dust and cobwebs covering it, it was clear no one had been inside for quite some time. 

The Clocktower was a recurrent presence in his dreams, the ones he’d started having since the accident that made him the way he was: different from any person, but not quite anything else. It was always there in the background, but he’d never gone inside. 

Once, during a particularly dull recurring dream where he relived the life and consequent death of a warehouse worker, he’d walked away from the endless piles of boxes and tried to go inside the clocktower instead. But no matter how far he traveled, it was always the same distance away. He just couldn’t get to it. 

Danny couldn’t shake the feeling though, that something inside might have the answers he’s been searching for. So he stepped forward, and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, of course, and  Danny almost felt foolish doing it, but also, ghosts and spiritual beings all had their own rules and perceptions of what is or isn’t polite, most of which Danny had stumbled into learning the hard way, and it really didn’t hurt to check.

“No answer,” Sam said and Danny nodded, turning the handle. It was old and brass and when it turned it made a loud grinding noise that vibrated along his arm. But it did open, and without Danny needing to persuade it, so that had to be a good sign right?

Unless it really was a trap. 

“Maybe we should leave someone outside, in case it really is like Walker’s prison.” He offered, but both of his friends shook their heads and stepped past him. It was dark, musty and smelled in a weird way, like a library. If a library had locked its doors and not let anyone enter for a good century or so. 

Sam took the lead, her flashlight catching on unfamiliar shapes and shadows. “Do you know what we’re looking for?” she asked, her voice uncertain. 

Danny shook his head, “Not really, just… answers.”

They looked around the ground floor at first, but if it held anything particularly supernatural or important, it wasn’t going to be found. “This just looks like my grandma's living room.” Tucker complained, taking the sheet off of one of the couches, “we need to go further in if we want to actually find something.”

He wasn’t wrong, Danny looked over to the spiralling staircase in the back of the room, and then to the other doors that surrounded it on the first floor. “It’s probably better to do this systemically right? Go through every room on each floor and move our way up?”

“You mean like in a video game?” Sam asked, “sure, we can do that.”

They started on the left, but that room wasn’t much better when it came to finding any kind of clues. It held a kitchen, a very old kitchen, with a stove and oven that Danny had only ever seen in period movies. But…

“Why does it smell like cookies?” Danny asked, turning to his friends who both looked at him like he was crazy.

“Cookies? Yo, Danny this place smells like straight up death. Not cookies.” Tucker said, backing away from the oven and starting to open up cabinets. 

Sam rolled her eyes and did the same on the other side of the kitchen, “it doesn’t smell like death you dolt, it smells… like a graveyard.”

Danny walked to the middle of the room, towards the oven- he always made sure to be the one seeking out the more dangerous or suspicious things in the haunts they went to- while the two of them bickered. They tended to start these smaller, petty arguments when they were scared, it took the edge off. 

“Duh?” Tucker said, and Danny heard him slam one of the cabinets shut, “graveyards are death? What does it smell like to you? Your Mom’s perfume?”

“No, it smells like someone dying, you know all hospital chemicals and gross stuff.”

There wasn’t anything in the oven, but oddly, Danny had felt a wave of warmth when he opened it. Almost like it had just been used. But, ghosts didn’t need to eat, right? And there couldn’t have been a person living here, they’d notice that. At least, Danny hopes they would notice that. After being in dozens of life or death scenarios hinging on whether they noticed important but minute details, they’d become pretty good at that kind of thing.

“Ugh! Don’t talk about hospitals, I’m still not over North Mercy, that was horrible,” Tucker turned to Danny, leaning on one of the counters and ignoring the cabinet he opened right behind his head. “What do you think death smells like Danny?”

Danny walked over and closed the cabinet, he didn’t want something to suddenly appear inside of it all twisted limbs and empty eyes or for something to crawl out and scare them, or even have it slam shut on Tuckers head, like some ghosts were known to do. He didn’t have to put much thought into his answer, “It smells like burnt flesh, electricity, and polished wood.”

Tucker paled, “oh… right. Sorry.” 

He shrugged, “anything yet?”

“Not unless you count cobwebs, dust, and deteriorating cooking books,” Sam answered, walking over to both him and Tucker. 

Danny looked around at the kitchen, it looked normal, even some dying light shone in from the one window along the outer wall. The only thing weird was the shape and that was because it was at the bottom of a spiralling clocktower. There was nothing particularly scary about the place, and frankly Danny didn’t know what to do with that.

“Let’s move on, this place is giving me the creeps,” Sam said, crossing the room and going to the next door. 

Danny and Tucker followed, unwilling to be left behind, or to let her go on her own. The next room was the same size as the other two, but it had an extra window and was crammed absolutely full of books. Just books. Stacks and stacks of them where they didn’t fit on the shelves, which were completely packed themselves, and Danny had the thought that this was probably what he was smelling when they first walked in. 

It was a library. A personal one, but without any room to sit or anything to sit on despite the genuinely impressive display of books and Danny found himself gently stroking his hand against the cover of a book on the top of the nearest stack, When Ghosts Speak: Understanding Earthbound Spirits.

“Please tell me we aren’t reading all of this,” Tucker whined. Danny frowned, why wouldn’t he want to read these? It was a treasure trove of information, these books could have countless, researched, answers to questions they’ve been asking since the start of everything! 

What if one of these books could tell them why Amity Park seemed to attract the supernatural, why they seemed to gain power within the city’s boundaries, why Danny wasn’t dead. He wanted nothing more than to grab any one of these books, walk into the next room, with the couches and comfortable chairs, sit down and read and read until he found something, anything he could use. 

These books might even be able to help him deal with the supernatural threats that plagued their town. Mostly they’ve been surviving through luck and half baked internet searches with the occasional trip to the town library. And while it had been enough so far, Danny was practically salivating at the thought of being properly, genuinely prepared for something for once. 

“Of course we aren’t,” Sam said, dragging Danny out of his fantasies of maybe knowing what he was doing, “they’re completely deteriorated. If we even tried to open one it would probably fall apart.”

Danny frowned, and then looked down at the book he’d subconsciously grabbed. It didn’t seem as bad as Sam was describing, but he also didn’t want to risk it either. He’d realized early on there was a difference between what he was seeing and what was actually real. He set it down gently and looked around the rest of the room with his friends. 

“Are we so sure this place is haunted?” Danny asked. By then, the sun had set entirely and the only light left was their flashlights. High powered and with fresh batteries they were still little use against the encroaching dark and Danny wanted to move on to the next floor already if he wasn’t going to be able to open a book. 

Tucker stood up from behind a precariously leaning shelf and dusted himself off, “Dude you’re the one that said there was something here and we needed to investigate. Remember, like an hour ago when the two of us were trying to stop you from going inside?”

Danny scoffed, “that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” Sam asked, stepping closer so she could meet his eyes. There was something in her expression, curiosity or suspicion, Danny couldn’t quite parse. 

“I…” Danny stopped to think, what did he mean? Was it just that the place didn’t feel haunted? There wasn’t anything here trying to scare him away, no ominous winds or loud knocking, but they’ve gone into haunts before that took a long time to start actually reacting to them. “There’s no, I don’t know how to explain it. Usually when we go somewhere haunted, that a ghost has a claim to or whatever… there’s this feeling that I’m trespassing? I don’t feel like I’m trespassing here.”

That probably didn’t make any sense, and despite everything they didn’t usually act on Danny’s gut instincts as a group without evidence. The issue with the circus and it’s terrifying owner was a lesson too well learned after all. 

True to expectations neither Sam nor Tucker looked convinced. They shared a quick ‘what now’ look between each other and Danny resisted taking a step back and sinking into the wall. Not that he could do that, as far as he knew he couldn’t do that. Only actual ghosts could do something like that and despite everything Danny was still human- well, still had a physical form. 

Permanently. 

“Let’s move on upstairs,” Sam reasoned, “if Danny’s right there won’t be any harm in it, and if he’s not we’ll find out once whatever’s here starts actually reacting to us, right?”

Perfectly reasonable and logicked as always. Danny nodded and walked to the next door, if he was right it would lead into the room they had first entered with the staircase that twisted and climbed higher and higher into the heart of the tower. That was the next place to go. He knew that.

Tucker gently patted his shoulder as they walked towards the base of the stairs, “yeah, maybe the ghost doesn’t consider this bottom part his haunt? Maybe he just likes the clock on top?”

Danny smiled, “like the hunchback of Notre Dame?”

Smiling back, Tucker nodded, “exactly! Oh man, we gotta find out if that guy is real one of these days.”

“We have our hands a bit tied with Amity Park without going after disney characters,” Sam said, pushing the two of them from behind so they’d actually go up the stairs. “Now let's get a move on, I want to be back home before breakfast so my parents don’t realize I snuck out again.”

There was something Danny could say but he bit back the comment about how at least her parents would notice and quickly walked up the stairs instead. As soon as his feet touched the first step a bubbly feeling lifted in his chest, and it made him want to go higher as fast as he could there was someone up there waiting for him-

“Danny!” Sam called out, grabbing him by the arm, “calm down!”

Her grip on his arm was tight and Danny looked down to see what had her panicked only to find his feet had left the stairs entirely and he’d started floating upwards instead of walking. Like a human. Like his friends. Like what he was supposed to be. 

He swallowed and let himself sink back down, forcing the feeling in his chest back as much as he could. It was like trying to kill the fizz in a shaken soda by screwing a cap back on it and he struggled with it for a moment. He’d never felt like this before- sure, most ghosts and other supernatural entities tended to broadcast emotions to a higher degree than humans, and with them also being natural empaths and Danny’s unfortunate situation it often led to him being overtaken by emotions that weren’t necessarily his own. 

It’s just, they’ve never been this overwhelmingly positive before.

Even with Vlad, as human as he was, his emotions were always tinted with obsession and desperation. His need to have Danny and his mother for his own colored every interaction he’d had with the man and it often left a bitter, strained feeling in his chest. Right now, Danny felt almost giddy. And he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t just his own emotions, reacting to the environment around him. It was a nice environment after all. 

But Danny was good at ignoring things like that. 

“My bad. I’ll try and keep my feet on the ground from now on.”

Sam looked conflicted, “Danny you know we don’t mind you using your powers,” Danny nodded, they’d told him so many times over and over again, “But we don’t want to lose you to them. You promised to stay with us, remember?”

Danny smiled, “I remember. I won’t end up like that, I promised. That’s why we’re here right? To stop it?”

Sam nodded and let him go. 

The second floor was similar to the first, in that it had three rooms leading into each other with the spiral staircase in the center. Danny started with the door on the right. It was a study. There was a desk, paperwork, and a bottle of ink with a quill and Danny found himself wondering just how old this clocktower really was. And how long it had been since its occupant was truly here, alive, if ever. 

They split up and started looking around, eagerness exposed in their movements. This was the most likely place to have something useful, especially if whoever spent their time here was as studious as the lower floor suggested.  Danny went for the desk. 

There was a note on it, in perfect, looped handwriting and the ink was still glistening, fresh from the bottle if the smell had anything to say about it. Danny ran his hand across the words hoping to smudge it, but it had dried already, if barely. 

It’s nice to meet you, little anomaly.

Danny grit his teeth. 

“Guys,” he called out, holding the paper, “It knows we’re here.”

Sam and Tucker rushed over, and Sam grabbed the paper from his hand to read for herself. “Little anomaly? Isn't that kind of insensitive?”

“Yeah,” Tucker agreed, “you just have weird ghost powers right? Vlad’s the same way it’s not like you’re the only person on the planet like you.”

Hesitant to correct him, Danny bit his tongue. It was true that Vlad was a person who had unfortunately gained the abilities of a ghost, things like floating, making objects move with his mind or using his spirit to control people while he slept safe and sound at home. And he’d gained them in a similar way to Danny as well, trusting the wrong people and delving into things he never fully understood and still didn’t. 

It was just … less true for Danny was all. 

But he wasn’t going to tell them that, he wasn’t going to tell anyone that. So how did whoever, or whatever this was, know? Or was it just saying things to get under his skin, that was pretty par for the course when it came to ghosts. So why wasn’t it doing anything else? Trying to get them to leave? Was Sam right? Was it really a trap this entire time? What would happen if they went back downstairs and tried the door, would it open?

He grabbed the paper and shoved it into one of his jackets pockets, there was plenty of time to freak out over it later after all. “Let’s keep looking around, there has to be something here that it’s trying to distract us from.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything more useful than there had been downstairs. Just what one would expect from a normal office. What papers he did find had detailed extensive notes, yes. But they were in a language Danny couldn’t read and neither Sam nor Tucker even recognized. It was infuriating!

Almost like whoever was haunting this place, was telling them it had all the answers they wanted but wouldn’t give them any. He just wanted to know how - Danny shook his head. There had to be something. He wouldn’t have been led all the way here, had all those dreams, if there was nothing he could do at all. 

He threw one more frustrated look around the office before he threw the stack of papers he’d been digging through on the floor and marched over to the next door. It was unlocked, again, just like all of the others and it only served to increase Danny’s frustration. 

“Wait, Danny,” Sam noticed him leaving and quickly followed, the door slammed shut behind them, locking Tucker inside the office.

“No,” he whispered, this was all his fault, he shouldn’t have let this ghost get in his head like this! He never should have let his emotions take him over, he knew better. It led to bad things. Horrible, terrible, things. 

There was a loud bang on the door, someone was pounding against it and Danny flinched. Was the actual haunting finally starting? Was everything really just a way to lure them deeper into the tower and away from each other? 

“Guys?” he heard Tucker call out from the other side of the door, “did you seriously just leave me behind? Don’t we have like, a rule against that?!” 

Danny sighed in relief, it was just Tucker. “Are you okay Tuck? Did anything happen over there when the door shut? Any oozing walls or flying papers-”

There was another thump, probably Tucker banging his head against the door, “I know what to look for Danny I’ve been doing this the exact same amount of time as you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny acquessed. “Just get to the stairs and we’ll meet you there.”

He exchanged a glance with Sam, she was glaring a hole into the side of his head and he felt guilty for being the cause of everything going wrong, again. So he apologized and ignored her exaggerated eye roll when she said he should have known better, because well, he did. But what was he going to do, apologize twice?

The room they were in was a simple one, likely some kind of storage space that he and Sam could dig through for hours on end, but it was more important to get to Tucker than to try and make sure they didn’t miss anything. 

Which, in hindsight, was probably exactly why they’d been separated. 

A cold breeze tickled at Danny’s hair and he felt himself relax despite it all. It felt nice, the cold, and Danny liked when the haunts they went to leaned towards the chillier side like this. Sometimes, especially if Vlad was involved, it felt like he was walking into an overwarm swamp when he entered a haunt and it made him itchy and uncomfortable the entire time. Vlad never seemed to notice, and his friends complain equally about both, so Danny had mostly kept it to himself. 

The entire tower felt nice, cold dry air, the smell of books, ink, and cookies, even the playful, excited feeling that seemed to permeate throughout the tower. Like someone had designed it to appeal in every way to both sides of Danny’s instincts. 

It was unnerving. 

He followed Sam out of the room and back into the middle where the stairs were, but Tucker wasn’t there. 

Sam pulled out her phone, and Danny held his breath as it rang, once, twice, and then a click and Tucker’s familiar, annoyed voice came through the speaker and Danny sighed in relief. “Uh guys? I couldn’t get out the door so I tried to climb out a window, and there was uh, a ladder. So I’m outside right now. Come get me?”

Danny met eyes with Sam and nodded, they headed back down, “we’re coming Tuck,” he said.

“Cool, cool, actually rather than coming to get me, can we just go home? Come back later, like in the day time? How come we never do these things in the daytime?”

“You know that’s not how ghosts work Tucker.” Sam said, bored, as they walked to the front door. Danny felt a tug, something like a hand on his shoulder and turned to see what was behind him. There wasn’t anything there. 

He turned back around to see that Sam had already walked outside, and was holding the door open for him, one of her eyebrows raised. Awkwardly, Danny jogged a little, so as to not hold them up too long. But before he could actually walk outside the door slammed shut.

Sam screamed.

“Danny! Are you okay!” Tucker asked, his voice panicked and muffled from the other side of the door.

“I’m fine,” Danny said, gritting his teeth and turning around. The room didn’t look or feel any different. There was nothing screaming at him to get out or anything else malicious. If anything it seemed even cosier than before, and Danny didn’t really know how to react to that. 

He looked back at the door. There was a way, no. He couldn’t do that. Danny pinched at the bridge of his nose, the only thing to do, really, was to see who had invited him in. That’s what it was right? Some kind of weird ghostly invite?

“I’m going to go check upstairs,” he called out to his friends before walking back towards the staircase. 

They pounded on the door, “Danny don’t you dare go up there without us! Just wait, we’ll find a way in! It’s dangerous alone!” 

Ignoring their protests Danny took the stairs two steps at a time, fighting the rising excitement in his chest and firmly planting his feet against the polished wood. There were answers waiting for him, he knew there were. He just had to find them. 

The third floor had a bedroom, it was nice, cozy and the bed even looked inviting. Danny didn’t bother to stay long. Whoever it was that called him here wasn’t in this room, nor were they in the next or the one after that. Just two bedrooms and a bathroom on that floor and Danny quickly made his way to the next. 

This room was different from the rest. For one there were windows, everywhere, that seemed to play different scenes of different people from all over the world. If Danny strained his ears, he could even hear them speaking different languages. On the other side from the windows was an entire wall of clockwork that chimed and churned as the gears moved, keeping the face of the clock on the outside ticking along in sync with the rest of the world. 

When Danny stepped into the room properly the carpet sunk easily underneath his feet and he felt a nice, cold breeze that came from a purple flamed fire housed properly in a fireplace in the middle of the room. He hadn’t even noticed a chimney from outside. 

There was a man in front of the fire. He was tall and hooded and he carried an equally tall and gnarled staff in one of his gloved hands. Danny felt himself freeze, he had never seen a ghost this solid before. There was always a little bit of transparency, no matter how powerful, they didn’t have physical forms afterall. Not like Danny.

“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was dry and soft and Danny was thankful when it didn’t crack on his question. How embarrassing would that have been? 

The man turned around, his face changing as he did from old and aged to a younger one, closer to his parent’s age, a large jagged scar marking it’s way through one of his eyes and down his cheek. He smiled, “I am Clockwork, Master of time. All that was, All that is, and All that will be. I understand you have many questions for me. I hope to answer them.” 

A thousand questions ran rapidly through his mind, why did you call me here? Did you call me here? Why get rid of my friends? What are you and why haven’t I seen anything like you before?

“How do I prevent myself from becoming that.” Danny asked the most pressing question first, desperate. The man-ghost-Clockwork, sighed and gestured for him to sit. There was a comfortable looking couch with an equally comfortable chair across from it and a plate of cookies set on an elegantly carved coffee table between the two.

“That’s easily answered, sit, have a cookie.” Clockwork floated over, crossing his legs and settling into the chair before grabbing a cookie for himself. 

Danny glanced at them, uncertain, before taking a seat. The couch was even more comfortable than it looked and he found himself sinking back into it, confused. The room was a nice, cold, temperature as well, despite the fire clearly burning in the fireplace. 

He grabbed one of the cookies, “can I eat these?” he asked, looking over at his host.

“Of course,” Clockwork smiled, taking a bite of his own before leaning back, “I made them for you. Though your friends would have to be more careful, I’m not sure what food like this would do to a human.”

“I am human,” Danny argued, placing the cookie back on its plate. He had to, denial was all he had left at this point. 

Clockwork frowned, “yes, well, I suppose we’ll get there next. You wanted to know about your dreams.”

Finally, Danny nodded, “they’re different ever since- uh well… ever since the incident.”

“It’s natural to not want to talk about one’s death,” Clockwork said, he leaned forward and tilted his head, “or one’s birth.”

“My dreams,” Danny asked, avoiding that conversation with all the grace of a blind hippo, “why are they different. You know right?”

Sighing, Clockwork nodded and leaned back, “yes, I know everything. They’re different, frankly, because they’re dreams. It’s unsettling to you because it’s new, you’ve never dreamed before.”

Danny scowled, “that doesn’t make any sense, I had plenty of dreams when-”

Clockwork interrupted him, disappointment plain under his hood, “You can lie to your friends Daniel, but I already know the truth. Just as you do.”

“I was astral projecting. Like what Vlad does… but then why-?” Danny bit his tongue. He couldn’t say it, not outloud. It was too difficult, he’d spent too long hiding it, pushing it away and doing everything he could to keep anyone from noticing. 

“Why can’t you do it anymore?” Clockwork answered for him, Danny nodded. “The simple answer is that you aren’t like Vladimir, despite what he believes and would like you to believe as well. But that’s something else you already know. Ask me a question you don’t have the answers for.”

Danny grabbed another cookie, biting into it fiercely just to have an excuse not to speak. It tasted really good, better than anything he’d had in a while and Danny wondered if maybe there was something in it meant to sate his less human cravings. The thought didn’t help his inner turmoil. 

Clockwork smiled softly at him though and sighed, “Fine, in order to answer your question, first I have one of my own.”

“Didn’t you just say you know everything?” Danny mumbled before shoving more cookie in his mouth. 

“What good is a teacher that only lectures?” Clockwork said in retort, “do you remember how you died?”

He did, of course he did. “Kinda hard to forget that. Lab accident, electrocution, nothing fancy.” he said, curling in on himself. Clockwork had been right before, it was painful to talk about. But he wanted, no, needed the answers to his questions. He’d survive this. 

“Well, that’s where your first mistake lies. Yes, that is what stopped your heart, and likely the most memorable part, but you didn’t die from that Daniel. What killed you came after.”

Danny frowned, “that doesn’t make any sense? What happened after?”

“Your spirit was never particularly bound to your body in the first place, likely due to your parents dabbling where they shouldn’t for as long as they did before you were ever born. There was a summoning, I think you remember, that your parents were holding when your accident happened on the floor below them.”

It was frustrating, that he was right. That he knew it. “I remember them recognizing me, my spirit. I remember them finding my body and shoving me back in. I remember the pain, and waking up and seeing-” Danny choked on the realization. It couldn’t be...

“Seeing the world in your dreams?” Clockwork asked, “the way you saw it when you were a spirit, free from the confines of your body, correct?” He floated over the table, sat next to Danny, and placed a hand on his back. Danny realized he had been shaking. 

He grabbed the fabric of his jeans in a tight grip and tried to stop, “It’s all real, right? It isn’t… I’m not still dreaming? Please, I need to know.”

The hand on his back pulled him close, tucked into Clockwork’s side and Danny felt comforted despite himself, he fought to blink away tears that had been building behind his eyes as he tucked himself into Clockwork’s side. He was so solid, unlike any other ghost Danny had ever met and he seemed to radiate comfort where most just gave off fear and hurt. 

“You’re not dreaming Daniel, you never were. The world is different when you see it  through our eyes, that is all. When you woke up, you weren’t human anymore. Of course you wouldn’t be limited by a human’s sight.”

Danny curled into himself tighter, despair clouding around him and likely leeching unpleasantly into the air. It would be a wonder if Clockwork didn’t feel it. “So I’m a ghost.”

“Hardly,” Clockwork said and Danny stopped breathing, “Do you think the world is so simple it is split between what is ghostly and what is not?”

“I…” Danny had actually assumed that. So far everything they’d dealt with so far, short of Vlad, had either been a ghost or spirit of some kind, or a human that used magic or ghostly artifacts. Even Vlad had simply been a person who had learned how to control his own spirit the way a ghost would. If Danny wasn’t a human, and he wasn’t a ghost, then what was he?

Clockwork ruffled his hair, “I suppose you’re young. It is easier, afterall, to think of it that way. But Daniel, ghosts don’t have physical forms. They can possess one, or control one, and sometimes even mimic one, but they are spirits.”

He sighed, “you are something entirely different. You’re something remarkable.”

Danny leaned back, using the sleeves of his hoodie to quickly dry his tears so he could look Clockwork in the eye, “What am I?”

“You’re new.”

Danny shoved him, “Agghh, I knew that you jerk!” It was probably a bad idea to attack or antagonize someone as clearly powerful and knowledgeable as Clockwork, but really he’d been asking for it. And Danny’s patience was only so strong. 

Clockwork didn’t fight him back though, nor did he get offended. Instead he just smiled that soft smile that Danny was starting to realize was affection, and said, “did you? Weren’t you trying to read my books to find out if there was anyone else like you?”

“Well yeah-” Danny stopped, “Oh. There wouldn’t be anything would there? If I’m the first?”

He groaned, that really was just his luck. He’d never figure out anything at this rate. Clockwork, the bastard, just hummed and grabbed another cookie, offering it to him. “No there wouldn’t. But you’re not the only one who was the first or only of their kind. Who had to figure out on their own, who and what they are.”

“You mean Vlad?” Danny asked, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth, wow he really hoped he didn’t mean Vlad.

Clockwork’s smile turned brittle, “I don’t mean Vlad.”

Danny chuckled, his thoughts turning mischievous, “I don’t know, he seems pretty unique, what with all those different abilities he has and the way he can choose to be human or ghost-”

“Oh please,” Clockwork interrupted, “there’s plenty of humans like Vladimir Masters, you were fully capable of astral projecting like that from birth, no black magic necessary. Just because he found a way to twist-”

He stopped, then looked down at Danny who was trying and failing to hold back a shit eating grin. All at once the air seemed to leave him and he deflated, the irritated look on his face replaced with open and honest affection and Danny felt it sing in the air around them.

“You were messing with me.”

“To be fair I didn’t think it would work, all knowing and everything.” Danny said, unable to fight the bubbling feeling in his chest as it rose to meet the affection around them. Usually it sucked having the empathy of a ghost and being near one or at least, something with the same traits. The negative emotions tended to bounce between him and them and amplify and it always made Danny struggle to parse his own emotions from theirs. But right now, in the top of a clock tower with the most powerful entity Danny had ever met, he felt happiness and joy to a degree he’d long forgotten. It was dizzying. He was almost giddy with it.

Clockwork patted him on the head, purposefully messing his hair, “yes well. I think in time, it will be more obvious just how different you truly are, how crucial every small coincidence was that came together that night to create you. But until then, you had another question? I can answer it now.”

Danny frowned as he realized what Clockwork meant, “You! I asked that question first! How did you only answer the one you wanted to!!”

“It was important,” Clockwork said, relaxing into the couch next to Danny, “to answer that question I had to be sure you knew what you were.”

He sputtered, “But I don’t?! I’m just something new! Something different!”

“Something physical that exists with the laws of the spiritual.”

“Yeah!” Danny said, “Wait, what?”

Clockwork nodded his head, “a physical entity that exists within the realms of spiritual possibility. It must be such a struggle, to deal with both sets of instincts like that.”

Danny’s head hurt, it was too much to try and understand the details of all of this. Maybe Tucker was right and he should just have let it be, learn to live with the new normal his life was now. Wasn’t that kind of what Clockwork was suggesting anyways? Then again, unlike Tucker, he did seem to thrive off of all of Danny’s questions, whether he actually answered them or not. 

“Yeah, I have to fight my more ghostly instincts all the time. It’s exhausting.” he said, leaning into Clockwork. It should have been embarrassing, seeking comfort like that, but he’d already cried into his shoulder and there wasn’t really any way to come back from that so Danny did as he pleased. 

He felt Clockwork’s hand return to his back, a solid comforting presence, “Now why would you do that?”

Danny tilted his head in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Why would you fight against one half of yourself so thoroughly? But embrace the other side entirely?” Clockwork elaborated. “Did you think there wouldn’t be any consequences in fighting against your nature?”

“But,” Danny struggled to speak, pieces of the puzzle he’d thought hopeless putting themselves together in ways he had never expected and didn’t quite understand, “my nature is bad.”

Clockwork frowned and turned to look at Danny properly, “Daniel, it’s your nature. There is nothing good or bad about it. It is only as it is. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

This was too much, Danny sat up fully and turned entirely towards Clockwork, “are you saying, the way I become that thing from my nightmare, is by… doing what I’ve been doing to avoid becoming that thing?!”

“Yes,” Clockwork answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

He blinked, the answer really couldn’t be that easy. “But in my dream, I, my instincts-”

Clockwork grabbed a cookie and placed it in his hands, “even humans react poorly, when they starve themselves. As you exist now, you simply need a different kind of sustenance. One you’ve been denying.”

Danny felt dread crawl down the length of his spine, “what kind of sustenance?”

“Spirits exist for reasons, and they exist differently from humans. In order to keep existing they need emotions, experiences, something to keep them held together. A spirit that has no reason to exist will simply disappear, you’ve seen such before it is relatively common after all. But you can’t do that, since you are physical in a way that they are not. You can starve yourself endlessly, into madness even if you’re desperate enough.”

“I do it to myself?” Danny asked, flustered and frustrated. It was true then? He really was his own worst enemy? 

Clockwork shook his head, “it is not inevitable Daniel. As you were, it was the most likely path forward. Yes. You would have noticed the symptoms, seen yourself losing control and then, in reaction, suppressed yourself further. Starved yourself further.”

Danny cringed, yeah, that sounded like him. “How do I stop it then? I just embrace what makes me ghostly? What about my parents? If they think they failed the resurrection, that I’m not human anymore, they’ll kill me for real! Or worse!”

“That is indeed troublesome, and the paths of the future where they know your truth are twisted and sharp, every small decision every tiny change causing a greater effect on their reactions as a whole. But you do not need to reveal yourself to your parents to live your truth.”

Relieved, Danny fell back into the couch. He hadn’t even noticed he’d floated off of it, was that good? Bad? He shook his head, this was all too confusing. “How then?” He asked, maybe this time he’d actually get a straight answer. 

Clockwork ruffled his hair and stood up, er, well, floated up and over towards the fire. “You continue doing what you’re doing with your friends, protecting your town and interacting with the truth of the world around you. And…” He turned around, “you can come visit me. It’s quite lonely in the clock tower they trapped me in, and there is much I can teach you about becoming. I had to learn such things about myself once after all.”

“You’ll let me come back? To visit you?” Danny didn’t know what to say. He could come visit, ask more questions, get more answers. It seemed too good to be true, and Danny found himself eager and excited at the prospect. 

For some reason, the entire conversation, he’d thought this would be a one time thing. That the clocktower would disappear behind him and leave any question he didn’t ask unanswered. To find out that wasn’t the case, that he had somehow, against all odds, made some kind of ghostly ally, was beyond expectations. “You’ll help me?”

The answering smile had Danny floating out of his seat, “Of course Daniel. I’ll even bake cookies.” 

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 3

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support you've been giving to this fanfic!

CHAPTER THREE

It was a day of sunlight and cold smoke in New York. The clouds split above towering buildings, the sun shining in its full glory. You left the apartment earlier, scared to wake Bucky up, only for him to wake up to his stepbrother's roommate creeping up on him in the morning. You pushed Bucky's face at the back of your mind. Perhaps he just looked like someone you've seen before or you've bumped into. Who knows? New York is a pretty big city.

With your airpods plugged in, and your phone in your hand, you started running on the streets, greeting some people with a smile on the way, ignoring the pain on your head. There was Millie from the flower shop, Bob from the woodshop, Rex from the coffee shop, and Colin the friendly street beggar. After five blocks, you didn't know anyone anymore. Just some strangers on the street you see from time to time but never interact with.

Already nearing highway streets, you slowed down your pace, careful not to crash into some bikers or worse, these honking cars rushing to get to their 8-5 jobs. There was a pang of relief that rushed over me as you stood on the other end of the street, waiting for the walk sign to turn green. It was one of the things you loved working in a bar and handling your own photography gig. You weren't answering to no one and rushing to work like these angry hooligans. You both worked in the evening and on your own time. Steve wasn't a bossy boss who yells at his staff. He was just like one of you guys, but unlike you, he had a sense of leadership.

And you get to run every morning -- even though there was still a throbbing pain on your forehead. Peter will never be able to persuade you to go work in their company or in any company for that matter. But you must commend him for his unwavering determination.

You stopped at a convenience store after rounding a few more blocks and bought a bottle of water which you've finished right in front of the cashier who found her phone more interesting -- or perhaps she was just used to some girl finishing a bottle of water in mere seconds.

"Hey, where's the trash?" You asked. The trash can beside the counter wasn't there. She just shrugged and popped her bubblegum.

You walked away from the store, knowing all too well that she wouldn't say or do anything past chewing and popping her gum.

Right across from where you were standing was a tall, elegant white hotel adorned with golden flecks of some kind of shiny paint, which you remembered was Bucky's. It stood twenty something stories tall and wedged between a coffee shop and a pizzeria. On Sundays, whenever you and Peter would walk past it, he'd never forget to remind you that it was Bucky's "empire." It was no Chuck Bass empire but you must admit, that was one fine hotel.

You crossed the street and stood in front of it, a way of slowing down your heart rate just a few beats low. You were just about to cool down, anyway.

You admired the engrossed name of the hotel on the archway that led to the lobby: WHITE WOLF with a wolf headstone right between it, like the one in The Arcadian. A memory of Peter telling you how Bucky renamed it came across your mind. Before it was White Wolf, it was the Golden something. Apparently, Bucky was in a safari somewhere north or south? Maybe west. You honestly can't keep up with some of the stories. Somewhere in the face of the earth -- he was on a safari and came across a gorgeous white wolf with fur as white as snow, eyes as blue as the seas and skies. Bucky swore the wolf looked right into his soul. That was implausible but it did give him a good name for his hotel. He repainted the whole beige building white, standing out from the other buildings around.

A woman with no shoes made you tear your eyes away from the beautiful wolf headstone, screaming Bucky's name. You stepped aside and leaned in on one of the archway posts. There was a muffled noise coming from her. You removed your airpods to listen.

"...the hell is Bucky? You! Have you seen that son of a bitch?" She approached the valet boy. He shook his head no. Then she went to the uniformed man on his post or was it a podium?

"I haven't seen Mr. Barnes, madam."

You could tell by the sly look on the man's face that he saw his boss probably running down the street and taking a cab, but before even stepping foot on the streets, Bucky probably told not to tell.

The woman's lips were smeared with red lipstick, hair disheveled and was wearing a man's clothing, probably Bucky's.

Was this the thing that happened at his penthouse?

"Okay, I'm just gonna wait for him in his penthouse. If you ever see your boss, tell him I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, madam."

She went back in, hips swaying along with her blonde hair, not giving a damn at the strangers staring at her as she walked towards the elevators.

The uniformed man caught your eye and you gave him a small wave and a smile. "Crazy morning, huh? Okay, bye."

You chuckled nervously and walked away as fast as you could back to the apartment.

When you got back, Bucky was already up, eating something out of a bowl while watching something on the television. You ignored the memory of you staring at him as he slept safe and sound earlier.

Without looking up, he spoke: "Weren't you supposed to rest?"

You grinned as you walked towards the kitchen, and prepared a protein shake. Suddenly forgetting the wound on your forehead. It didn't hurt as much now.

"I don't listen to Parker." You answered. "I never do."

You set your airpods on the kitchen island then grabbed a shaker, poured in some water and dunked a scoop of protein powder inside. You shook the whole damn thing while approaching Bucky.

You stood beside the couch and faced television. It turned out he was watching some old cartoon.

The image of his hotel flashed before your eyes. "I ran past your hotel today. There was a woman looking for you."

He almost choked on his cereal. You could feel his head look towards in your direction but you ignored him, enjoying the chase between Tom and Jerry on the tv screen. "Can't believe this is still on tv." You commented.

"D-did she say something?"

"Kept shouting your name and stuff. Called you son of a bitch and all that." You stopped shaking the shaker then took a big gulp. "I hear she's planning to burn down the White Wolf into the ground." You stifled a smile, letting the liquid stay in your mouth for a little while. "Then find you and take all your money away."

He groaned, picking up on your tone. "Not funny."

"All of that was true except the last part, though." You finally let out a laugh then looked at him who now had his eyes back on the screen. "So, you leave your girlfriend alone up there? Then come here?" You would've said it was pretty low of him but this was Bucky. You knew he'd done worse.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She's a girlfriend?"

"She's nothing but a one night stand. Don't have a girlfriend." He sighed, putting down the bowl. It turned out it was cereal he was eating. Cartoons and cereal. Wow. He really did act like an eight-year old. "Then after we... well, you know, she suddenly told me she loved me. I was drunk! Then I felt this rush, like a panic, then when she was fast asleep, I didn't know what else to do so I came here."

You knitted your brows and kept your gaze on him. Last night, he told you guys it was a long story. A thing came up. "That wasn't a long story."

"I was hammered and real sleepy. For me it was a long story." He replied.

You just laughed in response, then walked towards your bedroom. Before you could even finish your drink, Bucky shouted for your name. You yelled for him back.

"Will you come with me to the hotel?" Bucky's voice was loud but small. Like a child asking to go to the playground. It felt more like it with the muffled cartoon noises in the background.

You stepped out of your room, finishing the rest of your drink. A big gulp. Then you pouted at him. "Want me to drive away the scary woman?"

Instead of responding with a simple yes or a slight nod, Bucky shot you a wide smile with his shoulders up, making an accidental flex with his lean tricep muscles on both of his arms, and squeezing his chest muscles while he was at it. He held it for too long that veins were starting to show.

You diverted your attention from his muscles to his face. He tried to look cute as a button but in your view, he looked strained. Yet his smile never wavered. You finally agreed to go with him as long as he took a shower first, telling him he reeked of alcohol.

"Are you always this mean?" Bucky said, but his voice was light and not at all heavy or dark.

"Pretty much." You snickered before going back inside your room.

You were sitting on your yoga mat -- just finished some few stretches -- and watching some tv show on the HBO channel when Bucky came out of the bathroom. A towel hung low on his waist -- you didn't even bother to look at his toned details so as to not freak him out with all the staring since you've been doing that a lot since he'd arrived. You focused your attention back on the screen.

"Were you just working out?" He asked, ruffling his hair.

"Just some yoga." You shrugged.

You let him borrow an oversized shirt of yours. The entire time, he was behind your in your room. Bucky attempted to make some small conversation while you were rummaging through your stuff. "Cool space you got here. You photograph?"

"Yeah." You replied. "It's probably not convenient having a studio space inside my room but Parker and I couldn't afford a three-space bedroom, so yeah."

"It's still pretty cool." His response remained.

Your room was bigger than Peter's since you had to have your studio corner. He wasn't a space hogger or anything so he let you get the bigger room. You had little decorations in your room except for a few photos of college friends, old roommates, and you and Peter, a clock on the wall, some band posters from the 70's like Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith, and the lights you needed for your studio corner. On that side, on the other hand, had more things to offer. Products from previous projects and all the stuff you needed for taking photos like lights, backdrops, tables, a bunch of chairs, and whatnots. Then the walls were just plain white. Yet Bucky still managed to explore around until you found him an oversized shirt.

You threw the shirt towards him. He managed to catch it on the air without looking at it. A quick reflex.

"Do you have some of your photos here?"

"They're in the bar downstairs." You replied. He looked at me with both eyebrows raised, asking a question with his face. "I work there as a bartender and my boss lets me put up my photos on the wall."

"Well, I'd love to see them."

"Actually, there's a shipment coming this afternoon. There will be no people. You can come with me then." You paused. "Unless you have other plans?" There was a part of you that wanted Bucky to have no plans this afternoon. You had a feeling he didn't. You wanted to trust your instincts.

"I have nothing going on." Oh good. "I can show you how I make a mean drink while we're there." Bucky smirked then put on the shirt which had a Rolling Stones logo on the front. He looked down on it and shot me a smile. The shirt still fit him, hugging all his muscles but it was better than Peter's clothes who wear the tightest fits on earth.

"What do you think?" He asked, showing you his fit while still having the towel draped around his waist.

"You look like a rockstar." You blatantly replied. "And hey, I can also make a mean drink. Really mean."

"Please I make the best ones, doll."

"I'll be the judge of that."

[oikawaplssteponme]

Incomparable Beauty

pairing: Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: sfw, mention of insecurities

genre/AU: fluff, light academia (?) [i highly recommend imagining Izuku in light academia fashion, including some glasses ;) ], aged up characters [third-years]

word count: ~3.4K

synopsis: The young and talented photographer, Izuku Midoriya, is searching for a muse for his next entry in an art gallery. Of course, there seems to be one person who inspires him most of all.

a/n: hi hi <3 shoutout to my lovely 🍥 and ☕️ anons for requesting/helping me figure out this izuku fluff! i am really proud of this so i hope you all like it <3 reblogs are super helpful and id love to hear your thoughts on it. enjoy xx

•························•························•

Izuku Midoriya looked up at the golden-pink sky. He stared into the abyss, hoping to think of something worth capturing. He adjusted the thin glasses that rested upon his face. He sighed and sat up, grabbing his notebook. Inside were hundreds of scribbles, sketches, and ideas that never seemed good enough. He looked to his right, where his camera laid. He wished that it could just take the pictures itself and create something jaw dropping. Still, a camera is nothing without a photographer. Furthermore, a photographer is nothing without a muse.

Izuku gathered his things as he headed back inside, making his way to his dorm. He was frustrated. He only had one week left to submit something into the Tokyo Gallery for Promising Artists, and even then it wasn't a guarantee that he would be selected. Maybe he should send an old piece he thought. He did have a few that he was proud of, but unfortunately, none of them fit the required theme of the gallery.

Izuke had his hands full as he attempted to open his dorm room door. You were making your way up the stairs when you spotted him. Izuku dropped his notebook, loose pages now scattered across the floor. You rushed over.

“Great…” he sighed. You quietly began to pick up the sheets of papers. Izuku froze.

“Midoriya, here,” you smiled, handing him his notebook. His cheeks flushed a rosy pink. He took his notebook back with shaky hands.

“Thank you Y/N.”

“Is all that for the gallery? I heard that you were entering,” you smiled. Izuku chuckled.

“It is but by the looks of it, I won’t be submitting anything. I still haven't come up with anything good enough,” he explained.

“Well don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure inspiration will strike you soon enough,” you reassured him, “you’re a brilliant photographer after all.”

Izuku's face was now a bright red. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

“T-Thank you again. Well-uh- goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Izuku.”

You walked away to your dorm as Izuku entered his own. He set all his things down and began to fan his burning face. He has known you for about three years now, yet he still can’t find the courage to get closer to you. You flustered him to no end, without even trying. Your voice, your smile, your laugh, your heart; Midoriya simply couldn’t get enough. You were so beautiful in all ways possible.

Midoriya looked at the printed flair pinned to his wall.

Those interested in applying to the Tokyo Art Gallery must follow the theme below in order to be considered.

The prompt read as follows:

‘Capture beauty in its purest form.’

Beauty, thought Izuku. Almost everything is beautiful. The way the sun rises and falls each day is beautiful. How Inko called Izuku every night at exactly 7:30 was beautiful. The friendships that Izuku cherished were beautiful. Then, there was you. Izuku’s mind couldn’t help but wonder to the thought of you in relation to beauty. Now you were truly beautiful.

Izuku soon had an idea.

~

The following day you found yourself sitting on one of the garden benches. Your classes were finished and you decided that some fresh air might do you some good. You basked in the warm sunlight, as if you were a precious flower that needed it to survive.

Izuku figured that you would be in the academy garden, so he made his way over there. His camera hung around his neck as he held tightly onto his notebook. With a shaky hand, Izuku tapped your shoulder.

“H-Hi Y/N,” he smiled nervously. You greeted him happily, gesturing for him to join you on the bench.

“Hi! Something wrong?” you questioned. Izuku looked like he was sick.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just-uh- wanted to ask you something…”

“Alright, what is it?”

Izuku set down his notebook next to his side. He held his hands together staring at them.

“Could I take your picture for the Tokyo Gallery?”

Your eyes widened at his request. The best and most handsome photographer in all of UA Academy of the Arts wanted to take your picture.

“You want to take a picture of me? I-I’m no model Izuku…”

“You’ll do great! I have this idea in my mind and it has to be with you.”

Now you were the nervous one. You weren’t one who particularly liked getting their picture taken.

“What if I mess it up? I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get accepted…”

“If those critics reject me, they’re just dumb. I promise it would have nothing to do with you. Please Y/N?” Izuku carefully took your hand with his and stared deep into your eyes. Gosh, how could you say no to him when he looked at you like that.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you smiled. Izuku squeezed your hand and jumped up from where he sat.

“Thank you Y/N! I promise it will be perfect. Mind if we shoot tomorrow?”

“That sounds good to me.” Izuku smiled so brightly he outshined the sun. He grabbed his things once more.

“Meet me here at noon tomorrow. Try to wear a neutral colored shirt, okay?” he said. You nodded.

“Okay.”

Izuku ran off, leaving you alone in the garden. You soon felt a large pit in the bottom of your stomach.

You stood before the full length mirror of your dorm. You stepped closer to it, examining every detail of you being. A photoshoot? Not only that, but a photoshoot of just you. No way to hide behind anyone or fade into the background. It would be a picture of you. The pit in your stomach only grew. You stared into the mirror, almost hoping the reflection would change into someone else. Someone who would appear beautiful in an enlarged image. Certainly Izuku could’ve asked any other girl to be his model, but insisted that it had to be you. You didn’t understand why. You didn’t view yourself as beautiful in any form. So how could he?

~

It was close to noon and you should be heading to the garden to meet Izuku. You put on a neutral colored tank top as Izuku requested and finished applying some natural makeup. Your hands shook as you held the brushes. Hopefully your nerves would cease by the time you got to the garden.

Izuku had been setting up since early in the morning. He created a handmade crown of white baby’s breath for you to wear and arranged his backdrop. He set up his lighting and sun reflectors exactly where he wanted. You had been standing by one of the bushes for a few minutes, afraid to interrupt him. He was so in his element. The sleeves to his button down rolled up to his elbows. His dark sunglasses covering his eyes. His beige colored paints stained green at the hem from working in the grass, same with his off-white sneakers. You honestly thought he looked beautiful.

“Hi Izuku,” you said. Izuku jumped then turned to look at you.

“Oh Y/N you’re here, perfect! Y-You look great,” he smiled. Your face grew warm.

“Oh thank you. So, what’s the plan?” Izuku moved his sunglasses to his forehead, pushing back his fluffy green hair.

“So, your job is fairly simple. I’m gonna have you sit on this stool and hold onto this bouquet of flowers. Since it's just me out here I’ll be messing around with the equipment until I find the right lighting and all that. All you need to do is keep the pose I tell you to, okay?” he explained. You nodded.

“What is the theme for this year’s gallery?” you asked. Midoriya flinched.

“Oh it’s um...nature…” he muttered. Nature? Why doesn’t he just take a picture of a tree and call it good? What does he need you for, you wondered.

Izuku set down the stool in front of the garden wall and you sat down. He grabbed the bouquet and handed it to you. He then placed the crown uptop of your head. He carefully arranged it to rest effortlessly on you. His nimble fingers were delicate as they touched your head, then moved to your cheek without him thinking. Izuku’s index finger now rested under your chin as you looked up at him. With a burning face and widened eyes, you wished to never look away. Out of flustering embarrassment, Izuku took his hand back.

“Yeah um so for the pose I’d like you to be looking slightly to the side with your chin tilted up just as I had it. Then with the flowers have them close to your cheek. I’ll probably tell you to switch out poses here and there but that's a good place to start. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Izuku walked back and grabbed his camera. Your heart was pounding out of your chest. You tried to keep yourself calm with a few deep breaths.

“Ready?” asked Izuku. You nodded.

“Ready.”

The first click of the camera and flashing lights was the most startling. You soon got used to it, following whatever instructions Izuku gave you. You moved your head and hand placement, soon feeling more comfortable with everything.

“Yes that's perfect...keep doing that…” Izuku blurted out whatever thoughts came to his mind as he captured you on film. His encouragement was honestly what made your heart race.

“Now lower the bouquet so I can see your pretty face…yeah just like that Y/N…”

Midoriya didn’t even realize what he had said until the words left his mouth, but he didn’t care. He meant it.

“Okay now open your eyes and look slightly towards me, parting your lips a bit…”

Izuku snapped the picture then froze. He looked down at the small digital image.

“So beautiful…”

“Hmm?” You questioned. Izuku snapped out of the trance that he was in. He chuckled nervously.

“OH-the pictures look really good that's all. I think we are good,” he said. You let out a sigh.

“Oh good. That was honestly pretty exhausting.”

“I really appreciate you letting me use you for the gallery. I already know the final product is gonna turn out amazing,” he cheered. You smiled.

“It’ll be amazing because you are amazing,” you said. Izuku blushed.

“So are you.”

You took off the crown and returned the flowers to Midoriya. You helped him put away his equipment before the two of you headed back inside.

“Um Y/N, did you maybe want to grab something to eat?” he asked. You smiled.

“I’d love to, just let me change first,” you chuckled.

“Oh yeah of course.”

You dropped off the equipment at Izuku’s dorm before heading to your own. You slipped on a green sweater and some sweatpants before finding him again.

You and Izuku went to the dinning hall, each of you picking up a bowl of ramen. You decided to eat outside on the balcony.

“How do you think the pictures turned out?” you asked.

“Honestly, really good. You did amazing,” he smiled. You looked down at your food.

“I was honestly super nervous for them. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not at all! You were a natural out there! I really think this will be some of my best work yet,” said Izuku.

“I’d love to go to the gallery with you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes widened.

“I was planning on taking you regardless,” he replied, “thank you by the way.”

You tilted your head.

“For what?”

“For always believing in me. I probably wouldn’t be a photographer if it weren’t for you.”

In Izuku’s first year, he was at the bottom of his class. He knew he wanted to do photography, but couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. He was so frustrated one day that he even said that he would be dropping out and quitting forever. You convinced him not to, to keep trying. You saw his talent when no one else could. Even when he couldn’t. From that day forward, Izuku worked to become the best young photographer in all of the Shizuoka Prefecture.

“Well I knew that you could do it, and I was right,” you teased.

“You’re great Y/N, seriously,” he said. You looked at Izuku, your face growing hot.

“I don’t know about that…”

“What? Come on, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re talented, and you always seem to know what to say. You’re incomparable.”

“To what?”

“To anything. You’re incomparable to anything because you’re you.”

Midoriya had to stop himself from saying anymore, for fear of spilling his whole heart before you. He meant it however. Nobody compares to you.

You swirled your noodles around in their bowl. The pounding in your chest came back. You locked eyes with Izuku.

“You’re incomparable too.”

~

Izuku spent every waking moment arranging his piece for submission to the gallery. He was always found in the art room, either photoshopping or preparing the flowers to be pressed. Once the image of you was edited to his liking, he developed a large scale version of the picture. He enjoyed putting the pieces together. From hand pressing the flowers to finding the perfect frame to keep it all in, he has created a masterpiece. All thanks to his muse.

You roamed the empty halls of the school in search of Izuku. You hadn’t seen him all day, assuming he would be in the art room. It was late, he honestly should be asleep. You stood in front of the art room door and carefully opened it up.

Izuku was fast asleep on one of the desks. The large photograph was wrapped and ready to be sent to Tokyo. You quietly walked over to him, tapping his shoulder.

“Izuku? It's late, you should go to your dorm,” you whispered. Izuku groaned. He opened his eyes and stretched his arms out.

“What time is it?” he yawned. You chuckled.

“Close to eleven. You should get some actual rest. You have to go to Tokyo pretty early tomorrow.”

“R-Right...the gallery…”

You could hear the exhaustion behind his voice. You grabbed his hand, helping him up.

“Come on, let's go.” You held Izuku’s hand as he lazily walked to the dorms. You led him to his room.

“Goodnight Y/N…”

“Goodnight Izuku,” you smiled. Izuku scratched his messy hair, giving you a weak smile. Without thinking, you leaned in placing a quick kiss on his cheek, before rushing to your own dorm.

~

Izuku stared at the letter on his desk. He had received it hours ago yet was too nervous to check. It was addressed to him by the Tokyo Art Gallery.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the letter opener from his desk, carefully gliding it across the envelope. He took out the folder paper and opened it up. Izuku ran to your room.

You jumped from your bed when you heard the pounding on your door.

“Izuku? Everything okay?”

He didn’t say anything, simply handing you the letter.

“Is this…?”

“Read it.”

You caught your breath, peaking at the paper.

‘Dear Mr. Midoriya,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Tokyo Art Gallery for Promising Artists! Your piece titled…’

You didn’t finish reading the letter. Instead, you jumped into Izuku’s arms.

“I knew you’d make it! I’m so proud of you!” you cheered. Izuku hugged you tightly, laughing with joy.

“It’s all thanks to you, I couldn’t do it without you,” he whispered. You looked at Izuku, your hands on his shoulder as he held onto your waist. His face blushed red.

“Oh sorry-” he mumbled, removing his grip from you. Your face burned.

“I-It’s okay...congratulations Izuku. You did it,” you smiled. Izuku took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“We did it.”

It was the day of the gallery showing. You were beyond excited to see all the beautiful artwork, specifically Izuku’s. You still hadn’t seen the final product.

You were dressed and ready, waiting for Izuku.

“Sorry I’m late-”

Izuku came rushing down the stairs to meet you. He looked devilishly handsome in his light grey suit and black turtleneck underneath. He prompted for some beat up black sneakers today.

“That's alright… you look nice,” you smiled. Izuku blushed.

“Says you..you look...wow…” He could barely form a sentence you were so breathtaking.

“Oh stop…”

“Shall we?” Izuku held out his arm for you to take. You did happily.

“We shall.”

The two of you rode the train to Tokyo, arriving at the gallery just before it was open to the public.

“Mr. Midoriya,” said one of the gallery workers, “your art is on the third floor.”

“Thank you.” You and Izuku made your way up the stairs, searching the room for the photo.

“Oh here it is,” smiled Izuku. The large photo was covered up and had velvet rope to stop anyone from getting too close.

“Wow, they must’ve liked yours!” you exclaimed. Izuku blushed.

“Well I didn’t tell you but it actually got nominated for best portrait of the gallery…”

“WHAT? Izuku, that's amazing!” you gushed.

“Yeah so some judges will take a look at it later on and hopefully we win…”

“Doesn’t matter if we win or not. I know it's the best one here,” you smiled.

You soon heard footsteps make their way up to the third floor.

“Showtime,” whispered Izuku. You took a step back from the portrait and watched as Izuku removed the curtain that covered it. The room filled with awes.

Izuku decided to go with the last picture that he took, the one where you seemed to have taken his breath away. You were entirely in black and white, only color coming from the flowers atop of your head and in your hand. Also, the pressed flowers that surrounded you. Izuku covered up the garden wall with pressed roses, daisies, lilies, and sunflowers. You looked like an angel.

You took a few steps towards the picture, reading its title.

‘Incomparable Beauty’ - Izuku Midoriya

You couldn’t seem to find the words, none of them seemed to be right. You backed away from the portrait before bumping into someone.

“Oh I’m sorry-” you said. They smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. Wait...you’re the model in that photo,” they replied. You gulped.

“Um yeah I am…”

“Well tell your photographer that they did an excellent job, really captured the gallery theme.”

“The nature theme?” you questioned. They tilted their head.

“No, the theme was ‘Beauty in its Purest Form’. Really great work.”

Your eyes widened.

“Uh-excuse me-”

You began to shuffle through the crowd of people. Izuku noticed you make your way towards the exit.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

Izuku followed you down the stairs. You rushed outside, breathing in the fresh air. Izuku grabbed onto your arm.

“Y/N what's wrong?” pleaded Izuku, “did you not like it?”

You shook your head. Tears began to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“No Izuku, I loved it. I really loved it,” you sniffled. Midoriya felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Why did you run?”

“Because...I didn’t recognize myself...I looked-”

“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Y-You think I’m beautiful?” you cried. Izuku wiped away your stray tears.

“Y/N, I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world, inside and out. Y-You’re my muse.”

Izuku cupped your face as you tried to hold back anymore tears.

“You made me look beautiful…”

“No Y/N, you are beautiful. I simply clicked the camera.”

Izuku pulled you into a tight hug, holding the back of your head gently. There was something about the way Izuku made you feel. As if you were the only girl in the world.

“I love you,” you whispered. Izuku’s eyes grew. He moved to face you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I love you.”

Izuku placed his hand onto your cheek, feeling your soft skin. He began to inch closer to you. You couldn’t wait anymore, the anticipation killing you. You collided your lips with his, wrapping your arms around him. He had one hand on the small of your back as the other held the back of your head. Izuku took mental pictures of this moment, wishing to relive it over and over again. The warmth between the two of you in contrast to the cold air that surrounded you. It was a tornado of emotions.

You looked at Izuku, both of your faces burning and you attempted to catch your breath. You pressed your foreheads together, chuckling softly. Izuku kissed your forehead.

“You really are incomparable.”

•

[MHA taglist: @bibly @big-phat-cat @sapphoscolonoscopy @luluwiie @happyheartsss @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @runrabbitrun3 @katlingclaw @nerdypuppytimemachine ]

[kodzumie-archived]

please can u spare a couple of mikan hcs w an s/o who adores her?? please my crops are dying,,, tysm

❝ADORATION❞

Synopsis; Mikan with an s/o that adores her.

Featuring; Mikan Tsumiki x GN! Reader

Warning(s); None! Just fluff with best girl, Mikan.

Kodzumie’s Note; Your crops shall live for another day! I always, always, always will spare writing for Mikan. Ahh, thank you so much for requesting for her! I hope you’ve had a great day today. Take care, anon! <3

➤ MIKAN TSUMIKI

⤷ To say she was astounded is an understatement. Mikan is truly unable to fathom how you someone like you could like her. Much less, adore her.

⤷ But, from the bottom of her heart, she appreciates it and cherishes every ounce of your affections entirely. And she attempts to reciprocate it in full, but it’s hard to compete with your overwhelming conveyance.

⤷ Showering her in metaphoric seas of compliments, it’s never a challenge to fluster the tenuous nurse. Her delicate, pallid features brushed upon with roseate as she attempts to withhold her composure. But your ministrations are too much for her poor, little heart to handle.

⤷ For every time you’ve made a momentary stop at the nurse’s office between classes, she swears her heart melts with every moment she sees you. Some breaks, you walk into the office with a rose twirled between your thumb and index finger, holding it out before you towards the bearer of your heart.

⤷ Of course, Mikan will deny taking the flower at first, claiming that it’d be much better given to someone else rather than her. But you silence her upon clasping your hands above her own, ever-so gently placing the florescent blossom between her fingers. Truly, it mesmerizes her the sheer dedication you’ve shown to someone as meek as her.

⤷ Some days, you stop by the office with a piece of paper between your hands; a drawing. Presenting it to your girlfriend with an eager grin upon your face, you explain that it was, in fact, a drawing of her.

⤷ Instantaneously, she begins to compliment your drawing, regardless of your skill level. She’s genuinely enamored that someone would take the time out of their day to draw her, of all people.

⤷ But her questions are answered with your rambles; your rambling about her. It’s strange. Foreign, even. It’s an entirely new situation for her to be put in as she listens to you gush about all that you admire about her. Vividly describing that the enchanting flecks of stardust within her eyes were simply too beautiful not to draw.

⤷ From your words alone, Mikan’s heart resonated within her chest as she attempted to muster coherent sentences, but the shock was still fresh within her mind. You thought she was beautiful. And, by your very own words; “No drawing or photo could ever capture your beauty, Mikan.”

⤷ And yet she’s surprised to say that-that isn’t even the best of them. You’ve surpassed her expectations and have smothered her in a love she’d deemed foreign; care she could only describe as exotic.

⤷ The days in which you’d stop by the nurse’s office with empty hands were her favorite; that day, you’d brought nothing. Only yourself to greet her presence, and yet, you still manage to engulf her in your adorations with a tidal wave of pure passion.

⤷ Those days, you’d draw her in close. The smile settling upon your lips was once she hoped to be blessed to see for years to come, a gentle smile reserved solely for her eyes as you cradle her face within your hands. Your touch was delicate; holding Mikan’s face as though she were glass, ready to shatter. And sometimes she truly believed that under your intense love, she’d crumble.

⤷ And that’s what she’d adored about you; the way you’d overwhelmingly underwhelm your affections so that she could handle them. You understood that sometimes the abundance of affection was hard to handle, flustering her to the brink of a mental breakdown as she processes the―unfortunately―foreign compassion.

⤷ Thus, you envelop her lips within yours, pulling her in for a serene, fleeting kiss. Within that moment, time had slowed. The seconds ticking in subtle reverse as she savors the sensation of your lips atop her own, occasionally parting to overlap once more.

⤷ And yet, even as you leave, the love that frolics within your eyes doesn’t cease. In fact, it intensifies. The glow of adoration emitting from your hues as your lips part from hers is a hypnotic sight for her, nearly forcing her within a  trance as she swallows in the affection within your gaze alone.

⤷ So it surprises her that your affection never seems to cease; an eternal flame of your desire burning solely for her. An ember in which she promises she’s undeserving of, yet you cling onto the belief—the truth she’s been hindered blind to—that she is deserving of this love. She is worthy of affection.

⤷ Even as you take her out to the café she’d subtly informed you of, hoping to visit it one day, she’s perplexed as to why you’d bother keeping in mind such an unimportant detail. Furthermore, why would you take her to the place she’d claim she’d been hoping to see?

⤷ But as you take her hand within hers—gently—allowing her to let go if she wishes, you inform her thay you wanted to see her reaction. To be able to witness her excitement from a front-row perspective, and bask in your girlfriend’s excitement over the pastries.

⤷ Mikan attempted to insist that a date spent on her would be a mere waste, but you’d opened the door for her with a grin before she could protest. Bowing your head in caricature to formality, giggling as your girlfriend hesitantly entered, following after her.

⤷ Amidst the comforting atmosphere, baristas calling out names of customers per order and the lofi beat droning within the background of the clatter, the café had been comforting. Mikan’s tender, lavender hues inspecting the confinements of the shop with the faintest of smiles.

⤷ Resting your chin within your hand, you gaze upon her features. All of which illuminated by the hanging lights of the establishment, accentuating her regal locks as she twirls a strand around her index finger. Her gaze fixed upon the doodles of the chalkboard announcing today’s special.

⤷ She appeared at ease; delight engulfing her within the confinements of the café. And with your eyes trained upon her contentment, you couldn’t help but bask in her ripples of joy that’d passed upon you in wishful washes; a wish to capture this moment forever.

⤷ So that’s exactly what you do. Retrieving your phone from the compartments of your bookbag, you swipe left of your lock screen, opening the camera app.

⤷ And without a moment of the ethreality to waste, you raise your phone and snap a picture; capturing wht you deemed as the essence of true beauty. Yet upon the shuttering of a camera, Mikan swiftly directs her head towards you, a somewhat panicked expression upon her fragile features. You almost feel bad for startling her, however, the photo within your phone album is the sight of a lifetime.

⤷ With furrowed brows, Mikan questions what you’d taken a picture of. To which she hadn’t expected you to flip your screen towards her, displaying the photograph before her very eyes.

⤷ It was her. Sitting across the table with a far-off gaze upon the front counter, within her hands resides her own phone as a faint smile laces her lips. Her free hand twisting her hair between her fingertips as she seems so peaceful; at last, she’s at ease. It was a picture of your girlfriend—Mikan—amidst her most serene of moments.

⤷ At first, she’s silent. Simply gazing upon your screen as though she were attempted to decipher whether or not she was encaged within a dream; a vividly torturous dream in which she’d been fooled with the illusory affection you’d always provided her.

⤷ But that silence morphs into mumbles; questioning. It’s a repetitive and Pavlovian reaction from your lover, yet you never seem to alter your answer to her inquiry; why had you taken a picture of her?

⤷ Because why would your answer change? If there was one thing you’ll leave this world with a true belief in, it’s that your girlfriend is an enchanting individual. Her heart a garden of kind blossoms for those in need; eyes painted with stardust as the underlying euphoria within her orbs rivaled every constellation; the brush of her fingertips upon yours eliciting a jolt through your heart. In every way imaginable, Mikan was utterly celestial.

⤷ So, with your head held high, you reply with such confidence it’s as though the words that escape your lips are from the heart—in which they are—spoken only to her. “Because you’re beautiful, of course.”

⤷ And it’s words like these that Mikan has noticed you’d chant. Time and time, again, you insist that she’s one-of-a-kind; a treasure truly unforgettable.

⤷ With such frevor, you douse yourself in the mantra of her worth, promising her value is beyond that of what she’s been deluded to. It’s your persistence—your unwavering sense of veracity—that pushes Mikan to believe that perhaps she’s beyond that of a disposable being.

⤷ She’s pushed to believe that perhaps there’s a mutual gratification within your love; she’s not the only one who’d fawned upon the possibility of being wanted, especially by someone of the likes of you. She’s pushed to believe that perhaps the love you’d withheld for her was true.

⤷ A bond—in its entirety—as genuine as the feeling of your hand atop hers within that very moment. Clasping your hands atop hers, you cradle the limb with such an overwhelming amount of care, Mikan couldn’t fight against the quiver of her lips as you tenderly gazed within her eyes.

⤷ Your voice subtle as it barely resonated within the encompass of the café, yet ever-so assertive. Without a fraction of hesitation—gaze unwavering from her own—you allow the Pavlovian words to escape from your lips. Yet, unlike every other moment you’d voiced them, for once, they’re processed.

⤷ Months spent in denial of your fragility towards her; your contrasting tending to her needs; indulging in her wants; smothering her in endless conpliments; lovingly longing gazes cast upon her. After months of having spent within the confines of doubt, it seems that the shackles had finally been broken.

⤷ In that very moment, within the café you’d took the liberty to remember in order to appease to her personal interests, you’d confessed once more; “I love you.” And it’s a confession finally processed by your lavender-eyed lover; a confession finally processed after months of denying the veracity of your love.

⤷ And as you cradled her hands within your own, the ever-lasting love laced within your eyes as they meet hers, she reciprocates your affections at long-last as the words that doused her lips interlocked with the tears cascading from her eyes. “I love you too.”

[alltooreid]

All Too Well

Spencer must go to him and Y/N’s once shared apartment to clean out his things and leave her life forever. While there he can’t help but look back on his actions, the ones that made him lose the love of his life forever

A/N: Hi!! This is my first fanfic ever published on here and I’m excited to share it with you all! It’s inspired by one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs All Too Well, but although I utilized some of the lyrical genius and imagery from it, the story is not the same as the story in the song. This is a very angsty fic, and there is not a happy ending. Although there are some cute fluffy elements, including a Reid’s purple scarf origin story, I would in no way call this happy. Additionally, because of a reason you may later realize, the content warnings are very vague. If anything even slightly mentioned in them may affect you, I advise you to maybe stay clear. On a lighter note, if anyone wants to request anything, whether it’s another song inspired fic or a general plot line you would like to see please do so!! Also sorry this is kinda short, I’m still learning but I’m really proud of this one :))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Type: Very Angsty, Not a Happy Ending, (Y/N and Spencer do not end up together)

Word Count: 2.4k

Content Warnings(try to ignore if you would prefer to stay surprised): slight cursing, discussions of death and gore, discussion of car crash

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments :) let me know what you think!

“But you keep my old scarf from that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can't get rid of it 'Cause you remember it all too well”

Spencer was packing up his things, finally getting the chance to clear out and move from the apartment he and Y/N once shared.  Their relationship was rocky and unconventional but he loved her all the same. Even though he left her broken-hearted and destroyed his most cherished relationship. Even though Y/N’s parents now hated him because of what he did to her. Even though hope of repairing what they once had was long gone and there was nothing else he could do about it. Even though he had torn up the masterpiece they once had together. He still loved her so much.

But the magic was gone and so was she. 

Now Spencer was left with memories, and since the apartment they lived in was hers instead of his, filed entirely under hers and her parents name. In his excessive knowledge and wisdom, Spencer Reid struggled to understand how the kitchen where Y/N told him she loved him for the first time as he lit the candle on the collapsing confetti cake he had attempted to bake for her birthday was in no way legally tied to him. 

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Y/N! Happy birthday to you!” Spencer sang as he lit the single pink birthday candle he found after rummaging through his desk drawers for longer than he cared to admit. He knew it was in there somewhere, but at the same time there was a whole lot in there. 

As he looked at her face, eyes welling up with tears as she took in the sad, homemade excuse for a birthday party Spencer had thrown together after they got back from a case hours before, he couldn’t help but feel he should have done more. He wanted to take her to New York, where they would’ve enjoyed fine dining and one of those incredibly detailed floral frosting cakes he knew Y/N was infatuated with. 

However, the case in Oregon ran long. They had only returned to their apartment 2 hours ago, hours past their 7pm dinner reservations. Although Y/N tried to hide her disappointment, you don’t need to be a profiler to know that someone wants to celebrate their own birthday. So although they had agreed to go to bed and play everything by ear tomorrow, the young genius had, what he would still argue to be, his most brilliant idea when he saw Y/N asleep once he got out of the shower.

It was still her birthday.

And Spencer had just under 2 hours to throw you a party. 

So sure, Y/N deserved more than a cake that was definitely not cool enough to frost, but was frosted anyway due to time constraints. And she definitely deserved more than present hastily wrapped in his printed out articles and newspaper clippings. Spencer wished that he had time to go buy new candles, instead of lighting a green sparkly number 7 because it was all he could find.

But it was almost midnight, and that meant he only had 18 minutes before it wasn’t Y/N’s birthday anymore.

So instead of dwelling on it, he headed to their bedroom, shook her awake and watched her roll over to face him. He watched the smile overtake her face as she said the stupid party hat he was wearing, made out of a pom pom and a wedding invitation.

“Hey birthday girl,” he said softly, “you do realize you’re sleeping through your party right?”

She looked so happy that night, even as she saw the way too messy kitchen and her birthday cake that was melting by the second. She laughed as Spencer fumbled with the lighter. 

And as he finished singing her eyes started releasing tears. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I wish we could’ve done more for the first birthday we get to spend together. “

“No, no, no” she said as she wiped her tears away, “It’s not that at all.”

She smiled and looked up at him “I just love you so goddamn much Spencer.”

Although at one point, all Spencer knew was logic and logically Y/N had never ever known him when she filed her paperwork, the genius still struggled to grasp the concept. That even before the ending of it all, you had no legal, definite connection to her at all. 

How was nothing about this place, his? 

  All that he knew was that he had today to pack all his shit and leave. All he knew is that Y/N’s father had made it very clear none of their family wanted to see him again. 

He wished he could talk to Y/N about it. However all of his calls went to voicemail immediately. 

Logically, Spencer knew why, he had completely fucked up. 

But still, he called every single day, as there was nothing his heart wished for more than to speak to Y/N again. To apologize, to beg for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

As the cold air from the open windows blew into the apartment, Spencer couldn’t help but feel he was leaving his home behind. Everything left of her was going to be here, and he wouldn’t get to experience any part of the life you and him had once shared together anymore.

But then he saw it. 

The royal purple scarf Y/N bought the day of their first date. 

“You like this color right?” she asked as they stopped by a booth at the street festival she had taken him to. Spencer was too distracted as he watched the other couples on dates, as they walked hand and hand down the streets. He sometimes wished he could forget things like the number of germs and bacteria that lived on her hands. He at least wished he could forget long enough to gather enough courage to hold Y/N’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Hmm?” he said, looking back at her, then the scarf she was now wearing. “Oh, yeah! I love that color, it um- looks great on you.”

She smiled, then turned to the weird old guy running the stand. “How much for the scarf?” she asked.

He looked at her, then looked at Spencer, “depends which one of you is paying.”

Before Spencer could say anything, let alone pull out his wallet, Y/N already had hers out. 

“Well, for a pretty lady like you, it’s 2 dollars,” the man said.

She handed him five and turned to Spencer. “You hear that? I’m so pretty I get 80% off! Wonder what you would’ve paid huh pretty boy? He would probably owe you money.” The man handed her her change and whispered something Spence couldn’t quite catch. 

“Gross,” Y/N said as they exited the booth, “he wrote his number on my change.”

Spencer chuckled, “Did you really just buy that scarf because I like the color of it?”

She smiled, “Don’t get so cocky now Einstein, I like purple too you know? And maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you borrow it.”

At that moment Spencer felt just okay enough to wrap his arm around Y/N’s, and she felt just right enough to wrap the new scarf around them both. 

The one she left next to her front door, after making the last minute decision to leave it at home the night of their final outing.

No one would notice if he….. Right?

Sure maybe Y/N would but what would she do about it? Hunt him down just to get a scarf she paid less than five dollars for? Definitely not. 

He wrapped it around his neck and closed his eyes, even days later he could perfectly picture Y/N singing in his car, fascinated by the autumn leaves falling around her. He felt the wind in his hair, but instead of the cold, dreary air from the open apartment window, he swore he could remember the warm air from that October night. 

“Spencer I know you hate it but please, please, please. I’m so tired.”

“Sweetheart you’re not tired, you’re drunk. Of course I have to drive you home.”

“Oh, whatever.”

A phone call broke him away from his memories, it was Hotch. Spencer was angry, how effortlessly cruel of him to call him during such an emotional time. Hotch knew how much Spencer loved Y/N, the whole team did. 

So he didn’t pick up.

Instead he walked over to the coffee table they used to put their feet on when they binged watched Doctor Who together. Letting the ringtone play out in the background, Spencer picked up an old photo album Y/N’s parents must have brought out. Of course he remembered it, it was the same one they flipped through when he met Y/N’s parents for the first time. He didn’t realize she had brought it home with her.

His eyes welled up with tears as he flipped through the old school pictures, remembering how embarrassed Y/N was of her big glasses. He saw her old athlete pictures from when she used to play tee ball, and flipped through more pictures until he reached the end of your softball career, in college. 

He remembered how hard Y/N blushed when she showed him her childhood bedroom. Her twin sized bed was full of stuffed animals and her walls covered in boy band posters. 

“You know what Spencer? I don’t want to hear it. I loved and still love the BackStreet Boys and I am not ashamed of that.”

He laughed, “You know, before we started dating I always thought you were so cool and unattainable. I imagined that you had always been this chic, beautifully brilliant badass. It’s oddly comforting to know that you wore tortoiseshell glasses and had a fruitless infatuation with Nick Carter.”

She gasped, before tossing her tabby cat stuffed toy at him, “You’re about to get it!”

Once again he was called out of the memory by his phone. 

And once again he let it ring.

Spencer went into their shared bedroom, most of his things were already put into boxes for him. Honestly he was surprised that they hadn’t been set on fire or thrown away after what he did. 

Soon it was time for him to take his things down to his car.

Except it wasn’t even his car. It was Morgan’s.

“Spencer, you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life. I am infatuated with you, I want us to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“You sure that isn’t the alcohol talking Y/N”

“Look at me Spencer, no, no really look at me.”

He couldn’t imagine ever using his old car again after what had happened in it.

“You are my future.”

Not that he could use it again.

“You are my everything.”

It was pretty much destroyed, after that accident on that little town street.

“I want nothing more in my life, than for you to be in it.”

When he was so enamored by Y/N, so in love that he couldn’t take his eyes off her, that he ran a red light.

And the truck waiting to go didn’t stop either.

“SPENCER! SPENCER CAN YOU HEAR ME? I NEED YOU TO CALL 911!” she screamed, her voice filled with agony, her limbs mangled in a sea of crushed mental and snapped backwards by the emergency airbag she didn’t realize she was resting her feet on.

Spencer had already called 911. That was the sickest thing about it. Spencer was, physically, perfectly fine. Spencer would get to leave the hospital after just a few days. Spencer could’ve probably gotten out of the car if he tried to. But he stayed, he stayed with Y/N, as she wasn’t fine. As Spencer looked down on her broken body, and tried desperately to find just one piece of skin that wasn’t coated in blood, her blood, that is when he realized. That not only could Y/N not walk out of the hospital with him, but she probably wouldn’t even make it there.

So he sobbed, he struggled to breathe, not because of the ways Y/N did, but because he had caused all the reasons she couldn’t.

“Hey, Spencer, look at me.”

So he did, and he reached for her hands and held them so tightly, and wanted one last time to feel her squeeze back. And she did, just ever so softly. 

“Spencer, I meant everything I said to you. I want you to spend the rest of my life with me. Please.”

“I love you so much Y/N”

“I love you too.”

Spencer was drawn away from his memories once again as he got another phone call. 

But it wasn’t Hotch this time. It was Mr. Y/L/N, so he answered it. He owed him that.

“Are you out of her house yet? You’ve had hours. I want you gone Spencer.”

Spencer sighed, “I’m leaving now sir, I’m just putting the last of my things in the trunk and then I’ll be gone.”

“Good, I never want to see you again Spencer, you hear me?” Mr. Y/L/N said. “And you better not have anything of hers either. All that stuff in your car better belong to you and you only. If Y/N paid for even a dime of it it better still be in that house.”

Spencer looked down at this scarf he was wearing, the one that still smelled like her perfume. The one that he couldn’t bring himself to take off because he reminded him of so much innocence and beauty.

“Yes sir, I didn’t take anything.”

“Good. And Spencer do me a favor.”

“Anything sir.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Mr. Y/L/N said, and then hung up. Spencer sighed, he expected that and fully deserved it.

How else should a father react when you kill his daughter?

“'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well”

[sweetdejun]

someday // l.t.y.

summary: several years after high school, when you and your peers have all established careers, you get invited to your graduating class reunion.

pairing: lee taeyong x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

genre: exes!au, angst, some closure.

a/n: mentions of alcohol, UNEDITED

You knew this day would come, but not this soon.

It feels like it came fast when in reality it’s been almost seven years since you graduated from high school. It took a handful of odd jobs after receiving your bachelor’s degree, but you were able to land a position as an accountant. With your hard work, you’ve slowly climbed up the ladder to where you now serve as the finance director of the firm you work for. Your salary is handsome, as per your standards, and you were recently able to afford a nice apartment. It was only after your move that you visited your parents on the other side of the city where they handed you the envelope in your hands. It was an invitation to your high school reunion.

That's how, fast forward a week later, you found yourself standing in front of your old high school gymnasium. You see people walking towards the entrance and feel stupid because most of them seem to be going with another person, maybe a friend they would keep in touch with or a significant other. Maybe you should have coaxed one of your co-workers and bribed them with drinks or something afterward. Too late now, you thought, as you sighed and made your way to the entrance. Upon arrival, the first thing you notice is the reasonably large group of people scattered throughout the room. It’s dark and the only light sources are the few disco ball lamps projecting multicolored circles throughout the perimeter of the room. You squint to try to make out people when seconds later, your thoughts are interrupted by a shrill, “Y/N!” You turn your head towards the sound and find an adult Jisoo approaching you. Jisoo was one of your closest friends you kept in touch with for a while but lost contact with a couple of years into college. “Jisoo, is that you? Oh my god, it’s been ages! How are you?” you hugged her, and she began to share how shortly after graduating college, she applied for a job as a photographer at a fashion agency, but she ended up landing a job as a model. Long story short, Jisoo was now a thriving model. “I’m so happy for you!” you gush with sincerity and she gets shy, combing her fingers through her hair. She tells you that she may have just landed her big break, about to fill you in on details when an oh-so-familiar voice cuts her off. “Hey guys,” you turn around and your eyes meet Lee Taeyong.

Taeyong and Y/N: the “dream team” as they used to call you back in high school. You shared a long and valuable relationship with him, dating almost throughout all of high school. That's why when people heard that you split up, they were more shocked than they would have liked to admit. it was a rather nasty breakup that was not mutual at first; he had gotten into his dream university located across the country while you chose to stay in your home city for college. You didn't want to stop him from achieving his dreams of becoming a pediatric dietitian; you would have hated yourself for acting that selfish. Therefore, you thought things could work via long-distance and they did for a while, but the harsh realities like not being able to hold each other in your hard times set in faster than you wanted to admit. Your schedules were becoming increasingly incompatible, and it became difficult for either one of you to grasp onto the relationship. You both watched as it slowly slipped away from your hands. Taeyong was the one to pull the trigger, and with heavy hearts, the two of you officially parted ways.

You have not contacted each other since then. Now, the two of you stand face to face, and you see an emotion in his eyes that you don’t recognize. Perhaps it’s because you successfully managed to forget the negative memories from all the ones you still have of him. Or maybe you just forgot how to read him. “Uh, Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you to show up,” he awkwardly rubs his hands together as he slowly shifts his gaze around the room. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to come, but I decided to come just for the fun of it. Bit of a last-minute decision, actually.” Jisoo could sense the tension in the air and playfully scoffed, “really? Y/N, I thought you weren’t the type of person to make last-minute decisions. You used to grill me for doing that all the time.” You notice the surprise looming on Taeyong's face; he must’ve been taken aback by your statement too. You turn away from his careful gaze before coldly replying, “people change over time, I guess.”

After Jisoo finds someone else to catch up with, you quickly excuse yourself to the bar to grab a glass of punch because there is no way in hell that you want to be left alone with Taeyong right now. The walk over to the bar is a little difficult, mainly due to the lack of light, but you manage to make it without bumping into anyone else. as you pour your punch in a cup, someone clears their throat in front of you. “Johnny Suh!” you gasp, a smile forming on your face. Johnny and you used to be neighbors in high school but right after graduation, he and his family moved to Chicago. You were very sad at the departure of one of your only friends, so you were beyond thrilled to see him again. You shuffle around the table to give him a hug that he gladly reciprocated. “I thought I saw you walk in. how are you, Y/N?”

“I’ve been well. Busy, but well. When did you get back?” He tells you that he recently got a job at an accounting firm, right here in the city. When you ask him where he says the name of your firm. “No way! I work there, too!” Johnny lights up at this, you talk about the work-life, how the people are, and share your experiences.

You fail to notice that across the room, a pair of eyes have been following you ever since you left them alone a few moments ago. Taeyong watches, with a pained gaze, as you reciprocate what is obvious flirtatious behavior from Johnny. Truthfully, when Johnny moved away, Taeyong remembers being a little happy on the inside, because he wouldn’t have to hear you talk about him so much. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Johnny harbored a small crush on you. When he brought it up, you used to throw your head back in laughter, before pinching his cheeks and calling him cute. That same feeling begs to ignite again, but his head is quicker than his heart, as it forces him to look down at the thin silver band wrapped around the ring finger of his right hand. You’ve moved on, he hears, and he tucks his hand into his pocket. Someone walks over to him and captures his attention, pushing the thoughts of you and what could have been to the back of his head.

Johnny gets a call from someone, so he excuses himself from your company, leaving you standing amidst the terrible background music and a half-full cup of punch in your hand. You figure you can go grab some fresh air right about now, so you meander off to the door, before stepping out onto the concrete outside. The cool summer breeze is comfortable against your arms but out of habit you fold them together, the cup of punch firmly held in your palm. You close your eyes and exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Care if I join you?” Taeyong’s voice rings, shattering the silence you developed briefly. Opening your eyes, you clear your throat before saying, “be my guest.” Taeyong stands next to you, and once he’s in the light you’re able to get a better look at him. The last time you saw Taeyong, his hair was much shorter and cleanly trimmed. He had innocence in his eyes that twinkled with every step. The version of him standing next to you was definitely more mature; there’s a shadow of smile lines and crow’s feet on the side of his face you see, his hair has grown out quite a bit and you can make out the sharpness of his cheekbone and jaw naturally contouring his face.

“Some things never change, right?” He says out of the blue and you cough to offset the growing embarrassment you feel. He’s referring to how you used to zone out into your thoughts when you stared at him, usually from the side. He would always be able to pick up on it, teasing you relentlessly. “Have you been well?” “Did you move back here?” The both of you asked at the same time to one another, awkwardly laughing off the collision of your questions before you said, “you first.” Taeyong nodded, “I moved back here almost a year ago actually. I was transferred to a small hospital and they knew I was from here, so they figured it was easier to send someone who had a feel for the demographic.” You bit your lip, and he continued, “I didn’t realize how much I missed this city. It was only after I moved back that I felt like this is where home was all along. How about you, did you ever leave?” You shook your head, “I had all my opportunities here, so I never felt the need to go anywhere. I have been perfectly happy and I never felt better,” and as you speak, you notice Taeyong pull his hand out of his pocket to scratch his ear and light reflects the ring resting nicely on his ring finger. You try not to let your eyes widen too much, but you can’t help it if your heart shatters in your chest. “You’re engaged.” Taeyong winced at the change in your tone; he wanted to avoid this topic. “Uh, yeah. Yes, I am.” You attempt to play it off, looking away from his analyzing gaze. “Who’s the lucky person?” Taeyong looks outward with a certain fondness as he recalls details of his significant other. He says they met in one of his classes, saying they “were the best friend he never had”. You listened on as your walls started to break.

“I proposed shortly after I found out I was transferred here. They moved here with me, actually.” You nodded, recognizing all too well this feeling growing in you. It was reminiscent of how you felt when you broke up with him, but this was much more intense. You painfully exhaled and you knew he could sense it. “Happy for you. I really am,” you managed to say without letting your voice crack. Taeyong was always very straightforward with you, and it didn’t surprise you when he said, “Y/N, I was in the darkest place when we broke up. They helped me get out of that. I know it was not an easy decision to make, which is why I want you to know that you will always have a place in my heart. We spent so many years together, it’s natural that you and I will always be something special.” You turn the other way, and this time, you can’t stop the tears from falling. You couldn’t face him anymore because you don’t want to reveal to him that a big part of you still wanted him. Seeing that ring on his finger and hearing him gush about his partner reaffirmed all that. Now, all you wanted to do was to get out of there. “I’ll be honest, sometimes it still feels like I haven’t gotten over you. Even if I did. Know that I will always love you and that you’ll always have a piece of me.” Taeyong says, and a small whimper leaves you. “I’m a mess, Taeyong,” you croak. “I built this strong wall and convinced myself that I was okay. Tonight you’ve proved me wrong. I tried time and time again to find someone else to introduce into my life but no one comes close.” You finally wipe your eyes and turn back to face Taeyong to find silent tears trailing down his face. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight if I’m being honest. I needed to get this off my chest. I’m sorry for everything, Y/N.”

You breathe, the final bit of teardrops sitting at your waterline. “Thank you, Taeyong. For everything, but especially the memories. I know I can’t fall out of love with you overnight, and I certainly will not ask you to do anything selfish. You know that I just want you to be happy, and if they make you happy, that’s all that matters.” Taeyong wants to reach out to wipe your tears, but he’s afraid he’ll cross a line he set for himself. “Would you still want to be friends? For old times’ sake,” Taeyong asks, hoping you’ll say yes. You feel conflicted but you say, “you’re going to need to give me time, Taeyong. I need to sort things out in terms of relationships, and right now, I don’t think I can take being your friend. That’s going to lead to me wishing terrible things on you two, and I don’t want to jeopardize a relationship that is strong enough as it is. Please, don’t force me to befriend you when I’m broken.” Taeyong is hurt, but the rational voice in his head is telling him that you are doing the right thing. “It’s getting late,” you muster the courage to say, “I should head out but I’m glad you got the closure you needed.” Taeyong offered to walk you to your car, and you don’t know if you can take any more heartbreak, but you let him walk you anyway. The tears are gone for now, but they’ll come back. Taeyong hesitates, “Do you want to meet up for lunch or something anytime soon?” You unlock your door and open it before turning to him. There’s a glint of hope in his eye, and you smile meekly, “maybe but not soon, Taeyong. When I’m ready. I hope you can understand.” He nods almost instantly, and you’re grateful for his reaction. “I’ll see you someday,” you tell him and he nods, waving to you as you start your car and leave, whispering under his breath “someday.”

a/n: AHHH my first ever long scenario. this was much easier to do than a series lol but I’m nervous! I would appreciate any and all feedback you guys have for me, and thank you for reading it!

[raspberryhell]

(Day 3 of @rqgfemslashweek​ - AU/Canon Divergence) May I interest you in a very elaborate RQG AU that ultimately leads up to Azu and Kiko having a dramatic sword fight? (more details on what I call the Mutiny AU in the read more)

[ID: Digital art of Azu and Kiko on the deck of the airship in the rain with two other drawings on the sides. Azu is a muscular Black orc with close shaved hair. She is wearing full body armor and carries an axe. Kiko is a muscular Japanese human with dark hair that goes to her mid-back. She is wearing a plain sleeveless shirt, pants, boots, and a bandana around her neck and carries a pirate sword. The main image is of Azu facing up towards Kiko, who looks down angrily as she stands with a foot up on a railing on the deck of the airship. Behind her at the ship’s wheel is Amelia Earhart, a white gnome with short hair wearing a large coat and goggles. In the drawing in the top left, Kiko is yelling angrily and swinging her sword down on Azu. Azu is straining back tears as she holds up the handle of her axe to block the attack. In the drawing in the bottom right, Kiko is sitting on the ground with a hand held around her other arm as if injured. Azu, with a fresh cut on her face, is kneeling in front of her, axe held down, bitterly smiling as she talks to Kiko. The background is dark and near monochrome with some blue and purple hues. The sky above is stormy with a streak of lightning. End ID]

So remember when during that first date where Kiko said that she would follow Earhart anywhere because of her connection to her adopted dad? I think that was a set up for if Zolf’s mutiny plan had to have happened that there would be at least one person on the ship who would not want to join in. So this AU is basically: Earhart starts steering the ship directly into harm’s way without the crew’s approval, they start the mutiny, the only one not on board is Kiko so she breaks out into full swashbuckling pirate mode to protect Earhart.

(I am by no means an experienced fic writer so here is the scene summed up to the best of my ability. To set the mood, imagine they are on the deck of the ship as it passes through a dramatic thunderstorm) 

Knowing that she is horribly outnumbered, Azu attempts to talk to Kiko to convince her to give up peacefully. Kiko feels cornered with Earhart behind her so she jumps down to start attacking Azu. (insert heavy rainfall here) Azu, following Aphrodite’s “Do no more harm than necessary”, and also because this takes place after their first date so Azu already has feelings for Kiko, can’t bring herself to fight back. Even alone Azu could easily take down Kiko but that’s not what she wants. All Azu can do is block her attacks and attempt to talk her out of fighting.

Kiko gets a few good hits in and Azu gets a few inspirational words out in return. (Lightning intermittent) Kiko is nearly brought down emotionally through Azu’s power of love and friendship, but still has some fight in her. In one last moment where it looks like Kiko might throw Azu off the ship or deal some other type of killing blow, Azu deems a small bit of fighting back necessary and gives a non-lethal swing at Kiko. 

Kiko realizes just how much Azu is holding back, letting her in on both how much power Azu /really/ has and how much Azu cares for her to not have knocked her out immediately as soon as they started fighting. Kiko finally gives up and Azu kindly tells her that she understands why she wanted to protect Earhart, but that it’s time to let go and move on if she’s not going to respect her safety and let her recklessly get killed. (both symbolic and literal storm clears up) Kiko realizes that can trust Azu, who values her as more than just a crewmate.

Azu reaches out a hand to Kiko, helping her up and giving her a tight hug now that they both feel safe. Maybe they cry a bit. Earhart is apprehended and they continue sailing on to Svalbard. Nothing bad happens to them ever again :) 

yes this was very much fueled by my gayass desire for more women to have homoerotic sword fights with each other so as thank you for reading all the self indulgent bullshit here is a much softer AzuKiko

[ID: A digital sketch of Azu and Kiko shown from the side in shades of purple. Azu is wearing a large coat over her armor. Kiko is wearing a coat and her hair is up in a ponytail. Their eyes are closed, they are holding hands and kissing. End ID]

[takuyakistall]

I recently re-read his Dorm SSR personal story here! A few questions and thoughts lingered inside my head as I read it and it collectively got worse when @poisonepel​ started questioning things too. Which ultimately led to me writing this down while running on half a brain cell and a spoonful of rice for lunch. This isn’t necessarily an analysis but more of just me questioning a lot of stuff. I already pointed out things that are already obvious so it might get repetitive. Placed under the cut since it’s a bit lengthy! I tried my best to be coherent in the very least.

Rook’s Nickname for Jade - Rook calls Jade “Monsieur Mastermind” and perhaps you’re already telling me right now that I shouldn’t look deeper into this since it doesn’t look like it matters anyway but let me tell you right now that I tend to overanalyze things when it comes to Jade. I find it a bit odd how Rook calls Jade the mastermind, presuming that we’re talking about the Octavinelle trio, when it’s often Azul that’s shown to be as such. Of course, it’s been revealed that Rook analyzes or stalks nearly everything that happens to catch his interest (Jade’s Gym Personal). So it’s safe to presume that his judgement is, if not entirely correct, accurate. “Your staple food, your habits, your walking speed, when you sleep, your heart rate, how many times you blink… those and many others I have recorded perfectly.” Just by reading this line alone I became pretty sure that he observed something deeper than that--which is his personality.

       The question is, why is Jade the mastermind instead of Azul? Why is Azul’s nickname “Roi du Fort” instead of being the mastermind? Well, it might be common knowledge but Jade, in a way, controls Azul despite what it looks like to the public which is Azul controlling Jade since he, as the higher authority, has power over him. I read a popular post explaining why Jade probably undertakes the role of a servant rather than taking the position for himself knowing that he has the full capabilities to do so. This will be explained further later in a different note.

What I’m trying to imply is that behind the scenes, Azul isn’t really the mastermind behind everything despite what it seems. It’s Jade who’s really in control of things, by picking up the act of a servant or butler. 

“If the entire hierarchy collapses just due to the absence of a single person, then that proves that they aren’t all as great as they seem.” - I just had the need to point this particular line out since it just seemed so… Jade. Everything about this line just screams out the same vibes he radiates, cold and severe. I know he’s faking the whole thing about having a falling out with Azul and wanting to join Pomefiore but I think it is true that without him, Octavinelle won’t nearly be as great from when he was still there.

First of all, He’s Octavinelle’s vice-dorm leader. Surely, being in such a high position, he carries a lot of duties that only he can do as the acting vice leader. There’s also the fact that he does it superbly than other people which is why Octavinelle is the way it is right now, it would be hard to replace him. They would have to look for someone who’s on par with Jade, in the very least.

Secondly, he’s somewhat an emotional pillar to Azul. Judging from their childhood and current relationship as of now, I like to think that a big reason why Azul is the way he is right now, is because of Jade and Floyd acting as his emotional support or whatever even though they insist that their relationship is purely just for business and will drop it if it’s no longer beneficiary to them. The main reason why I think that way is because of the Octavinelle CM which has a scene of Azul holding a bubble in between his hands. Inside the bubble were the twins in their eel forms. The next thing that happened--the bubble popped and disappeared, along with the tweels inside it. We could see the horror on Azul’s face when it happened in that scene and slowly led to the overblot scene which says a lot about how Azul views the twins. Have a more detailed explanation regarding their relationship here! Summary, Azul will lose his shit if Jade were to disappear. Now, where is Octavinelle in all of this? Probably a mess in the corner right there with their dorm leader not in his right state of mind. In short, Octavinelle will probably crumble under the absence of Jade. The reason why Octavinelle is still functioning under Azul’s command during this whole stunt Jade is making is precisely because Azul knew that it was all an act.

"Jade’s excellence in everything he does is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders. He might be a super secretary or something to be able to answer Azul's difficult requests." - Vil's words to Rook during their little talk about letting Jade into Pomefiore. This stuck out to me because back then I didn't really give this much thought but now that I'm re-reading this, it makes me wonder how good is Jade at his job as a Vice Dorm Leader? These words coming from Vil hold a certain weight I can't describe, for him to say that his excellence is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders and to be described as a Super Secretary.

For Jade to have earned this kind of reputation despite being in the land for only two years so far is quite a feat! I would've expected less from someone else but this is Jade we're talking about so, ignoring his terrible weakness in flying, I can assume that Jade worked hard for him to have reached this kind of performance level in such a short time. To be recognized by almost all of the Dorm Leaders isn't an easy feat.

Jade as an attendant - During his first day as Vil's attendant, Vil mentioned how off-putting he is from the fact that Jade was almost too good for someone on their first day. "You managed to get on such friendly terms with the stuffy and straight-laced people of the industry in such little time; and you were also perfect when it came to helping out with the shooting. You've worked much harder than I thought you would." His words. I think this is due to the nature of Jade's silver tongue, which is being able to speak in a way that makes other people do or believe what you want them to do or believe. It seems very fitting for a character like Jade.

Because of the recent personals that got released for Jade, namely the Birthday SSR, they talked about family there and it got me thinking quite a bit as to how Jade can speak so eloquently especially now that I've read that he managed to get on the good side of people who are probably way older than he is and straight-laced, no less. He vaguely mentioned their family background when he was telling a story from his childhood and said how different people would come over to their party and offer them presents. I'm assuming that these people are possibly older than he is, judging from the fact that one of them attempted to give the twins liquor despite them being at a young age, and I thought that maybe Jade grew up used to being surrounded by adults to the point where he picks up a lot of speech patterns and habits. Which inevitably leads to what he is right now. Nothing is confirmed yet, this is a mere thought I had.

Jade's past with Azul - It's briefly mentioned here in the story. Jade mentioned how there weren't as many mer-folk as there are humans so they were all basically put in the same class together during elementary school. Azul didn't catch his interest back then, it seems. He mentioned not being able to remember the very reason why the three of them—Jade, Floyd, and Azul—ended up together currently in Night Raven College.

I am genuinely curious as to what actually made the twins interested in someone like Azul. Correct me if I'm wrong but they did mention it in Chapter 3, right? Was it the growing interest when they finally took notice of Azul using his unique magic on basically everyone who fell into his trap? Someone tell me the details if it was ever mentioned, my memory is failing me.

“Tenebres” - The shoe brand Vil wanted to get his hands on but unfortunately did not obtain, particularly, the Mirror Shoe. "Tenebres" apparently only sells their products to people who they deem worthy for designs, even the designer themselves has yet to make a public appearance as they are shrouded in mystery. Vil didn't have enough time to acquire it but, surprise! Jade Leech has somehow managed to get his perfect hands on the pair of red shoes Vil wanted so much. Frankly enough, Vil was impressed he managed to obtain something he could not—alone, no less.

This is just me pondering but this particular line made me wonder, "Heh, they did some at the cost of a bit of trouble. No matter, how about you try these on instead of dwelling on the matter?", to what lengths did he actually have to go through to obtain just a pair of shoes? Or rather, what connections does he have to be able to obtain this so easily and brush it off with a mere, "cost of a bit of trouble" when clearly Vil already expressed the difficulty in obtaining these?

Another note I have to make but not completely sure if it's relevant is his family. As I've said before, they mentioned that they deal with a lot of people due to the nature of their business and that made me wonder if the designer/owner of this certain shoe brand is one of them? Perhaps Jade was able to easily contact them because of connections his family has although Floyd's wish in the event Stars & Wishes contradicts this possibility.

In Floyd's wish, he mentioned wanting a pair of shoes and Idia immediately asked him why he couldn't just buy them. Floyd answered with a simple, "I can't usually get them." Because of the price. Which, again, contradicts my theory about the Leech family being connected to the shoe brand. Although! Vil did mention how the shoe brand only sells it to people they deem worthy. Perhaps, Floyd isn't…? No—it still wouldn't explain how easily Jade got the shoes and had the brand get Vil a job there as an ambassador. Surely, that isn't due to just any normal connections anymore. Definitely shady, I want to know more.

Jade is in control - As I've said earlier, Jade is somewhat in control despite playing the role of a servant. Prime example is when Vil told him his throat was parched, Jade immediately acted upon it fully knowing what his original intentions were. He gave Vil a drink that the Mostro Lounge was apparently serving without having Vil question it further and even went as far as to let Jade take a picture and post it—even he decided the caption for the post! With a simple flow of events just like that, Jade has managed to manipulate Vil without him knowing. He did it all while taking in the role of a servant and that in itself says a lot about how he does things

I think it's worth it to take note of the fact that Jade does not like bringing attention to himself and merely brushes it off as mere shyness of some sorts when really, all he wants to do is lay low and draw as little attention to himself. It makes his job easier that way—perhaps that's the reason why he lets Azul take the spotlight all the damn time.

Another thing to take note of is something I saw from a post in Tumblr which basically sums up the whole reason why Jade is always adopting the butler persona wherever he goes. It's because he likes to be in control that way—you'd let down your guard around him and let him serve you. You want a drink? He'll serve you a drink but-! He is in control over what you will get. That's exactly what happened in this exact scene, Vil waltzed right into the center of Jade's palms.

Vil never noticed - I'm not saying Vil is dumb, because he is most definitely not. Although through the very end, I don't know if it's just because Vil got carried away with the feeling of achievement taking over him due to recent events but he did just brush away the reason why Jade was in Pomefiore in the first place and let him go away peacefully, "So long as he doesn't bare his fangs at us." In other words, Jade managed to outsmart Vil and possibly, Rook.

This is probably one of the reasons why I am confident enough to say that Jade truly is one of the most cunning bitches in the entire game because this whole ordeal just pretty much proved it.

Aftermath - There we go! We got an explanation about how Jade managed to manipulate and use Vil for his own gains err, in this context, probably Azul's. When Jade took a picture of Vil with the drink and posted it, he did it with the intention of taking advantage of Vil's popularity and viewer reach. Jade expressed his thankfulness when he mentioned how Vil saw him as "useful" perhaps his reputation prior helped him reach his goal? 

Azul praised Jade with something along the lines of "As expected of you, Jade. You're the best Night Raven's College has to offer when it comes to sneaking into another's pockets after all." Which really just backs up some of the statements I made earlier about how Jade manipulates people by letting people let their guard down around him while thinking they're the ones who have power over Jade when clearly it's not as simple as it seems. Azul mentioning that only Jade could pull off something like this just puts me off for some reason but I'll leave it be for the time being.

After that, Jade and Azul had a conversation that started with Azul asking him if he had any difficulties during his stay in Pomefiore and if he had any troubles keeping up with Vil. Jade, jokingly(?), responded that it was nothing compared to Azul's demands and orders and his time at Pomefiore was actually a vacation of some sorts for him. Which really makes me wonder what jobs does Azul usually give him if this one was somewhat of a break for Jade? A task that seemed impossible to Floyd, Jade said it was a vacation. It's a bit frightening but I guess that's his charm? Hard-working is one way to put it. 

That's the end of my Dorm SSR mini-analysis, I guess! Thank you for sticking with me till the end even though a lot of these might be repetitive. I'll probably add more depending on future brainrot but for now, this is fine. Feel free to tell me what you think about this!

[noelleification]

I wrote an essay about she-ra supremacy and i want to share it with you

For context, my English teacher and I have been in an elaborate pissing contest for the past year. He said fan fiction was bad, so I wrote a sonnet about Banana Fish. He said you couldn't write about death using bright language and colorful metaphors, so I wrote a flash fiction piece about it.

One thing that he's done this year that we disagreed on was making us read The Plague by Albert Camus during a global pandemic. So, my most recent attempt at fucking with my teacher was writing an essay about why She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) is better than The Plague.

So, here is my essay. :)

"Recently I was asked, “What is the job of a novelist, and did Albert Camus accomplish this when he wrote The Plague?” While most of my classmates answered yes, I was less taken with the novel than they seemed to be.

The question “What is the job of a novelist?” is difficult to answer. Quite simply, art means different things to different people, and giving a yes or no answer to such a complex question seems impossible. Still, while The Plague definitely has something interesting to say, its message isn’t profound when compared to other, “lower” forms of art. It’s easy to assume value in The Plague because of it’s status, but after reading the novel, I was somewhat unimpressed with the one-note characterizations that served to deliver an ultimately average message.

In contrast, I have repeatedly been overwhelmingly impressed with She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, a 2018 remake of a He-Man spinoff cartoon from the 80s. The new She-Ra broke boundaries in terms of representation, and the show’s resolution was made meaningful by the well-developed characters and important themes. Due to its complex characters, important messages, and groundbreaking representation, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) is a more important and influential piece of art than The Plague by Albert Camus.

The complex characters in She-Ra are much more rich and well-developed,than those in The Plague. Characters in The Plague are flat and one-dimensional—instead of real, relatable human beings, these characters come across as ideas. They represent something, but they’re not flawed, multi-faceted characters in their own right. On the other hand, She-Ra’s characters—from its heroes to its villains to its side characters—are infinitely complex and well-developed.

The most prominent example of this is Catra. Catra, the deuteragonist of the series, is the childhood best friend of the protagonist, Adora. In order to understand the complex role that Catra fulfills in She-Ra, it is important to understand the background of the show.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power takes place in the fantasy world of Etheria, in which women with magical powers, called ‘princesses’, rule and protect the land. The central conflict takes place between the Rebellion and the Evil Horde. The Horde, ruled by Hordak, is an army dedicated to wiping out the princesses and taking control of Etheria.

Catra and Adora are two child soldiers raised by the Horde. They grew up together and are best friends. However, when Adora finds a magical sword inside the forest and discovers that she is the legendary warrior She-Ra, she defects from the Horde and joins the Rebellion. Alongside two new friends, Bow and Princess Glimmer, Adora fights to defend Etheria from the Horde.

Catra, however, feels betrayed when Adora joins the Rebellion. While Adora’s arc is quickly established as a redemption arc, Catra spirals into a corruption arc for many seasons. Because of her pain and betrayal, she becomes the right-hand woman of Hordak. She lashes out at those closest to her, makes it her life’s mission to stop Adora, and hurts dozens of people on her way to the top.

Still, Catra is not a one-note villain. Her pain and betrayal is explored deeply throughout the series. Even at her worst moments, Catra is sympathetic. Flashbacks of her childhood show her deep emotional bond with Adora and the physical and emotional abuse she suffered at the hands of the Horde. She is shown breaking down multiple times throughout the series, and her relationships with characters like Scorpia show her humanity, even when she is hell-bent on destroying the Rebellion. Despite Catra’s actions, she is a deeply sympathetic character.

Catra is a complex villain, but she is an even more complex protagonist. In season five of the series, after a series of events lead her to reflect on her actions, Catra betrays the Horde to save Adora. This is not an easy decision for her to make. Catra is emotionally tormented—betrayed by those closest to her and held captive by the same force she once swore to serve, Catra saves Glimmer’s life in a last-ditch attempt to do “one good thing” in her life. Catra believes she will be killed for her actions, and in what she thinks are her last moments, she cries, “Adora, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Of course, Adora is not content to let Catra die. She saves her childhood friend, but when Catra is rescued by the Rebellion, she does not immediately change sides. Catra is shown to be bitter and cruel to Adora, Bow, and Glimmer as she struggles with her own internal conflict. Catra continues to lash out at those who are trying to help her, and it is only when Catra begins to face the consequences of her actions by apologizing to a friend she betrayed that she is able to start on the road to redemption. Her redemption is complex, and it is an arc that continues for most of season five. Catra does not flip a switch that takes her from “evil” to “good”—it is a grueling process that is only made possible by the forgiveness of those around her.

Catra is not the only character with a complex arc. Despite being the protagonist, Adora is a deeply flawed character who has to learn and grow over the course of the series. Season four sees Glimmer betraying her friends and falling deeper into a spiral of fear and hatred after the death of her mother. Even Shadow Weaver, Catra and Adora’s abusive parent figure, is not easily classified as “good” or “evil.” Shadow Weaver is a morally grey enigma who serves whatever side she believes will win and, in the end, makes the ultimate sacrifice by dying to save Catra.

It is worth noting that this is not a full redemption of Shadow Weaver’s character. Unlike Catra, Shadow Weaver has a ‘death redemption’—instead of truly facing the consequences of her actions, she sacrifices her life, which almost seems like taking the easy way out. This form of redemption arc is less satisfying to viewers, especially because many believe Shadow Weaver died for Adora’s sake, not Catra’s. Noelle Stevenson, the show’s creator, has confirmed that Shadow Weaver is not meant to be a fully redeemed character. However, this incomplete redemption once again displays the complexity of She-Ra’s characters. They are not good or evil—instead, they are every shade in between. Contrast this with the static, one-dimensional characters of The Plague, and it is clear that She-Ra’s characters are far more well-developed.

In evaluating the value in a piece of art, it is important to look at the message and theme. The Plague does, in fact, have multiple important themes that it discusses. It centers around love, mortality, religion, humanity, and ethics, all of which are important philosophical topics that force the reader to think. I will not make the claim that these issues are not important, because they absolutely are.

However, it would be irresponsible to dismiss the important messages that She-Ra contains just because it is a show made for children. She-Ra explores a number of complex and thought-provoking themes, such as love, loyalty, justice, grief, forgiveness, and redemption. It does this through its rich characterizations and complex relationships. Despite She-Ra’s PG rating, it nevertheless discusses colonialism, unhealthy and abusive relationships, environmentalism, psychological trauma, and self-worth.

Once again, a fascinating example of these themes comes from Catra and Adora. Catra and Adora were emotionally and physically abused by their parent figure, Shadow Weaver, from a young age. Catra in particular was told she is worthless, and this goes on to drive every one of Catra’s actions for the first four seasons of the show. She-Ra does not shy away from the aftermath of Catra’s abuse. It shows in detail the resentment she holds for those around her, including Adora, for their perceived wrongdoings. Her breakdowns are vivid and heartbreaking.

Despite all of her trauma, Catra craves Shadow Weaver’s love deeply. Some of her most horrific actions in the show are driven by her feelings of heartbreak and betrayal inspired by Shadow Weaver.

However, the abuse that Adora suffers is just as insidious, if less obvious. Adora was raised to believe that she had to be perfect and that the well-being of those she cares about is solely on her shoulders. This message deeply affects Adora’s character throughout the series and plays into some of her most profound flaws. Adora is prone to wanting to face everything alone. She doesn’t want to burden her friends, so she hurts and burdens herself. She blames herself when her friends get hurt, and she ultimately ends up seeing her life as worthless. Adora’s struggles with her self-image are directly tied to the abuse she suffered at Shadow Weaver’s hands. In the final episodes of the show, Adora is willing to sacrifice herself for the good of others.

Shadow Weaver’s influence is to directly to blame. She is present as part of the Rebellion during the fifth and final season, and she is the character who plants the idea in Adora’s head of sacrificing herself for the world. Even when Catra stands up to her on Adora’s behalf, Adora is unable to see her own worth. This results in a number of heartbreaking scenes where Catra pleads with Adora to think about what she wants, not what is expected of her. In the penultimate episode, a character finally tells Adora that “[she] is worth more than what [she] can give other people. [She deserves] love, too.”

Dismissing the messages of She-Ra as being “lesser” or “childish” is, in many ways, a straight, white, male perspective. Privileged groups are able to easily grasp their own worth, as they are never taught that they are worthless. It might seem more valuable to talk about more philosophical concepts if messages like those in She-Ra are seen as a given. But for many, self-worth is not an expectation. LGBT people are considered lucky to be accepted by their families, and they still face homophobia or transphobia on an almost daily basis. Their identity is seen as something to be ashamed of. It takes years of un-learning these patterns that a cisgender, heterosexual individual might never have learned in the first place. The same goes for other marginalized groups as well—women are often seen as less intelligent, and this idea is enforced through constant dismissal and belittlement of their thoughts and ideas. Individuals of color face daily prejudice and have been excluded from these conversations for centuries. Therefore, it is equally important for art like She-Ra to reinforce these messages that marginalized communities might never have been taught.

The messages in She-Ra might not be as philosophical as those in The Plague, but they are doubtlessly more emotional. Driven by the lovable characters and relatable issues, She-Ra made audiences feel in ways that I doubt The Plague ever has.

While The Plague is important from an ethical and philosophical standpoint, She-Ra is important from a much more human one. LGBT people are much more likely to be abused, mentally ill, and impoverished. These are some of the same issues faced by the characters in She-Ra. Given that the audience of She-Ra is largely LGBT, seeing these messages reaffirmed on-screen is deeply moving. A high-brow message is important, but if one doesn’t have the basics of self-respect and self-love, these conversations cannot be had.

It is possible that some might dismiss She-Ra and it’s messages compared to The Plague because it is a modern-day animated show instead of a classic novel. Here, we get into another interesting conversation: high art vs low art.

High art is renowned. It is old and has stood the test of time. People see it as beautiful, historical, and fundamentally important, despite the fact that they don’t rock the boat. Van Gogh paintings and Roman statues are examples of high art: priceless pieces with recognized worth. The Plague is another example of high art.

Low art, on the other hand, is art ‘of the people.’ Anybody can make low art. Current music, literature, art, and television is seen as less worthy or important than older pieces with more widely recognized importance. Some “instant classics” can almost immediately be placed into the realm of high art, but for the most part, newer things are always seen as less important than older ones. Low art is comic books, Taylor Swift, graffiti, and yes, She-Ra. They might be just as artistic and valuable as older pieces of art, but they will not be valued the same.

Here’s the thing, though: high art almost always starts out as low art. Modern day romance novels are seen as trashy even though Jane Austen’s novels are renowned. The Beatles are now seen as one of the best bands of all time, but during their peak, they were dismissed due to their primarily female fan base. Most famous painters didn’t become popular until after their deaths, because before then, their pieces were “low art.” Dismissing She-Ra because it’s low art is biased and, ultimately, ignorant.

Moreover, low art is more likely to be queer, female, poor, and PoC. Anybody can make low art, but art by privileged creators is more likely to be seen as ‘valuable’ in the long run. While underprivileged creators can and have gained notoriety and acclaim for their art, there are more road blocks in their path that keep them from ever being on equal footing with other artists. Dismissing all low art as less valuable is dismissing the perspective of those from marginalized communities.

I will not make the claim that She-Ra is a better piece of art than The Plague. The Plague is a piece of literature that has withstood the test of time and remains relevant to this day. Given that She-Ra is still fairly recent, it’s impossible to tell what it’s legacy will be, and in the end, it is a cartoon aimed at a less mature audience. Even more than that, though, art is subjective. What speaks to one person might not connect with another, and calling one piece of art “better” than another is impossible.

However, I do believe that She-Ra is more important than The Plague. The distinction here is that She-Ra did something that has never been done before. The message of The Plague speaks deeply to people, but it is not breaking any glass ceilings.

She-Ra, on the other hand, is revolutionary. The representation is She-Ra is truly remarkable. Not only is the cast mostly comprised of female characters—which, in a world of male-dominated entertainment, is a rarity—She-Ra also embraces diversity of all types. The majority of the main cast with the exception of Adora is nonwhite, and characters of all different body types are featured. While women are typically forced into a cookie-cutter mold of beauty, She-Ra characters are treated as beautiful no matter what their size or ethnicity. This is a message that young people, especially young girls, need to see.

She-Ra also pushes back against toxic masculinity. Many of the main male characters in the show reject gender roles—for example, Bow is almost always seen wearing a crop top with a heart on it, and Sea Hawk has an undeniably flamboyant presentation. King Micah cross-dresses in the final season. Despite this, the male characters are never made fun of for their feminine traits, and instead, their presentation is embraced. They are also not stereotyped as gay for refusing to fit into traditionally masculine roles. All three characters listed above have female love interests.

The most groundbreaking part of She-Ra, however, is the LGBT representation. She-Ra features multiple loving LGBT characters and couples, and the main characters of the series were confirmed to be in a loving sapphic relationship. They said “I love you” and shared an on-screen kiss. She-Ra even features an important non-binary character who uses they/them pronouns, and their identity is always treated with respect.

Furthermore, the entire story centers around the relationship between Catra and Adora. Their romance is not a throwaway side story; instead, their love is the driving force of the entire narrative. Finding LGBT representation is hard, and finding sapphic representation is harder—but what truly sets She-Ra apart is that this was in a children’s TV show. In a world where many believe that LGBT relationships are not “appropriate” for children, She-Ra made history by teaching kids that it’s okay to love who you love and be who you are. She-Ra made people feel something. Audiences were crying during the series finale, and the show has amassed a cult following of LGBT viewers well into adulthood who have never seen their identity represented in such a meaningful way before.

The Plague is undoubtedly a valued piece of high art, but its messages nevertheless do little to progress society. For this reason, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is a more important and influential piece of art than the Plague."

[lilflowerpot]

Soulmate AU where the marks on one person's skin show up on the other, but obviously they can't understand each other's writing, so Keith mostly just tries to express himself through art instead. So naturally, when he starts investigating the Blue Lion he starts drawing THAT too. Which is why, when Voltron shows up, Lotor is Dead Certain that the blue paladin is his soulmate, and he desperately tries to force himself to fall in love with Lance even while he's like "... Really? THIS guy?"

Lotor’s soulmate is not illiterate, but they may as well be. He’s compared their careless scrawl against every language in the Imperial data banks - thrice! - and it’s simply... not there.

“They’re a primitive,” Ezor nods sagely from where she’s half draped over his shoulder, eyeing the illegible lettering on his wrist with an entertained curl to her lips, “must be. Guess the universe wanted to counterbalance all your insufferable braininess.”

When Lotor shrugs her off with a snarl, she has the audacity to laugh.

Acxa’s kinder, or she tries to be, comforting him with the notion that if his soulmate is a primitive, they’re at the very least an educated one, or better yet of a more evolved society wherein knowledge of scripture is commonplace, so... they’re not feral.

Zethrid seems to half wish that they were, if only for the thrill of it.

“And the sex,” Ezor tacks on with an evil little grin, “the sex would have been fantastic.”

Her soulmate’s raucous glee drowns out any further discussion of the topic.

-

So they can’t communicate, not with words, but if Lotor’s soulmate is anything it’s tenacious (and the Prince can’t help but admire that). They come to the conclusion that pictures are the way to go, painting Lotor’s forearms with a veritable rainbow of quadrilaterals, each containing varying stripes and symbols, and then a series of dotted squiggles that Lotor is beginning to recognise as their approximation of a question.

The problem being he doesn’t actually know what it is that they’re asking.

There’s one rectangle - the majority of which is striped red and white, with a one contrasting quarter of stars in a blue sky - that his soulmate keeps coming back to, and Lotor realises it must be a clan symbol of a sort, indicative of their own people and culture, but... once again scouring Imperial logs turns up nothing of import. Frustrated, Lotor practically carves the hateful Imperial emblem into his palm with jagged lines of ink - Vrepit Sa - and turns in for the night.

In the morning, his arms are wiped clean.

They stay that way for a quintent.

Two.

On the third, he hears back, and it rocks his entire world view.

Kraliept Sa.

The lines are careful, deliberate, as if someone unfamiliar with the old scripture had taken great pains to transcribe that singular character, and Lotor quite simply can’t believe his eyes, because that would mean... that would mean that the only two things he knows of his soulmate are in direct contrast with one another: the first being that they are completely isolated from the Empire, and the second more impossible yet, that they have ties to the Blade of Marmora.

-

They continue this way for almost a decaphoeb, and it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

Lotor sends renderings of the stars, his ship, Kova, and in return his soulmate replies with sketches of the animals and sunsets and vast expanses of desert on an alien world.

One evening, they blur blues and greens into a perfect little marble on the inside of Lotor’s knee, an arrow pointing to one of the green patches labeled with a sequence of characters that the galra Prince is beginning to recognise as his soulmate’s name - though he can’t so much as begin to guess at how they might be pronounced - and so on the opposite knee Lotor paints Daibazaal, and then, because that feels inadequate, smears his thumb through the centre of the planet he no longer calls home, doodling a battalion of ships leaving the wreckage in a mass exodus, the children of an orphaned world.

And once more, his soulmate falls quiet.

-

It’s almost a full phoeb until they reach out again, and when they do Lotor finds them franctic, frightened, their little blue-green marble only the beginning; an entire solar system follows, complete with details such as what Lotor assumes must be an accurate number of moons on each planet for how deliberately they’re marked out, and then-

A ship.

It’s small and unassuming and positively archaic in design, but it’s a ship nonetheless, and as Lotor watches, his soulmate draws and erases and re-draws that same design until it’s traveled the length of his leg - thigh to ankle - and ‘lands’ on an unassuming moon of the most distant planet. They circle it with agitation, jabbing whatever implement they’re using to mark their own skin so violently that Lotor’s quite sure they must bleed under the force of it, but he doesn’t know what to say, let alone know how to say it if he did.

The next morning, his soulmate’s mural has gone.

The phantom ache of it remains.

-

They call him Champion.

Lotor only takes interest because of the timing, because of the circumstance, because it’s Sendak’s fleet that located these new lifeforms on a desolate moon in some distant corner of the universe, and of all Zarkon’s commanders he most of all has something of a reputation for toeing the line between cruelty and outright sadism.

The odds are one in a million, but that’s not a risk Lotor is willing to take.

He paints an obnoxious criss-cross of colour onto his own face that will be impossible to hide or mistake for anything other than what it is, and sends his generals to ascertain whether the Champion or either of the two lifeforms that accompanied him - soon to be subject to the work camps - share the mark.

They don’t, not one of them, and so Lotor chalks it up to coincidence and moves on.

Finding what could almost be mistaken for the legendary Blue Lion on the back of his hand only for Voltron proper to re-emerge into the universe after thousands of decaphoebs with the Champion himself allegedly at the helm, is not so easily written off.

And this time, when his soulmate abandons him to cold silence, it feels final.

-

Thayserix was very much a spur of the moment decision, but Lotor has never been so glad of such impulsivity as he is now, with the blue Lion of Voltron having been stolen from the thick mists and safely in his grasp.

Though, it’s not the lion that interests him.

Yes she’s a beautiful beast of considerable power, but in this case it is quite literally what’s on the inside that counts, that being of course Lotor’s soulmate... or so he’d thought.

Princess Allura of Altea cannot be them.

At least he certainly hopes not.

She’s lovely, in theory, but they’ve been in a stalemate for the past varga with her sullenly refusing to so much as consider entertaining Lotor’s attempts at hospitality, let alone conversation, and instead quite stubbornly standing with both her guard and weapon raised.

“I really would simply like to speak with-”

“Release me.”

Her end of things has consisted solely of those two words, and the monotony of it all really is growing rather tiresome.

Narti saves him from another repetitive bout, slinking into his mind and whispering that the rest of Voltron have located them far more quickly than Lotor would have thought possible.

The worst part is he’s almost grateful.

“Very well,” he growls, temper wearing thin, “your friends are here to collect you Princess, perhaps they will be more amenable to a little tête-à-tête, hm?”

They are not.

“Release Allura,” is the first thing to pass the dark-haired Paladin’s lips, teeth bared and tongue sharp, and it takes everything Lotor is not to simply concede on the spot.

“Frankly, I would love to,” he spits, gratified by how completely this blindsides the lot of them, every face on the holoscreen struck blank by his immediate compliance. “I do not believe she is the individual I am looking for, nor does she seem inclined to assist me in locating whosoever is. Answer my questions, and you are welcome to her and the blue Lion both.”

“We... We are?” It’s an older gentleman who speaks up, the only other altean among them.

“Absolutely,” Lotor hisses, and then graciously concedes: “the mistake was mine. I simply wished to open a dialogue with who I had assumed to be the blue Paladin, but as she is of a background that would doubtless have allowed us to communicate in galra script, that no longer seems the case.”

Their group look like they’re going to ask him to further explain what must sound to the lot of them nonsense... all except the black Paladin whose eyes have gone wide on some personal revelation, whispering “you,” as if he can’t believe his ears, only to spit out an obscenity before repeating himself with all the fury of an imploding star. “You!”

There are several exclamations of “Keith-!” as those violet eyes narrow to slits, the man smacking his hand down and cutting their com-line dead.

Ezor, helpful as ever, mumbles: “Well that went well,” quiet enough that it’s almost as if she doesn’t mean for everyone in the otherwise silent cockpit to hear her.

-

For the first time in ten thousand decaphoebs, the black Lion is - technically - in Imperial hands.

Lotor couldn’t care less.

The man who strides out of her is a veritable firestorm, all dark brows and snarling lips, and in a heartbeat Lotor knows, he just knows, who he is.

What he is.

Galra, for one, almost certainly a hybrid like Lotor - it’s the eyes that betray him, half luminescent with rage - and there’s a gorgeous poeticism to that.

Reckless for another, and behind him from where she’s been brought to stand witness, Princess Allura is clearly horrified to see her companion step from Voltron’s keystone and leave it completely unprotected, but the Paladin doesn’t seem to care, and neither does Lotor.

“Release Allura,” he growls again, voice like thunder and just as electrifying as he storms across the landing bay without hesitation, not even stopping to glance in his fellow Paladin’s direction and affirm that Zethrid has, in fact, released her as instructed.

No, Lotor’s soulmate simply fists pale fingers into paler hair and hisses, “fuck you,” into his mouth before kissing the Prince senseless.

-

Later - much, much later - Lotor is pleased to report back to Ezor that the sex is, in fact, fantastic.