#its nothing against you and i really appreciate the sentiment of things like that but they dont make me feel better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madschiavelique · 2 years

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𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐬

mentions of : alcohol - being drunk, blood, death, murder, war and battlefield moments, fights, crushed jaw, general violence summary : reader is very drunk, and when Machine Herald comes back from negotiations, he is very surprised to find them in such a state some extra information on this : gender-neutral reader, I mostly use Viktor instead of repeating Machine Herald in this, viktor tends to reader's wounds from a fight they had, kind of an enemies to lovers situation, "who did this to you" author's note : hey besties hope y'all are doing well :) this is a little treat for y'all, currently working on some multiple chapter fic with our fav skeleton material man but for the moment u can have this 10,4k word thing hehe enjoy! (also sorry if you find any grammar mistakes English is not my native language so hfehjxs yeah)

( @wincestisasincest here is a treat, mwah <3)

The flickering fluorescent blue liquid from your bottle of Nedys glows in the darkness. It's a vibrant blue, a jellyfish blue. You wouldn't think at first that this drink was made of brewed Thal. At least if you didn't know the drink was made of blue crabs you wouldn't have guessed it. It looks like a mixture of milk and water that has been dyed, and if you didn't know what it was you might have bet on a coloured kid's juice. This Nedys is not bad, it apparently comes from a tiny countryside called Celirr whose presence on this continent you barely remember. But you didn't ask yourself any more questions about its origin or its producers. What interests you in this bottle is its content and its effects, that is to say: to make you a minimum of sober up. You spent your whole night downing bottles of Carmethys, you don't even remember where you put them. Anyway, it's effective. It's strange, alcohol, it numbs you, tickles you, and turns you into a child. A few shots and you're as happy as a newbie passing his first engineering exam. A few more and you become as sentimental and depressed as a moon or a retrograde. And if you continue, you can even become dangerous, temperamental and angry. As far as you are concerned, you are in the middle of the stage that could be considered the pensive state. It is in these moments that your mind starts to pull out topics and memories, to lose yourself. You go so far as to wonder what the last thing you ate was and then think about how long it would take you to start a Thal farm yourself and brew your own Nedys.

Thinking about it, you take another sip of the drink, putting the bottle back on the floor. You rest your head against the cool wall, your legs stretched out and slightly apart on the floor. You must look like a poor puppet, a slouching marionette without the bonds that hold it together. And that's how you feel, like a puppet manipulated by something bigger. This feeling has been running through your mind since today, since a few hours in fact. The revelation hit you just before you started your chain of black bottles of Carmethys. You feel like a mere pawn in Singed's Machiavellian chessboard. You are lucky... You giggle alone like an idiot in the silence of his flats. You are lucky to have graduated from the College of Tecmaturgy as one of the first in engineering, an inconsiderate and incomparable privilege that has opened many doors and opportunities for you. Pfft, let them take that damn degree back, you don't want it, you don't want it anymore, you never really wanted it anyway. It's brought you nothing but trouble so far.

Eight months ago, that 'benefactor' Singed took you on as an apprentice. What apparently turned him on to you were your skills that you were willing to contribute for the good of Zaun and not Piltover. You never really appreciated it, but the opportunity was golden, how could you not jump on it? To be housed, clothed, fed, for the modest sum of existing. You couldn't find a better deal.

Of course it's not enough for you to breathe the filtered air of his laboratory compared to the polluted and dusty air of Zaun's bowels, no.

These last few months of your life have consisted of nothing but things that never change, only their order varied: assisting Singed in his work, training to fight, killing your 'enemies' and spending time in the lab developing new technologies for the sake of Zaun's Glorious Evolution. Some of these points are not much different, the violence performed is almost the same. It seems that it is this attraction to advanced and revolutionary technologies that justified him taking you on as his second apprentice. You would be surprised if he took you on for your physical appearance and subtle charms. Yet the previous months had begun to rebuild your body and its abilities, taking you from puny and malnourished to athletic and healthy. Why as a second apprentice? Well, because there's that other idiot who was there before. The tall, dark, gloomy guy who rocked the whole Entresol Level and destroyed the Pilties by taking on their Golden Boy and his armies.

The one who hides behind a helmet and perpetually rebuilds his body, the one who thinks he's the most powerful and glorious, to whom everything is owed, and who thinks he's right no matter what he does when he's blinded by this lust for change. He's probably going to hate you when he sees the state you're in and where you are... Not that it changes anything about the relationship. It's quite simple, from the moment you arrived as Singed's second apprentice, our dearest dark-haired man never stopped thinking of you as the dirt on his perfectly polished leather boots from whatever droid he designed: the sticky dirt that you have to get rid of in order to get everything back to normal, the dirt that bothers you, that's hard to clean. What an asshole... However, you feel betrayed by that inner limb, the one that pumps blood, the one that decides whether to keep you alive or to stop everything, and the one that against all odds condemns you to enjoy other souls more than you need to. For your attraction to him is now undeniable, which is one of the reasons you're drinking tonight among others. You think it's far too harsh a realisation with the fact that you no longer want to be Singed's apprentice. All that killing, that blood soaked into your hands, staining them. Painful to get rid of on your skin and clothes, but tattooed with indelible ink in your memory. If you close your eyes you can still see the little spark of life in the eyes of an innocent disappear as quickly as a flake melting on the heat of your tongue.

Your nights are haunted by the screams, by the sound his third arm makes, slicing the air with its laser, piercing skin as easily as a knife through butter. Its buzzing, sizzling, humming like a death whisper, invades your rare moments of peace. And that smell... that smell of grilled flesh, of smoke, that metallic scent of blood makes you sick to your stomach. But you restrain yourself from spilling your insides, you don't want to soil mister's beautiful, clean and polished polyurethane floors. Because yes, in your absent-mindedness and drunkenness, you found yourself in his chambers instead of yours. "He's going to kill me..." Your voice is slightly broken, you screamed the day before yesterday on the battlefield as someone kept coming back for more. The alcohol doesn't help, of course, with its heat in your throat, but it does have the advantage of numbing the painful parts.

Alcohol numbs everything. Thoughts, nightmares, sensations. But it strengthens your emotions, makes you melancholic, maybe joker who knows. The effect varies for everyone after all. But that's why you fill yourself with it tonight, to forget everything, to numb everything. You don't want any more of this, you don't want your own thoughts to make you want to vomit, you don't want murder to be your daily routine, you don't want to feel forced to leave the room when the other one is around to prevent him from trying to probe your vitals and discover the hidden truth of your feelings for him. You're hopeful that your thoughts will be clouded enough that he won't notice, but you're probably dreaming. At this point you don't care, he could shout the worst insults in the world at you and you wouldn't react. Alcohol also has that effect, giving you courage, or underlining your madness, your silliness and your weaknesses. You look down, staring at your chest, face to face with your heart. "What were you thinking, you idiot… why did it have to be him, hum?" What a fool you are, talking to your heart, what the hell. Your eyes return to the void. Maybe you'd better move before he returns. He's due back today from negotiations with the same enemies you were fighting the day before yesterday. Or maybe it's morning? It's hard to tell when you spend most of your time in a city deep in the ground, it's always dark outside the lab windows.

And now you don't know what to do.

Leave? You don't even know if you have the strength to get up, you're tired and there's too much alcohol coursing through your veins. The effort would probably knock you out and you would have even more problems when you wake up. Stay and face your "teammate"? Staying risks a lot, one of the last sometimes unpleasant virtues of alcohol is that it unties your tongue. You might say something you'd regret. You'd be kicked out, at least he'd have helped you move, if he deigns to help you. And as you continue this inner monologue, weighing the pros and cons, you hear the distinct sound of a pad being keyed with a security code and an airlock opening. Damn, he's back. Viktor. Heavy footsteps echo on the smooth floor, the heaviness of leather and metal is incomparable, there is only one pair of boots with the same heaviness in this city. The airlock closes with a sound of sucked-in air.

Viktor always has this weight in his step, as if he is constantly carrying all the crimes he has committed. There are so many of them, and some in which you participated willingly. But his gait is by no means melancholic, it is dark and threatening. He's so hard to follow, his long legs always moving at twice the pace of yours, his cloak flapping in the air on missions and his arm twisting mechanically like a third eye that sees everything as a target. You'd step on his damn cape, it would strangle him a bit and surprise him, although his throat isn't really fleshy anymore...

It's so complicated to detect emotions under his helmet, this mask he wears and that changes him so much. The famous one he wears almost constantly, obscuring his voice, making it sunless and static. From what you can hear so far, he didn't take it off when he came in. The lights switch on suddenly, causing you to squeak and groan. You squeeze your eyelids tightly, grumbling. He could have left the lights off.

Your complains must not have been the quietest, because you hear his heavy footsteps coming towards where you are slumped. It's surprising that he didn't sense your presence as soon as he entered, as he is so sensitive to heat sources and the presence of those within fifty metres of him. He has this bad habit of trying to get into the mind of everything that moves, which is obviously most annoying.

Among the many improvements to his body that Viktor had been able to make during his evolution, he had managed in a way that escaped you to allow him, via particular waves, to read the thoughts of others – an improvement particularly useful for his enemies and concerning other negotiations that allowed him to test the sincerity of potential allies. At the beginning of your cooperation, he was constantly intruding into your mind. You quickly learned to block him by creating a chip that developed magnetic fields capable of interrupting this enhancement. Keeping some semblance of privacy within Zaun is an imperative, albeit complex, thing. You have repeatedly caught him trying to break in, without success. Your body was alerting you to a change in the waves surrounding you to warn you of his attempts. And that's for the best, he doesn't need to see your weaknesses and even less to know that he's part of them. " What are you doing here?" His mechanical voice, slightly pierced by a static hum, sounds annoyed, cold. His accent is as always monotonous, separating each syllable as if his tongue cut each one distinctly and took little care in pronouncing the vowels.

You open your eyes again, he's standing two meters in front of you, his eternal helmet in place and his cloak floating slightly above the ground, his third arm examining you. His tone is visibly exasperated, not surprisingly, he would probably have preferred to spend a quiet evening without having to deal with the second apprentice who is drunk at the moment. "Do you really care?" You push slightly on your voice, raw and cracked. You don't really like the situation, though you are your own executioner. Letting Viktor see you in this weakened state upsets you. Why is he so stoic, so inexpressive with that mask? He is motionless, not moving a millimetre, his cloak stabilising in the absence of movement. There is a small silence, your answer apparently does not satisfy him. "What are you doing here?" he repeats, his tone slightly different but not deviating from his irritation. You take your bottle of Nedys in hand and take a sip to help your throat respond. You are lucky enough that he did not raise his voice. You put the bottle back down. "I think it's pretty obvious. I am sobering up." He says nothing again, who knows the way his eyes look at you through his helmet.

Honestly, you don't know if you'd rather find out, it's probably better that way.

The show must satisfy him : you, his daily pain in the ass, completely wrecked to Carmethys.

"How did you get in?" You don't even think you know the answer to his question anymore. Both of your flats open with codes that you enter on a HoloPad. Maybe you opened it with an accidental malfunction? You don't remember, alcohol scrambles your mind. "How were the negotiations?" Bravo, deflecting the subject, it will get you out of the question if he doesn't push more on this one. He knows full well that you have no interest in negotiation discussions, which is why he takes care of every meeting with the other councils in Zaun and other regions. And of the two of you, he is undoubtedly the most convincing. There is a silence, you wonder what he thinks. Although you probably have the ability to rack your brains and produce an improvement similar to Viktor's for penetrating minds, you had never started a construction like this. Obviously, you had been curious about the ideas in that skull of his, but you had never tried. His meddling in your mind makes you feel as if he always knows everything, ready to say "I'll crack your head open like an egg and fry your thoughts".

Compared to him, you are still under-trained. Your mastery of various weapons and technologies is improving, and you will soon be able to build a weapon for your own use and of your own design.

You made some progress in chemistry, helping you greatly in some of the advances in biological weapons. Singed says that you need to call upon the biggest darkness, the deepest shadows within you and transform all these aspects into your motivation. You never thought it would be so complicated, you just have to be angry. It makes you wonder if Viktor has been intentionally playing on your nerves from the beginning to release your hatred and drive forward your training as a devotion to your work... No, Viktor doesn't help, he gets rid of the things that get in the way of his plans as quickly and efficiently as possible. He's probably already thought about killing you. Maybe he's thinking about finishing you off right now. What a perfect opportunity, with you at his mercy : weak, drunk, and unable to defend yourself. You are going to be wiped out, like a word on a blackboard, one swoosh of the duster on complicated equations because you are the problem in the problem.

It would be a thorn out of his side to remove you. Maybe he'd do it the easy way, a quick, smoking hole betwee, your eyes with his third arm. Or if he's feeling theatrical and sadistic he might eventually want to thrust his sceptre slowly into your flesh, revelling in your disappearance from his life and the end of the little spark in your eyes. Right now your inner euphoria is ebbing, fading, you're starting to feel sad now, gloomy. You feel Viktor trying to intrude your mind, but your chip still manages to push him away. "Are you drunk?" It doesn't take an upgrade or enhancement to figure this out, your attitude and what you said earlier certify his words. Nevertheless, his tone suggests surprise. "We can't hide anything from you." He remains motionless, probably wondering how he will get rid of you. Supposedly, he could throw you out of the room, his anger would be enough to lift you off the floor and move you. But would he spend his energy and time to do such an action? Especially if it involves you? You doubt it very much. This voiceless observation of each other is beginning to bother you. Viktor is not chatty by nature. Whenever you get together it is for training or on the battlefield. He doesn't really like to collaborate with you to build anything, totally preferring to be alone in his laboratory and make his own advances. In any case, you don't get together to chitchat. The few times you do meet, the peaceful state doesn't last long and one of you starts an exchange of reproaches and insults, or one of you leaves before the other has had time to say anything.

But occasionally he doesn't wear his mask for training, which surprises you every time. His features are not graceful, but the depths of his eyes could consume you like acid, and his hair looks so soft against the harshness of what he presents. His eyes... you want to see them, right here, right now. Contemplate their honeyed amber colour, their sunny hue. Those same irises that transform when anger consumes them and turn them into a lake of ink with golden, dark, deep reflections. Your reignited fever prompts you to say: "Can you take off your mask?" Your voice is tired, terribly small, vulnerable. And Viktor remains as imposing as ever, towering over you as if you were a miserable ant that he could simply crush under his heavy boots or disintegrate with a beam. It's as if he's barely breathing, inaudible. After all, you're not even sure if his lungs are real or metallic and cold. He takes a small breath, as if he's about to say something... but you cut him off, almost surprised by what you're saying but not letting it show, at least you hope not... "Please..." You feel exhausted, but you resist sleep. Your physical and inner discomfort keeps you awake. Time stands still, is he hesitating, or is he just frustrated by your state? It wouldn't be news if he was exasperated with you. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders barely drooping under the movement. You wait for his move, will he refuse? Probably, what were you thinking when you said that... As if he would listen to you. And yet you wait for his next gesture, without promising yourself the moon of course.

It's painful to get your hopes up, especially with Viktor, but sometimes he's so unpredictable that a part of you still foolishly hopes that something will happen. Then, suddenly, he tilts his head slightly forward. You don't leave him, eyes wide open, mouth closed, just waiting for what he's about to do. He slowly raises his gloved hands to his mask. You have rarely seen his hands, he often wears his gloves even during training. To tell the truth, you only know Viktor's dark clothes and his rarely visible face, you don't know his torso, you don't know his legs, you don't know his arms. Everything is covered and uncovered in an indefinite mix of metal, fabric and armour that never lets you know where the machine begins and the man ends. You remember the first time you saw him without his mask. You expected an older man, in his late forties, but when you saw him you didn't expect to see a remnant of youth. How could anyone be so tough and hardened? Why did he always have to show only his fortress and never who he really was?

Was he ashamed of it? In the moment, the question seems absurd. Pfft, ashamed? Viktor? You think you would never have put those two words in the same sentence before. But what if he is really hiding, what if he is simply ashamed, even afraid? His hands look so big, you are sure they are bigger than your head. He places them on either side of his head. You look at those two slits where his eyes should be, they seem to burn with a fierce, angry fire. He places his thumbs on the sides of the helmet and presses two buttons that you cannot. The gesture causes pressure and a sound of rapidly blowing air can be heard coming from the mask. The central part of the helmet, a sort of geometric heart of meticulously polished steel, moves forward and upwards as you hear Viktor take a breath, still modified by the device. The mechanism makes a small metallic noise, like air on a blade, like a knife being sharpened. Then he lifts it, and you look at him like a child desperate for an answer to its question. Thick chocolate-brown hair falls in front of his face, shiny, parted in a central parting and combed back with an unconscious charm. You then discover his pale forehead, calm, proud, leading to arched and slightly frowning eyebrows.

With his eyelids closed at the moment, you discover his nose. It had never been thin, in fact it was quite prominent, and you find yourself thinking that it might be a physical complex. What if he was hiding his face for this? No, that's absurd. His sharp cheekbones meet the metal, accentuating a jaw marked by the matte steel. A mole sits under one of his bluish rings. A sharp cupid's bow leads to his thin, shaped lips, contrasting their pale pink with the light tone of his skin, a mole placed above them. You regain his eyes and hold your breath. Under drooping eyelids are hidden his two irises, the same colour as an autumn leaf caressed by the sun, as beautiful, luminous and dark as two solar eclipses. And these eyes, they look at you, contrite, curious, annoyed... and yet you seem to discern something else in their reflection, under those lashes that protect them. It takes you a while to work this out and you decide to ignore it, but he seems to be unwilling to admit something: he looks worried about your state. The mutual contemplation is silent, honestly you don't know if asking him to take off his mask was a good idea. He unsettles you, and you know that the feeling is not only due to the alcohol.

Everything is so much more expressive all of a sudden, but one thing remains in your mind: he really listened to you, he took off his mask. You know for a fact that since he is in his flats, he would have taken it off sooner or later, whether you asked him to or not. However, he could very well have continued this exchange with it, as he always does. And it's strange that he listened to this request, he who is usually stubborn and doesn't listen to anything you might say. "You're wounded." At first you don't understand his sentence, if it's a question, if it's a statement, you only understand until when you frown and your head hurts. Before he arrived, the alcohol had completely anaesthetised you, it had annihilated your sensations, dulled your senses. But you feel in the moment, as you crease your forehead, that it's pulling, it hurts in three places. One of the pains comes from your forehead near your hairline on your right, the second spreads over part of your cheek, and the third is on your lip. The lip, you noticed. It hurt every time you brought the neck of the bottle to your mouth. You had to cut it open. As for your forehead, you had an idea of how that pain and potential bruise had come about. "What happened to you?" You don't want to answer his question, simply because you are ashamed of the answer. You didn't help yourself to these bottles from Singed's storage room. Amongst all his vials and strange elixirs, you didn't want to risk taking something that wasn't supposed to be consumed to get drunk. So you went to The Last Drop to buy a few bottles.

There were, as most evenings and times, Zaunites. However, luckily, the bar was not very full, just a few drinkers and other shimmerers having a good time. You weren't really going to The Last Drop often, because drinking while working with Viktor and Singed is not a common thing. After all, why would you want to spend precious time of your life having fun and pleasing yourself in a selfish way when you could be putting your knowledge to work on something revolutionary and great like the Glorious Evolution? But you had made an exception for tonight, just this once. All you had to do was to go there, get your things, and leave as quickly as you had come. You were originally going for a single glass of very strong alcohol to quench this feeling that was eating away at you unpleasantly from the inside like a rat digging its way out from a fire. One of the civilians had called you. A group of some competitors, some with chemtech and some with simpler gear, had invited you. They were running some kind of shot contest, similar in principle to all other drinking competitions. They asked you to join them, wondering how one of Singed's apprentices could handle alcohol. You had come to get drunk, you were not losing anything in exchange for this commitment, so you simply accepted.

While three guys had already rolled under the table and others had given up, you were affronting the last one still standing. He was wobbling, his eyes fighting the irresistible urge to close his lids and fall asleep. You weren't far from surrendering to sleep either, but probably less so than he was. You took the next shot, not taking your eyes off each other. You were getting tired of this game, it was getting late and who knows what your schedule would look like the next day. As you returned your glass on the table, lining up with all the others in a grotesque group, you let out a simple but convincing: "you look exhausted, wouldn't it be better if you stopped resisting? And, as if he was absolutely manipulated and obsessed by your words, he let go. He fell head first onto the table. Except that one of his comrades, staggering with alcohol coursing through his veins, thought he noticed a shortcut to victory. He accused you of having taken advantage of a technology that could put others to sleep. While denying it, you kept his idea in the back of your mind. You were nearing the end of your latest invention in the lab, and developing a soporific weapon could perhaps lead to something useful. A violent and heated argument between hammered people, including yourself, broke out. The dispute escalated quickly, you felt your arm being firmly grasped, and that was enough to start the fight. You gave a violent punch in the ribs to a guy who was sent against a wall, crushing a chair or two in the process. One of them gave you a loose but powerful blow on the skull with his fist, sending sparkles in your skull and stars in your eyes. You threw your fist in his face and knocked the table over him with all your strength. Another one leapt on you, sending a right on your cheek and partly on your mouth followed by a big knee in the stomach, bringing you inevitably to the ground. You grabbed one of the broken legs of a chair and with it sent him an impressive blow in the belly and then the back of his skull. Breathless, he fell back to the ground, swallowing large gulps of air, better than he swallowed alcohol. Your strength increased by various personal improvements is so much easier to use under alcohol and anger. Everything pulses through your veins like a frenzied drum encouraging you to hurt more and hit harder. You looked at the damage and then spat into one of your old shot glasses: saliva mixed with the carmine of blood, your lip had split open. The Last Drop looked like a small battlefield. No other civilians would step forward. They were right, it seemed you were having trouble controlling yourself. You then made your way to the counter one last time. The bartender seemed startled, but this was nothing new to him. You asked him for a bottle of Carmethys. Slowly he told you that he had no more, as you and the group of competitors had finished all the bottles.

You sighed and took a deep breath. The rest of the room was holding theirs. You then asked for a bottle of Nedys. You had to curb the alcohol for tonight, Nedys would probably help you sober up a bit. He hastily placed a glass bottle in which the famous blue glistening liquid was floating. You reached into your pockets for a credit. After the tiny massacre you had just made in the room, you could at least tip the poor barman. You put the golden coin on the varnished steel. Bottle in hand, unsteady, you walked back to the exit under the gaze of all the drinkers. Indeed, telling Viktor about this disreputable episode was something you wanted to avoid. You simply replied: "You will probably hear about a slight incident to The Last Drop that is not of my making." He tilts his head back slightly, as if he doesn't dominate you enough. The judgment in his eyes is so intense that you struggle not to look away. He is displeased, there is no need to ask. If you condense your glamorous actions so far, they can be summed up as you drinking quite a lot of alcohol with simple Zaunites, starting a fight that resulted in several people being injured and furniture having to be replaced, and breaking into Viktor's flat without his permission. All this, in one evening. So yes, you don't need to read his mind or posess any enhancement to know that all this nonsense was done in record time during his absence. He must even wonder how much stupidity you could have done during the rest of his stay. Two days, it had only been two days since he had left and you were left in a pathetic state. The consequences would probably fall on him. As apprentice number two, and a "newbie" at that, you couldn't carry all that responsibility. You looked very silly there, with your bottle of Nedys, of which you had only drunk a third. All the alcohol coursing through your veins was beginning to carry all the regrets, and the traffic was smooth on the highway of Guilt. He seems to be detailing your scratches, it's not something new on your body. The blows from some training sessions sometimes form clouds of bruises on your skin, staying for weeks. And yet, you still feel like he's holding back. "What have you been drinking?" His question sounds like an order. The second part of his interrogation would probably have been "to end up so wasted that you thought coming here would be a good idea?" You don't answer him, feeling ashamed and afraid that the next part of his question is about quantity.

However, as strange as it may seem and despite all this, you and Viktor understand each other. You can't stand each other for more than a couple of minutes, but you do have occasional moments of strange understanding, moments when you don't care how the other one will take it. You start to stare at him, he looks tired, his shadowy circles darkening his eyes and looking even bluer than they usually do. You feel guilty, the two days he's been gone must have been really hard, especially when you know that Viktor sleeps very little. He always comes to training sessions with dark circles on the rare occasions when he's not wearing his mask, you doubt he's getting a full night's sleep. He is often busy with battles, experiments, reports and letters for negotiations... He never seems to get a full night's rest, and here you are, annoying him when all he's probably looking for is rest? What an egotistical, stupid person you are. Your attention drifts to his hair, so sombre. It looks like the calm black current of an oil stream. It must be so soft to the touch, slipping through your fingers, caressing your palm as it escapes.

Suddenly he asks: "Why are you looking at me like that? And there are so many things you would like to say to him, that you would like to scream at him until your voice fails you, that you would like to cry until you have no more tears to shed, so many, so many... How can you tell him that his gestures and his voice fly you miles above the clouds? But you could hardly speak, your heart was so full that even those works seemed to choke you. It must be something wrong with your lungs, for you don't seem ever to get enough air when you're around him. Always that same feeling, that warmth that takes place when his eyes meet yours. And you can't think of anything else to say in response except a weak question that surprises you almost as much as it does him: "Where has your smile gone, Viktor? You have never, ever seen him smile, heard him laugh, seen any joy other than satisfaction in him. You had only seen his eyes crinkle in anger and hide under his bushy eyelashes, his lips curling up like a wolf's and showing his fangs to prepare to shout. Joy for him seemed to be a commodity that consumed more energy than it provided, like a chemical drink not strong enough to keep his circuits constantly energized, a fuel too expensive and luxurious that he could not afford to consume regularly. His favourite oil was fuelled by painful things: regrets and secrets. For it is well known: Pain is as cheap as clay, and twice as common. What matters is what you do with it. And Machine Herald had decided to make it its constant and inexhaustible source, its purpose. With all the atrocities he was causing, perhaps he was denying himself joy. Perhaps the problem was simply that a constant guilt forbade him to be happy.

He has lost his smile, and you have never seen it. His eyes glow like a cat's, like lights in the night. "Are you in pain?" This answer surprises you even more than your previous rhetorical question, because of all the possible possibilities it is probably the one you least expected. You were rather expecting a "get out" or a "does Singed know ?". You almost thought he would have left without saying another word and let you sleep there. You expected everything but this: that he would ask you how you were. So surprised, and so dazed, you feel amused by the situation. It's like a little pink bird chirping in your chest, its giggles rising up into your throat. You breathe out of your nose, then start to laugh slightly. Your mouth stretches into a smile, but your suddenly stretched split lip sends a burst of burning. You squint one eye and wrinkle your nose at the sudden and sharp pain. Your laughter has made you breathe too suddenly and your red knuckled hand comes to your belly where you can still feel the blow of the knee cutting off your air. Some nice bruises are likely to show up in a few places on your body unfortunately. " A band-aid and off I go " you lie, gritting your teeth as you rest your head against the wall and close your eyelids firmly.

You'll get an extra bump, most likely. You open your eyes again, your gaze drifting to the leather of Viktor's boots. Clean, aged with time, and heavy, so heavy. You saw them kicking, walking on land you had never seen before. You saw them crush the head of a fallen soldier who probably didn't deserve to die squashed under the weight of boots like his. You didn't come on missions very often, and have been trying less and less lately to come specifically for these reasons. At night when you dream and are not busy with various inventions, you find yourself in the gallery of scenes from your life. It's a focus, where your eyes zoom in on moments, skip them, try to avoid them or loop some of them - maybe because they please you, or maybe because you want to remember the horrors you committed with him. In the darkest, most shady corner of the gallery, you hang up all the pictures of him, all the battles he's been in. Close-ups of his hand as he aims his third arm at his victims, the great judge of life and death. Landscape shots where pools of blood feed the ground. And like in a museum, there is a description and sometimes even an audio recording. It's the same ones that come back: his accent, the buzz of the laser, the howls of rage and fear that intermingle with the harsh clash of iron against iron. You wish you could find the rain that would erase the past. You look at that wave that will never reach the moon, like it, you lie down and remember

You hear him sigh, the sound even more dramatic than if he were wearing his mask. You dare not meet his gaze. You don't have the strength to raise your eyes and meet his. Your eyes still riveted to his legs, you notice another move you have never seen him make towards you: he bends his knees. His cloak hits the ground like cherry juice, folding into shapes you don't notice in your peripheral vision. You still watch the leather crack and pucker like wrinkles on aged skin. He is close to you, knees bent, facing you, you know it but you still don't look up. You are immobile, unable to move. He is unreadable in his silence, and that is undoubtedly what frightens you the most. You have rarely seen him so unpredictable, but it was probably unpredictable for him to find you slumped over, there in his flats, drunk and moreover injured. You don't know what to expect. Will he stand there, at your height, knees bent, facing you so closely for a long time? Because for you the seconds seem as long as minutes. Everything passes without transition in your head. Maybe he will finally kill you, do as you originally thought and finish you off right there with his third arm or his sceptre. Maybe he had asked what you had done that night, only to come back the next day and tell The Last Drop that such an incident would not happen again because he had taken care of it personally. Perhaps he had finally asked if you were in pain so that he could enjoy playing with you even more when he killed you. His favourite oil was fuelled by painful things.

It applied both ways, after all: his pain, and the pain he was inflicting on others. You were going to end up under one of his boots, your jaw crumbling under the heavy weight of steel, your teeth cracking on the ground like pearls in a pool of blood as his would show from beneath his lips to finally smile. And the only smile you'd ever see from him in your life would be the first and last one before you died. You shudder as an ice-cold sensation lifts your chin, bringing your head up. His index finger has just raised your chin. And when your eyes finally meet his through your eyelashes: you feel as if they are burning your skin like two suns, warming your cheeks with their heat. He is close, so close that you can feel your own breath washing over his face. He details you, or at least he details your wounds. His eyes are locked on your forehead, where dried, crimson blood has run down your brow like a small waterfall. The wound must have reopened because you feel an intense burn emanating from where the cut should be. His other hand comes to pull a strand of hair out from in front of the cut, and you inhale through your teeth as his finger ventures too close to it. It stings, very hard, but somehow the spawn of his metallic hands tenderizes your swollen flesh. His eyes drop for a brief moment to scan yours, then he continues his gestures.

He must have taken off his gloves in your moments of loss on his shoes, leaving his fingers, a combination of light studs and cables, to take the air. You watch him, your head still held up by his other hand. He looks upset, but who wouldn't be? His fingers continue down to your cheekbone, a large bruise seems to form there, as he presses lightly on your skin with his thumb your cheek feels throbbing, feeling stiff and firm. You press your lips together in a thin line but even so a burn catches you as the cut on your lip tugs. It must have reopened when you smiled, because you can distinctly feel its metallic taste spilling into your mouth. You breathe quickly, the pain on all sides seeming to scorch you everywhere. But a sudden chill sends a jolt through you and your eyes flutter from the shock. The thumb of the hand Viktor was using to hold you in place has just landed on the cut on your lip. Your mouth trembles with pain, and you're sure that your trembling is spreading to the fresh metal that the skin of your lip touches. A flap of flesh in your mouth is bitten between your upper and lower canine teeth, trying as best you can to prevent a few complaints and groans of pain.

But what is he doing? Is he doing it intentionally? That's probably it, yes, it can't be anything else. In any case, your face can't escape, his other hand kept on your sore cheek. You can feel clicks whispering under his palm. Your eyes stop their blinking frenzy and return to his. He is definitely angry. His eyebrows are furrowed, his nose wrinkles. His upper lip is slightly raised and twitching. And his eyes, oh, his eyes - they are burning as ever. He parted his lips, his thumb coming slightly away from your own, but not leaving its place much. "Who did this to you?" His tone is almost scolding, his accent becoming even more jerky and clipped. He's probably annoyed that the novice apprentice got screwed like that, shaming the Glorious Evolution by strutting to The Last Drop and engaging in combat with civilians who aren't even worth a glance. Yeah, that's probably why he's so angry... isn't it? He would never care about you and your physical health... would he? "You don't know, neither do I."

His face does not change, his gaze never ceasing to dwell on your cheek and lips. A muscle tenses near his eyes. He's probably thinking that this will teach you a lesson, that after all it's your fault that you got into this situation, not his. He is not satisfied with the answer you give him, but he moves on to the next subject as he has understood that you could not answer any further. "Can you stand up?" Here comes the moment when he's going to get you out of his chambers and let you go back to your own so that you don't disturb him anymore. "There's only one way to find out." You place your hand on the floor, your second one slowly and boredly following its twin's gesture. You bring one knee towards you, the second following with the same delay. Viktor gets up with ridiculous ease compared to the trouble you are taking to raise yourself. Your feet push against the floor, your back pressing further against it to allow you to push off your legs and slide onto the cool surface. You stagger slightly, and your teammate's hand grabs your forearm to hold you up. His grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt, it only supports you. As you stand up, you realise that you've been a bit heavy on the drinks. You feel heavy, as if you have leaden bones. You feel that if you try to take a step, you'll just collapse and never get up again.

"I think staying on the ground and crawling would have been easier," you gasp as your gaze seems to widen and give you the impression one moment that the ground is closing in on your face very quickly and the next that you're standing on top of the Old Hungry. Viktor is ranting at himself. You've been nothing but trouble for the last few minut-months, yes for the last few months. "You could have drunk a little less..." is all he mutters before he stoops. And the next thing he does surprises you even more than the rest of the evening you've just spent. One of his hands goes below your knees, the other behind your back. It feels strange, as if your whole body is made of cotton and his hands are just water, refreshing you and grounding you in this reality where you feel light and volatile like the flame of a candle. A hiccup of surprise escapes your lips, mingling with a complaint, as he lifts you off the ground. He couldn't have looked more disinterested than he does now, as if you barely weighed anything. You often forgot that not all his limbs were made of flesh and bone, and that most of them were made of aluminium and steel, so that the strength he possessed was far more committed and powerful than mere ordinary muscles. You might have expected him to have an iron fist, but he seemed to hold you as if a fragile spider's web was woven between his fingers.

Your eyes were glued to him, and you wondered if you had hallucinated or imagined the whole of the previous exchange and in your drunken delirium you had dozed off until you finally fell asleep. Your tired mind must have done the rest and dragged you into this strange fantasy. But the cracked and painful parts of your body keep you far too awake for it to be the fault of the dreams. He moves forward, slowly, out of his chambers. It's dim in the hallway, contrasting with the stark, blistering light of the room. His flat is not very big, yours is a carbon copy except for a few details. For example, Viktor has no kitchen. It's quite simple, with all the improvements made to his body, his internal organs had been affected and replaced by various artificial substitutes. As a result, the nutrients he needed were not up to your or any other nutrition standards. You had made some enhancements to yourself as well here and there, but you were far from Viktor's stage where almost his entire body had been replaced by mechanics. You wondered what was left of his humanity, what he had kept since then. Of course, he still had his head, but what about his abdomen? And what was below... You refocused yourself as best you could to avoid keeping any libidinous thoughts in the moment. It would not be good if he tried to probe your mind again while you were thinking such things. As you gazed at him with half-closed eyelids, he stopped. His eyes were down on something in front of him. You followed his gaze. He seemed to be having a determined staring match with your HoloPad. Perhaps he thought he could disrupt it via a magnetic field that some kind of enhancement might have launched?

He must have managed to hit some of the circuits, because the blue grid of numbers set for you to enter a code had gone out, leaving instead a small plate a few inches wide. He frowned even more. "What's that?" He looked frustrated, but mostly curious. There was no way he was going to get past this stage of the code though, Viktor didn't know the subtlety of it. How could he after all, he no longer possessed one of the necessities that activated the mechanism. You hold out your hand, bringing it close to the plate. You place your thumb on it, a white ray passing underneath it before it glows green. You hear a sound of air being sucked in before the door slides open on its own into a slot in the wall. " Digital imprint," you whisper to him. He looks singularly surprised. Of course he would never have thought of that.

He walks through your flat, stopping in your living room. It's dark, and the only things that light the way are the little orange emergency exit light boxes scattered on some of the walls acting as nightlights. "To the left, last door in the corridor," you murmur. You don't dare speak loudly. It's as if, by raising your voice, you risk chasing away this moment. If it's a dream, you don't want it to burst like a bubble. You don't dare admit it out loud, and you probably never will, but you feel good, there, in his arms. You're almost lulled to sleep by the muffled whirring, clattering gears and purring engines that blow through the steel of his body. His embrace is cold, but comforting. You've never had such closeness with him, so you try to think of every possible detail to make a new picture that would end up in the gallery of your life. He arrives at your room, where the door is already half-open, allowing him to enter the room. He brings you in and lays you down on your bed, gently, and even though everything seems to be blurred like the horizon by the heat, you know that he is taking the greatest care to lay you down. He sets you up so that your back is against the wall that touches one side of your bed. "In the next room, the bathroom, the cupboard above the sink..." you stammer, as if your lips were long like waves and tangled as they tried to wash up on the sandy shores of speech. You give him this information because, after all, Viktor does not heal himself as you do. His improvements don't require medical attention or bandages like yours. He's given up disinfectant alcohol, plasters, ointments or medicinal pills a while ago. The advantage of not being 100% human anymore, you suppose.

But maybe he's not going to fix you, maybe he's going to leave you there to sleep and he just wanted to get you out of his flat and have a peaceful night. He leans over to turn on your bedside lamp, leaving you grumbling again. And then he leaves you and goes out into the hallway. If the light wasn't there and on like it is, you would probably have crashed from sleep right away. You still wonder what it must be like for him to sleep. You always see him with dark circles, but does every mechanism in his body really need to sleep or rest? Does he sleep? Is he constantly awake? How could you know, you hardly see him these days. He leaves, you stay, and it's been a while since his presence at the labs diminished. He's always out of town, you pass him two days a week, and you find yourself feeling lonely. He comes back into the room, a whole kit in hand. He lays out all his finds on the cover of the bed: a pack of cotton balls, a large bottle of disinfectant alcohol, healing strips, a tube of ointment, a pan with metal tweezers and a plate of painkillers. You look up, in his hand he is holding a glass of water which he hands to you. You reach out to grab it, holding on to it with both hands to make sure it doesn't fall in your lap. A sound of thin aluminium breaking, and Viktor hands you a tablet. You take it without hesitation, its floury feel leaving an unpleasant trace in your throat which you chase with more sips of water.

"Did you go to the toilet?" he asks as he uncaps the bottle of disinfectant and grabs cotton balls. On the spot the question almost makes you laugh, but although your mind is muddled you soon realise that the question is a medical check. It would be a pity if you ended up in an ethylic coma. You think back to the evening. You remember that on several occasions during your trip to The Last Drop you went to the toilet between shots. "Yes," you mumble. The care and attention to detail with which he prepares the necessities to treat you is remarkable. He then moves considerably closer to you, a metal clamp holding the alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "Ouch," you complain as he presses it to your forehead near your roots. He doesn't press like a madman, he's not a brute, but he's very careful. He squeezes the cotton wool enough for a trickle of alcohol to run in a straight line down your forehead. The first few moments seem to be as hot as two fires meeting and bickering in the square. Viktor then changes the cotton pad, and you can see that before he puts it in the iron cup, it is all red with scabs stuck between the white filaments. He dabs gently with the second pad, and the fire at your hairline lessens, the cotton leaving your skin feeling like kisses of thorns and feathers. You look at him, entranced. Viktor was a man devoted to his work, living for it, and the concentration he showed when he attended to something with interest was unyielding.

You understood him. It was as if, around him, the world became silent, that only his spirit reigned over the place and that neither time nor energy directed him, only one thing: devotion. "How many were there?" His question cuts you off in your contemplation, bringing you back to reality. "A real fierce army of three soldiers," you babble, "but be aware, they were this big and this tall," you mime, spreading your arms like a child who is still old enough to count the days in sleep. "Stop moving," he hisses, annoyed by your childish behaviour. "Anyway, I won the shot contest," you laugh to yourself, "they were so lame. But one of them made a very pertinent remark." You pause to regain your composure and not lose the idea you had on the tip of your tongue.

"He accused me of having chemtech that put his mate to sleep. Can you imagine, chemtech that could put anyone but yourself to sleep around you?" you smile naively as you lower your eyes to his chest. "It would be useful, it would prevent fighting and killing." "If there's no death or casualties, people don't retain anything." "A big scare would be enough," you sulk. "No, they have to understand that we are ready to take action and kill if the opportunity arises," he says, placing a simple white sticky bar bandage horizontally on your wound to help it close better. You don't like this idea, it's too radical, too violent and without any search for a potential agreement that would spare the bloodbath. He grabs the tube of ointment, squeezing a dab of the colour of morning mist onto his metal index before reaching for your swollen cheek. It feels like someone has aggressively smashed a handful of blackberries and cherries into your cheekbone. You feel the coolness of his fingers applying the cream, and although the sensation is not the most pleasant, it is not as bothersome as you might expect. Your eyes are still riveted on his torso, watching the patterns that the metal alloys form in a finely crafted and symmetrically ordered assembly of sometimes matte and sometimes polished plates of his armour. You know it, alcohol loosens the tongue. So you can't help the question that escapes from your mouth like soap from wet hands : " Did you keep your heart? "

The question is sincere, so sincere that Viktor's fingers stop massaging your sore cheek. His eyes finally meet yours. Since he took you in his arms, he hadn't looked you in the eye once. But for some reason you don't know, this simple question was enough to stop him from his rigorous task. His eyes seem to detail yours in a strange way, with a look you can't quite define. He blinks suddenly, restarting his task to properly massage your cheek and apply the ointment to the entire bruise. "No," is his simple answer. No beating heart, no blood pumping through its veins, no hidden organ like the one you have. Only a motor linked to clusters of tubes that propel energy substances and enough electricity through his body to keep him alive. " Did someone steal it from you?" It's at this very moment that you ask yourself: did Viktor ever love?

Has he ever loved someone who made him smile constantly? Has he ever loved someone so much that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with them? Has he ever known what it feels like to be afraid of death for the simple reason that it has the power to take away the person he loves?

A heart doesn't carry emotions, it carries life, that's why we love it so much: it keeps those we love alive, and we dread the day it stops beating.

You feel like a child who asks "why?" at every opportunity, and Viktor, having now finished applying the ointment, replies:

"I changed it."

Of course, nobody stole it from him. You can't fear that death is lurking for him in the same way as it is for you. You can only fear that a cable will blow, a bolt will unscrew, or his skull will be hit.

It's not fair, he stole your heart.

He wipes his ointment-coated fingers to pick up a pair of clamps and a clean cotton ball again. The next and final step is your split lip. With his free hand, he gently grasps your chin.

Compared to the rest of your wounds, this one requires surgical attention and patience apparently.

He squeezes the compress tenderly, and your head reflexes to turn. But Viktor's firm grip holds you in place. You feel his thumb press gently into your cheek, the skin inside your mouth meeting the side of your teeth.

He continues to press the cotton lightly against the wound.

You feel as if a warm cloud is spreading in your belly as he looks at your lips. It's as if they, despite all the words they've spoken in your life, have never had as much attention as they have at this very moment.

Perhaps it is this sudden attention that lets them say the following question:

"Have you ever loved anyone?" you wait until the cotton is no longer on your lip, "can you still love?"

Alcohol apparently makes you chatty, but at least you can use it as an excuse. Tomorrow when you see Viktor you can always say, "Sorry I was drunk last night, I probably didn't mean what I thought." Maybe that will be enough.

His movements have stopped. His eyes leave your lips, gaining your gaze. They are full of secrets, full of spleen, full of things he lets fly in his eyes but you can never make out what they are.

He's so close, so close... He takes a breath, and you can feel the gears underneath the metal hissing and sighing. His gaze is tender, while he still hasn't let go of yours.

Maybe his heart has already been stolen, after all, robbed and destroyed with a hammer. Maybe he took his heart back, and ripped it out so hard that he had to fix it with bolts and try to harden it because it hurt too much.

His cool fingers come to walk over your blue cheek one last time, bringing his thumb close to the end of your eyes where he dreamily runs it over the film of oil on your lid, the grip he has under your chin has softened.

He moves both hands away from your cheeks, gathering all the things he had brought with him into his fingers and arms. He leans in close to your bedside table one last time, speaking softly in a voice like amber, fluid and wispy.

"Good night."

And the light went out, giving you just enough time to see something you never thought you would: he was smiling.

ps : had to try to post that bad boi 3 times i'm in pain

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#viktor #arcane #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #machine herald viktor #machine herald x reader #machine herald #viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader

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rawliverandgoronspice · 4 months

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hi! firstly, sorry in advance for the long ask. your blog is very thought provoking! secondly, i wanna say i really appreciate all your writing on totk - i’ve kinda deliberately avoided looking at any critiques of the game because, quite frankly, i had a fun time in the moment while playing it and i didn’t want to sully that experience, but your posts have all been quality and have given me a lot to think about with respect to the narrative, its aims, and whether or not “pure, uncomplicated, escapist fiction” is actually a good thing

i digress though - the subject i wanted to ask about, which comes up both in your general “all the consequences were undone and therefore nothing mattered” stance, and more directly in your post about dondons/humanity/morality (specifically the part about “should we trust the bargainer statues that nothing matters? or should we actually care about light vs dark?”) is kind of the age old sentiment that the journey is more important than the destination, and how you think about this in the context of zelda as a narrative, as a defining game in the adventure genre, and now as a landmark in the open world style

in the case of the bargainer statue, i was thrown by you framing “trusting the statues about morality” vs “being moved by the struggle of light against dark” as an either/or - a grimly nihilistic view. in the game (and, i think, in real life), the message is that the ultimate futility of everything does not invalidate the reality of people living their lives in the present, and a positive nihilism challenges us to try and help people and do good in spite of that meaninglessness. this is why the bargainer statues feel so bizarre and un-zelda-like (or at the very least, un-hyrulian. not a bad thing!) - the universe of zelda has always at its core been about how helping other people is a noble endeavor and is its own reward (with gratitude in skyward sword actually manifesting this physically), and the bargainers’ ambivalence flies in the face of this. it’s obvious to us as the player that towns being destroyed and lives being torn apart is objectively bad, even if everyone ends up as a poe in the depths either way, and the bargainers reading as sinister and alien actually reinforces this more than it calls it into question. the quality of the time spent in life matters, even if the ending looks the same

as a game, i think zelda has always been at least as much about the stories and connections you experience on your quest to deal with the big bad as it is about that actual climactic fight. it’s always leaned into the adventure half of “action/adventure,” and in some ways i do think this is what “gameplay before story” originally meant. as you’ve noted, some of the brightest points of totk are the sidequests and characters for whom you can make a small but noticeable difference, and through which you’re driven to interrogate the world and maybe yourself too. and it’s because of these connections that reverting things at the end doesn’t make everything futile and pointless. link is our connection to hyrule, and if the adventure impacted us positively, then we can infer that it impacted link (and to a lesser extent, zelda) positively as well, and that’s worthwhile even if the external circumstances change

a last quick point is that i think the increasingly open world nature of the series also reinforces this - sure you can run naked straight to castle and beat ganondorf without engaging with the game in any way, and you’ll save the day the same as someone who put in 300 hours on the way there, but your takeaway will be completely different, because that journey is the entire point

anyways thanks again for your thoughtful posts and for reading this far if you did!

Heyy thank you so much for perusing my blog and leaving such a thoughtful ask, it's greatly appreciated! <3

That's interesting you took the Dondon post in that way, as it wasn't what I meant at all haha. But I do recognize it was worded in kind of a cryptic way, and left it up to interpretation perhaps a tad too much (see: the limits of subtext), so I can try and make myself a little more clear (and I also think you bring up really good points that completely deserve to be mentioned and that I personally do not mention nearly enough)

What I meant by the "either/or" isn't what we, as an audience should take away as what's important or meaningful, and completely discard the other part as useless. It's not what we experience ingame, and this contradiction is inherently interesting and sparks some degree of conflict (good! storytelling need those and totk is conflict anemic honestly)

What bothered me is that we are prompted, in the game, to see things in an extremely black and white way in spite of an argumentation that maybe, we shouldn't. It's not bad in itself, I even think it's great that we get to question the moral fabric of the world! It's one of the very rare (in my opinion) compelling things about the narrative weaved out for us. But the endgoal of the game still remains the same: find Zelda, and swear yourself/all of your friends to Rauru's ancestral kingdom by using his powers and his guiding hand. Link's role in restoring Hyrule is never even hinted as being a potential question mark, or something we should ponder upon (Twilight Princess did directly question Hyrule in more ways than one, WW is also there, etc). But moreso than in other games in my opinion: we are doing the bidding of a king's territorial war that happened a very long time ago, and the current state of Hyrule doesn't seem to indicate the need for pushing a unified kingdom back onto everybody, or at least it wouldn't be a problem if not for Ganondorf's presence (which in of itself is still arguable as an argument for royal unity, since people would have been willing to band together for the sake of their own communities regardless of whether or not there was a unifying realm --remove the Sage's vow, and I don't believe Link's friends would have let him handle his fight on his own even without having to swear their alliegeance to what is basically a dead kingdom by this point).

My problem isn't the statues; it's that this Light/Darkness framing is only ever questioned when close to them/the Monster Brothers, and the rest of the world is extremely rigid in what is the correct path --but without the added tragic weight that other Zelda games generally have about this aspect (the Sages in OoT being torn from their previous aspect/your own lost childhood, Skyward Sword's Hylia and the way she enacts her plan through people who never had a choice --and that's identified as something bittersweet, not to mention the infamous curse of Demise...)

I do adore what you mention, this sort of "positive nihilism" as a staple of the series. It's never as apparent as in Majora's Mask in my opinion, where getting people comfort and rest is ultimately without consequence as you constantly reset their minds, but it still feels meaningful to have helped. I think BotW did that really well too --where you help people rebuidling life and meaning in the middle of the desolation, making the post-apocalypse hopeful, a place for potential growth and change and resilience and experimentation. In TotK, however, I don't think your efforts are as centered around making sure these people get a future as they were in BotW (except maybe, as you mentioned, in a couple of sidequests --Lurelin's village being one of them, for example). Maybe it's because Ganondorf's threat is not as clear as the Calamity's was, maybe it's because what guides your adventure is to find Zelda first and foremost rather than defeating whatever threatens the peace (treated narratively as a hindrance more than the core problem, even if it is ultimately the core problem --again, the narration/quest design is pretty messy here and it doesn't help matters), or maybe it's because the endgoal is not for people to make their own way into the world, but mostly for the wayward folk of Hyrule to be ushered back onto the glorious trail of Hylian/Zonai's legacy --but to me, the game has a weird agenda regarding Link/the player's role into this world that is generally tangential to his role as a hero and a balancing force in other legends. Here, he starts the game as a knight. His duty is to Zelda, but it ends up overlapping to what Zelda represents in a far more abstract way than usual.

What I think works in TotK in terms of "positive nihilism" is actually Ultrahand, and this gimmick of "world as playground", which I believe is a very clever and engaging way to imagine an open world. There are a ton of little gameplay moments that are yours to shape and inject meaning into; manipulation for the sake of it, the joy of play, and experimentation being rewarded and never punished. To me, this feels the most like inhabiting the world, making it your own, and doing things because they matters to you --and this being enough. But narratively speaking, this is just not really the story being told to us: we are told, us and basically every other NPC, to conform to a plan laid out for us that doesn't ever need to be investigated or questioned --even though now, at crossroad of what the future could look like, would be the perfect moment to do so.

I think what I ultimately tried to point out in that Dondon post is how jarring this hint that, perhaps nothing you do In The Name of Light actually means anything, and this having zero impact on the rigidity of the pupose you are supposed to accomplish In The Name of Light --and the game never seemingly acknowledging that paradox, which made for a (I think, unplanned) pretty oppressive playing experience on my end.

#asks #totk #totk critical #tloz #majora's mask #botw #rauru #thanks for the ask!!#not sure if I actually managed to clarify what I meant haha #I Tried #I do believe Zelda is about the journey yes!#but here the journey is super weird and where it ushers us still feels very off to me #the very fixed destination of an open world presenting itself as uncontroversial when it is so questionable to me (and subtly questioned!)#is mostly where my disconnect comes from morally speaking

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biographydivider · 2 years

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Another ‘it came to me on the train’ fic about my favourite turts 🐢

Stomp Stamp Stomp Stamp

Clap-clap!

Donnie winced, putting the soldering iron back into its holster preemtptively. He supposed three hours in the workshop without being bothered was verging on unheard-of territory, post-Kraang. He and his brothers hadn’t been more than a room apart ever since; but then Dad had taken Raph out into the countryside to ‘look after Todd’s puppies for a weekend’ (read: cuddle soft and drooling things, get some fresh air and probably have a good cry).

And after an uncomfortably huggy goodbye, Leo and Mikey had decided to medicate their way through the separation with sugar and Netflix specials. Donnie had declined to partake, of course. He had work to do - nothing to do with taking his mind off missing his big brother, not at all! - and besides, he wasn’t the biggest fan of sugar. It made his teeth itch. But now, apparently, the party was coming to him.

Joy.

Stomp Stamp Stomp Stamp

Clap-clap!

‘C.E.O, Entrepreneur,” his brothers sang in harmony,

“Born in 1964 -

Doooonnieeee,

Donatelloooooo...”

Donnie turned in his chair, pushing his goggles onto his forehead. In the doorway (time to change the entry code to the workshop, again) stood his twin and his baby brother; both wearing blazers, sunglasses and smirks. Mikey’s were pink and shaped like hearts, Leo’s were yellow and pointy, and neither were conducive to UV protection. The pair were practically trembling from repressed energy; Donnie could almost visualise the carnage of demolished Oreos, soda cans and sherbert (thank you soooo much for that one, April - ‘something sweet for your unsupervised night at home’, she’d said...) strewn across the common room floor.

“C’mon, Donnie, you can do it,” sang Mikey, bouncing in place to the beat.

“Pave the way, put your back into it,” Leo joined in, tapping his toe to keep time.

“Tell us why,” Mikey shimmied into the workshop, “show us how --”

Leo held up a picture of a soft-shelled turtle on his phone, pointing at it for unwarrented emphasis.

“Lookit where you came from --”

He then lunged across the floor, arms outstreched towards his twin, who smacked his hands away with a displeased snarl. “Look at you now.”

Donnie rested his chin on the back of his chair, unamused, as the pair launched into what could only be described as a TikTok dance. Perfectly in time, cheorographed to death, ending with Mikey doing the worm and Nardo attempting to stand on his hands to twerk against the workshop wall. A toolbox fell to the floor, knocked from a shelf by his flailing feet, and Donnie’s eye began to twitch.

“Zuckerberg and Gates and Buffet,

Amateurs can fuckin’ suck it...”

“I appreciate the sentiment, bretheren,” Donnie snarked, “but I really do have to work, and --”

“C’mon Don,” Mikey sang, yanking Donnie’s chair into the middle of the room and spinning it so violently that the room became a purple-tingled blur, “Get ‘em --!”

“That’s it!” Donnie yelled, his patience frying, limbs flailing wildly in rage. “Out!! Out, the pair of you, foul sugar-goblins! You...I...can’t...gaaaahhh you annoy me so much!!!”

Leo tumbled head over heels to the floor with a giggle, sending spikes of irritation through Donnie’s chest. He tried to rise to his feet in order to shoo them out...and succeeded only in falling back onto his butt with a thump, making Leo laugh even more. Inertia of the fluids in the inner ear; very much a thing, even for mad scientist turtles. “Ugh. Dizzy. Why you insist on bothering me, I’ll never know...”

“Because we love you, Donnie,” Mikey said, more sincerely than Donnie had expected, sitting cross-legged at his feet. Donnie swallowed the pang of surprise and guilt in his throat.

“Ahem...now, don’t pull that card,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You just wanted to irritate me, to distract me from my work, to...”

“Yeah.” Mikey blinked. “Because we love you. And we want to hang out with you.”

“I...um. Ah.”

There was suddenly a lump in Donnie’s throat, making speech - annoyed or otherwise - difficult. If Casey’s arrival had taught him one thing, it as that somewhere out there, in the millions upon billions of ultimate universes, timelines, paradoxes and whatever else lay tantalisingly out of his reach, there was a version of him that would have killed for the luxury of being annoyed by his brothers’ attention. Who would have loved one more day of sugar-rush-induced, hyperactive Leo - snickering to himself on the floor, bruised and scarred but healing. Who would’ve treasured a Mikey who was still a dumb kid, wearing silly, heart-shaped sunglasses indoors - not a Mystic Warrior with the fate of multiple worlds on his shoulders.

Who would give anything for their Raph to be ‘just’ a few hundred miles away, covered in dog slobber and tears and hopefully getting a good night’s sleep.

At least one version of him. There were a million ways the invasion could have succeeded. A million tiny mistakes that could have plunged them into disaster and dystopia. A million Donnies who would trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Sometimes, he really did feel every bit as selfish as people thought he was.

Donnie sighed.

“Is there any sherbert left?”

“Like, two packets?” Leo said. “The gross fake banana ones.”

“Wanna watch me snort both of them then skateboard down the new ramp?”

Mikey gasped. “The real steep one?! No waaay...”

“Standing on your hands,” Leo smirked.

“Wh --”

Donnie’s twin folded his arms across his chest. “It’ll be easy for you, Lair Games Champ.”

“I...uuuuuuuugh, fine.” The world was finally standing still for long enough for Donnie to haul himself to his feet. “On my hands it is.”

“Yeah, baby!” Mikey said, leaping to his feet with a beaming smile. “Don-ah-tell-oooooh, let’s gooo!”

“Come on, then. Last one there has to clean up the inevitable blood loss...”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt fic #rise donnie #rise leo #rise mikey #Potential Title: The Boys Discover Bo Burnham; Shenanigans Ensue

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jennycalendar · 1 year

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as a romani woman who's always felt hurt by how romani people are portrayed in canon and viewed in fandom, its so nice to see this kind of allyship from a gadhži. its incredibly frustrating having to know that to a lot of people in fandom we'll be nothing more than a Villain and im always so appreciative for those who work against it and talk about the racism towards us in both canon and fandom

oh gosh this means a lot to me? i am constantly feeling that i'm really doing the bare minimum here, so this ask is .... simultaneously really heart-warming and really Makes Me Wanna Kick Some Knees (the knees of the people causing these problems. to be clear). i literally got an ask within an hour of my response to that ask about angel going "i think that the fandom sees the romani as shortsighted, not evil" discounting the fact that i am a goddamn jenny calendar fic scholar who has read everything that she's in and has been keeping fucking track of the way people write her larger romani background.

i think one of the problems is also that jenny as a character is written so clearly as someone who is stepping away from old traditions and customs, and the romani in the buffyverse are portrayed as locked in the past and unable to progress (because, again, the show is egregiously racist towards romani), so of course in fic if you're not thinking about what you're doing you're going to go "well, she's not like her family :)" and kinda lean into that. i sometimes worry that my fic does that too sometimes. i know one of the things that meant the most to me as i was writing what you make was 1) presenting jenny as part of a romani family that is full of a lot of joy and community (nora and donovan!) and 2) introducing non-white-passing romani to the narrative (donovan and his kids!) sort of shifting the focus away from jenny's family being romani as the problem & towards the idea of jenny's IMMEDIATE family having a lot of complex generational trauma that motivates their approach towards angelus. like, enyos as someone whose immediate family was slaughtered by vampires and who has never been able to process that loss, yknow?

but yeah! it is horrible and disheartening to see all the ways that people will bend over backwards to go "there's no anti-romani sentiment in btvs OR in the fandom :) it's just that the romani were trapped in the past and not good at what they did and didn't understand that angel REALLY deserved to be redeemed, and also enyos got what he deserved and jenny was a lying [anti-romani slur] spy :)" like hglksdhglksd the number of times i've just seen that slur tossed around IN FIC, or by people who are talking POSITIVELY about jenny! there's been a shift away from it but it was still very present in fic from the mid to late 2000s! (and still also now in fic where jenny is a supporting character who the writer doesn't care about!)

thank you for this ask. to know that saying stuff about how fucking horrible this fandom is about this (and other things) is making other people feel better & safer here -- i am so glad that this has a tangible positive impact somewhere! yesterday felt a little like shouting into the void especially as i look at spuffy fandom, which is STEEPED in racism in a way that i rarely see white spike/spuffy fans interacting with or wanting to talk about. i am determined to carve out a corner of the internet that feels good for nonwhite btvs fans, because it is HARD OUT HERE.

#asks #this got long! but! yeah!#i truly feel that if you wanna be a jenny fan you HAVE to reckon with the racism within the text #and the fact that she was just slapped with a romani identity to make her More Mystical #which is gross!

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naurielrochnur · 21 days

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Realm of the Elderlings Ask Meme Thing

Thanks for the tag @tragediegh

Favorite Rote Book: Its a tie between Assassin's Quest and Fool's Fate

Why: Assassin's Quest because I became very invested in Fitz's recovery/lack thereof after his torture and death. The end of Royal Assassin felt like the end of a chapter in his life, and it was equal parts fascinating and heartbreaking to see the how Fitz grew as a character, and yet fell victim to himself in very familiar ways. Assassin's Quest is the first time that Fitz is not wholly tied to Buckkeep (at least for the first half of the book), so I really enjoyed watching him make decisions for himself. I am also a HUGE fan of characters that soldier on despite hardship, and that describes Fitz in this book very well.

Fools Fate because OH BOY is that book an emotional wrecking ball and I love to hurt my own feelings. Fitz grows a lot as a person throughout Tawny Man, but he really develops in Fools Fate. The progression of his relationship with Beloved is incredibly satisfying and heartbreaking. I also enjoyed how Fitz finally learned that he can both love Burrich and admit that he was harmed by Burrich's strict governing of the Wit during his childhood. I love the lore and word building of this book (who doesn't love dragons?)

Top Three Favorite Characters: Fitz, Web, and Beloved.

Top Three Least Favorite Characters: Keffria, Sintara, Tats

Favorite Ship (of the floating kind): Tarman without a doubt.

Top Three Favorite Ships (of the people kind): I'm very much so not a romantic shipper, so this is hard. I guess I'll say Fitz and Beloved, but in a queer platonic, messy, and confusing sort of way, Amber and Jek, and Patience and Lacey

Would you rather be Witted or Skilled? Witted

If you were Witted, what animal would you bond with? Some sort of cat, or maybe a ferret? Or perhaps a kestrel. Also, a fox would be cool, as would a corvid. I've thought way too hard about animals I would like to be bonded with and its only made me more unsure.

How were you introduced to the books? I was looking for some books to read in the summer of 2023, and I remembered that I read the three Fitz centric trilogies back in 2018 and really enjoyed them. I was not at my most mentally healthy at that stage of my life, and so could remember next to nothing of what happened, but one thing I DID remember was that while reading those books, I was able to fully fall into them and concentrate on the story. I wasn't able to fully lose myself like that with any other book at that point in my life, so I decided they were worth a reread when I could more fully appreciate them.

Share a quote you love:

"Men do not grieve as dogs do, buy they grieve for many years." -Assassin's Apprentice

That passage never fails to bring tears to my eyes.

“Not being able to think of a reply is not the same thing as accepting another's words.” -Assassin's Quest

Its so silly but this quote makes me cry. I often have trouble replying to people, particularly when I don't agree with them, and so it can be distressing to know I have something to say and yet not be able to form the words. Its extremely comforting to see that sentiment actually acknowledged.

It was a long journey, in the cold and the dark. Somewhere I could hear a whimpering, and I despised myself for that, too. But as I scraped myself along, it grew, as a spark in the distance becomes a fire as one approaches. It refused to be ignored. It grew louder in my mind, a whining against my fate, a tiny voice of resistance that forbade that I should die, that denied my failure. It was warmth and light, too, and it grew stronger and stronger as I tried to find its source.

I stopped.

I lay still.

It was inside me. The more I sought it, the stronger it grew. It loved me. Loved me even if I couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t love myself. Loved me even if I hated it. It set its tiny teeth in my soul and braced and held so that I couldn’t crawl any farther. And when I tried, a howl of despair burst from it, searing me, forbidding me to break so sacred a trust.

It was Smithy. He cried with my pains, physical and mental. And when I stopped struggling toward the wall, he went into a paroxysm of joy, a celebration of triumph for us. And all I could do to reward him was to lie still and no longer attempt to destroy myself. And he assured me it was enough, it was a plenitude, it was a joy. I closed my eyes. -Assassin's Apprentice

This quote resonates with me in ways I find hard to describe. Even when I was at the my worst mentally, suffering from a severe eating disorder that cascaded into severe depression, there was always at least teeny part of me that wanted me to live. It was the small, basal lizard brain that cared only for biological survival, but it was there. Eventually, after a long time and a lot of therapy, I learned to listen to that voice. I learned that the voice in my head driving me crazy over thoughts of food--the voice that I hated just as much as I hated myself--was only there because it wanted me to stop killing myself. I learned to appreciate the part of my brain that cared enough about me to sink its teeth into my mind and never let go. Through that appreciation I learned to love that voice. Through love for that voice, I learned how to start loving myself the way it loved me; fiercely, protectively, and wholly accepting. A part of me cared SO much about my survival, thought I was worth an immense effort to keep alive, and all that was within me. This quote puts to words that struggle that I felt. I had a Smithy within me all along, and that little creature saved my life.

#Woops made myself cry with that last one #Sorry Tragedeigh for stealing so many of your answers but you are absolutely right #Rote #Realm of the Elderlings ask meme thing

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nebulousfishgills · 11 months

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Fanfic Asks, friend!

A [HTM], F, H, K, M, S, V, W

Yayyyyy more asks!!

A - How did you come up with the title for His Tenebris Moenibus?

Honestly, titling fics can either be the bane of my existence or the greatest thing I ever do. HTM was the former. This was about a year ago now so I don't entirely remember all the minutiae, all I know was that I wanted something in Latin to make it sound fancy. Then I just went through the process of putting together thematically appropriate combinations of words and phrases until Google Translate spit out something cool sounding:

Within These Dark Walls... in reference to the Creel House, is I think what One Year Ago Fishgills was thinking. Cause, as we know, a lot of shit happens in that house, and usually it's dark inside. Within the dark walls of the Creel House, These Dark Walls.

I wish I could say it was as clever as Diplopia, but no, this was very much Spaghetti Against The Wall To See What Would Stick.

F - Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why it's your favorite

I have no self control, you're getting several cause I can't pick a favorite.

I have two from His Tenebris Moenibus:

"If this is supposed to be hell... why is it so beautiful?" Emily asked quietly. "Normally I wouldn't think a place so desolate and destructive would be, but..."

"A world untouched by mankind." Henry said, somewhat answering her question. "A land with no structure, nothing chaining anything down. It's beautiful because it's free."

This is when Emily and Henry are banished to the Upside Down and they're exploring this new hellscape they're stuck in. Honestly, I just really, really love Emily asking why a supposed hell is beautiful to her. I think it's a similar effect to when people go to desolate places to appreciate the beauty that humanity hasn't touched/changed or simply can't, like the tops of mountains or sunsets.

Really, I think it just shows what this goal of theirs really means to them. To us, we see it as wiping out humanity and its structures in a bid for control out of a probably over-exaggerated distaste for human systems the rest of us understand a certain need for. To them, though, they see human systems as shackles or "straitjackets" that cascaded into the sources of their suffering.

It was social stigmas about young births out of wedlock that got Emily sent away to Valentina's and (as far as we can suspect) Virginia's need for the picture perfect nuclear family that Henry simply couldn't fit into that led to his troubles. They want to erase humanity to erase human suffering, suffering they went through. It's a horrible way of going about it, but when you scrape away the grime and blood it's somewhat of a sweet sentiment. And, to them, the blank slate the Upside-Down seems to show is opportunity, a blueprint. Sure it looks desolate and inhospitable, but that's not how they see it.

Besides, they survived in it for all those years. At the end they want, they'll be the two sole survivors. It just checks out.

"Emily... please..." Eleven whispered. "You... you were the closest thing I had to a mother in that place. Remember? We drew pictures together. You would sharpen my pencils when they broke because I pressed too hard. I drew a picture of you, me, and Henry. Outside of the lab in the sun under a rainbow... a real rainbow. I wanted you both to take me away from there, away from Papa. When I hid in the closet, I thought we were going to... before you... I thought we were going to escape and be a family. A real family."

"Don't be afraid." They heard Henry say next to Max. "Try and stay very still. It will all be over soon." Eleven continued, gaining back Emily's attention.

"We could have found a house to live in. You would teach me more words, about how life is supposed to work. Teach me to use my powers in a supportive way. Not using fear and punishments like Papa. There would be a garden out front with blue and yellow flowers mixed with roses. We'd run around the yard and play games. We could dance to whatever song came on the radio."

Henry raised a hand, caging Max's face like he had the others.

"I could go to a real school and make real friends. Henry could help me with my homework while you made dinner. Real food. We'd go to the park and go on the swings, each of us trying to go higher than the other two. We'd ride the Ferris Wheel on the fourth of July while the fireworks exploded over our heads. We'd host sleepovers for my friends and eat too much ice cream."

Emily's limbs tingled slightly the closer Henry grew to taking Max's soul.

"I never wanted to destroy the world or remake it. I never wanted to hurt people. I just wanted to escape, escape with you so we could create our own world for ourselves. A family. But after what you and Henry did to the others in the lab, I knew that we could never have that. I wanted to believe that you were both good people who were trapped like I was. And part of me still does, still believes you both can put a stop to this before it's too late." Eleven was fully crying at this point, tears dragging down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. "Please, Emily, listen to me. You were my protectors once... what you're doing is wrong, all of this is wrong. Stop this before it's too late to turn back."

I like this monologue I gave Eleven because I like the idea that she can find the power to resist and fight back within herself. In fact just recently I edited this chapter to remove most of Mike's monologue since one, almost nobody likes it, and two, it fits my theme-ing better if Eleven can fight back with backup support from both Mike and Will (he gets to encourage Eleven now, too) rather than total support.

That, and it's almost the other side of this coin the previous passage I included presents. Creating a perfect world shouldn't mean destroying the previous one and everyone in it, it should mean creating your own world for yourself and those you care about. Emily and Henry are just too damaged and disillusioned to understand the difference.

Eleven's perfect world was getting to grow up in a normal, happy environment with two people she saw as protectors, as opposed to Henry and Emily's perfect world where they're all alone with their abnormalities.

Now we absolutely *have* to take a peek at Diplopia since there's so much to unpack in almost every conversation. I'll be nice and just pick one, though:

"Henry, what's the matter?" Emily asked, her hands holding her upper arms as if stuck between sympathizing and chastising. He looked up at her, his bright blue eyes sunken and contorted in barely restrained anger.

"Don't you see what's going on here? They're trying to draw you in and take you away from me." Henry replied, pointing back in the direction they came from.

"Henry, don't be ridiculous. They're trying to be hospitable. I know it's hard for you to trust anyone, but you're being paranoid. Just because they're vampires doesn't mean they see you as a side dish." Emily said, her arms now fully folding.

"Please, don't tell me you haven't noticed Blondie over there looking at you like you're some fancy meal. His eyes never leave you."

"Just because Caius looks strangely like you doesn't mean you have to get jealous. He's just trying to be nice."

"You saying things like that makes me worry that you've fallen under his sway." Henry jabed his finger out again in an acusatory way. By now Emily was getting angry.

"I'm not spineless, Henry. To be honest, yeah, I've noticed. But you know that's part of what I do. I steal souls through allure. What makes this different than any of the others?"

"Because he has my damn face!" Henry yelled. "You fell for it once, who says you can't do it twice?"

"Henry Creel, do you even hear yourself? You're being a paranoid, jealous freak."

"Maybe you're not being paranoid enough!" Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want to go home as fast as we can. I don't want you being seduced by these... filthy bloodsuckers!"

When Emily didn't reply right away, Henry looked up at her to assess her expression. Her face immediately told him that he had fucked up. His eyes softened before Emily spoke.

"You... you do know that's what I am right?" She asked quietly. "I feed off of blood, too. Do you think I'm disgusting? Is that what you really think of me?"

"What? No, Emily, of course I don't!" Henry was quick to defend.

"Yes, you do. Don't lie to me. I could see it in your eyes. Every time Eddie and I had to feed, you were disgusted. Even when this became a need, you thought it was disgusting. That I was disgusting. Is that it?"

"Emily, no, I could never--"

"But you did!"

To me, this is the point in the story where we see the tone shift I never intended to happen, but did. Before this, it's largely been goofy fun with banter and these characters from two different worlds interracting. Sure there have been asides and innuendos, but nothing to indicate it could go far enough that this could turn into an actual deep rift. If we read His Tenebris Moenibus before this, we feel like Henry and Emily's bond seems incredibly strong, indestructable, nothing could tear them apart. After all the shit they've been through, nothing can come between them, right?

Really, in an ironic twist that can be taken in multiple ways, Henry is his own worst enemy.

We don't entirely know what happened between the end of HTM and Diplopia aside from some vague references. Eddie has to get resurrected somehow and that bond has to form among the three of them, Henry has to return to his human visage for the original joke to land, and between all of this there has to be some type of grating in his and Emily's relationship. I always saw it as Emily always feeling like she's seen as the second best and having to put Henry first in ways she feels like she doesn't get anything back for it. Then oops, here comes Caius, suddenly putting Emily first and giving her his complete attention without any strings attached (yet at least).

We sometimes forget that Emily is an inherently selfish person, so I don't think she was completely happy having to abstain from sustenance in the form of souls to bring Henry back since it was skin he hated that she learned to live with, even if she missed his human self. And of course Henry thinks drinking blood is a little strange, it's only natural he'd be a bit put-off by it.

These irrational thoughts Emily keeps on having are more dived into in her little monologue right after this, but here is I think where we as readers start to understand that something isn't quite right. That this is more than just a goofy crack fic and that it's actually something very serious... even if that wasn't my intention. There's that blend of the previous comedic tone with some of the things they say at the start of this passage, but it quickly evolves into something angstier.

That, and I keep compulsively saying "you're being a paranoid, jealous freak" when I'm alone. Which, that line has its own layers, but for the sake of brevity that I completely devote myself to, let's move on. I want to provide one more passage, this one from Necrosis.

It's not a passage I've published yet, not by a long shot, so it might need to be tweaked when the time comes. I'll avoid and censor spoilers by changing tenses and cutting off at a certain point, so bear in mind I'm not delivering the full context or truth, but I really want to talk about this:

"I don't know." Emily's tone remained even as she continued speaking. "I didn't really have a family growing up. I had disparate fragments of one, I suppose, but never anything like people are supposed to have. My mother abandoned me, I don't know who my real father was... I had a father figure at one point but he... I don't like remembering him, making almost twenty years of my life a living hell on earth, trapped in sterile white walls with the only reprieve being one room painted with rainbows. A sick joke.

"I had one person to rely on for twenty-five years, the first man I'd ever loved. I thought he'd be the only one I would ever love, both of us being damaged the way that we were. But... well you know that story. I had a best friend at one point, and a little girl I saw as a little sister or daughter at one point... Jane, oddly enough."

"But nothing that every really felt... whole?" Sulpicia offered. Emily nodded.

"I know I have siblings, but I don't know anything about them and they don't even know I exist. And I meant what I said when I grew up with someone who... another sister in law I'll never know."

"What was her name?"

"Alice. He never talked about her much. Some memories best left to the past." Emily paused, choosing her next words carefully. "I betrayed them all at one point. Both my parents died by my hands, directly or not. I turned my back on my Papa, I betrayed El- Jane's trust, I managed to hurt Eddie twice, and I... abandoned the first man I ever loved and who ever loved me. I knew leaving him would emotionally cripple him and I don't know if my doing that ended up getting him killed. All the different pieces of what could have been a family and I betrayed all of them.

"The day I walked in here, I was given all the love I had been missing in my life twenty, thirty, forty times over. Caius matched the love I already had in my life and more came with him. Maybe when I agreed to marry him, I wanted his family as much as I wanted him. For so long I said I didn't need one because I had all the family I needed. Picia, the Guard isn't beneath me, they're my friends, my cousins, even my siblings. And I have actual siblings to boot. You're my sister and Marcus is my brother..."

"But?"

"But I think I saw Aro as my brother first. The first one who greeted me when I got here, one of the first people I saw when I woke up, someone who seemed as insane and flawed as I was... and the first person who called me sister. We drive each other up the wall sometimes, sure, but... I'm just not sure what I'm feeling because I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

If you really critically think about it you might be able to piece together what's been going on, but if that's the case, so be it. This is by no means the end of this conversation, but I think it's a massive show of growth and introspection for Emily. Shit's been happening in Casa de Volturi and she can't just keep ignoring her problems.

That, and I really just wanted Emily to have a deep and personal moment with Sulpicia. Her sister by marriage, the only sister she's ever had. I feel like in twenty something years, Emily's talked about her past, but she hasn't been this vulnerable and detailed about it with anyone aside from Caius.

Me personally, I don't have a sister, but I know that can be a very important relationship and I wanted to display that to some degree. Emily simply can't go through life without letting people in, especially if she's going to be living with these people for thousands of years. She has relationships with the others, but again, other than Caius she's never been open about her past to anybody.

The twins are closer to younger siblings or even children to her and Jane isn't one you would usually exposition dump about your trauma to. Heidi's more like her Gal Pal she complains about current personal problems to rather than being abused in the Rainbow Room as a child. Mele maybe, but again, that's closer to a parent/child relationship and why would Emily burden Mele with past problems she can't properly comprehend.

It's not like Emily could talk to Marcus about this, the poor dude has his own baggage and hardly says more than a few words; Emily mostly ignores him. Aro's seen all of Emily's memories at one point most likely, so he knows all of this, but he's not the kind of guy she would pour her heart out to. If anything she's more guarded around him. Honestly, their dynamic is the closest Emily's gonna get to her relationship with Eddie in her Second Life, not someone you trauma dump to.

But I think it's important that Emily lets herself be vulnerable around more than just the person she's married to. I've written Sulpicia to be more wise and maternal... Chaotic in her own right, of course, look who she's married to. But honestly I really think Emily needed another woman to talk to. Someone who understands her (Sulpicia was an orphan as a human, too!) and who can be another shoulder to lean on. Emily letting all this out is a huge step for her as a person and for her and Sulpicia's relationship.

Of course this is by far the full context and it's not like this was a conversation that happened on a whim, lots of stuff has happened and it got ugly. Again, for spoiler's sake that's a secret for now, but even without all the context I think it's important to talk about this scene, even in part.

...and I'm apologizing for giving four very long answers to one question, the second one, no less.

NEXT!

H - How would you describe your style?

Many different ways. Descriptive first and foremost. I mean, sometimes I read other people's fics and think they're novel-worthy where mine may not be. Novella, maybe. I'm a bit jumpy sometimes, too, which contributes to that. It's rare for me to have many chapters cover the events of a few hours or a day, usually there's some kind of time skip. I'm getting better about it, I really think Necrosis is where I'm showing improvement with those skips, but they're still there.

I also can't really write something purely fluffy or comedic. There are ALWAYS darker undertones. I was talking about this with my JCB girlies on Discord just earlier today, but it's very rare you'll get a sweet moment from me that doesn't have some kind of undertone that makes it less than fluffy pristine. I can write Henry and Emily being affectionate all I want, it's never gonna be completely right. They're stuck in the lab forced to do this or that in regards to their relationship. They're in the Upside Down having a light conversation about murders they commited before making out on the sofa.

Guys, I turned a doppleganger crossover into a full blown angsty serious duology fic diving into relationship ethics and the role trauma plays in what we want in romantic partners and families. I can't write sunshine and fluffy clouds with unicorns relationship fluff to save my fucking life.

Lastly, this is something you've said about my writing before, but my ability to zoom in on small moments to display broader tones and contexts. It's one thing to say the conditions in HNL were abhorent for everyone involved, it's another to describe Two's tyrrany and all the ways Henry and Emily have been punished for small offenses.

A lot goes into my writing, so I couldn't give you a one or two word "style" to describe it as. Clearly, as with most things, I need six seasons and a movie.

K - What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

Can I say ripping Emily out of Henry's arms after all they've been through together in a scene that made me sob while writing it?

See, the thing is that most of the angst I come up with ends up getting used in one way or another. I suppose in one answer that's probably cheating, it's all the endings that I never wrote or I said weren't canon where my characters just don't get happily ever afters.

Maybe Alice's vision was a reality and Caius really died in front of Emily, the asshole she gave up everything for just taken away in an instant that she can't reverse. Maybe Loki never came back to life in Endgame (in my version he did and got to fight with the other Avengers cause I was piiiiiissed he didn't in the original movie) and Olivia has to watch everyone else get their happy reunions she will never have and has to learn to move on. Vengeance totally consumes Keira until she dies for, ultimately, a lie she created in her head and leaves her daughter behind in the process. So many things.

But I have another idea.

This is not something Emily knows, nor will she ever likely know since I won't really present the chance, but even if Henry did survive after they split ways, she shouldn't see him under any circumstances or even come anywhere near him. If she did, she'd discover that he would be her cantante, her blood singer:

Emily's self control around blood is already extremely strained, if she were to ever find a singer, she'd completely lose it and they'd be dead and drained before you could even say la tua cantante. If she were to ever see Henry again, she's instantly kill him because she couldn't control herself. Then she'd have to spend the rest of her extremely long life living with the fact that she killed her first love with her own hands, all because she couldn't control herself around his blood.

In a sense, unknowingly Henry became something like a forbidden fruit to her.

She'll never know this because they'll never cross paths again, but it's something that I know. And I know the consequences of what would happen if they did meet again.

They're not pretty.

M - Got any premises on the back burner you'd care to share?

I'm always coming up with little ideas, usually going towards the already in-progress fics. But sure, I'll bite.

One is a one shot I spoke of a while ago that takes place towards the end of Necrosis, not after. It'll have to be written and posted only after this point in the story itself because it would go into major spoilers. But the idea is that Emily gets to go back to Hawkins for a little while to just see how the town's evolved since she left. An all grown up Eddie turns up and after they both finally recognize each other, he basically tells her what's happened to Hawkins. Again, I'll keep some details to myself so I'm not revealing all my secrets, but I think it's going to really help Emily fully move past her human trauma that's in a sense been her ball and chain to some degree.

I've also briefly toyed with the idea of maybe trying to do a little Rule 63 and do something with Emily and a Henry who's a female. I don't think it'd change the story all that much, but I'm a sucker for evil women in fiction, let alone evil women lesbian power couples.

Also there's a mild temptation that comes with the idea of something adjacent to a high school AU where Emily and Henry just had normal lives and met in high school. All the classics, extracurriculars they support each other in, Henry sneaking in through Emily's window to study and "study," Henry using Victor's car to take Emily to a drive in, prom night...

Dammit, I'm just going through "Seventeen" from Heathers, aren't I?

Of course, it's not so much a plot bunny for a fresh fic, but once season 2 of Loki starts coming out, Time Variance Detected is getting a sequel. That's always been the plan ever since I knew there would be a season 2, but I'll start the planning and such once we get our first trailer... @ Marvel hint hint.

And maybe I'll write some about Lydia, my Sweeney Todd OC. I have a story in mind for her, but nothing beyond a "this happens then this happens" barebones plan. It's always hard to write fics for musicals because where's the line between dialogue and lyrics that need to be said for plot reasons. It's an idea though.

I also have some drafts I need to finish up that could be considered new ideas, but you'll have to wait for those...

I'll probably even have more ideas before I post this, but I'll stop here.

S - Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

I'm assuming most of my signatures are easy to identify. Corruption arcs, redemption arcs, evil power couples, evil women, transformation scenes, [X] to Lovers, references to other fandoms (some more egriegous than others), and various forms of angst.

Actual footage of me writing my fics tbh.

V - If you could write a sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Honestly... I wouldn't.

I think the fics I've read ended or began perfectly the way they did. Besides, they're not my stories and only their authors can truly continue them with the same essence and spark they started with. I don't think my writing style would truly capture that same feeling.

I'll instead use this time to do some Twilight fic recs since that's mostly what my bookmarks tab is... listen, the fics for this fandom can be straight up bangers.

This one I was initially apprehensive about since it's a first person fic, but honestly... it adds to the whole experience. The original novels are in first person and this author not only captures Bella's mannerisms, but vastly improves upon them. Plus, the tags of "Bella Swan with a Backbone" and "Out of Character Bella Swan" in sequence absolutely killed me. It's at a bit of a lul, but there are only two more chapters set to come out. Worth the read, 100%

This one just finished. This was I think my first forray into this flavor of Twilight fic and it's very well constructed. I always love fics that turn canon on its head, making Edward deranged at losing Bella and again, making Bella still feel like Bella, just Better. And the characterization is just 🤌.

This one. THIS ONE. MAGNIFIQUE. This author's got some wonderful works and I'd even go as far to say we're amicable. This fic made me feel so many emotions so intensely. I remember staying up well past 3 AM to just keep reading it before common sense won over telling me I had classes in the morning. Then the next day I kept reading... I screamed and flopped around so much I think my roommate thought I was dying. Again, not my usual prefered flavor but DAMN it's so good.

Plus, the way they wrote Caius and Athenodora's relationship made me feel like a middle schooler reading OTP fanfiction again. A peak feeling, squeals and audible "THEY'RE EVERYTHING TO ME" screeches included. You know, in case it wasn't obvious I'm very protective of Caius and whoever he's with at the time. That, and Thena deserves better and I'll go to my grave saying it

W - Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

I like both for different reasons.

Specific prompts means that I get more ideas from the prompt that I may not have come up with in a more broad one. It lets me work around new curves and provides a fun challenge for me.

General prompts let me be a bit more creative, of course. The world's my oyster and I can create anything I want from just a simple idea.

I couldn't really pick one or the other (wow, look, the bisexual disaster can't pick, shocker!).

We're... we're gonna pretend like I don't have several writing requests in my inbox I've been sitting on for months or even years at this point... I'M VERY SORRY, I PROMISE I WILL EVENTUALLY DO THEM.

***

But thanks for the ask as always! And again, here's the customary "I'm sorry for going way too overboard" statement... I genuinely can't help it.

#lmao why am i like this seriously like #gets one simple question and gives four responses like who fucking does that #me apparently #fishgills speaks #writing asks #ask game #fic writing #fanfiction asks #writing ask game #stranger things oc #twilight oc #avengers oc #spiderman oc #also some fic recs i guess?#beloved mutuals #my inbox is open

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itsapeterthing · 1 year

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9 with Bucky Barnes and Jack Russell (can be poly if you write poly relationships, I can't decide if I want one or the since I love both equally 😍)

Mornings with Bucky Would Include…

Headcanons on Mornings with Bucky Barnes

author’s note: hi hun thanks for requesting! others requested one for jack russell so his will be in a separate post! i hope you enjoy this short and sweet headcanon list!

masterlist || inbox || bucky barnes masterlist

i think when you two first started dating, there wouldn’t be much in terms of mornings together.

as much as bucky had opened himself up to the idea of a relationship, he couldn’t help but have this voice at the back of head that convinced him that something bad would happen.

and since you were his first priority, that would mean that you would fall asleep in his arms and wake up in an empty bed.

and every morning you would climb out of bed and make your way into the living room, finding him half asleep on the couch.

“why did you leave?”

“uh... i uh... snore.”

and you just cross your arms and give him a look.

eventually, you would convince him that you feel safer in his arms throughout the night and wake up with him beside you in the mornings.

every morning when you first woke up, you mentally thanked whatever architect had designed your bedroom window to face the rising sun because the way the light poured in through the blinds and onto buck’s back was heavenly.

^ yes, i think bucky sleeps on his stomach when he’s not holding you. i didn't think this until three seconds ago, but now its a hill i’ll die on. sue me.

it’s hard to say whether he wakes up first or you.

buck’s prone to waking up early thanks to his days of rough gigs back in the forties before his time in the army and being held captive by hydra, but if he’s really comfortable around you and feels secure in everything going on around him, I think he would snooze for hours past you.

if he wakes up first, he would probably stay still for a while just admiring you, not wanting to disturb your peaceful slumber.

sometimes (most of the time) he gets sentimental and thanks whoever’s looking out for him that despite everything else he’s dealt with, at least they gave him you.

buck is rough and ragged and probably wouldn’t say that to you first thing in the morning, but just know that he’s thinking it.

there are two types of wake up calls with bucky.

one, like the moment mentioned above,

where he would run his hand up and down your back, leaving kisses against your cheek.

(maybe even whispering a sweet nothing or two in his raspy morning voice he knows you love so much).

and you two would lay in bed much longer than either of you had anticipated, just basking in your slow mornings with one another.

however, the second one is much different.

(and arguably more romantic)

a lot of people, including bucky himself, forget what the super soldier was like before hydra and the army.

sure, he was tough and a flirt, but he was also cocky as hell and would tease his sisters, mom and steve rogers endlessly.

and you, his amazing, wonderful, beautiful significant other were no different.

seeing you in your peaceful daze, bucky would use his vibranium arm as a torturous alarm clock, letting the cold metal meet the sensitive skin around your cold waist.

and you, of course, jolt into consciousness.

“are you kidding me, buck!”

“what! you said you wanted to wake up early!”

-amid chuckles in the cockiest voice you’ve ever heard

“not like that!”

now, I would like to tell you that bucky would cook breakfast for you, but I don't know that what he made could be considered breakfast.

if you didnt wake up to him beside you, you'd wake up to the fire alarm blaring from the kitchen.

you’d find your poor bucky boy flailing over the stove, swatting smoke out of the way while he cursed to himself.

“shit. shit. shit!”

you’d appreciate the effort but after taking a single glance at the burnt monstrosity in the skillet, you’d give each other a knowing look.

“how about we go to a restaurant?”

“sounds like a plan, doll.”

probably both of your favorite parts of every morning was just waking up in each other’s arms and having the one you love be the first thing that you see (and a lovely way to start your day).

bucky would always be a bit more sentimental because every morning with you beside him was another day he got to have you by his side.

and he would never not thank his lucky stars that he’d have you to the end of the line.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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wooahaes · 2 years

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for the fanfic ask game: C, F, I, K

hiii savv <3 this is a long ask so i'll stick most of it under a readmore >:3

C: What member do you identify with most?

hoshi because tiger agenda /j

out of everyone i write for...? i think either wonwoo, woozi, or chris.

wonwoo because i think i tend to be a quieter person most of the time (sometimes i have days where i want to be Really social--but i'll usually take the backseat in heavily social situations), plus something something books and video games. woozi and chris because i think i tend to work hard on things that i'm passionate about and i find success in when other people appreciate those things. and also chris's low self esteem. also someone once said chris said he had a crush on cloud strife lmao me the fuck TOO babey thats one of my favorite edgy losers!!!! chris and his dad jokes also get me...

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

the saddest part of this specifying 'dialogue scenes' is the fact ive written other stuff i rly like but its not!!! dialogue!!! >:( so i cant talk abt it </3

anyway!! from singing in the rain:

[context: reader confronts jisung on the rooftop abt the fact they like each other]

“Han.” You looked him in the eyes. “If you don’t want to be with me, that’s okay. I just… I wanted to tell you, and I figured out why Hyunjin was so pissed at me. He thought I was using Felix to get over you. And… I don’t blame him for thinking that,” you looked away. “I wasn’t–I really, really did think I liked Felix. I just… I didn’t know it’d always be you until after I kissed him.”

“Always be… me?” He furrowed his brows, fingers curled around the edges of the bench. “I don’t understand.”

“I think… I’ve been looking for you in every person I’ve tried dating, and that’s why it never worked out. If you didn’t love me back, I would have moved on eventually,” you admitted. “But… If you don’t, then just say right now, okay? And I won’t hold it against you, and we can go back to being best friends.”

“I can’t love you,” he said outright. “Not when Felix–”

You met his gaze again. “Jisung. If Felix didn’t like me, would you hesitate?”

He said nothing for a while. “I didn’t think you’d love me. Everyone kept telling me to tell you, and… I couldn’t. I didn’t want to do it while Felix was hurting.”

“I get that,” you dragged your fingers against the painted wood, noticing the way blue chips stuck to your skin. “I didn’t want to, either. But… Chan said that we shouldn’t let other people stop us. He said Felix wanted us to be happy.” You paused for a moment. “Which… really sounds like him. It kinda sounds like all of us: wanting everyone else to be happy even if it hurts us.”

“I feel bad,” he said. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

You scooted a little closer, cautiously taking Jisung’s hands into your own. “I think… Someone’s going to come into Felix’s life and they’re going to love him the way he deserves to be loved. I wasn’t that person. I’ll always love Felix the way I love the rest of our friends,” you reached up, caressing Jisung’s face. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “But… I love you more. I know it’s early to say it, but… I really think it’s you.”

Jisung opened his eyes, watching you for a moment. “Can I kiss you?”

i will try to not go off abt this so much even tho it does come right before one of my favorite pieces of writing ("Kissing you felt like he could breathe again") but <3

i think when i made the decision to do a rewrite of enouement for stray kids, jisung felt like one of the more obvious options. i considered chris, but settled on han bc. idk im soft for him and had a different idea for chris--

im a hopeless romantic in the end so i think there's something very romantic about the sentiment of "i was always looking for you in every person i dated" tbh. while i don't believe in soulmates much (not in the idea of a soulmate being a single person but multiple people you can be compatible with), i like to think that jisung and reader in this fic were soulmates. it was always going to be each other in the end.

also i just like the sentiment of "i wasn't going to be this person for felix, but he'll one day be loved the way he deserves--i don't think we should feel guilty that i wasn't that person" tbh esp after dealing with that own shit in my life recently since i did end up having to have tht convo with a few friends over a dude who was crushing on me, more for myself than for anyone else

please know i almost picked the other short bit i like of reader basically breaking felix's heart bc i kind of like the way i wrote him (rambling and upset but still trying to look at a bright side while in front of them) there

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

soulmate aus. ignore that i literally jut said about that i don't believe in soulmates--i'm a slut for a good soulmate au when they're written well and it isn't insta-love (i'm down for an instant "oh, hey, let's try this out!!" kind of thing rather than a immediate kiss n tru luv sort of deal).

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

as of right now? uhhh god... i don't write pure angst too often but both of these don't have happy endings:

i can't run away - vernon fic that has very little romance written into it. vernon and reader (who are implied to have liked each other as more-than-friends) were best friends since middle school and reader has to cope with the process of losing him as the two enter into early adulthood and drifting apart, pretty much. it's lowkey a vent fic.

the seungkwan spin-off one-shot for sweet night :) i can't say much here but holly knows how it ends lmao

#wooahaes.ask #savv 🍕

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pumpkinupsidedowncake · 1 year

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Live(ish)blogging my reaction to The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost, for posterity, part one: the long ass introduction I feel obligated to read.

Introduction by Louis Untermeyer:

Every time I read the lore behind poems I know, which is three times, I learn something that fundamentally alters my perception of the work. Only once have I appreciated the insight. This occasion was not that time.

Additionally, and I don’t know why I’m surprised by this, but this guy is such a Robert Frost simp. I truly don’t think there’s a better word to describe it. When explaining how at first only one magazine wanted to publish any of Frost’s work, Untermeyer basically calls all the other magazines cowards with shitty taste:

They were totally uninterested in poetry that refused to repeat the pretty platitudes of verse; they were afraid to consider a new kind of pastoral poetry which, instead of using the shopworn stereotypes of exaggerated country sentiment, showed the country in its quiet, sometimes drab, but always true colors.

Like, wow. Rip to those other poets. Who, you know, were well-liked enough to get published and all that. But no, I’m sure their art was nothing but unimaginative drivel, Frost’s number one hype man says so and surely he wouldn’t be biased.

Moving on: how the hell is “poetic radiator” a job description?! Now I’m picturing Frost sitting against the wall, making loud humming noises and intermittently saying things like “Poems are cool, yo! You should write one!”

Okay, finally some valuable insight. By my definition of valuable which is extremely relative.

Preferring a reality of experience to a retreat to a fantastic dream-world …

Idk if that’s the right way to end that quote. fuck it we ball. This quote is referring to Frost, and it interests me because of what it could say about Arthur’s gravitation towards Frost’s poetry in Malevolent. It also explains why I’ve never felt particularly drawn to Frost.

Yeah, I should say this for context: the only reason I am reading this book, the only reason I bought it at half price books in the first place, is because I enjoyed the poetry included in that podcast. Well, that’s half the reason. The other is that I don’t really get Frost. I appreciate his artistry, but the emotions he conveys are not immediately relatable to me.

Take, for example: the big one. Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. The first time I learned of it was through the story behind Eric Whitacre’s choral piece Sleep. I don’t remember if I read it then or not, if I did it made no impression on me. Years later when I actually read and reflected on it, an admittedly childish dominated my mind:

why not just go into the woods for a time?

It’s bad weather, just get wherever you’re going late and blame it on the snow or forgetting something. Cell phones don’t even exist yet, you’re free! Nobody needs to know. The miles will be there when you get back.

I know what the poem is saying. I can understand the experience it’s speaking to, even. But unless I really try to get what it’s going for, I don’t. And that’s why I’m here, reading the longest introduction known to humankind, instead of working on the large assignments due tomorrow, as Robert Frost intended-in-reverse-as-in-definitely-would-not-appreciate-especially-since-he-was-apparently-a-teacher.

I want to get Frost’s poetry, or at the very least make my best attempt at it. I’m a nerd, I basically get a stat boost to this type of thing. I can do this. All I have to do is make it through this introduction. And then the actual poetry collection.

I did it. The introduction is finished. I’m being overdramatic, there were only like two pages left. The last thought I have to offer today is on the last line of the excerpt from Frost’s “The Lesson For Today”:

I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

It’s described as what he wants written on his tombstone. My first thought was “same”, my second was “wait a minute, is this just a universal thing?” and my third was “no, it’s because I refuse to pick a struggle.” Meaning not everyone would describe their existence as such, but plenty of people probably would.

So yeah. This has been a journey and it’s literally just passing through the gateway. Thanks for watching, like and subscribe, I will be back with more at some point.

#i have no idea how to tag this #tumblr user reacts to classic poetry #with too much snark considering they are reading it for no reason outside of their own enjoyment #apologies to any robert frost simps in the house tonight #things i have said

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masonevelyn · 2 years

Text

Moving past An Egotist

I'm much of the time asked while the lamenting closures. Everybody is unique. You can't invest an energy outline on the recuperating system. What I cannot deny is that the more you keep away from your aggravation, the more it takes to recuperate. We should go up against our aggravation Fake Paid Dating Sites and cycle it to mend and continue on. Expounding on it helps, articulating our thoughts helps, reflecting makes a difference. These things help, yet it depends on you to get these things going for yourself. No other person can do it for yourself and until you do, you will stay stuck. You won't flourish. It is your decision.

Torment is brief. Pride is until the end of time.

By gaining from the minutes throughout everyday life, we become more humane and can try to live in the at this point. We can unwind and open our heart and psyche to common decency before us at the time. We see, feel and experience everything all the more strikingly. Dating through online sites This is living. Right now is an ideal opportunity to encounter edification. Not sooner or later. Remember, how we connect with the now makes what's to come.

"Nothing we can do can change the past, however all that we do changes the future." ~ Ashleigh Splendid

At the point when we wind up wrecked, we don't need to feel regretful about it and irate. All things being equal, we ought to consider the way that how we Answer what is happening decides whatever occurs next for us. We can become discouraged and critical or we can view at it as a potential chance to make areas of strength for ourselves. It is each of the a decision. Being adequately courageous to be completely alive and conscious each snapshot of life, including the dull times, is to really encounter life to its fullest. What appears to be bothersome in life shouldn't Amolatina Scam make it lights-out time for us or stifle us. All things being equal, it ought to awaken us and help us to remember the things we ought to appreciate.

We should ease up, unwind and back off of ourselves. Large numbers of us find it simple to have empathy for other people, however have very little for ourselves. It never seems obvious us to feel it for ourselves. Self-Empathy is the way to mending. Carrying on with existence with an unequivocal love for ourselves makes a huge difference. We dispose of the "should haves" and the "could haves" and bit by bit find ourselves by being straightforward and remaining at the time. With next to no plan aside from being genuine, we start to find ourselves once more. We take care of being here in this muddled world and acknowledge how valuable life is.

The main genuine way to illumination is to drop all internal obstruction and be straightforward. We should be consistent with ourselves. We should permit ourselves to feel our sentiments and not be embarrassed or apprehensive. As I would like to think, all of our tension in life comes from:

- Lamenting THE PAST or

- Stressing Over What's in store

Eckhart Tolle makes sense of that every one of us has a voice in our mind that helps us to remember inconveniences from quite a while ago and furthermore urges us to stress over our future. A few people pay attention to this voice more than others. Certain occasions or encounters can make this voice in our mind run perpetually. The psychological mistreatment that happens in a relationship with an Egotist makes this over the top impulsive idea. This has been demonstrated and read up throughout recent years.

Tolle assists us with understanding that all pessimism is brought about by an excess of spotlight on the past or future. He makes sense of that concern and nervousness are brought about by a lot of future concentration and insufficient presence. Being caught before, either feeling angry or remorseful, is a consequence of a lot past and insufficient presence.

By zeroing in on the past or future and denying the truth of your present, you stay stuck. Recognizable proof with your brain makes believed be urgent. Tolle makes sense of that this psychological commotion keeps you from finding the domain of inward quietness inside you that is important to accomplish illumination.

Starting from the dawn of mankind, profound instructors of all customs have highlighted the Now as the way to illumination. Reflection is one way you can figure out how to live at the time and I energetically suggest you investigate it. It requires investment to figure out how to keep fixed on the present, and you might have to attempt more than one strategy prior to finding one that works for you, yet kindly don't surrender. It is not difficult to get diverted by time, commotion, uneasiness and dread. In any case, figuring out how to live at the time merits all of exertion. When you know how to make it happen, it is genuinely extraordinary.

Eckhart Tolle brings up that in hazardous circumstances, the shift to living at the time happens normally. The character that is time-bound is supplanted by an extreme cognizant presence that feels inconceivably invigorated. Tolle says for this reason certain individuals appreciate participating in perilous exercises, like skydiving. I realize for this reason my sibling appreciates hiking and running staggering distances.

It seems OK. While you may not know about it, risky and testing exercises Power you to embrace current circumstances. In a crucial circumstance, you should remain 100 percent zeroed in on the current second to guarantee your endurance. Getting away from the present for even a second could demonstrate dangerous. My sibling got a hiking sidekick without a moment to spare from falling through a fissure that appeared unexpectedly. On the off chance that he had not answered with feline like reflexes, she could have kicked the bucket. This sensation of living at the time advises you that you are alive. It is inebriating.

While it may not be simple from the get go, we can figure out how to partake in the current second and carry on with life to its fullest by tolerating that we are on an excursion into the unexplored world. Rather than being apprehensive, let this move you!

#Amolatina Scam #Dating through online sites #Fake Paid Dating Sites

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labyrinth-runner · 2 years

Note

Obi wan…in the shower…longing/need/relief if you can <3

Summary: Obi-Wan comes home from a long mission and all he wants is you.

Warnings: Implied smut? I'm going to apologize to Nonny because I feel like this isn't quite what they were expecting. Also its clone wars material so mention of death.

Pairing: Obi-Wan x Reader

Word Count: 1600

It was a long ride home. His mind wandered as stars skittered through his vision. Obi-Wan hated flying. With nowhere else to go, he was stuck alone with his thoughts. His thumb ran over the steering of his ship as he ran his other hand through his hair. This was a war of expendables. His men were nothing but nameless cannon fodder to the Separatists, and, unfortunately, to most in the very Republic they were born to defend. Obi-Wan almost wished he commanded an army of cyborgs, because at least then-

He thought of the droid steering his ship right now and shook his head. No, that wouldn't be much better, either. The problem wasn't the how war was fought, or even the why war was waged. The problem was the war itself.

It takes and it takes. Every battlefield that he manages to step away from steals another piece of his soul. Rips away another piece of his humanity as devastation lays in its wake. He has grown callous, he knows, having to sacrifice life, going against the very beliefs that the Jedi stand for. His decisions are no longer about avoiding loss, but rather avoiding a worse loss, and at what cost?

He has seen the face of Jango Fett die in more ways than he could ever imagine. For a man who died before this all started, he will never get peace. Obi-Wan bitterly laughed at the thought that the only people who would be strong enough to endure such costs of war would have to be mercenaries or bounty hunters.

Obi-Wan didn't have the stomach for it. Not when he was protecting Senator Amidala back when she was merely a teenage Queen with hope in her eyes as bright as the stars in the sky, and certainly not now when he had so much more to leave behind than the clothes on his back.

A Jedi does not deal in material things. They are collectors of sentimentality and memories. They touch many lives, and it is those interactions that they would rather carry with them. Small tokens of appreciation. Crises averted when catastrophe seemed a given. Little moments, pinpricks in the sky of the galaxy of their lives. They are one with the Force and the Force is in everything, therefore they carry everything.

But Obi-Wan carries so much more.

He has always carried so much more.

He carries hearts and hopes and dreams. Things that Padawans learn to leave behind, but Obi-Wan never really stopped being Qui-Gon's Padawan. Not by choice, and certainly not by reaching the completion of his study. He carries love in his soul, and though that glimmer of stardust in his eyes has grown a bit dimmer, it is still there and it still shines as steady as his heart beats.

Images flash through his mind. The planet he left behind. The siege had been fought for months, the people finally liberated, but at what cost? Their fields were scorched from cannon. Their crops would never grow back. Their children are hungry orphans. Their wives turned to widows. They won, but it felt hollow. They won freedom. They won survival. But, he lost so much to do it. He thought of all the leaders he met over his time there. All the tribes that came to their aid. He'd seen their faces and their eyes before in all the other planets that he had liberated in the course of the war. The grim determination to get rid of the occupiers. The need for freedom. The hope that now, with the Jedi, they would be unstoppable. What is machine against flesh and blood and the Force?

But then the battles raged on. Every inch of dust contested over like the galaxy depended on it. Lines of demarkation shifting with each interaction. Combat zones where homes should be. Men dying where they used to live.

Obi-Wan was tired. He was tired of death. He's tired of holding the same man in his arms as he dies over and over again. He'd rather be holding you.

You and your infinite warmth and understanding. He wanted to wrap you in himself. To protect you. He sees you in every spouse left behind to pick up the pieces. He works hard to make sure he doesn't let that fate happen to you. Every time he reaches down to pick up the memory of a horrific event or loss, he holds onto one of you instead, not wanting to overwhelm the good with the bad.

He thinks of you as his ship hurtles home.

Home.

The Jedi are dispersed like grains of sand in the wind. They are meant to be wherever they land until the next gust carries them away. They are not meant to be trees, firmly rooted and immovable. But, Qui-Gon knew what you have seen. That Obi-Wan is no more a grain of sand than you are. He is a seed. Small and tiny, but with the capability of so much more if given the right nurturing. He has landed in your garden and you have let him grow. To entwine his roots with yours, a tentative inosculation that helps him feel tethered in an uncertain storm.

He wants you.

He wants to hold you, to kiss you, to make love until he can atone for all the destruction he left behind. He knows the opposite of war is not peace. It is love. Peace is tentative. It means nothing unless an affection between the two parties can keep it going.

Streaks of light turn to pinpricks as Coruscant looms before him. For the first time in months, he feels like he can breathe.

The ship touches down in the dead of night and then he is running. With a wave of his hand, all doors open before him as he makes his way to you. To home.

He stands in the doorway to the bathroom, watching you under the stream of water as you hum to yourself. His hands twitch at his sides as his cloak pools on the floor. His eyes trail down your body and he runs a hand down his face. It's been too long since he's seen you. The memories of the way your body fit against his, of the curve of your smile when you laugh, of how your eyes light up when you see him have long since faded from too many nights of reliving them until the dawn breaks and he is forced to tuck them away.

Obi-Wan pulled you into him, hugging you in the shower, still fully clothed. You're shocked at his sudden appearance, but then tears slip down your cheek in relief. He is home. He is safe. Your hands cup his cheeks before running everywhere they can reach, making sure that he is real and that he made it back in one piece.

He nudges his nose against yours, wanting to kiss you, but knowing that you will not be satisfied until you know he is here and he is whole. What you do not know is that you make him whole. He brushes his thumbs across your cheeks, bringing your gaze back up to him.

"You came back," you murmured, throat full of emotion.

"I always come back."

You leaned into his hand. "The daily reports... I was worried that you'd been hurt."

"Nothing that seeing you can't fix," he said in a soft voice. And you knew that he meant it.

He had waited so long for this moment. Waited so long to have you in his arms again. He can't wait another moment. His lips press against yours. At first, they're warm and soft, like the first kiss of spring melting away your fears and worries like the frost. Your hands grip his wet tunic, pulling him closer as you kiss him back. Relief turns to need. The urge to explore each other and inspect for discrepancies in your memory takes over as your hands peel off the layers of clothes that cling to his body like a second skin. You clean the dirt of battle from his skin, replacing it with soap and kisses, cleansing body and spirit. His hands are rougher than you remember, but his touch his gentle. Your back is pressed against the tiles as the two of you fit back together. His breath comes in pants against your neck and you close your eyes as you think of all the moments where you laid awake in bed dreaming of this. Your lips cover his, swallowing your name from his lips. You place your feet back on the ground afterwards. Your legs are unsteady, but this is the most sure you've felt in ages.

You take his hands and lead him to bed. You know he's tired. The rest of his troops won't arrive for another two days. He'd left early and flown straight through to get to you. He hasn't slept in a normal bed in normal conditions in months. He's asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, his arm slung over you. You stay up a while longer, studying him in the inconsistent light of passing speeders from the window. Your fingers lightly trace scars on the planes of his back. Most are old, but you see one or two that you don't recognize. You'll ask about them later. You pull the covers up over him and snuggle into him.

Leaning close, you whisper, "I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

He barely stirs, but you see him smile and you know he's heard you.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi smut #March kiss list

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chateautae · 3 years

Text

maybe i do | kth. II

➵ summary : maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳ part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre : arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 10k

➵ warnings : none really, swearing, mainly fluffy and funny interactions, some angst! :o

➵ a/n: and i’m back with chapter two! i really wanted to say thank you for the love and support i received on the first part of maybe i do, it was astounding!! i’m so grateful so many people loved the story and asked to be tagged (all at the bottom <3), it made me feel so motivated to write. if you would also like to be tagged please message me. your feedback is always appreciated!

chapter two : “on my pillow, can’t get me tired”

prev. ↞ || ↠ next || masterlist

Taehyung didn’t remember sleeping anywhere near you last night.

He remembered that even though you willingly agreed to share the same bed, he still opted for caution and slept with the most space between you two as possible.

Though when his eyes fluttered open the next morning, eyeballs burning from the light that bled into the suite, the first thing he realized was that he was not on his side of the bed from last night.

No, he had somehow gravitated towards the center, and as if almost on cue, your slight movement and the sound of your breathing alerted him of your nearby presence.

Peering down at you, Taehyung caught sight of your sleepy head turned towards him and lying on his arm, his other thrown over your torso with you unsuspectingly nuzzled into his side.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open, acknowledging he had succumbed to his habit of hugging something to sleep during the course of the night and he internally panicked. He began retracting his arms slowly, just about drawing himself from you until alarms rang in his head at the sight of you stirring in your sleep.

Taehyung took the golden opportunity to sit up in a flash, having to physically shake his head to rid the image of your tranquil, sleeping face from his brain, crushing the thought that it was kind of cute.

He found himself chanting the same denial from last night, he couldn’t be thinking of such complicated things concerning you when he knew the second he’d step foot inside his home, there’d be a mountain of paperwork ready for him; even more on his work desk.

He had to be thinking about his job, not you.

Even if Taehyung was married now, it wouldn’t lessen the amount of work that plagued his life nor make it any less demanding. If anything, his life would be harder now considering the fact that he had another priority to add to his list, another aspect of his life he had to split his attention between.

He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, just found himself needing to work harder than he already was.

Taehyung sighed heavily at the thought and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He took a moment to look back at you, thinking if he observed you a second time he’d be able to piece together how the hell you two ended up in that position, that close.

By evidence of the forgotten blanket half-thrown off you, he could see you were the tossing-and-turning type, maybe the only explanation for your proximity considering he was the same.

He also noticed you slept all curled up, like you were cold and the only warmth you knew was snuggling yourself.

Cute.

There it was again, cute.

Why does that word even exist?

Taehyung discarded the notion altogether and stood to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles. He made for the bathroom eagerly to begin his day, though not without fixing at least some of the blanket back onto you.

“You don’t have a driver?”

“Not for everywhere I go. I have two hands, I can drive myself.” Taehyung made it a statement to jazz hands at you, showcasing the perfectly capable limbs he was gifted with.

“That’s.. nice, actually. I always see asshole CEO’s getting other people to drive them around.” You relayed as you trailed behind Taehyung, letting him lead you towards the front of the hotel where dozens of expensive cars lined the curb side.

You had no clue which luxury vehicle belonged to Taehyung because quite frankly, he could probably afford every car your eyes caught sight of. It wasn’t until he approached a certain one and retrieved his keys from the valet that your jaw completely dropped, floored.

“This is your car?” You gawked, the sleek design, crispness of its shape and nearly sparkling gloss completely sweeping you off your feet.

“Yeah, think someone like me can’t get a car like this?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself.

“It’s just-wow. Mercedes CLS?” You inquired without really looking at him, inspecting the car instead as you admired its every curve. Safe to say, you were beyond in love with it. Even if you were always more of a minimalist and preferred the average product, there was just something gorgeous about luxury cars that appealed to you.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Taehyung looked at you impressed, momentarily reminded of just how different you were compared to any other woman he’s chanced upon.

How many of them knew car models?

Taehyung was intrigued by the fact before speaking with one of the hotel workers, confirming if they had loaded his car with both your luggage and some wedding sentiments your parents insisted you keep.

Once receiving affirmation Taehyung made towards your side of the car and pulled the door open. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he gestured for you to hop in, drawing you out of your stupor. You thanked him warmly before sliding into your seat.

He let you scramble in comfortably before shutting the door and walking to his side, positioning himself in and clicking on his seatbelt. He watched as your expression lit up once occupying the car, face beaming with excitement as you touched and drank in at the high-end features the vehicle had to offer. Taehyung found himself smiling before he licked his lips and straightened his face, igniting the engine and beginning the smooth drive.

It was easy to settle the debate on where you both would be living. Taehyung was an enormously rich CEO who lived in an expensive, massive home while you lived in a measly apartment. You knew it was useless to live separately, even more useless to have him live with you. And so you agreed without protest to pack your things and relocate, begin your move into the house you’d share with him for a lifetime.

The car ride remained quite silent, you mindlessly bopping your head to whatever mainstream song played on the radio, while Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel or his lap.

You found your eyes wandering to his slender fingers wrapped around the wheel every so often, sometimes venturing to the other one he placed against his thigh. You began reprimanding yourself once you realized with all the staring, observing and ogling, you most certainly had a thing for his hands already.

Fuck.

They were just so big, bigger than what you’ve seen of the average man and it didn’t help that they looked crafted to perfection.

There was just something about the veins that decorated them, his palm large in size as his fingers seemed deft turning and working the steering wheel. His little accessories like a ring or two, bracelets and his watch did absolutely nothing to deter your interest either.

It only increased once you realized he looked good driving, really good. You knew men had this common attractiveness to them when they drove, watching them all focused and effortlessly working the car somehow sexy; but watching Taehyung drive was another experience entirely.

He looked insanely hot, and you felt like throwing yourself out your window for even thinking such a thing. It was another case of you ogling him without realizing until his deep voice suddenly fished you out of your thoughts, questioning. “Did you like the wedding?”

“Huh?”

“The wedding, did you like it?” Taehyung repeated, glancing at you.

“Does it really matter if I did?” You asked, this one phrase seeming to perfectly sum up the misfortune of your life, provoking an ironic laugh even.

“I think it does. A bride should always enjoy her wedding.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You deadpanned, your expression turning frustrated having to remember that one of, if not the most special night of your life had just been robbed of you, thrown to the wolves while you were only left to accept the sad fact.

“C’mon, you didn’t enjoy a single thing?” Taehyung didn’t mean to flash back to the kiss you two shared, though found himself doing exactly so.

You didn’t enjoy that? he questioned in his head.

“Not really, I just imagined having more choice in the wedding.” You answered honestly, trying not to sulk so much. “It’s not you, I just... thought I’d be able to decide things at my own wedding. I’m grateful your parents did so much, but I didn’t really get to choose anything.” You grew more solemn as your gaze fixated on nothing, watching the world pass you by through the car window.

“My favourite flowers weren’t even there.” You said only despondently to yourself, shoulders drooping, though Taehyung didn’t miss it.

“You don’t like roses?”

Your eyes flashed towards him with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he heard your comment. You straightened up before shrugging back a response. “I like peonies.”

Taehyung looked at your side profile as you turned away, finding the conversation turning more sorrowful than he liked. He allowed some silence to linger as you leaned your chin against your palm, boringly watching the bustling streets.

He decided to change the subject.

“So you don’t think I’m an asshole, huh?”

“What?”

“You said you always see ‘asshole CEO’s’ getting people to drive them around. But I don’t, so I’m not an asshole to you?” Taehyung halved his attention between you and the road, glancing in your direction with one hand working the steering wheel.

You thought the question over, “No, you’re not an asshole.” You said simply, distracted by the thoughts that previously occupied your mind.

“I see.” Taehyung pursed his lips. Another beat of silence passed through the downcast air before Taehyung perked up again.

“Is it just the driving? Or do you have other criteria?” Taehyung asked inquisitively, leaning back into his seat as he observed you.

You could detect from the corner of your eyes the way his stance drew attention to his legs, thighs broad as he sat. “I guess there is.”

“Like what?”

You didn’t really know why Taehyung was so curious. You thought it was common knowledge what the stereotypical asshole CEO was like; they were nearly all jerks with horrible one-percenter mentalities and treated people like gravel.

You scoffed a bit. “They’re usually so full of themselves. They act like they own the place all the time, which makes sense at their own companies but not everywhere else. It’s like the position gets to their heads. Even the way they talk is condescending, belittling, or straight up rude to anyone not on their level. It wouldn’t kill to be nice.” You revealed almost too eagerly, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung as you viewed the traffic on the road ahead, remembering he was a CEO himself.

Long story short, you’ve had your fair share of experiences meeting them as you grew up during the beginnings of your father’s company. They were quick to skew your opinion ever since you watched the way they treated your father all due to having a start-up, for simply being small in name or reputation. They acted like he was less than, some even daring to behave as though his company would simply never make it.

It always boiled your blood, left an extremely distasteful image of CEOs and the business world in your head.

And you were certain it all sucked after that.

“Understandable.” Taehyung nodded agreeably. “But you think I don’t fit any of that?” He rested a hand against his thigh, sitting laxed as he spread his legs apart further. This time it was definitely hard to miss the way they appeared, all laid out and long as your eyes drank him in, following up his thighs all the way to his-

“You don’t. I thought maybe since you’re super successful you’d be full of yourself. But you’re not, really.” You snapped yourself out of whatever the hell you were doing, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ah, seems like a stepping stone.”

“Stepping stone? Towards what?”

“Towards you not hating me.” His voice came out with a more solemn timbre than you expected, his jaw tightening for a mere second.

Taehyung only thought such a thing because even if he decided you didn’t harbour negative feelings towards him, there was no way of him determining whether that was true or not without your real input.

“I don’t hate you, Taehyung. I don’t.. think I can.” You claimed with poignancy, his statement causing you to reflect on your own feelings about him.

You don’t hate Taehyung, you couldn’t because he did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. He was dragged in just like you were. You only despised the unfairness of the arrangement, not him.

There wasn’t much to hate about him.

“So you’re saying you like me then, aren’t you?” Taehyung suddenly teased light-heartedly, all smug as his amused eyes flickered to you.

“Shut up, I never said that.” You turned away, scandalized by his remark.

“I’m kidding. But, why do you think you can’t hate me? I pretty much.. ruined your life.” Taehyung internally felt his chest tighten at the words, remembering the exact thoughts from where he stood no less than 24 hours ago, seconds from lawfully marrying you.

“And I didn’t ruin yours?” This time you turned your gaze towards Taehyung, meaningfully. Your eyes instinctively communicated your emotions as they locked with his for a moment, Taehyung all attentive.

“I took away from you just as much you took away from me. We both ruined each other’s lives, there’s no use in blaming each other. That’s why I can’t hate you.” You finalized, crossing your arms and opting to watch the passing buildings through your window again.

Taehyung absorbed your sudden confession with reason, realizing that in a sense, you two were partners in this unfortunate case. Even if your matrimony constituted a forced partnership neither of you liked, there seemed to be a natural comradery in having to deal with the aftermath of that forced partnership.

Trying to accept it.

“I don’t think I can hate you, either.” Taehyung admitted, ending the more miserable part of the conversation as you fell silent. You thought he was done until he decided to bother you again.

“I think you’re still saying you like me, though.”

You turned to him half-appalled before pointing towards the road, eyes narrowed. “Just drive us home, will you?”

Taehyung laughed at the moment and pressed down on the accelerator, internally grinning at the fact you never said no to his statement.

“This is your house?” You found yourself gawking again at something that belonged to Taehyung, stepping inside a luxury home you’ve only ever dreamed of living in. Sure, you lived with your parents until you were 18, though your father was still starting out with his company for most of those years, not exactly owning anything too luxurious until after you permanently moved out.

So as you stood trying to prop your heels off yourself, your jaw dropped at the sheer elegance and high-status look to the interior of Taehyung’s home. You had already done enough gawking at the exterior, but being inside and processing the fact that you were now to inhabit this home for the rest of your life sent another wave of shock.

You immediately observed Taehyung was the type who decorated his home with only the finest, his taste easily identifiable. Aesthetic, lavish, charming. He seemed like a man of utter simplicity though his home said otherwise, showcasing an artistic, exquisite feel you never really expected from him.

“When will you stop saying that?” He titled his head and smiled through a laugh, removing his shoes and slipping into his indoor slippers.

“Right, sorry.” You were still struggling for normalcy, somehow forgetting almost every hour Taehyung’s wealth and only registering it once you saw something that indicated it.

Taehyung sauntered inside and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of his abode. He enjoyed nothing more than being home, in the comfort of his own space. Especially for someone who worked so busily, he found pleasure in doing the bare minimum at home. Relishing in the feeling right now, he pressed his lips together in a smile before glancing back at your struggling figure, catching sight of your size.

His eyebrows shot up to the sky. “Woah, you’re short.”

“Huh?”

“I think I’ve only ever seen you in heels.” Taehyung informed. “Now that you’re not wearing them you’re a lot shorter than I thought. You’re tiny.” He pointed out as he eyed you from head to toe, processing the amount of height you lost simply from removing your shoes.

“I mean, that’s kind of what heels do, you know, they add height.” You deadpanned, stating the obvious for him.

“Sorry, it’s just..” Kind of cute, he thought, though fought for another response. “I could probably throw you.”

Nice save.

“Excuse me? It’s not my fault you’re so tall.” You scowled at him. “Besides, you’re all height and no muscle, you probably can’t even carry me.”

“Wanna see me try?” Taehyung was already coming towards you with his arms held out and you sputtered immediately, “No, no, no.” you held your hands up defensively. “Let’s just start the house tour, yeah?” you offered a smile for compromise.

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes coyly and turned on his heel, signaling you to follow him.

What you realized strolling through the home as Taehyung discussed its details was that it emphatically represented him like an open book. Even if Taehyung was predominantly unreadable and seemed to always hide a mystery behind his eyes, you could see nearly all of him reflected in his home.

You often found valuable trinkets or sentiments scattered around the house. It seemed like he cherished a lot of things in his life, namely memories or people. It would also be hard to miss the exquisite selection of paintings and embellishments he draped the walls with, all harbouring their own charm and adding to the overall artistic feel of his home.

There were famous works consisting of Vincent Van Gogh all the way to local Korean artists you’ve never heard of, though admired their work.

It seemed as though he selected the paintings himself.

Another large aspect you couldn’t miss were the many photos he kept, calling to question whether they were of his own work.

“Did you take these?” You approached a shelf in one of his grand hallways on the second floor, hand brushing the wooden frame of a captured photo; six men including Taehyung himself posing comfortably, like they were extremely close, backdrop reflecting what seemed to be a trip.

“I took all of them.” He stated casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he eyed the shelf along with you.

“All?”

He simply nodded and didn’t elaborate further as he watched you admire the photos, yourself impressed by his adeptness for photography.

“You’re really good.” You complimented absentmindedly, enjoying the other photos of not only people but scenery, empty streets, candid shots from what looked to be his own little adventures.

“Thanks.” Was all Taehyung could manage, trying to mask the sheer gratitude he felt hearing the first ever person to admire his work; something that wasn’t related to being a CEO or a businessman.

He also felt slightly embarrassed you’d seen a small part of him he usually hid.

Taehyung continued walking down the hallway until he reached the end, revealing what you could tell was the largest room in the house. You were thrown off by just how unnecessarily large it was. It seriously reminded you of an extravagant hotel suite, more like the grandest one among them.

“This is our room.” Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards its interior.

“Our?”

Taehyung nodded “I should’ve told you earlier but I wanted us to sleep in the same room. If we slept apart our marriage wouldn’t look convincing to my two housekeepers. I trust them but I don’t want any information about us getting out to the public, not over my dead body.” Taehyung stated in earnest as he relayed the information, wandering further into the room.

“You really care that much about publicity?” you genuinely questioned.

Taehyung scoffed. “Not me, I couldn’t care less about what people think.” He denied instantly, almost laughably. “It’s my father. He hates bad press, especially concerning our family or the company.”

“I thought bad press is still press, so it’s good.” You suggested as you followed him further into the room, admiring that though large, his room held a sense of comfort to it. Quite frankly, all of his home felt rather welcoming and cozy, surprising of a CEO who ran such a monstrously successful company.

“My father doesn’t think so. Kim Enterprises has always been generational, each of our CEO positions strictly kept within the family. Our name is our brand and pride, it alone accounts for at least half of our success. We’re extremely well-known for our high status, it’s just plain fact in the upper social circles of Korea. We can’t afford to taint our name with petty things like bad press or corruption, our reputation is too valuable.” Taehyung stated this all nonchalantly as he adjusted his suit jacket in his mirror, like it was something he’s grown accustomed to and has known all his life.

You found your opinion impeding his words.

“So you can never just, escape this life? As long as you’re a Kim you’re bound to this company?” You found the concept wildly restrictive, clearly shackling down any person that would run the business and you felt a disagreeing shiver shoot through your spine.

“Of course, why would you want anything else?” Taehyung tiled his head to the side, eyeing you in genuine questioning and your entire being was trying to bite back the desire to correct him, tell him there’s so much more to life than just some company your family owns. Though you opted for changing the subject instead, unwilling to step on his toes and dictate his life when you knew next to nothing about it.

It wasn’t your place.

“Woah, you have a balcony?!” You exclaimed with a simper, eyes flickering towards the curtains that revealed two ajar French doors leading to an open space.

You made towards it excitedly and stopped just in the middle of the platform, enjoying the breeze of the fresh air.

“It’s my favourite part of the house.” You didn’t even realize Taehyung followed you until his towering figure stood directly behind you, feeling his proximity permeate through your body.

You swallowed.

“Why don’t you look at the view?” Taehyung cocked his head towards the railing of the balcony, though you didn’t move a step.

You weren’t about to tell Taehyung you’re terribly afraid of heights.

“I-I can see from here. Wow, looks beautiful.” You perked up superficially, trying to throw him off and changing the subject again. “By the way, what’s our closet situation gonna look like?”

“Ah, let me show you.” Taehyung strided back into the room towards the sliding double doors you spotted earlier. He almost theatrically glided both dark wooden panels open and your jaw dropped for the 47th time today.

You were welcomed by a ridiculously large walk-in closet, enough to be renovated into its own bedroom. You simply couldn’t normalize its size, especially after registering every suit, tie, watch or accessory Taehyung stored in the gracious space.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money lied in here.

“Oh my God.” Was all you could manage, meandering in sparingly as you viewed each and every expensive piece he owned in the room, no doubt of the highest quality designers, finest of men’s fashion.

“You don’t have to worry about unpacking and moving in here, the housekeepers will do that for you.” Taehyung watched as you looked upon in awe, finding the way your eyes sparkled with emotion very similar to that of Bambi’s.

“How will I fit-”

“I specifically made space for you, there’s enough.” Taehyung stated, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’d resolved a while ago he really would try to take this marriage seriously, victoriously achieve the work-life balance his father kept preaching.

He saw giving up his closet space as the first step.

It was indeed so because Taehyung thoroughly enjoyed fashion. He genuinely adored every suit, accessory and outfit in his collection, though if he wanted to reach this new goal of balance, successfully add you to his list of priorities, then he had to be willing to cut down.

Even if that meant reallocating a third of his exorbitant wardrobe just for you, he’d try not to mind.

“Are you sure? I could just use another room’s-”

“I want to.” Taehyung finalized as his eyes turned unreadable from across the room, locking his gaze with yours and you were only left to look back impressed, his generosity unforeseen.

“Thank you.” You voiced a little weak, still shy by the suffocating nature of his stare.

“Don’t mention it.” He offered plainly, propping himself off the wall. He looked off to the side eyeing the empty pockets of space he left for you, until your voice called out to him.

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?” He snapped his vision back to you.

You wanted to ask him something, more so a favour and you were unsure how to word the request. “Um.. I didn’t want to ask so openly, but..” You found yourself beating around the bush, timid of what his response would be.

“Go on.”

“Um, so it seemed like there were a lot of empty rooms in this house, and I was just wondering if I could maybe.. transform one of them into an art studio for myself?” You winced at your own request.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I had one at my old place and it really grew on me. I would get most of my work done in that room and gained a lot of inspiration from it. I have a lot of art supplies and designed often in that studio, so I need a home for all my supplies and it would suck getting rid of it all. I’m sorry it means I would have to steal one of your rooms in the house, if you don’t want me to then-”

Taehyung couldn’t help but break out into a small grin as he watched you ramble on, shyly fidget with your fingers, so apprehensive of asking him for something and it reminded him why he was so eager to provide you with anything you wanted.

You spent too long trying to do everything on your own, achieve everything on your own, relying solely on yourself. Taehyung could see this all as plain as day, quite enjoying of how he’s never really met someone like you, and wanted you to know you didn’t always have to be so independent.

Especially with him.

“Y/N.” He called out to you with the same honey-coloured tone from last night, stopping you. Your eyes flickered to his, awaiting his next sentence and Taehyung already found himself having a thing for your doe-eyes.

Fuck.

“Of course you can have a room. You can have anything in this house. It’s yours.” Taehyung stated with a degree of assurance, his eyes locking with yours in earnest.

You both shared a look as your lips curved into a gracious smile, biting your lip to contain it. His stare wasn’t so much intimidating as it was merely.. calm. Gazing at you for the sole purpose of gazing, and you found some heat rushing to your face under his scrutiny.

Taehyung seemed to realize he was staring and immediately cleared his throat, turning a little nervous as he began another conversation. “So um, I’m sorry to say this,” he began with unease, almost apprehensive and you didn’t know what he was so sorry about. “But I have work today.”

You blinked. “What?”

Taehyung internally winced at your reaction, hands finding his pockets. “I took some time off for the wedding, so now I have twice the amount of work left behind. I need to complete it.” He informed straightforwardly.

“Our wedding was just yesterday, though, aren’t you tired?” You were only taken aback because you were slightly concerned for his wellbeing, wasn’t he tired from yesterday? You recalled him knocking out almost immediately upon hitting the pillow of your hotel bed last night, snoozing away.

“Maybe, but I can’t afford to rest. I’ll only have more to complete if I do, so I won’t be spending anymore time with you today.” Taehyung relayed the information, readying himself for the even greater disappointing news he’d be passing on.

“Actually, we won’t be able to go on our honeymoon, either.” Taehyung thought it was best to slip in all the bad news, growing more and more unrelaxed as he was unsure of how you’d react.

Though what you said next had him nearly floored.

“Honeymoon? Taehyung, that’s the least of my concerns, you should at least rest a day before getting back to work. That’s not really healthy.” You chastised him as lightly as possible, still afraid to be stepping on his toes when you didn’t know his life.

Taehyung was certain you’d hate having been stripped of a beautiful vacation where you could’ve relaxed in the sun and tropics of Cancun. Your father had mentioned to him you’ve always longed to visit the breath-taking city in Mexico, its clear waters and tropical air as a means to truly get away from your stifling life.

So when he found you disregarding the trip altogether and instead focusing on him, more precisely his health, he was left damn well speechless.

There you were again paying attention to the littlest things about him he didn’t care much for; he still had that bandage you offered him a month ago tucked into one of his pockets, not wanting to use the adhesive just yet.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry we can’t go on the vacation because of me, it would’ve been nice, you know?” Taehyung apologized, feeling genuinely guilty for having ruined the honeymoon. Even if you two weren’t going to travel as some lovey-dovey couple, you both simply could’ve enjoyed the time off.

“It’s okay, just, at least work from home today. Heading to the office would be too much.” You suggested for the sake of the fatigue you could discern on him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be home for the next few days since everyone thinks we’ll be on our honeymoon.”

“Oh. That’s.. good.” You nodded faintly, half at the idea you two were even faking your honeymoon and half at the blasphemous energy he had to work after yesterday.

The sleep from last night was nearly not enough to recharge from the antics of the wedding, having drained your batteries for the next few days. You were certain his were drained too; he was half the damn couple.

“I should get going. I’ll send Mrs. Choi and Seo up with your things. They’re probably finished with lunch too, you should eat.” Taehyung advised as he stepped out of the walk-in closet, running a hand through his gorgeous hair and you couldn’t help but ogle at the sexy way his strands fell back on him.

“Okay.” You voiced as you followed him out, watching him near the room’s door and just about to vacate the premise before you spoke up. “Taehyung.”

He stopped in his tracks, peering back at you. “Yes?”

“You should eat something, too.”

Taehyung half-smiled at you with a nod “Sure”, before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone.

And you couldn’t help but kind of like the way he smiles.

It was well into the evening now, bordering dinner time as you helped the last of your clothes into Taehyung’s closet, refusing to let the older housekeepers do all the work by themselves considering it was your own luggage.

You also tried to occupy Taehyung’s room as scarcely as you could with your belongings, feeling odd about suddenly moving in with all your might and changing things around. It just didn’t feel appropriate, like you were invading his space and so you opted for scattering only your necessary items.

“That should be the last of it, Mrs. Choi.” You retrieved your last piece of clothing from the rather soft-spoken housekeeper, tucking the blazer away among the rest. You were satisfied to see not only your wardrobe neatly organized now, but fit just about right with Taehyung’s things.

He was right about space, there was enough.

“Mrs. Kim, please rest. You didn't have to move a muscle at all for us.” Mrs. Choi remarked, genuinely concerned for you.

“Yes, please, Mrs. Kim. We can finish up with the little things. I’ve just finished preparing dinner downstairs, you should eat.” Mrs. Seo chimed in as she entered the walk-in closet, gesturing towards the door.

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Mrs. Kim, you’re very kind for offering your help, we’re very grateful you’ve done so. Though we are Mr. Kim’s housekeepers, we are meant to care for his home and his lovely wife. You need not worry about helping us.” Mrs. Choi stated with an earnest tone, speaking respectfully as she addressed you.

You were going to protest again before you considered her words, registering that if you indeed helped them, it would technically negate the entire purpose of their work.

You bit back your reply as a result, crafting a new one.

“I see, I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo, Mrs. Choi. I’m just.. very used to doing things on my own,” you looked towards the ground. “I apologize.” You almost dipped for a bow until Mrs. Choi rapidly cautioned you, scrambling towards your figure.

“Oh dear, Mrs. Kim! You do not need to bow to us, you’re Mr. Kim’s wife, you are the one who is bowed to.”

“Yes, you do not need to apologize either, we appreciate your help, it was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Seo added with a warm smile, bowing to you instead. “Please go for dinner downstairs, I’ve also informed Mr. Kim for dinner, though I’m unsure if he has made his way down yet.” She added on, urging you towards the room's exit and you recognized it was probably better to listen to her.

Even if all this high-class, status stuff had yet to sink in or make sense to you after being away for so long, you understood there was an eventual tolerance you had to build for it. Just as Mrs. Choi said, you’re Kim Taehyung’s wife now, and that came with a hell lot of status you hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet.

You could already tell it was going to be a pain in the ass.

“I suppose I should. I’ll get going, then.” You smiled graciously at both women, appreciative of their kindness and began vacating the closet. You just about pulled the room door open before Mrs. Seo suddenly came to you.

“Oh! Mrs. Kim,” she halted you. “I was informed by Mr. Kim to provide this to you. He would have done so himself though he’s quite busy at the moment.” Mrs. Seo extended her hand and presented a pristine looking card, black and incredibly sleek in design. Your eyebrows furrowed until you noticed the telltale symbols, almost ominously minimal branding indicating a rare card only those with some of the highest networths in Korea could own.

Your eyes widened in horror.

The Black Card.

“P-pardon?” You needed her to reiterate, there was no way Kim Taehyung was giving you a black card, the same card that was limitless on credit and only exclusively owned by the affluent one-percenters of society.

“He’s informed me this belongs to you now, and that you’re to keep it in your possession.” Mrs. Seo elaborated, smiling through the mental whiplash you were currently experiencing.

“Belongs to.. me? This is mine?” You were still having trouble processing, why would Taehyung be gifting you this? Who’s account was it even attached to? Was it yours and he’s decided to graciously pay all the expensive fees, or worse, was it joined with his own account?

Don’t tell me it’s joined with his account.

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. It’s yours.” Mrs. Seo held it out more outwardly, nudging it in your direction.

Your mouth fell agape for another second before you mentally collected yourself, quickly grabbing the card and thanking her as you made your exit, marching through the house for Taehyung’s unbelievable ass.

Taehyung could not be providing you with this card. It was irrational, simply had to have been a decision he made with at least two bottles of soju in him, right? You didn’t care what his reasoning would be, you were denying and returning this. There was no way in hell you’d accept this card, especially if he linked his own personal account to it.

You tried loosely recalling where Taehyung mentioned his study, logically assuming he was working there. You inspected majority of the second floor, working your way through the halls until you finally caught sight of the familiar wooden doors with glass panels, slightly ajar, light bleeding through.

You made for the room quickly and stormed in without a care, attempting to steady your breathing from all the rushing around. You caught Taehyung completely off guard, having shredded his suit jacket to instead sport the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, adorning black-rimmed, designer glasses.

He looked 100x hotter than he should’ve.

Taehyung suddenly propped up from the leaned-back position he’d assumed on his chair, expression caught by surprise. “Y/N?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

You held up the card and addressed him immediately. “Taehyung, what’s this? Why are you giving this to me?” You huffed, looking at him incredulously.

“The card? For you to use..?” Taehyung responded cooperatively, confused as to why you seemed so frazzled.

“But why, Taehyung? This is a black card, the annual fees on this are insane and I can’t pay-”

“You’re not paying for them, I am.” Taehyung cut in, shutting the binder he was holding and placing it on his desk.

“What? No, no way. If it’s my account then I should be the one-”

“It’s not your account, either, it’s mine.” Taehyung brought his elbows to his desk, hands clasped together in front of his lips. It was now he gave you that same intimidating stare he did back when you first met him, calculative and devoid of expression.

It seemed he did this when he got serious.

“Your account? But-Taehyung, this is your money, I can’t just have it. Please, take this back.” You stepped towards his desk to return the card eagerly, but Taehyung’s firm tone stopped you.

“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you to keep.” His words held this underlying sense of authority, scratch that, dominance when he spoke seriously, resolute. You could instantly tell he possessed a natural sense of alpha male characteristics, enough that even though he wasn’t being harsh or looming, his words and the tone he coated them with held more power than you could manifest.

You almost cowered, but remained adamant on returning the card. It was worse with the card attached to his account, you couldn’t just keep Taehyung’s money like it was your own, it simply wasn’t. Your money sat ordinarily in a separate account on a separate card, which you were happy enough to use. You weren’t going to mooch off of him, it went against every principle that made up your very being.

“This is your money, Taehyung. I have no right to use it.”

“You’re my wife. You have every right in the world to use it.” Taehyung countered with no emotion, or at least any you could discern, uncertain what was running through his mind with only his eyes as a guide towards the answer.

And you knew his eyes didn’t tell.

“Taehyung, this doesn’t feel right to me. This isn’t my money and I can’t use it.” You emphasized more strongly, drawing closer to his desk though halting your actions once he spoke again.

“My money is your money, you can always use it.” You knew he was relaxed, appearing practically unbothered as he leaned onto his desk and eyed you. Though with the intense look in his eyes, his aura screaming for anyone within the vicinity to submit to him, he could easily seem frustrated with the situation, namely you.

And it made you want to crawl into a hole.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve already intruded your home, taken your closet, your room and even an extra one just for myself. I will not take your money either. Please, take this back.” You held out the card more prominently, desperate to have him understand you.

Taehyung wasn’t necessarily frustrated by you, no, he was slightly pissed you kept referring to everything as just his and not yours, that he was the only one considering you two as a married couple now while you still viewed each other separately.

Did you not see him as your husband yet?

He also disliked the fact that you seemed scared of him, or unable to trust him like last night. He could see you fighting back the urge to cower away, genuinely upsetting him you still held a degree of fear and unsureness in your eyes.

Why are you so afraid of me?

“Y/N, everything isn’t just mine anymore, it’s yours, too. We’re a married couple, husband and wife. What’s mine is yours.” Taehyung tried to reason, loosening himself up more to seem less intimidating, more approachable.

“But money, Taehyung-it’s different. I didn’t even want to take my own father’s money, there’s no way I’ll take yours, please.” Pleading leaked into your tone as you lips started doing that thing where they just about pout, emphasizing their plushiness and Taehyung couldn’t help but notice it again.

He started growing frustrated as he removed his glasses, placing them on his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed like he was digesting the situation, searching for the best approach.

“Y/N, look. I know the kind of situation you had with your father, but I’m not him. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Choi and Seo addressed you as?”

You thought it over, unknowing of where he was taking this. “They.. called me Mrs. Kim.”

“Exactly. Even my last name is yours, everything I have is yours. I’m your husband, I’m always going to provide you with things from now on. That card is just one of many.” Taehyung offered his best explanation, making sure his tone wasn’t as serious to sidetrack any fear you still had.

“I understand. But this is a black card, Taehyung, and it’s your hard-earned money, not mine. It feels wrong even just having it.” You couldn’t fight your inner turmoil, you genuinely believed this to be wrong. After spending almost a decade trying to work for yourself, pay for yourself, seldom seeking the help of another, this just left a disagreeing feeling to churn in your stomach.

Taehyung sighed heavily before pushing his chair back, rising from his seat. He made his way over to you where you grew unintentionally defensive, retracting from him slightly as he neared you. He noticed it and pursed his lips, reaching out for your upper arms and taking them warmly, tenderly, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he spoke to you.

“Y/N, do you remember what I said before I kissed you yesterday?”

Your eyes widened having been reminded of the intimate moment, nodding at him innocently. Taehyung witnessed you trying to avoid eye contact and found himself softening.

“I didn’t say that without reason. I meant it when I said I would take care of you. Your father is a different story, if you don’t want to use his money, I respect that. But I’m your husband, and I want to be a good one. I want to give you things.. do things for you simply because I want to.” Taehyung reasoned, gripping you lightly. “I want you to use my money, you’re allowed to use it.” He tried voicing with sincerity, earnestly, hoping he could change your mind.

He saw you still hesitating to accept the offer, however, deciding on a compromise.

“Look, you don’t have to use it all the time. You can still use your own card, but you can use mine here and there. Seriously, Y/N, using it won’t even make a dent on me. I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, use it at your discretion.” Taehyung could practically see your gears shifting, searching for your eyes as he wished you’d understand him.

He saw this as a second step towards work-life balance, only feeling the responsibility and genuine desire to be the good husband in spite of the unfortunate nature of your marriage. He didn’t want any doubt concerning his ability to be a good husband, either.

After all, when Taehyung did something, he always did the best he possibly could.

“Okay, I guess you’re right. But I do have my own money, and I’ll be using that 100x more often than yours.” You relaxed and oddly let him hold you, looking down at the black card that rested in your hand and clutching it to your palm.

Taehyung realized he was still holding you and let go, retiring to fluff his hair instead. You caught a glimpse of his bicep underneath his rolled up sleeve as he did so, and you truly hated you chose a time like this to find him stunningly attractive.

“You should come downstairs, Mrs. Seo prepared dinner.” You ignored your thoughts.

“You go first, I’ll be down in a second.”

You nodded agreeably and turned away, leaving his study. You took a second look at the card in your hand, then glanced around the house as you strolled through it, trying to embed what Taehyung said into the crevices of your resistant thinking.

Everything I have is yours, you reiterated, registering that Taehyung had in fact grown accustomed to the idea of you two as a couple already. He’s accepted it, embraced it, even enforced it now with his earlier declarations and this black card. You automatically felt behind, like you were the tortoise in the race and needed to pick up your pace.

If Taehyung had already come to terms with your marriage, it was only a matter of time before you did as well. Marriage is a two-way street, and if you wanted to make this easier on both yourself and Taehyung, you would compromise with him, accept the true sense of partnership that entailed your status as husband and wife.

Thus was the exact mantra that played in your head as you fiddled with the card, remembering the way his big hands held you.

Warm.

It was night.

You could say it was like any other ordinary night, though that would be a gargantuan lie.

This night was the first time Taehyung and yourself were going to sleep in the same bed.

In your own home.

The hotel suite left you both with your own space and privacy since it was a random, public room with no personality or attachment to it whatsoever, making it easier and comfortable to sleep with him.

So when you emerged from your walk-in closet in a thin camisole, loose pajama shorts and without a bra, you were cursing yourself. God damn you for needing to sleep in minimal clothing for comfort. You’d slept in a loose t-shirt and bottoms at the suite last night since it was a public room, and long story short, it left you tossing and turning more than you liked.

You had no clue prior to arriving here that you’d be sharing a room with Taehyung. You’d expected to sleep in a different one, in the privacy of your own room where you could prance around as you wished and as a result packed your usual sleepwear.

But now that you were left having to slumber with Taehyung, clothes on the more revealing side, there was no turning back.

And what there was truly no turning back from, was when you opened the closet door and your eyes landed on Taehyung’s shirtless, wet self drying his hair after a shower.

You immediately malfunctioned.

Your eyes fell to his bare back, ruffling his wet hair as his plaid pajama pants hung loosely at his hips. You immediately exclaimed and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to shut yourself up.

You did not expect at all for Taehyung to have such honey-coloured skin. It was like it naturally glowed, a healthy tone that made him appear all the more delectable. It certainly didn’t help that his shoulders were broader than you first observed, sincerely an other-worldly experience when he wasn’t wearing clothes.

You also got an all-access view of his trap muscles, adding to the width of his shoulders overall and when Taehyung turned around to the sound of the closet door opening, gaze locking with yours, you could confirm his neck, chest and collarbones were indeed crafted to perfection.

Taehyung’s eyes widened momentarily drinking you in, not expecting your light sleepwear when just last night he witnessed you in a full pajama set. Not to mention, and he hated that he could tell, but you weren't wearing a bra.

And the camisole did nothing to hide that.

Taehyung straightened himself up realizing you two were practically gawking at each other, resting the towel around his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s what you sleep in?”

“That’s what you sleep in?” You retorted, arms over your chest.

“Guys usually sleep shirtless, this is normal.” Taehyung gestured towards his own body and you had half a mind to floor yourself. It’s like Taehyung knew but also didn’t know he was hot, knew the effect he had on people though never grew cocky or proud enough to purposefully parade it around.

And it frustrated you even more; he was fairly humble about being a sexy Greek God.

“Girls sleep like this too, this is normal.” You copied him, looking off to the side.

“I was kidding, I only sleep shirtless sometimes. Just get in bed.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he gestured towards the sheets, returning to his palace of a bathroom to toss his towel in the hamper and pull a t-shirt over his head.

You wanted to move, feet just about ready to carry you but you never abandoned your spot. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line contemplating that sharing a bed with Taehyung, in clothes like this and in such proximity, all held a degree of intimacy you didn’t know you two shared yet.

It’s only been a day.

So when Taehyung returned to your unmoving figure, arms holding your chest and avoiding eye contact with him, he was quick to get the message.

“Um.. if you really don’t want to sleep here, I can give you another room.” Taehyung offered, figuring himself this may be too soon.

“No, it’s okay, that’d be kind of a hassle.” You waved him off. “Besides, your bed looks comfy.”

You were honestly trying to live up to your acceptance that Taehyung was the man you’d spend your life with now, so you’d better start getting use to him. You’d sleep next to him for numerous nights, spend endless days together and share a multitude of things; this would simply just be a first of many first times.

So you paddled over to the bed and removed the covers to snuggle yourself in, the bed’s coolness sending a shiver through you before you hugged the blanket to yourself. Taehyung stood with a smile before crawling in himself, adjusting the covers to his liking.

He felt at peace in a matter of seconds, the feeling of his own bed lulling him into a state of slumber already. He reached his arm out to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the room pitch dark and only his digital clock and balcony as a light source.

You began to cower a bit in the darkness, thankful for the sheer curtains that allowed the moonlight to spill into the room.

You felt another shiver run through your body when you shifted, realizing you were cold even under the sheets. You tried warming up on your own by shimmying the blanket around more comfortably, but it didn't do much.

You were left lying on the bed trying to think warm thoughts, unintentionally breathing in the constant scent of Taehyung from his bed; his cologne, his aftershave, his body wash all filling your nostrils.

It was intoxicating, absolutely distracting and sleep began to slip your mind. It didn’t help that you were still cold too, moving around and turning onto your side where you now faced Taehyung.

He seemed to have already dozed off, face tranquil as he slept soundlessly on his back. You couldn't help but admire his side-profile, the sparse moonlight illuminating his features. It was hard to not stretch your hand out and nearly run a touch along his cheek, like he was a rare work of art that naturally called for admiration.

You realized turning towards him that he radiated a wave of warmth from his body, remembering boys were pretty much furnaces while girls usually froze.

How wonderful it is to be a woman.

You desired some of that heat and shuffled just a little closer to Taehyung, nearing the center of the bed. You discerned he was indeed warm and maneuvered slightly closer, just about stopping at the center of the bed. You fought back the urge to shimmy any closer, leaving a mindful gap between you two.

You were seconds from catching a peace of mind until Taehyung unexpectedly spoke in the silence of the night, startling you.

“You can come closer, I don’t bite.” The smirk in his voice was obvious, making you scrunch your nose and snap back at him.

“Shut up, I’m not getting closer to you.”

“You should, I’m really warm, and I can tell you’re cold.” There he was again teasing, his tone coy as he kept his eyes shut, unbothered.

“Over my dead body.” You mocked him from earlier, turning away from him abruptly and pulling the covers over your head.

Coffee was probably your favourite thing life had to offer. One of the couple things you’d fight someone over; coffee and your independence, if you wanted to be specific.

So it made you genuinely happy Taehyung had such a wide selection of coffee to choose from, ranging from all kinds of beans to instant coffee, cappuccinos, lattes, mochas, you name it. It took no time for you to craft a cup to your liking, shuffle into a seat on the island and begin picking at the breakfast the housekeepers had whipped up earlier this morning.

You’d woken up early today keeping in mind the day you had planned. You decided this to be another move-in day as part of your studio setup project you’ve entertained for the last week. The granted time off due to your odd honeymoon farce with Taehyung proved to actually come in handy, thankfully.

It had been another peaceful morning for you, having woken up with sunlight gracing the walls, certain you could hear birds chirping as if you were in a Disney film and little mice would come out to start sewing the gown you’d wear as a princess.

It had been a peaceful morning indeed, but when you stretched out to loosen your stiff muscles, the chaos that met you was anything but peaceful. Even if it’s occurred at least 5 times now, you kept forgetting that you shared a bed with someone else now, and that said someone had somehow always founds a way to gravitate towards you during the night, even daringly cast an arm over you sometimes.

It left you in a state of panic registering that Taehyung’s, dare you say warm and cozy body would be just behind you, his chest mere centimeters from your back. You would stay still for some time, calculating the optimal way to remove yourself from his hold until he eventually stirred enough to loosen his grip, darting right out of bed.

Other times, he’d wake earlier than you and you wondered what would cross his mind once he registered your oddly proximal bodies.

Did it ever bother him?

Nonetheless, it brought a mischievous smile to your face thinking about the fact that Taehyung had such a perfectly human habit like cuddling. He was always so serious, so put together and a near machine at everything he did, seeming as though he wouldn’t give anything romantic the time of day.

But it was hard to forget the fluffy feeling that blossomed in your chest when you would sense his proximity, maybe inviting a liking to it. You had always slept alone, only yourself and the darkness to keep you company in your lonely bed, in your lonely home.

So sleeping next to someone, namely Kim Taehyung left an impression on you you couldn’t quite shake. It was difficult to erase the image of his calm, sleeping face after the handful of times witnessing it. Long eyelashes delicately pressed to the skin under his eyes, lips plush as he seemed to naturally pout in his sleep. The sunlight only accentuated his honey-coloured skin, adding a glow to his features that made him appear prettier than he already was.

It was nice to think you’d wake up to that every morning.

You found your mind still playing around with the idea until you snapped yourself out of it, questioning why the hell you always ventured off whenever you thought about him.

Weird.

You were scolding yourself until your eyes caught Taehyung strolling into the kitchen with his phone in is hand. He’d foregone a jacket today, black shirt sleeves folded to mid-forearm paired with black slacks.

You were normal until you almost spat your coffee seeing he wasn’t wearing a tie but instead had the first few buttons of his shirt open, revealing a generous view of his neck and the beginnings of his chest.

Fucking hell.

You were staring stupidly until Taehyung peeked up at you, smiling “Morning.”

“M-morning.” you stuttered.

He seemed unsuspecting as he returned his attention to his phone, proceeding to the kitchen counter and retrieving a cup to fix himself a drink. He appeared to be reading something conscientiously on his device, never taking his eyes off and you quickly became bored, ready to use the weapon you’d acquired.

“So.. you’re a cuddler, huh?”

Taehyung nearly dropped his cup.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re a cuddler when you sleep. Cute.” You rested your chin in your palm, playful smile on your face.

“I think you’re mistaken, I am not a cuddler. And I’m not cute.” Taehyung denied as he only focused on the cup, his back to you. You then watched him reach for his selection of tea and purposefully evade the coffee, your eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Wait, you’re a cuddler and you drink tea instead of coffee? Very cute.” You pulled on his leg, chuckling as you brought your mug to your lips

This was going to be fun.

“Shut up, I don’t like the taste and tea is healthier.” Taehyung practically sneered back, harshly ripping the packet of his tea bag.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re a cuddler.” You sipped on your coffee, unbothered as you swung your legs back and fourth.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you like it.”

You nearly spat your drink.

“What?”

“I remember a certain someone that shuffles closer to me for warmth, no?” Taehyung snapped back as he returned to his phone and popped his tea into the microwave, his shoulders high to the sky. You could imagine his smug face proud of his remark while searching for your own, realizing that Taehyung was damn good at arguing and you’d really have to upgrade your comeback game to counter him.

He was unfortunately your match.

“Even if I were one, which I’m not, It’s not like I’m committing a crime.” Taehyung suddenly finalized with a snippy tone, and you realized you may have hurt his ego.

Men.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” You commented under your breath and looked away, popping a raspberry into your mouth.

Taehyung bit back a smirk as he retrieved his cup of tea, taking a sip as he returned to his phone and took a seat across from you. He began compiling his plate of breakfast as he worked his device, typing away with one hand as if he was drafting the Magna Carta.

You became bored again.

“Why do you have so much coffee if you don’t like it?” You genuinely felt like inquiring, if he didn’t like the taste why would he have so much?

“For my housekeepers, they drink it.” He took a sip of his tea, all attention on his phone.

You nodded understandingly. “Why do you have two housekeepers, by the way? Isn’t one enough?”

“So they can keep each other company.” He answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone as he bit a piece of his toast. You really hated that he wasn’t actively interacting with you because it only left room to stare at him, and that was never any good.

He looked illegally attractive with the unbuttoned part of his shirt, your mind profusely bugging out over the exposed bit of his chest. You were reminded of the full view from last night, and began pondering how long you’d survive having to see that for the rest of your life.

“O-oh, that’s nice.” You stuttered back a reply, squashing your previous thought.

You were actually quite impressed by the kindness Taehyung showed behind that decision, noticing he had these small moments where he was caring, considerate, all hidden behind his unreadable face and seriousness when it came to business.

It was quite interesting.

You were mindlessly eating until Taehyung spoke up, eyes flickering towards you. “What are you going to do today?”

You swallowed your fruit. “I was planning on moving more stuff in again, start finishing my studio setup. Thank you again for the room, by the way.” You expressed your gratitude once more, forking some eggs into your mouth.

“Don’t mention it.”

“What are you doing today?” you echoed his question, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m working again. If you need anything I’ll be in my study.” Taehyung sent you a half-smile before snatching up his plate, bringing his phone to his ear as he stepped out of the kitchen.

You sighed heavily only being left to think about your day, which would be majorly spent unpacking and arranging things. You had a plethora of art supplies, design tools and canvases to set up in your studio, leaving you constantly thinking of how to even begin.

It would be a mission alone to sort through everything you had left, knowing you didn’t exactly label out of sheer laziness and would have to individually unbox and organize everything .

It was this exact task that took up most of your day, time having slipped by in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t easy when you had to be rummaging through your belongings and situating them where you thought appropriate, also trying to envision a new look for your studio.

You hadn’t realized 3 hours had passed until the ring of the front doorbell caused you to check your phone, curious as to who would be visiting your home in the middle of the day. You assumed it be one of the housekeepers and abandoned your work, cascading down the staircase and striding towards the grand entrance.

You drew towards the monitor Taehyung had showed you just yesterday, explaining it to be your home security system. Taehyung detailed it had a camera for your front porch that detected movement and the doorbell alike, so you peered at the monitor to see the stranger outside your home.

Your eyebrows furrowed registering a woman, her back turned towards the door as she fidgeted nervously with her purse in her hand.

Sheer curiosity took you over and you paddled towards the door, unlocking it. You wore a smile on your face as you swung the door open, though it was immediately wiped off taking in the last person on earth you ever wanted to see.

“Mother?”

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