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Nerve_28 || KNJ

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Nerve [Namjoon x Reader]

Prompt - @casnextdoor

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Part 28.0 - White Knight[s]

Part 28 || Forever Falling

Part 29 - Unravel

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Genre - cheating; aftermath; husband au;

Summary - You would never expect it really. He's doting. He's sweet. He's hardworking. But he's forgotten his morals. Suspecting it is one thing, but when he confirms it, will you stay or walk away.

Warning - Cheating(Aftermath);

Word Count - 5.5k

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Earlier…

'What do you mean there's something wrong with the cake?! I saw it when I walked in with the bride. I'm looking at it right now.' You motioned to it to emphasize your point.

'It's a different cake.' The boy in front of you shrunk back as he tried his best to get the words out. 'There was a bit of an accident at the bakery.'

You squint at the cake. 'Well… it's white.'

'Yes.' He cleared his throat clearly uncomfortable to be delivering the news. 'But it's not chocolate almond. Our head baker decided to scrap all of the fondant since it was all ruined and covered the whole thing in Swiss meringue.’ He made short haphazard motions with his hand to emphasize his explanation. ‘I know that you wanted fondant but I assure you, Swiss meringue is just as stable. It’s very light and not as cloyingly sweet or greasy as regular buttercream. We didn’t have time to recreate and re-shape the custom bride and groom cake toppers either so…we just added a bunch of fresh flowers at the top since that was what we had on-hand…'

You clicked your tongue as you counted on your Cake Boss knowledge to help you process the overlay of information. At the very least, the flowers kept to the color scheme. 'So this cake flavor is…?'

'Blueberry coconut.'

You blew out a puff of air as relief seeped through you. 'That was her second choice.' Yuna wouldn't be particularly upset about it. 'And it's white… and stable…and a cake for that matter. I also hear that ‘naked cakes’ are all the rage these days so…' You trailed off then gave the delivery boy a head nod. 'We'll just have to make do. Thank you for informing me. I appreciate the honesty.'

He bowed down a full ninety degrees. ‘Again we apologize.’ You returned it and straightened up with him. ‘And just for the trouble, we're going to give you a full refund.'

You nodded and waved him off absently.

You appreciated the gesture, but the cake issue had you paranoid. You would have to check each station before you went to see Yuna.

You stood at the center of the hall. Literally.

A white semi-circular platform sat at the center of the hall surrounded by chairs placed in two sets to form an accentuated half-circle.

You played the scene in your head for good measure.

The bride and groom would walk in from the entrance to the spot you were standing and recite the vows.

Directly behind the black and pink drapes that adorned the archway of the platform, was the second half of the hall that could be accessed through movable doors. They were a functional design that just needed folding to open the hall fully. Then the reception would take place.

The second half of the hall mirrored the first, save for the cake that sat on the table and the plush black velvet couch the newly wedded couple would be using when the reception went on.

Yoongi was already set up on the left of the podium. He looked stellar in his suit. Calm, collected, and wonderfully in his element. And when the hall was no longer divided, his speakers would be heard throughout the hall.

'Yoongi?' You called out to him as you moved to the area where the wedding would take place. You knew he'd heard your conversation with the baker's delivery boy.

'No issues here, y/n.' He replied without looking up.

Okay. As usual, there were perks with Yoongi. One down.

You scanned the room to spot your next victim.

'Kook-ah? Seon-ho?’ You walked over to their main set up. ‘Anything I need to worry about?'

'Not at all Noona.' Jungook adjusted his lens. 'We're good here.'

Seon-ho bowed. 'Thank you so much for this opportunity. It's my biggest gig yet.'

You returned his bow and smiled easily at the young man when you straightened up. 'You come highly recommended. I hope it opens up a path of new opportunities for you.'

'Thank you. I will do my best today.'

Right.

Jungkook and Seon-ho had cameras positioned in the entirety of the hall and both would be carrying their cameras.

Yoongi volunteered to do wedding photos, while they covered the ongoing reception when Hoseok would take over the booth and you would get one of the guys to help you set up LEDs on the drapes and use the space to do photos.

It would be simple and effective.

Looking out at the array of chairs in front of you, they were all perfectly positioned. Thankfully, Huru took charge of the seating and handled it with the small team that came with the venue.

This time around, you preferred to keep Namjoon and Huru as far away from each other as possible. So you made sure your husband was too occupied for the potential pissing contest that would much likely ensue.

The last major thing on your checklist was the food, so you unlocked your phone to get a hold of Jin.

He picked up on the third ring.

'Who blabbed? I told them not to bother you.'

'Blabbed? About what?' The anxiety you tried to keep at bay started up again. 'What's wrong?'

He heaved a sigh. 'There may have been a mixup with the menu.'

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

'But relax, I have it covered. I had a back up plan, and we'll keep it as close to the original menu as possible.'

'I don't understand how there was a fuck up when we forwarded the list two weeks ago and made sure he had all the necessary ingredients.'

You winced when the swear words left your mouth. But thankfully Jin didn't comment on it.

'And our order was done on time and it was ready to go. Yes, I know. But the guy that took our order is out of town for the weekend and his stand in… well…'

'... fucked it up.' You completed for him.

'Yeah.'

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. 'Okay what's the plan, tell me details so I can help.'

'Y/n. You need to be with Yuna. Let me take care of the food arrangements. There will be a spread, all guests catered for and everything labeled clearly so there are no accidents.'

'But Jin, I can –,'

'Do you trust me?'

You pulled the phone away from your ear and looked at it like it was a bug. 'What type of question is that?'

'A simple one. So. Do. You. Trust. Me?'

'Of course I do.'

'Then leave it to me, okay?'

It was your turn to sigh. If Jin said he'd handle it, he would. You would trust that. 'Please call me if you need anything.'

'Will do.'

—-------

Currently…

‘Yuna?’ You tapped your knuckles on the door after handing Kenta over to his best men.

Checking your phone when it lit up with notification from Jin, you felt the relief seep into you when you saw the thumbs up emoji. Whatever he did… he deserved a big worldwide handsome smooch for it.

‘I can’t get this thing on!’ Her yelling had you locking your phone and pushing through the door in a panic.

You caught sight of her in front of the mirror fidgeting with something in her hand.

Yuna's dress was a classic strapless gown with a fishtail silhouette. The crepe pink lining of the dress enhanced the intricate but delicate white lace embroidery that adorned the bodice of her dress, tapering as it reached the hem of the skirt.

The heavy reliance on the form fitting silhouette that fanned out, complimented Yuna's hourglass figure. As you checked out her butt you remember giving it a cute smack before you left her, just because it was a best friend's right, you thought about how her lush curves were going to drive Kenta insane.

Your favorite were her shoes, though. Jimin had recommended the Eden pump. Italian, R&R, stiletto heels and pointed toes. The white satin color came with silver filigree leaves spiraling up the heel and the R&R monogram in rose gold at the back of the heel.

In all honesty, besides the leather lining and satin upper, the hidden padded insoles were her favorite part. She was comfortable. And considering she would be on her feet for some time, that was all that mattered.

Yuna's color was pink. Not hot pink or neon pink or even Barbie pink, but matte and pastels were her go-to and those specific palettes suited her elegant taste.

Since the wedding didn't have a theme, because of the timing and short notice, you stuck to her colors.

There were so many options for a wedding, like her favorite book or something cinematic, something she related to in her daily life.

The other option would be something in espionage. It would be something to research and come up with ideas based on it, you would have taken the time to do it had Kenta agreed.

But things had worked out. Eventually.

‘I literally left you alone for five minutes. You were dressed up and ready to go.’ You huffed in exasperation. 'And where are Jimin and Tae?'

'I asked them to give me a minute. I wanted to talk to… mum and dad.'

Ah. You nodded your head in understanding.

'And I couldn't forget about this.’ She shows her hands, a thin silver string in between her fingers, a circular pendant at the end of it.

‘You don’t need any accessories to complete your look, Yu.’

‘It’s not for the look, Y/n.’ She turned back to the mirror, still struggling with the clasp. ‘Mum and Dad gave this to us when we were little.’

A momentary ache passed between you two, a fleeting memory lurching itself from the depths of the past.

‘I just –,’ she closed her eyes and dropped her hands, giving up the struggle, ‘I need some part of them with me today.’

Your heart went out to her. ‘Here,’ you stepped forward to take the necklace from her hands and gingerly placed it around her neck. You fingered the tiny hook after clipping the two ends together. ‘The clasp is loose.’ You thought out loud, as you tried to squeeze the gap in the hook.

‘Yeah,’ she muttered. ‘That’s why I don’t use it much. I can’t risk losing it.’

Not wanting to upset her, you wrapped your arms around her waist and added one more responsibility to your list. ‘We’ll keep an eye out. And as soon as the vows are done, I’ll keep it in my clutch.’

She smiled sadly, returning your back hug by wrapping her arms around herself and placing them over yours.

Much like you did with Kenta a few minutes prior, you placed your chin on her shoulder. ‘They’re definitely proud of you, Yuna. And they’re always going to be with you. Every step of the way.’

‘I know.’ There were undertones of sadness in her voice, but she didn’t show any signs of tears. The memory was too old, her acceptance of their passing a struggle she’d dealt with long before. ‘It would have been nice, though.’

She shifted in your hold. ‘Even Kenta doesn’t have an elder in the family to give us their blessing.’

For once, you had no words. Because the loss of a parent was a pain beyond comparison. You would know. Yours were as good as dead, even when they were present.

She leaned into you and you held her close, playing silent reminder that even if you couldn’t bring them back, even if you couldn’t fix this, she had you and would never be alone.

Tapping on the door broke you both out of the moment. ‘You guys ready? It’s almost time.’

You reached up to peck Yuna on the side of her head and offered an encouraging smile when you pulled back. ‘We’ll be right there Jia.’

Yuna puffed out a breath and physically shook off the remnants of melancholy.

‘Right, let me see you,‘ she turned to face you, her sharp eye scoping you out.

You glanced in the mirror.

Yuna's colors were a combination of rosewood and crepe pink with black and you kept to the rosewood, while she embodied the pink.

Your maid of honor dress was an asymmetric Grecian gown draped in silk chiffon. The dark rosewood pink shade kept to the theme and still highlighted your features perfectly. Your favorite part was the thigh high slit that showed a bit of skin, a bit of the garter from your lingerie set, and the thigh high boots Taehyung had ordered and gifted you the day before the wedding.

You were suddenly reminded of Ariel from Footloose, as you took one last look at yourself in the mirror. Simple elegance really was something to strive for.

But also, a bit of glam with the diamantes in your garter, and spice from the black boots with the built in chain hanging off the side – the package you presented was definitely y/n in all her glory.

A slow smile grew on Yuna's lips. ‘You look sexy.’

You beamed at her compliment.

'Chop chop.' Tae clapped his hands after he pushed through the door, Jimin following closely behind. 'Your groom is waiting.'

Jimin grabbed Yuna by the shoulders, studying her from head to toe. 'Do you want your veil?' His eyes twinkled with the masterpiece he'd put together in front of him. 'You'd look gorgeous either way.'

You had to agree. Her messy half-up hairstyle with a few strands framing her glowing face and her luscious curls cascading over her shoulder complimented her fishtail gown and her big personality.

There were careless whispers of diamantes over the top half that added a bit of pizazz but still kept her classy.

Your hair was also half-up, but the top half had been braided once, the strands from the fishtail braid pulled loose to act as a housing for a severe second braid.

The bottom half of your hair was pin straight, softly hanging over your back, passable for a wedding but the links in the braids were rebellious enough to pull together your whole look.

'What do you think, y/n?'

You shrugged as you stared in awe at your beautiful best friend. You didn't use a veil at your wedding. It wasn't your thing. But you didn't want to impose your opinion on her, and it was truly up to whatever she preferred.

'Tae?' She questioned her last available option.

Now, there she would get a straight answer.

Taehyung stepped towards the woman he now called a close friend and framed her face with his hands. He offered her a type of look, one with pride, one only a confidante, with a plethora of memories behind their bond could offer. 'I think a veil is too traditional for a coupling as unconventional as yours.' He closed one eye. 'But Jiminie is right, you'll pull it off anyway.'

You watched her offer him a bittersweet smile and turn her head to peck the middle of his palm. 'No veil it is.'

'Well alright then.' Jimin said a little too loudly, doing his best to camouflage his own emotional response to the scene. 'Y/n.' He offered you his hand when Tae linked his arm with Yuna's.

You inclined your head, and met him halfway.

'Oh shit,' Tae spun around just as you were about to take a step forward. He gave you a wide-eyed look. 'Almost forgot this.'

As he unraveled whatever he pulled out of his pocket, you grew more and more excited, because you knew exactly what they were.

'Ohmyfuck – you did not!' You squealed as you grabbed the MILA "revolver" gloves from his hand. The iconic gun shape of the gloves had been formed by the asymmetric line of the glove on the back of the hand connecting with the thumb and index finger.

Easy to use your wedding ring and show it off. Stylish. And something about them made you feel so badass.

They were usually sold in leather. But these were a plush black velvet, sumptuous and suave, they matched perfectly with your boots.

'I figured this would complete your look.' Tae stuck his hand out to Yuna again, looking smug and satisfied.

You loved them. You completely and utterly loved them. They were perfect. Unable to help yourself, you reached up on your tiptoes, to plant one on him.

Then you had to clean your lipstick off his face.

You were just about finished adjusting the gloves on your fingers and smoothing down your dress for good measure when Jia frantically called through the doorway.

'Guys you really really have to come out, now.'

Immediately you recovered your formation and Yuna and Tae led the way.

It was finally happening. Your best friend was getting married.

Yuna had dreamed about this day.

For years you two had been strong, independent and lonely, never once admitting just how much it hurt not to come home to someone or walk into a pair of arms that protected you from the world.

And now… separate lives, with two amazing men, that would love you more than you deserve…

You were so caught up in your thoughts that as soon as Jimin escorted you outside you didn't notice a hand snake around your waist and pull you out of his grasp. ‘What the –,’

Almost immediately, you calmed down when you realized you were gently, but forcefully pulled up against your husband’s body. When you looked up for an explanation, the panic on his face induced your own. ‘Joon what's wrong?’

‘Baby -,’

Yuna’s voice cuts straight through Namjoon’s. ‘Uncle Kwang!’

Just like that. Just as you had been honed, groomed, as a young woman that trusted little to none in the presence of many, just as he had commanded – your blood turned to ice.

—-------

Namjoon felt exactly when Y/n figured it out.

She stiffened visibly, and her hands reflexively clenched on his sleeves.

He had wanted more time. He wished he got to her sooner, but the bastard literally walked through the doors seconds before Jia went to fetch them the second time. His long legs weren’t fast enough to prepare her.

Y/n would recognize his voice anywhere. Just as she would always recognize Namjoon's. Either voice made her feel an entirely different set of emotions on the spectrum.

Namjoon immediately blocked her body with his large form, eliminating the possibility of curious eyes. He watched her own eyes widen and her mouth fall open, her shock visible, her reaction disturbingly visceral as her body started to tremble.

Namjoon panicked internally, trying to think fast, scrounging for a solution to keep his wife composed.

His wife was a proud woman and Namjoon may have access to even the deepest parts of her heart, body and soul, but y/n would only ever allow herself to be torn at the seams in the privacy of his arms, behind closed doors.

It was why having a breakdown in front of the whole band hit her so hard.

Namjoon couldn’t pull her into his arms and hold her together, he couldn’t talk her down, he couldn’t whisper harsh reminders to her, not in this setting, not where everyone could see or hear. He couldn’t do his wife the disservice of ever making her look weak. So he did the only thing he could think of that would come across as normal.

She would just have to be mad at him later.

Wrapping one hand around her nape, he pulled y/n’s body against his and slammed his mouth down on hers. He kissed her hard. Taking undue advantage of her surprise, he pushed past her lips and danced with her tongue. Possessively. Brutally. Without Mercy. Heat seared through him as he felt her respond almost immediately, as he anchored her with touch, with the love he felt in his heart.

He demanded from her, making her forget about their audience, forget about the world, forget about anyone but him and being deliberately dominant in the face of y/n’s ghost. Proving without words, that she belonged to no one else, not even her own past.

Her fingers curled against his suit jacket, and she tugged, inadvertently pushing her body impossibly closer to his. He felt the trembling fade, he felt the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest almost begging for his attention and he felt her heat and fire and anger, and love, so much love, that only he would ever receive.

He faintly heard the Kwang clear his throat uncomfortably. 'I'll just find my seat…'

A feral smirk of pure male satisfaction threatened his features, but he held it off.

When Namjoon finally pulled back to let her breath, she let out a tiny whimper. For the loss of his lips or the cascade of her feelings, he didn’t know.

But her eyes remained closed.

The tip of his nose brushed against hers in a caress. ‘You are not that woman anymore. He does not know this version of you.’ His tone was rough, as he spoke against her skin. ‘You have a wedding to conduct. A bride to walk down the aisle. And you are not alone.’ His breath fanned her face as he forced her to listen through the haze of her emotions. ’You can do this, y/n.’

When she finally looked up at him, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘You really believe in me, don’t you?’

Something fierce curled around his heart at the unguarded question. Because y/n, his strong, self-reliant, infallible y/n, would never ask something that simple, that raw, that vulnerable, of anyone else.

He answered with another kiss. This one a light promise to her, and a reminder that his hunger, his greed for her would have to be pushed aside until much later.

‘Ahem.’

Namjoon turned his head to find his maknaes grinning up at him, not in the least bit bothered about giving them privacy and a very annoyed bride, tapping a staccato with her stiletto.

‘Are you done?’ Yuna arched a perfect eyebrow, in irritation. ‘Can I have her back now?’

Namjoon wanted to snap back at the human version of his wife’s heart, but the more Yuna thought he was acting up because of his emotions, the further she got from the possibility of finding out about the painful past his wife had kept hidden.

Looking back at y/n, he found her as herself, staring straight past him, a guarded expression on her face. Just like that, he could breathe easier. She could take it from here. ‘You can borrow her.’ Namjoon replied to Yuna, a haughty expression on his face. ‘She’s still mine.’

‘Oh, go touch some grass, Namjoon.’ Yuna tugged Y/n out of his arms, and though it was normal for him and Yuna to fight over y/n, he couldn’t help but feel the twinge of anxiety in his gut, because of Kwang Jae making his presence known.

‘Don’t trip on your way down.’ He said softly as he shoved his hands into his suit pockets and followed closely behind them.

Doing the most Yuna thing he could expect from her, even as a decked up bride, she reached back with her left hand and shot him the middle finger.

‘Okay, children,’ Y/n tugged Yuna’s hand and addressed him over her shoulder. ‘Go take your place.’ Her smile didn't meet her eyes, but her gratitude shone right through them.

As they geared up to wait for the music, Taehyung and Jimin doing a once over their dresses, Namjoon moved past them to be one of the best men.

Stopping short of the entrance he looked back and afforded Yuna what she was due. ‘You look very beautiful, Yuna.’

‘I know.’ Yuna’s lips twitched as she positioned her bouquet in front of her.

His y/n shot him a cheeky smile, before he went on his way.

It seemed with every step Namjoon took toward the groom, down the path that led straight past Kwang Jae’s seat in the second row, a palpable rage took shape within him.

It took conscious effort to suppress his emotions. It took effort to clench his hands into fists to not reach out when he passed by, to not say anything, to not spit on the fucker’s face or have any reaction at all that would ruin the occasion.

Only as he took his place next to Kenta, Hobi at his side, Namjoon felt the tension kick up a notch. The two men next to him were privy to Y/n’s secrets, so it only made sense that they be angry on her behalf. But a smooth glance at either male, showed not anger, but rage. Pure, untrammeled, oppressive… rage.

Unfortunately, as satisfying as it was to feel a sense of belonging as they collectively stared daggers at Kwang Jae, who looked in the least bit bothered, Namjoon knew it would not be fair to Yuna.

‘Ken.’ He prompted.

Kenta tilted his head toward Namjoon, indicating that the leader had his attention.

‘Focus on Yuna.’ Namjoon didn’t recognise his own voice. It was deep, like a rumble, his words coming across as an order more than a suggestion.

The bodyguard’s gaze slammed into him, but Namjoon didn’t back down. ‘Y/n will not forgive herself, if you let him take this away from you.’

The groom needed only to get ready for the next phase of his life, welcome his wife with open arms, receive her with a gracious joy that all but shouted to the world that he was in love and enjoying every minute of it.

‘I can’t just switch it off.’ Kenta growled.

‘You don’t have to.’ Hoseok reminded a dangerous edge to the usual sunshiney male as the instrumental of Sweet Night, Taehyung’s OST, swept across the hall. ‘Feel the joy now, rip the bastard a new one later.’

—-------

🎶 - Sweet Night - V

There was no helping knowing everything you knew.

As a woman with depression you learned when to take note of the heavy blanket that covered your body on random days. Draining the comfort, draining your emotions, leaving you unmotivated with an incessant voice constantly reminding you that despite your job, the roof over your head, the family you had, the friends you loved, the life you had made, despite the fact that you were loved… you were lacking. You were useless, even with the contradictory evidence laid out before you. You were a bother to the world in some way or the other and everyone would so easily do without you.

You knew to give yourself time to manage those feelings, to not throw yourself into work, or go too hard at the gym, or isolate yourself from the world completely. Your actual blanket, a cup of coffee, a book, and music or complete silence were the next best thing until the feelings faded.

Because feelings did fade.

You learned it was something like the heart monitor machine in the hospital. Depression never truly leaves.

Neither does anxiety.

You studied yourself until you could tell when your eyes were focusing a bit too hard at nothing. Because the tightness in your chest was growing and try as you might to express your emotional response, to deal with the panic and talk yourself down even if you had some sort of control over a situation, you needed you to close your eyes to the world and somehow, by any means necessary remind yourself that you were very much alive.

Extreme heat or ice. A blast of chilly air from a cold night or the ice cold pool in the middle of snowy winter was your go to.

You learned to take control. To be ready before time and arrive early so you didn't have to deal with prying eyes.

You texted to avoid phone calls, or played Tetris if you absolutely had to make a social call.

If you had to attend a meeting, a function, or speak up, you would remind yourself that you had every right to be in a room full of people even if you were nothing like them, even if you got the odd look or heard the rude whispers – what they thought of you was absolutely none of your business.

You took care of yourself by dealing with your own triggers.

You became a y/n that would rely on herself most of all.

And yet… all that work, all the time, all the books you read and the music you heard, the healing you had done, somehow collapsed in the face of Kwang's presence.

You absently touched your fingers to your swollen lips. Namjoon allowed you to fall apart for only a moment before he reminded you that he was there.

Kim Namjoon was your husband. Kim Y/n was a married woman, a CEO, a cardinal presence in society. She was not a schoolgirl pining for her parents' love, or a young adult desperate for validation anymore.

It had been years since Kwang. Years since you played over and over in your head what you would have to do, what you would have to say, how you would act, like the temporary insanity of seeing an ex in a different setting years surpassing a break-up.

You wished you had a better way to describe it. But you didn't.

He does not know this version of you.

The mantra in your husband’s voice played over and over in your head even as you walked toward the archway. You tried to keep your body soft as your hands held onto Yuna, and you focused on her so you didn’t turn your body away from her uncle in complete and utter repulsion. And try as you might, to not to complicate your life, a daring part of you, high on a kiss that somehow injected life into you, you looked Kwang Jae dead in the eye as you passed him.

You felt a prickle of satisfaction when he couldn't hide his shock at your blatant audacity.

Stopping directly in front of the groom, you scrunch your nose playfully when Kenta glances at you, to ease his mind and allow him his moment with Yuna. You took both their hands, kissed Yuna's palm and then placed it in Kenta's – handing her over to the only man you would ever trust her with.

You then took your place next to her as her Maid of Honor. You inhaled and exhaled in the most subtle way you could manage. You repeated the action and slowly re-focused on the scene in front of you. You could really do this.

Kenta expressed his love for Yuna, using words he never cared for and digging deep, being better, being a version of Kenta only ever for her. Yuna, ink her blood, the written and spoken word, her personal love language, added her own heartfelt message to her groom, leaving the room speechless and you in tears.

It was when they were rounding up that you noticed Namjoon across from you.

Any other day you'd feel bad, the need to be present for Yuna nipping at your heels, because it was a stolen moment.

But the look on your husband’s face was priceless, the love in his eyes violently tender.

'I do.' Kenta’s voice was faint in the background.

It was the same two words, Namjoon mouthed to you straight after. You swallowed hard against tears that threatened to drown you. No explanation was necessary, not with Namjoon – you knew exactly what he was doing.

A new start. A new set of promises. A path, with every mistake, every ghost, every trauma and all the baggage – you would choose to walk it together.

When you heard Yuna repeat the words ‘I do’ to the love of her life, you mouthed them back to the only man you would ever choose to love, choose to adore, choose to give absolutely everything to.

The smile that accompanied Namjoon's red rimmed eyes drove a savage point home – you would bring any that dared hurt him to their knees and give anything to see him happy.

And you really couldn't hold back when you watched the groom sweep his bride off her feet for their first kiss as a married couple.

'Congratulations!' You threw your arms around Yuna when she turned to you, her face wet with her own set of tears.

Across from you the best men clapped Kenta on his back and offered their own wishes.

All the while Namjoon’s gaze held you captive – the intent behind his dragon eyes crystal clear.

Your senses were so utterly attuned to him, that despite the people around you, good and bad, past and present, you felt the unseen connection – an invisible string connecting you to him vibrating with the knowledge that you would only ever belong to each other.

This was not your wedding ceremony. But something told you, just as it was for Yuna and Kenta, this was a new beginning for Namjoon and Y/n.

Taglist - @casnextdoor @jaysdimples @belliebelle @pinkcherrybombs @sweetjellyfishland @blushingatyou @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue @somewhereinthestarss @k-brownsugar @namsona17 @taejinxkoya @notsooperfect @zae007live @its-hopes-world @shina913 @bri-mal @piecesofapril11 @kissme-ornot @toriluvsfics @agustdmwah @lochness-butmakeitsexy @petalsofink @definetlythinkimanalien @masterpiecejoonie @gcintia @danietoww04 @roguesthetic @rjsmochii @amymikaelson @hello-kittyy @mschievous247 @onlythehobi @deliciousdetectivestranger @daddypkj @callmemadhatter @rkivecenter @codeinebelle @creolesoul2seoul @nochelunaxx @serendididy [closed]

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Part 28.0 - White Knight[s]

Part 28 || Forever Falling

Part 29 - Unravel

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#namjoon #bts au fanfic #bts angst #kim namjoon #bts au #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon #namjoon x y/n #kim namjoon imagine #bts kim namjoon #bts aus #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #nerve au #bts #namjoon x you #hoseok #jung hoseok #hobi

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onedivinemisfit · 1 year

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2022 Creator’s Self-Love Extravaganza

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2022. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love!

Tagged by @bubblesthemonsterartist tho I daresay I am fashionably late at this point, more than two weeks into the new year. Did I forget? Maaaaybe. Which brings us right to the main problem;

I barely remember. Like. 2022. At all. Things happened, I’m sure, but it’s as if there’s a fine layer of mist atop my memories, stopping me from really seeing them. Last year wasn’t really very kind to me. For every up, three downs followed, and between two failed surgeries, a bout of covid, and then whatever the hell kind of flare happened in the autumn… yeah. Idek. It is what it is.

As such, I can’t really comment on my art as like, a whole process, this year. It just existed in the ‘now’, which is presently the ‘then’. I know I beat my submission record from last year, but it felt like a meaningless victory. Despite everything, I can feel it in my hand now, when I draw, that some progress has been made. Subconsciously perhaps, but it’s there.

Onto the ranking then! (I just had to pull up the archive cuz fuck if I remember what I posted, and when)

*deep sigh* we all saw this coming, didn’t we? As much as I love, I curse this image, for in hindsight it felt as if all my creative energy for the entire damned year went into this one piece! Like how dare! But yes it is one of my best redraws ever, and more so than the characters, I feel like I added to the background something even better than the original. There, I said it.

Omigod this entire thiiiiiing. Were it not for the redraw, this would be the top spot. I can’t explain, so many ideas are left in the brain for countless hours, days, months, YEARS. This was two years in the making, and never before did I manage to recreate something that had the exact same vibe as it looked in my imagination. Especially because I’m not a comic creator, hashtag compulsive disclaimer lol. Also while I was drawing it, seeing people go from “hmmm what’s this?” to “wait is that-?” and then “ooooooh it is the lead-up to The Thing” was priceless.

A last-second outlier comes in third. I admit to making this in a hurry, just to have something really nice to show for december (a month which is usually a highly productive month to me, but 2022 didn’t let me have that either) and as such, since I was struggling, both with a deadline, and a lack of real inspiration, I feel like. I managed to improve, somehow. Call it magic, but this looks noticeably different to many of my other colored pieces.

To be perfectly honest, this was a sketch. People might not think it one, for it has details, a color scheme, and even effects - but at the time I posted it, this was just a colorized sketch in my mind. Tumblr disagreed. And I was left in awe watching this first get reblogged within the fandom, then beyond, then go through a hanfu appreciation blog, and finally reblogged with a truly tender chinese poem attached that said person felt gave them the same vibe as what I had drawn. The people spoke, and I was both awed and humbled, and I learned a valuable lesson in humanity relating to art.

Unlike the others, this was a conscious attempt at something different. I can’t really say why it should go in the fifth spot, but it does; i spent a lot more time than usual on composition, colors, and most importantly, mood setting. And putting characters so solidly into the middleground can be a challenge in itself for me, as I run the risk of getting storybook-ish. Which would’ve been disastrous for a scene like this.

Honorable mention;

Coping through art. @bubblesthemonsterartist has the honor of inspiring this, or like, being the one to “give me” the go-ahead to channel some of my experiences through the characters and story-telling in general. Back pain is something I know all too well, and it was well and truly therapeutic. I also got to do another test of “can I retell this scene, even if I switch part of the cast and premise?” And it seems I did. I will always remember @what-plant-metaphor-am-i ‘s tag; ‘# I feel like I just watched an entire episode XD’ <- never has my inner storyteller been more validated.

There, that wasn’t so hard! Sometimes I’m really thankful for the internet, and timestamps, and kicking my memory back into gear etc… anyway, since I am so woefully late to the party, I’m not tagging anyone specifically; if you wanna be fashionably late too, you know who tagged you~

#2022 self love extravaganza #art meme #self love meme #2022 summary #myart #about the artiste

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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Hi! just finished reading your Tumblr request on AO3 and I just looooove your writing ;; if it's not a problem I wanted to ask how you imagine that Lucifer, Mammon and Beel would react to a MC who is usually very quiet and not very expressive, impossible to embarrass or make nervous, to suddenly, one day manage to make her blush for the first time (Also, English is not my first language, so I hope this is okey) I wish you a lovely week ❤

A/N: This is adorable! Sorry for the slow turn around, I hope you enjoy!❤

Lucifer

Stoicism is something he normally finds very attractive in a woman. To be able to keep such a level of calm outlook during even times that might even shake him. He loves the idea of a power couple, and the way you hold yourself. You definitely make one.

It does grate him that he can’t fluster you like you do him, especially during your time together in private. He tries multiple ways to even just draw some color to your cheeks. Flowers in the classroom, hand written invitations to private dining establishments and venues, he even went to the human realm just to find some kind of familiar comfort to give to you. You love them all he knows but he wants, craves to see an uninhibited reaction from you. He’ll get it one day, his pride depends on it at this point.

Luck graces him one evening after a hellish work day. A fight in the school yard leading to property damage he had to do extra paper work for. The only saving grace of that was it wasn’t one of his brothers, this time. Only followed soon after by a report of yet another racket engineered by Mammon. Then, to top off a horrible day one of Belphie and Satan’s little “pranks” blew up half his office.

All his loose or unprotected paperwork, gone. Nothing but smoldering bits of ash. He was now more than ever thankful to have you by his side. Before he could get his hands on the two you stepped in shooing him away to deal with the other fires that needed to be put out while you handled his office.

Things got done, in record time for once. He was able to rewrite his notes for the next council meeting, but at the cost of your weekday dinner together. A pity, but he knew you understood. Trudging up to his room he looked forward to perhaps a few hours of sleep before the next crisis struck. Then he found you.

He chuckles to himself quietly leaning against his door frame. You had beaten him to his favorite resting roost. You sat on his favorite armchair, rolled up tight in his comforter. All he could see was a tuft of hair and the very tip of your nose. Beautiful as always, but he wanted to rest. Well-two birds, one stone and all…

He scoops you up envious of how deeply you could slumber and places you on his lap. Kicking off his shoes he sighs blissfully before resting his head back on worn leather.

Mini fic

You didn’t expect to see Lucifer tonight. Today has been the absolute definition of a shit show, on nights like these it wasn’t uncommon for you not to see him at all. You would normally place your bets on him being unconscious at his desk. Though, he couldn’t really do that tonight. You pat yourself on the back mentally knowing that he would be pleased with the work you and the brothers did cleaning up his office. While you couldn’t get them to apologize to Lucifer you at least got them to clean up what was salvageable in his study.

After a few hours of cleaning his office was back in working order and your feet were screaming for a break. Bidding the two miscreants farewell and making them promise to hold off on the pranks for at least a week you let your body lead you to Lucifer’s room. The room was how you left it that morning. Your slippers next to his by the door and your robe tossed haphazardly on his linen sheets. You make a beeline for the only piece of furniture Lucifer loved dearly. How many nights had you snuck in only to see him melting into the old chain. His long legs sprawled out and tangled in his foot rest, while his body sinks into the imprints he has left from years of use like a lover's embrace.

Yanking the thin comforter from his bed you curl into the divots with a yawn. Before you know it your eyes close and the crackling of the fireplace lulls you to sleep. You awake with a jolt, confused and disoriented for a moment before your sleepy brain catches up. You fell asleep alone on the soft leather but woke to something unyielding beneath you now.

Lucifer sits underneath you snoring softly. His arms rest around your blanketed body. His head tilts down over you, his nose tickling your hairline. Like always he sports a mild look of annoyance. His lips were drawn in a scowl, brows crinkling in displease. You could tell his jaw was tense even while he slept.

Freeing your arms from your cocoon you reach up from him moving to cup his twitching jaw. With practiced ease you began to message the pin joints. You smile to yourself moving down to his tense neck and shoulders. This had become a nightly ritual for you when you shared a bed. When you knew he was asleep you would start trying to work away some of his tension from the previous day. You swear in the morning that he looks better on the nights you get the chance to.

This was your little secret though. You couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing you did this. Not that you thought he would disapprove. Lucifer appreciated acts of service, but just the thought of him knowing made your whole body heat in a flush. You push the thoughts away focusing instead on the extremely tight muscles underneath his brow line. It amazed you that he didn’t have any wrinkles after all this.

So engrossed in your perusal of his features you didn’t notice him stirring till his warm palm traps your hand to his cheek. Before you realize it his lips push a firm kiss into the flesh of your palm. Scarlet eyes meet yours crinkling around the edges. They were warm and radiant. “You’re blushing.” His voice was deep and husky from what little sleep he got.

“What?” You stammer.

Lucifer leans in tapping his forehead on yours. He studies your wide eyes and pink face for a moment before cracking a smug grin. “I’ve never seen you flustered before. Your blush looks good on you.”

“You caught me off guard.” He nods, kissing the tip of your nose tenderly taking impish glee in your squirming.

“Good-I will strive to do so more often. I wish to see you as undone as you make me.”

Mammon

Stoic MC? Rare pair? Rare pair. Mammon wears his heart on his sleeve. Nothing about him is slick. From week one everyone knew he had it bad for you. He is so open with his affections whether he likes it or not. Unlike you.

Honestly, how were you always so controlled. Ain’t the dame supposed to be all blushy and giggly too? It-it makes him think he isn’t doing something right. Is he not treating you right? Were you unhappy?

So he goes to do what he does best. Scheme. There has to be someway to crack that stoic disposition of yours. He gets clingy-well clingier now. He starts springing random vacations on you. Expect to skip class whenever he thinks he won’t get skinned alive for it.

He’ll take you anywhere all his internet research tells him to. Black sand beaches, crowded boardwalks to see the lights, deserted hiking trails late in the evening to watch the fireflies. He is sure it will work. But nope, nada. You love every moment of it and show him with a soul searing kiss and sweet words of praise. But damn you if you aren’t always so cool about it.

He is about to throw in the towel when he finally gets what he wants. At work no less. It was completely by accident but he isn’t one to complain. Perhaps he should go to work more often.

Mini Fic

“Pucker up!” Mammon’s make-up artist orders, squeezing his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “And for Diavolo’s sake put your phone down.”

“Shove off Cazzin.” Mammon sputters around the sour tasting lip stain and plumper. His eyes still glued to his screen. His freshly done nails swiping at picture after picture of fancy hotels and spas. Just thinking about taking you a private spring got his blood boiling in the best ways.

“Woooow.” Cazz whistles through her fangs looking at his screen. “Who is the lucky lady you are trying to impress this time?

“Mammon bristles, shooting her a murderous glance. The smaller demon blanches, purple skin turning ashy with fear. Her eyes drop to the floor immediately in submission, a sincere apology falling from her lips. “My girlfriend.” He says finally after cooling down. “I’m-I’m trying to impress her or something.”

“Well, pretty sure with a price tag like that anyone would be impressed.” Mammon only grunts barely glancing at the excessive amount of zeros on the page. Any other girl he knew would be a blushing mess after getting a gift like this. Hells, even Cazz was eyeing the site with open envy and excitement. Yet, this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this with you. Every time he did all he got was a blisteringly radiant smile and kisses that probably could send him back to heaven if he didn’t have a life long ban there. Not that that was a bad thing...but he just wanted more.

“You would think so…” He trails off clicking his phone off to focus on the rest of his routine. No sooner had his hair and make-up artist finished then his director was stomping and shouting down the hall for him to get his ass on set. Grimacing Mammon slides off his seat stretching to spare himself a few more seconds of peace. He stops at the door taking one last look at his get up for this shoot.

Damn, he looks good. It was time for a new spring collection, but more importantly, his most popular season. The light spring colors always brought out his best features. The pastel cotton shirt they “fashionably” threw him in hung casually around his frame. Buttons “tastefully” undone to show the smooth planes of his freely waxed and oiled skin. The linen board shorts and finishing touch of leather sandals gave him the perfect beach vibe. At top dollar mind you.

Hmmm-perhaps he could borrow this outfit for your next beach outing.

Unable to tone out his bosses shouting anymore Mammon makes his way to set. He thinks hard on what else he can go or take you to impress you, ignoring the poking and prodding of his camera men and set designers. His partners today, two incubus twins stood sourly next to him. They had been at this for hours and even he was ready for a break from the sweltering heat of the lights.

“Alright! Alright!” The director broke an hour later tired of the twins whining. He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “We’ll break for an hour for lunch- lost the light as is.” He huffs stumping off for a smoke break.

“Finally,” Mammon sighs from his pose on the ground. “Think I got sand in my ass.” He gets up from the ground grimacing as he tries to brush the grit off his legs. “Shit starts to burn when they get hot.” One of the twins nods looking down at their own arms. Tiny burn marks showing on their fair skin, they will heal by the time the shoot resumes, doesn’t mean they will be happy about it.

“Want to grab lunch?” The twins ask tossing him a towel to blot at his sweating brow. “New food truck is coming in today.” Mammon shakes his head. You had packed him something to eat this morning and he kind of wanted to enjoy it in peace for once.

Waving the two off he hurries back to his room already salivating at whatever tasty food you got him. Halfway to the door he stops, the fine hairs on his neck standing up. Someone was in his dressing room. Devil’s please don’t let it be another rabid fan. He pleads before creeping forward to check. Whoever it was left the door ajar, peaking in he stares enraptured.

When did you get here? It wasn’t abnormal for you to just drop by while he was working, but you usually waited for him on set behind the cameras. You sit humming to yourself reading something on your lap, feet kicking out innocently while you wait for him. Flipping a page he gets a glimpse of what you’re reading. His feathers ruffle in satisfaction. He had plans on showing you these shots before their release date. They still needed approval from his director but he knew they were great. You flip through shot after shot humming or nodding at some. One shot makes you stop fully, eyes growing wide.

Mammon snorts to himself, knowing exactly which photo you stopped on. The next issue was focusing on “Elegance in the work space”, whatever that means. His designer for the projects went a little overboard with the cuts and designs of the business suites he was to model. The sketches and drafts she had thrust at him had made his head spin. They were all amazing in his opinion, but one had been killer, everyone had agreed on that. If he didn’t know any better he was certain that it would put him on the cover. By the way you were looking at it, he was hoping it would.

That suit really complimented all of his features. It was form fitting accenting his slim waist but hid the slight sloping of his shoulders. The gold of the threading of his vest was done up in soft floral patterns that popped against the dark navy blue of the suit's fabric. The dark blue really brought out the lightness of his eyes. The look was topped off with a bright yellow silk pocket square, polished leather wingtips and gold cufflinks. He was about to interrupt you when he saw it, that one thing he wanted more than anything.

The pink starts at your ears swiping across the bridge of your nose before blooming on your round cheeks. It was breathtaking. Thinking he was being sneaky, Mammon whips out his phone for a quick picture, no one would believe him unless he had solid evidence. But the flash gives him away.

“Mammon!” You jump caught, hands flying to cover your warm face.

“Oi! None of that!” Mammon moves quickly snatching your hands away from your face beaming. “I’ve been waiting for ages to see this face on ya, an’ all it took was a picture of me?”

“You- you clean up really nicely, Mammon.” His hearts flutter at your soft admission.

“Huh,” Mammon scratches his neck, feeling his own blush coming forth. “Well- I mean I could do that more often, so long as you keep looking at me like this when I do.” He picks up the stack of photos from the floor where you dropped them in surprise. “Ya know- I still got that suit.”

Your face turns molten- oh he was going to have a field day with this.

Beelzebub

Doesn’t even notice at first. He is kind of the same way with expressing himself too- unless food is involved. So if you are content then he is content, so who cares if you don’t show it on your face?

Well- he didn’t care, until Belphie brought it up. His twin didn’t mean anything by it; he knew that, but it made him wonder. He trusts you when you say you are happy, you have no reason to lie to him. But date nights, game nights, and family dinners you were always so impassive.

It makes him wonder, not enough to ask you though. Truthfully, he is a little embarrassed that he can’t read you as you do him. He won’t force it like his brothers might. He is patient and hopes one day it will just come naturally like it does for him around you.

Mini Fic

Beel watches you over his lunch. You two were silent as you ate, but that was to be expected on days like these. The school cafe was packed with students all jockeying to get a place in line for today’s special. He had gotten there early for the both of you to gap a few of the specials and sides before they were gone. “Are you ok?” He puts his fork down leaning in close to speak to you across the small table. It creaks dangerously under the weight of his elbows on it. You look up from your tea mug. He smiles at your perpetually mild expression, your eyes were hard but your lips and brows were relaxed giving away nothing.

“Of course.” You smile up at him, face smooth and controlled. “Just excited about tonight.”

Hmph, could have fooled him. Beel leans back, studying you intently. He hopes you were as excited as he was for tonight. A new arcade had opened on the edge of town last week and he thought it would be a great date night for the two of you. He had expressed to you on several occasions how he was looking forward to the roller rink and the hoop games. You seemed eager, giving him a closed lip grin every time he brought it up. “Me too.” Beel says finally turning back to his food. “Think we will win any prizes?”

You snort dismissively. “Us? The dream team? I would be surprised if we didn’t win something. Have you seen the plushies?” You pull out your phone and show him their Devilgram. “I want to try and get the hydra one…” You prattle on and scroll through all the cute prizes on their site. He nods along taking a mental note of all the ones that you pointed at, determined to get each and every one for you.

School goes by quickly, far too quickly for him. Each tick of the clock caught him by surprise, jacking his nerves up more and more. It wasn’t like it was his first date with you, but it never stopped the butterflies from starting in his stomach. After school he changes quickly and waits for you by your bedroom door. He fiddles with the zipper of his jacket until you finally open your door.

“Ready?” The smile you throw up at him is breathtaking. “Hope you don’t mind my get up. You mentioned a roller ring so I figured something sporty and functional would be appropriate.” You kick out a leg waving a hand over your bright sport leggings.

Beel chuckles offering you his large hand. “You look adorable as always.”

Being with you was as easy as breathing to him now. After all your time together in the house getting to know you you became one of his closest friends, even before you started dating. You shared many of his interests and wasn’t afraid to argue your point if you saw fit. You fill the train ride to the arcade with idle chatter, goofy selfies to send to his siblings, and annoying the other passengers with your ill-contained chuckles.

The place itself was packed but well spread out to handle the massive throngs of demons and beasts coming for drinks and a good time. “Come on!” You shout over the other very drunk and very loud customers tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s get some coins and find an empty station.” He lets you lead. You take full advantage of his impressive frame to part the crowds around you as you hunt for a free spot. “See anything?”

Beel peers over the heads of most of the demons and looks out. In the far corner sat a few jump rope games that were free. “Stay close.” He murmurs in your ear wrapping a protective arm your shoulders so you wouldn’t be swept away in the flow of the crowd. The games were...hard. Mentally Beel kicks himself. Of course an arcade in the Devildom wouldn’t be geared for humans. They were built for demons' fast reflexes and inhuman strength. You were a good sport about it though, cheering him on when the games began to move too fast for your senses. If a game broke in his zeal to get you tickets, well you were both fast walkers.

“Think we have enough?” Beelzebub asks hours later around a popsicle. His jacket pockets bulge with multicolored tickets screaming to be spent.

You hum around a scoop of ice cream. “Possibly-” Your eyes flick to the prize booth. “And extra, you want a plushie too?” He shrugs. No doubt the moment it got into his room Belphie will steal it to add to his horde.

You end up getting your stuffed hydra and a giant fuzzy minotaur to keep it “company”. You clutch them close to your chest, seemingly happy with your bounties. After that you spend a bit at the roller ring before you finally had to call it a night. Exhausted you lag behind Beel as you make your way back to the train station, feet dragging with each step.

Wordlessly, Beel stops just in front of you. “Here,” He squats, offering you his back, arms stretched out behind him. “I can take us the rest of the way to the stop.” He feels you hesitate for a moment before climbing on to his back.

“Thank you.” He thinks nothing of how soft your voice was, just barely a tickle at the base of his neck. Beel treks one once you are secure, stuffing his hands in his pockets to lock you in place. The rest of the walk was quiet but he didn’t mind it, your warm body and soft breathing in his ear was a comfort.

He stops at the benches with a few minutes to spare before your train. “We are here. Do you want-” He gasps quietly, cutting himself off before he could accidentally wake you. You sleep on unperturbed by his voice. Your hold on around his neck was tight, your head buried in his neck.

It seems only when you're sleeping do you let your guard down. A blush sweeps across your face, your lips pulled up into a serene smile. You looked-happy. Happy in a way he never saw before. He won’t say anything about it, he decides. He’ll cherish this tiny expression all the same. Perhaps one day he’ll see when you're awake too.

#Request #om beelzebub #om lucifer #om mammon #im slowly cranking them out!!!#obey me shall we date

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beelsnack · 3 years

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Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

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Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

#seriously I just kept thinking about them taking care of my while I was sick #because even though I was sick I had to take care of my parents when they ended up getting it #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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pop-goes-the-sneasel · 3 years

Note

Lillymon maybe?

Lilimon!!!! Lillymon in the dub!!!

Lilimon’s a Perfect-level digimon originally slotted as the final form of Palmon in the first Adventure series, for which it’s probably best known. It was one of the earliest examples of digimon getting more humanoid as they evolve, though the trend hadn’t yet gotten ubiquitous enough to be annoying, and ending on a fairy creature felt cool and appropriate for a plant-themed evolution line. And it’s a pretty novel fairy, too!

Usually, fairies in modern media tend to basically be humans with some insect-inspired features – most commonly insectoid wings. What Lilimon does though is take that premise and make it 100% plant oriented, with a set of dragonfly-esque wings made out of leaves, along with a slew of other botanical features. A flower-shaped dress, flower and leaf accessories, and a flower for “hair” along with a bunch of thorny vines for even more hair. The color scheme is also really pleasant, too! Very evocative of spring. Lilimon also has a slight monstrousness to it as well, with sharp claw-like nails and the dark animalistic eyes.

By far the weirdest aspect of Lilimon, though, is its primary means of offense: turning its hands into a gun. Called Flow Cannon or Flower Cannon, this ability kinda thematically clashes with Lilimon’s whole nature motif, but it’s also conceptually hilarious enough that it wraps back around to being cool. Characterization-wise, its profile explains that it has a whimsical and “tomboyish” personality and is prone to “crying like a crybaby”. Okay.

Lilimon also has an X-Antibody form, which is….very forgettable honestly. The art style changes far more than the design itself does, with Lilimon more or less getting just a slightly different outfit. The main additions are the giant bow on its back and the small tiara, which it apparently wears because “it knows it can be the best of itself”. I’m glad at least you’re feeling good about your new design, Lilimon. It’s also said to lightly dismiss even the most horrible of enemy digimon, though its crybaby tendencies have given way to full-blown tantrums. They’re really trying hard to make Lilimon sound unappealing to interact with :v

Regardless, Lilimon’s a classic. Although its vibes aren’t something I’m especially into, it’s a concept I definitely appreciate. Thankfully, there is a Lilimon form that does do something dramatically different, in addition to totally abandoning the other two forms’ crybaby tendencies: Bancho Lilimon. I’ll save it for its own review, though, since it is an evolution.

🔫🌻/10.

#digimon #digimon reviews #lilimon #lillymon #palmon #perfect level #data attribute #fairy type #jungle troopers #nature spirits #wind guardians #digimon introduced in 1999

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Set All My Regrets on Fire

Anyone up for some post-POF Roceit angst? I’m way late to the party, but hey, let’s do this. This is for a WTIYS by @hitmewiththatfanart33, who’s a great writer and seems like a really nice person. Check ‘em out if you haven’t already! Congrats on 1k, you deserve it!

This is based around Out on the Town by Fun, a banging song, and I played it on loop while writing this! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.

Words: 10,756 (yeah I can’t write oneshots what of it)

Pairings: platonic Roceit

Warnings: self-hatred, bad self-care, food mentions, extra arms, negative self-talk, sleep deprivation, a bit of an identity crisis, fire, anxiety, panic attacks, crying, some symptoms of depression and/or disassociation, very brief suicidal ideation (only in reference to ducking out), sympathetic everyone including Remus (even though there are some less-than-charitable mentions, it’s because Roman and Janus are in a bad place).

Summary: Roman wants to apologize. Janus wants to explain. It’s a shame neither of them can work up the courage to say hello.

---

I knew there would come a day when all was said and done.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It’s a nice door, rather simplistic, with a golden doorknob and a little knocker in the center and a peephole set right below it. Roman’s carefully avoiding the peephole, but if Janus tried hard enough, he could probably see Roman standing in the hallway like he’s waiting for a coffee.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize Roman, though. Roman isn’t wearing his usual costume. He needed something soft and comfortable, so he stole Virgil’s old hoodie. It’s a darker color scheme than he’s used to, but not too bad, and it settles around his shoulders and makes him feel protected. He’d worry about being teased by Virgil, but Virgil hasn’t come out of his room for days.

Roman pulls it tighter around him. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost like he’s getting a hug, or he’s weighed down by blankets during a sleepover, Disney playing in the background as he does Patton’s nails.

That hasn’t happened for weeks. Janus has watched movies with Patton and nobody else came. Roman lurked in the doorway before turning away, retreating to his empty room and a too-dark hoodie.

A little voice in his head says, you should get used to the dark.

Roman ignores it. He’s good at that, ignoring anything he doesn’t like. Logan, for instance. Or the flaws in his own ideas. Or Janus’ biting words.

Well, that last one has evaded him. They flit around his head like fiery butterflies, searing away his thoughts, whispering when he tried to sleep.

That’s why he’s here.

Standing in front of Janus’ door, one hand raised, trying to work up the courage to knock.

He is courage. He’s a Gryffindor, bold and brave and passionate. So why can’t he make his hand fall? The whole world has frozen around him, waiting in expectation, eyes crawling up his spine. He’s always loved the stage. He always bears the burden of being the center of the attention. Now he feels exposed, wrong, a glossy photo cut from a magazine and pasted into this scene. He scuffs his feet on the floor and hopes no one walks by at this moment and sees how ridiculously pathetic Roman is being. There’s a slim chance of that. Virgil’s in his room, Logan’s in his room, Patton’s in the kitchen baking mounds of cookies and smiling a brittle smile at anyone who enters. Maybe Remus will show up and knock Roman out again. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad--it would be an excuse not to talk to Janus.

He tries to picture Janus’ reaction. Maybe Janus will ignore his knock. Maybe Janus will attack him, berate him, tell him he’s not welcome here. He hasn’t been hostile towards Roman whenever they cross paths, but he hasn’t been kind, either. Mostly he’s just ignored Roman. Roman’s done his best to return the favor, skipping family dinners and staying in his room. At first Patton tried to get him out, but Patton must have given up, because the knocks stopped coming.

Worse, Janus might pity him. He certainly looks a mess, standing in the hallway in his best friend’s hoodie, hair greasy and falling over his face. Janus might forgive him more easily if Roman looked pathetic. However, the very idea stings. He doesn’t want reluctant or guilty forgiveness--he wants the real thing. And isn’t that so selfish of him?

He could fix everything, of course. He could snap his fingers and get rid of the hoodie, sweep his hair back from his face, rub away the bags under his eyes from several sleepless nights, rub the wrinkles from his black shirt. But that wouldn’t erase the fact that he’s forgotten how to smile.

It’s easy. It should be easy. He’s practiced it in the mirror a thousand times. Crinkle the eyes, lift the corners of the mouth, scrunch the nose, pull the smile tight until it tickles his cheeks. He’s an actor. He should be able to look like he’s happy to be here, look like he’s happy at all, yet he can’t find the right combination. He tries to smile and it feels too stretched, too forced, too disjointed. He lets it fall because he doesn’t think he could bear to let it exist a moment more.

Janus isn’t the only liar here, is he?

It’s just one smile, he tells himself, trying again. This time he barely manages to lift the corners of his mouth before he lets his face collapse.

And he’s supposed to be an actor. Pathetic.

Roman rubs his face and clutches the jacket for warmth. He should give it back to Virgil. Virgil doesn’t wear it anymore, but he tends to panic whenever something isn’t in its place. Yeah, he’ll go give it to Virgil, leave it in a bundle by the door or just sneak it back into the closet. He can conjure his own jacket. Even though it won’t feel the same, won’t have the same comforting weight, like Virgil has his back.

He’s really a mess right now. His lips are cracked and he won’t stop curling into himself like he wants to disappear.

Maybe he does, just a bit.

Roman sighs and turns away from Janus’ door.

He’ll come back when he looks the part.

---

Everything I was is everything but gone.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

If he’s being honest--which is a hilarious concept--it’s a little too gaudy for his tastes. He’s all about tasteful theatrics and dramatic decor, but this is so over-the-top it’s almost sad. Still, he supposes he can appreciate the effort put into it. Years of effort, in fact. It’s practically a mural of different designs. Roman clearly kept painting over sections when he had a new idea, never bothering to erase the whole thing. There’s also an excessive amount of glitter and enough rainbows to make a leprechaun faint in delight. A large sign reads Prince Roman, Creativity in red sparkling cursive.

It looks like a five-year-old made it, which is the sort of charitable assumption Janus feels he should keep to himself, based on Patton’s advice. It might “hurt Roman’s feelings.” And if he only manages to antagonize Roman, then this entire trip was a waste.

He doesn’t want to be here, of course. He would much rather be reading, or looking after his snakes, or perhaps planning the downfall of society at large. Or...maybe with Patton, baking cookies or watching movies or exchanging puns as they pass.

Hanging out with Patton. As if they’re friends. Despicable. Friendship is a boogeyman, affection is a social construct, and Janus has no use for it.

He told this to Patton, who laughed and said “You’re so silly! Can you grab my oven mitts?” And Janus did, because lulling Patton into a false sense of security meant his master plan could go undetected. He’s not quite sure what his master plan is, yet, but he’s sure he has one. He’s certainly not spending time with Patton for the fun of it.

Definitely not.

Lying to himself is harder than lying to other people, which is annoying. He supposes that deceiving himself would compromise his ability to deceive others. He needs to know the truth, deep within him, so he can obscure it and twist it and use it as he sees fit.

It’s the others who enjoy lying to themselves.

He should be proud of that, that despite their self-proclaimed hatred for Deceit, they lie to each other and themselves every day. He’s not. It stings how much they lie, it eats into his skin and burns. Logan says everyone lies. Well, that’s a paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it. Patton never liked to hear that. Patton still doesn’t, but that’s not an issue anymore, since Logan hasn’t been there to say anything.

It’s Janus’ fault, of course, and it was a necessary sacrifice to get Thomas to listen. He doesn’t mind if Logan hates him. Logan is Logic--he’ll come around He’s always been the smartest of the sides.

Roman, however, keeps grudges.

So Janus is here to ask for forgiveness. Or at least to explain what he meant, why he did what he did. Then Roman can start rejoining the group at dinner, Thomas’ creative pursuits will regain their spark, and Thomas will be alright.

That’s all Janus needs. Janus is self-preservation. He’s only here, standing awkwardly in front of Roman’s door, because Thomas is suffering and his function is to help Thomas.

If Roman hates him, that’s perfectly fine. He just needs Roman to hate him and keep doing his job.

Janus wishes so deeply that he was better at lying to himself.

He stands there, hand raised, poised to knock, for a frankly embarrassing length of time. He’s not sure what’s stopping him. His chest itches and his eyes burn slightly as if the golden glitter of Roman’s door is blinding him.

“Janus?” he hears. “Do you wanna watch Winnie the Pooh?”

“Of course, Patton.” Janus glances at Roman’s door and gladly twirls his cloak and walks away.

He’ll come back when Patton doesn’t need him.

---

All my big mistakes are bouncing off your wall.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. He’s got two deadlines in the next week, one after that, and he missed a brainstorming session with Logan and Logan’s been badgering him about it. Besides, he didn’t hit the word count for the story he’s writing, and he has to squeeze in some more writing tonight. Long story short, he has much more important things to do than loiter in front of Janus’ door and watch it like it’ll knock for him.

Yet he’s here. Self-control has never been his strong point.

Besides, he’s almost glad of the change of scenery. His room is a magical place filled with ideas and inspiration and lights that dance around the ceiling like fairies or birds. It’s also a mess, the bedsheets half pulled off the bed, pillows strewn about the floor, candles burned low, Spotify playing a million Disney medleys that blend together in his ears, his desk covered in papers with slowly deteriorating handwriting and unfinished stories and reminders of things he knows he’ll never get around to.

This hallway is blank and empty with a gray carpet and a slightly different shade of gray for the walls. But it isn’t filled with his own scratchy words, taunting him for his failure, the grandfather clock skipping around as time seems to scrunch up and speed past like it’s falling in dollops down his windows.

When’s the last time he even left his room? He can’t remember.

He really should be working.

He lets his hand fall to his side, picks it up, and hovers over the knocker.

Roman can’t bring himself to knock.

His eyes itch. He’s tired. He should be sleeping, but he doesn’t feel like it. He knows he can’t. Not until he’s wrung out every last idea, scribbled his way to the finish of each story, made something that’s crappy and unrealistic and vapid but something. He’ll settle for a terrible idea that Logan will tear into the next day, as long as it’s an idea, something coherent from the snarled mess that’s inside his head.

He’ll feel better if he eats or sleeps or just takes a break. The voice that tells him that sounds like Logan and Patton. But he doesn’t have time. There’s never enough time. His mind runs ahead of his mouth runs ahead of his hands runs ahead of the clock that ticks steadily in his room, reminding him that time is running out, that his days are numbered and soon he’ll shatter and fail and crumple to the ground and still, it will never be enough.

He needs to go work.

Why won’t his legs move?

Why does he insist on standing here, one arm raised, frozen in limbo?

He needs to work or they’ll all hate him.

Usually, that gets him moving. Today it barely stings. Of course they’ll all hate him. They’ll hate him no matter whether his ideas are complete or not. The only person he creates for is Thomas, and Thomas doesn’t care.

Sometimes deadlines keep him going. Sometimes passion keeps him going. Sometimes validation keeps him going. He has a lot of the first one and none of the last two. His mind is empty at the bottom and leaking from the side. His joints and limbs are mismatched like a doll’s, and he feels out of control of all of them, like he’s just a character in someone else’s story.

He really needs to go work.

Janus can wait.

Janus probably isn’t even awake--it’s sometime past midnight. Or maybe it isn’t midnight yet. Roman can’t quite remember and doesn’t really care about the difference. He’s wearing bunny slippers and has several ink stains on his fingers and probably looks as exhausted as he feels. He shouldn’t be here. He’d just been thinking too much in his room, and he figured if he could finally see Janus, his thoughts would finally shut up and let him work.

Pathetic, he tells himself, and tries to make that be enough to turn away. It should be enough. Fear and panic have always kept him going before. The one thing that gets in the way of any great adventure isn’t fear--fear is what pushes him to rehearse, keeps his mouth shut, helps him scramble to reach a deadline. What gets in his way is apathy. The sick, cotton-filled nights where he’d much rather close his eyes and sink into the hole in his chest than write another word.

He’ll get through it. He always has.

He doesn’t have another choice.

Roman wrenches himself back into his body and walks down the hallway, each step hesitant and disjointed, his mind buzzing and still at the same time.

He’ll come back when he isn’t so busy.

---

The bottles never break, the sorrow never comes.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s late. He’s already had dinner and really should be sleeping, since Logan always says to sleep at ten o’clock and Janus can’t argue with self-care. However, he knows that Roman is up. There’s a small light under the door, flickering, and he knows it’s a candle. At first he was scared it was a fire, but that was just instinctive after dealing with the other Creativity for so long. The burning is controlled and flickers on and off. Occasionally shadows shift and Janus steps back instinctively.

Roman does not open the door.

Good, Janus thinks, although he has to admit he’s disappointed at the same time. Perhaps it would be easier if Roman opened the door. Roman would have questions, surely, but it would rid Janus of the obligation to knock.

He is far too tired to knock. He’s practically leaning on the wall. He should go to bed.

He doesn’t want to go to bed. Not yet.

It’s been a long day. Thomas is struggling with the most recent video idea. Remus has become even more manic and disruptive than usual. Patton is sad, Logan is angry, and Virgil is nowhere to be found.

Of course it’s Janus who has to put the pieces back together and calm everyone down. He’s the self-preservation side. He’s the only one somewhat sturdy after that disaster of an episode.

Still, it’s rather tiresome, he has to admit. This is why he doesn’t help people. You do it once, and suddenly everyone has expectations. Suddenly you’re cast in the role of the Good Guy when Janus has always been comfortable on the other side of the battlefield.

But there’s no time for shoulds and shouldn’ts, doubts and worries, the question of whether he deserves this or not--he has a job to do. The world is collapsing, Thomas is struggling, so Janus will tie rope around all the sides’ wrists and puppet them back into position. An unsavory metaphor but an accurate one. He is not their friend, sitting with them until they calm down. He is just playing a part. He’s been called on to steady the ship, and he will do that, because that is his job.

He is not their friend. He only lets them call him that because it gets him what he wants.

That is just how things are, and nothing can change that.

He could leave them behind entirely and go back to how things were. He’s thought about that more than once. He could crawl back into the darkness and lie on a messy couch and watch Good Omens and laugh whenever he hears a white lie. However, things have changed, for better or for worse. Regrets and would-have-beens are other things Janus is not built for, cannot allow. The truth is that the past is the past. He cannot rewrite the story, only play his part to perfection, a hollow face with a useless name and a meaningless place among the sides he barely cares for.

He’s tired. He wants to go to sleep.

But Deceit cannot sleep when he still needs to glue in the cracks.

And he knows Roman should be on his list of Ridiculous Idiots to Help. He knows he should be talking to Roman right now. He knows it’s his job to check in on Roman, who has been more frazzled and angry every time Janus sees him, barely noticing when Patton says hello.

Roman might not want to see him.

And Janus really wants to sleep.

It’s a coward’s move to turn away from the door. But it’s what Janus does, because Janus is self-preservation and cowardly and selfish and that is what he is. It is all he is ever going to be. Pull off his gloves and scrape beneath his scales, and there is nothing there at all, nothing but a name and a title and an ever-shifting voice.

He can imitate any side he likes, help any side he wants, and hurt any side he chooses. Whenever his own desires and emotions get in the way, it only ends in turmoil and trouble and hurt.

He shouldn’t have even shared his name. Not because of Roman’s response, but because now everyone believes he’s their friend, a person in his own right, someone they’re capable of getting to know.

It’s Janus’ greatest lie, and it’s the one he hates the most.

He wants to sleep.

Janus is not in the mood to play pretend with Roman, to bait him into forgiveness, to pacify him with lies. Janus is in the mood to snap back. To bare his teeth and poke at weak spots and say whatever it takes for him to be left alone. He’s bubbling up with emotion and his walls are turning to swords. He can’t talk to Roman like this unless he wants Roman to stab him through the heart.

Janus groans and kicks angrily at the wall. It hurts. He enjoys the sensation of doing something other than sitting still and playing nice.

He’s going to go sleep.

He’ll come back when he’s less tired.

---

So come on, let me in.

Roman is standing at Janus’ door.

He wrote a letter this time. It took him an embarrassing number of drafts to get it, and he’s still not entirely happy with it, and he’s pretty sure he misspelled something in the third paragraph. He’d ask Logan for help, but Logan’s been prickly ever since Janus replaced him--and they were never on the best of terms to begin with. Logan, Roman is pretty sure, would gladly exchange him for another Creativity.

It stings in the way that only the truth does.

His letter is crumpled in his hand. He could simply slip it under the door and disappear. But he feels the urge to explain it, apologize for it, try to say something for himself instead of hiding behind shields of sentences. If only he could figure out what to say.

The letter is simple. It’s an apology and a request to try and work together. Roman ended up going for a short and sweet letter, even though it goes against all his instincts. Being extra like Roman usually is might not be the best idea. Being Roman might not be the best idea. If he wants to convince Janus that he’s not a bad guy, he should act like a little less of a self-centered, impulsive, cruel side with no tact and intelligence.

Wait. Why is this about convincing Janus that he’s not a bad guy? This is about apologizing. All Roman needs to do is apologize. It didn’t matter if Janus thinks he’s the bad twin--Janus has a point, after all.

Roman shakes his head. He shouldn’t be focused on what Janus said. They were just words and he could handle them. He’s the one that needs to apologize. Then Janus could forgive him and things could go back to normal--

Wait.

Was that why he was apologizing? Because it gets him what he wants?

Roman swallows and backs away from the door, letter limp in his hand. No. That can’t be right. He’s guilty. Some days he feels the guilt might tear him apart at the seams, rip through his blood vessels, curl around his heart and strangle his lungs until there’s nothing left but ash.

That’s a very Remus thought.

Roman shakes his head violently but it can’t dislodge the voice in his head. Evil twin.

This doesn’t matter! He doesn’t need to think about this. He can just drop off the letter for Janus and be on his way. He doesn’t need to try and apologize, or ask Janus what he meant by evil, or ask if Janus wants to replace him or if he’s already trying or if everyone’s decided Roman is worthless and needs to be replaced. He’s heard nothing about that, but he’s been in his room. For all he knows, Janus could be ousting him from his spot.

That should make him furious. Why doesn’t it make him furious? Where’s that burning passion that always gets him into trouble?

Is it because Janus is right?

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t cry. He needs to knock on Janus’ door and hand him the letter. He doesn’t even have to say anything. The letter--the stupid, poorly-written, not-enough-to-take-back-everything letter--can do the talking for him.

He could say he’s sorry. He could say, why did you say what you said? He could say, are you the bad guy? He could say, am I?

He could say a million things. None of them would give him the right answers and none of them would be enough to fix things.

All he has is one stupid letter.

Roman leaves it on the ground by Janus’ door and walks away,

Ten minutes later, he walks back over. The letter is still there. Roman grabs it and rips it into pieces. It spirals around his feet like confetti. He snaps his fingers and the little pieces burst into flames and blacken, crumbling to bits of ash. He kicks the ash into the corners of the hallway and walks away, hands clenched, chin high.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will be the sun.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He knows Roman has been nearby. Janus’ hallway now smells like smoke. It could be Remus, of course, but Remus wouldn’t light a fire without making a big deal out of it. So Roman lit something on fire in front of his door, whatever that means.

Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel worried.

He’s here to confront Roman about the fire, nothing else. It should be in and out. “Hello, Roman, might I inquire why you burned something in front of my door? And could you tell me how to get rid of the smell? It would be very kind of you.”

Of course, Janus’ hands have to betray him, and he’s stuck hovering around Roman’s door as if it’s shielded from him. He summons another hand, then another, then all of them. They all curl their fists and rise up to meet the door. None of them fall. None of them make a sound.

Janus almost hisses in frustration. Why is this so hard? What is he so afraid of?

He’s not supposed to be afraid. He’s Deceit. He’s faced down the worst parts of Thomas’ psyche. He’s tamed wild monsters in the Subconscious, gone toe-to-toe with Remus, dealt with Virgil when he was wild and fiery and didn’t know how to stop fighting. He holds the key to every secret Thomas has ever possessed. He doesn’t get scared.

And yet, a simple closed door is enough to bring him down.

Pathetic, he thinks. Then he catches himself. Negative self-talk is unhealthy. Even though it seems to be everywhere these days, his mind falling into old habits and ruts he didn’t know existed, slipping and sliding down a slope until he’s left spiraling and wondering if he’ll ever be able to fix things, if he’ll ever be more than a liar, if being Janus means anything at all or if he’s just fooling himself into believing he could ever have a family--

Janus clenches his fists. Not the time. He needs to talk to Roman.

And say what? Roman, I’m sorry. Roman, don’t hate me. Roman, you’re affecting Thomas. Roman, Patton is worried for you. Roman, I’m worried for you.

Roman, why did you light a fire outside my room?

Roman, why did it take so little work to break you?

He hadn’t even meant to. He always aims to protect Creativity, and well-placed flattery was the best tactic to lure Roman out of Patton’s grasp. He didn’t count on the insecurities beneath the surface that burst into being the moment Roman saw himself as a failure. They were just compliments. It was just a little manipulation. He hadn’t meant to--hadn’t meant to make Roman cry.

Some grand puppet master, hurting the one person he needed on his side.

This is why he can’t be trusted. This is why he isn’t meant up here in the light side. He isn’t good and pure. All he does is destroy things, people, dreams. He should have learned his lesson from Virgil. Instead, he jumped in where he wasn’t wanted and miscalculated the landing, and now Creativity is sulking with the door closed.

Creativity is broken.

Maybe he’s always been--maybe it just took Janus to throw all the fractures into the light.

Janus is good at unearthing secrets. He’s less good at dealing with the messy aftermath. Yet here he is, struggling to knock on a door, running through every word in his head. He is a master of deception, the lord of the lies, a silver-tongued trickster who could slip into skins and play any part he wishes. Yet he runs dry when thinking of what to say to Roman. There is nothing he can say.

Roman is only feet away, but so far beyond Janus’ reach.

Janus leans against the wall, two arms hugging himself, one hand reaching up to grab a fistful of hair, another covering his mouth. His final two still hover over Roman’s door, but Janus might as well have lost control of them entirely, since they refuse to knock.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Roman would surely take well to Janus’ interruption. And Janus doesn’t feel like being mocked for the state he is in--reduced to shudders, holding back tears, as if he has a right to be upset. As if he should be upset. He needs to pull himself together. He’s better than this.

Janus tightens his hand over his mouth. He can barely breathe. Was that what it felt like when he did the same to Logan? To Roman, to Patton, to Virgil? His gloves are soft and rough at the same time. Janus remembers taking one off, holding his hand up, feeling so exposed. He let down all his barriers--and he should have known that would backfire, he was Deceit, he wasn’t meant for truth and openness and friendship. He’d let his guard down and he’d gotten hurt.

Of course, it didn’t hurt him. At all.

Hello, Roman. Sorry about tearing into your insecurities and everything, but could you please apologize for making fun of my name?

Pathetic, Janus thinks again, and this time he doesn’t bother to stop himself. He is pathetic and a mess and about three seconds away from crying in front of Roman’s door.

Janus sighs and turns away, vanishing his extra arms into his cloak, leaving Roman’s door behind him. He supposes he’ll never know about the fire. He supposes it doesn’t really matter at all.

He’ll come back when he thinks of what to say.

---

I will wake you up.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

He’s angry. Perhaps more furious than he should be, under the circumstances, but he kind of enjoys the way the anger sparks in his chest. It makes him feel more awake and in control than he has for months.

He’s not even sure what he’s angry at. It could be anything. The obvious answer is the fun little exchange he had with Thomas this morning--Thomas wants to bring Remus into more of their discussions. Thomas wants to “explore different directions in his content.” Thomas wants the other twin.

Thomas swears he wants Roman there, too, but Roman sees what this is really about. This is the beginning. This is how it starts--one word, one offer to join in movie nights, and soon Remus will be taking his place. Roman will be ousted from his seat at the table and be thrown into the darker side of Thomas’ mind. Forgotten, ignored, hated.

He’s known this was coming. He knows he deserves it.

But to actually hear it from Thomas himself--it stings. It aches and claws at him until he turns to anger, because anger is safe and anger allows him to find someone else to blame. Or maybe he didn’t choose anger. Maybe anger just came of its own accord, because emotions don’t always make sense, and Logan does always call Roman irrational.

He’s standing in front of Janus’ door and has the urge to pummel it to the ground.

Stupid Janus. Sneaky snake. Slimy boy. A two-faced trickster with a silver tongue and silly gloves. Why had Roman even considered apologizing to him? Janus doesn’t deserve it. He hasn’t--he hasn’t even tried to talk to Roman after everything. He’s just let Roman sit in his misery forever.

Maybe Roman doesn’t deserve an apology, but he’d sure as hell like one.

Maybe he’ll apologize too. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll leave Janus hanging, unsure of their position, struggling to get a grasp on whether Roman is serious or lying or hates Janus or hates himself or just wants some peace and quiet. Maybe he’ll make Janus confused, like Roman is every single day, and he can finally see Janus’ face when his insufferable righteous in-control expression falls away.

He’ll see the Janus behind the mask.

And maybe everything will make sense then. Maybe nothing will. Maybe Roman’s just grasping at straws, clawing at the sides of the hole he’s falling into, desperately reaching for anything that will keep him from

He’s wearing his prince costume. It feels wrong and itchy around his shoulders. Too square, too gaudy, too ridiculously heroic. He got black ink stained on the shirt yesterday and panicked because he thought the Mindscape was turning him evil already. He should have known. Evil is a choice, in the end, and soon Roman will have to make that choice. Let himself fall, for the good of everyone, and learn what it’s like on the dark side.

Broadway, here he comes.

Still. Not yet. Roman has always been irritatingly persistent. And he needs to talk to Janus. Yell at Janus. Shake Janus until he gets answers to every question in his head. He doesn’t know what he’ll ask, but hopefully Janus will know, because Janus knows Roman better than Roman knows himself.

Roman raises his hand to knock on the door.

He taps quietly, once, twice.

The door creaks open.

Roman steps forward and looks into the room. It’s empty and still. There’s a surprising amount of dust on every surface. Books line the walls, almost more books than Logan’s room, and there’s a record player by an armchair, and some small lamps that glow the same shade as Janus’ eyes. His bed is old and mahogany and the sheets are rumpled.

Janus must be out, then. Perhaps talking with Remus or arguing with Virgil or debating with Logan or baking with Patton. Maybe he’s talking to Thomas, thinking through how they’ll break the news to Roman that he’s useless, that they’ve decided to lock him in his room and shove him into the back of the mind where he can’t mess up anything else.

The thought is burning and furious and climbs up Roman’s throat. His hand goes to his sword. He looks around at the room, dim and serene.

He could destroy it, if he wanted. He could tear it to pieces. He could burn the books on the walls, slice through the carpet on the floor, throw the record player against the wall and watch it break in two. He could open up the floorboards and read through the books and check under the bed and try to find something that tells him more about Janus, that’s something real and tangible beneath a million layers of deception.

He could. He wants to. He wants to so badly, and this is why he never gives himself what he wants, because desire is a sickening sensation that scares him.

He could destroy everything.

He is Creativity--he is meant to create. But if his title means nothing, what’s wrong with using the other side of the coin?

He could burn this place to the ground.

Everything is so still and perfect. It’s all waiting for Janus. Roman can almost picture him curled up in that recliner, reading a book, humming along to a song on the record player. His hair falling over his face, his capelet messed up, his eyes half-closed.

It’s a beautiful room. Elegant and refined. He should have expected nothing less.

It seems wrong for Roman to destroy it.

Right and wrong have gotten him in trouble before. He’s no authority on the subject. He is wrong. All he does is wrong. That’s what Patton thinks, he’s sure of it, and that’s what Thomas thinks. That’s what Janus thinks. Deep down, it’s what Roman thinks, too.

He is not going to add one more mistake to his tally. He is already falling--there’s no need to tug anyone down with him.

Roman steps out and closes the door.

He’ll come back when Janus is there.

---

I am who I was.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

He vowed to only come back when he thought of what to say. However, he’s already breaking that promise. He’s in this accursed hallway again, lurking in the shadows like the villain he is, eyeing the door and wondering if it’ll spring open of its own accord.

He shouldn’t be here, of course, but his mind won’t leave him alone.

He wishes Roman would just talk to him and make things simple. But Roman appears to have no interest in communication. Roman has been avoiding him, cutting him off, slipping out of every room Janus enters. It would be irritating--it is irritating--but Janus is more concerned than irritated.

That, in itself, is irritating. He shouldn’t be so worried about Roman. He should be furious with the side, not appearing at his door once again, preparing to apologize when he’s received nothing of the sort in return.

He should just leave Roman alone.

But he’s worried.

Maybe he should just shelve the apologies for now. Maybe he should simply knock on Roman’s door and see if he’s okay.

That sounds like a better plan than stammering through apologies he’s not sure if he means, throwing away every mote of dignity he has left, shattering every wall he’d work so hard to build.

Janus raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open.

Janus stumbles backwards, tripping over his feet and barely managing to steady himself, trying to look like he was just walking past and not standing in front of Roman’s door like a stalker.

It must not work, because Roman scowls deeply and asks “What are you doing?”

“I...” Janus pulls his capelet tighter around him and tries not to panic. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Make it quick,” Roman says. His eyes are red and there’s a smear of ink down his cheek. Janus has the urge to reach out and wipe it off.

“I was worried,” Janus finally says. “I am worried.”

“About what?” Roman asks.

“You.”

That gets Janus an even darker glare.

“Everything’s under control,” Roman spits out. “No thanks to you.”

“Are you sure?” Janus finds himself asking. “You’ve been--”

“I’ve been what?” Roman’s lip curls. “I’m doing fine. I’m doing my job. I have so many ideas, you wouldn’t believe. If there’s a problem with what I create, it’s because you won’t leave me alone.”

“That’s not what I--” Janus swallows. “I’m not concerned with your output.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve already decided it’s not worth anything.” Roman looks Janus up and down. “Still wearing that? Thought you’d get a wardrobe change now that you’re officially one of the good guys.”

“I like this,” Janus says weakly.

“Don’t see why you do. It looks like a curtain swallowed you whole.”

Bile rises up in Janus’ throat. “And you certainly look like the pinnacle of fashion,” he snaps back before he can stop himself. “You’re giving Virgil a run for his money with those eye bags. I thought princes were supposed to be poised.”

He seems to have hit a nerve, because Roman’s eyes flame. There’s no other word for it. They snap and crackle like a bonfire.

“What are you still doing here?” Roman grits out. “I’m busy.”

“Like I said, I’m worried.” Janus holds up his hands. “But clearly, I shouldn’t bother.”

“No, you shouldn’t!” It’s almost a scream. “I don’t need you here! I’m doing fine!”

“You do know who you’re trying to lie to, right?”

“Yes, I do.” Roman sneers. “Deceit. I know exactly what you are. And you will never take my place, understand me? I am never going to be a villain. I know you want to oust me, but you’re powerless. You’re a two-faced trickster with a million lies who doesn’t care about anything, and I’m Thomas’ Creativity. You go up against me, and I will win every time.”

“Is that a threat?” Janus asks, his mind whirling.

“It’s going to be if you don’t leave.”

“Look, listen--” Janus spreads his hands. “I’m just trying to help, no one is replacing anyone, if you’d just listen to me for once in your life--”

“I listened to you and that’s why I’m here.” Roman waves a hand. “I’m done hearing what you have to say. Leave me alone.”

“But--”

“Leave!”

Roman slams his door loud enough to rattle the walls.

Janus is left standing there, part of him knowing that he probably caught Roman at a bad time, but his chest squeezing despite of that. He shakes his head and tries to think on the bright side. He’s gotten his answer. Roman wants nothing to do with him. Not a surprise, and not something Janus can blame Roman for. So everything was alright. He now has an excuse to go about his day and stop worrying about Roman all the time.

He sighs and turns away from the door, tears rising to his eyes unbidden. He swipes them away. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. He’s heard worse.

Janus leaves, planning to curl in the corner of his room and listen to his favorite playlist and try to scrub Roman’s fiery eyes from his mind.

He’ll come back if it’s desperate.

---

Just open up your heart.

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

Well, no, he isn’t. He’s crumpled in a ball at the foot of it, back pressed against the wood, arms around his knees and his head tucked between them. He figures he probably started out standing, but he can’t remember. He’s been here for a while. It’s late--maybe past midnight, maybe not. He doesn’t really care. Everything’s dark. He could conjure a light, but that would take energy he doesn’t have, energy that’s going towards trying to stop his breathing from stumbling over itself and stopping.

In and out. In and out. What are the numbers Virgil always uses? Four, five, eight? No, four, five, six. Does it even start with four? He should remember this. Why is he so stupid?

In. Out. In. Out. His breathing is shallow and too deep at the same time. It rasps at the edge of his lungs. He squeezes tighter at his thighs. His throat is choking up. At this rate, he’ll be crying or fainting soon enough. He hopes it’s the second one. He wouldn’t mind just going blank for awhile. Everything’s so loud in his head.

He’s crying now. Great. Never gets what he wants, does he?

He tries to rub away the tears. They keep coming. They drip over his hands and burn like fire. They trickle down his skin and he tries to scratch at them to make them go away. All that happens is irritated red skin.

Something’s itching and tugging inside him. He wants to grab it out of his chest and unspool it until he feels less like he’s trapped in someone else’s skin, thin and papery and about to shatter under his fingers.

In. Out. In. Out.

Breathing is so simple. Why can’t he do it? Why won’t it work? Why does he have to mess everything up like he always does?

He should at least move. He should sink out. He should get away from Janus’ door. What if Janus sees him like this?

Then again, that’s all he wants, isn’t it?

He wants Janus to see him. He wants to look Janus in the face. And he wants to beg for forgiveness.

He wants to--he wants to say sorry.

Say everything.

He wants to tell Janus his name isn’t stupid--it’s beautiful and unique and drips with the mythological implications that Roman loves. God of doorways. Beginnings and endings. Two-faced. There’s room enough for both evil and good in Janus. There can be both friend and foe. He may have ended things for Roman, but he’s also found the beginning of something new, and as a fellow creator Roman can respect the change Janus has wrought.

Janus is wondrous and hilarious and smart and so, so worthy of the place he’s finally received.

And he’s worried about Roman.

And Roman yelled at him.

Because Roman can’t stand the idea--the fact--that he’s going to be replaced. He’s such a coward. He thought he could step down gracefully, but he had to claw his way back to a place he isn’t wanted, because he’s desperate. He’s so desperate. He would do anything to get Janus’ approval. Or Patton’s, or Logan’s, or Thomas’. He would do anything in the world to be loved.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic--

Roman curls tighter.

Maybe he won’t mind being a dark side if it gets the knives in his lungs to stop slicing deeper.

Maybe he should just duck out before he causes any more trouble.

Everything’s itching and spinning and his breath comes in short gasps and he can no longer tell if he’s breathing in or out.

He closes his eyes, opens them again, blinks away the tears clustered on his lashes, tries to tighten his grip on his legs so he can finally be crushed into little pieces or feel safe or pretend that someone is there with him, running him through exercises, saying that he’s worthy and loved and still a hero even when he’s crumpled on the ground with a heaving chest and wrinkled pajamas.

Logan would do it. Maybe. If Roman asked. Logan would calm him down, at least. Maybe Virgil would, too.

They’re nice that way.

They’d calm him down.

Then they’d kick him out and say he’s too weak to ever be a prince.

He should leave. Why is he still here? Why can’t he move?

Why is everything collapsing around him?

Why is he such a failure?

He’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s going to die. He’s going to fall to pieces in this hallway and they’ll find his burned edges tomorrow morning and they’ll kick the ashes into the corners and move on.

He needs to go.

He doesn’t want to go.

He wants to slam his fist into Janus’ door and break it down and collapse around Janus and sob into his shoulder and promise he’ll be better, promise he’ll make things right, if Janus just gives him one more chance and opens up his heart--

Roman takes a long shaky breath.

In. And out. In. And out.

You’re doing good, says a voice that might be Logan’s and might be Virgil’s and somehow manages to cut through the haze in his head. Keep breathing.

In, out, in, out.

Roman lets his head loll forward. He’s done. He’s exhausted. He wants to curl up under his blankets and sleep forever.

He raises one hand.

He could knock on the door.

Janus is probably asleep.

Janus hates him.

Janus is right to hate him.

He needs to go.

Roman closes his eyes and lets his head thunk against Janus’ door. Cold and stiff and hard and telling him to go.

Roman snaps his fingers and sinks out.

He’ll come back when he’s less desperate.

---

I know I could be more clever, and I know I could be more strong.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It wasn’t his idea this time. He’d been perfectly happy avoiding Roman any chance he got. But Virgil had come running into Janus’ room, insisting that Roman had been on-and-off panicking for the past few days, and begging Janus to do something about it.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Janus had said. “I’m not exactly the best side for the job, and I’m sure he’d love to see me.”

“Please,” Virgil had said.

Janus had always been weak for Virgil, a fact he abhorred, and Virgil was asking him for help. Janus. Virgil trusted Janus to help Roman, even though Janus had done nothing but help Roman sink to even greater depths.

What was Janus supposed to do, just turn Virgil away?

So now he’s here, knocking twice on Roman’s door, ignoring the nerves that crawl up his throat and tickle under his scales. He hopes Roman isn’t here. He hopes Roman is in a good mood. He hopes Roman is okay.

There’s no answer.

Janus knocks harder.

“Go away,” he hears.

Janus contemplates shifting into Patton or Virgil or someone else. But Roman is remarkably good at catching him in disguise, and the idea just feels wrong to him. Besides, that would certainly get Roman to trust him--once again impersonating one of his closest friends.

Janus knocks once more.

“Go away, Patton,” Roman calls.

Janus opens his mouth to correct Roman and finds that it’s gone too dry for speech.

He settles for knocking again.

“I’m coming!” There are rustling noises. The irritation in Roman’s voice is plain, but so is the fatigue, and so is a crackling, cutting edge that betrays he’s upset.

The door flies open. “I told you, Patton, I’m not coming to dinner--”

Janus waves sheepishly.

Roman stares at Janus for a few very long seconds.

“Roman?” Janus asks. “I...I came to check on you, Virgil says you’ve been upset lately and you seemed rather--volatile when we last spoke. So...I...is everything alright? Would you like to talk?” He laughs to himself. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I could fetch Patton, or--”

Roman keeps staring at Janus.

“Roman?” Janus asks again.

And Roman bursts into tears.

He tries to stifle them, if the way he presses a fist to his mouth is any indication, but it doesn’t work. Tears drip from his eyes and he starts sobbing softly. It’s a pathetic sound and it makes Janus’ chest ache.

“Hey,” Janus says frantically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“‘S not your fault,” Roman chokes out between sobs, “just bein’ stupid--”

“You--” Janus gives up on words and reaches out, touching Roman’s shoulder. He expects Roman to throw himself away from the touch. Instead, Roman whines and throws himself forward, latching onto Janus’ clothes and curling up against his chest.

Janus bites back a gasp--when was the last time he’s been hugged? He doesn’t remember--and slowly slides to the floor, bringing Roman with him. He sits in the doorway with Roman practically in his lap, sobbing into his shoulder.

He expects Roman to stop crying soon. He waits for Roman to realize exactly what he’s doing--that he’s in the arms of a side he hates. But Roman doesn’t. He must be really upset.

Janus swallows and shifts into Patton’s form. A cat hoodie settles around his shoulders and he clucks his tongue, running his hands through Roman’s hair.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says in a voice that’s not his own, “let it out, okay? Let it out.”

Roman makes an unidentifiable wailing noise and pushes at Janus’ shoulder.

Not Patton, then. Janus slouches and lets a purple hoodie form around his arms. It’s surprisingly comfortable. He huffs, his bangs fluttering a bit, and rubs circles in Roman’s back.

“What happened, Princey?” he asks in Virgil’s growling tones. “Who do I need to yell at?”

Roman shakes his head vehemently.

So Janus straightens again--as much as he can, he’s still gay, and why is he making ridiculous jokes when Creativity is crying into his shoulder--and a tie knots itself around his neck.

“Breathe in for four,” he instructs in Logan’s clipped voice. “Hold for seven, out for eight. You are figuratively breaking down and you need to steady yourself.”

Roman flinches away.

Janus switches back to Virgil, because he’s feeling anxious and he’s run out of people and Virgil seems to be the person Roman likes the most.

“Stop,” Roman pleads, looking up into Janus’ face that isn’t Janus’ face. His eyes are red and tears cling to his eyelashes.

“I don’t know what you want,” Janus blurts out. “I can be Thomas, I can get the real Thomas, I can leave you alone--”

“Don’t leave.” Roman clings to him tighter. “Don’t.”

“Thomas, then?” Janus coughs and shifts into Thomas. It’s the hardest one yet and it makes him feel rather bad. He’s never impersonated Thomas before. That’s been an internal rule for him--Thomas is off-limits. But if Roman needs it... “Keep breathing, buddy--”

“Stop!” Roman yells. “Stop pretending to be people!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Janus asks, his panic probably showing. “What do you want me to be?”

“You!” Roman shakes his head. “You’re who I want, stop hiding and just be you.”

Janus is silent.

Roman starts crying again, making a mess of Janus’ clothes, but he finds himself barely caring.

“Shh,” he says, cupping the back of Roman’s head, remembering all the nights he had to talk Virgil down, the little spider curled up next to him. “Shh, easy, okay? In and out. You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

“I--” Roman stumbles over his words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk. Focus on breathing.”

“I’m sorry!” Roman insists. “I-I’m so sorry, Janus, please--”

“I know.” And Janus finds he does, at least right now. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Roman murmurs into Janus’ shoulder.

Janus smirks. “Don’t tell me what to do, Roman.”

“You--” Roman sits up straight, eyes wide. “You--please don’t make me leave--I’m sorry--I can do better, I promise, I know you want to but I don’t want to leave--”

“Leave?” Janus repeats. “Where on earth are you leaving?”

“H-here.” Roman waves a hand, his face crumpling again. “‘Cause I’m bad. I’m the evil twin.”

Janus feels horror clench in the pit of his stomach. “That is not--I said that as an offhand jab! Roman, you’re not evil--and for that matter, neither is Remus--Roman, listen to me.”

Roman has disappeared into Janus’ arms again, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Listen,” Janus orders. “You’re not leaving. Remus is not replacing you. I have no idea where you got that.”

“You’re lying,” Roman says miserably. “That’s all you do.”

Janus hisses between his teeth. “That’s not--”

“I know. Sorry.”

“It’s not.” Janus pauses. “Your name is Roman. You are the embodiment of Thomas’ creativity. You like Disney and love to write and want to find Thomas the prince of his dreams.”

Roman shifts a little in Janus’ arms.

“You have a brother named Remus that you aren’t proud of. You are friends with Virgil, who you used to dislike. You often fight with Logan but you care for him nonetheless, and he feels the same for you. You are good friends with Patton.”

“Not anymore,” Roman says.

“You are. Things will work out between you two. He still views you as a close friend.” Janus reached out and swept Roman’s hair off his forehead. “You are Creativity. You are strong, passionate, and indispensable. Everyone here cares deeply about you and forgives you for your mistakes. You are not broken or evil or a dark side.”

Roman shudders.

“I can speak the truth,” Janus says, and it sounds wrong but also so right. “I am not only my lies, and you are not only your mistakes, and I speak the truth when I say that I will never make you leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman says. “I’m so sorry.”

Janus sighs. “I’m sorry, too.”

And they fall silent, with nothing left to say, Roman still clutching Janus like a lifeline, Janus rubbing the back of Roman’s neck and bringing out another arm or two to help keep Roman in place. Roman doesn’t flinch. Janus finds this oddly reassuring.

“It’s late,” Janus finally says. “I’m sure you’re tired after that.”

“Yeah,” Roman admits. “But I’ve got work to do, I can’t just--”

“You can’t possibly get any work done in this state, unless your creativity is increased by mental breakdowns.” Janus sighs and pulls Roman to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears. “Go to sleep, Roman. I’ll be able to tell if you haven’t.”

“Creepy,” Roman mutters, but he grins shyly and turns to go into his room.

"Roman?” Janus asks before he can talk himself out of it.

“Yes, Nag-gini?”

“Ouch,” Janus says blandly, to convey that he isn’t hurt at all. On the contrary, the nickname makes him feel somewhat bouncy. Ridiculous emotions. “I wanted to...extend an invitation, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Janus tucks one hand behind his back so he can fidget. “I...my room. Tomorrow afternoon at three or so? Just knock on the door.”

“What’ll we do?” Roman asks.

“Whatever we feel like.” Janus swallows. “Of course it’s perfectly understandable if you wish to spend your time elsewhere, I was only raising the possibility--”

“Calm down, you sound like Logan.” Roman laughs a bit. “‘Course I’ll come. Um--thanks.”

“It’s no trouble,” Janus says smoothly, neatly avoiding mentioning the several weeks he’s spent trying to work up the nerve to talk to Roman. “I’ll see you then. Now get some rest or I’ll send Remus to knock you out.”

Roman laughs again. It sends fluttering happiness through Janus’ chest. He hasn’t heard Roman laugh for weeks.

“Bye,” Roman says, closing the door and waving.

“Goodbye,” Janus says back.

Janus lingers for a few more moments before turning away.

He’ll come back soon enough.

---

I'm waiting for the day you come back and say "Hey, maybe I should change my mind."

Roman is standing in front of Janus’ door.

It should be easier this time around. He’s been invited! Janus expects him to knock on this door, and if he hasn’t suddenly decided he hates Roman again, Janus will welcome him in.

What if he has changed his mind?

No, that’s ridiculous. Janus wouldn’t do that. He’s steady and ridiculously one-note--if he says one thing, he sticks by it.

He said Roman was the evil twin.

Then he said Roman wasn’t.

And he’s a liar, a trickster, so Roman can’t figure out which one is right.

One was said during a fit of anger. The other was said to calm Roman down. One is the truth, one is a lie, and Roman knows well enough that he’s very bad at telling when Janus is lying. Maybe Janus only complimented him to manipulate him later--maybe it was all flattery--maybe it was a joke Roman was too stupid to get--

Roman’s mind is spinning. He needs to stop overthinking this or he’ll start panicking again. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Janus invited him and it’s going to be fine--

Unless this is a trap. Maybe everyone’s waiting in there, ready to send Roman to the Dark Side. Or maybe it’s a test, and Janus will interview him, see if he’s realy changed. And he’ll find ouut that Roman hasn’t. That Roman is a failure and always will be.

He doesn’t want those piercing eyes staring him down.

If Janus can sense lies, he’ll know all the things Roman lied about.

Is he lying? Is he telling the truth? Roman runs back and forth in his head, exploring every possibility, but it all comes down to the fact that he doesn’t know Janus at all. Janus could be doing anything with this. He could have changed his mind and Roman could be pushing himself into a space he isn’t wanted. He should just leave before he causes any more trouble--

“Roman?”

Roman flinches back as the door opens.

And Janus smiles. “There you are. Come inside!”

Roman does, hesitantly, still feeling like any moment the other shoe will fall. He tries to look around at Janus’ rom like he’s never seen it before. Janus would surely be mad if he learned Roman had snuck into it before.

“What are we doing?” Roman asks after Janus has settled into his armchair and Roman has perched on the edge of the bed.

“A little bird told me you’re struggling with your ideas,” Janus says, pulling a few books off the shelf. “I figured a change of scenery might help? And I fancy myself rather good at telling tales.”

“Really?” Roman asks.

“Of course.” Janus smirks. “Would I lie to you?”

Roman’s indecision must show on his face, because Janus sinks a little bit and sighs.

“I know you can’t trust me,” Janus says quietly, “but I really am just trying to help.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman agrees.

“You shouldn’t.” Janus nods. “It’s not wise.”

“I don’t trust Deceit,” Roman says again. “But...I think I could trust Janus. If I got to know him a bit.”

Something flashes across Janus’ face. “Janus doesn’t exist.”

“It’s you.”

“No, it’s not, it’s--” Janus is getting worked up now, and Roman has no idea what he did. “I can’t explain it. Janus isn’t real. Deceit is who I am.”

“Janus is real,” Roman argues, because he doesn’t know Janus that well but even he knows that.

“No it’s not! I’m not!” Janus throws up his hands. “I’m a liar, I’m a fake, I’m a fraud, why don’t you get that?”

“You’re not.” Roman leans forward. “You’re a dork and ridiculously dramatic and you like musicals and you don’t like being wrong and you look good in a suit and you can pull off a hat the way I can’t and you love sarcasm and--” Roman shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not Deceit. That’s Janus. And I’d like to see a little more of him sometimes.”

“Don’t...” Janus pauses. “Just...I’d like not to be Janus. For a while. Janus...I’m scared of that. I’d just like something between Deceit and Janus, if that’s alright. ”

“Dee?” Roman asks. “Does that work?”

“Dee,” Janus repeats. “That’s...” A smile flashes over his face. A real smile. “I like that.”

“Dee, then.” Roman smiles. “Aladdin?”

“Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Snow White.”

“Black Cauldron.”

Roman grins wider. “The Incredibles?”

Janus laughs. “Not Disney.”

“Pixar, and we’re doing it.” Roman pauses, searching for words. “Um... you alright, Janus? Are we...good?”

Janus is silent for a long time.

“We could be,” Janus says. “I think we’re getting there.”

“Great,” Roman says. And finds he means it. Things aren’t perfect, but he can get better. He knows that.

Roman can leave some things unspoken for now. Janus hears them anyway.

And he’ll come back to them when he’s ready.

---

I was out on the town so I came to your window last night.

Janus is standing in front of Roman’s door.

It’s open, so he slips inside, sits next to Roman on the bed, and stares at the swirls of paint across the ceiling. They look like the currents of an ocean, the sweep of galaxies across the sky.

“Everything’s changing,” Roman says.

“Yes,” Janus says.

“I don’t like change.”

“Nobody does.”

“This...this is good change, though.” Roman pauses. “Right?”

Janus thinks of the discussions they’ve had. The way Thomas is really trying to put himself first when necessary. Patton’s cookies, Logan’s debates, Remus’ little octopus plushies that he gifted them all after getting accepted. Virgil, who gave Janus a quick “sorry” over breakfast cereal, and somehow that said everything that needed to be said.

He thinks of Roman. How wrong he was about Roman. Roman is not broken and never has been--he simply stumbled, and with help, he is rising again. He smiles more often. He sings along to Disney movies. He laughs at Patton’s puns. He’s started reading wit Logan in the afternoons. He’s even sparring with his brother, and it seems less vindictive than it used to be, as if it’s only a playfight now.

Roman is happier. Not happy, not perfect, but better.

And Janus feels...a little better, too.

“It’s good change,” Janus agrees.

“You want to do some Shakespeare?” Roman offers.

“I was thinking Dante’s Inferno,” Janus responds, like he always does.

“Boring,” Roman says like always, wrinkling his nose. “Disney?”

“Disney,” Janus agrees.

“I’ll get it ready, Janus--” Roman pauses. “Um...is Janus good today?”

Janus thinks about it. Because Janus has connotations and weighty moments and Roman’s laughter still rings in his ears. He doesn’t want to be Deceit. He’s scared to be Janus. He wants a little space in between, to find out who he is without the lies, to find out how he could be...more. More than his job. Maybe a friend, maybe a confidant, maybe somebody worthy.

Janus could be that. If he wanted.

Some days Janus crawls over his skin, wrong and itchy and reminding him of how much of a lie he is. Today it settles in place--strange and a little new, but not bad. A change. Not a bad change.

Sometimes things need to change.

Sometimes you need to talk a leap of faith and knock on the door.

“Janus is alright.” Janus smiles. “Janus is good, actually.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees, smiling back, “he is.”

The door is open. It’s remained so for weeks. And even if it wasn’t, Janus would find the courage to knock. Because he knows Roman would do the same for him.

He’ll always come back.

He’ll always try again.

---

Now I'm causing a scene,

thinking you need a reason to smile.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

Taglist sourced from @the-taglist-repository:

@callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @idont-freaking-know @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks @aceawkwardunicorn @just-your-typical-trans-guy @legendsgates @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @k1ngtok1 @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @potatsanderssides @arya-skywalker @somehow-i-got-an-account @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @locked-prism @kieraelieson @rainbowbowtie @10moonymhrivertam @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

#roceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #janus sanders #averywrites #tw panic attack #tw anxiety #crying #angst #angst with a happy ending #roman angst #janus angst #roceit angst #platonic roceit #well actually kind of debatable? i'm sticking with platonic tho #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction

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watchinglikeafangirl · 3 years

Text

Lovely Writer episode 9 - analysis

Since I need to distract myself from the exam tomorrow, I figured, I would interest you in a new Lovely Writer analysis because oh boy did much happen yesterday... Gene and Nubsib took things next level again, Aoey showed his true colors and thankfully we didn't see very much of the director because I wanna punch him so badly.

Aoey

This whole episode starts with Aoey more or less inviting Gene to spend time with him. I think the tension and uncormfortness Gene feels is well portrayed here. Aoey is in a bar which doesn't seem to have any windows which already makes us feel imprisoned. Even though the color scheme focusses on earth tones, which are normally very calming, all those light bulbs in the background mixed with Aoey's clothes, all in one color only, make this scene even more uncomforting. Aoey seems dangerous only wearing a neutral color because nothing of his personality shines through and we fear he holds back because it's ugly. This whole scenery seems to scream "Gene doesn't want to be here".

Then, Aoey starts to talk and we know why we feel like this. The tension is extremely uncomfortable and I cringed about it - not in a negative way - because I was so scared what Aoey was going to do. This scene underlines one more time that Aoey feels unloved and unworthy of love.

Stop loving Nubsib. Love me. I'm cute too.

It gets more precise when Aoey talks to Mhok and rejects him not because he doesn't like him back but because he hates himself so much. He feels pathetic. He feels worthless. He has very low self-esteem and messes things up to make people hate him. He is his own enemy. Mhok doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to help him emotionally because Aoey pushes him away. At the same time, Aoey is thankful for Gene not hating him even though Gene has every reason to. Gene is someone he hangs on to, like Gene is his redemption. But Aoey will never reach redemption if he continues to do stuff to convince people otherwise. His character is very dark and lonely and lost.

Gene and Nubsib

They take two next steps this episode. First, they have their first time and second, they tell their parents about the relationship.

First of all, their first time has a weird aftertaste. I believe Gene wanted to do it with Nubsib for some time now but wasn't quite ready and now felt the pressure of "getting it over with" because he thought Nubsib took viagra. It's not like he doesn't love Nubsib or anything, but I feel like he wasn't entirely ready and forced himself a bit. Nubsib, thankfully, felt this vibe too and even asks him about it but there's nothing more he can do than ask and if Gene says he's fine, then Nubsib can only believe him. When Gene discovers Nubsib actually didn't take any viagra, he's a bit shocked. This raises the question in me if he really wanted it. But well, he doesn't exactlu panic about it, so maybe he really was very sure in this moment.

What I definetely didn't see coming was their outing. I thought it would take a while but well, okay, if they are ready, why not? I like the way Gene has changed since he and Nubsib got together. When something is on his mind, he says it. It bothers him their parents don't know about them and he tells Nubsib. They talk about this decision and once Gene is sure, Nubsib just rolls with it reassuring Gene he doesn't have to step out of his comfort zone if he doesn't feel like it.

This dinner was the most awkward dinner I have ever seen and it must've been horrible for Gene and Nubsib to just sit there and listen to the jokes about them being together which already implied it wouldn't be fine if it were true. These jokes last for a few minutes and the mothers talk about the popularity of BLs whilst Gene's father looks very scary. I can literally taste the awkwardness and how uncomfortable they both are.

For these few minutes, when the parents were just joking, I feared Gene wouldn't go through with it because he was usually the kind of guy to back off when such things happened, but not right now.

What if the two of us are really together?

The mood switches from casually joking to extremely serious. This outing and the following make their relationship far more serious and real than before. They don't touch each other like crazy when they are together because it wouldn't've fit with the characters at all. And it's totally right Nubsib only adds an explanation to Gene's question/outing in a verbal way. They still don't touch because they are both overwhelmed by the negative feelings they are faceing. Only when no one says anything, Nubsib takes Gene's hand to comfort both of them and this small touch was all that was needed. They didn't need to hug or even kiss. They also didn't need to make a scene out of it. Them staying in silence hurts even more because it feels so damn realistic. In other BLs, the couple mostly storms off angrily but that's not how you treat your parents. You discuss the matter and talk properly about it or at least give them time to answer no matter what it may be. Here, all of this happens and no one storms off to leave even more awkward silence. It was just as painful as it would be in reality.

BL fans

What makes the dinner even more awkward is the talk between the two mothers about BLs. The way they talk about it makes obvious they like to see it on screen because it's not happening in their real life. They have a distance to it and it's also a huge critic to all those female watchers feteshizing these relationships. They like the kissing and hugging but never reflect on it and ask the question what they would do if they would know someone with any other sexuality than heterosexual. They don't accept it at all when it comes to their sons. What they worshipped is now disgusting and nothing they "can understand". (This sentence "I don't understand it" freaks me out everytime shows pull that because what is there to not understand about love? It just doesn't add up to me what is so not understandable about two people loving and deeply caring about each other.)

Family's reaction

Gene knew his father would not approve because he's a self-hated bisexual and his mother just never raises her voice. In general, the relationship of the parents looks distant. The mother never says anything for her own sake and just exists under the fathers approval. The father loves to have control and now has to learn the hard way gender stereotyping doesn't exist like this any more. Gene can leave the family if he wants to and there's nothing this father can do about it because he doesn't have as much power any more. And also, his sons are not children anymore even though he treats them like they are in order to gain control again.

I want you to go upstairs!

Nubsib lives in a devided and distant family as well. He knew he would not be accepted because like we've seen in the flashbacks and what his dad talked about this episode as well, his parents don't support his choice of being an actor. But he's more worried about Gene because he already went through the phase of not feeling appreciated. Gene didn't. He discovers a new side of his parents and never had such drama with them. After this awful evening, we see the difference between both families nevertheless. Gene's parents cry both on their own but Nubsib's parents sit together on the sofa, symbolizing this unity they always were. They live in a distant world apart from their children. The world of them and Nubsib is disappointed, angry and worried at the same time.

Dad, but Gene and I did nothing wrong.

Cinematography

There are many examples to talk about the beautiful cinematography of Lovely Writer. I will only list the ones which are the most memorable to me.

Like I said above, the bar in the beginning sends out mixed signals of comfort and angst.

In contrast to this, we have Nubsib's bedroom with calm and warm light when he and Gene "take the next step".

The next morning, they brush their teeth in a very bright and white bathroom. Like they reached heaven. It's used to symbolize their happiness and also honesty. Their love is very pure because they mean every word they say and every action they follow.

At the very end, we have both Gene and Nubsib crying in their bedrooms. Gene's bed seems to be huge because he curls up. He is sad and angry but not surprised. He expected things to go down this way. Nubsib in contrast, is filmed through his shelf. This shelf frames him and since it's not a very big one, it makes Nubsib seem extremely small. He is disappointed in his parents, didn't expect things to happen this way and feels like he doesn't belong there. He feels very small on a very big planet.

Conclusion

This episode was overwhelming and the atmosphere switched a lot.

What I realized, especially after the scene between Aoey and Mhok, they all share the same feeling of loneliness. They all feel lonely and seek redemption. Gene and Nubsib found theirs and Aoey pushes his away. They all hate the feeling of loneliness but have gotten so used to it, it made them a bit bitter and feel a certain level of worthlessness. Like redemption would never come. But it did, at least for the main characters, but that doesn't necessarily mean everything is fine now and I like this. Even though they've grown, they are still not untouchable and there's always something that could set them back and make them face a challenge. Mostly, BLs end as soon as they are together and when everything looks like they will last forever. They feel untouchable because "love survives" but here we have a situation which is challenging for both of them and it looks like they are nearly breaking up because of this. Their relationship is not untouchable at all because the outside is also a part of their lives (like it normally is). BLs just tend to forget that but Lovely Writer thankfully doesn't and talks about this which I really like about this new episode.

Anyway, I have to go to bed now...

#lovely writer #gene x nubsib #aoey #i just want all of them happy #they deserve the whole world

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Hello, are you still make request fic? Teen Tony and Teen Sharon, highschool AU, doing prank together, and get scold by Aunt Peggy No need romance, just want some platonic/family relationship

It should be stated that pranks were highly discouraged by many at Phillips High School unless you could pull it off successfully and no one could guess it was you.

The school was very thorough in investigations.

Tony and Sharon had grown up with stories of the pranks from Aunt Peggy, who used to be the principal. She scowled when she told the story of how only one prank hadn’t ever found a culprit, not until the criminal had graduated and announced three months later that it was her.

The name had been Hela, and she had completely repainted the gym walls a neon green that looked terrible. She had also added glow in the dark stars that spelled out “Eat Shit” on the ceiling, which had been discovered after an unfortunate “Under the Stars” theme for homecoming.

Tony and Sharon wanted to do something that was mostly harmless. It would actually probably be funny.

But he needed Sharon to come to school with him.

This involved him actually waiting for school. He made up the excuse of “I need more socialization with people my age in order to navigate through life successfully.” While his father hadn’t been happy about it, Tony had set up a monthly subscription to a psychology magazine for his mother.

(Which wasn’t so much an actually recognized magazine as his friend Bruce testing out his academic writing skills.)

Point is, Tony is one year older than Sharon, and so the plan begins his sophomore year.

Perfect attendance. Perfect grades. Sucking up to the teachers is a given. He’s the lovable class clown that you just can’t manage to send to the office. He gives every teacher a giftcard on Teacher Appreciation Day, and says hello to everyone who works in the school.

Sharon is the social navigator. She quickly becomes the most recognized name in school by her sophomore year. With her proficient skill in basketball and her easy way of striking up conversations, she goes on dates with football players and has girls’ nights with cheerleaders and teammates alike.

Everyone knows them. They’re nice people, won’t be suspects of a high school prank. After all, they love their school.

One summer, Tony even gets a group together to repaint the gym walls from the neon green to a color scheme of white and blue, with little pops of red. School colors and all that.

Tony’s senior year, the plan gets put into motion on the first day of school.

First night, actually.

You see, their whole plan is to plant a garden that makes a rather tasteful image from aerial view, aka the third floor.

(It’s going to be actually fine. It’s just going to be a middle finger extended.)

The courtyard is in between the administrative offices and the lunchroom. It also happens to never be on video, because it’s outside and thus not attention grabbing. The school usually lets someone else plant flowers for the springtime.

Except for this year. Sharon has been practicing Maria Hill’s tone of voice on the phone and cancelled the usual plans. No one knows about it, Maria just thinks they’ll call later.

Now, this plan is all about timing. It might not work out.

But it does.

It’s freshman Miles Morales who discovers it while bored in his biology class, staring out the window.

“Whoa, what the fu--”

The halls are swimming with gossip. Many people are already ruled out, the plan either being too complicated or totally not their style.

“Someone did the senior prank before I had a chance to?” Wade Wilson whines.

“You were everyone’s first guess anyway,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes. “Wade, come on. You wouldn’t have been successful. A failure to roam the hallways.”

“I don’t like it when you point out the fact that you’d be right.”

The investigation launches. Peggy is still kept in the loop by students who come over with Tony, like Steve or Natasha.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Peggy sniffs. “There’s not suspicion of anyone? At least with Hela, we could see it a bit.”

“None whatsoever,” Natasha says. Her mood has soured quite a bit. She’s usually fantastic at detecting. But then again, she was not aware of the early start that Tony and Sharon had.

Currently, the two were celebrating the success of the prank with ice cream. Sharon was laughing as Tony looks at pictures on various people’s social media accounts.

“I cannot believe we pulled that off,” Tony says. “More importantly, I cannot believe that the woman who gave you all those flowers did not ask you what it was for.”

“I had a story set in place just in case,” Sharon says. “I can’t believe Peggy hasn’t called us yet.”

After all, it was directly Peggy’s inspiration.

She had told them about secret messages in flowers. What meant what, according to an old book her own grandmother had had.

They...well, they took creative liberties.

It’s not until officially Tony’s graduation where he makes his valedictorian speech about “blooming with all of the school’s resources and successes” that Peggy’s eyes narrow and Sharon tries very hard to contain a laugh (and mostly fails).

“You two are in so much trouble when we get home.”

They aren’t, not really. Peggy is more impressed with Tony and Sharon’s dedication, and promise that they have promising careers in whatever field they choose.

But Peggy does scold them for the shape of the flowers.

“You made it into a rendition of...of that?” Tony snorts.

“A dick, Aunt Peggy? Yes, yes we did.”

“Language, Anthony.”

“I heard you say worse on the drive home,” Sharon defends, laughing as she takes another sip of evening coffee.

Peggy shakes her head, smiling.

“Well, at least you are done with your pranks. Now I’m onto you, Sharon.”

Sharon shakes her head.

“This was enough to wipe me out, Aunt Peggy. Don’t worry, no yearly prank from me.”

(This was a lie. Carefully concocted, believed by everyone. Even Tony. Sharon had started planning this since her eighth grade year when she was supposed to be focusing on writing a speech about the failure of the Titanic.

Point is, this is actually how she meets Steve Rogers, a new transfer and far more interesting and troublesome than previously thought.)

#tony stark #sharon carter #peggy carter #lovelyirony writes #sharon and tony are anything but basic and it SHOWS #i think this would personally be good #peggy has no idea but she is so smart don't worry #anyways i think it'd be funny for steve to get involved with sharon's prank #which was written as a fun little amusement for me

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tanoraqui · 4 years

Text

[Part 1]

[now all on AO3!]

let’s get back to Nie Huaisang’s poor, innocent POV, shall we? Imagine that you a simple young man - not simple mentally, but simple in your desires. You’re naturally a bit of a fop, and you just want to live that life. Painted fans, pretty clothes, some light gossip with friends over wine...not practicing a blade-centric cultivation technique that’s both exhausting and often, eventually, deadly to the practicer...

In pursuit of this, you engage an old acquaintance in a little light construction of a dramatic but really quite simple lie to your beloved older brother (you really do love him, and you know he loves you; he’s just even more exhausting than the cultivation he insists you join in on). You talk about it together, and figure out something pretty good

and then she betrays you! more or less! in front of everyone, so there’s no way you can walk it back! And...okay, so her lie is also pretty good, and actually does align with a secondary goal re: your older brother, ie, preventing him from blade cultivation-related early death. So you only yell at her a little bit about that, when you followed her back to the rooms she’d been assigned, and it’s not so much “yelling” as “complaining very indignantly and loudly, but not so loudly that anyone can overhear what you’d meant to tell your brother (a harmless! little! lie!)”

(you promise yourself to think faster if that sort of twist ever happens again, get the conversation back to the thing you actually wanted, but mostly you just desperately hope that nothing like that ever happens again)

And...she actually does help him. You have to help her bully him into it - you have to agree to practice with your own godforsaken saber in order to bargain him into it - but...your brother is calming down. You know more than probably anyone gives you credit for about Nie saber technique and its relation to qi deviation, and moreover you know your brother, and you can tell. So...you can forgive her a fair amount, perhaps

but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to whine, when she’s suddenly interrupting your even-harder-earned-than-usual free time. “Wen-gungiang, you’re blocking the peak! Of course I’ll do anything you ask, but please, I need to finish before the paint starts drying!”

Wen Qing just crosses her arms. “I mean it. A real favor.”

“What’s more important than painting my new fan?” Nie Huaisang begged

“Saving a child from death by malnourishment and stress at best, and more likely casual murder or, horrifyingly, overwork.”

Nie Huaisang blinks.

“Or I can tell Sect Leader Nie the real reason you brought me and Wen Ning to the Unclean Realm, how you wanted me to help you lie - ”

“No!” NHS scrambles to his feet. “Wen-guniang, you can’t! He’ll yell at me so much - !”

...and that’s how Nie Huaisang ends up back at the little town of Wen remnants in Qishan, fluttering his fan and rolling his eyes at the same Jin captain again. “I don’t knooow! I think I really am being punished this time.” He smiles just over the edge of his fan, with a lie he’s been planning the whole way over here. “Or maybe da-ge’s just going sweet on Maiden Wen. She yells at him back sometimes, about taking his medicine. I’m starting to think it’s the warrior’s way of reciting poetry in courtship!”

“Ah, Young Master Nie!” The captain/disciple - who I’m going to say is named Jin Qixian, a distant cousin of the main family - laughs. “Your life is so hard. But I’m sure your brother will get over any infatuation soon - that Wen girl you took wasn’t even that pretty.” She winks. “We have nicer-looking ones, though, if he ever wants”

“I think it’s more her strength of cultivational skill,” Nie Huaisang demurs, who’s been watching and sometimes working with Wen Qing for three weeks now, and can’t quite bear the direction this is suddenly going. Nor the memory of a guard shoving a man to the street just because he was in the way, which he saw as he landed.

when they scrounge up the boy and bring him in - Wen Qing gave him a very detailed description of who to look for - it’s clinging to the leg of an elderly woman like a limpet. the child is scared in the way of children who don’t know what’s going on; the old woman is scared in the way of adults who do

“she’s his grandmother,” the guard who brought them shrugs sheepishly under the captain’s questioning stare. “came quieter this way”

huh. well, Nie Huaisang isn’t being blackmailed into picking up an entire extra grandmother. fortunately, he came prepared

he kneels down so he’s of height with the kid. “Hey, are you A-Yuan?”

the kid peers at him from behind his grandmother’s skirts and nods shyly

“Son of [father’s name] and [mother’s name]?”

the kid looks uncertain. The granny puts a guarded/comforting hand on his head and says, “Yes, Young Master...”

“Great!” Nie Huaisang tucks his nice fan into his belt and pulls out an also-nice but definitely more garishly colored and sturdily made one, and holds it out. “Because I have this present for an A-Yuan matching that description!” A-Yuan peeks out a little further, and he pulls it back. “But you’ll have to come here and get it.”

Nie Huaisang is the stranger in the park that your parents warn you about

A-Yuan has been inadequately warned about strangers in parks. He comes forth, and gets the fan. He even mumbles a shy “thank you” before stepping back to the safety of his grandmother

“I also have candy!” says Nie Huaisang, before the boy can take more than a step. The boy perks up. NHS waves a bag of sweets. “But for that, you’re going to have to come all the way back to Qinghe with me, so your Auntie Qing stops complaining about how you’re probably malnourished!”

Nie Huaisang is definitely the stranger in the park that your parents warned you about

The granny had been about to kowtow and start begging for him to leave her child alone, but she stops halfway to the floor, startled. “Wen Qing? Wen Qing sent - that is.” She bows. “The honored young master comes on behalf of Wen Qing?”

Under blackmailed duress! he thinks cheerfully (honestly this has all been going quite well.) With wide, harmless eyes, pinchable cheeks (for the granny) and a huff of annoyance (for the Jin guards) he whines, “Yes! And when all the mountain flowers are in bloom - I’m missing the nicest time of the year!”

All the play-acting really is fun - the best prank he’s ever pulled, in a way. He’s warming up to this whole scheme. And the boy seems quiet and biddable, or at least bribeable - Nie Huaisang can work with this!

A-Yuan bites his lip and points to the fan on NHS’s belt, a very one that he painted himself, on expensive Gusu silk. “If I come, can I have that, too?”

okay, he can maybe work with this

the disciples he brought with him are on the younger side, and thus more willing to hie halfway across the country on an errand that Nie Huaisang implied has his brother’s permission, but didn’t state outright. (Asking for forgiveness rather than permission is almost always the best way to handle Nie Mingjue.) This, it turns out, means that they have less strong golden cores, which means Nie Huaisang actually has to do nearly his fair share of carrying the toddler all the way back to the Unclean Realm. Under! blackmailed! duress!

Nie Mingjue greets them thunderously when they arrive, and Nie Huaisang is exhausted, even though they stayed at several inns along the way. Fortunately, it’s easier to summon tears that way, and he already has this story prepared: he’d actually promised Wen Qing to save her baby cousin (A-Yuan) as well, if she proved that she could really help his da-ge. And she did! So here he is, upholding the honor of Nie Clan! He just hadn’t wanted to say anything in case it jinxed Nie Mingjue’s health, or force him (NHS) to admit that he’d been such a poor negotiator for the Wens’ services, or -

Once A-Yuan is settled in with the other orphans who both are and aren’t-quite-yet part of Nie sect*, Nie Huaisang also pokes his head into Wen Qing’s workroom, ie the infirmary apothecary, “You didn’t just trick me into rescuing Wen Xu’s secret bastard son or something, now long-lost heir to the terror and grandeur of the Nightless City, did you?”

* There was a war. There’s about half a dozen of them, too young to train but with no where else to go

“What? Nie Huaisang!” She leaps to her feet. “You’re back! You found A-Yuan?”

“Da-ge yelled at me for like 20 minutes in the front hall, how did you not notice? Yes - and I was thinking, and I wanted to make sure - ”

“You read too many romance novels.” She shoves past him. “Where is he?”

[smash cut to 2 weeks later] Nie Huaisang cannot work with this. He was supposed to acquire a toddler, not care for it!

okay, A-Yuan is pretty cute, and has a good appreciation for good art. So long as it’s brightly colored and/or involves butterflies.

and it’s not Wen Qing’s fault that his brother put his foot down and declared that the child could stay but only with the other orphans; she and her brother were here to be healers, not mothers. earning their keep.

(he’s still not really over the whole “Wen” thing, for all that Wen Qing has even managed to bully him into meditating before bed each night)

(Nie Huaisang is unironically starting to wonder if his brother is sweet on this terrifying harridan he foolishly brought into their home)

and it’s not A-Yuan’s fault that all but one of the women charged with caring for the orphans also aren’t over the whole “Wen” thing, and express this by caring for him as briskly and apathetically as possible

he finds this out on the third night that they’ve been home, when the last one, a young woman named Wu Yi, knocks on his bedroom door at some ungodly hour, with a wailing Wen Yuan on her hip.

“Shh, shh,” she’s begging. “A-Yuan, you’ll wake the whole wing - ”

“I don’t want you!” he’s crying. “I want Granny! Where’s Granny!”

“Hey, hey!” NHS snaps in his face. “Hey, stop crying! One piece of candy for one hour of not crying for your granny, that’s the deal!”

(that is the deal, arrived at over the course of several day’s travel from Qishan to Qinghe. it helped that A-Yuan wouldn’t know how long an hour had been until he was told)

A-Yuan leans toward him immediately, still weeping. (Nie Huaisang has known him like...3 more days than Wu Yi has, but okay.) “Sang-ge! Don’t want candy, want Granny! Take me back to Granny!”

“Oh- hell - ” Nie Huaisang takes him and he’s cute but he’s gross, he’s crying and snotty and its all getting all over Nie Huaisang’s very nice jade silk sleeping robe; if this is what consequences are like, Nie Huaisang hates them. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you bothering your Aunt Qing, or Uncle Ning?”

He addresses A-Yuan but looks at Wu Yi. Her gaze skitters away. “Sect Leader Nie was very clear...”

anyway, he’s a good kid, and he’s actually pretty good at carefully distributing seed in the aviary, or sitting quietly and entertaining himself with small toys while Nie Huaisang paints. To an extent. Wei Wuxian visited again, presumably for the express purpose of mocking Nie Huaisang for being forced to acquire a toddler, and spent the entire time setting a bad example. A-Yuan spent the next several days running around and shouting excitedly, and somehow found a wooden saber to wave around while he did so

A few days after that, the Sworn Brothers visited, and Nie Huaisang chose to hide out with the young orphans himself, assisting with snack time and play and even bedtime whenever possible. The alternative was either being dragged into hosting or breaking and suggesting that the three of them just fuck out their weird, multi-layered tension. or both in sequence.

if there wasn’t a chance of getting a proper heir between himself and the Sect Leadership, Nie Huaisang was aggressively uninterested in his brother’s sex life. But also, there’s only so much yearning/angry/whatever-the-fuck-is-happening-here tension a younger brother can take

Wen Qing found him on the second day, and waited until Nap/Enforced Quiet Time had taken hold before asking, quietly, “Does your brother trust Jin Guangyao?”

She was serious, so he thought about it. “No. But Lan Xichen does, and da-ge trusts Lan Xichen.”

Wen Qing made a noise that wasn’t quite neutral enough to hide her dissatisfaction.

“Why?” Nie Huaisang asked as though he was asking for gossip.

Wen Qing had never been one to gossip, nor to humor would-be-fools. “Wen Ruohan trusted him.”

(Meaning: what sort of man do you think Wen Ruohan trusted. Meaning: and look what happened to Wen Ruohan)

She left and fifteen minutes later, Wen Ning arrived, with a very specific look on his face. It was the look of one whose beloved-but-exhausting older sibling has ordered them somewhere Safe, who is obeying because they understand the danger but want to stay and help, are pretty sure they could help, but aren’t confident enough in how to actually disagree

Nie Huaisang recognizes it because he spent several months learning how to hide it in the Sunshot Campaign, in favor of a smile vapid enough to be contagious

But A-Yuan didn’t stop having nightmares, and he learned how to slip out of his assigned bunk and come crawl into Nie Huaisang’s bed instead, to curl up like a sad little lump of fear of abandonment, which just meant that the tears and snot got on Nie Huaisang’s sheets, too. And he was starting to feel bad about the whole “fear of abandonment” thing, not to mention the lingering memory of the man shoved onto the street, the fear in that grandmother’s eyes, the smirk in Jin Qixian’s...

So a few days later he was back at the oversight office in Qishan, with the same biddable young disciples as last time, rolling his eyes pitifully over the edge of his fan. “I don’t knoooww, Jin-guniang! Except it’s definitely punishment for me this time...but you know my brother. He’s so scary! He says ‘Jump’ and you have to say ‘how high?’ - and then he says, ‘Onto your sword, Huaisang! You don’t practice enough!’”

Jin Qixian laughed at him as much as at deep-voiced impression, but that was okay. “And yet, Nie-gongzi, I see that you brought horses to ride, as well as swords...”

“I’m not going to carry an entire old lady back to the Unclean Realm!” he cried plaintively. “Do you know how hard it was just to take a three-year-old? I was tired for days.”

She laughs again, as Granny is brought in. “Well, your timing is good - this one was on the list for the work camp at Qionqgi Pass, to be transferred tomorrow.”

Nie Huaisang is 80% genuinely confused and surprised. The remaining 20% is cynicism, and the fact that every time he’s been here, the people have looked a little filthier, a little more trembling with fear and cold, and the guards’ noses a little higher in the air. Granny and the guard that brings her are no exception

He lets the 80% show

“What? Why send an old woman to a work camp - what good would her labor be?”

Jin Qixian shrugs. “Their names are all on a list, and we send the next batch when they call for more workers. If they can’t handle a little punishment, then maybe they shouldn’t have been Wens.”

Even the 20% is dismayed. But hiding that sort of thing is what fans are for. Anyway, it’s not Nie Huaisang’s problem - Qiongqi Pass isn’t even on the way home

“Come on then, Granny,” he says, and takes her by the arm. “Do you know how to ride a horse? I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t know how to ride a horse!”

they’re about halfway back to the Unclean Realm, on a random stretch of road, when a single cultivator flies overhead from the direction of the Wen village, and lands before them. Looking somewhere between annoyed, harassed, and genuinely baffled, Jin Guangyao asks, “Nie Huaisang, what are you doing?”

To be continued... (this is almost certainly Part 2 of 3, but I’ve learned better than to say such things with confidence)

#mdzs #the untamed #nie huaisang #wen qing #my fic #ficlet #fanfiction #a yuan #a yuan's adoptability is an aoe with a VERY high wis save #i did not intend this #nie huaisang did not intend this #guyyys i have to do work in the evening now i think bc i maybe spend most of the afternoon on this instead #anyway #CLIFFHANGER!

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bestintheparsec · 4 years

Text

Just You - (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: @elisemb123 suggested (a long time ago i’m so sorry) a Din x reader fic about “spicy awkward situations” -- I went off my own interpretation of that and I hope you like it!

A/N: This is my first (actual) oneshot (please go easy on me)! The first of my “tropes” oneshots (without saying too much, this was based on the “zipper” trope)😏 This was more challenging to write because I’m so attached to ‘Healer’ but I hope that you enjoy it❤️ As always I appreciate any and all feedback!

Words: 2.4k

Rating: T

“No,” Din snapped.

Greef had only looked towards you for one second before Din caught on, rejecting the idea.

"But you can't go in there. At least, not without being conspicuous," Greef countered.

You and Din were a team. You'd never done any hunts without him, not in the last year since you'd joined him aboard the Razor Crest. Your quick minds were alike, which greatly helped on the job every time. But the pay hadn't been enough lately. You needed a higher stakes bounty, one that could provide for a while without either of you having to worry.

This was currently the only job Greef could offer. The bounty was a shady, very rich, very powerful higher-up who was heavily guarded and rarely made public appearances. You would have one shot at him -- at a formal event on the planet Perinnion. You had looked at Greef with confusion when he'd told you. Perinnion was notorious for being one of the finest and richest planets in the outer rim. But a lot of it was all for show, a cover for the malicious businesses that frequently went on under the table there. It was definitely not the usual type of hunt.

They weren't accepting of anyone who didn't meet their shallow standards, so there was no way Din would get into some gala in his armor. Greef mentioned that disguises would have to be involved, and had looked over at you.

"She's not going alone," Din said firmly. He was sitting right next to you in the tight booth, and you could feel his shoulders tense up as he said it. You turned and looked into his visor at the same time he tilted his head to look at you. Despite everything, you felt your cheeks heat up. You broke eye contact before Greef could sense anything was off.

Din was your partner, in all ways but one. When you joined him, you simply needed a job and he needed the help. But in the time that you’d worked together, you started to feel something change in how you felt about him. You cared about him. That was completely normal, you'd told yourself time and again. But you couldn't help how sometimes you felt your heart flutter at the gentle way he spoke to you, on the rare occasions that he spoke at all. He was kind, though it was all kept hidden beneath the armor. He had a softness to him that you’d never known before. You would never tell him any of this, of course. He was strict to his code, and you would never do anything to jeopardize your present relationship with him. The fleeting thoughts of him were enough to keep you warm, and it would have to be enough.

“Yeah, I don’t know, Greef --” you said.

“Perhaps their ideals are different, but this is probably one of the least dangerous situations you could put yourself in for a hunt,” Greef continued. “Surely you can handle a bit of arrogance.”

“It’s not that -- I’ve heard stories of how these events are always swarming with undercover New Republic guards, on the lookout for trouble. I doubt they’ll take well to people like us being around,” you added.

“To get that man, she’s going to have to raise hell in there. As soon as she causes any alarm, the bodyguards and the Imps will be on her. You really want to let her go in there alone?” Din criticized.

Greef was getting impatient. “Then you’ll have to prepare well, Y/N. And you don’t have to be alone. You can lure him out -- talk intriguing business schemes with him. Then you and Mando capture him once he’s out and vulnerable.”

You both seemed to ease up just a bit, mentally running through the plan as you looked at each other.

“What do you think?” Din asked you, quietly. “We don’t have to take the job. Not if you don’t feel safe.”

You looked away, thinking of all the times Din had thrown himself headfirst into danger on behalf of you or the child, completely disregarding his own safety despite your protests. It was hardly a big deal for you to socialize with some conceited 'royals’ for a job that would keep all of you worry-free for months.

“You mentioned a disguise,” you said after a moment. “Where exactly am I supposed to find one that remotely parallels the Perinnion formal wear?”

Greef smiled, as if he’d known you would agree all along. “I have connections with someone there. I’ll give you instructions to find her. Her name is Kas, and you can trust her with the details of the mission. She’ll be more than willing to help.”

You nodded and both stood up to leave. Din took the puck and tracking fob, exhaling quietly as he walked behind you toward the door.

From his constant composure you would’ve never been able to tell -- he didn’t even realize it himself, but lately something about you made him start to soften, and he had no idea what it was or what to do about it. He’d never worried for any of his past workmates like this -- it was work, that was it. He rarely even liked his team members, let alone care about them. The kid had been on his watch for a long time, but he’d never known the feeling of being protective of anyone the way he was with you -- as if keeping you out of harm’s way meant he was protecting himself from what he would feel if anything happened to you. He often shook his head at himself, trying to find something else to occupy his thoughts, trying to ignore the way the curious look in your eyes made him feel something he was unfamiliar with.

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

Kas was an older, maybe middle-aged woman. She had lines around her eyes, which were hardened yet still kind. You could tell she had plenty of experience in dealing with all the sketchy transactions that went on. She quickly showed you that she not only distrusted the people Greef had bounty pucks on, but that she would also willingly help you take them down.

She had been ready for you at her home as soon as you landed on Perinnion, providing helpful details regarding the night’s event -- exit plans, topics that would be of interest, and of course, your disguise. Din stayed on the Crest for a while, preparing the weapons while you went inside with Kas.

You looked down at yourself as she helped you step into the sturdy dress. She wouldn't tell you where it came from, but somehow it fit you well enough. There wasn’t a way to describe the ensemble as anything but beautiful. The dress’s skirt was made of a thick, emerald-colored satin fabric that fell in full waves smoothly to the floor. The bodice stopped just above the waist and was daintily adorned with small but intricate, understated golden jewel embellishments that completely covered the black lining underneath. It was sleeveless, save for two thick bands of black ribbon that wrapped over your shoulders to hold the whole thing up. To finish it off, she tied a matching black ribbon around the waist, letting the long ends drape softly in front of you.

“Is the slit necessary?” you muttered, wondering how practical all of this was for the mission. The skirt completely encircled you, but on one side there was a slit that went up a little past your knees. It was subtle, your leg only revealed if you wanted it to be.

“In every way, my dear,” she grinned at you, holding out a thigh holster and your blaster, gesturing to your leg as she moved part of the skirt aside to show you. “It provides easy access to your weapons. And, should you need to run, it allows you to do so without restriction.”

You nodded and sighed, taking them from her hands and securing them to your leg.

“Thank you,” you said.

Kas patted your shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she left you to yourself. She gave you a wink, making you wrinkle your brows in confusion.

You looked at yourself in the tall mirror. You had insisted on leaving your hair plain, down and held in place with a few pins, allowing just a few loose strands to fall around your face.

It was quite a bit different than what you usually wore -- black tight-fitted pants and maybe some sort of dark-colored jacket overtop whatever shirt you could find. Needless to say, anything this luxurious was not what you were used to. The fact that you were essentially going into combat mode like this made you feel even more disoriented.

Din's voice appeared before he did. “We should go over the plan again --” he said casually as he entered the room, abruptly stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

“Oh, I --” you instinctively moved to cover yourself, though you were fully dressed and ready to go in public like this.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, looking down and turning to leave. “I -- I didn’t know you were --” he stammered.

“No, wait. It’s okay, Din,” you said reassuringly, calling him back. “I’m...done. I don’t know where Kas went off to.” Your hands awkwardly smoothed out the fullness of the dress skirt. You glanced at the floor before looking back up at him.

Even in his mind, Din couldn't find any words to say. The few seconds of uncomfortable silence may as well have been hours. He thought of how you both tended to look -- skin and clothes covered in dirt and dust, sometimes even blood. For most of his life, all he’d ever seen was damage and destruction. It was a stark contrast to how you looked standing in front of him right now. He felt like he wasn’t meant to see anything so intimate and....breathtaking. Din glanced away, trying to avert his eyes under the helmet and quell the reddening of his cheeks even though you couldn’t see him. But he couldn’t resist, eventually tilting his head back up as you met his gaze through the visor. You were looking at him with that soft expression again, leaving him completely flustered.

You held your arms firmly against your side. The dress was snug and it wasn’t going to go anywhere, but you suddenly felt fidgety. You caught a glimpse of the back of the dress in the mirror and saw that Kas had left before finishing the look. That sneaky woman, you thought, shaking your head.

"She didn’t -- Can you... help me with the back?" You asked in a softer voice, awkwardly moving towards him. You were suddenly very aware of how much air your leg was getting. The strings lacing up the back of the bodice were more for decoration than fit, but you weren't able to tie up the elaborate backing yourself. He nodded just slightly and you turned your back to him.

Din felt uneasy, hesitating for a few moments before reaching down to the ribbon around your waist. He carefully tied it as best as he could, gloved fingers occasionally brushing lightly against your covered back. He could hardly concentrate on the immediate task at hand. You looked down at the floor, wondering if he could sense your nerves -- though your quickened pulse had nothing to do with the job tonight.

"Thanks," you said quietly when he moved his hands away, turning to face him. You tried to keep your heart rate steady. When was the last time physical contact made you feel like that? You thought. You really needed to get it together.

He fixed his gaze on you, and neither of you said a word. Din felt his heart go soft as he looked into your eyes, which now held an expression he couldn't quite figure out. There was a lot at stake tonight, but you appeared ready. The tension in your composure was opposite to how you looked; elegant, like the calm before the storm. He was relieved you couldn’t see his face right now; he kept glancing around elsewhere in the room, a nervous tic you were unaware of. Out of nowhere, Din felt overcome by the need to gently wrap his arms around your waist as he imagined the feel of the smooth fabric of your dress against his hands. He didn’t say anything, not wanting a tremor in his voice to reveal him. What had gotten into him? He thought to himself. He felt his heart constrict as he felt himself realize what he couldn’t possibly say aloud.

You suddenly cleared your throat, breaking his train of thought. “Well, we better get going. I think Kas had some last minute plans to share,” you said.

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

You stood hidden in the trees in the stakeout spot. You were both checking your weapons one more time before leaving to get inside the event, alone.

“This should be fun,” you grinned up at him. “For once the bounty won’t immediately try to kill me. We’re probably going to have to take out the guards, though.”

He didn't respond for a few moments. “I don’t care what happens to them,” he said. “Just you.”

Was it just you, or did he seem extra on-edge about this mission? “Just me?” you let out a nervous laugh before noticing how he seemed more serious than usual.

Din said nothing, only responding with a nod.

“I’ll be alright,” you said softly. “We’ll be in and out.”

He was still looking at you, not answering. Your hands were down at your side -- you tried to occupy them by patting your dress, rechecking for your weapons as if you hadn't just checked a minute ago.

Another moment passed before he slowly reached down and gently took your hand in his. You looked up at him, the gesture unexpected but not unwelcome. The rough leather of his gloves traced your skin with light pressure, ever-so-briefly before he let go.

You smoothed out your dress again before you gave him a reassuring smile. You turned and started walking towards the venue, cheeks flushing as you hoped your knees wouldn’t give out beneath you.

Tags (separate from Healer): @aeryntheofficial @immundusspiritu @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @jensfolly @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian oneshot #my ff

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the-odd-job · 4 years

Text

Up in Flames chapter 1 - Embers (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron, Skywarp, Astrotrain, Seekers Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2672

Direct continuation of Ashes of Icarus chapter 20, but I split the story into two parts largely for AO3′s sake, hence the name change.

( Previous )

They didn’t say a word as they sat in Astrotrain’s hold. Not that there would’ve been anyone to talk with, aside from each other. And while Sideswipe fidgeted, disquieted… Even he didn’t start jabbering like he usually would.

Sunstreaker couldn’t exactly blame him. Things had gone… So wrong, so fast. As much as he’d known there would be consequences, sooner or later, and as much as he’d expected those consequences would directly involve Megatron… Pits, this still managed to go beyond what his imagination had managed to cook up. Having everything aired in front of practically all of the Autobots on Earth, that was a bit much.

The shock hadn’t worn off yet, that much he was sure of. Reality hadn’t sunk in yet, no matter how much they were surrounded by a Decepticon signature, with no Autobots anywhere to be found.

Well, it would hit them eventually, and it’d likely feel rather unpleasant.

On waiting for that… What would they do from here on out? Besides living among the Decepticons for the foreseeable future.

What should they expect out of that?

They didn’t know a hell of a lot about the Decepticons’ daily life, having never been ones, but there were always rumors. Rumors about violent discipline, frequent infighting, vocal arguments, all encompassing cruelty—all the things Autobots abhorred, bundled into the purple faction.

Why had that always sounded so painfully familiar?

Decepticons originated from Kaon. The twins originated from Kaon. Did that mean something? Would they find a mindset they knew so intimately, that the Autobots had never gotten? The one they’d never managed to shake off, despite having spent the entirety of the war under the Prime’s banner?

Or was that just wishful thinking?

They were about to find out. They could feel Astrotrain descending, no doubt arriving to where the Victory had crashed and sunk into the ocean.

“Hop out so I can transform,” Astrotrain said, opening his hatch. He didn’t stop moving, probably because he couldn’t—they’d never seen him hover in place.

But they could see the platform risen from the sea. And jumping off moving objects… Not like they were exactly unfamiliar with that. It was an easy thing to calculate Astrotrain’s speed and the distance to the platform, and the moment when they would need to jump to land on it.

Piece of cake. They jumped, and for a moment there was nothing beneath their pedes—something they should’ve been uncomfortable with, as grounders, but just weren’t.

Never had been, for that matter.

Then metal clanged under them as they fell on it. Astrotrain continued on for a bit before looping back around to make his own approach. Megatron and the few Seekers with him similarly landed around them.

And they weren’t used to feeling small, having been among the tallest Autobots, but slag, they were feeling like short stuff now. Megatron was massive, of course, and while the Seekers weren’t as tall, they were still plenty taller than the brothers.

Then Astrotrain landed as well, and the triplechanger didn’t make them feel any bigger.

They’d probably need to get used to this now, though. Decepticons as a whole were just larger.

But then again, their predicament in Kaon had been the same. What was this but a return to the old?

Megatron gestured them onto the elevator, joined them with two Seekers, and then they began their descent into the ship itself. It wasn’t as long of a ride down as they’d expected, but still plenty long enough. The elevator shaft was barely illuminated by small lights along its walls, chasing each other up the walls as the platform steadily lowered. No one said anything, and the silence was… A bit awkward. The Seekers were flicking or fanning their wings every few moments, expressive as ever in responding to the mood of the situation.

A bit nervous, right now.

Megatron, though? He appeared completely unaffected by everything going on around him, only standing there oozing confidence. It practically pooled at his feet.

Typical.

It was a relief when the elevator came to a stop at the bottom, opening to an airlock. Megatron led the way, the twins after, and the Seekers behind them... But they’d barely taken two steps out of the airlock and into the ship’s interior before Megatron stopped and turned to face them.

The brothers stared back at him with matching expressions of distrust.

“You won’t need these anymore,” Megatron said, and before either brother had managed to puzzle what ‘these’ he meant–

–Megatron had already leaned down and sunk his claw into Sunstreaker’s chestplates—at one corner of his Autobot insignia. Sunstreaker didn’t have time to do more than rev his engine in affront and alarm before Megatron had dragged his claw straight through the painted Autobrand, digging a deep groove across it.

Sunstreaker stumbled back seconds too late, one his servos rising to his chassis—but the damage was already well done. When he looked down he couldn’t see more than an ugly wound ruining the insignia of his…

Ah. Former faction, wasn’t it? Apparently Megatron wanted visible proof of their defection.

Wouldn’t it have been enough to replace their insignias with the Decepticon one, seriously? Sunstreaker couldn’t say he particularly appreciated the damage his armor had now sported.

“Don’t you slagging–! Oh, frag you,” Sideswipe snarled when he tried to get out of Megatron’s reach, only to get grabbed by the back of his neck. The scratch was repeated on him despite his squirming.

Jagged, torn, ugly—and yet so intentional in appearance that there was little mistaking what it stood for.

Sunstreaker huffed as Sideswipe rubbed his servo across his sore plating, doing little more than aggravating the area further. Alright. So this was a great start to things.

But Megatron was satisfied with that. “Come,” he ordered them with a flick of his digits, setting down one of the hallways branching from the area in front of the airlock, “Your quarters have been prepared.”

“You were expecting us or something?” Sideswipe asked as they followed the tyrant, just because they didn’t really have anything better to do. Besides, it would be nice to see their new living arrangements.

“You were always going to join me, after Sunstreaker’s ignition,” Megatron responded simply.

Sunstreaker growled, but Megatron glanced at him and continued, “One way or another.”

And… That was a threat if he’d ever heard one. He could likely conclude he was right in expecting Megatron would have dragged him to the Decepticons even if he’d tried to go Neutral—and that his only hope to not end up here would have been to stay with the Autobots.

But that wasn’t much of an option.

Sunstreaker dedicated himself to sullen silence.

As with the Ark, the Victory was wonderfully tilted. Not so much it would have made living on it impossible, but enough, so at least that much hadn’t changed. That was about where the similarities ended, though. The Ark was brightly lit and garishly, cheerfully orange from floor to ceiling.

The Victory’s lights were dim and its color scheme violets and greys. End result was that instead of appearing welcoming, somewhere you might actually want to be, it was just foreboding and gloomy.

Not very uplifting. At all.

Somehow it fit the Decepticons, though.

They traveled down several ramps, Megatron’s heavy pedesteps shaking the deck on every step, but surprisingly he didn’t go so fast the twins would’ve had an inordinate amount of trouble keeping up with him. Oh, they still got to walk real fast after his significantly longer stride, but it never got to the point where they would have outright needed to jog.

But Sunstreaker doubted that was thoughtfulness on Megatron’s part, rather just… A continuation of his image of control. He was in no rush, because he owned the place and nothing and no one could threaten him.

Or something like that. Frag if he knew what went on inside despots’ helms.

The brothers did make an effort to start building an internal map of the Victory’s layout as they went. That wasn’t too easy because everything looked the fragging same, but that was a fault in the Ark too. They’d get the hang of the place still.

Eventually.

But one particular corridor in what they assumed was the lower portions of the ship looked like it was lined with living quarters. At least, Megatron stopped at one of the evenly spaced doors and triggered it to open. He gestured for the twins to have a look and enter.

They did, a bit cautiously.

The room was nearly half of the size of their quarters on the Ark, but then again their quarters back on the Ark were meant for four mecha even if they hadn’t needed to room with anyone.

It looked like these were for two mecha only. There was a bunk berth at the back wall, a desk with a lonely chair next to the door, and drawers to what he assumed were subspace containers embedded on one wall, and… That was it.

But it was honestly more than he’d expected, all things considered. A perfectly well furnished room, as far as military standards went—even those of the Autobots’.

“The bunk folds into a double berth, if you’d prefer,” Megatron said. The brothers glanced at him in surprise, but the tyrant was already turning to leave. “Make yourselves at home.”

And then he just left. The door closed behind him, leaving them standing alone in their new home. Sideswipe blinked and Sunstreaker echoed his surprise at… What? What had they expected would happen? Something bad?

Honestly, yeah. He wasn’t sure what kind of bad, but something bad nevertheless.

This… This wasn’t so bad.

Sideswipe went to poke around the drawers while Sunstreaker considered the desk, the berth, and the room in general. It was as dimly lit and depressing as the rest of the ship they’d seen so far, a bit claustrophobia inducing… But it could be worse. It was private, if nothing else. Oh, he wouldn’t trust there weren’t cameras or mics around, but at least they could pretend to be out of sight.

“Should we fold the berth?” Sideswipe asked, turning away from the drawers after he’d deemed them uninteresting. They weren’t yet ready to place their stuff in them and around the place to make it look a little more lived in. They weren’t that at home.

But the berth… Sunstreaker nodded after a brief moment’s consideration. They had no need to recharge next to each other, and hadn’t on more than occasion for a long time, but in these circumstances… That might still be a greater comfort.

They stepped over to the bunk and inspected how it worked. After a bit of trial and effort they managed to unlock it and lowered the top one next to the bottom one, and locked it in place there. Smooth going.

There was a bit less space in the room afterwards, but all in all it wasn’t too bad.

...Then what? He doubted they’d be allowed to just wander around, but Sideswipe went to test the door anyway–

–And found it wasn’t locked. It opened for him.

The brothers shared a look of surprise before Sideswipe stepped into the hallway, scanning it up and down.

There was no one around. Maybe in some of the other rooms, but not in the hallway itself. No guards or anything of the like.

They weren’t in the brig, but he wouldn’t have still put some sort of chaperons past Megatron.

Should they go? There wasn’t much for them to do here. They weren’t in need of recharge anytime soon, and he wasn’t even sure if the Decepticons followed the Earth’s passage of time or if they still functioned by Cybertronian measures. They might not go to recharge as a whole even when the planet’s sun set.

How else would they find answers to questions like that except by going out to look for someone who might be willing to entertain their curiosities? And since they could do that…

Why the frag not? It would also have the use of helping them familiarize themselves with the ship.

Of course, they might not find their way back to their room if they went too far and took too many turns, but eh. They’d worry about that when they got there.

After sharing a nod, they filed back out and went back the way they’d come. Where to? Really, anywhere would work at this point. Maybe they’d find the rec room, or the medbay, or the command center, or… The ship had to have a training room of some sort too. What else? Labs? Offices? Those weren’t of quite as great interest.

They decided to go up, first, and climbed two ramps before they stopped. Voices floated down one corridor, and that was the one they took out of simple curiosity to see what was happening.

There was a gaggle of Seekers standing in front of one doorway, that, after a glance in, appeared to lead to some sort of recreational room. They wouldn’t have fit to squeeze past the Seekers to get to the doors even if they’d wanted to, though.

Skywarp took notice of them as they approached and waved cheerfully. “Twins! Mechs, I’m so disappointed I missed Megatron picking you up. I heard it was fragging awesome!”

And indeed on a second look, two of the Seekers in the group had accompanied Megatron on that particular trip.

Apparently some gossiping was happening.

Sunstreaker scowled and Sideswipe rubbed the back of his neck, but Skywarp didn’t take any notice of their discomfort. “The way you left the ‘Bots, Sunstreaker! Slagging epic to own up to the whole thing like that. You’ve got some real guts on you, mech.”

Well. At least he was getting compliments.

“Megatron showed you to your quarters?” another Seeker asked. Sunstreaker had no idea what their designation was, but he’d probably slagged them a few times.

You know, because he’d slagged really all of the ‘Cons on one occasion or other.

“Yeah, told to make ourselves at home. We were, uh… A little surprised we could just walk out after,” Sideswipe answered, finishing off with a shrug.

Skywarp laughed, more than a little surprised—disbelieving? Over what?

It became clear in the next moment. “You’re ‘Cons now!” he argued. “Of course you can go anywhere you want, just the same as everyone else.” He sounded like he really meant that, or took it for granted, or…

Slag, was this just Skywarp being his usual idiotic self, or did the lot of them really plan to let them waltz around the place?

But the other Seekers nodded along, so maybe it wasn’t just Skywarp.

“Oh,” Sideswipe said, very, very smartly, but that just… Wasn’t at all what they’d expected. Did they have any trust at all in their loyalties, after how they’d ‘defected’? Because if they did, then they were dumb as bricks.

“You don’t know the ship yet though, do you?” Skywarp spoke up again. Sideswipe shook his helm, but before he managed a word in, Skywarp had already continued, “Ohhh you’ll probably get lost a lot! I’ll give you a proper tour of the whole place later, okay?”

“As if you don’t get lost half the time yourself, ‘Warp,” one of the Seekers teased, eliciting some laughter from the group. Even Sideswipe twitched a smile when Skywarp’s wings shot up in offense.

“Everything looks the same, alright?!” he exclaimed. Sideswipe laughed along with the rest of them this time, not that he could really argue with that sentiment.

Skywarp shook it off quickly, though. “Ugh. Anyway, you wanna hang out with us in the rec room for the evening? I can show you back to your quarters after so you don’t get lost.”

Did they have anything better to do, really?

“Sure, why not,” Sideswipe agreed.

It couldn’t possibly continue this pleasant for long, but pits, they’d take the good times before the bad.

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#transformers #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megatron #skywarp #astrotrain #fic #2020 #ashes #up in flames

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