#how are you going to recreate the same feeling in an au... i think i get it now..........
Text
watched all the available episodes of sousou no frieren today and surprised myself with how much i enjoyed it so i want to leave my thoughts here before i forget them; i think it would've been a lot more enjoyable if i was catching it from the start, but i ended up crying more than several times anyway
it's such a good concept to begin with, the storytelling is so compelling, and i really enjoyed the atmosphere in every episode. the worldbuilding is very good, we never really get exposition dumped but we learn things as the characters do, which keeps things believable and easy to stomach... plus, we always see stories about the defeat of the demon king, and much less the story of the aftermath, which got me interested in it in the first place. and especially when you add in the factor of time as a matter of inconsequence to frieren in comparison to everyone else especially with her personality... it's so satisfying seeing the exploration of things like the delicate balance between memories of the past and their inability to be changed with how they have influenced and shaped growth (of both the characters and the world) into the present, the passing of time and its varying (in)significance to the characters caught in its flow, the transience of life and (the learning of) what it means to live...
even then the flow of time passing is animated so well; there's this relentlessness to its passing, but despite that it flows like a calm river, clear and constant and steady, never hurrying, never drying. and mage's comment about it showcasing perfectly how frieren stays the same despite time passing is really neat too. on the flip side seeing how things have changed over time (the borrowing, adaptation, improvement of spells from demons which then go on to be adopted by mages is something i really fucking liked!! and the way fern uses the magic so casually as a way to demonstrate the development of magic turning a death spell into 'ordinary offensive magic' is so so good. frieren using this to teach her a history lesson was Also really good.)
it's hard to dislike any of the main characters when they show such strong cohesion of their complex pasts and personalities, and their actions do so well to showcase who they are even in battle (fern's precision and blunt simplicity stands out here). you can even see how they have changed each other over the course of their journey... frieren wanting to give up on finding the lost ring so not to slow the party down but fern insisting they'll stay until she finds it contrasting with her impatience with frieren spending months trying to find the blue moon weed at the beginning of their journey is something that stuck with me a lot
the other thing that stuck with me is the rebuilding of the original party not only thematically within their roles but also in influence by the original heroes (fern being taught by frieren and their noted similarity in the earlier episodes with regards to magic, stark being taught by eisen and the same way they express and approach fear, sein's choice not to become an adventurer being directly influenced by heiter not to mention their obvious similarities in habits)... and of those it's really fitting how frieren represents himmel's hero role now after she was influenced by her journey with himmel, especially with his death giving immense meaning to her new journey and frieren copying his actions because it's what he would do
but i enjoyed it... will be back next week..... waha.............
#blue/-#blue/nemophila#nemophila-thoughts#nemophila/frieren#nemophila/fern#nemophila/stark#nemophila/sein#nemophila/himmel#i know everyone in the frieren tag is like talking about ships and everything but i didn't even focus on that while i was watching at all#himmel's love for frieren is important thematically so i'm a lot more aware of that but i think this impact is stronger if it's unrequited#i mean. frieren aro represent wahoo but also i hope she comes to understand what it means to himmel even if she never returns the feelings#i think this is one of those pieces of media where au won't ever hit as hard because the canon has all the pieces laid out for it#how are you going to recreate the same feeling in an au... i think i get it now..........#still i think in regards to the characters. it's easy to enjoy all of them and their complexities even as they slowly reveal them#stark being a coward but then we reveal that he doesn't think being afraid is bad and also the burden of his past weighing on him#also the fact that he just. has never been showed kindness like getting a birthday present leading into his awkwardness w fern's birthday#he kinda just ticks a lot of my boxes. also he's kobayashi chiaki#sein's hesitance to join the party but then becoming someone they can depend on when frieren's disconnect is a bit more obvious#it's like 2am i don't think my rambling is even coherent any more. good night
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
I am going to say something that has really been bothering me that not everyone may agree with, which is totally okay, everyone is entirely valid to disagree with me: There is a fast fashion problem in fandom, specifically fanfiction.
Disclaimer: This conversation is not about broadly writing the same tropes, genres, and ideas. I am not talking about people writing fics with similar themes or the same name. I am specifically talking about people writing fics that are very obviously heavily influenced by other fics. This is not me talking about: I wrote __ character as enemies to lovers vampires and so did this person so they stole. Please do not trivialize this conversation with instances that are very obviously not what I'm talking about.
As someone who exists in the fanfiction space, I want to express what I have seen specifically in this space in my own experience, my mutuals experiences, and random experiences I have seen on my dash.
Recently, it seems like there is a reoccurring theme of writers (often new writers) taking "inspiration" from fanfics that they love and value and essentially creating their own version of that story to the point it is bordering on plagiarism. I say bordering on plagiarism because while people may not be copying line for line or entire scenes in order, you can tell that it is a re-arranged duplicate of another story.
I am not talking about writing similar tropes and dynamics. No one owns a trope or a dynamic. I am specifically talking about people taking the plots, scenes, concept and core of fanfics and recreating it and changing some plot elements or placing it in a different alternate universe and calling it their own, when at the heart of that fanfic, it is taken from someone else's creation.
This to me, reads like people who read a work, fall in love with it, but think 'this is easy to do, I can do this myself' and they end up making a replica of a fic that you can tell is a replica of another fic, despite adding some changes. Nine times out of ten, these inspired fics lack the obvious thought and heart the original writer put into it.
Which, begs the question: How is this different than fanfic writers taking inspiration from media (i.e. published books, movies, music, shows)? Because fanfiction is meant to replicate a specific something from published media. It is not meant to duplicate an already established fanfiction contribution.
I know that the nuance between that line is very ambiguous and it brings up the discourse on 'should there be fanfiction of fanfiction' - to which my response is it is, generally, pretty obvious what the difference between being inspired by a fic and copying a fic are.
In the last few months, I have lost count of how many times I or mutuals have a) discovered someone has been writing a story based off of their fic 2) have been asked to use an already written work to make their own or 3) already have started writing works modeled after an already written work and in hindsight asked the author if they could keep doing so (this third instance almost always happens after someone accuses them of stealing another work).
This feels like the fast fashion industry. Someone finds a story that is popular (whatever that means to the individual), takes all of the elements they think makes the story works, rearranges it, posts it as their own and and says they were 'inspired' (if they credit the original story at all).
This is why so many works that readers are coming across feel like they are the same thing. It is the same A + B + C = D over and over and over again, because people are outright just taking what they think works from other stories and using it.
Again - I am not talking about people who come across a trope, AU, genre or dynamic they like and add something similar to their story. I am talking about the people who are very intentionally and obviously writing the same exact fic with their own 'twist' (whatever that means).
Why is this a problem (beyond the fact that it's essentially roundabout plagiarism)? You're taking the heart, soul, and creativity someone poured into something and posting it on your own and robbing it of the originality, the essence, and the intention behind it. You cannot replicate a writer's feelings and obvious emotions that they have poured into the original work, and it shows. And it is gutting to the original authors who are finding remixes of their work across the fanfiction space.
Please consider whether or not you are inspired by a story or if you are redoing it in your own image. If you find yourself worried enough about your story that you feel like you have to publicly credit someone to avoid scrutiny, perhaps the question needs to be asked of whether you're just redoing what someone else already wrote.
Please do not confuse inspiration and recreation. 9 out of 10 authors will love that they inspired you to write, but would not love to find that you wrote a fic inspired by them that is a rearranged or hollowed-out version of the fic they wrote.
The fanfic space wants and needs more writers, but it does not need people unwilling to create their own art, instead taking bits and pieces from others and calling it a success.
Also adding: This problem also directly contributes to 'smaller' writers or more niche (often queer and bipoc) stories not getting the hype, readership, or recognition they deserve. On more than one occasion I've seen stories that had explicitly queer or bipoc characters taken and turned into heteronormative or white-presenting stories.
Note: This 1000% goes for actual visual art as well, including gifs etc. in fandom but I'm not well-versed there and thus, did not include it.
#i genuinely have very much like been pushed to the edge this week#and i feel like getting this off of my chest#and i don't think i am crazy but maybe i am#this is also a VERY broad rant of what i'm talking about and does not cover all the nuances of this
442 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm sorry but the more I think about the Rebirth ending the more I love it actually like. The whole trilogy has been a meta commentary of sorts and, specially, Aerith's death is at the epicenter of it. She both dies and doesn't die exactly because us, as an audience, want both things to happen.
People have been clamoring to be able to save Aerith since 1997, there were fake hidden hacks, AU fictions, retellings, everything. Everyone has been at Squeenix's doorsteps begging them to let us save her. Like, it's at a point where the "Square will let us save Aerith if you pay for the DLC" joke is much more than a decade old.
On the other side, there's this very expressive unwant for any change whatsoever from the source material. It's not a feeling that is exclusive to FF7 either, there's this very clear pushback against any new remake/adaptation that deviates, even slightly, from it's original. People don't want new content, they want the old one they experienced when they were younger, but prettier, they want to both feel the nostalgia and experience everything as if for the first time again.
From that camp, I think the most prominent argument is that FF7 is about loss, right? And they're not wrong. Aerith's death is the crux of the story, it's the very thing that made FF7 as known as it is, there would be no actual weight to what it's trying to tell if the heroine doesn't die in the middle of it, an unexpected, hurtful, avoidable death. What's the point of a narrative about grief if you can just... avoid losing someone? Avoid having it be cruelly taken from you?
And yet, you see, if want someone to die, if you want something to be taken from you, are you really losing it? In the original, part of the impact was that no one could see it coming, it was a straight representation about how death is sudden and takes away opportunity from you. Aerith doesn't go into the sleeping forest willing to make a sacrifice for the greater good, she has barely started her adventure, she makes a promise to go on the highwind, the group is one location away from finding out more about her ancestry and her family.
That's not true for the remake, tho. Everyone knows about her fate, about what is going to happen to her. That's probably the most spoiled moment in video game history. I personally knew about her death before I truly understood what Final Fantasy even was. So now we have an audience that is extremely aware of what, when and how her death is going to happen. That's why the Confluence of Worlds is put at that moment, because it's the single most expected moment in the entire triology, it's the one moment that made the narrative resonate so well.
The impact is impossible to recreate now, even for newer fans of the series. People want a 1:1 retranslation but such a thing would always be a gimmicky shadow of it's original. It's why the focus shifts, now the most emotionally impactful scene is not the killing of her but of her goodbye, in the church after the dream date. "Thank you," Aerith echoes "It's been fun", a callback to her conclusion on Remake where she says "I'm grateful for all the words we shared. All the moments and the memories. You've made me more happy than you know."
So she dies and she doesn't, both at the same time. Effectively in limbo now, narratively explained by lifestream shenaningans. We put her there ourselves, by refusing to move on, refusing to accept her death but also refusing to change, allowing a different outcome. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, at least, Aerith's words sound like the very sincere feelings of the developers, who are grateful for all the love we all have powered into their work all these years.
I just love it so much, I could spend hours talking about it.
#ff7 rebirth#ff7 rebirth spoilers#ff7 remake#final fantasy vii#aerith gainsborough#aerith#meta analysis#ff7
233 notes
·
View notes
Text
answering MORE asks!!
featuring: pom wraith au, ✨discovered secrets✨, character motivations and more! check it out! ↓↓
now THAT's a question... it VERY much depends on the story!! it could range from immediately supportive, to shocked confusion, to terrified repulsion-- i've made art for a few different ideas... but ultimately it depends on how close they are (and the circumstances under which she's revealed)
Dingo's loyalties are going to lie with the rescue corps. he's been there for a while, and he's friends with his coworkers. he especially has loyalties towards Yonny and Shepherd (one being his childhood friend, and the other his captain that he's grown to tremendously respect). so if he thinks that his crewmates and his friends are going to be endangered, he'll always side with them first! so hopefully whenever Pom is revealed, he'll realize Pom isn't a threat!!
i think he'd be prone to accepting Pom's secret, especially if they've started becoming friends. maybe she has to protect him out on the field (dumbass tried to show off and it backfired), and she gets hurt in a way that reveals she's not human. maybe Dingo encounters Pom accidentally when she's in her full wraith form, and he's entasked by the rescue corps with monitoring this "Rose Wraith" to make sure it's not a danger to their mission, and at some point he realizes the Rose Wraith and their new recruit are one and the same. there's a lot of possibilities!
they're fun to think about... i do want to pick an idea to flesh out with art or maybe some writing hehe!!
i will admit i've never looked too hard into that particular theory, so it's not something i had or will have in mind when making this au... there's certainly something very mysterious about the planet that neither the crew nor Pom understands. there's a strange connection between the planet PNF404 and the wraiths too!
she can't shrink her core that much, so it'd have to be something that can fit a ball in it. otherwise yeah i guess she could just recreate gmod prop hunt💖
OHOHHOHOHO its funny you ask this, i literally have a comic drafted about this exact scenario
you'll see parts of this in the comic i'm making, but think about it from Pom's perspective: humanoids are really weak, squishy things. they can die from the silliest things! if they get stabbed they'll die, if they hit their head too hard they die, they can't even lose limbs without being at threat of dying. compare that to Pom as a wraith -- the only thing that's fatal to her is her core getting shattered. she's way tougher than the others, and she doesn't have a good frame of reference for what IS fatal to humanoids because they seem to be able to die from anything...
so when Dingo gets hurt out on the field, she'd freak out thinking Dingo is straight up dying. if they're close enough, she'll sacrifice her cover as a regular person and go wraith mode to save him from any further damage. she asks him over and over if he's dying, and when he says no she'll ask if he's lying. she's panicking! when she's dragging him back to the ship and when the adrenaline wears off, she might get teary eyed. she genuinely thought she was about to lose her crewmate... someone she'd started to consider a friend. she's never had anyone to lose before and it's a very scary feeling!
there are a LOT of really good questions here!! i can't fully dive into everything here or else i'd end up writing a novel but i will try!!!
pom is a VERY simple creature at first. i haven't decided on which planet she grew up on -- probably a random civilized colony -- but she grew up on the fringes of society. she's always been an observer and in the background; she's experienced enough to loosely know how to fit in, but a lot of social nuances are lost to her because of her inexperience.
but (unfortunately) there's some shit you have to do if you want to engage in society, one of which is make money. if you want a place to live you gotta make some dough, and through some fortunate coincidences she happens upon the rescue corps recruiting advertisements. one thing leads to another, she ends up training and eventually recruited as a new officer. whoever was supposed to background check her clearly was sleeping on the job, because a simple Space Google would've revealed her listed home planet of Karut to be fake (when they asked where she was from she panicked and said carrot💖)
pom has spent so much of her life simply drifting on the outskirts of a civilization she doesn't belong to. she doesn't realize (until she has friends to lose) that she was very much lonely. when she's on the rescue mission she comes to understand herself and what she wants a lot better, but that also precariously places her right on the edge of tragedy because now there's stakes if her secret is found out
she might be learning more about humans every day, but ultimately they're still a mystery. there are so many nasty potential outcomes if her secret is found out, ranging from being outcasted to a worst case scenario where they attack her or experiment on her indefinitely. she's never had anything to lose before, so now that she does she's terrified of the possibility!
realistically, if pom's secret was found out in the middle of a mission, i think most of them would be concerned but ultimately accepting. their new recruit is just a little gooey, but that's okay! she's still a star officer, and they couldn't execute this rescue without her! (shepherd is terrified of Creatures though so she'd take a while to warm up. yonny however is already chomping at the bit to experiment on her)
however... if they thought wraith pom might've replaced their original recruit, that'd go horribly. imagine being shepherd -- she'd think that the new recruit she spotted at training camp DIED, and was replaced by a gooey abomination at some point during this rescue mission. that's terrifying to think about, they don't know anything at all about what pom is so they might fear the others being picked off and replaced, or any amount of other awful things.
likewise, if they realize wraith pom has a connection to this planet (and to the other wraiths), they might suspect she's trying to tear them apart from the inside. pom is a complete unknown, and that's a scary thing! so ultimately their reactions depend on the circumstances of how she's revealed
thank you!! i already talked a little about everyone else, but captain Olimar is an interesting one. if you consider strictly the canon of pikmin 4, then he would simply be curious. he's never met an alien creature with the same level of sentience as him, and you KNOW he'd be taking writing and taking notes on her lol
however, if you consider a slight deviation from canon where olimar had a run in with the plasm wraith, his reaction would be WAY different. wraiths have a certain unsettling aura to them (it's how wraiths can sense other wraiths nearby), and if olimar spent an extended amount of time around the plasm he probably would've picked up on that sense. the first time he sees pom exposed, even if its just her partial form, that horrible awful sensation would prickle the back of his mind. she feels like the plasm, and that would be terrifying and AWFUL. olimar is a very kind man, but he's not about to subject himself to any more trauma (or endanger the nice rescue corps folk who saved him), so he'd spearhead the effort to contain pom (with the intention of ousting her back whence she came)
THANK YOU!! please hold pom like a hamburger. she'd just stare at you with that blank ass expression
my life long crusade to draw all pikmin characters screaming...
THANK you!! i love those silly cartoon people
PNF-404 is basically like a buffet to her with all the creatures she can eat for biomass. she can control her size but this is a funny thought
"There was a terrible accident with the ships miniatizer... I flipped the m to w and now I'm big...."
oh hi!! uh i've never used fire alpaca, I used Paint Tool Sai for the longest time before switching to Procreate. I also sometimes use clip paint studio but Procreate is my go-to art program!
i could make a FAQ but i don't know what i'd put there HLIHAIERHA i don't have too many frequently asked questions
thank you for reading this far!! i also appreciate everyone sending in asks💖, I try to read all of them even if I can't get to them right away. I'll get through them all... slowly...
192 notes
·
View notes
Text
Time of Our Lives | Dancer!Jake Seresin x dancer!reader | Dirty Dancing AU
TGM masterlist
Characters & pairings: dancer!Jake Seresin x dancer!reader (romantic)
Content warnings: fluff, light profanity, pop culture references | Female!reader (she/her) | WC: 8.8k
Requested 📨 yes/no (for @eternalsams 🩶🥹)
Premise: what happens when two childhood best friends from well off families reunite at a country club leading into a summer that would impact their careers for eternity while dancing around a decades worth of brewing feelings and recreating an iconic dance for the country clubs annual showcase? Here’s a hit, it’s gonna be like that one song Baby and Johnny fell in love to.
Note: I am alive and just know I (quite literally) had the time of my life writing this piece. It brought me back to my 80s movies/dirty dancing hyperfixation 😭 @eternalsams thank you so much for your patience and requesting this gem. I hope I did you Justice and dancer Jake has my heart and soul. Thank you for trusting me with your vision 🩶
————————
“You could at least act like you’re having fun, Y/n,” came the scolding words of her mother when she noticed the unamused expression Y/n possessed.
A natural state she would describe since they arrived at the resort. And what Y/n could not depart from no matter how hard she tried.
Summertime. The best time of year for some folks who are eager to get away from the stress and drama of work and school to relax and have fun. Whether it be a week or two whole months. For high school dance teacher Y/n L/n, her ideal summer vacation would be in the comfort of her own home with a book or chilling at her favorite resultant sipping on Margaritas while enjoying live music. Going out with her small select group of friends to dance was also on her list of summer necessities…but her family had other plans.
To kick off her 2023 summer break—which is to last nearly three weeks if she manages to survive—Y/n and her family were at an upscale Catskills resort located in the Appalachian Mountains not too far from New York, the place she currently called home. A snazzy estate one may add, for it was filled with alumni from the top Ivy League schools in the country.
And Y/n’s personal hell.
Of course she loved spending time with her parents and siblings….to an extent. But, when they’re constantly berating her life choices by becoming a dance instructor—on top of displeased opinions of her love life—-Y/n felt suffocated by them.
It was like she could never live up to the expectation they had of her no matter how much she proved herself and her talent. Not only were her parents highly respected doctors in their community, but her sister graduated Summa Cum Laude at Yale Law School, marrying her college sweetheart before taking a job at one of the city’s top firms. Then there was her brother. He went on to become a naval fighter pilot, distinguished and respected with his place at number one in his class during his year at Top Gun. His wife was a trauma nurse who worked at the same hospital as her parents.
Yet here she was—mind you, a former member of the New York City Ballet Company, Juilliard Alumni, performed at the Super Bowl, toured with Rihanna in the mid early 2010s, appeared in several music videos, and teaches at the Frank Sinatra School of the Arts—unable to adhere to their standards.
Parents…they want what’s best for their children. Right?
Yeah she found that hard to believe.
If only they saw her in the Ballroom. And no, not talking about the kind you see on Dancing With The Stars. She’s talking about the Ballroom that calls New York its home.
But also ballroom dancing. Her sister would have a heart attack if she discovered Y/n danced Bachata with Prince Royce at a New York latin club.
“Fun?” Y/n scoffed, sipping at her glass of champagne resulting in a light cringe at the taste. For rich people one would think they’d have the best there was. What just hit her tastebuds was something out of a box container imposing as fancy liquor. “I don’t see how anyone could find this type of rendezvous fun, mother.” She received a scolding glare.
“Keep your voice down,” the older woman kept looking around to see if anyone heard, “these are our friends.”
“Your friends,” Y/n corrected. There was no way in hell she’d consider any of the fake people in front of her friends. No matter how long their families have been acquainted. None of them liked each other, and were always trying to one up whenever someone voiced an accomplishment.
Instead of answering, Y/n’s mother simply walked away with an annoyed huff. No longer in the mood to argue. Rolling her eyes, Y/n downed the last of her champagne before making way out the french doors of the lounge and into one of the many patios. The sunshine greeted her with its vibrant and warm rays. Chatter from the guests sitting under umbrellas and beside the pool filled her ears. Y/n placed her sunglasses and booked it across until she was on the pathway leading to the guesthouse she and her family were staying.
“Y/n!” Had it been anyone else the woman would’ve mentally signed, but the voice behind the greeting was none other than her childhood best friend growing up, Natasha. A genuine smile appeared on her face as she turned around.
“Hey, Nat!” the two embraced in a hug, “Been a while, huh?” In truth the two hadn’t seen each other face to face since 2019 when Natasha moved to California to base her talent agency. Despite this, Natasha still traveled every year to Caskilles around this time to see her family, whereas Y/n remained in New York due to shows and gigs.
“More like four years,” a playful nudge was sent her way, “girl you left me here to fend for myself. I should feel betrayed,” Nat smirked, “but I can’t blame you. The only reason I keep coming to this place is to please my mom. It’s the only time all of us siblings are under the same roof.”
Natasha was the oldest of four and the only daughter to three sons. Her father had been the Mayor of New York City while her mother was the former District Attorney. All of her brothers had achieved prospective careers. Antonio, the second oldest, had been drafted by the MLB and currently played for the Washington Nationals. Dominic, the middle brother, was a nuclear engineer who rarely ever got time off but always managed to get a week in the summer. Lastly the youngest of the bunch, Victor, was a professional photographer who went on tour with artists like Journey, Lionel Richie, Daddy Yankee, and Stevie Nicks.
For Natasha, she had fallen in love with the fashion industry at a young age. After graduating from the Fashion Institute of Technology Natasha received an intern position at Vogue Magazine before becoming a product and brand marketing manager at Louis Vuitton, for which she got the opportunity to live in Paris, France for four years. There she got to work closely with Virgil Abloh, who unfortunately passed away in 2021, and Nicolas Ghesquiere.
As of 2022 Nat relocated to San Francisco and developed her own talent agency for aspiring models and fashion photographers who come from low-income backgrounds, LGBTQIA+, people of color and disabilities. With its success Nat’s had several clients on the face of Vogue and walking runways at every fashion week.
“I’m sorry,” Y/n said, the two beginning to walk down the path together, “Life’s been hectic. During the pandemic there were little to no gigs so I had no idea what to do.” Unfortunately being in the dance industry meant competitive opportunities with a maybe 10% success rate if lucky. Y/n’s last big break was dancing with Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande in their ‘Rain on Me’ music video. Y/n occasionally attended the Balls in New York, but hadn’t walked a category in ages.
She did have a following on social media, which bought in a reasonable amount of income. Over 100k on YoutTube and roughly 2 half a million on TikTok. Instagram had close to 3 million since it had been the primary platform in the 2010s and several of her dance videos went viral.
“I understand,” Nat nodded solemnly, “It was like that for me too. It’s nice the world is slowly going back to normal. Although,” she paused to chuckle, “the amount of damage control getting bookings back to their normal pace was probably the most stressful point in my career.”
“Has it been easier now?” They stopped at a little bench overlooking the lake, “I saw you were at fashion week.”
Nat instantly brightened. “Much better than before I will say. We’ve got a great wave of new clientele—I just landed this fella a cover with GQ so I’m pleased with that.” Y/n congratulated her before the agent changed the subject, “But enough about me, what about you?”
The woman scoffed, “Well my last big thing was the Lady Gaga music video—and that was going on three years now,” the thought made her frown. It wasn’t like her to go so long without a gig. “I auditioned for a spot on Beyoncé’s tour.”
“The Renaissance tour,” Nat nearly gagged. It was all anyone could talk about since tickets went on sale earlier that year. Nat managed to snag two for her and her boyfriend for the Los Angeles show. “And?”
“I’ll know in about a month or so if I book it.”
“You so got it,” Nat assured with a tap on her shoulder, “You’re one of the best dancers in the world. You danced with Madonna at the Super Bowl,” her gaze became pointed, “and toured with Rihanna. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nat,” Y/n laughed, though deep down she felt the hope in her rise.
Rolling her eyes, Natasha leaned back against the bench and was about to comment when someone in the distance caught her eye. “Is that who I think it is?”
Peeking over her shoulder, Y/n suddenly straightened her posture upon seeing the blonde man grinning from ear to ear as they made eye contact. Jake Seresin certainly landed on the right side of the puberty coin. With his tan, muscular frame, gorgeous green eyes, blonde hair and smile that belonged on the cover of a magazine, he was a sight for sore eyes.
“Ladies, fancy seeing you two here on this beautiful afternoon.”
A wave of butterflies simmered in Y/n’s tummy, a shy smile forming as he approached the bench. It’d been several years since the two saw each other despite being friends since childhood. “Jake,” she greeted, moving to accept his hug when he opened his arms. Natasha followed before the two sat back down, “It’s good to see you. Is your mom with you?”
Like Natasha and her family, Jake’s were part of the same circuit in terms of highly respected, sometimes influential people. His mother, a doctor, was a colleague of Y/n’s parents, and his late father was one of Texas’ Congressmen during the 2000-2010s. Jake’s only sibling, his sister Krista, was a young adult novelist with over ten publications.
Jake on the other hand was like Y/n: a professional dancer and known in the industry as a real life Ken Doll. He had a massive following online, choreographed music videos and tours—even went on tour with Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber, & Ariana Grande—and was a guest judge on ‘So You Think You Can Dance,”. During the pandemic a lot of his dance sequences went viral and became trends, Y/n even posted on to which he reposted with the caption, “you know I had to shine the spotlight on my favorite dance partner. Miss you Y/n/n.”
You can bet Y/n experienced internal fireworks.
There was no denying she had a crush on Jake growing up. The two were inseparable whenever their families stayed at the resort. They’d even make trips out to each other during winter break, eventually attended Juilliard at the same time, and collaborated early in their careers. Jake and Y/n used to sneak out of the country club when they were younger to dance on the dock while blasting music from the boom box they’d stolen from the lounge. They learned ballroom together, competing in competition without Y/n’s family having knowledge of it.
Unlike Y/n’s parents, Jake’s mom and dad approved of his career choice. Though skeptical in the beginning, they grew to be very supportive and attended his showcases at school, the concert he was performing in and kept up with what he was doing.
Because of their disapproval of her pursuing dance, Y/n believes their learning of Jake’s endeavors resulted in them no longer coming to the country club if he and his family were there. They also never asked about him or worked with his mother despite being in the same field. It’s like they blamed Jake for Y/n not becoming what they wanted her to be: a doctor or a lawyer.
“She and my sis are settling in,” he gestured down the path he came, where several cabins were located. “We just got in about an hour ago.”
“How long are you guys here for?” The question came from Nat, who threw a look at Y/n.
Jake didn’t notice, “a couple weeks. Needed a break from the world—and Mr. Collins asked me to help him with this showcase he’s putting together.” Y/n raised her brow.
“Showcase?”
“It’s more for the youngins,” Jake explained. “He asked if I could help teach some dance lessons for those interested.” Though it physically hurt not to react, Y/n somehow managed to remain neutral. Even putting a semi-fake smile.
How come Mr. Collins didn’t ask her?
“Stop it,” the voice in her head said, “it’s not a competition and you know Jake would never be upset if the roles were reversed.”
“Wow, Jake, that's great!” She was happy for him. And scolded herself mentally for the childish thought she had. Jake was an exceptional dancer and a great teacher. Y/n had watched some of his YouTube videos in passing and had no doubt he could get the job done.
“Say if you have the time I’d be happy to have you join in,” he flashes a smile that would have any girl weak in the knees. “I’d say you’re more of an expert in certain areas that I’m not really well acquainted with.” Warmth fills her chest.
“I’d love to. Thank you, Jake.”
The second he departed Natasha was on Y/n. “Girl, if you do not hop on that—.”
“Natasha!”
“What?” She whispers shouts after being hushed, “you’re into him, he’s so into you,” Y/n’s expression is that of, ‘You’re delusional’. “Skip the previews and start the movie.” Now that was a metaphor Y/n had not heard before, but clever nonetheless.
“Jake and I have been friends for years,” Y/n brushed her off. “I am not going to risk ruining what we have because of some middle school crush.” The brunette rolls her eyes.
“But it’s not, ‘some middle school crush.’ You’ve had feelings for him for over decades now—which is a conversation for another day,” Y/n makes a sound of offense, but does not deny the woman. “It’s time to put on your big girl panties and get your man.”
She’s quiet for a moment, glancing to her feet, “What if it’s not meant to be. My family would never approve—.”
“Like you’ve let them dictate what you do in life.”
“My point is—,” Y/n cuts back, “I’ve already disappointed them with my career path. Call me naive or delusional, but I don’t want to have to deal with constantly being berated for my choice of partner. Jake is wonderful in every aspect, but what he does will just set my parents off again for another twenty years if by some miracle we start something up.”
Natasha sighs, placing a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder, “Sometimes you have to accept that parents are always going to have their opinions that are unchangeable. And you have to let go of the hope they’ll come around. Y/n, you’ve dealt with this since you were seventeen, maybe it’s time to distance yourself from it.”
“And if it all backfires and I end up alone?”
“You’ll never be alone,” she nudges her, “I’m here. And even if it all blows to hell, then at least you can say you tried.”
The next day Y/n found Jake at the little studio room the club used to teach waltz lessons. She was met with his gorgeous smile and an army of preteens in the middle of showing off who could do the best tik tok dance. “I see I’ve interrupted a very important matter.”
“None wanted to do the one I created,” he dramatically pouts, “saying it was too complicated.”
She laughed, “Well they’re not wrong.”
“Hey!”
For the next week, Y/n and Jake spent four hours a day--two in the morning and two in the afternoon--with the kids teaching them different styles of dance. Of course the crowd favored breakdancing, hip hop, modern, and vogue, but would request to watch Jake and Y/n perform routines they used to do back in the day. Swing was a popular one, as was quickstep and jive because of its upbeat and face paced. One day Jake busted out his tap dancing skills while Y/n displayed some ballet.
“How can a person do that?” a kid commented as she stood on revelé. Jake leaned down, whispering, “she’s secretly an alien from another planet.”
“C’mon I wanna show you something,” Jake grabs her hand one night after dinner. He leads her to a cabin not too far from the main resort where members of the staff have started a party. On the speakers were some 2000s hits that summed up the millennial crowd. Jake waved to some of the guys who ran group activities in the corner, Y/n spotted the culinary department at the food table. And if she were to glance at the door on the opposite end of the cabin, she’d see the housekeeping passing around an object containing a certain plant.
“What’s this?”
“The only place where the workers get to catch a break after spending all day with those uptight rich folks. They call it ‘Dirty Dancing’,” Y/n’s expression becomes amused, letting out a soft laugh.
“Like the 80s movie with Patrick Swayze?” Jake beams.
“The one and only,” taking her hand once more, he leads her to the makeshift dance floor. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
To say the two became the life of the party was an understatement. Jake spun Y/n to the sound of her laughter and Elvis ‘Jailhouse Rock’. Jumping up and down with a crowd around them to Pitbull’s “Give Me Everything.”
“Tonight, I want all of you tonight,” They pointed to each other, “Give me everything tonight.” Y/n pointed to the girl beside her, “For all we know we might not get tomorrow. Let’s do it tonight.” Jake fist pumped with some guys around him, “Don’t care what they say, or what games they play. Nothing is enough, ‘til they handle love.” people in the back shouted “let’s do it tonight.”
“I want you tonight, I want you to stay,” Jake gave Y/n a look, “I want you tonight,” she squealed upon him pulling her toward him, “Grab somebody sexy tell ‘em hey.” the entire house exploded into the chorus. Everyone having the time of their lives, it felt like a scene from a movie.
Y/n pulled girls into the middle during Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies.’ Then they carried the party when ‘Year 3000’ by the Jonas Brothers came on. “He said, ‘I've been to the year 3000. Not much has changed, but they lived underwater. And your great-great-great-granddaughter is doing fine!”
Some staff who happened to be part of the New York Ballscene recognized Y/n, leading to a vogue battle to commence. “This is what I wanna see!”
Let’s just say….that was the moment Jake knew he was in love.
“‘Cause we are living in a material world. And I am a material girl,” The next morning Y/n was rudely awoken by her ringtone. “Hello,” her groggy voice answered, hearing Jake on the opposite end sounding equally as tired.
“Are you busy this afternoon in between lessons?”
“Not that I know of. What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with Collin,” his tone shifted to one she couldn’t decipher, “He’s asking if you and I would be interested in performing at the showcase.” Jolting from the bed, Y/n was fully awake.
“Come again.”
“You and me. Me and you,” Jake repeated, “we put on a little number for the finale.”
Fiddling with her pajama top, Y/n suddenly became nervous. The night before she was on Cloud 9 with the way Jake was looking at her. They danced the night away and those feelings she desperately tried to hide were slowly becoming difficult to keep down. “What did you have in mind?”
“Time of My Life, really?” The two were at the studio dressed in comfy attire they usually danced in. “Don’t you think that’s a little cliche.”
“I thought it was fitting,” the blonde rebutted. Jake suggested the two perform the iconic dance sequence at the end of the 80s classic. “What, you got something against it?”
She rolled her eyes, “Only that my parents blame my childhood obsession with it as the reason I didn’t follow their dreams for me.” Jake made a face.
“They’re still not over that?”
“Nope,” She popped the ‘p’. “In fact they still remind me every chance they get about it.”
Jake finished setting up the song loop, standing from his crouching position, “Well, let’s prove just how wrong they were when you blow their mind with your talent at the showcase.”
Between the giggles and constantly finding any moment to procrastinate, it was a miracle the two managed to choreograph a routine. It wasn’t an exact copy of the iconic dance Baby and Johnny performed, but they kept some elements in.
Including the lift.
“Jake, I don’t know about this,” Y/n shivered when her body hit the cold water, following him until their waists were submerged. The whole idea made her nervous. It was an intimidating maneuver.
Jake, however, did not show any sign of hesitation. “Worried I’d drop you?” he teased, “I thought you trusted me? We used to do this all the time as kids.”
“Exactly. I do trust you, but we’re not fifteen anymore. I’m not--,” he cut her off gently.
“Don’t say what I think you’re about to say,” his look was soft but serious at the same time. “You have nothing to worry about. And besides, we’re out here taking precautions instead of being in the studio where if something did go wrong, we’re not as likely to end up in the ER.”
Sighing, Y/n rubbed her eyes. “Fine, let’s just get this over with, before I drown in embarrassment..”
About two and half hours of non-stop repetition of Jake lifting Y/n in the air passed. Sometimes he purposely lost footing so they both planted into the freezing lake water and other times he genuinely faltered. “Jake!”
“I’m sorry!” Thankfully at least one out of every ten attempts were a success. By that we’re talking they were able to hold the position for more than four seconds. “Okay, we’re done for the day.”
As the sun started to set, Jake climbed onto the dock before pulling Y/n up. “Thanks,” she took the towel he handed her, immediately squeezing the excess water from her hair. “Well that was fun.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, grabbing his towel. “I think we made some great progress. We’ll go through the whole routine tomorrow and see what needs adjustments.” The showcase was in just over a week, meaning they were crunching down on time.
“Sounds like a plan.” Stars painted the sky, the two eventually sitting on the dock with their towels wrapped around them. Soft music played from Jake’s speaker.
“How’s it been for you?” Jake was the one to break the silence, “thinking about it, we haven’t really got the chance to catch up. New York still treating you well?”
“Oh uh,” Y/n swallowed, unsure of how to answer without sounding too pessimistic. “It’s been alright. I’ve been teaching for the last two years.”
“A teacher you say? Where at?”
“Frank Sinatra School of Arts.” Jake’s smile grew.
“That’s amazing!” Butterflies erupted at his praise. “I’m happy for you, Y/n, really. You’re inspiring the next generation.”
“Thanks,” she looked away, unable to keep eye contact when her heart was beating so fast. ‘Geez, why am I like this? He’s making me feel like I’m fourteen again.’ “I’ve enjoyed it. My students were amazing.” Jake raised a curious brow.
“Are you not teaching anymore?”
Y/n bit her lip, “well, I haven’t renewed my contract for the upcoming school year yet,” she paused before adding, “I’m waiting to find out if I got a spot on this tour I auditioned for.” Now Jake was super curious. Lots of artists were touring that summer. The Jonas Brothers, Big Time Rush, Kesha, SZA, and of course the much anticipated Era’s and Renaissance tours of Taylor Swift and Beyonce.
And Jake was going to be involved in one.
“Is it okay if I ask which one?” his tone had an underlying hint of excitement at the thought the two might work together. Traveling across the country in what would be one of the best experiences in their lives.
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, “something tells me you have a secret, Jake Seresin. Would you like to share with the class what’s on your mind?”
Scratching his head, Jake answered, “I’m not really supposed to say…..but,” she held her breath, releasing with a low gasp, “I’ll be touring with Taylor Swift.”
“Wow,” the woman was speechless, breaking into a massive grin. “I-uh, wow, Jake that’s incredible! Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” he accepted her hug, not caring that their clothes were still damp. “I honestly didn’t believe I’d get it.” a playful slap landed on his arm.
“Please,” came her scoff, “You really thought Miss Americana herself would not see the talent in front of her?” Y/n mentally cheered in victory at the sight of his blush. “She’d be foolish to not have you as part of her time.”
“Okay okay,” he swatted her hands away with a chuckle. “Now answer my question.”
Once revealing who’s tour Y/n auditioned for, the two embarked on an hour long conversation about their careers and life. Jake mentioned how he had been in a relationship but it didn’t work out. Y/n vented on the ongoing emotional feud with her family--to which Jake told her, “It’s their loss for not seeing you the way the rest of the world does.”
Yeah, that made her melt.
By the end of the night there was a shift in the atmosphere. Both felt it, glancing away when they held eye contact longer than usually without a word passing by. They had suddenly become quiet, only the crickets singing through the trees.
“It’s getting late,” Y/n rushed out, moving to stand. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Jake mirrored her movements. “Same time.” Heading back to the cabins their families were staying at, they arrived at Y/n’s first.
Opening her mouth to say goodnight and avoid an awkward moment, Y/n’s words paused upon seeing Jake’s expression, “You look troubled.”
“I--,” he began before stopping, causing Y/n’s nerves to rise. “It’s nothing.”
The dancer wasn’t having it, “No, no no,” she playfully raised a hand, “you can’t leave me hanging like that, Jake. I thought we were friends.” Suddenly it became quiet again. Next thing Y/n knew was Jake softly grabbing her hand.
“You know I adore you right?”
Her heart skipped, “Not really, but I do now,” the light chuckle was obviously embedded with nerves. “I adore you too.”
“And we’ve been….rather close for a long time.”
“Yes,” the word trailed off her tongue, somehow managing to hold the eye contact Jake was giving her. She was practically pinned where she stood.
“I realize this isn’t the best time or way to say this,” his cheeks become rosy, “but I’ve really enjoyed these past couple weeks catching up and being able to dance again like we used to. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bring back some feelings I tried to ignore for fear it would ruin what we have.”
Y/n couldn’t believe what was happening, “Bring back?” Did the man she secretly longed for since they were teenagers want her too? After all this time? She nearly pinched herself.
Jake looked away, bringing his other hand to scratch his neck. “Yeah. Look, I understand if you don’t feel the same and I’m sorry for dropping this on you but after the party I felt like my world was finally on its axis. You…” he struggles finding the right words, “I can’t stop thinking about you and what we could be. You’re my best friend, Y/n. And I view you as someone I wanna dance with till we’re old and gray.”
“Jake,” his name was the softest it had ever been coming out of her mouth. Here was the moment she had been dreaming about. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
His reaction was immediate, “You--you feel the same?” The tone was that of disbelief and hope. Heart pounding beneath his skin.
Y/n cupped his face in her hands, grinning ear to ear, “There is no one else in this world I’d rather dance with than you, Jake. I’ve felt this way about you for as long as I can remember.”
Not wasting a second longer, Jake leaned down and captured her lips in a sweet kiss. Fireworks exploded between the two, the butterflies escaping their stomachs to swarm around them. Jake's lips were soft against hers, moving slowly as though to commit them to memory. When they pulled away, he kept his forehead against hers, “wow.”
She giggled, repeating, “wow.”
“Is this what Could 9 is supposed to feel like? Because I’m getting those vibes.”
Y/n threw her head back, laughing before covering her mouth when she remembered her family was asleep on the other side of the door, “You’re not the only one, hot shot. If this is what cloud 9 feels like then I never want to lose it.”
In the days following that magical night, the two continued their practice session. Perfecting the dance to where they didn’t even hear the music to be able to hit the steps right. When it came to the lift, however, Y/n was still worried of a disaster. Thankfully after several successful attempts at the studio she was able to let go of her doubt.
Plus she was tired of hearing Jake’s teasing.
Each night after parting ways that afternoon the two would meet up at the docks. Spending hours laying on the wood to watch the stars twinkle and talk about life. Then Jake would walk her back to the cabin, saying goodbye with a sweet kiss. With every minute they spent together, every dance, every kiss, both Jake and Y/n were falling more and more for each other.
One could go as far as to say it was love.
One could say they were having the time of their lives.
But of course what is life without a little drama? Y/n silently prayed drama would be avoided. Once in her life could things just be great? Without the everlying feeling of something going wrong?
Yeah, it was too good to be true.
“Jake!” a voice interrupted the peaceful morning, ripping the two apart from their kiss. They had gone for a jog together that morning around the lake, stopping at their usual spot of the docks before heading to the studio to practice for the night's event. Turning to the direction of the voice, Y/n’s eyes landed on a fiery redhead storming up the path. Her attention was on the man beside her, not hiding the obvious fact she was furious. “Who the hell is that?”
“Tatiana?” Jake’s tone was of shock and confusion. He let go of Y/n’s face he had been cradling, but kept a firm touch on her arm. “W-what are you--.”
“Is it so much to ask for you to answer your phone?” stopping in front of the two, her blazing hazel eyes locked on Y/n. “Who are you? And why the fuck were you making out with my boyfriend.”
“Excuse me?” she stammered, glacing at Jake who now looked pissed off. ‘He’s had a girlfriend this whole time?”
“I haven’t been your boyfriend since December, Tatiana,” he raised a pointed finger, casting a look to Y/n with pleading eyes that he was telling the truth. “We’ve been broken up for a while now.” he turned back to his ex, “You made that clear to me when you had me choose between the career I’ve spent decades building and you.”
There was anger in his tone, not pleased with her claims. Y/n didn’t know what to believe, all she could feel was a weight clamping down on her shoulder.
“Oh really,” removing her phone from her back pocket, Tatiana tapped the screen a few times before pushing it in Y/n’s face, “Does that seem like it to you.” Leaning forward, Y/n gulped at the sight of text messages indicating Jake and Tatianna had been in contact a few months prior. From the looks of it, Tatiana was hoping the two could pick up where they left off and Jake replying, ‘I’ll think about it,’ then it was silent until this past week where Tatiana sent texts asking when they could meet up. Jake, however, responded it wasn’t a good time and believed the two should stay friends.
“Y/n,” Jake started, glancing back between her and Tatiana, which only made her more perplexed. Unable to decipher what he was thinking. “Just please, wait right here.” He gently squeezed her arm, brushing their fingers together as he let go. Then before she could say anything, Y/n watched Jake gently escort Tatiana away from the docks. They went a good distance away to where Y/n was unable to hear the two. With Jake’s back to her, Y/n’s view was of the red head’s angry expression as she pushed her finger into Jake’s chest.
She saw him gently raise his hands, stepping away to escalate the situation. Y/n’s head spun, feeling a wave of nausea and the woman grabbed her water bottle from the ground. In a fast pace, Y/n stepped off the dock and onto the path leading back to the clubhouse. Once a distance away she broke out into a run, unaware if Jake saw her leave considering his back was to her. This was confirmed when she didn’t hear him call out for her.
Sprinting past the clubhouse, Y/n made a beeline for her cabin. Throwing the door open she moved past the living room not caring if anyone was there and straight to her bedroom where she locked the door behind her, pressing her back against it and sliding down to the floor to finally catch her breath.
Her water bottle had been drained, sweat coating her forehead and tears threatening to spill. Covering her mouth, Y/n refused to let the sob forming in her throat to release. There was no time to let her heartbreak. Not when the showcase was fast approaching.
The showcase.
“Fuck,” she sniffed, kicking off her shoes in the process. Of course it had to be that day all blows to hell. The perfect world she thought she finally obtained crashing down.
Of course she was being dramatic. Her life was shy from perfect, and this was another dent in the walls she tried to build.
She kept thinking of Jake. Willing herself to not jump to conclusions. He was clearly taken aback by Tatiana’s appearance. Even more when she called herself his girlfriend. Jake appeared rather offended by the accusation they were still together. Bottom line of the story: there was tension--especially animosity--between them, unfinished business if Y/n had to guess.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t bear to witness it. Right now she needs to think with a blank mind. And with Jake already spamming her phone, the solution for peace and quiet was to turn off her phone. Going as far as to power off her apple watch and not have music play while she showered.
The tears slowly cascaded while Y/n stood beneath the water. It was eerie with the silence, but it assisted with the clearing of her thoughts. Once clean Y/n dressed in comfy clothes and decided to nap for the remainder of the day. The morning had drained her, and until it came time to get ready for her dance with Jake--which she already dreaded--Y/n willed herself to sleep imagining what the day had been if his ex had never stepped foot on the docks.
“Need some help?” Y/n jumped, the hair clip falling from her hand. In the mirror she found Nat staring back at her with a sympathetic smile. “You look like you could use a hand.”
“Thanks,” she picked up the clip, holding up for Nat, who took it in her hand and stood behind Y/n. Gathering her hair up, Nat styled it in a messy but pretty updo.
“You seem tense for someone so used to the spotlight by now.”
A frown appeared, “It’s always nerve racking going on stage in front of people no matter how long you’ve done it.” Nat wasn’t buying it.
“Wanna talk about it? I know it’s more than a few nerves rustling your feathers, Y/n.”
Biting her lip, the dancer shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be, Nat. Simple as that.” Sadness washed over her for the millionth time since that morning. She hasn’t seen Jake since, only replying to his several texts after a dozen unanswered calls to confirm she would still do the showcase.
Although part of her thought about backing out.
“What exactly happened?” Nat softly asked, moving to now help Y/n on her makeup. She was going for a simple look so she lightly concealed, blushed, highlighted and added some minimal eye makeup.
“Everything felt so amazing” she started, looking up as Nat dabbed the beauty blender under her eyes. “After we did the lift at the lake, we talked for hours on the dock and when he walked me back to the cabin….he told me how he felt about me,” Y/n could still feel the tingles on her lips, “and we kissed.”
Nat withheld squealing, knowing it was a bad moment considering it didn’t end the way she hoped for her best friend. Now she was conspiring on how to get payback on Jake. Filled with sudden disdain.
“The next few days went by--like I was walking on cloud 9. The way he looked at me, Nat,” Y/n connected their eyes, “It was magical.” Nat brushed powder onto her cheeks, followed by light blush and highlighter.
“And then what happened.”
Y/n’s shoulders dropped, making her slouch, “Jake’s ex showed up this morning.” Nat’s hand froze, a second passing before continuing its movement. “They broke up last year, but I guess they were in the works of getting back together. Because she was very vocal about it--not shy of asking who the fuck I was and why was I with her boyfriend.”
“And what was Jake’s reaction?”
Y/n waited until after Nat finished sweeping a thin coat of eyeliner to answer, “He denied it--was very shocked when she showed up out of the blue. Said that she ended things because he refused to choose her over his career. Then she went on about how they were talking things out--that a few months ago he said he’d think about it.” Y/n thought back to the texts, “She showed me the messages from this week. He rejected her invite to meet up and said that they should remain friends. Then he pulled her aside to talk where I couldn’t hear. I sorta left after that.”
Nat grabbed the mascara, “You didn’t wait for him to explain?”
“Could you blame me?” Y/n rebutted, a little on the defense but not saying it in a mean tone. “I was dealing with a hundred emotions. Confusion, embarrassment, shame, sadness, anger. I wanted to cry, I wanted to yell. But the only thing I could do was shut down and walk away.”
Nat said nothing, spraying Y/n’s face with a setting mist before handing her the tube of her favorite lipstick.
“I know,” Y/n groans, “I should’ve stayed--to at least hear him out. But I didn’t want to face the humiliation if it were true.”
“And if it’s not true?” Nat suggested, “What if he was genuine and they really are done? Where does that leave you two?”
Blotting the color onto her lips, Y/n capped the tube and threw it into her makeup bag with a shug, “I don’t know, Nat. We’ll find out tonight I guess.” Taking one last glance in the mirror, she added, “That’s if he shows up--which I doubt he won’t. He wouldn’t want to let Collins down.” leaning back in the char, Y/n turns to her friend. “Thanks for the hair and makeup.”
Nat patted her shoulder, “anytime. You look beautiful. That dress was made for you.” Y/n bore a light pink dress with a flowy skirt and corset styled top. It was similar to the one Baby wore in Dirty Dancing, ironically enough, but unique in its own way. She paired it with simple dance shoes.
“Thank you, Nat.”
A thought suddenly came to the brunette, “Hey, did you ever hear back from that audition?”
There was no hiding her grin, Y/n looked like a child having just received a gift from Santa, “I got a call back. They’re having me fly to L.A. next week to dance for them again.” Nat jumped from her seat, squealing and pulling the woman into a hug.
“Ah that’s amazing! Congratulations--I’m so so happy for you!!”
“Thank you,” Nat’s happiness was contagious, making Y/n giggle as they swayed side to side. “I can’t believe I’m so close.”
“I knew you’d get it,” Nat maveled, playfully pinching Y/n’s side making her swat at her hand.
The happy moment was interrupted right on cue as Mr. Collins rushed in. “There you are!” He was frantic, clipboard in hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Have you seen Mr. Seresin?” Y/n’s heart dropped.
“No,” was her response, heat coating her skin. “I thought he was here already.” Collins took a peek at his watch, groaning in annoyance.
“You guys are the last ones so that gives me hope he’s just running late,” Motioning for Y/n to follow him, the man leads the two out of the makeshift dressing room. “You’ll wait by the end of the side stage while the other performers have their turn. Then I’ll announce--hopefully both of you--and we’ll call this showcase a success. Which by the way,” he spins around, stopping Y/n in her tracks, “Do you happen to have a backup plan by any chance if our friend decides to be a no-show?”
Y/n stuttered lightly, hands up in a ‘Not really?’ She goes, “I mean I can whip something up--Not to toot my own horn but I’m pretty good at what I do and will dance to any music you give me.”
“Fantastic,” Collins snaps his finger, “We’ll work with that.” Spinning back again, Collins high tails it to the stage, Y/n taking claim to a chair a few paces from the steps. She spotted Nat seated with her family, Y/n’s own folks at a table in the far back. Almost like they were hiding from the rest of the guests, causing her heart to sink further.
Collins opened the showcase with an animated greeting to the audience. After some announcements and thanks to staff and sponsors who helped put the showcase together, he introduced the first of 10 performers on the list. Nearly all were the teens and children Y/n taught with Jake, the woman standing from her chair to cheer them on. At the eighth performance she froze at the sight of the blonde man behind the curtain. He hadn’t seen her yet, so Y/n ducked back to her chair, peeking slightly to find him conversing with Collins.
‘Well looks like I’m not getting out of this one,’ she thought to herself.
When the second to last performer appeared, Y/n found Nat in the audience. The two shared a look, Nat able to see the unease seeping off Y/n, and throwing her thumbs up in hopes to relieve some of it. The (y/h/c) shook her head slightly, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless with a small smile.
Mr. Collins glides to the stage one final time, “And now,” a quick glance to his clipboard, then to the side of the stage opposite of Y/n, a smile curling on his lips. “We have a very special presentation from two people who were kind enough to help me put this whole shabang together,” raising a hand out he announces, “Please welcome the beautiful and ever so talented, here to bring you the time of your life, Jake Seresin and Y/n L/n!!”
There was a light applause from the adults overshadowed by the children, teens, staff members, and Natasha. Y/n’s parents were unreactive, glancing at her siblings wondering if they knew to which they received shrugs.
Still sitting in a chair just off the stage, not moving despite the lights flashing on her, Y/n’s head was down. The door was not far. She could easily make an escape. But she felt eyes on from those within view and felt trapped. To run now would be a lifetime of embarrassment and shame.
“C’mon, Y/n,” she scolded under her breath. “It’s just one dance.” "Then you can go back to New York and pray this whole thing never happened.”
As the thought left her mind, footsteps came toward her, and Y/n glanced up to find Jake, dressed in black slacks and buttoned down enough to make a girl weak in the knees, staring down at her with an expression that took her breath away. It was as though they were the only two in the room, much like in the studio. Everyone else simply disappeared. Leaving two people who danced around feelings for years only to come together at that very moment.
Whatever hostility Y/n had for Jake was gone. She saw the pure love in his eyes. Pleading with her to give him a chance.
Simply holding his hand out to her, Jake held her gaze and spoke clearly for everyone to hear, “Nobody puts Y/n in a corner.” Had her heart not been beating at 100 miles per second, Y/n would’ve laughed at the reference. Considering how fitting it was to their situation.
The beginning lyrics of the song echoed as Jake led her to the middle of the stage. Already igniting applause from the audience who recognized it. “Now I’ve had the time of my life.” An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to him. Never once straying eye contact “No, I’ve never felt this way before.” Y/n dipped back, Jake keeping her from falling to the floor until she was upright, “Yes I swear, It’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.”
“‘Cause I’ve,” Jake came around to her left, Y/n bringing up a hand which his own followed the trail of her arm. She caressed the side of his face. His group of friends hooting and hollering, “had the time of my life. And I owe it all to you.” A gentle kiss was placed on her nose.
Cheers from their students erupted when Jake spun Y/n, bringing a smile to both their faces as they began their routine. “I’ve been waiting for so long. Now I’ve finally found someone to stand by me.” Natasha whistled from her seat, “Yeah!”
“We saw the writing on the wall. As we felt this magical fantasy.”
All through the dance Y/n never once stopped grinning. Jake’s aura, the nostalgia of the song, and the love she had for dance were contagious. “Now with passion in our eyes, there’s no way we could disguise it secretly.” Unbeknownst to the woman, her parents and siblings were watching in awe. Having been the first time they truly watched her perform. “So we take each other’s hands,” Jake spun her again, Y/n throwing her arms in the air, head swaying back and forth. “‘Cause we seem to understand the urgency.”
“Just remember,” the pace picked up. “You’re the one thing. I can’t get enough of. So I’ll tell you something,” Y/n was lifted, dress flowing as Jake twirled them in circles. The audience applauded with glee.
“I’ve had the time of my life. No, I never felt this way before.” The cheers heightened when the two pressed against each other, the sight very intimate. “Yes, I swear, it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.” Jake snuck a kiss to her cheek, moving away to leap off the stage. “Hey, baby!” Y/n tilted her head back in laughter, fingers on the hem of her dress skirt and swaying to the beat.
“With my body and soul, I want you more than you’ll ever know. So we’ll just let it go, don’t be afraid to lose control, no.” It was Jake’s moment to shine. He fed off the energy of the crowd, winking at his boys in the back hyping him up. Y/n caught Natasha’s thumbs up, the two sharing a silent victory. “Yes I know what’s on your mind. When you say, ‘Stay with me tonight’.”
“Stay with me. Just remember,” Jake danced up and down the aisle, “You’re the one thing. I can’t get enough of. So I’ll tell you something,” locking eyes, they gave each other a nod. “This could be love,” staff helped Y/n off the stage, the woman bolting toward Jake, “because--.” Squeezing every muscle in her body, Y/n exhaled in relief as she was successfully lifted in the air.
“I’ve had the time of my life. No, I’ve never felt this way before.” It was a spectacular scene around them with everyone jumping from their seats, in awe of what they were witnessing. “Yes, I swear (yes I swear), it’s the truth. And I owe it all to you.”
Y/n giggled the whole way down, arms sliding over Jake’s shoulder who shared her happiness. “‘Cause I’ve had the time of my life. And I’ve searched through every open door,” Several people joined in the celebration. Spouses dancing together, children off beat but having the time of their life like the song called for. “‘Til I found the truth. And I owe it all to you.” Even Y/n’s parents managed to get on their feet.
Finally seeing their daughter for who she was.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, the first words spoken between the two. It made her heart skip, filled with an overwhelming surge of happiness.
“I feel like I’m on cloud 9,” the response had Jake chuckle, pulling her closer to him as he voiced, “me too, doll.”
They kept their gaze on one another, swaying chest to chest, the tune became softer, “Now I’ve had the time of my life. No I never felt this way before (never felt this way),” Jake’s hand caressed her cheek, Y/n leaning into it. “Yes, I swear, It’s the truth (It’s the truth),” the two leaned in at the same time, Bill Medley’s voice belting the final lyric of the bridge, “And I owe it all to you!”
The kiss set off a million fireworks. Just like it did the first time. They didn’t know if the cheers around them were intended for the two, but they didn’t stop the kiss to find out. Y/n’s hand covering Jake’s on her face, brushing her fingers over his knuckles, “I’ve had the time of my life. No, I never felt this way before (never felt this way). Yes, I swear, it’s the truth (it’s the truth). And I owe it all to you.” Pulling away, Jake’s touch remained.
“Be my dance partner,” were his words, pushing through the ending chorus. ‘Be mine,’ “Forever.”
“‘Cause I’ve had the time of my life. And I’ve searched through every open door.”
Y/n brushed her lips against his. Uttering nothing more than a simple, “Yes.”
“‘Til I found the truth. And I owe it all to you…”
…………..
TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris @kmc1989
#jake seresin x you#jake seresin au#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin fluff#jake seresin#lt jake seresin#hangman x you#hangman fluff#hangman fanfiction#hangman x reader#glen powell#dancer!jake seresin#dancer!reader#top gun maverick imagine#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick#top gun maverick headcanon#tgm imagine#dagger squad imagine#jake seresin imagine#Spotify
158 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Fine Line [part 3]
Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!
Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader
Word Count: 4.0k
Author’s Note: Sorry it was late! I don't know if my M,W,F schedule is going to work. I just want to say thank you all! I really hope you like this one and please, I would love to hear your thoughts & predictions! I basically screech like a pterodactyl whenever you guys leave comments! Tag list is open!
Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, and language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.
Read Part Two | Read Part Four
Playlist here
The light from the early, Saturday morning sun filtered into your bedroom through half-opened blinds, illuminating tiny specks of dust in the air. It was warm with Aegon pressed against your back; his soft breaths fanning over your shoulder. You stirred softly, turning so that you were facing him, doing your absolute best to not disturb him so that he could continue to sleep in.
It broke your heart to look at him now, knowing that your relationship was hanging by a thread. Wondering how you got here, how you arrived at the platform of whatever these feelings were that you felt for him. Caught between the memories of what you had once before, and feeling as if you were in this bed alone, despite the fact that he was laying right next to you.
You moved, swinging your feet over the side of the bed as you stood up with a sigh. Aegon groaned, his arms reaching for you before turning back over on his stomach and going right back to sleep. His wavy, golden hair splayed out on the pillows as he shifted deeper into them. The duvet pulled down, exposing his freckled shoulders. It took everything in you not to reach out and touch him.
Even your fingers balled into a fist, nails digging into your palm to keep yourself from it. Why? You'd wind up disappointed, feeling unwanted, and he'd be annoyed that you woke him.
The thought made you want to cry.
It was around noon when he finally emerged from the bedroom. You had lost track of how long you'd been sitting at the kitchen table; a bagel untouched on the plate in front of you. You jumped slightly at the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck, just briefly touching you as he made his way to the coffee maker. It was a fleeting moment, his fingertips leaving you just as quickly as they came.
He was in a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Despite his disheveled appearance, he looked close to angelic- even with the dark circles under his clouded, blue eyes. You could hear him inhale and exhale heavily with his first sip of coffee; shoulders rising and falling with his breath.
When did it become this way? This silence?
You used to look forward to Saturday mornings; knowing that you had two full days with him to yourself. You'd spend every weekend tangled on the couch or in the bed, not getting up unless you absolutely needed to. Weekends in the summer were always fun, too. He'd always find something for the two of you to do; getting high at the beach, spending your days at Coney eating corndogs and funnel cake until you wanted to throw up or throw yourselves right off the end of the pier. You missed his ice cream cone kisses and the way he would lay his head in your lap as you would read whatever novel you had brought with you that day.
"Colleen Hoover," you whispered to yourself as you absentmindedly stirred your lukewarm coffee; the last book you remember reading on a beach towel under the hot, July sun.
"What was that?" Aegon asked, turning to face you.
You were broken out of your trance and looked up at him. "What?"
"I think you went somewhere," a goofy smile replaced his signature pout. When you didn't say anything, his smile faltered. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Mm," you hummed and took a sip of your coffee before making a face. It was definitely lukewarm- cold, even. "So, awards ceremony tonight, huh?"
Aegon rolled his eyes, "If I could just not, I would not."
You stood up and dumped your cold coffee down the drain and sat your cup in the sink. "But babe," you sighed softly and reached for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Look at everything you've accomplished, what you've become! You've worked so hard!"
His eyes were glued to the floor. "You're right," his lips turned up into a smile as he looked up at you through fair lashes. His hands caressed the skin on the back of your arms. "I've worked really hard, and soon it will all pay off and we'll buy a house and get a dog." His forehead pressed against yours as he sighed. His eyes fluttered shut. "A golden retriever, we'll name him Sunny."
"Sunny sounds like he's a really good boy," you whispered and moved to place a kiss on his lips.
"The best," his body became less tense.
You smiled as you stood like that for a moment, just swaying back and forth as he held you so close that you could feel his heartbeat. He was so warm in your arms that you felt like you were holding onto a piece of the sun. You turned your head to place a kiss on the side of his neck, lips brushing the soft skin under his ear, wanting nothing but to tell him that you loved him, that you missed him, that you wanted things to go back to the way they were. But your eyes fluttered open as you heard his phone vibrate on the counter, the moment instantly shattering to bring you back to the reality of your mediocre life. Aegon tensed, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned in annoyance.
"And so it begins," he mumbled. He let the phone ring, knowing that Otto would call back immediately after it went to voicemail.
Before he could leave the kitchen, you stopped him.
"Hey, would you mind if I invited Aemond to go bowling with us tonight?" You asked, gnawing on the inside of your cheek.
"Not at all," he shrugged. "It'd probably be good for him to get out. Let me see what this fucker wants and then I'll text you his number."
Aegon left shortly after, having been summoned to some "pre-ceremony conference" just to finalize the details of the evening. He had sent over Aemond's contact information before he left, promising that he would see you later tonight. Suddenly you found yourself alone, the silence sitting with you like a friend that you'd run out of things to talk about with.
You stared at your phone for what felt like hours, thumbs hovering over the keyboard; not sure why 'hey, did you really want to go bowling' was such a hard thing to say, but you typed it and deleted it about one hundred times. The final time you typed the words, you quickly pressed the tiny, blue arrow, sending the message into the void before setting your phone face down on the table and standing up.
Before you had even turned to walk out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom, you heard a ding! The butterflies in your stomach, which shouldn't have been there, fluttered mercilessly almost making you nauseous. You inhaled at the sight of the words on the screen, your eyes scanning them over and over again: "Of course, I'll see you there." What was most likely an unambiguous winking emoji at the end of that sentence- because in your experience, men didn't know what emojis even were- was staring back at you with a strange tension that caused a knot to form in your throat.
It was wrong.
It was all so, so wrong.
You placed your phone back down on the kitchen table and shook your head; fighting an internal battle with the guilt and the excitement that you felt. Neither one was winning, but both were slowly tearing you in half.
The thought of cancelling crossed your mind as you showered, but only because you found yourself fantasizing about every possible scenario that would lead to this night ending with you on your back in Aemond's bed. You pictured a navy blue duvet and cold, cotton sheets; a wooden headboard tapping against dark colored walls. Your legs clenched together at the thought of his weight pressing down on you.
As you continued to get ready, the images were becoming ingrained on the back of your eyelids. Every time you closed your eyes small details would change; positions, locations, where his mouth was on your body, the lighting of the room, the scent of his cologne, if his hair was up or down. You had tried to reason with yourself, that this was a completely normal feeling, that you just hadn't been laid in a while.
It didn't make a difference.
You half-hoped that he wouldn't follow through with his plans to meet you at the bowling alley. However, when you turned the corner on to 9th Avenue, you noticed his lithe figure leaning against the outside of the building. You stopped for a few seconds, watching him as he stood there; his warm breath swirling in the frigid, January air as he checked his phone.
Seconds later you felt a vibration in your pocket: "I'm here."
"I have to ask, what is your haircare routine because I've yet to see you have a bad hair day." You texted back.
He looked up and around until his gaze caught you, a small smile tugged at his lips as he pushed himself off of the side of the building. You joined him at his side, your neck craned to see his face.
"It is surprisingly simple, but if I told you then I'd have to kill you," he said so smoothly he could have rehearsed it. "And I like you," he added as he opened the door into the bowling alley and gestured for you to go inside. "So, I'd rather not say."
You smirked at his words, eyes rolling slightly. "If you ever change your mind, here's my business card-" of course you had one with you. "My readers would love to know."
He chuckled at that, "I absolutely will," and tucked the card in his coat pocket. "So who's birthday is it?"
"My coworker, Jace," you replied as you scoured the lanes for Baela and Jace. "He's probably a few years younger than you, writes really thoughtful obituaries." You spotted Baela and waved. "Baela is here, too. You met her last night."
You weren't sure why you felt nervous. Aemond certainly didn't seem to be. He was so calm and collected, and cool, as if it was effortless to him; as if he didn't command every eye to look at him the moment he entered a room. The look on Baela's face couldn't have been further from calm, collected, and cool. Her white curls fell over furrowed brows and her lips were pushed to the side.
Jace just looked happy to be there.
"Hey guys," you greeted as you stepped down to the table they were sitting at. "Happy birthday, Jace!" You moved to give him a quick hug. "Jace this is Aegon's brother, Aemond. Aemond, this is Jace. Aegon couldn't make it, some work thing."
"Lucky me," Aemond smirked as he shook Jace's hand. "It's nice to meet you." He then turned his attention to Baela. "Lovely to see you again, Baela."
Despite her rigid expression earlier, you did see her cheeks turn just a shade darker as he kissed her knuckles. You smiled to yourself.
"You guys should go get shoes," Jace mentioned. "Unless you're afraid to lose."
Aemond's eye squinted as he looked at Jace and laughed, "In a hurry to get shown up on your birthday?"
"Go get the shoes!" You groaned at him, pushing him towards the rental counter. "I'm a size __." Your eyes followed Aemond as he disappeared through the crowd before you turned your attention back to Baela. "What?"
Her arms were crossed over her chest. "I'm just concerned," she says softly. "You've been here all of five minutes and I haven't seen you this happy in two years? I just don't want you to do something that you'll regret."
Your shoulders slump and you rolled your eyes dramatically. "Baela, I'm just-" you stopped when you saw Aemond making his way back over to the table. "Being nice! Two people can be just friends."
She gave you a look but dropped the subject as Aemond dropped your bowling shoes in front of your feet. Someone ordered a round of shots, and then a second round, and a third. It was starting to get warm, the music was loud, and you felt good. Aemond was surprisingly extroverted, despite the enigmatic aura he typically projected. He seemed so nonchalant, like he belonged there, like he was good at it.
The game was obviously competitive, with Jace and Aemond doing their best to one-up each other with every strike. They carried most of the score, while you and Baela joked around, not really caring. You stepped up to the line, getting ready to throw the swirly purple and teal ball down the lane.
"Wait, wait, wait!" You heard behind you. A flurry of pale blonde hair bounced towards your side. "I've watched you throw three straight gutter balls, please, allow me?"
"What?" You gasped. "I know we're behind, but I'm not going to cheat and let you take my shot for me!"
Aemond held a hand to his chest, "The fact that you would even insinuate that I'd allow you to cheat!" He scoffed. "Please, just-"
He turned you back to face the pins, the contact of his hands on your shoulders made you disoriented. You tried to breathe, but it was so warm in there. There was a slight rosy hue to his otherwise pale cheeks as he towered over you. His hands lingered still on your shoulders. You tried not to pay attention to the way his fingers pressed into your skin as your blouse shifted beneath his grip.
"Put your feet here," he instructed and pointed to where you should stand with his toe. One hand dropped to the small of your back, you swallowed thick. "Now," his lips were dangerously close to your ear. "Line your ball up with that pin and when you step up to throw, bring this leg back."
You felt the inside of your body clenching as his hands dropped to your waist. Your cheeks flushed as the hair on the back of your neck stood straight.
Following his instruction, you took a few steps up to the pine and released your ball. Within seconds it curved to the left, falling straight into the gutter once more. You turned to look at him with a disappointed frown. His lips couldn't help but begin to turn upwards at your failure.
“I thought you said you were good at this?” You say to Aemond, giving him a playful shove. "We're going to lose!"
"And you'd blame me?" He asked with a smile.
"You instructed me right into a gutter ball!" You threw your hands up.
"My instruction was flawless, as always," you could hear the double entendre in his voice. "Not my fault you couldn't focus."
"I beg to differ," you quipped under your breath, knowing that he was close enough to hear you.
On his next turn, Jace bowled a strike to win the game. The scores weren't even close, but it didn't matter. You'd had more fun tonight than you'd had in- well, since you could remember. For a moment, you'd wished Aegon had been here, but you shut the door on that thought as you checked your phone to see that he hadn't texted you- not even to check in- since he left the apartment earlier.
Your eyes connected with Aemond as you slipped your phone back into your pocket and you smiled softly. You hardly knew him, but you could tell he knew; Aegon was his brother, after all.
"Another game?" Jace asked.
"I don't think I have another game in me," you chuckled. "My shoulder is killing me after the three games we just played."
"The three games you lost, you mean?" Jace countered.
"Hey, I know it's your birthday, but I will still kick your ass!" You laughed as you slipped out of your bowling shoes.
"We'll have a rematch, soon." Aemond interjected, holding his hand out to Jace. "Good match."
"Girls versus guys next time, maybe?" Jace laughed and shook Aemond's hand.
"That wouldn't be fair," Aemond mentioned with a cocky smirk.
"I wouldn't underestimate us," Baela added as she slung her arm over your shoulder and began walking with you towards the counter to drop off your shoes.
The midnight air was numbing as you stepped out of the comforting warmth of the bowling alley. You were almost instantly sobered, feeling tiny flecks of snow fall to your face. The sidewalks were still buzzing and the traffic on 9th Avenue was still busy as car horns sounded in the distance; a reminder that you lived in a 24 hour city.
"Anyone want to go grab a slice of pizza?" You asked. One, because you needed something to soak up the alcohol in your stomach. And two, because you knew that once Jace and Baela left, you'd be alone with Aemond.
Baela hugged you tightly before holding you at arms length, she mentioned something about going to church with her parents tomorrow morning and promised to see you bright-and-early Monday morning. Jace was already flushed from having a few, too many drinks, and Baela urged that he needed to get home.
You weren't necessarily disappointed, just anxious.
"Thanks for coming," Jace smiled warmly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder in a side hug. He extended his fist out to Aemond, "it was good to meet you, man."
"Likewise, have a good night." His voice was soft through a tight-lipped smile.
You watched as Baela and Jace turned the corner, before turning your attention to Aemond. The headlights of passing by taxi cars shined in his crystalline eye, making him look as if he were unreal; a marble statue dressed in all back with his hands shoved into his pockets. You weren't sure what to say to him, if you should stay or go.
"Can I walk you to the train?" He asked and you exhaled with a smile.
"I'd like that," you replied.
The closest subway platform was two blocks down on 42nd. You did your best to keep up with his long strides, but it proved to be difficult. He had to stop a few times, turning to you with a smile while he waited for you to catch up. You mostly talked about work to keep the conversation going. The one thing you had noticed about Aemond was that he was a good listener, whether he actually cared about anything you were saying or not, he at least seemed to be interested.
He talked about himself, too, which you enjoyed. He talked about all of the places he had travelled to last year and how happy he was to be back home. He gushed about being able to see his family again, specifically his mother and his sister.
You'd never once heard Aegon speak about his family in such a way.
"Can I ask you something?" You said after the conversation had faded out. Your train was running late, but Aemond had been willing to wait with you so that you weren't alone.
"I can't guarantee I'll have an answer, but go for it."
"Why didn't you tell Aegon that we had met in the grocery store?"
He looked at you, his eye narrowed. "Honestly, it's just easier not to say anything sometimes." He spoke, a pensive expression across his pointed features. "Why didn't you?"
You dropped you gaze to the concrete floor. "Because it's just easier not to say anything, sometimes." You repeated his own words, knowing exactly what he meant.
"Hm," he hummed as he leaned up against a brick column. "You know," he said after a few moments of silence. You looked back up at him. "This can't happen." He motioned to the space between the two of you.
"What? Never!" You replied quickly. "I'm appalled that you're even assuming."
"I'm just making sure we're on the same page," he held his hands up defensively.
"We are," you agreed.
"We are?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yes, we're friends," you replied sternly. "That's all it can be."
"Good," he stuck his hand out for you to shake on it.
You shook his hand with a firm grip, but he turned your hand over in his, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It made your heart flutter every time. The announcement that your train was arriving played on the overhead speakers.
"Thank you, Y/N. For tonight." His blue eye was piercing through you. "That was the most fun I've had in a while."
They way he said your name and the feeling of your hand in his made you wish he'd just take you home with him; to that navy blue duvet you were picturing earlier. But that was just a fantasy that lived in your mind only, and would never- could never come to fruition. He was right, Baela was right, this couldn't happen.
"You're welcome, I'm glad that you had a good time." You said softly, doing your best to hide your disappointment that the night was ending. "Thank you for coming with me."
As the train pulled up to the platform, you wished that he would pull you into him. The crisp air was thick with tension, and even though you had just agreed to the terms of this- you weren't even sure if you could call it a relationship- friendship, a look lingered in Aemond's eye that told you he didn't mean any of it.
"Friends," you repeated, reminding yourself and him of the deal that you had just made.
He nodded, "Friends."
"I hope you have a good night, Aemond." You pulled your hand from his slowly until it dropped to your side. The doors to the train opened and you found yourself a spot next to the window, forcing yourself not to look back.
Aegon isn't home when you step into your apartment. It's almost too dark and cold, and quiet, and you feel like you shouldn't even be there. You don't even care to hang up your bag and coat, you simply toss them over the arm of the couch. You've got a slight headache and you're starving, and all that you can think about is something you shouldn't be thinking about.
Your phone vibrated as you headed into the kitchen.
Aemond.
"Thanks again, I hope you made it home safe."
You found your thumbs typing a reply before you could even think if it was a good idea or not, "Anytime! I just walked through the door. We should have definitely gotten pizza, but I guess leftover lasagna will work."
Not even bothering to heat up your leftovers, you make your way back into the living room with a Tupperware of lasagna from last night and a fork. You click on the television, catching up on the news before flipping it over to one of your favorite shows.
"You've beaten me, I've got cereal."
You laughed and typed, "That kind of suits you."
Over the next two hours you had squeezed in three new episodes of your show and discussed everything from food, to movies, to philosophy with Aemond. He'd leave you the occasional voice note when he didn't feel like typing a reply, and you'd try not to think about how good his voice sounded at this ungodly hour. You'd try not to think of him sitting back, half-lidded on the couch, in a very comfortable sweater and a pair of joggers with a smile on his face because he was texting you.
It was almost 3:00 AM when you finally got a text from Aegon.
"Don't feel like you need to wait up for me. I love you."
Tagged: @tssf-imagines @gothicwidowsworld @itsabby15 @possiblyafangirl @namelesslosers@toodlesxcuddles @hiraethrhapsody @heavenly1927 @chainsawsangel @hanula18
#but can we just picture aemond in those hideous striped bowling shoes? please its giving#also writing the first half of this killed me#because aeg#my sad boi#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen modern au#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aegon x y/n#aegon ii x reader#aegon x you#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd imagine#tom glynn carney#ewan mitchell#baela targaryen#jacerys velaryon#hotd fanfic#hotd aemond#hotd x reader#hotd modern au#hotd au
222 notes
·
View notes
Text
Latest firstprince fanfics read: Part 4
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)
all i need (is on the other side of the door)
alex's neighbour plays the piano late at night when he's studying, and he hates it. when he meets his neighbour henry, he starts to form a crush on the hot british neighbour with a cute tax attorney beagle.
little does he know that henry's the one playing the piano.
I remember the time I knew what happiness was (Let the memory live again)
Alex undergoes medical treatment for depression, and comes out with some memories missing.
Henry helps him through it, and some memories are brought to light.
the tragic flaw is that they hide the truth (that you're enough, you're enough)
Alex has been staring.
For weeks now, actually.
Henry had originally chalked it up to Alex being, well, Alex. But lately, Henry can’t help but take it in as more than just his boyfriend's usual oddness.
Or: After gaining some weight, Henry feels self conscious. Alex however, loves his tummy.
Barracuda Is Down
“Barracuda is down, repeat, Barracuda is down-"
An attempt on the lives of the Claremont-Diaz's leads to a horrifying experience for Henry Fox, who was just trying to settle into new life with Alex in their New York City home. The two stand a test of true love-- if they can come out of the worst of their worst together.
Trigger Warning for Gun Violence
turn the desert to glass (you would be the one)
Henry and Alex's domestic bliss has lead to some changes in Henry's body. Henry doesn't really mind being a little chubby, but he wonders if Alex does. Alex, it turns out, does not. Not one bit. He does not mind one bit, and he is more than eager to prove it.
drowning man
Alex didn't know how he did it. How he did seventeen years of school, and extracurriculars, worked on his mother's, Rafael Luna's, and his father's campaigns, and was a good son/brother at the same time. He truly doesn't know how he did it.
He doesn't know how to recreate it.
He's starting law school this fall. He moved to New York and he's going to law school to become a lawyer and help people, then run for Congress.
you taste like home
“I lied to you,” he says.
He doesn’t clarify. He doesn’t have to.
Alex toys with his fingers. Quiet settles over them, offset by the pattering rain.
“I know.”
–
Or, the rizcriz prompt where Alex and Henry are roommates and Henry lies when Alex confesses his feelings in order to protect their dynamic.
we’d still worship this love (even if it’s a false god)
Alex and Henry are sleeping together because it's convenient, alright? They hate each other; it's supposed to be causal. So, why does Alex feel his heart break when he realises he's not the only one Henry is sleeping with?
It's Called Tact, Fuck-Rag!
Texas had been an odd choice, some might say. Henry thinks it's perfect. College is a time to go crazy, after all.
A Scream AU
Dallas, Texas
I thought I knew hopelessness. I thought I'd learned its specific dread years ago.
There's an assassination attempt on Ellen, Henry is caught up in the damage. Alex is... coping about as well as you would expect.
The sunshine lighting up my darkest days
Henry has a dark day and his daughter sits and reads to him.
Dancing, Drinking, Delighting in You
"Dance with me?" Alex asks, holding out a large hand to Henry. His palm is up, ready to take Henry's in it.
That very palm is one that Henry is oh-so familiar with. It's the palm that finds itself on the dip of Henry's hip when they lean closer together, the palm that cups Henry's cheek when they kiss. It's the palm that places itself on his chest as it pushes him down until the breath is knocked out of him, half by the impact of his back on the bed and half by the feeling of Alex's lips that often find his own not a minute later. He's traced the ridges of that palm, the slopes of its dips and curves, and drawn on the lines that June swears reveal Alex's nature. It's the palm that holds Henry's own, the one he kisses as Alex spoons him, the one that holds Henry's heart.
It's just his hand, but there isn't any universe in which Henry wouldn't take it.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Love, Henry has found, is at its strongest on a mundane Thursday night.
he feels like home
“Alex,” Henry sounded surprised to see him. He locked the door behind himself before dropping his things near Alex’s bag and hurrying toward him. Alex stood to meet him in the middle, Henry’s arms coming up around his shoulders while his own wound around Henry’s waist. Finally, despite being surrounded by all things Henry since he got home, everything clicked into place. Alex’s heart swelled as he breathed in the smell of real-life Henry and not just the products he used; this was home: clean linens and fresh-cut grass, with the new addition of cinnamon that clung to him, too, now that he spent so much time in Alex’s orbit. The realization made him dizzy.
-
or, alex gets a random night off; domesticity ensues
prove me wrong
Alex has texted.
Open the door. The first reads.
I’m not ready to go. The second says.
He stares down at the texts, then looks up at the door, and back down to the texts. You have a plane to catch, he replies.
I’ll figure that out later. Let me in. Comes the reply.
And Henry. Is feeling fragile and a little torn open and wanting and so he does the exact opposite of what he should do—he should tell Alex to go home because this was only a night, and they have to go back to their respective roles and expectations. They can’t just tell the rest of the world to fuck off while they get lost in each others skin.
--
or, Paris is more than a single night
come and get me
The email arrives 8 days after Henry left the lake house. He contemplates deleting it without reading, but it sits in his Alex inbox, where there are over seventy emails favourited, and somehow it feels wrong and weirdly impersonal.
As if leaving without a note were any different.
He stares at the from line with an aching longing that seeps into his veins. It settles on his heart like a tangible thing; something warranted and cruel that casts shackles around the aorta and locks them tight so that he might never love again.
--
or, alex sends an email instead of flying to KP.
Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come
"For Christmas this year, all I would like is a best friend who doesn’t mind too much that I’m a prince. Most of my classmates poke fun because of who I am, or treat me like I’m too special to be their friend. I want a best friend who knows me as much as my family does and still likes me. I know that you can’t wrap a best friend up in a box and put it under the tree, but you’re magic so you know the best way to bring one."
(Movieverse canon divergence; Prince Henry, age 8, writes to Father Christmas wishing for a best friend. A few weeks later, he finds one.)
your needs, my needs
”Love,” he soothes, reaching out his hand to gently place it on Alex’s cheek and shuffles closer to the bed. ”Are you okay?”
Alex doesn’t answer his question and the silence tells Henry everything he needs to know. ”You’re home,” he says instead after a while, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.
***
Alex struggles with exam season and Henry helps him through it.
Fierce winds of love
Standing inside the lake, bleeding through his heart from a Henry shaped hole, Alex didn’t know. He didn’t know how to breathe, how to live or even how to exist without Henry.
If he managed to get himsef out of the lake, somehow made his legs work and enter his room, would he find Henry there, or would he be gone with the wind.
But if he just stayed there frozen, not finding the room empty, it would mean Henry never left, right? Never there but never not there either.
Biology 101 for babies
“There's a boy,” Arthur says seriously, still holding a bright red crayon tightly in his fist. “At nurs... nurs'ry. He's new an' he's brown.”
Henry, still twisting round to give Arthur his attention, blinks a couple of times, then very carefully takes his hands out of the washing up bowl and pulls off his gloves. “I see. What's his name?”
“Michael.”
"Alright. And why is it unusual that he is, as you say, brown?”
Arthur frowns. “Nobody else is brown.”
Henry realises with dawning horror and amusement that he is about to have one of the weirdest conversations of his entire life. “Arthur, my little love – you're brown.”
whatever you need
Alex’s jaw aches. He’s buried in a mountain of coursework preparing for the final that’s going to make or break any potential future career in law he has, his vision is blurry, and his fucking jaw aches. No amount of stretching it out or massaging at its hinges is helping, and it’s all he can focus on. Not the merits of a case from the 1980’s that set legal precedent, not the infuriating blinking of the cursor on his screen, only the insistent ache in his jaw.
He’s going to scream.
He opens his mouth to do just that, to vent all the frustration of it all out in an agonized groan, when he hears his bedroom door open and the silky sweet voice of his boyfriend saying, “Love, I made you dinner.”
pillow prince
So Henry lays on his side in bed, fidgeting with the unused pillow next to his head. No matter how hard he tries to force the thoughts of Alex out of his mind, they’re stuck. He thinks about the way Alex shook his hand upon arrival. Strong and firm with arms that nearly winded him upon sight. His unenthusiastic smile was still so bright and filled Henry’s stomach with butterflies. He was able to cope with that, he thinks. Then came the glasses.
Usually, Henry isn’t this quick to crumble. He’s always good at appearances and keeping everything together. He’s capable of restraining any unwelcome emotions. Or at least he was. Now he’s struggling to not rut against his mattress all over the passing thoughts of Alex.
---
or alex walks in on henry humping a pillow and wants to watch and help
Someone special
"That was Shaan," Henry explains as Alex snuggles closer to him, pressing his nose to his neck. "The blizzard hit early, apparently. Too risky to fly."
"So Christmas here?" Alex says in that sleepy drawl of his that Henry will never get tired of. "Fuckin' sweet."
in paper rings; in picture frames
“Your love for me,” Henry says, “and your devotion to our marriage, are here.”
He presses his own hand, and Alex’s where he’s still holding it, to the center of Alex’s warm chest, applies gentle pressure until he can feel the beat of Alex’s heart beneath the skin and muscle and bone that make up the framework of his favorite person in the universe.
“Not in a piece of metal, Alex, no matter how sentimental it may be,” Henry says softly. “Just here.”
or; Alex loses his wedding ring, and Henry is very understanding about it
Say don't go (I would stay forever if you say)
“Henry, there is something wrong. I’m June, by the way. I run this place, and this is Nora. Uhm. You see, one of our employees forgot to remove the date from the website."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"I’m really sorry," June says, trying not to cringe.
"Please don’t expect me to go find a place tonight in this rain." Henry is angry, but he still keeps his composure.
"No. No, we have a place."
“We have?" Nora asks, as clueless as Henry is.
—
Or
Henry books a hotel online only to find out that the said hotel accepted it in error, and now he has to crash the hotel owner’s brother’s room because he has no place to go.
#rwrb#red white and royal blue#firstprince#rwrb fic#firstprince fanfic#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
"O Capo! My Capo!" (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tignari, and Alhaitham/Reader)
A/n: This township is turning into a real clownship– I definitely do NOT dedicate this to my irl friends, ya jerks /j.
Unreliable Synopsis: The Innamorati Familia might have lost almost everything, but their Capo stands tall. Just how long will you survive under 3 pairs of scrutinizing eyes? (Mafia!au. Visions do not exist.)
CW: yandere, (some) religious themes, possible major character deaths, mentions of recreational drugs, guns, etc.
YOUR CHOICES MATTER. YOU CAN VOTE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
Next Chapter
—---
[Year 192X]
"(Y/n)!!!"
At first, you were convinced you were living the Khaenri'ahn Dream. With your youthful yet crime-greased hands, you have fought hard to earn your keep as the Innamorati's current Capo– to earn yourself a family for yours to protect inside Teyvat's ruthless underworld. And family you did keep. Until candles waned like silenced hostages. Until a conspiracy pursued what little faith in humanity you had left.
Until you held your underboss' charred face and lifeless body. Until his sizzling arm burned your hand. Until flakes of Dimitri's skin powdered your fingers like charcoal pencil shavings.
The Innamorati Headquarters burned. And so too did most of your men.
"(Y/n)! Stand back– Think about your men! Would they want you to do this?! You won't save anyone there– not like this!!!"
Looking back, the Khaenri'ahn Dream lied. There was no joy in hustling but you did live an empty yet freeing life. Khaenri'ah preached about humanity and its opportune happiness, yet spoke none about how fleeting it could be once the curtains caught fire. Perhaps that very notion fooled you into believing that your idyllic lifestyle won't be snatched away easily.
The ghosts of those who perished in the manor's basement have sought their final repose on the embers that incinerated your endeavors.
Everything was terribly loud. Many people fled into the murky haze. The square was virtually deserted as people fled for their lives, but you refused to leave. This trait used to be a quality that helped you survive the syndicate, but those damn fascist conspirators turned it against you.
Tartaglia pulled you close.
"VAFFANCULO, TARTAGLIA– LET ME FUCKING GO!"
"NOT UNTIL YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!!"
You stilled, and a single heavy tear left your eye.
This is more than a mite unfair. Everything you labored for, every drop of blood you shed, every vice you committed, what was it all for? Visconti Diluc was right. You're a liar and a murderer undeserving of joy. Maybe this was the retribution he ranted aimlessly about.
You took fast and drastic measures in your rise to the top, and your opponents rightfully did the same to pull you back down.
Tartaglia watched as you writhe in agony knowing that you couldn't escape from his restrictive embrace. He never thought he'd see you appear more pathetic than when Pulcinella first picked you off the streets. Nonetheless, he felt your pain. You both led groups under the same parent organization. You are family.
To him, this was worse than accompanying his widowed sibling to their spouse's funeral.
"… My men, they're…"
You fell into deep thought.
Lyudochka, Kazari, Teppei, Viktor…
You gritted your teeth.
Viktor…
That damn brat didn't even get his chance to shift jobs… That brat still hadn't left this hellhole…
Based on the Khaenri'ahn Dream, all citizens must have an equal opportunity to achieve success through determination and pure grit…
You bit your lip down, drawing blood. In truth, you can't discern whether or not the blood came from your lips or your throat.
"DAMN IT."
Your white-knuckled hand shakily punched your thigh, feeling morbidly powerless.
Viktor said he wouldn't allow himself to die as a lowly servant…
What happened to those dreams now…?
You were so close. You were so close to taking all those fascists down. So why now?!
Tartaglia frowned. He had never seen you act like this– your anger is usually impulsive, but sharp and silent. Your fury simmers until you slice the catalyst open. Never come a time you lashed out like a feral animal as you do now.
"GET IT TOGETHER!!!"
Tartaglia shot you a piercing stare as he slapped you, and you finally reigned yourself in.
This is too pitiful.
Fire surrounded everyone, but you remained frozen by your own dialed-up emotions.
Slowly, he trusted that he could let you go.
"... Ekaterina, send in our men. We'll try to extinguish this mess as much as we can."
"Of course Capo, right away."
You held back your sobs as your knees fell to the floor, where your right-hand man's corpse lay as if he did not struggle in his miserable death.
The last time you talked to him, you called him a worthless coward who couldn't make choices without you. Pain seared through your chest. No one wants that to be their last conversation with their closest confidant.
A bloodcurdling scream rang out across the square, but you scarcely moved from your seat. You're too numb to notice who was behind that familiar voice. It was just another body that couldn't be mourned.
Your eyes focused on Dimitri's corpse instead.
You were planning to apologize after you cleared your head this morning, but what use are words to those who have already left this world? He's gone.
Fallen, cold and dead.
This is by no means the first time you've seen your men die– you had some of the deceased's blood wet your Sunday clothes– but you hope this unforgettable foul scent of burned flesh will be the last time you'll breathe it in. You're already acclimated to the metallic stench of blood; you don't need to ingrain this into your mind as well.
You passed out.
It was only when you closed your mouth did you realize, it was you who cried your lungs out the whole time.
—-----
The church bells rang.
It was 10 AM, and the mass was inching to a close but the priest passionately ignored the echoes of the bell and the mafiasos' groans.
"Is it too early to booze?" Tartaglia whispered in your ear. His yawning proved that he was bored to tears. You did your best in stopping your eyes from rolling.
Unlike Tartaglia, your aura exudes dignity, something he needed the most. When you two sit together, you both appear akin to a comedy act. The usually bloodthirsty Tartaglia transforms into a guileless little brother and your all-forgiving eyes turn endearingly annoyed when paired together. The same scenario was applied this morning.
"Tartaglia, look around you. Does this look like the right time?" You vaguely gestured at the ongoing sermon, not meeting his gaze.
"Geez. Why do we even bother with this?"
"Because even though we are nothing but lowly sinners, we must honor our Tsaritsa's benevolence."
There are 6 Archons revered by the church, and they correspond to six different regions and cities inside the nation of Teyvat. You're an immigrant from outside the country– an agnostic nation– but you're smart enough to pay respects.
"Right, right. I guess even if I asked that ten more times you'd still reply with a generic answer."
You passive-aggressively whispered back. "Maybe if your questions were worth my time I'd elaborate on my answers as well."
"Capo–"
You and Tartaglia turned around. The Fatui mob, one of yours who just got there, nervously sat up straight.
"Capo (Y/n)."
Tartaglia sank back to the pews, no longer caring. The second capo's lack of attention eased the grunt's audience-based apprehension. Their sheer trust in your credibility made you smirk. While you seemed cold, everyone in Snezhnaya knew you weren't.
You recalled how back then these words sounded alien to you but these terms are salient in the scenes. Having recruited predominantly Snezhnayan workers, you had to get used to their way of living. You wanted to foster good interpersonal relationships with your men, and there's no better approach to reach their hearts than religion in the 1920s. And by the looks of it, they seem to trust your carefully crafted sterling reputation.
You always do your job as if you're running out of time, and they put your faith in you like a farmer would a fleeting summer. With some effort, everyone was convinced they'd fall apart without your guidance.
The grunt looked at you with respect.
"Boss Dimitri delivered one very confidential info."
"I see…" You steadied yourself. "Excuse me then, Tar–"
He snatched your sleeve. Tartaglia considered removing your iconic stovepipe hat, but you don't wear it to church. He opted for the second most annoying choice.
"Hey, you can't leave me here. Don't I have every right to be in the know? Gaaahh, cut me some slack. We've practically been siblings for more than half a decade now, (Y/n). Can't you tell your fratello anything?"
"Why are you interested?"
"Cause I'm curious if it's finally time that your familia will collaborate with other factions for once."
You shook your head and sat back down. He's right.
Three major criminal organizations control the small nation of Teyvat, namely the Fatui, Akademiya, and the Adepti. You and Tartaglia are Capos or Harbingers of the former, which had the most control of Snezhnaya.
Based on your history, you don't mingle with other organizations outside Snezhnaya a lot. You had dealings with Ningguang and the Qixing before, but never their parent organization overseas which resides in Liyue.
It just so happens that Tartaglia is bolder than you are. The kid has his headquarters stationed in another province, Liyue. That province isn't far from his hometown since Teyvat is a small country but he complains like a confederate soldier. Most of what Tartaglia talks your ear out is about missing home despite finding fuses of excitement in Liyue enticing anyways. You've heard many stories from him regarding how ruthless Adepti's Prime leader, Morax, is, but that's not your problem.
The Akademiya, however, keeps to themselves. You know close to nothing about them. Snezhnaya may be the heart of trades, but the Fatui cannot tap into Sumeru's supply of canned knowledge. And you quite frankly don't give a shit about what they do. They're not the best at masking their spies.
"Speak."
"Capo, the underboss wanted to inform you that he had already figured out who the mole is."
"Oh?" You and Tartaglia spoke simultaneously.
You'd been looking for a spy among your ranks for quite some time. This mysterious mole was sending information back to Focalor, the self-proclaimed Hydro Archon better known as "Il Duce" around these parts. The braggart with a God complex promised the public that she'll drive mafiosos out of Teyvat, and she's working everyone to the bone for it. Politicians either play yes men or get on your nerves. She's the latter.
Nevertheless, you did not expect Dimitri to deliver results that fast. Bitterly, you thought about how apologizing for him later would look less genuine now that he proved himself worthy. You didn't mean to call your underboss useless– you just couldn't control your temper.
May the Archons forgive your transgressions.
You hope he'd forgive you once you get back.
"... Carry on, Felix."
"Yes, of course. The fascist conspirator is Professor Tighnari, the informant."
You snapped your head back to meet the grunt's face, bewildered.
"... What?"
"FIRE!!! THE PLAZA IS ON FIRE!!!"
One of the church's orphans– Barbara– was screaming by the door, frantically stripped of breath and her chords sounded hoarse, unlike her singing. Her weak legs barely counted as a support for her body as she toppled on the marble tiles. The groceries she carried splashed down, and some fruits rolled in your direction. Your people helped her stand up while some picked up her things for her, but the poor thing shivered like a leaf.
Barbara had always been a sister to you. Having been separated from your family at a young age as well, you two link like two peas in a pod. She relied on you like a quiet strong big sister while you protected her and the other children from street conflicts.
You stood up and calmly patted her shoulder, squeezing lightly. You gave her a gentle smile.
"My dear Barbara– take deep breaths."
She yanked your chest.
"Capo!"
Barbara began to tear up.
"It's your mansion, Capo!!! YOUR MANSION IS ON FIRE!!!"
—-------
You jolted up drenched in cold sweat.
"You're awake…"
You don't know whose voice you were expecting, but that voice was intuitively not one of them. The barren room you woke up in wasn't yours, and it's certainly not Tartaglia's manor. Considering the unfortunate events that just took place, it's foolish to think you'd wake up inside the safety of your manor. Instinctively, you reached for your holster and found it empty.
The man stepped into the light. You have a hunch on who this was. He wore a black-purple stole, vest, and strap combination, an attire you'd often see on a Sunday, yet donned a shabby brown hat on top of his silky white locks.
The stranger stared at you blankly.
"You're a disciple." You claimed.
Aside from the three mafia organizations, the Church had the superior upper hand when it came to crowd control. Nothing moves Teyvat's heart like guides and philosophies. That being said, the Church isn't afraid to get its hands filthy. They are fully aware that conversation will not solve all problems, and there is an unsaid fact that their relationship with the Fatui is far from antagonistic.
And as Capo, you're one of their most devoted patrons. The organization you belong to is filled with devotees, and have often carried out whatever mission the church wishes. Honestly, you think that the Church's fondness for the Fatui should already be a telltale sign that the Archons are nothing more than a statue made of ice.
But you shouldn't think this way. It's peculiar– romantic, even– that what saved you from the fire was your near half-hearted devotion to attending Sunday masses. To be honest, you attend partly because you want to dress to the nines. You don't know how to feel about that.
Their Holiness saved you from the embers, you can atone for your sins by suffering. And that's what this stranger is here for.
"That's correct." He said. "I work for the Sumeru Church. I was instructed to look after you until they help you renovate your manor and the panetteria beside it. That is, of course, assuming you still pass the requirements of being Innamorati's Capo."
This person did not bother easing you into things, and instead bluntly reminded you that your house and men– your home is gone.
You breathed in shakily.
Dimitri is gone…
"...You have my gratitude."
On the bright side, at least your go-to place for lunch will be back after a while. That is if Signorina Xiangling survived and the church won't abandon you.
"Don't worry, we flame to please. I'm sure our architect Kaveh was stoked to receive such a large-scale commission."
…
"I'm sorry– were you joking at a time like this?"
"Was it not funny? Hah. I think it's hysterical. Oh, would you like for me to explain it?" He didn't ask in a patronizing tone, he spoke as if you didn't have the mental capacity to know what a joke is. Which was honestly more insulting.
You didn't laugh, and he didn't apologize.
You've heard about how church officials have a clear lack in the humor department before, but you didn't take into account that they may very well be this socially inept. Which is rich, coming from you. Your transgressions weigh more than a bad joke executed at a funeral.
With a mastered poker face, you pretended that his slights did not affect you.
He extended his arm out for a handshake.
"Cyno, the former Aaru Village priest. I now work as an inquisitor." Cyno coughed, cheeks turning slightly red. "I didn't change your clothes i-in case you find it uncomfortable."
Sounds like he finds it uncomfortable instead.
His behavior perfectly lines up with his claims. The way he dressed alone encapsulates the aura of a man who used to devote himself to holy sanctums. Some minor details made it clear he's no longer part of the main clergy– that being his choker and numerous ear piercings.
You took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm (Y/n), the Innamorati Familia's Cap–"
You cringed.
"I'm… I'm just (Y/n)."
"Humble, just (Y/n)." Cyno nodded solemnly.
"No, not humble. Defeated."
"I know."
…
…
"Feel free to cry. I won't pass judgment over people expressing normal human emotions."
You laughed humorlessly. "Sure you won't."
Cyno grabbed the plate on the table and passed it on. "Calzone?"
You scoffed.
Admittedly, the food looked appetizing and its rich fragrance made your stomach perceive its emptiness. You trust the church, but no. Your pride would kill you for chewing food down with abandon. The only person you could eat savagely with was Barbara, and Lord knows how the poor girl is holding up. Thankfully your stomach didn't make any noise despite the pain of hunger being a treacherous one.
"I guess not." He awkwardly put it back down.
You inspected your clothes. Your once proud Prussian blue polo shirt reeked of ashes and sundered threads. Still, in a bit of a daze, you squinted.
"... Where's my coat?"
Cyno's gaze sharpened.
"I disposed of it." He spat. "You should be more alert. Someone planted a recording device on your person."
Cyno spoke in a tone that implied he knew who this person was personally, and you're inclined to think the same. You bit your bottom lip at your own seemingly minuscule mistake, opening a minor wound.
"Cazzo."
It's possible that Tighnari was the one to plant it. You let him hold your coat for a moment when you changed into your Sunday attire. That audacity of that fucking bastard.
He must've set the bomb off when he heard Nicola.
"Testa di cazzo– quel fottuto figlio di puttana." You cursed lowly.
Professor Tighnari. That man will soon find his skin flayed and draped on the walls of your basement chambers once it's rebuilt.
You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.
You'll find his family and wave their heads on a pike right in front of his chained weeping face. You'll claw the skin off their faces and rip their fingernails and limbs apart–
"(Y/n)?"
You can no longer comprehend your emotions. Inside, you are a cacophony of both forced indifference and uncontrollable spite– a contradictory pair yet one that matches how you felt towards the loss of your men and the professor's betrayal.
Slowly but surely, you saw red.
Not expecting that you would stand up, Cyno pushed you back to bed. He looked both worried yet unimpressed by your foul mouth.
"You're not supposed to leave yet."
You tried to gently pry him off, not wanting to offend the church's lackeys, but he was stronger than expected. Cyno planted you back down on the mattress. His left hand was beside your head and his face hovered above yours.
This irritated you.
You don't have much time left.
He continued. "Tomorrow, you work. Today, you rest up. Your people are with Capo Tartaglia and they're not going anywhere. If you need anything– food, water– anything at all, be sure to ring the bell. My ears are sharp. Remember, the Military Police are tailing you and the last of your men."
The Military Police? So it's Focalor's people, huh? That damn governor just won't let up, won't she? If you had nothing left to lose you would've painted her office wall with her brain matter, pronto. But you still have some reasons to continue living.
The last of your men…
Hah. Of course. You have to live for those that survived. After all, if you weren't an incompetent fucking boss you'd still have everyone in one piece.
You're so sick of this.
"May I ask who exactly reached out to help? I doubt the church would waste church funds on a low-ranked Fatui Capo such as myself."
The inquisitor averted his gaze, his brows furrowed. Cyno hid his face behind his hand, murmuring the response meekly. You don't have the best hearing—the sounds of gunshots were bound to dull your senses—and you imagined he gave a monosyllabic response.
"...e."
"My apologies, mind repeating that?"
Cyno stiffened.
"You don't need to know who. What matters is that you're safe now, and an official willingly went through signing paperwork for your manor."
"And based on your tone of voice, I assume that that official is you."
He turned his head indignantly.
"Believe what you want to believe."
Cyno's reply was a telltale sign that this conversation will go nowhere. You sighed.
"... I don't need food, but do you have cigars?"
He scrunched his nose.
"No wonder your breath smells awful nowadays." He muttered before pulling away.
Despite his insulting observation, he pulled out a box of Cuban cigars from his pocket. Quite hypocritical that he complained about bad breath when he had some too. He lit up your cigar.
"Thanks, but last time I checked this was our first time meeting." You have no particular opinion on Cohiba's cigars but this is the best you'll get at the moment. Beggars can't be choosers. "Thanks again."
Cyno ignored you both times and he was already by the door. "Please rest up. I've left some calzone, water, painkillers, and tissues for you on the table. Try not to leave the vicinity."
He exited the room.
You closed your eyes as your hand reached for your bleeding mouth. You're relatively unscathed from the incident, which means Cyno knows something about your "condition."
You chuckled.
Painkillers and tissues, huh? There's no better cure than that, and your time would run out before the world would find a better one.
—----
Cigars were not enough.
Inquisitor Cyno likely already knew that he can't keep you here for much longer, but he didn't do anything when you escaped. He did say "try not to leave" and not "do not leave", didn't he?
Cyno claimed his ears are sharp– so you guess he just didn't care at all.
As a result, you left your room and went for a walk around the neighborhood. That doesn't mean you can leave Sumeru City, but a stroll is always pleasant. The room Cyno offered was neither spacious nor cramped, but if you started digging holes in their ugly wallpaper, you doubt the church would take it lightly.
You staggered out of the chapel and entered the slums, reminding yourself that Dimitri is dead. You need to find someone worthy enough to become the next underboss. The church will not recognize you as the Capo without one, therefore they won't help rebuild the manor should you fail this task.
Hungry and out of breath, you leaned against the unscrubbed walls of an abandoned antique store, arms folded, taking in your surroundings. You were exhausted, arms sprawled against the wall.
The people behaved too jaded to be Natlan yet too reserved to be Snezhnaya– hence, you safely assumed that you were in the Avidya-Rainforest district. This place, despite lack of funds, was still under the church's watchful eye. A holy sanctum of sorts. This meant dealings are prohibited and no one would want to be caught with a glint in their eyes.
It's fascinating how much their cultures differ for a country as small as Teyvat. The same cannot be said for Khaenri'ah. Your compatriots have only known a capitalistic grind in search of an unattainable dream. A money-obsessed country does little to preserve its customs and culture. And you were the same empty machine till La Signora took you in.
You yawned while covering your mouth, appearing vulnerable.
But of course, you didn't charge into an unknown location unarmed. You knocked out one of the Inquisitor's soldiers and seized his pistol. "For security reasons", you'd argue. Once again, Cyno likely knew about that but didn't bother acting, again. You're too tired to judge his work approach, and you could barely keep your eyes open.
Till you caught a sliver of green pass you by.
"Oh! You smell funny. Are you the Capo, (Y/n) (L/n)?"
You lazily looked up.
"Umm, hello?"
You gazed down.
It's a kid. Hunger is starting to take its toll on you as you mistook her high pitch voice for an adult your size. The child, around age 5, had green hair and scraped knees.
You're certain that she wouldn't snitch about how you left your room unguarded.
"Need something?"
"Yeah, um, I just wanna say my condolences."
You ruffled her hair. "Thanks, bambini."
She beamed.
Sadly, the kid must've mistaken this as a go signal for her to continue talking. She balled her hand into a fist and nervously cheered for you.
"I-It'll be alright, Capo. You can always make new friends! I believe in you!"
"Hmm."
"I never thought I'd ever be able to make friends but I did last month! I also met my master that time and maybe I can share some of my good luck with you!"
"Hmm."
"Are… Are you listening?"
"J-Just a little fatigued." You stifled a yawn. "Why don't you play along with your new friends, little…"
"Oh, right! I'm Collei!"
"Little Collei." You coughed, and you skillfully wiped the blood away without her knowing. "Bambini, you shouldn't talk to people like me, it's dangerous. Why don't you run along and go back to your friends now?"
"Well, I can't yet because he told me not to because he's busy right now."
"Who told you that?"
Collei smiled widely.
"Professor Tighnari!"
You froze, slowly recalling your resolve.
It felt like the world froze for a brief moment as if the few people in the vicinity halted for you to catch up on what the little girl confessed.
"...Tighnari?"
"Hmm, hmm!"
"And you're close to him?" You muttered.
You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.
Your fingers subconsciously slithered to your holster.
That's what you decided moments prior.
You glared down menacingly.
"Capo…?"
But a kid?
"... Is something wrong?"
You turned your apathetic gaze back at her. You're not even sure just how much this child meant to Tighnari. She might as well just be as insignificant as a pebble on a shore. But–
The gun you stole from the church guards is with you. It's light in your hands.
The light in your eyes dimmed.
"Hello?"
It has three bullets loaded.
There are only 2 other people outside the streets, both of which are teenage civilians. Taking her out would be as easy as–
"Hey, please cheer up!!!"
The child shook you, dragging you out of your trance. Little Collei appeared distressed because of your lack of reactions. You blinked a couple of times, making yourself mentally present, before pinching your forehead. Her lips are curled downward and her eyes match her cute frown, and you were grimly reminded of what you had tried to commit.
You cursed under your breath.
You're disappointed in yourself.
This is a child. A child of the church, no less. She likely had nothing to do with whatever it is Tighnari had planned.
"You're thinking of sad thoughts too, aren't you? Don't do that! You'll only feel bad–"
"Bambini."
"Yes?"
"How many friends do you have?"
"Oh. I have two!"
She cheerfully raised three fingers.
"I have two friends! Amber and Tighnari!!!"
Because of her clear enthusiasm, you refrained from correcting her hand. Instead, you patted her head with a heavy conscience.
But are you wrong for thinking this way?
An eye for an eye…
You knelt at her height.
Your strained smile reached her ignorant eyes. "That sounds wonderful. I have– I had two best friends too. Can I be your third friend?"
"Really?!"
"Of course. I think optimistic people like you are reeaaally cool!" You lied between your teeth.
And one kid's death won't satisfy a worthy tribute for your fallen men. One child is not enough.
You need to find more just like her.
"Hehe, thank you! But Amber's the coolest! I want to be like big sis Amber when I grow up!"
"Is that so? Well– I hope to hear more from you as you grow older. I'm sure you'll be the girl you always wanted to be, and I'd like to be your friend as you get there."
Collei awed.
"W-Wow, thank you! I've never gotten a compliment like that before too…"
The child never saw the sadness in your eyes, or maybe she mistook it as fondness. You continued patting her head as she melts in your touch. Fakely, you gave her a big smile.
"Then let's get to know each other." You grabbed her hands. "Why don't you show me around town, fratella?"
You can't kill this girl yet.
She nodded eagerly.
Not until you find out just how much this child means to Tighnari.
Besides, you didn't miss the flash of purple in the alleyways. Cyno was observing you from afar. You can't make haste.
You grabbed her hand.
You'll get your revenge, someday but not today, even if it arrives at your dying breath.
—----
Someone else is watching you. A second stalker.
It's not paranoia born out of the tragedy that occurred yesterday, but a fact.
As you were greeted by an angry Candace (Cyno's coworker) who gave you a firm yet fruitless sermon about leaving the parameters, you heard the bushes rattle by the gardens. You offhandedly mentioned it to her, and it placated her fury.
Candace agreed that she heard it as well, and she promises to take care of it as soon as you go back to confinement– "your room." Collei awkwardly bid you farewell and you promised you'll see her again in a few days. She probably thought that you were her new troublesome sibling. And speaking of troublesome…
Snatching the small glimpse of metal from the table, you pivoted your heels.
"You can't hide from me."
Masterfully, you hurled a butterknife and it landed just a few centimeters above the trespasser. He grunted almost inaudibly. Had you been any less precise that aim would've killed him, but the man had the guts to trust that you wouldn't be so foolish and kill him off without a proper interrogation. It's one of many reasons Tartaglia envies your dexterity and wit.
You glared. This man wore dark clothing yet his luminescent akasha terminal betrays any hope for a successful undercover mission. The stranger promptly calculated his response as you grabbed your remaining utensils. This time, you had a sharper blade in your arsenal.
"Speak."
"My name is Alhaitham. I'm an Akademiyan spy."
No shit. He's wearing an akasha terminal. What else could he be but a pain in the neck?
You laughed sardonically. "Oh my, a bold one, are we? Think you can take me down just because of my manor?"
"I'm not here to fight you– I'm here with a proposal, (Y/n)."
And he had the nerve not to address you as Capo.
The stranger didn't see you throw a fork in his direction until he heard the metal ring beside his ear. Some strands of his hair got caught between the points, yet he feigned an unphased disposition.
"Get out."
"Alhaitham" didn't listen. He knew you'd insist until you could drag his cold dead body into the garbage chute for Wednesday's pickup. So what did he do?
State his proposal anyways.
"I want to become Innamorati's next underboss."
Your grip on the knife loosened slightly. Alhaitham watched your serious face loosen up, but not in the reaction he hoped for. Instead, you laughed at him.
Him? Replacing Dimitri? Hilarious.
"Now that's comedy! What made you think I'll hire you? I don't know your face but I know your name."
You proudly grabbed a glass and poured yourself the wine Cyno bought that you previously insisted on not drinking.
"Ahh, this should be entertaining. Alhaitham– the Akademiya's slaved accountant. Maybe I would've taken you in if you didn't reveal that you're a spy. Would've enjoyed dragging you around till you're drained like hell. You know, if you already told me that you're here to spy on me you might as well spill who ordered you to do so."
"Khajeh." He replied immediately.
You drank half a glass. "Hah! Figured. Barely ran into any scholars but that old man is as nosy and obnoxious as they come."
"In addition, he gave me permission to try and apply as your next underboss."
"Keyword here is try."
"The Akademiya had been spying on you for a long time–"
"I know. I'm not dumb enough not to notice your men skulking around. They're practically built like an elementary school's skeletal model." You clicked your tongue.
"–But if you take me, I am at your full disposal. I will work simultaneously for the Akademiya and you, so I'd let you in on canned knowledge trades. I'm not as weak as the others. I've been a member of multiple training corps with exceptional gra–"
He stopped abruptly when you placed your glass down. It's empty.
Alhaitham met your gaze and silently noted your unamused expression.
You have never once tried getting into any supply of canned knowledge, but that doesn't mean you'd dive into this shady business after the opportunity presents itself pronto. You've seen how Dottore handles his wares, and you know how it functions similarly to heroin.
You're not letting your men go through the same addiction as you had before.
"Are you done?" You cut him off, clearly aware that he barely started with his fluffs. Realizing that all he had done was brag, he changed topics immediately.
"I know a lot of things about you, Capo." Alhaitham's lips quivered for a brief moment. "I'd dare say I found all the dirt I could find."
"Is that so…" You replied, rather uninterested. These buzzwords have always been around since the day you became Capo, not once had they piqued your interest.
"You killed La Signora to inherit her title. You announced that she died bravely against Khaenri'ahn soldiers, but it was you whom she dueled with– and now you have her authority and more."
You laughed, once again sounding wholly bored.
"Should've known Akademiyan freaks like you are into conspiracy theories." You replied in an attempt to seem like you care. You're not sure if it worked.
"You neither confirmed nor denied my statement."
Cause he's half-wrong. You're not a brute. If you want something done, then it must be swift. There's no way you could've won a match against your old Capo, everyone would agree with that.
It's much easier to kill her in her sleep and frame your fellow countryman's fault for everything.
"Do you need me to?"
There was no need for you to tell him that this information is useless. Many similar-sounding theories had spread during the first few months of acting as Innamorati's new Capo. Snezhnayans are very strict when it comes to blood relations, and they're not easily convinced when you told them that it was Rosalyne's final wish to instate you as their new leader.
It was partly thanks to Viktor that the familia grew to welcome you in. He had an apparent dislike for the old capo and when you promised he'd be off guard duties his mouth started rambling. Viktor's not one to shy away from leaking the information you puppeteered him to say. You've ensured many methodologies to spread a positive campaign about you, and people began naturally supporting your cause.
All done with minimum effort.
You smiled at him sweetly. Should Alhaitham attack your reputation, you have no doubt you have the capabilities in mending it quickly despite your situation. You're loved by the Church and most importantly the masses. Now that many of your men have passed, the public would view you as a staggering symbol of mourning. Poor (Y/n).
Alhaitham didn't react. Instead, his expression dimmed, more solemn this time.
"That's just the appetizer."
He continued.
"The truth is, you barely have 2 years left to live because of Eleazar, isn't that right, (N/n)? That's why you always act like you're running out of time."
Your eyes widened.
Now he's not half wrong. That's the whole truth.
You laughed again.
"Is that your best attempt at a death threat? Don't have specialized canned knowledge to teach you when to shut the fuck up?"
"I'd be happy to let you know that I'm not the only one who has conducted some… research, Capo." He digressed and walked closer. "Inquisitor Cyno, Professor Tighnari, and I know about it. It's quite a well-kept secret, really. You ought to be thankful."
Alhaitham pulled out a tissue from his pockets.
You squinted and paused.
Oh, no wonder. So that's how he came up with that conclusion.
"You've been coughing up blood way before you joined the mafia– and it's a miracle that no one noticed your weak constitution. None except the three of us, I mean." He continued. "I had someone from our forensics team inspect this, and I'm not surprised to hear that it's from you rather than your enemies."
"Then why."
"Why?"
"Why haven't you leaked this yet? Isn't this a good thing for you Akademiyans?"
Alhaitham smirked.
"I believe I should be the one to govern my actions– why else would I stalk these dilapidated rooftops?"
"Then how long have you known?"
"Trust me, the three of us knew longer than you'd imagine. I knew about your secret ever since you sold matchsticks for a living."
Your eyebrows furrowed.
"That was five years ago…"
"So? Doesn't change that you've been diagnosed for well over six years."
"I was barely anyone back then– I was just a beggar hustling on the streets– why make such an idiotic claim?" You rolled your eyes. "I've heard enough. Leave, while I still allow it."
Alhaitham's face softened.
"So you don't remember me…"
He handed you the tissue, and you reluctantly accepted it.
As your hands met, Alhaitham pulled you close to his chest. His face looked down on you, smug and condescending.
Alhaitham caressed your cheek, and then your lips. You flushed at the sudden contact and quickly tilted your dagger near his neck.
He whispered into your ear.
"What a delicate flower you are, tesoro. But I will not lie, you're far from youthful– you're wilting, and I loathe watching this all unfold from afar any longer."
The Akademiyan gently pushed your dagger away and kissed your wrist. Your eyes sharpened, hastily aiming for his neck but he swiftly changed trajectory. He knew this was just a reminder that he could die in your hands if you will it. Alhaitham is not blind. He saw the way you curved your hand at the last second to prevent a lethal blow.
He stood a few feet away, no longer at arm's length. Alhaitham pushed the curtains aside with one foot already out the window.
"I'll meet you again here, 6 AM sharp. Tell me whatever it is that you decide then." He said before confidently adding "I look forward to working with you soon, (N/n)."
In the same fashion he entered, he left the room quietly. Deciding that you don't care enough to watch him leave the premises, you locked the windows shut.
You sighed, exhausted, and pulled the curtains closed.
Life won't let you catch a break…
Now, what's your schedule for tomorrow?
—------
Note: this is an interactive fic! The underlined word will lead you to a google forms link to decide what happens in the next chapter! Have fun voting!!!
Deadline: October 20, 2022 October 16, 2020
Next Chapter
#Tag: ocmc - cta#yandere genshin x reader#yandere#yandere genshin#yandere x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere fanfiction#yandere tighnari#yandere cyno#yandere alhaitham#yandere al haitham#al haitham x reader#cyno x reader#tighnari x reader#tighnari#cyno#al haitham#yandere al haitham x reader#yandere tighnari x reader#yandere cyno x reader#yandere male#genshin impact#tw yandere#ansy-writes
886 notes
·
View notes
Text
X. So I Follow || KNJ
(banner by @itaeewon)
Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)
Rating: NSFW - minors dni
Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns
Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader
Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!
Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.
Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.
//
In light of the incident with Taehyung, you prepare to spend Christmas alone.
Section Warnings: language, arguing/fighting (just some shoving), angst!, but also fluff in this one wow, bar scenes and recreational drinking
WC: 7.8k
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
- Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay
You watch it cross his face as Taehyung decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.
You shove Taehyung in the chest with both hands, and he stumbles away from you.
“You fucking asshole,” you growl. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”
“You said we’re the same as we’ve always been?” he spits back. “You’re a fucking liar.”
You’re so blindingly angry, suddenly, that you can barely think, can barely match up words to make a sentence. “Fuck you,” you manage, the words feeling like they’re torn from your chest, leaving a bloody, gaping wound in their place. “I can’t fucking believe you.”
His brows furrow; for a minute, he looks genuinely lost. Then, something hard replaces the look. “You’re that serious about him? Already?”
You’re ready to answer this affirmatively, but he presses on. “You’ve never dated anyone, never even got to a second date. Now you’re seeing this guy for, what, a few weeks, and I’m nothing to you? Just like that?”
Something changes inside of you; you go from boiling angry to pure ice in only seconds. The silence pulses and then flatlines between you, as dead as your friendship. All you can do is stare at him, the seething rage knitting itself into something metallic instead.
“I waited for you,” you tell him, deathly calm, like you’re explaining a math problem. At your sides, your hands are shaking. “I waited for you for years. I cannot - I do not have words for how deeply unfair it is for you to show up now and try to ruin this for me.” You spit the words, clipping your consonants hard.
Neither of you has ever said it out loud. But it’s out now. No take-backs.
He stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s no going back to how things were, now. That option is well and truly buried, nails in the coffin.
“Goodbye, Taehyung,” you force yourself to say, and you turn and take the steps at a clip, letting the door shut behind you, leaving him out in the cold for good.
You stop on the staircase, nearly at your floor, and slump against the bannister. What are you going to say to Namjoon? Hey, by the way, the guy you knew I had feelings for just kissed me. Maybe not quite like that. But you definitely have to tell him.
Honestly though, you don’t feel like you have the bandwidth for that conversation right now. You feel like… you feel like you’re grieving.
You need the space and time to mourn, to accept that you’ve walked away from something that you’ve lived in comfortably for years. To accept that you’ll never have back the friendship you once had - even if you and Taehyung manage to land somewhere okay when this is all over, the truth is things will never again be how they were between you. It just isn’t possible.
You don’t want to cry over Taehyung in front of Namjoon. He’s already given you so much grace, so much understanding and patience. This… this would be too much. At least until you can calm down, get your head right, talk about it rationally. So, when you enter the apartment and find his door closed, you leave him be. You head for your own bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.
–
Namjoon feels tortured and trapped in his room; he paces, he tries doing sit-ups, he takes a shower just to hold his breath under the spray of hot water.
None of it helps.
Finally, like a dog with its tail between its legs, he flops on his bed in defeat and picks up his phone.
[11:24 PM] Namjoon: you guys wanna say i told you so now, or later
[11:24 PM] Hobi: uh oh
[11:25 PM] Yoongi: what happened
Namjoon sighs, rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to tell them. But he can’t shoulder this alone, he knows himself well enough to know it.
[11:27 PM] Namjoon: just caught her kissing him
[11:28 PM] Namjoon: literally right in front of the apartment
He closes his eyes, resting his phone on his chest. He can feel it buzz with the reactions rolling in, but he feels like he can’t make himself look at them.
Something niggles in the back of his mind, stirs in the pit of his stomach.
Something about how your hands had been balled into fists at your sides.
[11:29 PM] Hobi: what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
[11:30 PM] Yoongi: dude i’m sorry
[11:31 PM] Hobi: bro that’s a dick move by taehyung
[11:31 PM] Hobi: like thats legitimately not okay he owes you a huge apology
[11:32 PM] Hobi: if i were you i’d go to his place and talk to him. like right now.
[11:34 PM] Yoongi: forget talking to taehyung, that can wait
[11:35 PM] Yoongi: have you talked to HER yet??
[11:37 PM] Hobi: wow double question mark. Mr Min is serious
[11:37 PM] Yoongi: shut up hoseok
[11:39 PM] Namjoon: i dont think i can even look at her right now tbh
[11:39 PM] Namjoon: let alone talk…
[11:42 PM] Namjoon: wtf would i even say to her?
[11:45 PM] Namjoon: ‘was it everything you ever hoped for?’
[11:45 PM] Namjoon: fuck
He sets his phone on the mattress beside him and closes his eyes. Stupid… stupid… stupid… It echoes through his head, harmonizing nicely with Hobi and Yoongi’s voices telling him he gives people - women - too much faith, lets them take advantage of him.
But you’d told him you were in this.
You’d told him you wanted to be with him, not Taehyung.
You’d told him this thing between you was real, and that it deserves to be.
He’s told you he trusts you. Did that change? Was he wrong to?
Or are things not adding up?
He picks up his phone again.
[11:52 PM] Hobi: might be nice to have some answers
[11:53 PM] Yoongi: that’s true… we all know this wouldn’t be the first time taehyung has shown his ass…
Namjoon considers this silently. He starts to get up, then stills. This repeats twice more, before he finally throws himself out of bed and leaves his room before his nerves can fail. He crosses the living room to find your bedroom door shut – rare, these days. He knocks, calls your name quietly. When you don’t answer, he tries the doorknob.
It’s locked.
“Hey,” he calls. “Let me in.”
You don’t answer.
He knows it’s not the same, not what’s happening now, but he’s picturing you on the day you’d gone silent, laying in bed, facing the wall, unmoving, unblinking. His chest clenches with the need to make sure you’re okay, despite what he’d seen, despite the conclusions he’d drawn.
He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Baby,” he says, voice so hushed it’s practically a whisper. “Please, open the door and talk to me.”
He waits a long moment, one hand against the door, and then the doorknob clicks. As soon as he can see your face through the crack, it’s clear you’ve been crying.
His brain starts running possibilities as fast as a bullet-train. You’re crying because you know you did something wrong, and you feel guilty. You’re crying because you’re conflicted about who you want, and it’s hurting. You’re crying because you’ve decided to be with Taehyung after all, and you know you have to let Namjoon down. You’re crying because…
“What happened?” he manages to ask, feeling like there’s glass in his throat as he tugs the words out of his stomach.
He resists the urge to reach out and touch your face, wipe a stray tear away.
You take a deep breath, avert your eyes. Then you seem to steel yourself and say very clearly, “Taehyung just kissed me.”
Then, you rush ahead, the rest of the words tumbling out of you so fast that Namjoon almost misses some of it. “But I pushed him away – I called him an asshole, I told him he missed his chance.”
You take another breath, eyes filling with fresh tears. You still haven’t looked up at Namjoon. “I’m sorry,” you finish in a whisper.
Namjoon doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t decide to move, but his arms are suddenly around you as you bury your face in his shirt, shoulders still trembling a little under his hands.
He’s so overcome with relief that it almost makes him go boneless – relief that he hadn’t been wrong to trust you, relief that you’d chosen him after all.
But as he holds you, as he feels your shaking slowly ebb away, he remembers the times you’d called Taehyung family, the stories you’d told of having no one else. In that moment, he truly feels your sorrow down into his own bones.
“You have me,” he thinks, then realizes he’s said it out loud. You shift in his arms to look up at him, eyes big and red-rimmed. He gives you a little squeeze, struggles to wade through how protective he feels with you. “I know that maybe it’s not the same… but for as long as you want me there,” he promises, “you have me.”
Tuesday December 11th
You lay in Namjoon’s embrace, chest to chest, his strong arms locked behind your back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been encased like this, one leg tucked between his, listening to his heart beating next to your ear. Long enough for the sweat to cool.
You shiver a little, and Namjoon runs a hand reverently down your arm, chasing away goosebumps with the warmth of his palm. Behind him, you can hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand.
Again.
You try to pretend you don’t hear it. You try to distract Namjoon by reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. He looks down at you, eyes narrowed, seeing right through your bullshit.
“Is that him again?”
“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “I haven’t looked at it.”
But you both know it is.
He’s been calling - and texting - since you left him on the sidewalk two nights ago. You’d turned your phone off on Sunday night, as soon as you’d cottoned on that he wasn’t going to give up. When you’d gotten brave enough to turn it on Monday morning, it was to three voicemails, unending missed calls, and a series of texts that blurred before you as you teared up over their desperation.
[12:18 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please pick up
[12:31 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: pick up the phone
[12:32 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: talk to me
[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m so sorry
[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m such an asshole
[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: fuck i’m so so sorry
[3:22 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please talk to me
[3:23 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’re probably sleeping so i’m gonna stop
[3:24 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: but if you decide you want to talk please call me
[9:04 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: good morning
[9:05 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: can we talk today?
You hadn’t answered any of it, and he’d continued Monday afternoon.
[4:46 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: please, talk to me so i can apologize for real
[4:52 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’ve never not talked to me for this long before
[4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: even that time i backed into Lin’s car and let her blame you…
[4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: did i fuck everything up that badly?
Yes, you want to tell him. But you don’t have the heart. It’s hard enough, takes enough of your self-control, to resist answering. To resist telling him it’s okay.
It isn’t. You know it isn’t.
As the texts roll in through Monday night and Tuesday morning, you feel like Namjoon’s steadying gaze on you, or his hand solid in yours, is the only thing that keeps you from skittering back into safe, familiar old habits. And to his credit, he barely leaves you alone while you’re both home. He stays in your space, quiet and calm, watching you carefully, searching for signs that you might need more from him.
The phone buzzes again, insistent - a phone call.
You sigh in Namjoon’s arms. “Maybe I should answer him,” you muse. “If for nothing else, then to tell him to knock it off.”
Namjoon rolls to pick up your phone and places it, still buzzing, in your hands. “It’s your decision,” he says carefully.
You watch Taehyung’s name, with the stupid emoji after it, scroll across the top of your screen. You don’t pick up.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” you admit. “I don’t even know what I’d tell him. I have nothing to say.”
“Then don’t,” Namjoon advises gently. “Turn it off for a while. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Yeah,” you say absently, pressing your finger to the power button. “You’re right.” You watch, feeling utterly hollow, as your screen goes black.
Thursday December 13th
It’s hard for Namjoon to watch, honestly, though he does his best to bite his tongue and just support you. But you float through the apartment like a ghost, and he can’t help but feel guilt over the fact that you chose to be haunted for his sake.
You’re staring at your phone, which - despite being powered off - is sitting by your elbow. Like, even though you pressed the power button yourself, you're waiting for the next call.
“You should do something for yourself tonight,” he hears himself suggest. Problem-solving mode again, like he just can’t help himself. But maybe it’ll be for the better. “Like a bubble bath or something. Why don’t you go run one? I’ll pour you some wine.”
The look you give him nearly knocks his knees out - you turn to him with a look of pure adoration, disbelieving wonder. You look at him like he’s too good to be true.
It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart that a simple act of kindness feels so large to you - because no one, not your family, or fucking Kim Taehyung, or any of your other friends, had ever done it for you.
“You should leave your phone out here,” he suggests. “Bring a book.”
You give him a different sort of look, then, one that says don’t tell me what to do.
“I’m just saying!” He smiles innocently. “It’ll ruin your inner peace if you turn it on.”
“Inner peace,” you grumble at him, but you head into your bathroom, your phone face down on the breakfast bar. A minute later, Namjoon hears the bathtub water running.
He brings you in a glass of wine as promised, also carrying in the poetry book you’d bought him at the antique shop a few days ago.
“Don’t get this wet,” he warns jokingly. You smile up at him, most of you hidden beneath an aggressive amount of bubbles.
“I won’t,” you promise. “I have a tray.”
Namjoon backtracks to the kitchen, recorking the wine and wiping down the counter. He’s humming absently, lost in thought about what he’d been writing, when he hears footsteps stop outside the front door.
His intuition kicks in with a quick slap of adrenaline. He opens the front door roughly and immediately shoulders Taehyung backwards into the hallway, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms, physically putting himself between Taehyung and you.
Taehyung gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped in indignation. Then, his pride catches up, and his eyes narrow. “What are you, her bodyguard?” he asks sourly. “Did she tell you not to let me in?”
“No,” Namjoon admits, willing himself to stay logical, not to let his temper take over. “But I want to talk to you.”
“I just bet you do,” Taehyung mutters.
Namjoon breathes in for four, holds it for four, lets it out for six. He’s known Taehyung for years, sees him as a nuisance of a little brother in a lot of ways, has a lot of affection for him. But watching you hurt, and hurt, and hurt - it isn’t going to continue.
“I’m sorry you found out about us the way you did,” Namjoon says, hoping that beginning with his own apology will help soften the rest of the conversation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to be… it would have been better for her to talk to you about it on her own terms. I didn’t mean to take that away from her. Or you.”
“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Taehyung says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to talk to her. Move.”
“You need to back off,” Namjoon says carefully. “You’re breaking her fucking heart, bro. Give her some time.”
Taehyung laughs in his face, the sound ugly and echoing in the empty hallway. “Fuck you,” he says. “If it’s breaking her heart to stay away from me, doesn’t that tell you something? She wants to talk to me, she misses me. Move.”
Namjoon shakes his head, clings to reason, tries desperately to make Taehyung see reason, too. “Try to understand,” he begs. “You’re messing with her head. Do you even want her? If she came out here now and said she wanted to be with you, would you even know what to do with that?”
Taehyung’s eyes narrow even further, if possible. “What are you talking about?” he asks, the question like a hiss between his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, Namjoon. She and I need to talk - get out of the way.”
Namjoon’s temper flares. “Taehyung,” he says, just one of many times in their friendship he’s felt like he had to talk sense into the younger man. “You don’t love her, so let her go.”
Taehyung freezes, then raises his chin, face flat and impassive. “Who says I don’t love her?” he asks, bone-chillingly cold.
Namjoon breaks eye contact, takes another steadying breath. “Feeling like she’s yours,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to explain, “doesn’t make it love.”
Taehyung makes a disbelieving tch noise, but Namjoon pushes on.
“Feeling like you have a claim on her doesn’t mean you love her. And you know what? Even if it did, even if we agreed that you love her… this is not the right way. She deserves to be loved the right way, and this isn’t it. And if you don’t want to lose her completely, then you need to wrap your head around that.”
Taehyung is spared having to respond to this. Behind Namjoon, you’ve been listening from the doorway. You step into view, your face flushed from the warm bath and the glass of wine, flushed from what you’ve overheard.
Immediately, Taehyung moves closer, trying to dart past Namjoon to reach you, saying your name like a prayer.
“Please, let’s talk,” he begs, the words all a rush.
Namjoon keeps his body between you, but glances over his shoulder at you. Taehyung’s intended dig about being your bodyguard doesn’t feel too off, right now. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks, feeling so worked up he thinks he could probably carry Taehyung out of here by the back of his neck if given the okay.
“No,” you say, your voice tiny. Namjoon tongues his cheek, but steps aside. Taehyung shoots him a cutting, victorious look, but then you speak again, your voice still so little. “But… will you stay?” You creep into the hallway, looking entirely unsure, and Namjoon welcomes it happily when you press against his side, one of your hands resting over his diaphragm, the other curling into the material of his shirt over his back.
“Taehyung,” you whisper, and Namjoon’s heart breaks again at the look of betrayal and hurt that you level at your best friend. “What are you doing?”
“I –”
“Taehyung,” you say again, so broken, and it stops him in his tracks. “You don’t love me. You never did. So what the hell is happening here?”
He looks back at you, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. For a second, Namjoon feels bad for him - just for a second. “Please, let’s talk by ourselves,” Taehyung begs.
You shake your head. “After the shit you pulled last time? Absolutely not.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I shouldn’t have - I know I shouldn’t have - it’s just -
“What?” you snap, suddenly pissed all over again.
“I can’t lose you,” he says plainly.
You look at the ground, then - inexplicably - up at Namjoon. Like you’re deciding something. Like you’re calculating. Then, you look back at Taehyung, your body language changing as you stand up straight again. When you speak, your voice is firm and even.
You grounded me.
“I don’t want that either,” you say, finally. “But I’m not going to be with you - not like that. And let’s both be honest - you don’t actually want that, either. You only went there because you thought someone else was winning. And frankly? I refuse to play. So you know what, Taehyung? When you can grow up and figure out what you actually want, you can call me to talk about it - not until then.”
You disentangle yourself from Namjoon and stalk back inside. Namjoon pauses. Taehyung is staring at the ground, unblinking.
“You’re my friend, too,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling like he can’t even look Taehyung in the face right now. “I hope we can figure that out, too, when you’re ready.”
Taehyung’s response is his middle finger over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway towards the stairs.
Friday December 22nd
Through cobbled streets in tiny towns
Through suffocating crowds on city sidewalks
Down dirt lanes and past silent, towering silos
I follow you
Through pathless forests, over tripping roots
Beneath canopies of black and green
Over fallen trees whose rings tell of being felled
I follow you
To mountains bathed in sunlight’s glory
Up slopes that want to pull me down
To views of winding rivers - strips of ribbon below
I follow you
To ocean waves that crash and scream
Tantruming relentlessly against packed sand shores
The line of the horizon ebbing with the moonrise
I follow you
My feet are meant to follow yours
My heart is meant to follow yours
The world is mine, but I want only yours
So I follow
I follow you
–
You close the notebook before you can scratch anything out. That one needs to marinate a little. It’s not like you to forgo a rhyme scheme, and you’re not sure how you feel about the flow.
You haven’t heard from Taehyung in almost two weeks. But you haven’t reached out, either.
When you hear Namjoon come through the front door, you slide your notebook back into your backpack, leaving no incriminating evidence.
“Hey,” he says, stopping by your side and giving your shoulders some affectionate squeezes. “What are you up to?”
“Was writing,” you tell him. “Sort of.”
He laughs at sort of. “What a mood,” he says with a smile. Then, he drops himself in the stool next to yours at the breakfast bar, drumming his knuckles where your notebook had been just moments before.
You know that tic - he’s anxious.
“What is it?” you ask, instantly worried. “Did something happen?”
You’re imagining all sorts of scenarios - Taehyung confronted him, Elyse texted again, he failed an assignment, he’s breaking up with you -
“Nothing bad,” he assures you, stopping the spiral in its place. “I just had something to ask you. I guess I’m nervous. I know I shouldn’t be.”
“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well - what is it?”
He glances at you shyly, and you feel your heart swell with affection.
“What are your Christmas plans?” he asks.
Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.
“Oh,” you say again, deflating. “I was… just staying here, I think.”
The I think is a lie. Your plan was absolutely to stay, alone, in the apartment. You had no intention of going home for the holidays. It would mean over an hour in the car each way with Taehyung, whom you haven’t spoken to in ten whole days. Plus, Lin is working. Normally you’d go to Taehyung’s house and let his parents try to pretend you weren’t imposing, but that’s not an option this year either.
Honestly, the idea of your first Christmas without them - Taehyung’s mom and dad - is kind of depressing. You’d sent a gift in the mail, but it won’t be the same.
Namjoon raps his knuckles again. “Um,” he says, so uncertainly that it makes you smile a little bit, “how would you feel about coming home with me? To my parents’?”
You’re stunned into silence. “I - Do - Would your parents be okay with that? It’s not too last minute?”
“They’d be thrilled,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “They thought I’d never get ov- I mean, they’d be happy to meet you.”
You smile to yourself at his slip. “When were you going to leave?”
“I’m taking the train in the morning. Plenty of time to pack.”
“I need to do laundry,” you muse out loud, already in planning mode.
“So, you’ll come with me?” he clarifies.
“Yeah,” you say slowly, still mentally writing a to-do list. “If you’re sure I’m not imposing… they have to feed me and everything. You’re sure it’s okay?”
He laughs, kisses the top of your head. “I promise,” he says.
Later, as you and Namjoon sit side by side on the couch, folding laundry together, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Your heart leaps, hoping it will be Taehyung, caving just in time for the holidays, wanting to talk it out before Christmas Day.
It’s Lin.
Your heart sinks, your throat gets tight. You push the hurt and disappointment aside and avoid Namjoon’s knowing gaze as you open the text.
[6:22 PM] Lin: i just ran into taes family
[6:22 PM] Lin: they said hes coming home tonight
[6:23 PM] Lin: will you be here tonight? We didn’t talk about it
You purse your lips.
[6:25 PM] You: sorry, i should have called you. I know you’re working so i wasn’t planning on coming home
[6:26 PM] Lin: oh. Are you going to be alone?
You type the start of an answer - “no, staying with my -” and pause, looking over at Namjoon.
“Joon?” you ask, and he looks at you, surprised. “I don’t know - I mean - Should I say we’re -?”
He leans to read over your shoulder, smiling when he sees “with my -” and your cursor waiting patiently for you to finish the thought. Your what? Friend? Roommate?
You glance up at him, feeling your face flush. “Do I say boyfriend?” you finally ask in a whisper.
His smile almost splits his face. “Is that what I should tell my mom?” he counters, his own phone in his hand.
You grin at him. “I will if you will,” you tease.
His smile turns cocky. “At the same time, then?”
[6:31 PM] You: no, staying with my boyfriend’s family
[6:34 PM] Lin: your WHAT?????????
Namjoon brings his phone to his ear, still smiling at you. When someone picks up, he says, “Eomma? Listen, I know it’s last minute - my girlfriend will be alone for the holidays, would it be okay if she came home with me instead?”
On the other end of the line there’s a series of unintelligible shrieks, and Namjoon’s playful smile only grows. “Yah, I know, I know, I’m sorry!” he laughs. “You’ll meet her! I know! I’m sorry!”
You giggle quietly.
“No, no, Eomma, you don’t need a gift for her, just send us home with leftovers, that’s more than enough,” he says, eyes widening. “It’s last-minute for her, too, no one knew about this ahead of time. It’s okay. No, the guest room is perfect. Eomma, the guest room is fine. Let me talk to - Dad, hi.”
Giving him a reassuring pat on the knee, you stand, taking the folded laundry with you.
–
You’re essentially packed, your suitcase closed but still unzipped on top of your bed when Namjoon sticks his head in the door, that playful, up-to-no-good smirk on his face.
“What?” you ask him, smiling. It’s contagious, you can’t help it.
“Yoongi and Hoseok want to know if my girlfriend will come get a beer with us tonight,” he says, his smile growing sideways.
You laugh. “News travels fast.”
He gives a sheepish chuckle. “I tell those two everything. I can’t function without them.”
You eye him suspiciously. “Is this going to be an interrogation?”
He considers this. “Probably,” he admits. “But I’ll keep them in check. They’re just… protective. Especially after the Elyse debacle.”
You sigh. “You’re asking me to handle the best friend interrogation and meeting your parents all in the span of twelve hours, you realize that, right?”
Namjoon’s face falls a little. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. It’s okay - I’ll go by myself tonight -.”
“No, I want to go,” you say quickly, holding up a hand to stop his backpedaling. “I’m just saying. I think you owe me some cookies or something.”
His smile returns, tentative. “Let’s start with I’ll buy your beer tonight,” he jokes.
“Deal,” you tell him, but when you find yourself on a sticky barstool in a mostly dark hole-in-the-wall, a pitcher deep with the three guys, you’re wishing you’d demanded cookies after all.
Hoseok gets up to get a second pitcher, and Yoongi leans forward on his elbows, eyeing you carefully.
Here we go, you think. Namjoon shoots you an apologetic look and you shrug him off.
“So, it’s official now, huh?” Yoongi asks, voice a touch too casual.
“Apparently,” you say dryly, eyes on Namjoon. He’s kicking at Yoongi under the table, as subtle as an elephant.
Hoseok returns, carefully placing the new pitcher of beer on the center of the table. Namjoon reaches desperately for a refill.
Yoongi tilts his head to the side, eyes still on you, calculating. “You don’t want to be with Taehyung?”
“Hyung!” Namjoon protests, spluttering over his beer. Beside him, Hoseok frowns and murmurs Yoongi’s name reprimandingly.
You will yourself to stay calm, not to get defensive. “I don’t,” you say evenly. You hope the truth of it will be enough.
“You did though,” Yoongi points out.
“Hyung!” Namjoon barks a second time, starting to actually look pissed now.
But it’s a fair point. And Namjoon has never once through this whole thing asked you to explain yourself, has never asked you to defend or examine the way your feelings have changed since he met you in August.
So maybe he deserves to hear this answer, you think.
“Yeah,” you say, because it’s true. Yoongi’s entire demeanor changes with this admission - like he’d expected you to lie, or deflect. Like he’s ready to take you way more seriously now that he knows you’re willing to be honest.
You rub your hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to dispel the sweat collecting on your palms. “I guess I learned…” you say, thinking as you speak slowly, “I know that Taehyung loves me, but… I didn’t have anything to compare it to, before. I had never felt anything for or… received love from anyone else. I had nothing to put his… fragmented version of loving me into perspective.”
“Yah, you writing people are so well-spoken,” Hoseok sighs over his beer. Namjoon glares daggers at him.
Yoongi presses forward. “But now?”
You give Namjoon a tiny smile across the table. “Honestly… now I’m not sure how I could have ever been so wrong,” you say to him, not to Yoongi. You know he needs to know.
Saturday December 23rd
“Explain to me why I’m nervous,” you complain, your foot bouncing as the countryside rolls past the train’s window outside.
Namjoon smiles at you indulgently, and then places a large hand over your knee to quell the bouncing. “You’ll be fine.”
“I’m scared out of my mind.”
“So what you’re saying is, this is a bad time to tell you that my parents hated Elyse?”
Your blood runs cold. “They what? You’re fucking with me, right?”
He grimaces. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, they were never rude to her. They just… never warmed up. Each time we’d fight and get back together, my mom… well, she made sure I knew how she felt about it.”
“Great,” you say dourly, eyeing the window.
He gives your knee a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”
You’re a jumble of nerves for the rest of the ride.
When the train slows to a stop in Namjoon’s hometown, he leads you by the hand down the steps and out into the cold.
“That’s my dad’s car,” he says, pointing to a dark green sedan. “You ready?”
“No,” you joke, but you follow him towards the car, hoisting your duffle bag higher on your shoulder as you go.
Namjoon’s father exits the vehicle and comes around to hug his son; it hurts to watch, for some reason. Something inside you aches at it.
When he turns his attention to you, you greet him respectfully, and then Namjoon helps move your duffle bag into the car.
The drive to the house from the train station is quick - if it weren’t December and carrying luggage it would be walkable. Inside, Namjoon hugs his mother as well, towering over her. You greet her formally, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile, welcoming you to their home.
“Thank you for letting me join Namjoon here for Christmas,” you say, glancing sideways at him for reassurance. “I know it was last-minute.”
“No one should be alone for Christmas,” she tells you, her voice soft and even, and Namjoon squeezes your arm affectionately. “May I show you the guest room?”
You follow them both through the house and to a small room with a narrow single bed, a nightstand, and a small chest of drawers. In the corner, in a beam of morning sunlight, is a tall, leafy plant. This makes you smile; it feels like Namjoon’s touch.
“How long are you staying?” Mrs. Kim directs this question at her son, and you turn to look at him as you place your duffle bag on the end of the bed.
Namjoon hums, considering. “I’m not sure yet,” he tells her, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “We’d planned for the 27th, but I was looking at the weather forecast while we were on the train and there’s a storm coming through. We might have to try and get back before that, so maybe the 26th. We can play it by ear.”
She shakes her head, swats playfully at his elbow. “You know I’m no good at spontaneous decisions,” she chides.
“We’ll keep an eye on the weather and figure out the plan,” he soothes.
She turns back to you, casting a playfully sour look at Namjoon over her shoulder as she does. “If you want to use the drawers for your clothes, you can,” she tells you. “The bathroom is straight across.”
“Got it,” you say, trying to sound breezy and cheerful. “Thank you again for taking me in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
She nods at you, smiling. “I’ll let you get settled in,” she says, and brushes past Namjoon on her way back down the narrow hallway.
His gaze on you is suddenly heavy.
“What?” you ask.
He opens his mouth to speak, then looks over his shoulder, seems to think better of it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks instead. “I have a place I’d kind of like to show you.”
Everything inside you that’s been held tight like a breath melts into something soft. “Okay,” you tell him, reaching for your coat, which is shoved under your duffle bag on the bed. “Let’s go.”
As you pass back through the kitchen, Mr. Kim is seated at the table, buried in an open newspaper. A cup of coffee sits, untouched, near his elbow. Mrs. Kim stands on a step-stool, searching a high cabinet for something, muttering under her breath.
“We’re going to walk down to the pond,” Namjoon says. His father lowers the newspaper and smiles at him a little absently. “Gotta show off the geese.”
He steps out the kitchen door that leads to a sloping backyard and you follow. Once you’re halfway across the yard he reaches back for your hand, not turning to watch you take it.
“Geese, huh?” you ask.
He turns to grin at you. “It’s my favorite place. Come on, keep up.”
“We don’t all have long legs like yours!” you protest. At the end of the property, there’s a small space between two hedges, the grass in the gap long worn away by frequent foot-traffic, only dirt remaining. He leads you through the gap and down the rest of the hill, where you can see the ink-dark water of a still pond waiting below.
When you arrive at the water’s edge, you notice that there is - as promised - an entire flock of geese, as well as a large swan.
“I heard swans can be nasty,” you say, a little apprehensive.
Namjoon puts his arm around you, looking out over the water. “Ah, that’s Clarence. He won’t mess with you. The geese might, though, especially when their babies are around.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Clarence? You named the swan?”
He laughs, the sound low and melodic, warm and welcoming. “He’s been around for a few years. We have an understanding.”
This startles a giggle out of you, and Namjoon looks down at you, smiling.
“I love having you here,” he admits fondly. “This is my favorite place - I’d come here to think, to read, to write. Sometimes, to clear my head.”
“You like to go outside when you’ve got shit going on,” you agree.
“There’s a Welsh saying,” he says seriously, “that means to kind of get your head on straight, to sort your thoughts out. But when you translate the words literally, they say to return to my trees. That always spoke to me.”
“Wow,” you say lightly, running the words through your mind again. “To return to my trees. I like that.”
He stands quietly next to you for a minute, both of you watching Clarence and his geese friends cross the pond at a snail’s pace.
“You know what I like about you?” he finally says, as a small breeze picks up enough to rustle his hair, to blow yours around your face. “I can say shit like that to you and you take me seriously. I’ve never had anybody like that in my life before - not even with my friends.”
You get it - you never really had that, either. You smile up at him. “I like pretty words.”
His smile goes crooked for a second. “I like pretty words and pretty girls.” He gives you a squeeze.
“What a line!” you laugh, but you can feel your face flushing. “Did you look that one up on the internet?”
He laughs too. “I was inspired, what can I say?”
You lapse into comfortable silence again, watching the edge of the dark water lap at the muddy shore. “Can I say something?” you ask after a minute, and Namjoon looks down at you, surprised.
“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”
You think for a second about what you want to say - the points you want to hit, how you want to word it.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” you start slowly, “that I see and appreciate how patient you’ve been. How understanding.”
Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he actually leans away from you a little, like he wants to look at you better. “What?” he asks hollowly.
“Seriously,” you insist. “When it comes to everything between us, you’ve been in a shitty position from day one. You never held it against me, never got mad, never made me feel like I wasn’t… worth wanting. You never demanded anything of me - not an explanation, not an answer. You just… stayed by my side and let me figure it out. And I… it’s not lost on me that that’s extremely fucking rare. That’s all.”
Namjoon’s chin is jutting a little, his jaw clenched. He keeps his eyes on the pond and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is a little rough.
“Well, uh,” he says, then coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks for saying that. It’s all really… not that big of a deal.”
You lean against him, and he squeezes your shoulder.
“It is,” you whisper. “I know you don’t recognize it… but, it really is.”
–
Back inside, you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are way out of your depth: alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Kim.
Namjoon told you he’d be right back and went to - you assume - talk to his dad in the other room, and here you are.
You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to talk to mothers. You don’t know how kitchens work.
Mrs. Kim saves you from yourself by placing a large, yellow onion in your hand. “Will you chop this while I start the –”
You don’t even hear the end of the question over the panicked rush of white noise in your ears. You hold the onion like it might explode in your hand.
Her back is to you as she pulls out a cutting board from a lower cabinet. When she turns and sees you standing there like you’re holding a grenade, she freezes.
“You certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to –” she backtracks quickly.
“The thing is,” you say, face flushing, “I don’t… exactly… know how.”
The sigh of disappointment she lets out is almost comical. You cringe, feeling terrible, when she says, “Aish, no wonder my son likes you - you two are just the same.”
This makes you laugh out loud, and the tension breaks just like that. With a playfully chastising look, she takes the onion back from you, placing it on the cutting board. Then she cuts it in half and shows you how you’re meant to slice it before passing you the knife.
She watches carefully as you slowly and clumsily try to mirror her movements with the blade. And even though you’re slow and clumsy, she still smiles at you and says, “Very good.”
“I never really had the chance to learn,” you try to explain, your eyes on what you’re doing. “My, um, my parents passed away when I was really young. And my grandmother… she didn’t ask me to help, she didn’t try to teach me. I think because… she wanted to let me be just a kid in as many ways as I still could. But, yknow. Now I’m an adult who can’t cook.”
You’re not sure what reaction you expect from her, but all she does is hum quietly, an affirming, understanding listening noise, and lean just a little closer over your shoulder to watch the knife.
You’re about to say something else - anything, just to move on from the moment - when she speaks.
“His last girlfriend was a genius in the kitchen.” She cocks her head to the side sharply, almost as if flicking away an annoying bug. “But she certainly had her failings outside of it.”
Elyse. You’re suddenly picturing her here, at this counter, making her way effortlessly around the kitchen.
Mrs. Kim moves beside you, turning the sink on and grabbing a colander to wash some more vegetables. You keep working slowly on the onion, keeping your eyes on your fingers.
She looks sideways at you as she rinses whatever she’s holding. “All I’m saying is, sometimes change is good. And it’s never too late to learn,” she tells you.
Change. Like Namjoon letting go of his past. Like you letting go of yours.
“He told me you and Mr. Kim didn’t like her,” you admit, pushing the onion to the side and setting down the knife, ready for new instructions.
Mrs. Kim shakes her head, exasperated. “What did he say that to you for? No wonder you’re nervous. For such a smart boy, he just has no sense.”
You smile and hurry to defend him. “I think he just wanted me to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” she grouses. “We liked her fine until she broke his heart. We’ll like you that long, too.”
“I don’t think I ever could,” you say quietly.
Next to you, she softens. She touches your hand for just a second in a gesture that feels somehow like gratitude, and then removes it to plop whatever she just washed onto your cutting board.
“Chop,” she instructs. She watches, reaching over once to adjust your hold on the knife, then nodding in satisfaction when you carry on correctly. Her eyes on your hands, she asks, “So your grandmother raised you? Where did you grow up?”
You tell her - about your hometown, about your Grandmother’s strict upbringing and how it led into Lin’s barely-there parenting. She listens as she works, eventually moving over to the stove and starting the base of the sauce while you finish peeling and chopping the pile she’s left for you to handle.
“So, your aunt is working for Christmas?” she asks, stirring as you gently add the onion to the sauce when prompted.
“Yes, and she works nights and sleeps days,” you explain. “So I decided to just stay home.”
“You wouldn’t have seen her at all?” she asks, no bite or judgment to the question. Just asking. “Even Christmas Eve, or the day after?”
You think about this. In all honesty, you would have been home and awake with Lin for at least some of break. But you two didn’t really spend time together, never had. Plus it would have meant asking Taehyung for a ride, since he brought you to campus back in late August, and he isn’t currently speaking to you.
“Maybe in passing,” you say, which isn’t entirely true. But suddenly, you feel weirdly guilty - like you’ve done something wrong to Lin by leaving her alone for the holiday.
“That’s a shame,” she says. “Here, come stir this.”
As you finish the meal together, she asks you more questions - mostly about school and your major. It’s nice - calming. You feel like this is a place you could get used to.
“I think it’s good for him to have found another writer,” she muses. “Sometimes our Namjoon just has his head in the clouds. It’ll be nice for him to have someone who… understands.”
“Yeah,” you say, continuing to stir, as directed. “That’s nice for me, too.”
<- Prev || Next ->
what are we thinking?! am i in less trouble or more compared to last chapter? lol
#bts fanfic#bts x reader#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fic#namjoon x reader#namjoon angst#namjoon smut#namjoon x you#bts fic#Namjoon fanfic#rm fanfic#kim namjoon fanfic#rm angst#rm smut#rm x reader#strangers to lovers#s2l#college au#roomie au#rm fic#fic: mffmhh#slow burn
246 notes
·
View notes
Text
more qpr fluffy squishy platonic writing prompts! wahoo!! part two!!! :)
Same disclaimer applies as my first post - these are aro- and ace-spec centric, may only work for shortform fiction, and feel free to tweak them to be less specific/more specific to specific characters.
Specific is a weird word lol
Anyways…
“We both get caught out in the rain and wait out the weather under the same shelter, and either we’re meeting for the first time or we have a nice excuse to hang out together” AU
“You annotate a book for me and I annotate it right back for you, and we keep passing the book back and forth until its a mess of affectionate scribbles that we keep on the coffee table” AU
"It's hot outside and you love the heat but I hate it and you're being stupidly nice and sweet to me while I'm a grouchy mess" AU
"I can teach you how to play this instrument if you stop DISTRACTING ME by looking so ENDEARING AND INFATUATED" AU
"Keep Talking And Nobody Explodes" AU
"We're both too tired to take care of ourselves because of sickness/work/school/whatever but we immediately find the energy to take care of one another via making tea and grabbing blankets" AU
"We trade clothes for Halloween and do terrible impersonations of one another" AU
"We have a bunch of unfinished craft projects between the two of us and decide to just... finish them all in one day... 24 itty-bitty hours... oh boy..." AU
"We recreate a terrible low-budget movie together" AU
"On Valentine's Day, we decide to make a bunch of garlic bread and cake, and buy each other flowers in the colours of our respective aro-/ace-spec flags... and then the day after, we buy all the chocolate that's finally gone on sale" AU
“I teach you how to do make-up because for one reason or another you’re unfamiliar with it” AU
“Fake dating and having dramatic break ups over silly things in public for shits and giggles” AU
“So, the world might have just ended… so guess who has two thumbs and a bunker that desperately could use a roommate?” AU
“We’re made to play seven minutes in heaven at a party and after a few awkward minutes of silence we both decide to just order a pizza or something while we wait out the seven minutes” AU
“Hey, you can dance, and I can’t, teach me— no, I don’t care that I’ve got two left feet, teach me!” AU
“We’re both artists, maybe of different skill levels, and we decide to draw/paint/make art of each other” AU
“I’m a night owl and you’re more of a day person, so whenever we stop texting because you have to go to bed, I’m stuck laying awake thinking about you Please Enjoy Waking Up To A Bunch Of Messages” AU
“I’m a day person and you’re more of a night owl but I struggle to fall asleep because I’m stuck thinking about how lucky I am to be your friend Hey I Think I Could Stay Up For An Extra Ten Minutes” AU
“We’re both nervous about going to the gym alone so we try going together… but neither of us have the guts to get out of the car so we just go for a walk or something instead” AU
“You’re super into sports and exercise and I’m just getting into it but you hype me up so I’m less nervous about getting started” AU
“I bake a whole bunch, you cook big meals… at the same time of day - our kitchen is chaos” AU
“It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re hanging out at a party and everyone’s speculating that we’re gonna have our New Year’s Kiss together but the New Year comes and we just do a weird handshake” AU
“Non-Fatal Hanahaki Disease AU where we’re some of the few people who don’t experience it because we’re content with whatever non-romantic thing we have together… but we both have hay fever and are very annoyed by the constant barrage of flower petals around us and have to tell our friends to Please Stop Crushing On The Random Barista At Starbucks It’s The Third Time This Week You Are KILLING US” AU
“We’re both alien test subjects who’ve never met before and have to try and plan our escape - bonus points if the aliens are specifically testing for something like amatonormative like All Humans Fall In Love and we’re the black swans of the research since they apparently abducted Only Romantic Allosexuals Aside From Us Somehow” AU
“It’s midnight and you show up on my doorstep unannounced after a long while of us drifting apart, what on earth happened?” AU
“We’re both capable of granting wishes - you’re the monkey’s paw and I’m the guy who’s stuck remedying all the messed up things you have happen to people What Is Wrong With You” AU
And finally…
“I’m laying on the couch at a party drunk/high/exhausted/whatever and you’re looking after me, having only met me that night - I proceed to ramble about how embarrassed I’ll be when I’m older and think back to how I made a fool of myself in front of someone I wanted to be friends with really badly… but luckily for me, you’re flattered that I think you’re super cool” AU
#certified qwertycake moment#writing prompt#writing#au#otp prompt#imagine your otp#platonic otp prompt#brotp#aromantic#asexual#aroace#arospec#aspec#acespec#ace#qpr#qpp
105 notes
·
View notes
Note
More resident evil 8 Au things!
First I think with Julieta if she infects food it will heal any infected person but it can only be safely eaten by people who are infected if you're not and you eat her infected food then you get very sick, so sick in fact that most people would die if it wasn't for the fact that Julieta still has her gift and heals them before they do.
I also appreciate your opinion on the Miranda and Mirabel experiment situation. Miranda is 100% obsessed with Mirabel and I do feel like as she got older it would get worse, Miranda barely tolerated her family when she first got them and only really got her family as a way to control/manipulate her more but I feel like after a couple years Miranda would start to get jealous of her family and become almost possessive of Mirabel because to her Mirabel is perfect and is so close to being the vessel for her child in her mind. Which made me have a thought what if in one of her crazy moments Miranda tried to create a new original vessel using a bit of Mirabel's DNA and a little bit of Eva's original DNA or maybe even some of her own, almost trying to recreate Evelyn but instead of just using purely her or Eva's original DNA she's hoping that mirabel's "perfect DNA" would counterbalance any imperfections that might happen and make sure that another Evelyn doesn't happen obviously it wouldn't work if she did it and if it would actually result in anything I not entirely sure probably not but it is something I could see her doing/trying to do. I would like your opinion on that though it feels like something she would do and it feels like a crazy/delusional thought she would have but how it would be executed and what exactly it would result in if it resulted in anything I'm still not entirely sure.
In my Au everything for Ethan stays the same up until after his done in Castle Dimitrescu except for the fact that when he first meets the Lord's mirabel is there. Ethan meets Mirabel again after he's done in Dimitrescu castle in my Au There are no Rose flasks so there is no moment between him and Duke telling him to "take a closer look" (I agree with you when that happened it pissed me off so badly.) instead what happens is that Ethan leaves the castle and is in that weird little area with the Duke and Maribel (who physically looks 20ish and will probably forever look 20ish) is there with the Duke (she's a little sad that he had to kill Alcina and her daughter's but she knows that he didn't have a choice). The first thing she does when she sees him is apologize for not finding him before anyone else had, her family had been rounding up The villagers from their little encanto to bring them to safety as fast as they could because they were told very late that the attack on the village was going to happen so they were also fighting off lycans at the same time, and while her family was doing that she was with Miranda convincing her not to split baby rose into separate parts. Which she was able to obviously do as there's no rose flasks instead she was able to convince Miranda that they have to put little baby rose in a weird blackmold-womb like thing so that Eva can be reborn. (It was the only thing Mirabel could think of at the moment to say that Miranda might actually go along with and she was desperate to keep Rose safe) so Miranda has rose in her weird house/church thing deep underground inside the weird Blackmold-womb thing. Mirabel tells Ethan all of this right then and there Ethan obviously being the great dad that he is wants to immediately go to Miranda and fight her but mirabel stops him because he's extraordinarily injured and tells him that she knows for a fact that Rose is not being harmed in it and that Miranda has truly lost her mind at this point and can't see that what is happening is not working and she basically forcefully takes him to her house to rest for a little bit. From there Ethan goes and fights Monroe (Mirabel told Ethan that Monroe would side with Miranda no matter what and would make his fight harder with her which he would) and then later Donna (it pains me to do it it really does but I can't imagine her being outside of the village she's just extremely unstable and I don't see her betraying Miranda like that). When Ethan goes to Karl it isn't to kill him/get the piece back of Rose it's to see if he would join them against Miranda which Karl was all for which made Ethan happy (big army) but then Karl started talking about using his daughter as a weapon and then Ethan was like "on second thought nevermind" Karl got insulted and then they ended up fighting so kind of like in the game but the reason Ethan was there was different. Also add in the fact that everyone in the family is helping him out along the way. At the end fight with Miranda and Ethan the family joins in except for Alma (she's too old and weak for that) who takes little baby rose and stands off to the sides and kind of watches them fight.
As always any and all artwork is appreciated!
YEAHHHH I LOVE IT‼️‼️‼️ this took way too long and. I apologize I got busy 😭
So, Julieta’s food, that would make sense <<333 glad we agree on that it heals infected people, I just wasn’t sure about regular folks, but it makes sense that they get sick I mean it’s a biological weapon essentially 💀💀
Miranda needs to get a grip, but we both know she won’t. I mean even after see what happened with Eveline, she was on some demon time. And Mirabel STILL wants to try again, like it’s insane to me how she can do this. Also, I do have an idea now that you mention Eveline. Maybe she’s tried several times to use Mirabel’s DNA. I think the first time might’ve been when she was 10 (because that’s when her daughter died, Eva was 10 I’m pretty sure), but it just. Didn’t work. She tried at least 2 more times, but it just didn’t work. Also think that at 10, Miranda kept Hawkeyes on Mirabel, because maybe she was half expecting something to happen to Mirabel like what happened to Eva lmaoooo 🗿 but the family is obviously against this. Julieta and Agustín especially. They already don’t like Miranda, but they find it so creepy that Miranda is so…obsessed. They are protective of her (as are the warm couple), and constantly clash with her.
I’m glad Mirabel was apple to convince Miranda to keep Rose in one piece. The Duke was soooooo annoying 🌚 I’m also glad she was able to convince Ethan to not do anything stupid and get him healthier than he was before. At least before he goes out and does some dangerous bs. He’s not Leon or Ada 💀 I do feel bad for Donna, but yeah, I agree that she’s still siding with Miranda, no matter how lonely she feels. It’s sort of sad if I’m being honest. Moreau, I have no sympathy for him, I just can’t muster any 🌚 And good on the Madrigals on helping him fight Miranda. They must have a lot of pent up rage and some major beef to settle 🧌🧌 W Alma for being moral support with Rose 🕴️🕴️
Art‼️‼️‼️ Just Mirabel tryna get Ethan to use common sense 💪💪
#my asks#my asks are open#encanto#encanto au#au#encanto mirabel#ethan winters#resident evil#resident evil 8#resident evil village#resident evil ethan winters#resident evil mother miranda#mother miranda
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
LEGACY AU Masterlist <-
Will be linked once more established
All My Other Fics
____________________________________________
Lestappen
Lean on me (when you’re not strong)
Charles learns about Max's post-race ritual he's picked up from his dad. Max used to sit by his feet and recount all his mistakes, no matter the race result. Daniel has been helping him so far but after his injury, Charles is asked to take over. He hates seeing Max beat himself up and tries to shift the interaction to something different, hopefully, more positive
Charles quickly finds himself in over his head.
IN PROGRESS
Charles’ Curls
Charles has grown a mini-mullet, and grid silliness ensues. Thankfully, Max seems to like it.
FINISHED
Kissing Madly
Max keeps kissing Charles when he gets mad at him
5+1 kisses
FINISHED
Landoscar
Race Cap
Lando tells Oscar to keep his cap after filming, assumptions start popping up.
aka the one-shot I couldn't get out of my head after watching the Mclaren photo recreation challenge.
FINISHED
My Oscar
Lando attends his first Academy Awards in hopes of winning the Oscar for Best Actor in his film Forever Forward, about a McLaren F1 driver. The production took a lot out of him but meeting his PA changed everything. Oscar was there for him every step of the way, his calm demeanor always helping Lando's nerves. They grow closer, effortlessly.
Now Lando waits for his category to be awarded, but he knows that no matter the outcome, he'll go home to his Oscar.
FINISHED
Strollonso
Terms and conditions
Fernando finds out there is another reason he was offered the seat at Aston Martin. Turns out Lawrence still doesn't know how to say no to his son. What Lance wants, he gets. Which doesn't bother Fernando that much after all.
FINISHED
Nice to meet you
[Set in 2016-2017 right before Lance's rookie year]
Fernando has trouble keeping track of people he meets, which sometimes gets him into situations.
When he meets a charming young boy with beautiful doe eyes, he gets attached quickly. Yet the man seems confused at Fernando's attention and stays secretive about his job.
Fernando doesn't think much of it until the first race of the season when he meets the new Williams rookie.
FINISHED
Stealing his hoodie (and his heart)
Fernando notices Lance keeps wearing the same hoodie. He decides to be a little mischievous and steal it to see his reaction
FINISHED
Feel free to send asks/comments about any of these :)
#formulaone#lestappen#charles leclerc#max verstappen#red bull racing#f1#ferrari#scuderia ferrari#fanfic#lando norris#oscar piastri#mctwinks#strollonso#lance stroll#landoscar#fernando alonso
42 notes
·
View notes
Note
Which miraculous(es) the perfect miraculous group would weild the best in your AU(Wu Xing and Ying-Yang)?
This recent poll will change something of your AU or is just for fun?
Again, it would depend on what I'm doing story and setting wise. Cause the Miraculous I crafted are made up of 27 and that's 7 potential team members I would do, with not all 7 being for sure. Not all 27 need to be in use, so that would come down to what swaps I want to do and what characters I'd want to focus on.
I really don't have an exact answer for you on this.
Though for this poll, I can tell you that it may. It is being done for genuine curiosity. How Miraculous are set up is something I always go back and forth on. Like, doing this all based on Chinese myth and culture and themes can work, but they're also not fully committing to it.
Like, the Five are based on Wu Xing.
By this fact, Fox AND Turtle should have an edge over Butterfly, and be solid alternatives to Ladybug and Cat by extension. Say Butterfly is Wood, Fox as Fire should "burn it up" and Turtle as Metal should "break up Wood". But with how they went about things, it's hard to see how they could. Especially with canon pushing that Ladybug is the SOLE solution to dealing with Butterfly.
That's not working off Wu Xing properly.
And then there's Ladybug and Cat themselves.
Cat can work there. China really likes felines. But the Cat Miraculous works off the unlucky black cat which is exclusively west. China doesn't see cats as a catastrophe, they see them as lucky and as protectors, black as a color is tied to protection. So going with a kwami who's name is based on plague, and having a destructive power that could be easy to misuse, yeah that doesn't really work off what I've read.
And Ladybug has very little to it in China, I can't find a lot talked about to warrant the placement. Like, here's all the notes I put down on ladybugs in various cultures and what they're tied to and what they represent.
There's a lot for Ladybug in Europe, but I couldn't find a lot of expanded details for Ladybug eastward, which tells me it should've been more Europe based and just traveled a bit. To add to it, looking up lucky animals in China's culture, so many animals come up but not ladybug, though it's regarded as lucky by default of being red, a lucky color.
And between the Ladybug and unlucky black Cat, it works more off the western view, which makes sense as it's a French show, which makes me wish they worked off French/European culture instead.
Which just comes back to how the show sets up Miraculous. They don't really click well coming from China. And looking at the poll at the time, a majority are in agreement.
Miraculous I feel should've been tied to iconic/major civilizations/regions OR they were just universal, had no set region that they were tied to and they traveled about and that's how you got a lot of the same animals popping up in different cultures.
The latter especially allows a lot of creativity in how Miraculous relate to each other. You can have it be that all are uniquely powerful in their own ways, and certain ones can be specific answers to Miraculous misuse. You can roll with Ladybug and Cat as counterparts and not question it. There can be other wish granting pairs and maybe the wish you want depends on the pair. Like, if you want immortality, does the Ladybug and Cat really need to recreate reality for that? And it's a give and take that swaps things around, what human is going to naturally be immortal? Can also do Miraculous can have a lot of different pairs, like Cat can pair with Mouse, Dog, Snake, or Tiger. But that does come with a lot of trying to figure stuff out, deciding what should exist, like, Cat can easily represent all cats, so iconic cats like Tiger and Lion may not need to exist, but they also don't have the same symbolism and myths as Cat, so arguments can be made for them to exist. And how big of a number of Miraculous should exist? I do think there should be more than 7, but I don't want the hundreds the show is going with. And then there's figuring out a system of control and how do they relate to each other? This option has a lot of open possibilities, but a lot will need to be thought of and have some foundation put down.
The former though can get into representing cultures, it can give you nice defined themes and groups to work off of. Most cultures work off an elemental system, which can offer clear systems of control for Miraculous in relation to each other. But for animals that do pop up in different cultures, yeah you need to sit and decide who should go where. Some are easy, like Turtle, Monkey, and Tiger should be with China, Snake and Peafowl should be with India, Ladybug and Bee should be somewhere in Europe. Horse though appears in various European cultures, China, India, Egypt; how do you decide where Horse goes? That's another thing to really think about and debate. As well as doing extra research to decide what themes and groups they should be tied too.
So, yeah the poll may influence things. Going with Miraculous tied to China, I do like what I set up, but I also acknowledge 27 is a lot. And I can't promise all 27 would get focused on. And I'm also still not sold about them all coming from China. And I do debate should some really exist?
Depending on the poll, I may reconsider things and make changes. Majority are in agreement with me about not being crazy about all Miraculous coming from China. If people are up for it, I may do more polls to help decide things, as I can struggle with making choices.
We got another 6 days on the poll at this time, so we'll see.
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Danny Vlad is a walking Lazarus Pit
(Please understand that I am not that good with Vlad so bare that bit of information in your minds)
So, we understand that there's a couple of au's that feature Danny as the walking Lazarus Pit but let's do one better.
Ectoplasm is a neutral state of emotions at its purest. It is neither calm nor is it sadden, it's the base of all emotions and no emotions at the same time. It's when ectoplasm is mixed with an entity, mixed with those spirits of the dead, does it shape and bend to the entity at will. Ectoplasm is easily changeable which can cause some emotions to linger and some emotions to heighten at a degree if a ghost or entity of the ghost realm does not filer or absorb new forms of pure ectoplasm.
When Vlad and Danny were created, they were both recreated with the use of pure ectoplasm into their bodies. However, it's human nature to panic or become distress when surviving a life-and-death situation. This leads to negative emotions contaminating the ectoplasm inside of them as they real in from the shock of going through death.
When one comes out of a situation that is that traumatizing then you would want the people or the support of those you trust whole heartly.
Unfortunately for Vlad, the people he trusts the most are the people that killed him.
(Danny had Sam and Tucker there with him and the day of his death. So scared and fearful and he felt so wrong, but he had to breath. Had to calm because someone is hugging him and telling him it was okay and telling him they were sorry.)
(A few weeks in, Sam came to him in the middle of the night and cried, no, begged for his forgiveness. Crying that it was her fault and that she knows he is uncomfortable with her and that she understands but by god Danny she can’t live with herself for what she did-)
(And she was right, Danny did feel fear and anger at Sam. Angry enough to think that if he just had ignored her, if he just turned her suggestion away, if he just STOPPED then he would not have to live with the fear of living in a house of hunters.)
(But Danny can’t hate Sam, doesn’t want to hate her with how much he’s been through because if he loses her to then he will break.)
(Their friendship is not the same, it's not perfect, but perhaps that what it needs in order to grow stronger again.)
Vlad loves Maddie. Vlad loves Jack. But how-how-how-how-why-whywhywhywhy-!
The people he loves the most are the ones that hurt him. The ones he cherished above all else are the ones that turned him into a monster. How can he call them for help when he knows exactly what they would do if they found out that he had died!
They won’t believe him. Antieanst they won’t believe him and take him and cut him and strap him and try and try and try to bring him back, but they would only end up hurting him further and... and... and...
Then it twisted, deeper, longer, faster.
Emotions after emotions poured right into Vlad, Fear of being found. Rage at the world for him being the one in a billion chance. Anguish because he knows he has to flee, that he has to hide. Lost over the future he desperately worked himself to the bone went down the drain. Tired from crawling out of his would be grave. Hysterical at the smell of burn flesh and cooked meat.
And agony, agony over losing his chance to tell Maddie how he felt. Agony that he couldn’t keep his promise to Jack no longer. Agony because he knows that his recreation will be the discovery, they always wanted but will be the cause of his own freedom and free will.
Negative emotions after negative emotions poured out to his body and into his ectoplasm. When he ran hid away, the was too scared to come into contact with ectoplasm after that event. In that time, his negative emotions boiled and burned under his skin over time. It infested into his blood, his bones and body and finally to his mind.
And his ectoplasm, his in pained and ranging ectoplasm latched onto his most strongest emotions and tugged.
Years later, Vlad had three thoughts running through is after that event.
He wants Maddie, he needs Maddie because he loved her because he need to be stable. He loves Maddie and was the only thing that brought him joy hope when he sunken to despair fear. His love for Maddie is eternal and he wants needs her to love him just as much back or else he would feel closer to losing his sanity.
He hates Jack, he misses Jack. He hates him with every fiber of his being because he knows that he loves her as well. He wants him gone so he can’t hurt him. He wants him to feel how he felt as he died but he can’t he can’t he can’t-. He wished he had been the one to die he wished he can feel safe with his friend again.
(His emotions got mixed and was unable to filter out. Because of the months, if not, years of ectoplasm eating away at his negative emotions his blood slowly turned into a toxic green. His ectoplasm was a form of rage-hurt-kill-sadness-betrayal-hurt-rage that would not be pushed out, could not be pushed out. Because of his fear of the thing that killed him, the thing that was keeping him alive, Vlad Masters because a walking Lazarus Pit with no way of knowing how to heal himself again.
Vlad Masters was stuck in his own mind, unable to control his emotions and desires, unable to fully control his actions and words, unable to unsee the vision of the world burning at the corner of his eye.)
(Sometimes, he ponders at the times he can be sain. Sometimes, he tried to reach out to the small voice in the back of his mind to stop, to heal, to let someone know.)
(But he can’t, he mustn’t.)
(He doesn’t want to die again.)
And one day, in just a single day, Vlad would follow Danny for Gotham (the only person who feels like him, who knows what its like to scream and never be heard). He will pause at the sensation of Death surround the city but keep going. The toxic green film over his eyes telling him to continue.
One day Vlad would be out at night, maybe at a Gala, maybe to feel the Spirit and Her city, maybe to find something to break. Vlad would be out at the time that the Bats are most active and attract their attention.
Vlad would fight of course, fight because he needs a fight, wants to break and hurt and rage. He wants to cause chaos and hurt those that still have the sensation of life in them because that's all he can do.
He will fight until he feels it.
A person. A bat. A boy.
Someone just likes him.
Someone that has the same rage inside of them just like him.
Someone so similar to Daneil yet not.
Someone that was just like him, just like them.
Somone else that sees through toxic green lens.
(And Jason felt it, deep inside his chest and older than his bones, that this person, this meta or entity that was in front of him was just like him.)
(He wants to scream too.).
#Vlad Masters#Maddie Fenton#jack fenton#Jason Todd#bruce wayne#batman#sam manson#Tucker Foley#danny fenton#Danny Phantom#lazarus pit#ectoplasm#dp x dc#dc x dp
194 notes
·
View notes
Text
brrrrrrr art dump for the tfp self insert oc my childhood self could only dream of 🤯 I drew these back in July but have been thinking about them again recently. This is so embarrassing but I'm so proud of how these character sheets came out, but I can't post them without context so here we goooooo (oc info at the bottom!!!!!!😭)
Embarrassing au & oc info time!!!!!! (tw for vague discussion of non-human self-harm in 10th bullet point):
Okay so basically to preface: in my wip fic (wip is a gross exaggeration), everything remains canonically accurate to TFP except for the fact I use my Magic Fanfic Writer Powers to incorporate ridiculous Cybertronian mysticism canon into it for the sole purpose of furthering my self indulgent plot armor via cyberforming (cyberforming being when organic material becomes that of Cybertronian-make through means of mysticism and/or science)
Marian (unabashed tradgoth self insert) starts off as human. She gets picked up by the Cons while smashed drunk one night bc they think she has info on the Bots (found her bc she was lurking on online forums asking too many questions about big robot aliens bc she once saw them brawling and wanted answers), then she just ends up being kept alive and kept around as a pet/team mascot/ emotional support human, because hey if the Bots have one then maybe humans can be of some use
After a while Marian ends up forming a bond with Starscream (and KO to a lesser extent) after they both end up treating each other with compassion and respect (wow! trauma-bonding!). She kinda definitely falls desperately in love with him (and thinks it's unrequited but jk!). Angst & hurt/comfort abound! Gratuitous usage of mass-displacement device for nsfw purposes! You didn't hear that from me...
She is accidentally killed during the Battle on Cybertron (ca. season 3) by being hit with a stray plasma blast.
Here is where AU material comes in lol!!!!!!!
With the Well of AllSparks alive once again, in an act of desperation SS leaves her body at the edge of the well and actually prays for once in his miserable life. Through a mystical act of pity or mercy or whatever, a fresh spark combines with her own approximation of a soul and cyberforms her corpse and resurrects/ reincarnates her. She's herself, with all her old memories— but also something new, with all-new potential. No one knows wtf is going on lol
She becomes the first mech created on "New" Cybertron. "Cyberform-forged" is the term used for her, making her something of a new race (in the same way the Terrans are a new race), and is more of a mystic anomaly than anything (largely because there is no opportunity to recreate the event).
She's formed with a Vosnian Seeker frame and Cybertronian alt mode. Her frame is weather resistant: built to tolerate and fly through high winds and dangerous weather (Cybertronian and Terran) and relies more on brute force than grace in aviation. This means she is bulky rather than slim and aerodynamic like SS. She's a revival of the (near?) extinct class (if we're going by Prime!canon then Starscream is the only confirmed Vosnian Seeker left). Why Primus decided that cranking out new Vosnians would be a good idea is beyond everyone; everyone is too busy wondering how tf cyberforming works and what the consequences of it are to really question it.
Physically, she's not overtly femme— more androgynous, which is on brand for her Vosnian build. She's top-heavy with large pauldrons, shoulders double the width of her hips. Her new frame reflects her old human body in a very rough, vague way— only enough to be noticeable to those who really knew her before. She applies face paint by hand like her old makeup, and paints one servo red to match how she used to wear her nail polish. She's shorter than SS, around 30-ish feet tall (whereas he pushes 35'). She doesn't have a very good grasp on how her wings emote, therefore anyone who can read Seeker body language can always tell exactly how she's feeling.
She suffers with severe ptsd, depression, and body dysmorphia/ dysphoria as a result of the cyberforming and her human death, and semi-often has moments of panic and distress wherein she self-harms in an attempt to undo what's been done. In a potent mix of lingering human neurodivergency & the jarring biological shift, she often gets overwhelmed by her new body, notably her biomechanical functions: her optics cause a significant amount of stress on a regular basis, to the point where visual "notifications" and all other miscellaneous visual obstructions have to be disabled in order for her to function. This means no scanning data, etc, without purposefully reactivating the internal procedures required for the task. She also has a lot of trouble coping with the lack of sexual dimorphism. Shortly after her "awakening," she brutalized herself due to severe confusion and psychological distress (see the second to last image :( ) and KO had to sedate and mend her.
Every who encounters her and knows her story kinda assumes she just "came back" with a processor malfunction (or if they don't know her story, think she was just traumatized by the war), which isn't totally wrong. Knockout is one of her major supporters thru this and professionally thinks she probably needs a mnemosurgeon to fix her, but can't find any to contact so soon post-war.
She's rather clumsy, and takes a while to acclimate to such a different body (it also doesn't help that Seekers tend to have disproportionally long limbs, as well as cumbersome wings). She smacks things and other mechs with her wings, crushes things in her servos, basically she severely underestimates her own strength and size
One perk to her new body is that she can stream music directly into her processor, which is a function she abuses often to drown everything else out. There are functions she couldn't even dream of before: she can disable pain processors, turn off sight and hearing like throwing a switch, disable various biomechanical functions. She doesn't need to breathe like a human, or expel waste. Energon tastes like battery acid and firecrackers, but hey, she can turn off "taste" processors too.
She's afraid of herself at times, and by extension is afraid of intimacy too. She's afraid she's too different now, in a foreign body she can't seem begin understanding. She feels burdened by expectations; she's not a real Vosnian Seeker, she's not even a real Cybertronian in the way that counts— she is a freakish amalgamation of human memories and a soul stuffed into a shell made new especially for her, despite her having had no say in the matter... Or, at least, that's what she thinks. Those closest to her think she's a miracle and are thrilled to still have her, indefinitely now. Before when she was human, SS had been frustrated and genuinely afraid of feeling anything remotely positive towards her, because of how tragically short human life spans are (and his fears had been proven valid when she was killed). Now he has Marian forever, and while coping with his own problems post-war, he cares for her and teaches her how to be a noble Seeker.
YIPPEEEEEEE
#taught myself to draw mech specifically to draw these#SEE I can be a decent artist when I try 🥺#transformers oc#tfp oc#goldfinch draws#goldfinch writes#(I also forgot to add my @ on the second image hnnnng)
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
My fave Sherlock BBC AUs - Artists
Around mid-month I’ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP on AO3.
ACTORS
“Performance in a Leading Role” (-series, +7 sequels) by Mad_Lori @madlori
Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?
“Lifetime Achievement” (part 9 of Performance-sereis) by Mad_Lori
John Watson has just won an Oscar and gotten engaged in the same day. Now what? (Sequel to "Performance in a Leading Role")
“To the Sticking Place” by blueink3 @blueink3
Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another?
“Much Ado about a Whole Bloody Lot” (sequel to Sticking Place) by blueink3
"What do you mean John has to kiss her?" "Sherlock, that's generally what happens when one is starring in a romantic comedy." Or, Sherlock goes to see John in his first role post-Macbeth and he's really not all that happy about it.
“Floating through a dark blue sky” by Lediona
Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.
“Fading Stars and Black Holes” by lurikko
Sherlock Holmes, known from movies A Scandal in Belgravia and Don’t Make Me Choose, comes back to acting after two years. He’s starring in a romantic comedy about two men who move in together for practical reasons and stumble into a surprising friendship. The only problem is that his co-star is John Watson, a man whom he hasn’t seen since he left their shared flat two years ago, leaving John only a note. During the time they have been apart, John Watson has gotten to himself a wife, a child, and a divorce.
“The Short and Tragic Death of John Watson” by Calais_Reno @calaisreno
Thirteen years ago, Sherlock starred in a television series about an alien boy stranded on Earth. Now Molly has written a reunion episode and he's expected to join his old costars and recreate the role of Alex Tribble, now an adult returning to rescue his old friends from an alien threat. Having had some success since playing a teenage alien, Sherlock is reluctant to reprise the role. And there's another problem no one wants to discuss: John Watson, who played his best friend, is dead.
Warning: Nobody dies. John isn't dead. If you came here for angst and MCD, you won't find it. If you came here to find a cheesy, self-indulgent story with a ridiculous, contrived happy ending that I had way too much fun writing, here you go.
“Take Two” by Raina_at @raina-at
Six years ago, Sherlock Holmes, then a promising young actor, broke John Watson's heart. When the production John is working on needs a new lead actor two weeks before press night, they turn to Sherlock to save the production. Working together after six years won't be a problem. After all, both of them are professionals. And both of them have moved on. Or at least they think they have.
WRITERS
“How Novel-series” (14 fics) by StarlicghtAndFireflies
starting with A Novel Meeting
“Who should I sign it to?” The familiar question rolls off his lips easily, but somehow it feels more meaningful this time. He’s never met a fan quite so dedicated, quite so willing to lug an entire armful of books to get them all signed, quite so handsome even when he blushes. “Er… Sherlock,” the man replies.
AU in which John is an author, and Sherlock is a fan who comes to his book signing.
“Poetry and Prose” by Jberry
John is a crime series writer. Sherlock writes serious poetry. Sherlock takes time on his writing blog to give John Watson a hard time about his writing, though he's secretly read all his books and in love with the author. Mistaken identity, new love, a little angst, fluff that progresses into... Well. You'll just have to read it, now won't you?
“Writer’s Block” by lookupkate
John has been writing detective novels for years, shitty, romance filled detective novels. That is until his last. Now he can't write a single chapter. When Greg seats him next to an asshole genius he doesn't have the slightest idea that it is exactly what he needs.
“Fortune Favours” by simplyclockwork @simplyclockwork
On military leave, John Watson discovers that his sister has signed him up for a blind date book event. The set-up is simple: one person brings a book and ends up on a blind date with whoever chooses their contribution. To say that John is reluctant to attend is an understatement. Luckily, sparks fly between him and a stunning new author when he makes an unorthodox selection from the book choices.
PAINTERS
“Oxidation” by abbykate
as oil paintings dry, the process is not evaporation as there is no water in the paint to disappear; instead, the oils in the paint are oxidised causing them to harden over years in a process that never really stops.
“Bloody Brushes” and by jawbonesandjumpers
Sherlock Holmes is a world-renowned art critic and collector who rarely finishes any of his own work. He is brutal and ends more artists’ careers than starts them, and he abhors the state of the art world today. John Watson is a recluse who was invalided out of the army and paints the horrifying scenes of his nightmares. When Sherlock stumbles across one of his works, he becomes obsessed with his paintings and wants nothing more than to meet the man behind the canvas.
“Pastel Paints” by jawbonesandjumpers
Sherlock finds his muse and John paints an angel.
“Art of the Reasoner” by Tellytubby101
A world in which Sherlock is an artist, not a detective. Though that doesn’t mean he can’t help solve crimes. AU.
41 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
intheconfessiondial
In the Confession Dial
ortoysangre
Orto & Sangre
loveilon4ik
.in cell.
iloveyouemanuelmarco
Live, Laugh, Love Your Evil Robotic Husbands.
ask-butterscotch-and-friends
Butterscotch and Friends