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retvenkos · 3 years

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romantic at heart | m.

Legend of Korra - Mako x Reader, fluff

tw: none

word count: 4.6k

A/N: canon? who needs her? certainly not this fic. korrasami deserved to be canon earlier so i vaguely mentioned it, and mako and bolin’s apartment is the perfect setting don’t @ me.

Summary: Mako has always had bad luck when it comes to love, but with (Y/n), things feel easy. So why, then, is it so hard to admit it?

the three times he didn’t say it, and the one time he did.

one;

“I’m telling you guys, this is going to be great! Part Four is my favorite in The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South!”

Mako shared an amused look with (Y/n) as Bolin led the way into the darkened theater, holding open the door for the group to enter. Asami and Korra passed hand in hand, and when (Y/n) walked past Bolin, they tossed a piece of popcorn at him and Bolin caught it in his mouth.

Mako brought up the rear of the group, and as they walked up to find their seats, he whispered, “How many parts are there, Bo?”

“Seven! And the Finale’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t have the heart that part four does.”

“That’s just because he kisses Ginger,” (Y/n) leaned in and whispered to Mako, earning an incredulous “hey!” from Bolin.

“How’d that work out, by the way?” Asami turned to the earthbender with what sounded like genuine curiosity and Bolin chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, you know, the hearts of mover stars are fickle, so we didn’t last long… there was something about it being a publicity stunt, but that didn’t make much sense, so…”

“Well it’s her loss,” Korra elbowed Bolin in the side with a smile and he forced a chuckle.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Bo.”

“Yeah, you’re a great mover star.”

A few people in the theater shushed them, and the group settled down into their chairs, just moments before the lights dimmed further and the mover started. The disembodied voice of Varrick boomed through the speakers with a recap of the previous 3 parts of the daring adventure, and everyone fell silent, slowly getting sucked into the mover before them.

Ever since their debut, the Nuktuk movies were a success - a staple of Republic City culture - getting replayed in theatres again and again. After learning that Mako hadn’t seen Nuktuk in its entirety, Bolin called for a state of emergency and got the whole group together so they could schedule a time for a complete rewatch of the seven-part masterpiece.

Mako had been planning to make some excuse - a series of cases that Beifong put him up to, or a slew of paperwork that some higher-paid coworkers pawned off onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to miss something for work, and it wouldn’t be the first attempt at lying to get out of a viewing party. Just three months ago he narrowly avoided a showing of Love amongst the Dragons by faking sickness and saying that Beifong told him to sleep all day so he could be back at work the next. Everyone but Bolin believed him, and Bolin (who didn’t want to see it either but promised Asami he would go) let it slide.

After that, Bolin was better at guessing when Mako was lying, and whenever he needed Mako’s compliance, he set (Y/n) up to the task of cajoling Mako to come along.

So far, their track record had been impeccable.

(Y/n) chuckled at something they saw on screen, and Mako turned to them. “How many cases of Vari-dye do you think Varrick sold after that product placement?” They gestured to the screen where the once blonde Ginger flagrantly mentioned her hair dye product before becoming a, well… ginger. The script was somehow able to loosely tie the product placement into the plot, but the moment earned a couple of well-earned laughs throughout the theater.

“Millions, most likely. Aren’t these movers big in Ba Sing Se?”

“As comedies,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning in, clearly trying to keep their voice down so Bolin didn’t hear. The theater around them was dark and silent, but the light reflected in (Y/n)’s eyes was full of life and mirth. Mako found himself unable to look away.

He cleared his throat, “You do have to give it to Nuktuk and his comedic timing.”

“And Juji’s heart-wrenching death and subsequent resurrection.”

Mako found himself chuckling at their lame joke, and for once, he didn’t mind. (Y/n) smiled triumphantly, as though they had accomplished something truly grand, and angled their bag of popcorn towards Mako. He took some and popped a piece in his mouth, his laughter still dying on his lips.

“Varrick must be quite the director, to get you to laugh in a totally serious, not-a-comedy mover.”

“Varrick?” and there was just enough suggestion in Mako’s words to say all that he couldn’t, though why he couldn’t seem to get anything else out, he didn’t know.

Things were always easy with (Y/n); their smiles were soft and infectious, their tactics in getting him to open up were effortless and effective, and falling in love with them had been the most simple and uncomplicated thing in this world. It should have been with such ease that Mako told them that it was them that got him into the theater and their corny comments that made him burn inside, like a thousand dying comets that took the form of shooting stars.

But for some reason, he was stuck.

Unsurprising, really, Mako had never really had luck when it came to love and even friendship. There was always something complicating things; there were always two sides of him, fighting the other for reasons even he couldn’t fathom. Eventually, one of them would lose. Eventually, something would give.

But until that eventuality…

“I suppose I am quite the comedian. Should I write a screenplay?” (Y/n) was speaking, but something in their demeanor was different - a little stunned - like they hadn’t considered something before and it was only now dawning on them, slowly, but comfortably. Easy. “It would have to be a sequel to Nuktuk, of course. Maybe I can introduce the grumpy, mysterious fire-bender who he’s now forced to share a quest with?”

(Y/n) nudged him in the shoulder, already rolling their eyes at their own idea. Mako looked down, suddenly interested in picking the perfect piece of popcorn. “Yeah. If you’re making it, why not?”

(Y/n) snorted and turned back to the film.

two;

Taking the steps to his apartment two at a time, Mako fished for his keys in the pocket of his pants. Walking the beat had the potential to be more trouble than it was worth, and often Mako found himself at the gym at the end of the day, taking out his frustration the way he used to - pro-bending. Well, not so much pro-bending, anymore, seeing as they disbanded the Fire Ferrets, and dissolved the team, but it was the same training, nonetheless, and Mako had been a pro-bender so long that oftentimes, nothing felt more comfortable than the gym.

As he walked down the hall to his door - second on the right, Bolin had insisted - Mako could hear the sounds of laughter and the beeping of the oven. Despite himself, he smiled, breathing in deeply as he fiddled with the lock and opened the door.

Inside the tiny apartment, (Y/n) and Bolin were working side by side, leaning over the oven as they looked at the baked goods that lay within. The counters were a mess of cluttered ingredients and mismatched bake wear, Pabu had tracked flour across the carpet, and by every measure it was chaotic, but Mako simply leaned against the doorframe, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Stress baking, again? Y’know, I’m really starting to regret giving you a key.”

"This was all Bolin, actually.” (Y/n) pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it down before turning to Mako with their usual countenance. “He told me to come over - he bought a set of mixing bowls and everything.”

“He didn’t buy more counter space?”

“Hey!” Bolin called incredulously through a mouth full of baked goods. Pabu scuttled beneath him, eating the crumbs that fell to the floor. “Counters wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s alright Bo,” (Y/n) nudged his arm with their shoulder, turning back to the task at hand. They used an old spatula to take their masterpiece off of the pan, and Bolin took two from them.

“You have to try this batch, Mako, (Y/n)’s gotten really good at their green tea cookies.”

“Oh?”

Mako shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. (Y/n) met him halfway with their signature, light green cookie, Mako took it with an appreciative smile. “The secret is in the matcha. I wasn’t putting in enough before, so they didn’t taste right.”

Mako broke off a bit of the cookie, making sure to get a bit that had a white chocolate chip in it, and savored the taste. (Y/n) was watching him with one of their expectant smiles, and he nodded his head, the bittersweet flavor still lingering in his mouth. “These are your best yet.”

“High praise, coming from you.” And there was an edge of sarcasm to their voice, but their eyes were bright. Mako just looked at them for a moment, really looked at them in all of their casual beauty. (Y/n) had moved into his life so early on and so slowly that Mako didn’t know what life would be like without their casual teasing and easy grins.

And, of course, their random (but not unwelcome) bouts of stress baking.

Mako must have been staring a bit too long, because (Y/n) raised a playful eyebrow, and not too long after, Bolin broke the silence. “Uh, Pabu and I have to go, and uh... y’know, do adult stuff, with uh....”

“With Korra?” (Y/n) supplied amusedly, turning to Bolin, who was stuffing a napkin with cookies hurriedly.

“Yeah! Y’know, Avatar stuff...” Bolin shrugged, slipping out the door, only to open it up again and grab his shoes before shoving off again.

(Y/n) scoffed and Mako sighed, calling after him. “Real smooth, Bo!”

A muffled response called out to them, and (Y/n) laughed, walking back over to the kitchen area, where they started to put together another batch of cookies, measuring the sugar with their hands and putting it into a bowl with butter. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out from noise complaints.”

Yeah, well Bolin charmed our neighbors into liking us too much to see us go.”

“His charm does go far, doesn’t it?” Mako watched and (Y/n) moved through his apartment with ease, pulling spoons out of the drawers and cleaning the dishes as they went. Their practiced movements had the surety and preciseness of someone who lived there, and the thought was enough to make Mako’s throat dry.

“So,” Mako cleared his throat and walked over to (Y/n) passing them the egg they were reaching for. “you measure everything with your hands, and yet you’re constantly insisting that baking is a science. How does that work?”

“It’s all in the weight and look of it - a full cup is a far cry from a fourth.” (Y/n) mixed the ingredients together, their brow set in concentration, “Or, at least, that’s what my mom used to say. What I will tell you—” they looked up at Mako rather suddenly, that intensity still alight within them “—is that it’s in how it feels.”

“So the weight of it.”

“Yes... but it’s more than that.” (Y/n) looked at him with their sharp eyes, as though trying to judge something. “Go wash your hands,” and they jerked their head to the side, “I’ll show you.”

Mako didn’t even hesitate to do as they said, and even though Bolin had left, he could hear his voice - a surprised “what...?” - nagging the back of his mind. It was easy to shrug off. It was (Y/n). Everything was easy when it came to them.

“Alright,” (Y/n) said, with a hint of childish excitement, as Mako slung the towel he had used to dry his hands over his shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Their touch tickled and their fingers - dry and powdery from the flour - grazed over his, opening his palms with a gentle sort of care.

“Here is one cup or so.” (Y/n) grabbed a handful of flour, transferred it to their other hand, and skimmed some off the top before placing it in his. “Yeah, you can feel the weight, and you can see how much there is, but you have to kind of trust that what you're feeling is right, because it’s not always going to feel the same, right? When you’re tired or you’ve been baking all day, things feel different, even though they’re the same.”

“All this for flour?”

“For each cup of flour. We need two and a half.”

“I can see why Bolin asks you to do the baking.” (Y/n) chuckled and guided his hands to the mixing bowl, where Mako let the flour slip out of his fingertips like really fine sand. “But I can tell that you feel it...” the last bit of flour fell out of his hands, but Mako let his hands hover near (Y/n)’s for just a moment longer, “and that’s good enough.”

They smiled, and it has all the serenity and beauty of dawn. “I’ll make a baker of you, yet.” They added more flour to the bowl and started mixing, their gaze flicking up to Mako. “One of these days you’re going to understand the feeling of it.”

“I...” and part of Mako wanted to say that he already did, that his feelings were about the only thing he understood when it came to moments like these, but the words got caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to get them out. “I think we’ll have to do a lot more baking, then.”

three;

Mako ran, the ground beneath his feet steady and his breathing exact. The beauty of Republic City Park surrounded him and in the early morning, when the air was just nippy enough to need a jacket, there were few people to be found. The usual groups of people practicing tai chi or playing Pai Sho weren’t out yet, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon.

Morning runs often gave Mako a sense of clarity - there was very little he could focus on when in fast, forward motion, and everything complicated fell away. It was just him, the ground, and the fire in his veins.

Mako slowed to a jog, and when he found an empty park bench, he sat down, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The shadows were just starting to creep away, losing to the brilliance of the sun and hiding in each recess and tiny alcove. The duck pond in front of him was warming to a crystal-like blue. Mako breathed out and tipped his head back, letting the stillness wash over him, his thoughts slowly catching up with him.

“Mako?”

And at first, he thought it was just his feelings for (Y/n) meeting up with him once more, but then he heard the steady pounding of the pavement and there they were jogging toward him, ushering in the morning with a comfortable pace.

“Heading into work later than usual?” They stopped by the bench and Mako slid over so they’d have room to sit.

“No, Beifong told me to take a day off. I usually do paperwork today, but she handed it off to someone else.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement. “So you’re joining Asami and me for our run, then?”

"Huh?”

“Asami and I usually go on a run, at this time. We meet here.”

“Asami told me that I should take a run since I wasn’t going into work today.”

Both of them scoffed, relaxing deeper into the metal bench. For a moment they just sat there, taking in the moment, and letting the world dawn on them, a beautiful mixture of colors - a painting slowly completing itself. Eventually, (Y/n) turned to Mako, an eyebrow raised in jest. “Do you reckon they think they’re being slick?”

“Probably - and it’ll only get worse once they get Korra on board.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t already?” The two chuckled, shaking their heads at the efforts of their friends, and (Y/n) knocked their knees together, leaning in a little closer. “It’s alright, I like spending time with you.”

“You’re gonna hate me once we finish this run, though.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me some tea, afterwards.” (Y/n) stood up, stretching their arms and letting out a yawn. “To make it up to me, of course.”

Mako stifled a smile and stood, making a show of his weary sigh. “Alright” —(Y/n) rolled their eyes at him— “You drive a hard bargain.”

They started off at a slow jog, and every minute or so Mako upped the intensity until they were sprinting across Republic City Park, occasionally dodging the wayward soul taking a morning stroll. The world blurred around them, the lush foliage turning into swaths of green with the occasional pinprick of color - purple or yellow, green or blue. As they slowed down, the world became more defined, and when they came to a walk, (Y/n) pulled ahead and turned around so they could walk backwards, facing Mako with a breathless grin.

“You owe me at least a muffin to go along with that tea, after what you just pulled. I almost ran into a woman walking her toddler! Could you imagine what would have happened, had I hit her?”

Mako laughed, still coming down from his high, and (Y/n) grinned at the sound - dazzling and so bright, it put the sun to shame. “Let’s get you out of the park, then, before you start running down Pai Sho players.”

The two fell into step beside each other, taking the path out of the park and into the busy streets. Already, Republic City was booming with life, and the two were rather quick to slip into the quiet tea shop that was just around the corner. Inside, the cafe was fairly empty, with slow music playing from the speakers. (Y/n) closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of freshly-baked muffins, and Mako was quick to look away when they caught him staring.

(Y/n) walked towards the case that held all of the baked goods, trying to read the different types they had displayed. “This is way better than trying to throw something together at my apartment.”

Mako pulled his attention away from the menu board, where he had been searching for the right type of tea. “Your apartment? You mean you actually have a place to go, other than mine?”

“You gave me the key.”

“For emergencies.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, ‘emergencies’ is in clear need of a mutual definition.”

The two ordered, and Mako paid, despite (Y/n) saying they had the money, and when their order was ready, they took a seat in the corner, next to a window that overlooked a busy intersection. (Y/n) insisted they split the muffin and gave half to Mako, and after settling into their more calm atmosphere, (Y/n) turned to Mako.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of your day off?” (Y/n) took a sip of their tea and fixed Mako with one of those stares - the kind that saw through everything else, and somehow got down to his core. “I can’t imagine this is what you had planned.”

“Uh… I don’t know. I figured I’d go home and work on finding a lead to a case or something.”

“Even though Beifong told you to take the day off?”

“Well, I’m not at the station…” Mako trailed off, suddenly finding great interest in the rim of his cup.

“And you’re not going to work from home, either.” (Y/n) scoffed exaggeratedly, and though Mako was the most incorrigible person they’d ever met. Although, in their defense, he probably was. “Not on my watch.”

“So what, you’re going to find something for me to do all day?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mako watched as (Y/n) sat back in the booth, a triumphant yet challenging smile on their face, and he felt the disbelief in his chest melt into something softer. It was there, again, that urge to say something both incredibly brave and terribly stupid; that desire to put all of his feelings into words and express them more truly than anything else.

“Alright,” Mako swallowed and allowed himself a small smile. “If that’s what it takes.

✧ *:･ﾟ

one;

Just when Mako had admitted to (Y/n) that he was an avid reader, he couldn’t remember, but at some point, they had found out, and ever since, the two spent their lazy weekends sprawled out on his sky blue sofa, books in hand. This time, (Y/n) had come earlier than usual, and by midday, they had already finished their novel - a fast-paced murder mystery with just a bit of a redemption arc for one of the main leads. They had talked about (Y/n)’s book while walking down to the market to get the necessary fixings for dinner, and when they came back to Mako’s tiny apartment, he passed them one of his favorites to read - a historical fiction that combined elements of notable legends and recorded history to make an interesting thriller with plenty of easy-to-digest drama.

When (Y/n) took it from him, they took one look at the summary and raised an eyebrow. “This is one of your favorites?” Mako had tried to push down his embarrassment, stuttering out some kind of response, but had just smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, just surprising. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

And they did. For the next hour and a half, the two sat in Mako’s apartment in relative silence, reading separate novels and making the occasional exclamation of shock, betrayal, joy, and surprise. Mako had looked over at (Y/n) occasionally, trying to judge where they were in the book, and whether they were enjoying it just as much as he had, the first time.

At some point in the day, the sun filtering through the window matured into a deeper, golden shade, turning the afternoon into early evening. Mako, who had been thoroughly engrossed in his novel for the better part of the day, stood up from his couch and stretched when he noticed the change in light. Letting out a sigh, he made his way over to the kitchen area. As he started to make dinner for the both of them, Mako missed the way that (Y/n) turned to look at him from their place on the couch, a lopsided grin on their face. They still lay on the turquoise material, sitting upside down with their feet in the air, book in hand and the red couch cushion resting on their stomach, watching as Mako turned on the stove with a click of propane and a bit of fire bending.

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of the comforting smell of Mako's cooking, and soon (Y/n) found it impossible to focus on the page before them. They opted to right themself instead and watch Mako as he finished up, adding the finishing touches to the meal before splitting what lay in the pan into two different bowls.

He handed a bowl to (Y/n) as he settled onto the couch, both of them moving to sit cross-legged, their knees touching. (Y/n) savored the flavor of Mako's signature dish, and he gestured to the book beside them.

"How're you liking it so far?"

"The book? It's great. Perfectly paced, in my opinion, although I wouldn't mind for a little bit more world-building. The time period is so interesting and they could lean into it a little more."

Mako nodded, satisfied with the smile on their face and the eagerness in their tone. "I figured you'd like it. There's a lot happening, but the characters are good enough to carry the story."

"That's a raving review, coming from you." (Y/n) laughed, the sound falling from their lips effortlessly. "And I can see why it's your favorite. You like a good redemption arc, don't you?"

"It's an interesting enough idea."

"A rather sweet one, too. Are you sure you're not a romantic at heart?"

Mako scoffed in response, but even so, he could feel his cheeks burning up, the nagging voice in his head (the one that told him to just confess already, or do something equally as rash) getting louder from conviction. "I think that's you."

"Oh definitely, but there's always room for one more," (Y/n) mumbled through a mouth full of noodles. "And judging by your taste in books, I'd say you already are."

"There's not even a romantic subplot!"

"The main character literally took lightning to the face for his best friend, and then proceeded to say that he’d do it all again, if it meant they could stay together. Are you telling me there isn't something there?"

“You said yourself that they’re friends!”

“C’mon, Mako,” (Y/n) deadpanned, setting aside their dinner so that they could use their hands to punctuate their speech. There was a fire in their eyes, and something restless in the way they moved - like there was something important they were trying to say. “Friendship is clearly just an excuse for them.”

“An excuse?” Mako felt his throat dry. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the little space that still existed between them - like they were almost touching, and yet oceans apart.

(Y/n)’s hands fidgeted in their lap. “Yeah, like… An easy out when you’re too afraid to go for it...or when you think you’re not enough.” Part of Mako wanted to look away, but (Y/n)’s eyes had caught his gaze too fully and the other part of him battled to stay. For the longest moment, he couldn’t move. “But they love each other - you can see it.”

There was a battle waging war inside Mako; each side fighting the other for dominance, and only one coming out on top. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like a deep sigh. “Yeah, they love each other.”

(Y/n) smiled, their mouth moving with just the slightest tremble, and part of Mako wondered what had disrupted the ease with which they did everything, but another part of him already knew. Mako reached out and cupped their cheek, the feeling of their skin against his flooding him with courage he didn’t know he had.

“And I love you, (Y/n).”

“About time you confessed to me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled in jest before they surged forward, kissing Mako and igniting the fire in his chest. All he could think about was them and the way they blissfully invaded all of his senses, how soft their lips were, and how strong their hands were, as they wrapped around him, pulling him nearer. When they broke apart, (Y/n) rested their forehead on his.

Then they said it, their voice a whisper that sent him tumbling over the edge, their breath fanning against his cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Mako kissed them again, craving the feeling of their lips against his, chasing after the way they made him feel - like every moment had led to this, like every battle had been worth the struggle. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as though there was no gravity, and the only thing anchoring Mako to this world was (Y/n), and their touch.

“Like I said,” (Y/n) was smiling when he pulled away, and their gaze made it easy to come back down to earth. “You’re a romantic at heart.”

Mako chuckled and (Y/n) laughed with him, the sound filling the tiny apartment with something undefined but utterly perfect.

“Alright, so maybe I am.” Mako relented, tipping his head back. “But an epic romance doesn’t happen within that book, if that’s what you're after.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to write a sequel of our own."

-- taglist: message me if you want to be added to a taglist!

#legend of korra #lok #the legend of korra #tlok #mako #mako tlok #mako lok #mako x reader #mako x you #mako imagine #lok imagine #legend of korra fanfic #legend of korra imagine #fluff #reader insert #atla #gender neutral reader #and yeah you can measure flour and stuff with your hands i do it all the time don't @ me

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silver-starlight-99 · 3 years

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Monsters at Work: The Jokester Generation Part Four: Steps to an Uncertain Future

Be prepared for one doozy of an info-dump

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One of the proudest moments of Tylor Benjamin Tuskmon’s life was the day he graduated Scarer Cum Laude from Monsters University. It was a hallmark moment for the entire Tuskmon family in fact; as he was the first in his familial line to graduate from college. Bernard and Millie Tuskmon couldn’t have been prouder of their son, and both were more than happy to share that act. From as young as five years old, little Tylor was awestruck by the Scarers of Monsters Inc., I imagine like many Monster children his age. But it wasn’t until the fourth grade that he made the decision to become a full-fledged Scarer once he came of age.

The boy was a natural talent, with his height and horns giving him quite the intimidating profile. But much like a certain green, one-eyed monster, Tylor wasn’t afraid to study like mad to perfect his skills, and made a hobby of collecting/memorizing every Scarer Card he could get his claws on. His parents, despite coming from more of a lower middle-class background, wanted to do everything they could to support their child when they saw the dedication he was putting into his dream-career. Bernard worked long nights at his family’s hardware store for years, and Millie even pawned off a number of family heirlooms, just to make enough to put their boy through college once the time came. Add on the special scholarship he received from one of the most prestigious Scaring Schools in the country, and it looked like everyone’s hard work paid off after all. Sure, that kind of laser-focussed dedication meant he wasn’t as sociable as most his age, but it was worth it if it meant being that much closer to his childhood dream.

Besides his graduation, the last time Tylor had this much attention on him was during the party hosted by Dean Knight in celebration of him breaking an old MU Scaring record as a part of his final exam. Beating even James P. Sullivan’s numbers on the Simulation Room, recorded from the monster’s time during the Scare Games. A fact that made its way across the school campus in record time, reaching the ears of a certain brother duo working in MU’s theater department. They were both friends with the infamous college dropout, and thought he’d be interested to hear his old title was being taken over by this new blood.

Even if he couldn’t remember the names of most of the people in attendance, despite having been in classes with them for years, Tylor couldn’t have been prouder, knowing all that hard work had been worth it. Especially so because before leaving the party, his teacher, Professor Shade, pulled him aside to tell him he’d received a letter of recommendation from Monsters Incorporated. Despite the controversies surrounding the company since the event deemed The Waternoose Scandal, Monsters Inc. was still considered one of the premiere energy factories in the country. And, looking at the young monster’s impressive list of accomplishments, the Board of Directors wanted to accept him as soon as possible.

This was everything Tylor Tuskman could’ve wanted. The chance to live his dream, make his family proud, and make his mark on the world of Scaring. He thought that after he graduated from college, it would be nothing but smooth sailings. Little did poor Tylor realize, he would make an astronomical impact on not just the Scaring world, but the Monster world as a whole. Just… not in the way he expected. And he had one of his former childhood heroes to thank for that.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Most monsters would agree that everything began to change the morning The Waternoose Scandal was released to the public. Some would argue that it was the initial sighting of the Tiny Terror of Monstropolis at the now famous restaurant Harryhausen’s that got the ball rolling. Others say that the panic stirred by the escaped child was merely the spark that would ignite the true bonfire that would come to consume the city.

Tylor Tuskmon was just a bit too young to remember much of the hysteria itself. The almost two-year-old spent most of the time after the initial sighting held up in his family’s hardware store. While Bernard worked to keep his family safe and provide his neighboring Monsters tools they could use to defend themselves, should the dangerous creature be spotted in their neighborhood. It wasn’t until the next morning when Millie saw a televised announcement from the CDA giving a cautionary all-clear that the Tuskmons felt safe enough to take down the boards on their windows. They, along with many of their other neighbors, spent much of the day in a state of anxiety, with a confused Tylor trying to comprehend why everyone he knew was being so skittish and weird. By the following morning, it was announced that the CDA had located and returned the child back to it’s world, and their door was shredded for good measure. The Tuskmon parents heaved a sigh of relief as it seemed things could go back to normal. However, it wasn’t until three days later that the official story behind the escape was released to the public, and that initial air of dread would be replaced with something new.

Henry J. Waternoose Ⅲ, during a city-wide energy crisis, was diluting company funds and manipulating his employees to build a prototype for something he’d hoped would reinvent Scream-power extraction. While effective, it would put Scarers at a higher risk of contamination because of their closer interactions with human children. And he was willing to put Monster society on-a-whole in danger by kidnapping thousands of kids in order to maintain his machine’s efficiency. The Tiny Terror was just the guinea pig to test the prototype. If all this chaos was the result of a single child escaping his grasp, who knows what would befall Monstropolis if a small army of them were able to revolt from their captors? If not for the courageous, somewhat fool-hearty, actions of Monsters Incorporated’s top Scaring team, the situation could’ve been much worse. Thankfully, Mr. Waternoose was quickly apprehended, any known conspirators were questioned, and the CDA would remain vigilant in locating any other associates. One of which being Randal Boggs, another of Monsters Incorporated’s top Scarers, who seemed to have fled the city while James Sullivan and Mike Wazowski focussed their attention on the true head of operations.

Between the media coverage of the CEO’s trial, dealing with the continuing energy crisis, the protests that arose from Monsters angered by the gross negligence of Waternoose’s Scream Extractor plan, and the lingering anxiety from the initial child sighting, things in Monstropolis would remain… let’s say hectic for a while. Because of The Waternoose Scandal, Anthropophobia was at an all-time high, especially in Monstropolis, where there were more than enough monsters happy to use that lingering paranoia to their advantage. You’d be surprised by the amount of small and big-budget movies that were produced in response to the whole affair. Along with Monstropolis politicians that would use this instance to promote themselves as beacons of safety during election campaigns. Not to mention the dozens of Monsters who’d use The Waternoose Scandal as a way to sell cheap junk to gullible tourists believing they were purchasing actual weapons used against a human.

Meanwhile, as trust in Monsters Inc. was beginning to dwindle, the same could not be said for the CDA. Mike and Sully may have received the lion’s share of attention and praise for their efforts, but public approval for the Child Detection Agency had reached new heights for their supposed work in apprehending Waternoose and detaining the dangerous child. And as long as the heroes of the hour were “willing” to vouch for the good work of Roz and her subordinates, she was willing to overlook certain incriminating details that may have fallen through the cracks as she wrote up her report.

It would be two years since The Waternoose Scandal before the dust would truly settle. While the fear of Humans would remain in the city, much of the initial mania had long-since died down. Despite receiving a life sentence in the Monstropolis Maximum Security Prison, the former CEO would pass on due to heart complications just a year into his confinement. Since then, Monsters Inc’s Board of Directors had appointed new CEO, a squirrely fellow named Hunter Tycroft, who was more than willing to comply with the CDA’s occasional sweeps of the factory in hopes of discovering any lingering documents involving Waternoose’s plans for the Scream-Extractor.

As for Mike and Sully, they would eventually go on to continue their good work as the best Scaring team in the city, even breaking the all-time Scaring record; a dream they’d both shared since their first days on the job. A young Tylor Tuskman, along with many of his peers, would watch in awe from their televisions as mayor Titus Fangmore himself held a ceremony to congratulate the two for their good work. But to those who truly knew the duo, their fire, that initial passion for their work that drove them to achieve such records, had been fading ever since Waternoose’s arrest. They did their part to help with the energy crisis, but between Sully’s bout of depression and Mike’s aggravation over the constant harassment by the press, the two were going through the motions for a while. But with each other’s support, they would eventually get their heads back in the game, and their normally cheerful personalities would return. To the general public, it seems like things were finally going back to some sense of normal.

But trust me, in a few years, the duo idolized as heroes, would soon become the center of a cultural upheaval that would drastically affect both Monsters Incorporated and the Monster world as a whole.

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By the 10-year anniversary of The Waternoose Scandal, things in Monstropolis had almost returned to normal. Sure, there would be the occasional conspiracy theorist looking to stir up the populace, something that was becoming easier through the development of technology and social media. But of course, most Monsters are quick to dismiss the more outlandish stories. I mean, come on; The CDA blackmailing Mike and Sully into assisting with the capture of a door-hopping child? It sounds like a fun idea for a movie, but that’s just the kind of speculative fiction Monsters make up to milk whatever nostalgia they can from a big event. Something like that couldn’t have actually happened and been covered up, right?

Well, whatever the case, Mike and Sully are brought in for an interview on national news to commemorate the anniversary, with many of Monstropolis’ citizens tuning in. And while some of the two’s answers can’t help but feel a bit… scripted at times, things go smoothly. That is, until the end, where Mike and Sully decide to make an announcement. For what feels like the first time since the initial incident, the two choose to be more earnest about their time with the human child. It’s not enough to technically break the vow of silence they had with the CDA, but it’s enough to talk about one specific experience.

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It happened all at once, so they didn’t think much of it at the time, but there was something about that instance that always stood out to them. Monsters had always believed it was a child’s screams that powered their world, yet a giggle had enough energy that it could blow out an entire apartment’s worth of appliances? They only had a few experiences to go by, but Mike and Sully were at least open to exploring Laugh power as an alternative energy source for their world. After living through, and being forced to work to their limits during an intense power crisis, there was something appealing about Monsters being able to harvest ten times the normal amount of energy from a single kid. Of course, all of this was just working off of theories, but the Scarers were eager to reach out to others who’d help them test their ideas. After all, if this was as successful as they believed it could be, this could completely revolutionize the power-production industry. That is, if the higher-ups within that same industry were willing to accept the possibility of treating children as something other than a toxic battery.

Yeah, unsurprisingly, a majority of Monster society had… let’s say conflicted opinions about this. This wasn’t the first time the idea of alternative energies was brought to the general public, it’s not even the first time someone proposed something cleaner, sometimes with no necessity for a human. But in a world where companies like Monsters Incorporated, Fear Co and Scream Industries have a monopoly on power distribution, they made sure to deter any who posed a threat to their bottom line. Many of said companies have some sort of tie to major media outlets, so it doesn’t take much to persuade certain news stations to… alter the public perception of certain individuals. Or just scare the populace into a frenzy akin to the Satanic Panic of the 80’s at the mere mention of alternative energies. Monsters Bernard and Millie’s age can remember reading news articles in their high-school years about some kind of whack-job cult that believed the blood and teeth of human children could be turned into a reusable fuel, but only if pulled directly from the source. Of course such rumors were eventually debunked, but their purpose was fulfilled, and most major cities would come to totally rely on Scream energy. Leaving many of those same monsters who proposed a change to be publicly shamed into reconforming, or unable to build a functioning prototype for their idea because of a lack of funding.

But things were different for Mike and Sully. They weren’t some crackpot duo out to corrupt Monster society, these were the heroes of Monstropolis, the tops of their field in Scaring, and practically paraded by the CDA at any needed opportunity. And now, they’re saying they’re willing to give it all up because of a hunch from an incident over ten years ago? They’re claiming that the beings that have terrorized Monsterkind for hundreds of years are creatures that should be entertained and not terrified? Are human children even truly toxic?!

So, like I said, many in the monster world were split on this idea. Many of the older generation were quick to dismiss Mike and Sully’s idea, usually because of their own self-interests or internalized perceptions of humans. One thing’s for sure, it hurt Tylor when Barnard insisted they get rid of all his Mike and Sully memorabilias after the interview, the elder Tuskmon believing the Scarers were just trying to reclaim their fame from ten years ago by making up nonsense about children not being toxic. It was a sentiment shared by many Monster adults, unable to comprehend that such a seemingly obvious fact of their world was being challenged. For Tylor’s generation however… things get a bit complicated.

Of course, for kids like Tylor who grew up in a time where anthropophobia was on the rise in their formative years, a fear of Humans was ingrained pretty early on. But at the same time, these were kids that grew up during The Waternoose Scandal. The seemingly-irrefutable truths of their parents’ era were being questioned, or outright exposed for their corruption. Even if most Monsters of this younger generation were still brought up to be scared of humans, there was more than enough evidence for them to consider that perhaps alternative forms of energy production were worth looking into. Not to mention, with the total boom of human-themed horror films that were brought about by the The Waternoose Scandal, just as many human horror film fanatics come to root for the monsters in movies, there were many Monsters that became fascinated with humans because of such productions. While the Tuskmons may have considered their son to be a relatively good kid, in a fit of rebellion in his teen years, Tylor would occasionally sneak into his local movie theater to catch an age-inappropriate human-based horror movie.

As the young Monster would grow to hone his scaring skills, Mike and Sully were doing what they could to make leeway with their plan to bring Laugh power to Monstropolis, while dealing with the public backlash they were receiving as a result of their announcement. Sure the younger generation was open to the possibility, but they needed individuals with a little more credibility in the corporate field to build a working prototype. Not to mention the ever-daunting question of where exactly could they find Monsters that would be willing to be the test-subjects for such a project? Because of their… complicated background with the folks at the MU Scaring school, Sully didn’t think it wise to turn to them for help. Having the vocal support of a famous Scarer could’ve helped to give credibility to their idea, but as expected, most weren’t exactly willing to forfeit their Scaring careers or reputations on such an outlandish idea.

In the end, the only people they could get to listen to them were a little-known organization called CETHCA (Creatures for the Ethical Treatment of Humans and Children Alike.) Because the Monster world’s understanding of human behavior is so warped, this group could best be described as a weird human appreciation club that was managed by extraterrestrials. Unlike the general public, these individuals are actually curious to learn more about the habits of the human race, and have often tried to advocate for the proper treatment and compensation of children for their screams. Of course, the media does what they can to paint these people as attention-seeking wackjobs. Sully himself even remembers listening to Waternoose complain about a CETHCA protest during his early days as a Scarer, with the CEO painting the lot as a group just a few steps up from an organized cult, with its Monsters so desperate for validation they’d believe any dangerous notions their leaders told them.

But when they finally caught wind of Mike and Sully’s proposal, they decided to pull their resources together to try and boost the public’s support for the idea. It wasn’t quite the compensation for children they were hoping for, it was the first time in what felt like a long time someone in the energy business seemed to take an interest in showing these creatures some respect. Like I said, these guys are certainly more sympathetic to humans, but that doesn’t mean they have the experience to be able to see children as beings equal to them in sapience and intelligence. While they still didn’t have the most positive reputation in the eyes of the public, CETHCA had slowly received more members as dissatisfaction with Monsters Incorporated’s practices began to grow. And with the development of social media, what started as an eclectic group of Monsters was soon enough to form a decent following. And after getting to meet with Mike and Sully themselves, they took to the streets and the internet to spread the word of the power of laughter.

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It had been fifteen years since The Waternoose Scandal. While their glory years as Monsters Inc’s top Scarers may have been behind them, Mike and Sully remained figues of interest, for better and for worse. Their advocacy for Laugh power may have gained more legitimacy because of CETHCA’s efforts, but that didn’t mean many of their co-workers were quiet about their discomfort. If Scarers didn’t have what it took to make children laugh, many would need to be laid off in exchange for those who better fit the bill. In fact, a lot of Monster culture is based around a Monster’s scariness; for some it’s considered the measure of a true Monster. There are many businesses outside of Scream production that only exist to try and make a Monster look more threatening. If Laugh power proved to be more profitable, it meant not just a max layoff of Scarers, but a decline in the world’s economy, one Monsters may not be able to bounce back from. A few of Monsters Incorporated’s Scarers decided to transfer to other companies, or outright quit to pursue more stable jobs in these unsure times. If Mike and Sully weren’t doing their best to maintain Monstropolis’ energy levels, the higher ups probably would’ve fired them just to keep the company out of another scandal.

Which made it all the stranger when the two received a message from the Board of Directors. Beforehand, Monsters Inc. never gave an official statement on whether they were for or against the idea of Laugh power, still just trying to clean up the mess left behind from The Waternoose Scandal. But suddenly, Mike and Sully received an email stating that the company was interested in experimenting with Laugh power, if only to see for themselves if it was possible to multiply their energy output with just a few tweeks to the typical method. While skeptical, Sully was just relieved that someone in the higher ups was finally taking their idea seriously, and agreed. Mike was equally unsure of the Board’s intentions, but decided to use this to his advantage, managing to squeeze out a few work perks and a raise for him and Sully in exchange for his compliance.

From then on came the process of actually building the experimental “Laugh Floor,” and finding the right Monsters that would inevitably become the new faces of Laugh power production, aptly called Jokesters. Using one of the older Scare floors reserved for members of the occasionally-used night shift, they would begin to build the first Laugh floor. All that really needed to be modified for the process of energy extraction were the Scream canisters, to adjust to the larger amounts of output produced. To do so, the Board pulled some strings with their connections at Monsters University, having some of their Scream-Can focussed students earn extra credit by assisting with the prototypes. What took a bit more work to explain was the request for a simulation dummy that responded with laughter instead of screams. But hey, as long as MI was willing to be more lenient in accepting their Scaring school students after graduation, the university saw no need to question things further.

With most of the technical stuff sorted out, then came the difficult task of finding the right Jokesters. In the end, it was decided to be a mix of old Scaring pros to start things off, and then use them to train the fresher faces, as a way to prove that training was accessible to any who were open enough to try. Mike of course led the charge in Jokester training, working with Ms. Flint to create a step-by-step training guide to eventually be shared with other companies and Scaring schools. It was here where Mike saw his first recruit, Brian “Phlegm” Bile, a regular in the company’s simulation room who seemed to make a name for himself as the Monster to look to to see what not to do to Scare. The pratfalls that seemed to keep him from becoming a true Scarer made Phlegm a perfect Jokester candidate.

The next two actually reached out to Sully. Scaring legend Carla “Killer Claws” Benitez was interested in the potential of techniques that could produce larger amounts of energy, so she was willing to do her part, even at her older age, to keep the city she loved from having to deal with another energy crisis. For Rosie “Roaring” Levin, even if it came from a morbid curiosity than anything else, was curious to see how a more human-friendly form of energy-production would work, and so reached out to Sully to see what he had to say. Lastly, but definitely the most surprising, was Art. Yup, Mike and Sully’s old Oozma Kappa brother had certainly lived an interesting life since his graduation. Part of which included joining up with CETHCA, if only to try and broaden his own understanding of the world. He was actually the one to get the two Scarers connected with the organization. And now that they were ready to put things in action, he was happy to lend his services as a Jokester.

Mike included, that totaled to five Jokesters. An admittedly small number, but something they could hopefully make up for with their extra energy output. As Sully worked with the mechanical side of putting together the Laugh floor, Mike and Ms. Flint were using trial and error to turn these Scarers into Jokesters, and organizing their findings into a comprehensive manual for future trainees.

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It’s been twenty years since The Waternoose Scandal. It’s just days away from Tylor Tuskmon’s first day at Monsters Incorporated. Just a few days before this Scaring pro has his childhood dream turned on his head. Just two weeks before the city of Monstropolis learns that one of their biggest companies is going through some big managerial changes. And just a few days before a certain someone makes their official return to the city that changed their life forever. Will the Monster world be able to survive this inevitable upheaval? Who knows. Either way, I suggest you grab a snow cone, you’re gonna want a snack as we wait for this powder keg to go off.

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By the Gods! When I started writing these things, I had no idea it was gonna take me this long just to get through my backstory stuff! Ugh. Well, it’s finally done. And you know what? Back when I did part one, I said I wasn’t planning on turning my ideas into a full-fledged fan-fiction. Well guess what? After all the energy I put into this, I’d feel pretty sh*tty if I didn’t bother paying off all the stuff I was building up to. Yup, looks like I’m writing a fan-fiction for my Monsters at Work au thingy. Hopefully it shouldn’t take me a whole month before I make another post about this. But I won’t try to make promises I know I can’t keep. To the handful of people who bothered to stick around this long, and to read all of my previous rambly-posts, thank you. And I ask you to stay tuned. The Jokester Generation is on its way.

#monsters inc #monsters university #monsters at work #monsters at work: the jokester generation #au #tylor tuskmon #sully sullivan #mike wazowski #fanfic #lengthy post

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oliviaillustrations · 3 years

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Garden of Eden

my piece for the @grishaversebigbang ! this is based off of the lovely dark academia ninej au fic written by @kugisakigf and @emdrabbles titled Garden of Eden

you can find my gang members and their amazing pieces below! 💗

Materialki: @landryaugust (here and here) @oranges-and-stuff (here)

AO3 Link: here!

Summary:

Nina is doing just fine as a directionless art student—she goes to class four times a week, struggles to get oil paint out of her clothes on laundry day, makes sure to dodge her landlord when he asks about rent, and dreads the day she has to graduate. Maybe she feels as important to the grand scheme of things as a stray brushstroke, and she's no closer to any shred of a clue about what she's going to do with her life. But it's fine. She's fine.

Except when Nina’s painting class gets a live model, she spends more time staring at this very pretty, very intimidating newcomer more than she does at her own canvas. Inej is gorgeous and terrifying and has her life together and now Nina can’t remember the last time she was able to think about anything but her. Pressure starts to ramp up and the world she's tried so hard to hide herself from keeps pounding at every wall she's built to protect herself, and now she's left wondering if she'll ever amount to anything. Will history forget Nina Zenik? Will she ever do something worthwhile with what little she's been given? And does it even matter, when Inej Ghafa seems to draw her ever closer, an Icarus to her blazing sun?

First Chapter: Nina Zenik is crumpled in a mass of blankets, shivering and bone-tired, when she realizes that sometimes, living in the attic of a church is worth it. She can deal with the rotting wood that creaks and rolls under her feet, the sounds splintering out across the room as she walks. She can forgive the smell of must and cobwebs, the heavy fragrance of mold and must and incense lingering around every corner, even on the rare occasions when she has time to clean. She can almost ignore the deep ache of wintertime, the heat barely making its way to her with long, spiraling fingers, the cold permeating through every crack in the walls that let in the sharp December chill. She's made her peace with the occasional mouse that sprints underfoot, the moths spending weeks on the windowsill, the shitty water pressure and gas stove that only works once a week if she was lucky.

Because mornings like this seemed to make everything worth it.

The rising sun, shallow and shy in the pale morning light, would reach out and glance off of an ancient stained glass window, just at her bedside. The sky would sing, and the carefully laid image of The Virgin Mary would glow, sweet features framed in green and violet. Nina would wake to vibrant shadows dancing across her skin and colors pooling on her floor like spilled blood. Sometimes, she would just sit there, hours before classes would start. The world faded to a hazy gray, and all that was left was the sunrise and her. She'd just look at the sun, and she'd pause for a moment, and just breathe . It never quite felt like she could get a full breath of air anymore. She would just take a breath, and she'd stop thinking, and she'd just be . She wasn't Nina Zenik, right now. She was sunlight and morning air and that particular shade of crimson shot through with gold when the light shines in.

She blinks, and the sun has moved. She's washed in pitch again, deep blue drowning the lines and arches of her body into a loose silhouette. She's empty, again, just a fragile body in a silent room. The floor dips and bends beneath her feet as if to sing a hollow tune in some form of an answer. It does not feel like enough. It never does.

She wipes a smudge of dust off the windows, her finger stained red even in the fading light. Her heart beats in concert with the pulsing of her head, and she winces, hard. Lack of sleep is catching up to her, it seems. The last few nights—weeks, if she's being true—have been short and restless, a sick sort of fear settling in whenever her eyes begin to close. It burns like every word she's never said and it spoils like a promise in her stomach. Everything is too much, and it's all she can do to stand on two feet and will her fingers to curl around a pencil. And even that's a pretense.

She hasn't been able to paint in months. Everything she makes seems twisted and wrong , an abomination of oil paints and a mockery of everything she's worked to accomplish. (She buries the voice that says she hasn't truly accomplished anything deep in her chest and tries to forget it can still breathe). She's felt stuck, a broken record that keeps skipping the same line of a song she's heard a hundred times. She can feel everything falling away from her, but doesn't know how to hold on to it all. She's losing it all with nothing she can do to stop it.

Nina doesn't have time for this- this crisis , something hisses in her ear, teeth grazing against her neck. But the problem is, she never has time for any of this. It all keeps piling up and then she’s buried under the weight of it and then she's having a panic attack in a public restroom and turning in late assignments and making excuses and she can’t do that . She can't do that again. So she compartmentalizes, picks out tiny little problems, and thinks about them for a short while, washes it down with wine, and calls it a night. Everything she doesn't deal with disappears in the morning. And she likes it that way.

But morning has come, and she still feels like a goddamn inside-out sock and she doesn't know what to do about it. Nina has been floundering for years, though, so this isn't any different than anything else.

Her phone flickers and the curling numbers read 7:49. Shit. She has a nine a.m. class and she's still in bed. Normally, she'd get to rot into her pillows for another hour at least, but she needed it for her major, and by the time she'd finally finished agonizing over which courses to take, it had been the only time slot open. So, here she is, aching limbs and sunburnt eyes, stepping onto the cold embrace of hardwood floors. She shivers, and the weak threads of sunlight that weave through the windows don't make the room any warmer.

The shower isn't warm, either. She bears the wet chill anyway. The water is soothing and it washes away the dregs of sleeplessness from her eyes. She stands under the spray, lets it drip down her back, and feels something like comfort as the soap slips down around her ankles and the room begins to smell like lavender. She waits for the water to finally run low, and steps out, puddles tracing her footsteps as she makes her way to her dresser.

Her hair lies damp on her shoulders, thick strands tangled and dark against her skin. It started curling, lately, and she's not sure why, but she doesn't quite mind. Sometimes, she closes her eyes, and imagines vines and leaves woven through the loose curls. A vision of Dionysus with dirt-stained fingers and violet stains under her eyes. A fairy twined with sumac and oak, wings that glow gold in the sunlight. She's always wanted to be special. She's always wished to be more than she is. But now, her own haggard reflection is what stares back at her. She's not sure if she likes what she sees.

She's not sure that it matters.

Nina gets dressed, rifling through her closet in search of something warm. It’s not like she’s obsessed with how she looks, but she does try and pick something nice. Today, she settles on a pink sweater patterned with strawberries, and earrings to match. (She’s nothing if not consistent.) It’s soft and thick, and it smells like summertime. It’s perfect for this, the kind of day that soaks through your skin and wears away at your bones. She slips into thick boots and a pair of jeans, and she's gone.

She takes the spiral staircase outside of her apartment one creaking step at a time, counting as she goes. One, two, three, four, avoid the loose nail on five, six, seven, eight. She should get that fixed, she thinks. But that would require seeing the landlord. And no one wants to see the landlord. The thought whispers away as fast as it came.

The staircase spits her out in the church vestibule. It’s all dark wood and low ceilings, pale morning light filtering through the narrow windows. Soft music floats through the heavy doors separating Nina from the nave of the church, and if she listens closely, faint chanting is woven between the notes. The song sounds familiar. She’s unsure if it’s a psalm drilled into her from middle school bible camp or because the organ drums the same tune beneath her floor every day.

Nina stands a moment longer, eyes momentarily fluttering closed as she listens, grasped by an unnamable sensation equal parts reassuring and paralyzing. And then she’s out the door, down the marble steps, and on the street.

The cold air stings her cheeks and her shoulders wince against the wind. She really should've grabbed a coat before she left, but it's fine. She still hasn't eaten, and she has a class in half an hour. If she turns back now she'll be late. So, Nina grits her teeth, ignoring how hard they're rattling against each other, and tugs the sleeves of her sweater down to cover her shaking hands. The coffee shop’s only a five-minute walk, and it'll be warm inside, and that's the only thing that keeps her moving forward. Her feet beat on the concrete with a steady rhythm, and she focuses on that instead of the aching cold.

The awning of the Dregs greets her, bold block letters on top of old red brick. Scuttling through the door, she’s welcomed by a gust of warm air. The barista looks up at the gentle tingle of the bell and flashes her a quick smile before resuming their work. They don’t look familiar. Must be a new hire. It feels like every time she gets comfortable around here, something changes. The world rolls and ripples under her feet, and she doesn’t remember the last time she’s caught her balance.

Nina takes a deep breath and rubs her hands together, which are now bright pink, then places them on the tips of her ears, which are also bright pink. The morning is quiet, with only a scattering of patrons to be found in the mixed-matched chairs. Some of the dark red wallpaper is beginning to peel off the plaster behind the counter. The Dregs she knows and loves.

“Good morning.” Behind the counter stands the barista, hands fidgeting with a dishtowel.

Nina blinks. “Mornin’,” she croaks, voice weak. She takes a look at the drink menu, even though she’s been here every morning since freshman orientation, because she needs to look busy and not as if she’s more burnt out than a pile of ash. Thankfully, the barista notices her quiet plea and doesn’t try to strike up any more conversation.

A few beats of silence pass, only interrupted by the occasional clink of coffee mugs. Despite already knowing what she’s going to order--the same damn caramel macchiato with far too much sugar than she should start her day with because why would she ever change the habits that hurt her the most--Nina stares at the menu overhead. Her eyes slowly unfocus, not actually reading the menu so much as wondering if she should even try to, so she doesn’t realize how much time has passed until the barista clears their throat with a little more vigor than necessary.

“So…” they start, rocking on the balls of their feet and making a point to not look directly at Nina. “Can I get you started or…?”

She snaps her head back down. “Oh, shit - sorry, yeah.” She allows herself one more moment to reconsider, then orders the caramel macchiato, but not before fumbling with her change. A cascade of pennies and nickels and dimes all crash to the floor and all noise in the cafe ceases at once. Nina doesn’t need to turn around to know how many pairs of eyes rest on her.

“I’ll, uh - get that for you right away.” The barista couldn’t have shuffled away any faster, disappearing into the back.

Nina swears once, loud, then stoops down and collects her change. Fucking figures. This morning has felt awfully representative of life in recent years - bitter, shitty, reliant on loose change. Yet her pride, or perhaps self pity, leaves her stagnant, unable to change. She refuses to get her hopes up about the coffee. With her luck it’ll be bitter and shitty, too.

The barista comes out soon after, coffee in one hand and muffin in the other. They set both on the counter and offer Nina a meek look. “Muffin’s on the house.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she says, scooping both into her hands. And she means it.

“Of course,” they say. Then they lean over the counter and point across the cafe. “And, uh - the drinks in the case over there, the orange ones. Yeah, those. They’re good for hangovers.”

Nina looks from the barista, to the case, then back to the barista. So that’s what this is. She scrunches her face into a weak smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace, and takes her drink without another word. Of course they think she’s hungover, because who would have such a shitty morning if they were sober? That thought is chased with a wave of guilt, heavy. They were being nice. Why can’t she just say thank you and move on? She pushes the door open and the bone chilling day greets her with a sting of cold that bites at her cheeks, her nose, ready to greet her next misfortune.

#gvbb21 #gvbbcreation21 #gvbbfic21 #grishaverse big bang #six of crows #nina zenik #the dregs #crooked kingdom #inej gafha

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boogiewrites · 4 years

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Peach and Poppy

Characters: Declan Harp x Scarlet Dixon (OFC)

Summary: Declan Harp AU. Set in the 1970′s, Declan is a misbehaving psychiatric patient and Dr. Dixon or Dixie as he likes to call her, is a tenacious and underestimated new hospital director. Will this new job get the best of her delicate sensibilities like people are warning her? Will the charm of one of her patient’s awaken something in her she can’t come back from?

Warnings/Tags: Talk of manipulation, graphic language.

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

1975 was an exciting year for psychiatry and it was shaping up to be one for Scarlett. She sat in the driver's seat, something she’d had to work so hard to accomplish. Her father had insisted with her new position of such importance it would look proper to be driven around again. But she’d only been living on her own for a few years now and she wasn’t ready to give up that freedom again.

She supposed he truly had a soft spot for her because he hadn't been entirely dismissive of this rebelliousness. But he always gave in to her in the end.

“Those feminists out there in… heathen California and such. Dixie darlin, I brought you up to be a respected little lady. You’re a dang doctor! Miss Georgia! You’re smart and gorgeous as the day is long honey, why would you wanna go and act ugly like that?”

This always came with the intimidating insinuation that it would sure be a shame if her actions were what lost him the next election.

With a wide-eyed, “It won’t be a problem, daddy.” He’d give her a hug and lift up her chin, tell her she looked like her mama and she’d be proud.

If he’d wanted a daughter to fall for that maybe he shouldn’t have let her become a psychiatrist.

But Scarlet or Dixie as those close to her called her, her daddy had been right about one thing, she was smart. She’d learned how to play the game in her favor long ago. In a public and pressured life like hers, looking how she did, she learned early what was expected of her and how men were going to treat her. She was allowed a bit of protection. Her father wasn’t just some kiss ass politician. He’d been known to make a few people disappear, and the whiff of a threat always around him, so his daughter would understandably come with some consequences. But now she’d become her own person, a doctor, and had a house and life of her own that she was still having fun exploring.

She was an accomplished psychiatrist. Engaged to one of her daddy’s lawyers and now the head chief of a psychiatric hospital. Which was where she was headed right now in the new car her daddy had bought her. A slick thing that made her feel confident and a bit bad if she were being honest. This is not a feeling she was accustomed to, and on this morning drive out of the city into rural Georgia for her first day on the job, she was feeling a lot of things she never had before.

It wasn’t a dream job by any stretch. This was going to be work. But with so many specialty fellowships, she felt like she had what it took to turn the place around.

When she pulled into the parking lot it was clear the job was bigger than anticipated. She stood outside her car with a bag stuffed full of files and looked up at the daunting hospital. It’d been around much longer than she had. Served as a sanitarium during the TB outbreaks, now showing its age and functions as Sunny Valley Psychiatric Hospital. Much preferred to the dated terminology of lunatic asylum it had formerly held. The old chief had been there for over 30 years. A lot had changed outside of Sunny Valley but the inside hadn't. She was going to have to gut and rebuild this place from the ground up, she thought as she took a deep breath and made her way in.

———-

The murmurs started long before she’d stepped foot into the hospital. She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, it’d been a stressful time for everyone with a regime change, but the doctors, some older than her father, and all men weren’t going to be an easy sell on her as their new boss.

She understood from a statistical standpoint. She hadn’t been practicing for that many years. But in that time she had been published and was known for her unique approach to care. Her father had also donated a large sum of money to the state's Psychiatric Association. Which certainly didn’t hurt her chances. —————

So she came in with a positive, self-assured attitude. She had a game plan and now the hard work began. She meets with the doctors on staff with bold new orders. She would meet with each individual to go over the patient and their care plan. She would lay out new directives and goals, telling them she was bringing them into a new age of medicine where new research and medicine are all utilized with psychotherapy, medication, and the arts. It went over about as well as she expected. At least she was prepared for every rebuttal and excuse as she was an avid reader of medical journals. She’d infuriated a handful who resigned, but she preferred to bring in new life anyway.

She met with every employee, from groundskeepers and kitchen to housekeeping. She gave them her plans for updates and explained she was going to start looking for funding immediately and to expect changes and upgrades. Most of the staff liked her new hands-on approach, not the idea of more work but instead the idea of someone who would listen to them being in charge.

She spent days buried in files with arguments on treatment and headaches. The lingering stench of cigar smoke still hung in her office no matter how widely she opened the windows. She’d laid the base for her work, now it was time to move onto the most important part, the patients themselves.

————————-

It was Friday and the exhausting week was nowhere near finished. However, she thought she’d been able to check off a huge phase of her plan, a satisfying thick line through it on her goal list.

“There is actually one other patient that we uh… forgot.” A male nurse says as he hangs in her doorway.

“Forgot?” She says with the tone of a scolding mother. “How do you FORGET a patient?”

“He’s been in isolation and we don’t go down there much so the night crew didn’t tell us he was still down there.”

She wanted to bang her head into the desk. She thought she’d processed how poorly they were treating people but they kept on surprising her.

“This...this will not happen again. We don’t lose track of patients...of PEOPLE. We are not that sort of establishment now. I want a new record-keeping system for this sort of thing. Have it to me by the end of next week.”

“Yes ma’am." The frustrated younger man said.

“It’s Doctor Dixon. Now show me to him.” She shoos him out of the doorway.

Not even the golden hour light could salvage the depressing aesthetic of the hospital. Peeling paint and chipped tiles she had to skip over with her heels were everywhere she went. She pulled her white lab coat over her matching suit set as they made their way into an even more dreary sort of hallway. Some doors weren’t even on the hinges and inside were torn padded cells in a neglected wing of the building.

“I’d expect to find something like this in the old abandoned B building but not here. You still keep people in these things?” She says with a heavy sigh of frustration.

“Just this one. And we don’t have to use it often. Well. Just for him.” She shrugs as he finds his key.

“Who is him?”

“Harp. He’s… difficult.”

“How so?”

“Prone to violent outbursts, sleeping with other patients… staff.”

Scarlet lets out a scoff. “And he should be forgotten in a dark tiny room for that?”

“Uhh.. it’s… where we put him when he won’t listen.”

“Just… open it? Okay. I’ll deal with you and this… horrid treatment plan you have allowed here later."

“You sure you don’t want me to get someone else to help, he mi-“

“Open the damn door.” She ordered more sternly, whatever it is I can handle it.” she insisted loudly and with a glare.

For a few heavy moments, nothing happens, just an open door into a very dark room that the light doesn’t reach. The white noise of the bodies inside the building beyond the wing’s heavy double doors was slight, just a steady beat of her pulse in her ears as her eyes tried to focus. The nurse stands in a defensive body position as Scarlet peers into the room taking tentative steps forward.

She waits and then hears movement. The aid moves into the room and she follows behind, seeing how this is going to go.

“C’mon Harp.” He grunts and uses his foot to roll the man onto his front.

“Did you just…” the face of the aid turns fast to a very angry face staring daggers into him. “...kick him?”

“No ma’am I was just rolling him so he could get up easier.”

She hears a muffled grunt from the man on the floor who’s slowly moving.

“Shut up.” The aid mutters down.

Dixie takes a deep breath to compose herself. “Go to your supervisor's office and wait for me.” She states coldly.

“Ma’am I-“

“I don’t care what you have to say anymore alright? Every time I’ve given you a chance you have only continuously failed so you’re fired. Go tell HR, and send one of the female nurses this way, please.”

She gets the death stare she’d seen a million times before when correcting and enacting her authority to a man. “Yes ma’am.” He grits through his teeth.

As she hears his footsteps down the hall she begins to kneel next to this unfortunate man. “I would like to apologize for this treatment, Mister Harp.”

She sees his face, a beard just started to fill out and as unkempt as his shirt and greasy hair. It laid in the way his sleeping had moved it, he had crusts on his face and his eyes were squeezed shut from the light. She helps him sit up, being gentle but having to exert to help the large man. She let his eyes adjust and when he finally opened them to look at her his face contorted into a very confused expression.

“I’m Doctor Dixon. The previous Chief passed away and I’m his replacement. I’ll be taking care of the hospital now. And I would like to personally apologize for the mistreatment you’ve been given here previously. This is archaic and holds no scientific grounds to help patients based on formal studies.”

He really only heard a few of her rushed words. She’d lost him towards the end there but whatever she said it had sounded nice. His ears worked better than his eyes at the moment and the almost husky, thick, and sweet feminine Georgia accent rolling out of her painted mouth like sweat dripping down a glass was making him melt too.

“So the old guy finally bit it?” He croaks out after clearing his throat.

“Yes. Heart attack they said.”

“Mmmph.” Was his emotionless reply. From how he’s been treated she didn’t blame him for not being upset. So far no one had really acted upset about the news. It was very telling.

“Who are you?” He focuses his eyes on her.

“Doctor Dixon. I’m here to replace the Chief that just died.”

“Ah.” He nods and then winces.

“Would you mind if we got you out of here and cleaned up? We could speak over a good meal, I'd love to hear what you have to say about the previous administration. I want to help.”

As another nurse swept in, a broad farmer's daughter, helped her loosen the jacket and get him to the washroom. “You want to… know what I think?” He lets out a hoarse chuckle.

“Of course. You’re a part of this hospital and if I’m running it I want to know everything. Good and the bad.”

He nods and focuses on using his legs, the journey to the bath hadn’t felt this long in a while. “You take your time, schedule him down for some Physical Therapy tomorrow please. I’ll go make sure your room is ready.” She says reassuringly. He sees her disappear into the fuzz of the distance, his injection still making him groggy. —————— He’d slicked back his wild and uneven hair with water and was currently hunched over his desk in his room being allowed to eat in peace. It was nice.

“Hello? Mr. Harp?” A slightly familiar voice from his doorway says. A little redhead with a daughter of a dentist smile and perfectly coiffed big hair came and sat in the seat next to his desk. “I managed to grab an extra pudding. You want it?” She sits it on his desk as she has a seat.

It’d been a while since he’d seen anyone new and she was bright and shiny and there was plenty to look at. He looks her over and then to the cup. “A bribe?”

“No. I thought for all the hell the former establishment put you through that at the moment an extra pudding cup is the least I could do.” She gives a real smile and a huff of a laugh. Been a long time since someone had interacted with him like he wasn’t in a psychiatric ward.

“Hmmph.” He grunts and accepts the offer.

“I did want to hear about your treatment here. As I said. I want this hospital to be a place where people can receive the help and support they need to achieve their goals. I’m not here to be a warden. I’m here to be a doctor. I took an oath to help others and I seem to be one of the few around that took that seriously.” She huffs.

“You don’t act like a doctor.”

“I’m a horse of a different color I presume.”

He nods in acknowledgment and continues eating.

“I wanted to know the good and bad of the hospital previously. Because I want to fix things. The men responsible for putting you in that cell have all been fired I'd like you to know.”

“Really...taking charge of the place aren’t ya?”

“I’m being met with much resistance.” She admits with a smile.

“Let me add to it then. I have conditions.”

“Conditions? What for?” She leaned closer and he could smell her perfume. It’d been a while since he’d been buried in the neck of a woman that smelled expensive like she did.

“For this information you want.”

“Oh. Well okay. What would you like Mr. Harp?”

“For starters call me Declan.” He waves his hand. “You’re gonna be my doctor right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So I’ll be having sessions with you now?”

“Correct.”

“We starting tomorrow?”

“If you wish.”

“I do. And I want you to have me something waiting in your office when I come in.”

“What would that be?”

“A cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger?” She laughs.

“The biggest you can find from the greasiest place you know of.”

She laughs and nods enthusiastically. “Consider it done.” She says happily.

“Really?”

“Why not?” she shrugs. “Perfectly reasonable request.”

He blinks in surprise at her but with dark narrowed eyes. “I’ll sing like a bird for you after I have that burger then.”

“Consider it a deal.” She holds out her hand to shake on it and the trust she was showing for him not to yank her down and have his way with her was astounding.

“Lookin forward to it, Doc…?” He shakes her hand.

“Dixon.” She adds with no annoyance for repeating it.

“Doctor Dixon. Alright. See you then.”

“Looking forward to it.” She repeats back playfully and he’s left with a visible confused expression on his face for the pleasant interaction he’d just had with someone in charge. He didn’t know if he was happy about or ashamed of himself. But she had certainly caught his interest.

——————————

“Hey, there jailbird.” says the woman in the worn chair. She was sitting incorrectly as always, this time with her legs over the arm of the chair.

“Hey, Alex.” He sighs to his only real friend in the hospital.

“Was this a new record?” She asks, turning her head from the old television in the activity room towards a tired and beaten up looking Declan.

“I don’t know. I was the one in the box I don’t know what day it is.”

“Thursday.”

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, you really pissed them off last time.” She laughs. “Can’t keep your charm to yourself can you?”

“No ma’am.” He wears a sly grin. “Speaking of have you seen that new doctor?”

“New doctor director.” She corrects with a point of a finger. “Yes, I have.”

“What do you think about her?”

“I like her.”

“Really? You like no one.” He questions her motives.

“I saw her today. She’s...different.”

“Yeah. Different. That’s what I thought.” He hums in thought.

“I’m surprised you haven’t made sweet sweet love to that little peachy assed firecracker.” Alex jokes.

“Oh, it’s been on mind ever since I came to and saw her walk out of my room in that tight little skirt.”

“She is...yeah.” Alex blushes slightly. “But she was actually nice to me. Was strange.”

“Yeah me too. It was...new.” He runs his arm and settles into his chair.

“She wrote down my complaints. Apparently, she has for everyone so far. She called down to the office and fired Jones because I told her what he did to me.”

“Yeah, she fired numb nuts that threw me in.”

“You should play nice with this one. She might be a good one.”

“I wouldn’t bruise that peach.”

“You’ll have to practice your lying. You’ve gotten rusty.” She grins.

“I don’t plan on it. If she comes through with my request I’m gonna tell her about all this bullshit.”

“She even mentioned… getting out.” She adds in a quieter more serious tone and Declan immediately notices and changes his focus.

“What’d she say?” He whispers with great interest.

“Apparently a few years back the...psychiatry people said homosexuality was no longer a mental illness. So she’s going to work to get that removed from my paperwork and we can work on the rest. It’ll “improve my chances of being released tremendously” Alex mocks the doctor's heavy southern drawl.

“Yeah she’s a little belle isn’t she?” He laughs.

“I mean her name is Scarlett for fucks sake. She is a debutante.”

“Well fuck me that’s a sexy name.”

“Don’t I know it. About creamed my cotton panties when she told me. Dr. Scarlett Dixon.” She mocks again.

“I’m gonna make her cream hers.” Declan promises with wiggling eyebrows.

“I’m sure you will stud. But play nice. She could be useful. Plus she has a fiancé. Didn’t you see that big rock on her hand?”

“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “Never stopped me before.”

“Not much has.”

——————————-

Scarlet got home late, almost nodding off from overwork and the calming quiet of the drive. She yawns and wakes herself up before entering her house she shared with her fiancé currently.

“Hello, Phillip.” She sighs out, seeing him with his glasses on and hunched over his desk in his office by the front door. “Did Wilamena make dinner as I requested?”

“Yeah. It’s...in the fridge.” He doesn’t look up when responding.

“Do you have a minute? I had a big day today.” She says sheepishly.

He looks up and sighs. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you about my day is all. Big changes coming with this job.” She bounces on her feet excitedly.

“You’re working in a nuthouse Dixie how interesting can it be?”

“Very. Actually. And that’s a rather offensive term so please don’t refer to it in that way. Especially at the fundraiser coming up.”

“When was that again?”

“Tuesday.” She sighs. She’d told him so many times and it was so important to her.

“Mmm.” He answers.

“What does Hmm mean?” She asks with her irritation showing.

“I might have something that night.”

“Of course you do.” She mutters and rubs her temple.

“I’m a busy man.” He says lazily but defensively.

“Yeah. And I’m a busy woman and still manage to find time for everything.” She says quietly but sharply.

“Do you want the work I do for your father to suffer? Do you want me to mess up one of his legal proceedings and have him arrested? Because that’s what happens when I don’t work Dixie.”

With her jaw tight she huffs air out of her nose in frustration. “Of course I don’t.” She says bitterly. “I just wish you had time to be my fiancé and not just my father's lawyer. We don’t even… sleep together anymore. You realize it’s been months?”

“Has it?” He asks rhetorically with his eyes back to his desk.

“Yes. I had a good day and thought I could share my successes and you could validate my hard work and I could have some attention from you to celebrate things going well.”

“I need to know these things in advance. I can’t just up and be in a mood to give you attention. I’m-“

“A busy man. I know.” She sighs and lets her hands hit her hips. She went to bed frustrated and alone after eating cold leftovers while standing in her kitchen. Who was she to give people advice anyway? She certainly didn’t have her shit together.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s

#declan harp #frontier #declan harp fanfic #declan harp fic #declan harp au #declan harp x ofc

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shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years

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Following in the footsteps of Prince and Lizzo, Dizzy Fae is set to become the Twin Cities’ next pop sensation. She just dropped her brand new track, 'BODY MOVE', and much like the name suggests, it will make you want to move. Self-described as alternative R&B, Fae takes a few notes from contemporary hyperpop artists like Charli XCX and Doja Cat with an industrial iciness that plays off the technicolor pop melodies. It’s an influence you can hear on 'BODY MOVE', produced by New York’s Stelios (Young Thug, SZA). The track builds itself off a snappy, rubber band bass line indebted to pop’s recent disco revival. “It’d be so cruel if I didn’t let my body move,” Fea’s voice loops through a robotic filter. A buzzing drum machines barrels in at the chorus, transforming the lightly retro groove to a futuristic club track more akin to the production styles of 100 gecs. But for all the modern influences, the Ying Yang Twins reference shows she’s a student of all types of music. [via Consequence]

youtube

Technically, 'Your Power' is not the lead single from Billie Eilish’s newly announced album Happier Than Ever. The album includes two songs she released last year: the jazzy, well received ballad 'my future' and the contemptuous multi-format radio hit 'Therefore I Am.' However, 'Your Power' is the first song Eilish has released since announcing the new album, debuting her new look, and officially commencing her LP2 era, so there’s definitely a deep sense of anticipations around the song. Eilish teased 'Your Power' this week with a brief sound snippet featuring acoustic guitar and the words “Try not to use your power” sung to a Feist-y melody. Now the full song and its Eilish-directed music video have arrived. The completed record remains as soft, pretty, and devastatingly sad as the preview audio. In the clip, a slow pan across a mountainside in the Simi Valley reveals Eilish in the clutches of a gigantic snake. (A press release specifies that it’s an 80-pound anaconda.) [via Stereogum]

#videos of the week #emma-jean thackray #mannequin pussy #phoebe green #spill tab #willow kayne #benee #kit major #number one popstar #dizzy fae #billie eilish

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sns-tropes · 5 years

Text

heart in your hands: ch11

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,

Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

chapter summary: on tonight's nine o'clock news: team seven has emotional constipation

pairing: sasuke/naruto (ninja!verse) post-698

rating: Mature

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: i haven't posted in forever don't hate me. this one is a little short but i'll be posting again very soon. sorry for the angst.

- jeni

Naruto blinks awake blearily. It’s a gloomy morning, there’s no sun streaming in. It might rain today. He looks to his side and Sasuke is awake, just staring at the ceiling above them quietly. Naruto doesn’t think it’s a troubled look. It seems pretty neutral. He’s aware that he maybe acted a little clingy with Sasuke last night. He was beyond exhausted, so he feels like he can’t really be held accountable for anything he said or did. Even if it might have annoyed Sasuke, he doesn’t seem bothered by it now, after everything.

Sasuke looks like he’s thinking really hard about something. Naruto scoots closer, making Sasuke look at him. Sasuke winces a little, not quite sure if he should speak up.

“I want to tell you something. I did something without your consent.”

Naruto’s brow furrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Naruto scoots in even closer, concern drawn on his expression. It’s worrisome. Everything with Sasuke is potentially worrisome.

Sasuke’s eyes fall from Naruto’s. His intentions for this conversation are good ones. He’s trying to accomplish something here. But this is hard. This is too difficult to open the subject. Because even though they’ve got used to so much together and have experienced this new dynamic between them, there’s still a lot of things that Sasuke thinks they’re in the dark about.

They don’t know how to do a relationship. They never knew how to anything other than fight. Everything is still new even when it’s not. But Sasuke is trying. He just doesn’t want this to go in the wrong direction.

“I looked into your dreams the other night.” He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. The old him would have suggested Naruto simply get over it. But things are so much different now. Naruto’s eyes widen in brief realization that Sasuke means that he saw that dream. Sasuke’s heart beat quickens in his chest and he’s experiencing something rare. Something that he doesn’t usually feel. He thinks it might be fear. He doesn’t have a first instinct unfortunately. He doesn’t know what Naruto is thinking. And poking around in his head any more than he already has will just make it worse.

Naruto sits up a little away from him and looks in the other direction. Sasuke can’t tell if he’s angry or sad or what, but something in Sasuke hurts at the sight.

“What did you see?” Naruto says numbly.

“Enough.”

Naruto huffs out a defeated breath, that same stress from last night radiating off of him. Sasuke eyes his prosthetic arm wrapped up in those white bandages. Naruto rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Sasuke waits.

“It’s pathetic isn’t it?” Naruto rasps out, voice rough and thick with sleep. “You’re right here. Living in my apartment with me. And I-” Naruto closes his mouth. He stops himself. Sasuke doesn’t want to push too much. He doesn’t want to scare Naruto away.

“You’re afraid.” Sasuke suggests softer than he’s ever spoke to him before.

Naruto shakes his head no, eyes shut, throat tight.

“I’m- I’m terrified.” He admits begrudgingly.

“ Why ?”

Naruto laughs bitterly, sounding like he’s trying not to cry. “Track record.”

And Sasuke supposes that he’s right. That’s what Sasuke has always done. He always runs away from the things that are good for him. But he can’t even be bothered to think about himself in this moment. He’s only thinking about Naruto. He can only think of what Naruto needs.

“Naruto-”

“No- You don’t- You don’t have to say anything.” Naruto says decidedly. “It’s not your burden that I'm insecure. That’s not fair.”

“It’s fair. I did this.” And Sasuke almost wants to cry at how true that is. How he really did put those thoughts and fears in Naruto’s head. “I put that fear there.”

“It’s not your fault I'm so dependent.” Naruto states logically.

“I’m no better.”

Naruto laughs again, finally looking up at Sasuke. Sasuke missed looking at them for just those few minutes.

“You’d be fine either way.” Naruto bites out, and that hurts because it sounds like Naruto really believes that.

And something flares up in Sasuke at the words. At first, it’s anger because that is so far from the truth. But the flame dies down a bit and it just feels like desperation. If this is what Naruto thinks of what they are then he’s so very wrong. He can’t have an emotional, existential crisis over what to say anymore. It’s just too important.

“Naruto,” He says, voice uncharacteristically thick with emotion. “I think I would die. I would die without you. Almost did a few times.”

Naruto just stares. He stares and searches Sasuke’s eye for even the slightest hint of deception or fallacy. Sasuke palms his face, drawing in as close as he can. He isn’t sure if kissing him is the right thing to do, but it just feels right to him. Usually Naruto is the one asking.

“Can I?” Sasuke asks tentatively, the words foreign on his tongue. His breath ghosts gently over Naruto’s lips. Naruto lets his eyes flutter closed as he nods.

He kisses him fully and sincerely, and they move like there was never a disagreement in the first place. But that wasn’t even what he wanted to tell him. Not really. He wanted to ask him about the field study. But now he can’t be bothered to with the feeling of their lips connecting like this.

“I wouldn’t let you die.” Naruto mumbles.

“I know.” Sasuke smiles against his lips. “Track record.”

____________________________________________________________

Sakura comes to give him some paperwork later that day. Naruto has gone out in the heavy rain to fetch a few food items, for lack of anything to eat in the house.

Sasuke lets her in wordlessly and she scans the place for any sign of Naruto, wondering if Sasuke has brought up the topic yet.

He sits down at the table with her and sifts thought the standard documents, eyes briefly scanning the places where he’s meant to write things in.

“It will be easy to clear you.” She states in a measured tone.

“I figured.” He says, voice nonchalant.

“You haven’t asked yet.” It’s not a question.

Sasuke knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She doesn’t want either of them to leave. She’s not the type to feel secure without a team by her side. That’s what Sasuke knows to be true. But he can’t be sure now. He’s still getting to know this version of her after being awaay for so long.

He doesn’t address her statement right away. He feels something twist in his gut, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Sakura.”

She balks, confused as hell.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry.” He says again, setting the papers down. “For everything I put you through.”

She doesn’t say anything, eyes unreadable.

“For hurting you.”

“Mentally or physically?” She laughs. But it’s just not funny. How can it be?

“Both,” He se says quietly, having no expectations from her. He just wanted to say it.

She seems to think for a moment, not sure on what she’d like to say.

“That was a long time ago.” She says. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Sasuke doesn’t understand anything. He might never. In a way, He’s jealous of her. He’s jealous of her confidence, her stability, he independence, her resilience. Everything that he never thought she would live up to, but unexpectedly surpassed him despite how average he thought her to be. He was so very wrong about her. He eyes the Strength of 100 Seal on her forehead and smirks in defeat.

It doesn’t seem like she’ll accept his apology. Not because she’s unforgiving, but because it truly doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late.

And at that moment it occurs to him that he doesn’t want to be late for anything else. He’s in no position to ask her for a favor.

“Sakura, will you...” He takes a breath, “Will you stay until Naruto returns?”

Her brows furrow. “For what?”

“I’m going to ask him.”

“And you want me here for it? Are you joking?”

“Does it look like I'm joking?”

“Now you need moral support?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs deeply.

“If you two start fighting, I’m out of here.”

He’ll take it.

________________________________________________________

Naruto puts away his groceries after greeting Sakura in mild suspicion. He has no idea what they’re up to over on the table, but he sees paperwork and it looks important.

There’s a bit of an uncomfortable feeling in the air. He doesn’t know what to expect, but Sasuke looks... Nervous? He really hopes he hasn’t gotten himself into any trouble. Naruto doesn’t think he can handle any more of that.

He sits down at the table and tries to look relaxed. He purposely avoids looking at the paperwork. He’s sure they’ll tell him.

“Naruto,” Sasuke starts. “I’ve found something. A job, I guess?”

Naruto relaxes a little, he fakes a smile, because he’s not sure if there’s anything to be glad about yet. “That’s great!”

“But there’s conditions.”

He eyes the both of them, suspicious all over again.

“What’s going on here?”

“It’s a field study, Naruto.” Sakura pipes in. “A two-year field study.”

He bites his lip. He’s not quite sure he heard her right. And even if he did hear her right, he doesn’t know why the hell she’s promoting something like this. That strange uncomfortable feeling rises up in his chest. The kind where it gets too tight in his lungs and he can’t quite breathe. He scratches at his hand on the table, refusing to look up at them both. So, this was what Sasuke was talking about. On the docks he said he'll stay a while. Just a while and then he’ll leave when he’s ready. Naruto didn’t think he would be ready to go so soon.

He didn’t think he would be ready to go right after that heart to heart this morning that meant so much to Naruto. That talk that made him finally feel like there’s no way he could possibly lose him. He can feel his eyes getting damp and he hates it. He would rather not show it at this point. He feels a little betrayed. Not just by Sasuke but Sakura too, just because she’s clearly involved and sitting right here. His heart is in his throat but he just wants to close off. He doesn’t want Sakura to see him break down like he did those few months ago on his kitchen floor, where Sasuke had to urge him back into breathing properly.

He feels it getting closer, creeping up on him, darkening his mind and tearing at his throat. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he can say to stop this. Because something that comes up time and time again like this is bound to happen regardless.

He shuts his eyes tight.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his. He opens his not quite dry eyes to look up. Sasuke’s expression is like one he’s never seen before. Open, pleading, practically desperate. He squeezes Naruto’s hand tighter across the table, not caring at all that Sakura will see them this way.

“Naruto.” Sasuke’s voice cracks. And he’s not sure why he asked Sakura to be here now, because he feels so pathetic. He was terrified to do this. He was terrified to ask in the same that Naruto is terrified of him leaving again. “Come with me.”

Naruto releases a breath, never really aware that he had been holding it.

“What?”

“Come with me, Naruto.”

They stare at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. He can’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say.

Sakura leans in slightly as if she we’re wordlessly asking if she should leave. She hopes that Sasuke remembers what she told him. You might not like his answer.

Naruto feels too much in the moment. He feels so much that it amounts to him being unable to identify any of his emotions. As if they we’re all cancelling each other out, he almost feels nothing.

His vision tunnels and before and one can stop him, he pulls his hand back from Sasuke’s and he stands from the table. His expression is blank. They don’t know what he’s thinking. He leaves the house again, without a word uttered in reply to that weighted question.

Sasuke stares down at the table, fist clenched where his hand was holding Naruto’s tightly just moments ago.

Sakura places her hand on his shoulder that shakes in anger, frustration, sadness? She doesn't know. She says something about letting Naruto be for a while so he can think properly about it. Sasuke doesn’t hear it.

He doesn’t hear anything.

#hiyh #yhhimh #sns #sasunaru #narusasu #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #naruto #jeni #ch11 #heart in your hands

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lovelyrocker · 5 years

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Love Is Blind Ch.5

~RPF

~Warnings: Jared being extremely sweet.(yes, that needs a warning!), Angstish

~ Characters: Jensen, Jared, Lexi(OFC), Danneel, Genevieve, JJ, Shep, Tom, Amy(OFC), Cliff

~Pairings: Jared x Lexi(Eventually)

~Word Count: 3,507

Love Is Blind Masterlist

<Previous Chapter

*Six Months Later*

Lexi had been living her chaotic life with her brother for a little over a year. She thrived at her new school and was soon making straight A’s, had dozens of friends and seemed to indeed be a social butterfly. Yet, she was head strong and hard to change her mind when she was passionate about something. Which is one of the reasons they she was in the position she was in now.

Lexi sat in the chair outside of the principal’s office taping the toe of her high heel on the leg of the chair next to her. She had altered her normal uniform into a provocative ensemble. Her white button down was tied at the bust, her skirt had been dramatically shortened, and her hair was tied up in pigtails. She tried to listen in on the conversation in the office but had trouble hearing completely.

The door opened and Jensen walked out with the principal, the two of them shaking hands. Jensen turned to Lexi and pointed towards the exit. “Go.” They walked to the car in silence, and as soon as the car door shut, Jensen turned to her. “Really?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I think we may have gotten through to them.” Lexi gave a playful glance and a shrug.

They continuously bickered the whole drive home up until they walked into the house. “All I’m saying, Lex, is you could have done it a different way.” Jensen tossed his jacket on the back of a chair, walking into the kitchen.

“Could have done what different?” Danneel asked turning around, her jaw dropping when she saw Lexi. “Oh my God, what did you do to your uniform?”

“Lexi and her friends decided to protest at school today.” Jensen rubbed his temples.

“Protesting what?” Genevieve asked as she walked in, Jared chasing the kids through the room, suddenly stopping.

“What are you wearing?!” Jared froze looking at Lexi. Genevieve, without hesitation, reached up and smacked Jared over the head. “Ow! What was that for?!”

“Just because we are divorced doesn’t mean I can’t still smack you when you are ogling a girl that’s not even legal.”

Jared grinned as he sat across from Jensen. “Sorry. I’m just a little shocked to see Lex dressed like Britney Spears.” He poked fun but in reality Jared was trying not to stare at her protruding cleavage.

“And that is exactly the point of the protest!” Lexi shouted. “Thank you, Jared.” She nodded in appreciation to him.

“Speaking of, can you please?” Jensen said, beginning to button her shirt.

Lexi swatted him away and buttoned up her blouse. “Look, the point is we have no issue with the uniforms. The issue is the comments and vulgarities that the male half of the student body shouts at us daily. And when they do, the teachers and faculty say it’s just ‘boys being boys.’” She air quoted. “But when we make their words reality, we get reprimanded.”

“So you call the principal a sexist?!” Jensen’s voice rose several octaves.

“Oh, I didn’t call him a sexist. I said him not acknowledging the issue was sexist behavior.” She said with a wave of her hand.

“Well, you’ve got my support.” Danneel shrugged with an approving smile.

“Same here. Fight the power!” Genevieve said, extending a hand and high fiving Lexi.

“Okay, no!” Jensen looked at Genevieve and Danneel annoyed. “You two are supposed to back me up, not encourage X-Tina.”

“Okay, Lex, go change.” Danneel gestured to the stairs.

“Fine.” Lexi let out a groan with another eye roll walking towards the stairs.

“She graduates in two weeks and she does this?” Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose. “And it’s not like I can stay mad at her.” He looked at his wife speaking with his hands in frustration. “She tells me in the car on the way home she enrolled into the university with the money from modeling.”

“Really?” Danneel asked, surprised and proud.

“I told her she should have said something. I would have fronted the bill or dad, no questions. She said she wanted to do it herself. Kid didn’t even graduate yet and she is already working on college. She started like, two months ago. Did you know anything about this?” Danneel shook her head.

“I did.” Jared answered.

“You did?” Genevieve looked at him.

“Yeah, she asked me to help her pick out her classes.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Jensen questioned his friend.

“I thought you knew!” He shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t!”

“Boobies!” They heard Shep shout from the stairs.

“Your son has a thing for boobs.” Lexi said, walking into the kitchen with a t-shirt and jeans on, her hair flowing down her back.

“Not boobs in general, just your boobs.” Genevieve said with a grin. “He’s weird.”

“Well, at least he has good taste.” Jared smirked.

“I will stab you.” Jensen eyed him, Danneel and Genevieve laughing.

“I’m not saying that as a pervert.” Jared defend with his hands up. “I’m just saying, my kid likes beauty and brains.” He said, walking into the other room.

“We are off to the market. Y’all have the kids under control?” Danneel asked.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Jensen shooed her away.

Danneel leaned in and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You know who she reminds me of?”

“Hmm?” Jensen hummed looking sideways at her.

“You.” Both she and Genevieve said in unison.

Jensen knew they were right. Despite the twenty one year age difference and the fact that they were not even related by blood, Lexi and Jensen behaved an awful lot alike. He admitted to seeing himself in her so much at times that she could pass for his daughter. He loved her and protected her like one for sure.

After everyone had cleared the kitchen, Lexi walked by Jensen and he stopped her. “Punk, come here.” He pulled a chair out for her. “It’s not that I’m not proud of you for wanting to stand up for yourself and the other girls at the school. Just next time, can you do it with more clothes on, please?”

“Okay. And sorry if I pissed you off by having the school call you on your day off.”

“No worries.” He said, pulling her into a hug.

Two weeks later, Lexi walked across that stage in her cap and gown, the youngest on the stage. She was graduating at sixteen years old, nearly two years early. Jensen clapped and shouted his excitement and pride along with his mother, father, brother and sister. Genevieve, Danneel and Jared, and all the kids, were also in attendance to watch Lexi. Tom and Shep looked adorable in their little vests and bow ties as they cheered for Lexi. JJ donned an adorable red dress as she shouted for her Auntie Lex who couldn’t stop the radiating smile off her face.

“I’m so proud of you!” Alan said as he squeezed Lexi into another hug. She didn’t have time to breathe before she was pulled into another hug from her mom, and the cycle kept going till she went through a dozen people.

All Lexi asked for that night was a simple celebration with her family. Her mom, dad, brothers and sister, Danneel, Genevieve, Jared and the kids. A nice dinner and an evening together was more than enough for her, which worked for the most part, because schedules had everyone back on the road for home the next day, well, to the skies.

The graduation excitement was starting to settle down a month after and things were back into the normal routine for her. Well, sort of. Instead of starting Junior year with her friends she had modeling gigs here and there. Nothing huge, just small jobs that normally took twelve to sixteen hours. She was making a name for herself. Yet something seemed missing.

“Whatcha doing, Punk?” Jensen greeted as he walked into the house setting his bag down.

“Hey Dork.” She responded not looking up from her laptop.

Jensen observed the way she was sitting with her chin resting on the knee that was pulled up to her chest while the other dangled. ”You look awfully concentrated there.”

“Huh?” Lexi finally looked away from the screen.

“What are you looking at?” He made his way over to her side.

“Trying to decide what to do with my life." Lexi answered resting her head in her hand, her dark hair in messy waves.

"You still have plenty of time. You're only sixteen." Jensen assured with a smile.

"I know, but I thought I'd know by now. Thought I'd have it figured out." She said closing her laptop discouraged.

"Yeah, because graduating early and have two semesters of college under your belt shows you're totally slacking." Jensen said sarcastically. “And the whole modeling thing does nothing for you either.” He shrugged.

Lexi smiled up at her brother. "I've just been thinking a lot about everything."

"Everything?" Jensen looked at her oddly. "What's everything?"

"The fact that five years ago I saw my future as either a homeless person or living in some dump surrounded by drug addicts” She looked up at her big brother.”Five years ago I didn't think I had a future. Now I am sitting here with unlimited options at my disposal and nothing to stop me. It's a little overwhelming."

"It can be. Lexi, you're still so young. You're a little more than halfway to seventeen and have accomplished so much. You don't have to go big with everything you do. You know we love you either way.” He placed a hand on her arm. “ I am so, so proud of you and everything you have gone through and beat. Now is the time to go slow. You have always went at things zero to sixty. Go at your own time and figure out what you want. What makes you happy. Check out your options and make a few mistakes, explore. And when you find something that truly makes you happy, that you can see yourself doing the rest of your life, you'll know." She nodded her head really taking in everything Jensen was telling her. "And for the record," He smiled at her. "I am very grateful that you went through my garbage five years ago." She looked at him with a cheesy little sister smile and gave him a hug.

"Oh, I have an idea!" Lexi jumped from Jensen causing him to jump as well.

"That was quick."

"Can I hang out on set tomorrow? I always had an interest in the things they do there with the camera work and make up."

"Sure. But you'd have to wake up early."

When Jensen said early, he meant early. He shook Lexi's shoulders at three thirty the next morning waking her from her deep sleep. "Dude, what the hell?" She asked, her voice grumpy.

"Still want to come to set?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

"What time is it?" Lexi grumbled squirming in her bed.

"Three thirty."

"Dude, roosters aren't even up this early." She said sitting on her elbows.

"We'll be downstairs." He chuckled, walking out of the room.

Lexi dressed and made her way downstairs ten minutes later. She walked into the kitchen and saw Jensen, Jared and Cliff with each a cup of Starbucks in hand.

"My lady." Cliff handed her a Venti latte.

"Oh my God, you are my favorite person in this room." She took the cup and sipped the hot liquid then hugged Cliff.

On set she was amazed and intrigued by the way things went. Lexi always loved visiting set, but this time she was there with purpose. She observed the camera man and asked questioned when she saw the director wasn't busy. The director taking time to show her a few things. She did the same with props and wardrobe and wandered off when it came to make up finding herself in the makeup trailer with the head makeup artist, Amy. Lexi asked question after question and watched tentatively as she apply prosthetics and make up to Misha. After two hours of being gone on set her phone rang.

"Where did you disappear to?" Jensen’s concerned voice chimed.

"I'm in the makeup trailer helping Amy beat up Misha."

"You're what?" Jensen asked confused.

"I've been in here for a while. The way she does things is really cool. And the stuff you guys use for blood is really good. Tastes like candy." She said licking her fingers Jensen hearing a smack over the line.

"Lex, stop eating the prop make up. If you need a sugar rush, Jared has a big bag of gummy bears in the drawer all the way to the left."

Lexi walked over opening the drawer. "Oh, thank you!" She said then hung up and ripped open the bag.

Lexi spent the majority of the day helping Amy with makeup. She was having fun with it and really enjoyed it. She was relaxed and having fun.

"So I hear you have a new helper?" Jared spoke as he walked in full of dirt.

"Dude, Lexi is awesome! She is a natural." Amy dotted. "She did the bruising and cuts on Misha by herself."

"Really?" Jared looked at Lexi impressed. “Nice!”

"So what are we doing to him?" Lexi asked excited.

"We are doing that." Amy pointed to the drawing depicting Sam rather coutinand bruised along his torso.

"This will be fun!" Lexi rubbed her hands together.

Lexi grabbed the items Amy instructed her to get as she popped another gummy bear in her mouth. "Are those my gummy bears?" Jared looked over.

Lexi swallowed quickly, barely chewing. "No." She turned to face him.

"Then what is in your hand?" Jared questioned.

"Jensen gave up your stash." Lexi said with an adorably guilty smile.

Jared smiled and Amy began to direct Lexi on applying makeup. She guided her along the instructions making sure Lexi had it correctly applied. After about fifteen minutes Amy’s cell rang. "Hey, I have to do a few touch ups on set, you got this?"

"Uh, no!" Lexi protested. "Dude, I only been doing this a day!"

"And your are great and a natural. Just keep doing what you're doing. I'll be back." Amy said as she walked out the door.

She froze not knowing what to do. Suddenly everything Amy taught her that day was gone. "You look like you’re gonna puke." Jared teased.

"Shut up." Lexi said as she grabbed the paper and looked it over once more.

"You're doing fine. Just relax." Jared couldn’t help but grin. Lexi wasn’t intimidated by much. But this made the cut.

Lexi finished the cuts on his forearm then looked at the paper. "I'm gonna need to get at your ribs." Without hesitation Jared pulled his shirt overhead. "Okay, skyscraper stand up. I'm not as short as all these other chicks around here."

“Yes, ma”am.” Jared stood and Lexi got to work on the prosthetic for the gashes on his side. She moved the brush with procesion making sure she matched every stroke to the page. As she smoothed the edges of one section Jared jerked away and let out a muffled chuckled.

Lexi leaned back on her heels and held her hands up. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing." He answered with a smile. "I'm ticklish there."

"I'm sorry." She smiled and continued to press the application gaining another chuckle from Jared. "Okay giggles do you need a minute?" She looked up at him with a laugh.

Jared shook his head with a grin and Lexi knelt down in front of Jared as she proceeded with the application. She smoothed her hands along his tanned, toned abdomen and up and down the canyons of his hips. She couldn't help but notice how tight and firm his body was. How his muscles flexed beneath her fingers with every little move. His skin hot to the touch. Lexi glanced up and saw Jared staring down at her. A slight smirk pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. She looked away quickly as her face suddenly felt hot. Good God this man's body was like a buffet in front of her. One she knew she could not eat from. And him looking down at her like that was enough to send her mind into the deep end. The door opened and Jensen stepped in then tilted his head looking at Lexi on her knees practically in front of Jared’s crotch.

"Is this a new service that we get with makeup now?" Jensen pointed at her. “If so i’m gonna need a different make up artist.”

"Yes, I was just about to blow his mind." Lexi countered with a giggle. “Come back in ten.” She stood up.

"Not an image I needed in my head." Jensen shook his head walking to the opposite chair, Jared laughing.

Later that night after they'd spent sixteen hours on set. Lexi spending the majority in the makeup trailer. Tired and feeling accomplished, she and Jensen were in the livingroom watching some oddball show having changed into their pajamas for the night.

Jared came down stairs, shirtless picking at the prosthetic cuts on his hip. "Hey, Jay?" he paused in the living room. "Did you have any trouble getting these prosthetics off?"

"No, mine washed off in the shower like normal." Jensen answered looking at him. “Why?”

"I did that and tried a few things but nothing. I wonder why it isn't coming off?" He continued to pick with the fake cuts walking down the stairs.

"That's because I used super glue for yours." Lexi said nonchalantly but with a smile of satisfaction on her face.

"What?" Jared’s head snapped up with surprise.

"You didn't." Jensen asked looking at her a smile extending on his face.

Lexi looked at Jared with a smile. "It's really not nice to brag about pranking people." She said innocently.

"How did you do this when I was looking at you the whole time?" Jared asked in disbelief.

"Not the whole time. And I'm quick." She giggled standing. "Don't freak though. I know how to take it off." She walked towards the bathroom and reemerged with what she needed.

"I can't believe you did this." Jared smiled as Lexi mixed the solution.”Sneaky little thing.” He shook his head. "You sly little evil geniuses, you." He had an air of pride in his voice, As Lexi began dabbing the solution to Jared's skin.

"Lex, smile for you handy work." Jensen snapped a picture as she and Jared made a quick pose. "I'm so posting this." He walked out the room looking down at his phone, still laughing.

Lexi tried not to let her attention drift as she dabbed the solution on the glue. It was rather difficult with Jared standing in front of her, shirtless with his abs perfectly toned and shaped in front of her. There was that buffet again. The V line of his hips so obvious in her face as it lead down into the top of his jogging pants. Pants that sat low, right above his most personal area.

"Thinking about something good?" Jared's voice pulled her back to reality.

"Huh?"

"You're biting your lip with a look of a naughty daydream on your face. Care to share?"

Lexi's cheeks flushed red and she looked away, focusing on her task. "Uh, no just, my mind drifted is all." She brushed off his comment.

"Looked like it drifted to a pretty good place." He smirked at her.

The red deepened on her cheeks as she continued removing the prosthetic. She could feel Jared's eyes on her, watching her every move. He was studying her, seeing her reactions. Was he flirting? My God chick, you inhaled way to much hairspray today. She thought to herself. But this wasn’t the first time it seemed like he was being a little too sweet to her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She asked finally.

"Like what?" He asked with a tiny tilt of his head.

"Just, the- the way you are right now.”

Jared chuckled. "Because you're cute when you get embarrassed." Lexi looked up at him not expecting him to say that. "And when you drift off, thinking of something...interesting," he lifted a hand and gently pushed her hair from her eyes, letting his fingertips skim across her features for a second. "You look tempting." The words left his mouth without thinking. "Tempted, I mean, you look tempted." He quickly corrected.

Lexi took a breath as his slip broke some of the tension and the air eased up a bit. "All done." She said standing, gathering her things and making her was to her room without another word confused at the way he just touched her. So gently. So sweet. He was not helping her crush that’s for damn sure.

Next Chapter>

Tags: @saxxxyjared , @xostephanie

#SPNFamily #SPN #supernatural #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #JaredxOFC #OFC #RPF #spn rpf #LoveIsBlind #choices

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 5 years

Text

The Greatest Showmen: An exclusive look inside the world of BTS

Maybe you saw them piled on the klieg-lit couches of Ellen DeGeneres and Jimmy Fallon, trading light bilingual banter with their starstruck hosts. Maybe it was when they spoke solemnly on mental health and self-love at the United Nations General Assembly last September, or when a wall of dolphin-like screams greeted them as they rolled into February’s Grammy Awards in trim matching tuxedos, their hair tinted various shades of pastel macaron.

Or maybe the cover of this magazine is the first time you’ve truly noticed BTS. (Stranger things have happened in 2019.) But it seems indisputable to say that sometime over the past two years, the septet have taken over the world: two No. 1 albums on the Billboard chart in the span of three months; more than 5 billion streams combined on Apple Music and Spotify; a string of sold-out concert dates from the Staples Center in Los Angeles to London’s famed Wembley Stadium.

That hardly makes them the first boy band to dominate a cultural moment, but the fact that they are all Korean-born and -raised, singing Korean-language songs only occasionally sprinkled with English, feels like something brand-new. And it speaks to an unprecedented kind of global currency — one where pop music moves without barriers or borders, even as geopolitics seem to retreat further behind hard lines and high walls.

On a blindingly bright March day in Seoul five weeks before the release of their upcoming sixth EP, Map of the Soul: Persona, the band is holed up at their record label Big Hit Entertainment, preparing. Buildings like this are where much of the magic of the phenomenon known as K-pop happens, though Big Hit’s headquarters on a quiet side street in the city’s Gangnam district (yes, the same one Psy sang about in his 2012 smash “Gangnam Style”) look a lot like any other tech office: sleek poured-cement corridors and glass-box conference rooms scattered with well-stocked mini-fridges, plush toys, and the occasional beanbag chair. Only a display case stacked with a truly staggering number of sales plaques and statuettes, and a glossy large-scale photo print of BTS at their sold-out concert at New York’s Citi Field last October, give away the business they do here.

Down a long hallway, all seven members lounge in various states of readiness as they gear up to pretape a thank-you video for an iHeartRadio award they won’t be able to accept in person. Jimin, bleached blond and pillow-lipped, is having his hair carefully flat-ironed in a wardrobe room filled with racks of coordinated denim and neon streetwear. Dozens of pairs of pristine Nikes and Converse are piled in a corner; a lone fun-fur jacket the color of strawberry ice cream slumps on a hanger behind him, like a neglected Fraggle.

Jung Kook, the baby of the band at 21, sits obediently in a folding chair in the dance studio, also having his hair tended to; J-Hope strides by in a white dress shirt emblazoned with an over-size silk-screen of Bart Simpson, then grins and disappears. Suga, V, and Jin huddle together on low sofas next door, scrolling through their phones and occasionally singing fragments of American R&B star Khalid’s “My Bad.” Twenty-four-year-old RM, the group’s de facto leader and lone fluent English speaker, is the last to arrive.

They run through their speech for a camera crew and do maybe four or five takes until the director is satisfied. Then they settle in for a conversation in an airy break room upstairs, accompanied by their longtime translator, a large, amiable bald man in a business suit named John. (Unless noted, the answers of all members other than RM come through him.) Several weeks after returning from their first Grammys, they’re still riding high off the experience: presenting the award to H.E.R. for Best R&B Album; chatting with Shawn Mendes in the men’s room — “I was like, ‘Do I need to tell him who I am?’ ” Jimin remembers, “but then he said hello first, which was really nice” — and being seated only a sequin’s throw from Dolly Parton. (“She was right there in front of us!” marvels Jung Kook. “Amazing.”)

As happily dazzled as they still seem to be by other celebrities, seeing BTS in the flesh triggers the same disorienting but not unpleasant sense of unreality. On screen, the band can look disconcertingly pretty; avatars of a sort of poreless, almost postgender beauty who seem to exist inside their own real-life Snapchat filters. In person they’re still ridiculously good-looking, but in a much more relatable, boyish way: bangs mussed, even the occasional chapped lip or small (okay, minuscule) blemish. Take away their Balenciaga high-tops and the discreet double Cs of Chanel jewelry, and they could almost be the cute college guy next to you at the coffee shop or on the train.

Except riding public transportation or casually dropping into a Starbucks stopped being an option for BTS a long time ago. In Seoul, their faces are plastered across makeup kiosks and street signs and the sides of buses — even on massive digital billboards that are bought and paid for by private citizens to acknowledge a beloved member’s birthday, or just because. In cities like São Paulo and Tokyo and Paris, fans camp out days in advance for concerts and public appearances, obsessively trading trivia and rumored sightings. When the band posted their takethis link opens in a new tab on Drake’s #InMyFeelingsChallenge, it became the most liked tweet of 2018; this summer, Mattel will release an official line of BTS dolls.

In the still center of this bizarre fame hurricane, the boys have managed to find a few pockets of normalcy. Jimin wistfully recalls a time in Chicago when they were able to slip out of their hotel rooms undetected “late at night, just to get some fresh air.” But most places, he admits, “that’s really out of the question” unless they split into smaller groups. “I mean, look at us,” RM adds with a laugh, running a hand through his own silver-nickel bangs. “Seven boys with dyed hair! It’s really too much.”

Instead, they focus on the things they can do, like sneaking out to the movies (“Always the latest or earliest show,” says RM, if they want to stay unseen), shopping online (V loves eBay, especially for clothes), going fishing, playing StarCraft at home. Group housing is actually common for K-pop stars, and BTS seem to appreciate the shared stability: “We’ve been living together for a while now, almost eight, nine years,” says Jimin. “So in the beginning we had a lot of arguments and conflicts. But we’ve reached the point where we can communicate wordlessly, basically just by watching each other and reading the expressions.”

Though they’re unfailingly polite and attentive in interviews, there’s a certain amount of contained chaos when they’re all together — a sort of tumbling-puppy cyclone of playful shoves, back slaps, and complicated handshakes — but also a surprising, endearing sweetness to the way they treat one another in quieter moments. When a question is posed to the group, they work hard to make sure each one of them is heard, and if someone is struggling to find a word, they’ll quickly reach out for a reassuring knee pat or side hug.

Even with the language barrier of speaking to an American reporter, though, their individual personalities quickly start to emerge: Asked to name their earliest pop memories, the answers land all over the map. “I loved Pussycat Dolls’ ‘Stickwitu,’ ’’ says J-Hope, the group’s most accomplished dancer, snapping his fingers and cooing the chorus. For RM, who started out in Seoul’s underground rap scene, it’s Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” (“I think that’s, like, a life pick for so many people around the world,” he admits, “but I can’t forget when I first watched 8 Mile and heard the guitars. That was my turning point.”) For Jung Kook, who has released covers of Justin Bieber and Troye Sivan songs, it was Richard Marx’s deathless lite-FM ballad “Now and Forever.”

The soft-spoken Suga cites John Lennon’s “Imagine” as “the first song I fell in love with,” which feels like a fitting gateway to ask where BTS see themselves in the pantheon of musical heartthrobs that the Fab Four essentially invented. “Sometimes it feels really embarrassing when someone calls us a 21st-century Beatles or something like that,” RM concedes. “But if they want to call us a boy band, then we’re a boy band. If they want to call us a boy group, we’re a boy group. If they want to call us K-pop, then we’re cool with K-pop.”

Ah, K-pop. In South Korea, where the genre has become not just a prime cultural commodity but a multibillion-dollar export, the players, known as “idols,” go through rigorous Fame-style schooling in song and dance and media training that often goes on for years before they’re considered ready for the spotlight. And it’s paid off: Business has been booming since the early ’90s, with stars from Girls’ Generation to G-Dragoncrossing over to various markets across Asia, Europe, and the Americas. But while the sound has remained fairly consistent — a canny mix of club-ready beats, hyper-sweetened choruses, and the more urban inflections of Western hip-hop and R&B — it’s never before landed with the lightning-bolt impact of BTS.

Bang Si-Hyuk, the CEO and founder of Big Hit, began putting the band together in 2010, when all the members were in their tweens or teens: RM and Suga were coming up on the local rap scene; Jimin and J-Hope studied dance at performing-arts schools; V, who focused on singing early on, joined officially in 2013. Jin was an aspiring actor recruited off the street for his striking looks; Jung Kook, now the group’s main vocalist, joined while he was still in junior high.

Though fansites tend to lean on their extracurricular differences (Jung Kook is a Virgo who loves pizza! V collects ties and clenches his teeth in his sleep!), each member genuinely does hold a unique space in the group’s process, whether it’s leaning more toward production, lyrics, or the supersize hooks the songs rest on. “With seven members we have seven different tastes, of course,” says RM. “So when it comes to songwriting, it’s like a big competition.” Occasionally, adds J-Hope, “we’ll write a lyric and decide, ‘This sort of reflects me [more], who I am and my own color,’ so we’ll want to keep that for a solo song.”

Because Big Hit doesn’t restrict their right to funnel some ideas into side projects — and because the appetite for more BTS-sourced material online is seemingly unquenchable — members regularly release solo work through EPs, SoundCloud, and mixtapes. But the primary impact still comes through the official album releases, and the particularly weighty subjects those songs take on — a notable departure from the narrow, often strenuously upbeat topics other K-pop artists typically cover.

“I promised the members from the very beginning that BTS’ music must come from their own stories,” says Bang; their subsequent openness about their own struggles with depression, self-doubt, and the pressure to conform took them all the way to the U.N. last fall, where RM addressed the band’s Love Myself campaign and #ENDviolence youth partnership with UNICEF.

“They stand out,” says Japanese-American DJ and producer Steve Aoki, a top-selling global dance artist who has also collaborated with the band on several tracks. “And I’m not just talking about K-pop. They add so much of their personality to the music and into their stories and how they present themselves. And the world has fallen in love with them because they are showing that vulnerable side that everyone wants to see.”

It helps, too, that the group’s more pointed messages are often slipped into the sticky aural peanut butter of anthems like “No More Dream,” “Dope,” and “Am I Wrong.” But they always appreciate the chance, Suga says, to get “a little more raw, a little more open.” RM elaborates: “I think it’s an endless dilemma for every artist, how much we should be frank and honest. But we try to reveal ourselves as much as we can.”

Honesty has its limits, of course, when you’re the biggest band in the world. Asked to describe the new album, due April 12 (at press time, it had already hit over 2.5 million in preorders), members offer up cryptic but enthusiastic koans like “therapeutic” and “refreshing crispness.” To be fair, they can’t say much in part because the new album’s track list isn’t actually finalized yet — late decisions being a luxury of in-house production — though they do agree to play one song, a propulsive rap-heavy banger called “Intro: Persona.” (It was released as a teaser March 27; you can watch the video herethis link opens in a new tab.)

When it comes to more personal questions about the challenges of dating or the goals they might want to pursue post-BTS, they pivot so gracefully to evasive, nonspecific answers, you almost can’t help but be impressed; it’s like watching a diplomat ice-dance. They want you to know that they are incredibly grateful for the devotion of their fans, and so blessed to be exactly where they are; that they really don’t think in terms of five- or 10-year plans. But they turn reflective when the subject of American pop’s holy grail, the Hot 100 singles chart, is raised. They cracked the top 10 last year with “Fake Love” but have yet to reach a higher spot, largely because mainstream radio airplay—a huge component of Hot 100 domination—still eludes them Stateside.

“It will have to be a great song,” Suga acknowledges, “but also there’s a whole strategy that’s associated with getting all the way up. And then there has to be a measure of luck, obviously. So what’s important for us is just to make good music and good performances and have those elements come together.” Does a Spanish-language smash like 2017’s “Despacito” — which spent a record 16 weeks at No. 1 — make them more optimistic about their own odds? “You know, Latin pop has its own Grammys in America, and it’s quite different,” RM says thoughtfully. “I don’t want to compare, but I think it’s even harder as an Asian group. A Hot 100 and a Grammy nomination, these are our goals. But they’re just goals — we don’t want to change our identity or our genuineness to get the number one. Like if we sing suddenly in full English, and change all these other things, then that’s not BTS. We’ll do everything, we’ll try. But if we couldn’t get number one or number five, that’s okay.”

Aoki, for one, has faith they’ll get there. “I think it’s 100 percent possible that a song sung entirely in Korean could crack the top of the Hot 100. I firmly believe that, and I really firmly believe that BTS can be the group that can do that. It’s going to pave the way for a lot of other groups, which they’ve already been doing—and when that happens, we’re all gonna celebrate.”

Back at Big Hit, though, the band has more immediate work to do. RM offers a quick tour of his production room (each member has his own dedicated space on site). The door outside is guarded by a quirky assemblage of figurines by the renowned street artist Kaws, but inside feels, incongruously, like stepping into a tiny, luxurious Sundance lodge that also just happens to have a soundboard: There’s a beautiful coffee table made from a single piece of black walnut; Navajo-style rugs; tasteful art on the walls. RM talks easily about his admiration for producers like Zedd and the Neptunes (“Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo were my true idols in 2006, 2007. Pharrell’s voice! It’s so sexy, how he sings”), and plays down his own skills (“As a beatmaker, Suga is way better than me. I don’t even know how to play the piano — I just do the chords like this,” he insists, miming keyboard Muppet hands).

Then it’s back to the dance studio, where they’ve changed into track pants and T-shirts to run through new steps with a choreographer. It starts with a rough triangle formation, and an elaborate hip-swivel-into-pelvic-thrust/crotch-grab combo that actually plays much more innocently than it sounds, mostly because they keep stopping to crack each other up. Soon, though, they drill down — repeating the moves until they seem crisp but easy, almost an afterthought. It feels like time to leave them; the boys wave happily, shouting out a rowdy chorus of goodbyes. Then they turn back to the mirror, and keep dancing.

#bangtan #jimin #jungkook #v #suga #jhope #jin #rm #o:interview #190328

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carmenlire · 5 years

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Off the Record Ch. III

read chapter one

read on ao3

Magnus walks into the office at 7am sharp. He’s carrying a latte from the coffee shop around the corner and as he takes a sip, he grimaces a little at the bitter taste.

He’s running on three hours of sleep, having stayed up far too late working on the finishing touches of Alec’s suit. It’s been a while since Magnus has worked around the clock for a piece and it’s strangely invigorating even if he does want to collapse on his couch and sleep the morning away.

Nodding to a few of his employees, Magnus manages to make it up to his office without talking to anyone. Really, only a few departments were up and running this early. Magnus might demand a lot from his staff but he wasn’t unreasonable.

He kept unreasonable expectations to himself.

Clary’s not due for a couple of hours so Magnus has the floor to himself. Walking into his office, Magnus sees the two mannequins displaying Alec’s sample jackets near his desk. In the bright morning light, Magnus takes another drink from his cup as he studies them.

“Still got it,” he murmurs to himself, eyes raking over the fabric looking for anything out of place, pushing a loose pin back into position.

He has no idea what Alec will think of the suits. Really, while Magnus might have the tiniest crush on the reporter, the man’s an enigma. In his early thirties, Alec Lightwood was by all rights a man on a mission.

Magnus could relate even if he wondered just how much the old adage rang true.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Alec seemed constantly in motion, flying off to far flung countries and racking up awards and accolades. It was undeniably attractive, all that accomplishment and drive. Magnus has always loved someone who knows what they want and Alec certainly fit the bill there.

With a sigh, Magnus turns and makes his way to his desk, sitting down and setting his cup to one side while he boots up his computer. While Alec was sure to be the most exciting part of his day, Magnus’s world couldn’t stop for a consultation.

He spends the next few hours losing himself in work. He skims the day’s headlines and gets caught up on his email-- at least as much as he ever is.

It feels like for every reply he sends, two more messages pop up in his inbox in a never ending deluge of correspondence.

He looks over the daily media report his publicist emails at the start of the day, seeing how the Bane brand is faring in the media. Thankfully, all mentions look positive with an editorial piece in Tokyo Vogue speculating about his winter line. Magnus raises a wry brow as some of their theories are remarkably close to his actual portfolio while others are so off the mark as to be laughable.

Taking a short break, Magnus thinks for a quick second before taking his phone out and positioning the mannequins in their most advantageous light. Taking a few pictures, he chooses one before posting it to his Instagram with the caption, Special commission for a client. I wonder who?

Immediately locking his phone again, Magnus looks up at the knock on his door, smiling as Clary pops her head in.

“Good morning, Biscuit,” he greet warmly. “What do you need?”

Walking into his office without a word, Clary only takes enough steps until she can close the door behind her, leaning against it as she looks up at the ceiling without saying a word.

“What is it?” Magnus’s voice is bemused as he takes in his assistant of three years. Clary’s a consummate professional even if she has a propensity to be a little dramatic.

With a sigh, Clary straightens and holds the folder to her middle. If Magnus’s isn’t mistaken, there’s a blush sweeping over her cheeks. He’s just about to ask what on earth just happened when she speaks up.

“You’re ten o’clock is here. Alec and Isabelle Lightwood.”

Looking up at the clock, Magnus is a little taken aback to see just how much time has passed while he was working. It’s ten on the dot and Magnus gives the Lightwood siblings points for punctuality.

“What’s got you so flustered?”

Glaring, Clary manages to hiss, “You didn’t tell me that Isabelle was stunning,” in a stage whisper that has Magnus barking out a laugh as he walks over to the mannequins.

“Now that you mention it,” he muses. “She is your type.”

Fanning herself with the folder, Clary straightens back into her professional stance. “Should I send them in?”

Smoothing down a lapel, Magnus gestures absently with a hand. “Of course, dear.”

He barely hears the door open again, focused on last minute adjustments in a move that is not an effort to quell his nerves.

Magnus Bane doesn’t get nervous and certainly not over a client.

He ignores the voice in his head calling him a big goddamn liar and turns around as he hears steps approaching. Face set into a welcoming smile, every thought in Magnus head disappears for a beat, then two, then three.

Alexander Lightwood can wear a pair of Levis like no one Magnus has ever seen before, making a perfectly plain sweater-- which Magnus has a sneaking suspicion is Valentino-- look couture.

He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning and it gives him a deliciously rugged air. Distantly Magnus wonders if he’s drooling before he shakes his head imperceptibly and pulls his shit together.

If he didn’t know better, Magnus would swear that Alec was similarly affected. Holding out a hand, Magnus says, “Magnus Bane. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

To his utter delight, Alec smiles and it looks easy, open. Magnus might have expected a certain coolness but right now, Alec looks approachable and friendly.

“Alec.”

Magnus thinks he hears Isabelle mutter underneath her breath but he can’t quite place the words. It’s no matter, though, because in the next instant Alec is sliding his hand into Magnus’s.

His palm is warm, inviting, and as the two of them shake hands, it feels like their in their own little world-- at least to Magnus.

Alec, for his part, looks completely unaffected as his smile cools. The handshake is completely perfunctory before Alec drops his hand and turns toward his sister.

“You already know Izzy,” he says with a nod in her direction and Magnus almost gets whiplash from the change in attitude, the earlier friendliness turning almost icy.

Magnus has worked with jerks before and while it chaps his ass, Magnus doesn’t let his expression shift as he turns toward his friend.

“Of course. Isabelle,” he greets, smile deepening, and leans close to kiss her cheek.

She reciprocates, resting her hands on his shoulders, before pulling back. Back to Alec, Magnus only sees Isabelle as she rolls her eyes in her brother’s direction.

“Magnus. Thank you so much for doing this. We know you’re a busy man who did this as a favor to a friend.”

The tilt of Magnus’s mouth turns wry as Isabelle speaks through clenched teeth and as he takes a step back, Magnus’s gaze flicks over to Alec who looks like he’s chewing glass as he says, “Thank you, Magnus. Next week’s dinner is important and my sister’s been raving about you since she told me about our appointment.”

Slightly mollified, Magnus just offers, “Good to know my reputation precedes me,” and turns with a extravagant hand towards the two mannequins.

“Why don’t we get down to business,” he says briskly and starts with the classic suit jacket. “I’ve created two sample suits. As you can see, I went with classic for this first piece. All black wool with silk lapels and finishing details.”

Moving toward a hidden closet, Magnus opens the door and takes out the hanger with the rest of the ensemble. Handing them over to Alec, who takes them without hesitation, Magnus continues, “Go ahead and try this on and we’ll see how it fits.”

He winks. “We’ll see just how close to your measurements I could come to with just pictures as reference.”

Clearing his throat, Alec nods and turns towards Magnus’s ensuite bathroom and closes the door without a word.

Left alone with Isabelle, he looks over as she sighs heavily.

“He’s such a dunce,” he hears before she’s smiling apologetically. “Sorry about him. I’d blame it on the jet lag but unfortunately my brother isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

Magnus waves that away. “He’s not the first less-than-pleasant client I’ve had, dear, and he won’t be the last. While I’m disappointed, of course, that he doesn’t have the same sunny disposition as you, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to seeing him fill out my clothes.”

“Alec might prefer to wear simple clothes but he definitely has his own sense of style,” Isabelle agrees. “He does get a little set in his ways, though.”

“Don’t say that Alec didn’t want to come this morning,” Magnus says sardonically.

Grimacing, Izzy just replies, “He wasn’t an ass about it but once my brother finds something-- someone-- he likes, it takes some persuading to steer him in a different direction. He has the disappointing and extremely frustrating habit of landing himself in ruts.”

Magnus can’t help himself from coming to his defense, suggesting, “He is a busy man. I can’t imagine that he has all the time in the world to explore when he’s always off on assignment.”

Isabelle huffs but before she can say anything, the bathroom door is open.

Goddamn.

Magnus keeps his neutral expression, though it takes more effort than he’d like to admit. He’d gotten damned close to Alec’s measurements and as he runs a critical eye over the suit, cataloging the dozen places that need altering, Magnus gives himself a little pat on the back for another job well done.

Gesturing sharply for Alec to approach the tri-fold mirror in the corner of his office, Magnus swings by his desk to pick up his pin cushion and tape measure before joining Isabelle and her brother.

If his eyes happen to drop to a truly magnificent ass, Magnus assures himself that no one’s the wiser.

Coming around to stand in front of Alec, Magnus smooths the shoulders of the suit.

“This needs let out three quarters of an inch,” Magnus mutters under his breath, noting the tightness as the fabric stretches over an impressive set of shoulders.

Alec stands still as Magnus repins the area. Magnus doesn’t pay him much mind as he circles around, making other minute alterations. Tugging down the back of the jacket, Magnus admires the flare that accentuates slim hips before coming back around and shifting to the shirt.

Looking up, Magnus meets Alec’s eyes, his own dancing just a little as he reaches toward the collar.

“Now, I don’t know the dress code for this event but I’ve tailored the shirt and jacket so that it’s suitable for both a bow tie or open throat.” So saying, Magnus unbuttons the top two buttons, fingers just gliding over the warm skin of Alec’s neck.

While his expression doesn’t change, only half of Magnus’s mind is on which style fits best, waiting for Alec to give him some feedback.

Most of his thoughts are caught on the ripple of Alec’s throat as he swallows hard, mouth opening on an almost silent gasp that only the two of them hear. Their eyes collide and Magnus wishes desperately that this was a sign. It’s a moment suspended in time-- Magnus’s fingers still along the collar of the shirt, spreading it wider to show a larger swathe of tan skin.

No one says anything and Magnus can’t even begin to string a sentence together as he wonders what the hell the man in front of him is doing to his usually iron-clad professionalism. Before he can do anything though, Alec’s clearing his throat. It jars them from the spell that seems to have been cast over their tableau and while Magnus doesn’t startle, he does blink, the breath shuddering out of him as Alec’s tongue darts out to drag over a full bottom lip.

“Actually,” Alec says slowly, looking at Magnus as though for permission, “The gala is black tie only. No open throats allowed.”

“Of course,” Magnus replies mechanically. On autopilot he buttons the shirt back up and takes a step back, regaining some equilibrium with the move.

Turning his back for a brief moment, Magnus walks over to his desk, grabbing the slim box from the corner of his desk. He lifts the top as he returns to Alec, holding it out for both he and Isabelle to look over.

“I thought you might say that,” Magnus says with a small smile, nodding towards the black silk bow tie resting in white satin. “I had the design team bring this up just in case you opted for the more formal choice.”

Isabelle reaches for the piece of fabric, but Alec beats her to it, lightly slapping her hand away. “I can tie my own bow tie,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes as only a big brother can before taking a step or two closer to the mirror for a better look.

Magnus watches the display with a smile. His eyes catch on the graceful, if utilitarian, movements of Alec’s hands as he expertly ties a perfect bow. Leaning closer to the mirror, Alec’s thumb runs under the wing tip collar of the oxford shirt, smoothing the black silk, and Magnus’s mouth goes dry.

Get a grip, he tells himself and brightens when Alec’s eyes catch his in the mirror, as if asking for a second opinion.

Gesturing for Alec to step back, Magnus runs a critical eye of the outfit. He reaches for Alec’s arms, pulling them straight in front of him, gauging the length.

“It’s a little tight,” Alec admits, subtly flexing his arms.

Magnus’s reply is absent as he says, “The sleeves are too short. I’ll send down to the store for the next size and tailor it to the measurements I’ll take in a few minutes.” Shooting the cuffs, Magnus looks up with a frown. “Do you have cuff links or do you need a pair? I have a few on hand to get the general effect but I can refer you to a few jewelers if that’s more your speed.”

“I have cuff links at home. I didn’t think to bring them,” Alec admits sheepishly.

Magnus waves that away.

“I should have told Isabelle. No matter, like I said, I have some that will give us the effect we need and see what adjustments might need to be made.”

Grabbing the a notebook on a side table, Magnus reaches for the pencil tucked behind his ear, pulling his tape measure from around his neck. He spends the next several minutes readjusting pins and getting real measurements, wanting to make sure that this Bane Original especially fit like a dream.

Taking a step back, Magnus studies the new silhouette before his gaze snags on the pants. Tossing his notebook to the side, Magnus kneels and reaches for the hem of Alec’s pants, tugging them down over sock-clad feet.

He smiles, just a little, at the mini ducklings that make an otherwise plain black sock fun.

“What do you think of the silk stripe down the side? Too much?” Magnus glares at the pant leg, debating on the length when he looks up to see Alec already studying him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Alec says and Magnus leaves it at that. He can’t help clients who won’t say what’s on their mind.

Deciding the length works-- surprising since Alexander’s exceptionally tall-- Magnus stands back up, dusting his hands off in the process.

“Well, how does it look,” Magnus asks, stepping back and gesturing for Alec to spin.

Alec does so, looking down at himself in the suit. “I like it,” he says, sounding surprised. Shrugging a little, he looks up at Magnus as he completes his revolution. “I like it a lot.”

Magnus smiles, leaning down to grab his sketchbook from where it’d landed on the floor. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says lightly. He tilts his head toward the second mannequin. “Do you want to try on the second suit? I know it’s flashier, a little bolder, but I looked through press pictures from past formal events and sometimes you like something with a little edge.”

Alec bites his lip, thinking, as he glances over to the other side of the room. He smiles faintly. “Purple, though,” he asks, eyes laughing as he looks more than a little taken aback.

Magnus’s reply is prim as he merely offers, “Aubergine, Alexander. It’s all about the shade.”

“Oh, of course,” Alec agrees easily, laughing. “That makes all the difference.”

“Magenta is different from violet is different from lavender.”

Nodding, Alec grins and Magnus notes the faint laugh lines just starting to form at the corner of his eyes. “You’re right," he says gravely. “My mistake.”

“As long as you’re aware,” Magnus murmurs, taking a step back.

“Can I offer either of you something to drink? Eat?” He winces. “I’ve been a terrible host and businessman. Forgive me.”

Alec waves that away almost before he’s done talking. “I’m good. Iz?”

Smiling, Isabelle asks for water which Magnus goes to the intercom to order from Clary. She knocks on the door to the office before poking her head in. Walking into the office, Clary holds the bottle of water out but Magnus nods toward Isabelle and Clary falters imperceptibly before she switches directions.

Magnus watches as Clary hands the bottle to Isabelle, who takes it with a wide smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she says something to low for him to hear. Clary laughs though, breathless, and Magnus finds himself intrigued.

Looking up, he catches Alec’s eye and the two of them exchange looks as Isabelle and Clary talk for another minute before Clary takes a step back, tripping over air with a small yelp before turning on her heel and leaving the room posthaste.

The room’s silent for a minute before Alec clears his throat. Magnus sees Isabelle close her eyes as though in pain before pasting a bright smile on her face and turning towards her brother.

She tries to ignore his look, instead moving to brush an invisible piece of lint from the front of his jacket. Alec doesn’t say anything, and Magnus doesn’t either before Isabelle sighs exasperatedly and snaps, “What?”

Theatrically raising his brows, Alec just pleasantly returns, “Why don’t you tell us?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she just says, “So, she’s cute. What about it?”

Grinning, Alec pokes her shoulder. “You have a type,” he says knowingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out and save everyone involved-- including the long-suffering witnesses-- the pain of drawing it out.”

“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to focus on you. And what a sight to focus on,” Izzy exclaims. “You look great, Alec.”

She throws a sharp look at Magnus that he has no hope of deciphering before she says, “Lydia won’t know what hit her.”

At that, it’s Alec’s turn to look uncomfortable.

Isabelle immediately jumps on the shift in expression, demanding, “What happened?”

Clearing his throat, Alec spares a fleeting glance at Magnus before admitting, “Lydia and I are no longer a thing.”

“You’re no longer a thing,” Isabelle repeats incredulously. “What?”

Shrugging, Alec just says, “We both decided that things had run their course and we should go our separate ways. We’re still friends just-- just nothing else.”

Magnus absorbs the information. The truth is, people rarely paid attention to their tailor and Magnus has been a fly on the wall of conversations some people would kill to know. He can’t quite believe Alec’s airing his business so nonchalantly in front of him but Magnus fulfills his role, remaining obscure.

That’s, at least, until Alec turns directly towards him and offers, “It’s probably hitting the news soon, so I didn’t see an issue letting someone know before it’s official. I hope you don’t mind.”

Alec rubs the back of his neck, “I know that we’ve only known each other an hour,” he says, tone self-deprecating, “But I trust you. I don’t know why but I do.”

“Client confidentiality is a must in my business, I assure you.” Magnus smiles, just a little, adding, “I’d hope my friendship with Isabelle would vouch for me but just so you know, I’m not in the business of spreading gossip.” He arches a brow. “I have better things to do with my time. I am a busy man after all,” he sniffs.

Alec’s expression warms at the reassurance and he snorts a laugh. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad."

Taking a few steps over to Magnus, Alec holds out his hand. “Thank you. I know I was a little short with you when we first arrived and I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but helpful and I love this suit.”

Magnus slides his hand into Alec’s grip, their handshake professional even if Alec’s expression is much more open this second time around.

“You’re welcome, Alexander. I’m glad that Isabelle thought to mention my name. It’s been awhile since I’ve done such a commission and I have to admit that I’d forgotten how fun it can be, filling a rush order for a particularly influential client.”

“I’m influential, huh?” Alec’s voice is soft, searching, and Magnus can’t stop himself from leaning infinitesimally closer.

“Well, you’re only one of the most well-known journalists in The States, if not the world,” Magnus replies demurely. “I can’t wait to see how you photograph in my clothes.”

Close, Magnus can see the way Alec’s eyes widen and the way the faintest color sweeps across his cheeks before he pulls-- finally-- his hand from Magnus’s.

It’s over quicker than Magnus can blink and he can’t help but wonder if he didn’t just imagine the way Alec swept a lingering thumb across his palm.

Stepping back, Alec nods towards Izzy. “I hope I can do them justice,” he says before continuing, “I promised Iz that we’d get lunch soon and we’ve taken up enough of your time. While I love the craftsmanship of the second suit-- and you might have even gotten me into it if it was for a different occasion-- I think I’ll go ahead and order this black one.”

“Smart choice,” Magnus manages, still preoccupied before he shakes his head and snaps back to attention. He smiles brightly at Alec.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander. I have to admit that I might watch your news segment regularly. It’s nice to meet the man behind the camera.”

“Yeah,” Alec asks, sounding pleased at the news. “I hope I don’t bore you.”

“Never,” Magnus vows. “Not even when I have no idea what treaty or legalese you’re talking about.”

Clearing his throat, Magnus steers the conversation away from his embarrassing habit. He just met the man-- Magnus doesn’t need to spill all of his secrets this morning.

He walks until he’s standing behind Alec and helps him shrug out of the jacket. He gestures toward the bathroom. “Feel free to change back into your street clothes while I hang this up.”

Alec follows his direction and disappears into the bathroom. Magnus doesn’t know quite when Isabelle moved but he’s suddenly being nudged in the ribs.

Wincing, Magnus jerks out of Isabelle’s particularly pointed reach.

“What?”

Pointing a finger in his direction, Isabelle’s tone is playfully accusatory as she replies, “Don’t play dumb with me, Bane. You were totally checking out my brother.”

Glaring, askance at both Isabelle’s forwardness and his own lack of discretion, Magnus merely scoffs and says, “He’s Alec Lightwood. Of course I was checking him out. I’d have to be dead not to take that man in.”

Izzy chastises him. “You weren’t being subtle,” she says dryly.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus’s voice is equal parts annoyed and amused as he says, “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’re very straight brother didn’t notice.”

Isabelle doesn’t say anything in response and when he looks over from where he was hanging the jacket back on the empty mannequin, he sees his friend looking like she’s chewing particularly cutting glass.

“What,” he wonders. “I might flirt a little but I’m very much aware that he’s not interested, Isabelle. I would never make a client uncomfortable, though I find it hard to believe that Alec is a homophobic bigot, considering the way he teased you earlier about my very lovely assistant.”

Isabelle laughs. Loud, echoing laughs that, quite frankly, startle Magnus.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and waits for his possibly deranged friend to calm down. Isabelle quiets down to soft snickers after a few minutes, wiping under her eyes to clean up her running eyeliner.

“Alec is as from a homophobic asshole as you can get,” Izzy assures him. “I promise you didn’t make him uncomfortable. He’d have no problem telling you to get lost if you had.”

She shrugs. “Who’s to say. Alec probably didn’t notice you flirting but if he had then he must not have minded very much.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to make of that so he opts to ignore it, though he can’t deny that it lingers in his mind, thoughts twisting over those innocuous words.

He shakes his head, impatient at himself, as the bathroom door opens and Alec comes back out, dressed in the warm brown sweater and worn jeans.

Handing the suit to Magnus, Alec smiles easily. “Thanks again, Magnus. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“You’re more than welcome, darling. When do you need this suit again? I need a firm time.”

Squinting a little, Alec throws out, “How about Tuesday afternoon? Four? The gala’s at eight but I won’t get ready until the late afternoon. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Magnus beams. “With a rush order, every extra hours counts. I’ll have this delivered to your home or office Tuesday afternoon.”

Tapping his pencil against his chin, Magnus thinks for a second, making sure that he has everything he needs.

“Oh! What color accent do you want for the pocket square?”

It’s a small thing but definitely a touch that most clients like to personalize. Magnus does his best to tailor every order to the client’s specifications and so he waits for Alec to think through options, hoping that it won’t be a fashion faux pas.

He once had a special commission for an orange paisley suit with a blue plaid pocket square and string tie. The client was over the moon with the finished product, even if Magnus had hated every stitch.

“Let’s go with a blue. I trust you can pick the best shade that will be a pop of color but won’t be overpowering or too dark?”

“I can do that,” Magnus agrees easily, happy with Alec’s choice. “Classic, masculine-- very you, darling.”

Magnus can’t resist and he’s treated to a soft smile as Alec ducks down, hiding his face from view.

Isabelle clears her throat. “Well, we’d best be getting to lunch. I’m starving and Alec’s paying so no need to dawdle. Right Alec,” she asks, studying her brother like a bug under her microscope.

“Yeah,” Alec says, voice rough.

“Have a good day you two and thanks for stopping by, Isabelle. It was nice seeing you.”

“We should get lunch soon.”

Magnus winks. “Stop by Clary’s desk on your way out and she can set something up for us.”

Izzy grins, nodding, before turning towards the door and leaving without a backwards glance, not waiting for Alec to follow.

Still, Alec doesn’t leave right away and Magnus is loathe to end their meeting.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Alexander.”

“That’d be nice, though I am out of the country a lot for work.”

“A journalist’s work is never done,” Magnus teases.

“It does seem like it sometimes.”

Taking a step closer, Magnus slowly says, “Well, maybe when you’re in town next you can call me and we’ll see if we can make our schedules work.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a business card and holding it out for Alec to take.

Alec reaches out slowly, as if afraid it’s a trap, before grabbing the card. His fingers brush over Magnus’s and they both still at the contact.

“Thanks,” Alec breathes before breaking the connection and taking the card, sliding it into his back pocket.

“Don’t mention it,” Magnus manages and smiles.

Taking a step, Alec starts to turn toward the door, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you around, Magnus.”

Nodding, Magnus doesn’t say anything, just watches as Alec leaves, carefully closing his office door with a quiet snick.

The minute the door closes, Magnus is blowing out a breath and falling back onto his couch with a muttered curse.

“Christ,” he whispers under his breath, working on his breathing.

While things had gotten off to a rocky start with Alec, there was just something about him that Magnus couldn’t put his finger on that made him want to come closer and learn more about the damnably closed-lip man.

Magnus couldn’t get a read on him. Cool one minute, bright enough to melt the polar caps the next. There’s something there that makes Magnus want to burrow closer and find out just what Alec’s hiding under the small smiles and brusque facade.

It’s interesting reconciling the man who reports the news in dangerous, tense locales with the approachable, long-suffering big brother he’d met today. Two sides of the same coin and Magnus can’t help but wonder what other sides there are to one Alec Lightwood.

Alas, he probably won’t see the man again, Magnus thinks glumly.

He’d put the ball in Alec’s court and while Alec had been everything polite about the invitation, Magnus doesn’t want to think that there’s anything more there but an exceptionally talented designer fulfilling a lucrative commission.

More’s the pity, he thinks and sighs again.

Lack of sleep starts to catch up to Magnus and with a quick look at the clock that hangs over his desk, Magnus decides that he can take a few hour nap before his early afternoon appointment with the textiles manager in Milan.

He’s asleep almost before he makes the choice, his last thought lingering on Alec and just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.

#im highkey surprised I finished this today lol #I'm so tired lmao #otr #my writing

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fictional-downey · 5 years

Text

Nebula’s Weapon (Tony/Nebula)

I’m pretty sure this is terrible, but it’s been rattling around in my head for months, so here goes. ANY feedback is appreciated. I haven’t lived up to my “name” in quite some time.

The weaponization of an act of comfort - this is what things had come to. “It was the only way,” Nebula insisted, speaking only to herself. “He refused to sleep and it was my only choice. He kept talking his way out of everything.” Guilt felt similar to an open wound and she was finding it hard to cope with these new feelings. True, Nebula felt the emotion before - recently, in fact - but this was of a unique level. She sat on the floor of the ship beside him, her hand over his heart, feeling its beat and making certain it didn’t stop. Tony had been nothing but kind to her. Not kind in a passive sense or an obligated one - and certainly not in any way meant to benefit himself. He simply saw this woman’s pain and wanted to help her - more importantly he knew he could help her, at least in the physical sense. She nodded off now and then, not needing nearly the amount of rest that he did. As she sat there, she projected various events into the quiet, rewatching and continuing to learn from them.

When the others disappeared from Titan, Nebula understood what Thanos accomplished. Tony grasped the result as well, but not the action that made it possible. Peter’s ashes on his hands, Tony approached Nebula, his own battered body shaking. Only two words escaped his lips. “You’re hurt.”

He spent hours fixing the damage that was done to her. He was even able to make slight adjustments here and there that relieved pain she didn’t realize she had until it was gone. All the while, he spoke to her as his equal and treated her with tenderness. Tony knew she was more being than machine and not the other way around. As soon as she was repaired, Nebula helped Tony with the ship. Days of working in tandem - taking parts from all the available spacecraft on Titan to try and get this one back up and running correctly. They succeeded in leaving the planets surface and even made some progress before the engines cut off and they fell adrift.

A few days passed and Nebula watched from the shadows as Tony recorded a message to the woman who held his heart. She replayed this moment over and over again, wishing she could understand that sort of connection a little better. How did it feel to care for someone that much?

It was only a few hours since that message was recorded when she suggested Tony get some rest. Between his physical and emotional states, he was doing nothing but making himself frustrated.

“I can’t sleep, Neb, I’m so close. Look, if we just...” He coughed and his eyes watered. “...we only have to...” He lost his balance.

“Tony, we will fix this, but you are no good to either of us right now.” Nebula placed a chilled hand on his shoulder. “Please, at least sit with me for a little while. Tell me about her again.”

Tony gave in, sitting cross legged on the floor. Nebula sat across from him, her black eyes assessing him. She had been worried about him for days. At first, the distraction of fixing her, as well as the ship, was enough to keep him focused and fired up, but over the past few days, he refused to sleep - the nightmares were too much for him - and recording what he felt were his last words to Pepper made her fear he was giving up.

“She’s my world,” he began. “Pepper has stood by my side in my absolute worst moments…” He coughed again, but the smallest shadow of a smile appeared on his now gaunt face. “I never wanted a wife or kids…family wasn’t my strong point, but…”

He made to get up, but Nebula placed her hand on his knee. “But what?” she prodded. Tony was silent. “Love is real,” she stated. “I only understood that recently. I don’t remember my family and what I had was nothing more than torture and chaos and disdain.” Her left eye twitched a little. “Gamora…I understand love because of her…and while I haven’t come to regret much, I…” Tony watched as tears fell from Nebula’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was capable of them, but there they were, as real as the heart beating within her modified body. He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it. “You aren’t what anyone expects, are you, Tony?”

“I’ve a feeling you’ll be a surprise as well, won’t you?” A full smile changed Tony’s face.

“To whom?”

“To whoever we can find when we get this ship somewhere.”

Again, he tried to get up, but Nebula continued to ask him about Pepper. “Can you feel her?”

Tony didn’t hesitate. “She’s not gone. I know it. It’s why I can’t sleep, Neb. I need to get to her. I need us to get to whoever is left! My last few breaths have to be ones where I’m at least trying.” He was successful in getting up now and he began to pace. “My math is always right, so what am I missing? Why can’t I fix this? I can fix anything…” He wiped at his eyes. “…I’m the mechanic.”

His exhaustion was getting the best of him and Nebula knew this. Together, they worked endless hours and she knew for certain, that they truly were just on the edge of finding the missing factor to their problem. He walked back to the same panel he had taken apart and put together dozens of times already when Nebula tapped his shoulder. He turned around and was taken back by her smile. It was a little awkward looking, but he assumed she hadn’t done it much.

“Neb? You okay?”

“Whatever happens, Tony, I want to…thank you. You fixed me and…” She wasn’t feigning emotion, despite the plotting she was doing. She was genuinely grateful for this stranger - now friend - and his kindness. She outstretched her arms and Tony smiled at her once more. He was just as thankful to have her in this lonely corner of space. He hugged her, the feeling of contact something wonderful to them both…for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her arms tightened around him and more tears fell from her eyes as she squeezed. She heard him struggle to breath, was sure he uttered the word “why”, but she continued to hug him until he went limp in her arms. Once he did, she easily carried him to the makeshift bed at the back of the ship. She could remember Tony kissing her forehead before he worked on the panel that held her eye in place. He was apologizing, in advance, in case he caused her any pain. The small affection made her feel inexplicably safe and she decided to repeat the action on him. When her lips left his pale skin, she covered him and assured him of something. “You will hold her again, Tony, I promise.”

#tony stark #nebula #endgame #The Avengers #avengers endgame #Robert Downey Jr #rdj #karen gillan #comfort

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awake-and-strange · 5 years

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This obituary by Janis Ian about Anne McCaffrey is very A Passion for Friends:

There've been so many mentions of Anne McCaffrey in the post below, I thought to post this homage I wrote for Locus Magazine when Annie died. I miss her, a lot. I kept a few of the most precious books she gave me, but last time I opened one I burst into tears... I feel fortunate to have loved someone so wonderful, to have been loved in return, and to miss her this much. From Locus Magazine: THE MASTERHARPER IS GONE "I have a shIelf of comfort books, which I read when the world closes in on me or something untoward happens." —Anne McCaffrey I miss her fiercely, more than I have any right to miss her. I remind myself of this whenever I run into her at the library and am stricken with tears. She was not kin, was not connected to me by family ties, not even a distant cousin. Not even Jewish. I have no right to miss her this much. And once in a while, when I chide myself for my silly sentimentality, the sudden lightning that pierces my heart gives way to a duller, deeper pain. One I can live with, perhaps. Like today, waking to a terrible cold, with headache and foggy brain I reach for solace. Put on my red flannel comfort shirt, add my favorite PJ bottoms, then a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Make my favorite tea, cover myself with an old patchwork quilt, and reach blindly for a book on my “comfort shelf.” Of course. I can’t escape her. Hours later, still miserable, I finish "All the Weyrs of Pern" for the umpteenth time, and scold myself for the tears that fall – first, because she is gone, and second, because I never really succeeded in telling her just how much she meant to me. I’d never heard of her when I stumbled across for "The Ship Who Sang" at my local library. I wrote to her, saying that it had moved me profoundly, wondering how a prose writer could have such a clear understanding of a musician’s soul. Being one myself, I said, a musician that is, and would like to send a copy of my last record in gratitude. She responded with a laugh that she had never heard of me but oh my, her children had, and could we trade books for recordings? And so, we began. I raced through everything she sent – such generosity, so much that it took two large boxes to ship it all. She, in turn, told me that while she appreciated the beauty of my “Jesse” and the clarity of “At 17”, she was writing her current novel to the beat of my one disco hit, “Fly Too High.” I laughed aloud because it made an artist’s sense to me – dragons flew, and Anne flew with them, regardless of the beat. It was the third or fourth email that she began with the salutation “Dear Petal,”. Petal. Me? I responded that of all the things I’d been called, no one had ever dreamed to name me “Petal”. She answered briskly that obviously, they’d never seen me bloom. From that day forward, I was her Petal, and she my Orchid. We corresponded ferociously, both all-or-nothing no-holds-barred types, Aries to the hilt. Weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Dropped out at times when one of us was “on tour”, came back to it as we could. The time passed. Her beloved agent died. My parents passed away. She got a scathing review; I sent a few of my own. She was stuck on a chapter, I was stuck on a verse. We got unstuck, stuck again, and through it all we talked, comforting one another as only a “good hot cuppa” can. She picked me up herself in Dublin, leaning on a cane, nervous to meet in the flesh until I ran into her arms and smothered her with hugs. She drove between the hedgerows with complete abandon, a total disregard for ruts or speed limits, while I clutched the seat and wondered who’d get the bigger headline if we crashed. Annie, I decided, for she was truly a two-column, bold print kind of gal. By then, she was always “Annie” to me, or “Annie Mac”. My larger than life friend, who consorted daily with dragons and starlight, her own luster never dimming beside them. Once, after she showed me the rock cliffs of the Guiness Estate and explained that Benden Hold looked just like that, she asked if I would write a theme for it. For the movie? I said. “Yes”, she said, “A theme. Because if Menolly came to life, it would be with your voice.” I say this not to brag, but to indicate the trust between us – such trust that when I got home, with no film in sight, I began sketching out some notes for “Lessa’s Song”. I wanted it to be haunting, the way her words haunted me. I wanted it to be sweeping, like the thrust of dragon wings. I wanted it to be everything I could bring to her, a gift for someone whose words took me out of my world and into hers. As she said herself, “That’s what writing is all about, after all, making others see what you have put down on the page and believing that it does, or could, exist and you want to go there.” I hope someday to finish that melody. I hope it’s good enough for a MasterHarper to sing. I hope she regarded me worthy of the title. Because that’s what she was for so many of us – the MasterHarper, singing in prose, songs that reminded us of where we’d been, and what we could become. She came and stayed with us in Nashville, bringing a broken shoulder and trusting me to care for her. We visited Andre Norton, Annie insisting I not just drive but sit with them and listen to “a bit of gossip”. These two women—one writing at a time when pseudonyms were necessary for a woman to get published, the other cracking the New York Times bestseller list with, of all things, a science fiction book, and by a female at that!—talked of publishers, rumors, scandals old and new, while I sat as silent as an unopened book, wishing I’d thought to bring a tape recorder. At first, as her health declined, she bore it cheerfully. “I’m bionic now, Petal, complete with metal knees!” she declared. “Better than ever, and no pain.” She kept to her writing schedule, doing what she could to help her body retain its youth. Swam every day, bragged about her granddaughter’s accomplishments at school – “First prize, don’tcha know!” and commiserated over our various surgeries. We sound like a couple of old Yiddishe mamas, comparing whose surgery was worse! I laughed, and she laughed along with me. Neither of us reckoned on the psychic toll. “Old age is not for the faint of heart,” she quoted, as her energy began to leech away. How is it we artists always forget just how hard it is to write? how much work it is? How can we ignore the vast psychic drain that accompanies every act of creation? We both knew it from her Pern books, when going between enervated even the hardiest of dragon riders. But somehow, we never expected it in “real” life. It’s only when we lose that effervescence, through age, through illness, through sheer attrition, that we realize how necessary it is to our work. How fundamental to our beings. “I can’t write.” She confessed the shameful secret to me not once, but dozens of times, as if repetition would prove it a lie. At first, playing the friend, I tried to reassure her. Then don’t! Take some time off, Annie. Restore your body, and the brain will follow. Talent doesn’t just disappear, you know – it lies in wait. But she knew better. “I'm still not writing. I think I know how Andre Norton is feeling, too, because I suspect that she's finding it very difficult to write, as the wellspring and flexibility that did us so much service is drying up in our old age. And no false flattery. AT 76 I AM old, and she's in her nineties. It takes a lot of energy to write, as much as it takes you to keep on adding flavor to your song presentation. Sorry to blah at you but you're one of the few people who does understand the matter when an artist questions their output.” I responded in kind. "No worries talking to me about not writing... I sure as hell know the amount of energy it consumes. Every time you sit down to write, it's a performance. Only you don't have the luxury of props - no lights, sound, other actors to step behind when the inevitable fatigue hits. Heck, Annie, I'm feeling it more and more now, and you've got a quarter century on me. I notice it mid-show; two hours used to be a piece of cake. Now I feel myself flagging at 45 minutes, and I really look forward to that 20 minute intermission, if only so I can have some water and sit for a few minutes. "Same with writing, for me. Used to be able to sit and write for 6 hours at a stretch. Now I'm good for two if I'm lucky. Part of it's my back, but most of it is - I fear - just that I'm older. It sucks." And she wrote back. “Must write. There are IRS problems. You wouldn’t believe. Mouths to feed, people depending on. Advances already spent and gone. Must write.” And so, she wrote, but for a while there was no joy in it. Still, I loved what she wrote, and told her so. I was proud of our friendship, not because she was so damned famous, but because she was so damned good. She even used my name in a book – Ladyholder Janissian in Skies of Pern – and roared with laughter when I admitted I’d been so wrapped up in the story that I hadn’t even noticed. But she knew – as artists always do – that while her ability to plot continued apace, the actual writing of it was becoming an endurance contest she couldn’t hope to win. “Turn more of it over to Todd,” I argued. Her son had a real knack for a sentence, but it was hard for Annie to let go. Of course. What artist can? “His words may not sing the way yours do – yet. He doesn’t have your lyrical grace – yet. But he will, Annie, you’ve just got to let him breathe!” I said it and said it and said it, to no avail. Then came a day when, 25 years younger and an ocean away, I finally lost patience and angrily berated her. “Damnit Annie, quit complaining and just stop! By God, you have created a mountain of work, an incredible legacy that will endure and be read by zillions of people long after both of us are gone – so quit whining about what you cannot do and start looking at what you have done. It’s time, Anne. Take this unbearable weight off your shoulders and stop!” I sent the email off and waited for her response, fearing I’d gone too far. A day. Then another. Finally, sure I’d lost a friend, I called to ask just how angry she was with me. Oh, no, not at all, she’s “in hospital.” She took a fall. She’d write soon. And she did, quoting me and saying “I knew you, of all people, would make sense.” A sweeter absolution I’ve never had. We continued our friendship, bitching about our bodies, menopause, the inevitable “drying up” of everything that comes with the feminine mystique. You cannot imagine the luxury, for me, to have a compatriot a quarter-century older. As an artist, I admired her work. But as a woman, I was relieved to have someone relentlessly honest about what was to come in my own life. We traded constantly. I sent her Lhasa de Sela, Sara Bettens. She sent stories about her animals, and the garden. One spring she changed my salutation to “Dear Crocus Petal – there are eight coming up now!” We planned to visit Prague together in September ’01, but then came 9/11, and I chickened out. To be brutally honest, I was afraid to fly. Annie gently took me to task, then went off with someone else instead. I will regret that for the rest of my life. She went into the hospital for the last time while I was touring the UK – just a ferry boat and an ocean of commitments away. Knowing how out of touch she’d feel, how fretful she’d be, I tried to call every day. We fell into a pattern – I’d wait until I was in the van, then phone her up and tell an off color joke, a bawdy story, a bit of kindly gossip. Sometimes about people we knew in common, Harlan perhaps, or Scott Card, whose work she admired. Sometimes just a silly series of puns I’d found on line. Whatever it was, I wanted to make her laugh, because I loved to hear her laugh. She died while I was on vacation, just days after the tour’s end. I’d brought a copy of Dragonsinger with me because on vacation, I always brought a few “comfort re-reads.” I’d fallen asleep over it, waking to an email from Gigi. Please keep it quiet until I can reach everyone, she asked. My older brother Alec is still in flight, and we don’t want him seeing it in the paper before I can reach him. I called with sleep still in my eyes and heard the hum of people behind Gigi’s answering voice. It was fast, it was painless, it was everything Annie had wanted. No lingering. A “good death” for her. But not for me. It’s hard to open my computer knowing there will be no “Dear Petal.” It’s hard, after knowing such a warm and giving shelter, to go without. Sometimes I run across a sentence that sings to me, and jot it down to show her. And sometimes, when she leaps out at me from the cover of a book, I remember she is gone, and it hits me like lightning, fast and lethal and completely unexpected. It stops my breath, until I remind myself that she is gone, but I am still here. When the lightning hits, I comfort myself with this. The beauty of Anne’s writing is that she makes it all seem, not just possible, but normal. For men to go dragonback. For women to become ships. For young, unwanted girls to become MasterHarpers. For brains to pair with brawns, and sing opera under alien skies. And for an unlikely friendship to bloom, a pairing no one could have imagined, between a petal on earth, and an orchid in flight.

#a passion for friends #janis ian #anne mccaffrey #petal and orchid

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

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Forget Me Not Jim Mason x Reader 50 First Dates AU Pt 10 *Final Part*

@michael-langdon-appreciation

AFTER THE CHAOS of the birth scene, quiet finally descended. Everywhere except in Jon's brain. Well, his heart-that too was going a million miles an hour, and the reason was right there in his hands.

The doctor had left after giving them a wink and placing his finger against his lips. Medina had left.

Y/N had stepped into the shower, and the nurse had pushed him back into the chair beside the bed. Without so much as a "here you go” she’d placed the baby in his arms. Then she'd left the room, giving Jim no opportunity to do anything but sit there and stare at the tiny person he held cradled in his hands.

Honest truth? He was fucking scared to death. By a bundle of humanity the size of a bread loaf. The baby boy wiggled, and Jim pulled him closer, soft flannel pressing the side of his arm as he cradled the bundle. "Oh, man. This is…”

The kid's face was all scrunched up-no way to tell family resemblance to anyone when he looked like that. Jim glanced around the room to double-check he was alone then carefully laid the baby in his lap and loosened off the blanket.

It might be stupid, but he had to see. He wasn't looking for a distinguishing mark or anything, but... Jim wanted to count toes. And fingers. And look again at how perfectly human, and yet perfectly tiny the baby was.

Baby James complained loudly about being poked and prodded. His arms flared out, fists waving in the air, and Jim did his best to rewrap him. The trick eluded him, and things were a bit of a mess, but James settled down, his bright purple eyes seeming to stare straight through Jim.

"So. You're here."

Another thing that might be stupid, but it felt right to talk to the kid. Tell him...

"You know, your mom is pretty incredible. You have no idea what she just went through for you. Frankly, you probably don't want to know, but right off the bat, you picked a good one, kid. She's loved you with everything in her since she knew you were coming, and she wants nothing but the best for you."

The words stuck in his throat for a minute as that really, truly registered. How much Y/N loved James. The fact she'd said she loved Jim as well?

It wasn't as if there was a limit to love. Only so much to be doled out a little at a time before you had to hold back and save some for another day.

The baby lying in his lap was proof that love wasn't about what you could do, or where you’d come from. Love was a gift, and damn if emotion wasn’t welling up in a way that made Jim gasp at the sharpness of it cutting away the bloody edges inside.

Did it really matter if James was the result of his genes and Y/N's mixing? Or did it matter more that Jon would be called daddy? That he could be a father James looked up to-he'd teach his son to do all the fun things in life, and to deal with all the responsibilities, but most of all he could teach his son how to love unconditionally.

If it turned out Rick had started this life, and the courts decreed he had to be involved, Jim would find a way to make sure even that was somehow a positive experience. He'd protect James, like he would protect Y/N going forward. Not with fists and violence, but in a way that would make a difference in the end.

God, somehow, he would find away.

"So, here’s the deal. I'm your daddy. Well, I need to do some convincing to get your mom to marry me before it will be official, but whatever else happens, or however long that takes, you and me? We're the real deal. We're going to be having a lot of talks over the years. About doing chores you hate, and girls you like. And maybe we'll talk about cars or computers or whatever else comes along. But I'm going to be there for you. For you and your momma. And it doesn’t matter to me one bit if you’re someone else’s son, because you're mine, and I'm so damn thankful for you."

He had to wipe away a tear. "Not at all what I expected, but it's exactly what I needed-you coming into my life. And maybe we'll fight at times, or you'll get grounded-hell, I kind of expect you will if you're anything like me-but no matter what, I'm your daddy. And that’s never going to change."

He'd been so intent on the pain that was leaving him in a rush he hadn’t noticed the shower had turned off.

The first thing that registered was the soft touch of hands slipping over his shoulders as Y/N draped herself up against his back. She touched her cheek to his, moisture connecting-his tears or hers? She snuck a hand around his torso and laid her fingers over his where he gently held James. "I love you, Jim. we'll find a way."

"We’ll make memories, good ones, and we'll find a way," he agreed.

He opened his arms and pulled them in close. Opened his heart and did the same. This wasn’t about his past, it was about his future. A grown-up, straight-up heart-and-brain decision to be there for the two people who mattered the most.

His lover.

And his son.

Five days later

THE TEST RESULTS came sealed in an envelope. One page, with all kinds of numbers and details at the bottom, but all Jim could see through his tears was the beginning.

The results of the paternity test are consistent with the alleged father Jim Mason being the biological father of the child James Mason Jr. The probability of paternity is greater than 99.9%.

Y/N took another box off the shelf, peeking inside briefly before abandoning it with the others. In the background, she heard the sounds of water splashing, and a momentary protest rang out as James squawked. Jim's answer came immediately, soft and reassuring as he soothed the baby.

It was one of the wonderful parts of being a family. Jim had taken over the nighttime bath routine, leaving her a few moments to accomplish something without the little one around.

Tonight she'd grown serious enough to venture into the storage room. She'd created a one-of-a-kind scrapbook to record James's milestones-crafted together from a hardcover book Medina had gifted her and some of her new artistic talent. The details were caught up, but now she wanted to compare it to what was recorded in her own baby book.

Only where was it?

She pulled the lid off yet another box, surprised to find the decorative book that used to sit beside her computer.

She'd used it for taking notes and jotting down recipes, and as she flipped through the pages realized she had stashed a backup of all her passwords.

Driven by curiosity, she tucked the book under her arm and headed down the hall, pausing in the door of the bathroom to watch her guys. Jim carefully washed James's hair chatting all the time about engines and torque, and other things that made her smile. The baby did nothing more than gurgle in response, but Jim didn't seem to care.

He must've sensed she was there, and he glanced over his shoulder momentarily, his smile ratcheting up a notch as he looked her over.

"Well, whatever you're doing I look forward to joining you later." He leered at her, his hands carefully guarding James as their son wiggled his limbs happily.

Y/N stuck out her tongue and twirled away, the short shorts and tight tank top she was wearing to beat the August heat clinging to her body with a slick of sweat.

She sat at the computer and went to her long-since-abandoned email account. Stared at the password sign-in and wondered if it was even worthwhile. She loved Jim, trusted him. That wasn’t even a question anymore. The only reason to look would be to satisfy her curiosity.

She really should go wash up the dinner dishes instead. Or clean up the mess she'd made with the new set of paints Jim had bought her to explore another artsy area that had caught her interest.

Curiosity won.

She checked the information in the flowery notebook, inserted the proper password, then hit enter. The entire screen bloomed with unread emails. She rolled her eyes and scrolled back through months’ worth of spam. It wasn't until she reached the previous October that there were some real emails for her, most of them containing information she had received after her accident. Information that had been duplicated and sent to her new account.

She knew the date she was looking for. By this time it wasn't a case of need to see it, but it was strangely comforting all the same that the email Jim had told her he had sent was there. She clicked it open and smiled, her heart filling with even more love as she read it through.

There was no room for sadness. No room for regrets that her accident had taken some of this from her. No room for anger at the lies Rick had told, first in insisting they'd gotten back together and then his manipulation toward the end.

As the sounds of her laughing husband and a contented baby carried into the main room, Y/N had nothing inside but happiness. Filled to the top with love for two people, one of whom hadn’t even existed this time last year.

She paused to print out the note, though. Not to show to Jim, but to slip into the other memory book she’d started. The one where she’d pinned the picture he had taken immediately after their first official kiss. The book she'd taped the ticket stubs from their first movie. Pasted the PG sketch she'd done of him-the dirty one she had tucked elsewhere to keep it from anyone else's eyes.

The printout was a new memory of the truth and commitment he’d offered her, even before she'd known how much she was going to need him.

Jim stepped back into the living room, James in his arms. "Someone is ready for a cuddle." He lowered their baby into her embrace then stepped back only far enough to drape his arm around her shoulders as he leaned against her, their bodies close and intimate.

Scrubbed and clean, eyes drooping with sleep, James stared up at them both, little mouth opening wide with a yawn.

"He's so gorgeous." Y/N slipped a finger over his tiny lips, and he puckered, looking for something more.

"Of course he is. He's our kid." Jim reached over and tucked his finger into James’s tiny fist. Baby fingers barely reached around, but the kid hung on tight.

The soft touch of lips against her temple as Jim kissed her was the final blessing on the moment. Y/N tucked herself and James tighter into the embrace then looked up into the sincere gaze of her lover. The father of her child, in not just blood but all the more important ways.

"I love you, Jim Mason. Heart and soul."

His grin widened. "I love you too, and you'd better never forget it."

She laughed as he turned her to face the backyard where he'd planted so many flowers. The brilliant blue flower petals had faded, but the message remained.

As his arms circled both of them, Y/N leaned back and soaked in the wonder that was her life. The one full of memories with even more to be made in the future.

#jim mason #tribes of palos verdes #fan fiction #au #forget me not

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the-record-newspaper · 5 years

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The Killing of Rhonda Hinson: Part II

Rhonda Hinson and Greg McDowell

(Editor’s Note: The 1980’s was a violent decade for women in Wilkes and surrounding counties. At least four young women were murdered between 1981and 1987—their cases remain unresolved: Rhonda Hinson of Burke County — who has relatives in Wilkes County, Angela Hamby of Wilkes, who disappeared in 1982, Sherry Hart of Ashe County, and Candy Roberson of Wilkes. This series, “The Killing of Rhonda Hinson” is the second in a trilogy of murder cases that will be detailed in The Record over the ensuing weeks and months — cold cases of crimes perpetrated against women over 30-years ago, whose families await justice and closure.)

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

I’m really sorry and I apologize for pushing you. I really lost my temper and I’m sorry for being so stupid…I’m sorry I’m so jealous, but I can’t help it….—Excerpted from a letter Greg McDowell wrote to Rhonda Hinson during their Senior Year, 1981.

By all appearances, Greg McDowell and Rhonda Hinson were an ideal match.

Born on Feb. 7, 1963 to Rev. Charles and Betty McDowell, Gregory Lynn shared several early commonalities with Rhonda Hinson. Both were born on a Thursday. He, like her, also came from a family with two children whose birth orders were identical — an older girl and a younger boy — the age variance, in each instance, between the two siblings was virtually the same. Additionally, his parents came to North Carolina from South Carolina just as the Hinsons had done. Even their names — whether given or full — had exactly the same number of letters.

Interestingly, the differences between them seemed to work to the mutual advantage of each: Greg was an accomplished student and a medium athlete; Rhonda was the accomplished athlete and a medium student. In one of his many missives addressed to her, Greg noted that even their dissimilarities were, in fact, complementary in nature. “…I may be better in Math, but you are a better typer [sic] than me. We both do some things good and some things not so good.”

No one knows for certain when Rhonda Hinson started dating Greg McDowell; however, there is agreement that it must have been in the Fall of their junior year. During the budding romance, Greg had a penchant for sending cards to his new girlfriend; in fact, there were at least nine cards forwarded to Rhonda during the 1979-1980 school year that remain in the possession of her parents. One American Greetings “get-well” card noted an early milestone in their relationship:

…Thanks for the happiest 4 months of my life and always remember that I love you!!! Greg

P.S. We have 82 years and 8 months to go!

And in a Hallmark card with an Emily Dickinson quote embossed in gold on the front plate, the young McDowell references yet another milestone; he penned:

You’ve given me much happiness over the past 25 weeks. Keep it up forever! I will always love you!

Love, Greg

Unable to locate a suitable greeting card to mark their first-year anniversary, Greg fabricated his own: a booklet of thirteen 3x5 index cards befittingly stitched together with a bright red ribbon. Then he authored an amorous aphorism:

Rhonda, After all we’ve done together

Through hot and cold and snowy weather,

There’s something that I just must say,

On this, our very Special Day;

Looking back on what we’ve done,

I’d say we’ve had some fun;

But as we watched some things go wrong,

We found it helped our Love grow strong;

So, I know one day we’ll be,

Together, Forever—‘Just You-n-Me!’

I want to say one more thing, Pup-E,

Happy Anniversary!!!

I Love You!!

Greg

Other cards contained Valentine’s greetings, pledges of lifelong love and devotion, lamentations of pain catalyzed by the absence of the object of his affection, and “get-well” sentiments. All were thoughtful — even sweet — overtures proffered by a young man clearly and happily smitten, laced with as much chivalry as could be mustered in Burke County in the 1980’s.

And Rhonda seemed to delight in the attention she was incessantly receiving from her new suitor. Mother Judy Hinson concurs, “I would say that during the first year that they dated, Rhonda was truly happy.”

During the couple’s 1980-81 senior year, cards were supplanted by missives written in pencil and ink upon notebook paper. Rhonda apparently kept most of them — over 25 letters and three cards, carefully preserved by her parents. Though these contained similar, repetitive declarations of lifelong love and devotion; the letters were less playfully reflective of young love and gradually resonated a darker tone — becoming increasingly more insistent, more demanding, more desperate, with a foreboding edge.

Predictably, disagreements between the two young people arose periodically, and indications of these commenced to appear within the lines of Greg’s handwritten notes, though somewhat downplayed.

Oh guess what? We forgot to straighten out that big argument that we didn’t have on the phone last night! I am right! Basketball is not numero uno in my life! So there! That settles that. Quickly changing the subject….

Admitting to having a “bad day” at school at some juncture, Greg writes:

…I’m sorry about while ago. I didn’t mean to be like that. I’m just so tired. I’m really sorry. I know you don’t feel too well either; so, let’s try extra hard to be nice to each other, OK? Thanks for understanding (if you do)…I’m really sorry I was like that while ago.

PS. Come at 6:00 unless you here [sic] from me. We’ll get some supper if you want any. I will be hungry.

Almost imperceptible at first, the letters began to assume an austere tone, indicative of more pervasive upheavals.

Rhonda…I am not eating lunch today; I’m sitting where we were at break today and I’m writing you this letter. It’s kind of hard to hold back the tears; so, if this paper is wet, you will know why. I just can’t imagine us not being together and when I think of it, I go to pieces. I want you to know that I love you now and I always will love you. I never want to hurt you and I would never intentionally hurt you. I’m sorry, very sorry about the things I said…I want you to know that I didn’t mean it. I want us to go on like we were and forget about this. I love you very much and I don’t want this or anything else to pull us apart.

I know I make lots of mistakes; but, I try so hard to make you happy….All I ask in return is love and understanding…Please forgive me when I make you mad and try to think about the good things I do for you…I really do love you and I’m sorry I hurt you, really.

The tenor of Greg’s notes and letters recommends to suspicion that he was becoming increasingly frustrated by Rhonda’s ostensible lack of reciprocity. He would take the time — even class time when he was bored — throughout the day to write a note to be hurriedly delivered to Rhonda as he passed her in the hallway, while en route to other classes and activities that the two did not share. Periodically, he relied upon the “Mercury” services of a friend to discreetly pass along his impromptu messages, garnering little — if any — response from the girl he loved.

“Rhonda just wasn’t that type of girl — she wasn’t very demonstrative of feelings,” Judy Hinson recollected. “In fact, she was very private about them. She wouldn’t even cry in front of us — and she hardly ever said, ‘I love you.’”

Perhaps Greg failed to understand that predilection or felt that he could somehow motivate Rhonda to become more responsive to him. It is not surprising that he began to vent his frustration within pointed paragraphs:

…From now on, I’m not going to mention anything about you writing me a note at lunch. It’s up to you, anyway, and I can’t do anything about it. If you want to write something you will and if you don’t you won’t. But I’m not saying I don’t care, because I do care and I want you to write but I can’t make you. So, it’s up to you…From 8:20 – 3:03, I see you every bit of 25 minutes…So, please understand why I want you to write during lunch. Ok?

With each passing day of the senior year, Greg McDowell seemed to grow more insecure about the relationship he had with Rhonda Hinson. His increased uncertainty triggered a proportional surge of jealousy that commenced to subtly surface. In one postal script appended to a note he admonishes, “Don’t flirt with the customer’s [sic] at work.” But during one full-blown jealous conflagration, Greg became physically aggressive for which he later apologized — in a letter, of course:

Dear Rhoda,

I’m sorry and I apologized for pushing you. I really lost my temper and I’m sorry for being so stupid. Please forgive me. Really, I’m sorry for pushing you. I just lost my temper. Please understand. I love you and you can do anything you want to me to get me back. I deserve it. I’m sorry I’m so jealous, but I can’t help it. When I read the part about ‘love ya’ and ‘wish I’d gotten to know you a lot sooner’ and ‘see you at work this summer’ and ‘play tennis with you this summer,’ I naturally got upset. I hope you don’t care for him. If you don’t you shouldn’t mind me beating his ass.

I love you,

Greg

In a series of reflective recollections that Judy Hinson penned on notebook paper, she proffered this observation: “I think [Rhonda] enjoyed Greg’s being jealous and possessive [at first] but then I think she had gotten tired of his demanding to know everything she did — where she went, who she talked to — everything.”

One of the recurring themes articulated through the letters of Greg McDowell was his desire for Rhonda to return to being her ebullient, insouciant self subsequent to an argument or misunderstanding. Several times he cajoles her to be happy, to smile, and to be glad to see him. In one of his short missives, Greg reassures Rhonda that he loves her and that it hurts him to see her “sad, upset, or worried.” Then he appends a poignant postal script:

“You’d better be happy and smile and be your usual self tonight or I’ll shoot you with my shotgun!”

Rhonda Hinson had approximately12 months to live.

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

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OUAT 3X09 - Save Henry

It’s time to save Henry...or everyone, save Henry!

See what I did there? Stealthy pun. I can do those on occasion.

Anyway, under the cut you go for the semi-smart stuff, unless you want to save yourself!

Press Release

While Henry’s life hangs in the balance, the race is on to stop Pan from gaining full magical powers from the heart of the truest believer. Meanwhile, in Storybrooke of the past, Regina decides to fill a void in her life and, with Mr. Gold’s help, sets out to adopt a baby.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past

Wow, Loving Lana’s acting in this first scene with Archie. She’s so muted and given how Regina’s usually up there in the extra squad, it’s so noticable. She looks while not unhealthy, still sickly in a way because of how miserable and lonely she is. It’s a fantastic way of showing just how badly her life needed love and how much of a change for the better Henry was for it. (Not to beat a dead horse, but THIS is the kind of acting a lack of a heart should grant one, Graham!)

Pre-redemption post-childhood Regina flashbacks tend to fight an uphill battle of making Regina sympathetic while also not turning their backs on the fact that she was a legit villain, and this one, like the best of them, handles that concept well! Regina does some bad and illegal things. She casts a curse, chews out basically every Storybrooke character she interacts with, and has Sidney steal Emma’s medical records. But this flashback isn’t about those things. It’s a story about how love started the trajectory of Regina’s redemption.

That’s where the focus is on and appropriately so.

Watching that story is adorable. It’s the first time we see Regina soften to someone immediately and in such a loving way. We see the struggle Regina went through to acclimate herself to motherhood. Look, I’m the daughter of a single mother and I was a bit of a problem child myself: This shit hit home.

The ending story of the segment even shows post-early early signs of her redemption by just showing how Henry’s happiness takes precedence over an ensurement of the safety of her vengeance.

“Sometimes, being a good parent can mean having the strength to give him up.” This line is so important. I like how someone in the real world gives this extra level of validation to the “your best chance” mantra of the series. OUAT has some questionable morals and questionable redemptions. I feel comfortable saying that while I do really enjoy the redemptions we see throughout the series, that statement applies to pretty much everyone in the main cast. Someone (I think @justmilah) put it best at the convention: They’re a bunch of people who probably don’t deserve happy endings but are given them anyways.

Now where am I going with this?

The one message that was always spot on was “your best chance” (Or rather, the giving up line). Parents should put their children first. To give it that real world validation, even if it doesn’t happen in the scene in question, was such a good idea. It’s not that I care about legality in this series.

Present

”You have everything and yet you claim to know what I feel?” I was really torn about how I felt about that line. On one hand, I’ve talked a fair amount about how I dislike Regina’s “woe is me” thing, Emma having a lot of people in her life does nothing to move Henry from being her number one priority, and I don’t think comparing pain is conducive to anything. However, the scene with the Lost Boys where Emma brings up this conversation is a fantastic point for her character and her reaching the Lost Boys with that idea of unexpected love and family is incredibly effective.

Regret vs. Remorse. I think the difference between these two camps is so important, both for this scene and Regina’s legacy. Even as far into the future as Regina’s Good Queen coronation, those vines never would’ve stood a chance against Regina. Regina grew to feel remorse for her actions. That was quintessential to her redemption. If she didn’t, Regina may not have garnered the fandom that she has today nor deserved the happiness she found. BUT, Regina’s path, for as evil as it was, did lead her to Henry, and that is something she’d never go back on. He was the encounter she needed to happen in order to redeem herself and more to that, she loves him. Meeting and getting to know her son was worth it all to her and I get frustrated seeing this line get occasionally misconstrued to saying that Regina regrets nothing because she got something she wanted, like Henry was just a salt shaker on a shelf when the actual situation is nothing like that.

And it makes for a truly badass moment that simultaneously doesn’t take away from her redemption. That was really hard to do, and without going too heavy handed with it, the scene by the tree worked out flawlessly!

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-Those establishing shots set the perfect mood of panic and urgency just before the curse hits.

-”He would’ve understood.” He was begging you not to kill him! XD

-Rumple is such a little shit and I love it. Like, if Regina’s gonna come and gloat, he’s gonna make sure she doesn’t get to celebrate her victory and push every button he can while he still has the chance. And all without leaving his cell!

-I just had a thought. So, as soon as Regina says she’s going to kill baby Emma, Rumple starts talking about the hole in her heart. And Regina and her guards just BARELY miss Emma. Was Rumple stalling to ensure that Emma got away?

- @ussjellyfish, I finally get what you were talking about with Regina’s love of paperwork! Her desk more loaded with paperwork than Smash Bros is loaded with characters and death!

-”What are you feeling?” “Nothing.” The subtle honesty of that line hits me HARD!

-”A child. That can provide so much meaning.” Archie, one shouldn’t have or adopt a child in order to solely give their lives meaning.

-”I need a child, Gold and I need your help.” “Well I’m flattered, but uninterested.” “Not like THAT.” One of my FAVORITE exchanges in the series! XD

-”Well, a mother of some sort.” Even cursed, Rumple is out for fucking BLOOD! -”When you become a parent, you must put your child first.” So Rumple is cursed during this scene, but one has to wonder what exactly, if anything, is his relationship to Bae under the curse. Are they estranged or is he straight-up dead? I use the dead angle in my Golden Hook fanfic, but I’m curious to hear other thoughts.

-Fun fact: If Emma yields a sword, that sword can hurt the unhurtable in exactly the way she wants to! (See also: Season 6)

-Rumple went to fucking bank for you, Regina! Like, not a single flaw!

-Damn! Amazing acting on Lana’s part again! Like, the SECOND she sees baby Henry, she falls in love with him. The gasp, the way her eyes bulge, the softness of her form! It’s amazing!

-Gotta HAND it to Killian! His hook is really doing a good job of keeping Felix in place!

-Awww! Beverly Elliott!!! She just makes me smile!!! <3

-I love how Regina just knows that Mary Margaret is the best person to stick her baby with! <3

-”Well, as long as your plan holds together, she will.” FUCK MACHISMO ISLAND.

-Baby Henry’s reaction to Gold’s shop is EVERYONE’S initial reaction to this little shop of horrors!

-”My memory’s not what it used to be.” *Sighs* Fucking Rumple. I love you.

-”Oh you really know nothing of what I’m talking about.” I love how even when Rumple actually is cursed, even with Regina’s confidence in the opening, she doesn’t buy that it actually happened for a second.

-”Look at what motherhood has done to you.” I love how Rumple’s line (This one and the ones that preceded it) is basically praising the makeup department and Lana’s acting! That’s actually so adorable and deserved on the writer’s parts! <3

-Okay, everyone’s wash of relief upon seeing Henry wake up genuinely had me choked up. The smiles on everyone’s faces and the deep breaths and the music...I think I need a minute *Sobs into eternity*

-”Young sir.” And letting him stay in the captain’s quarters?! Killian, you fucking adorable softie!

-Okay, now THAT’S the Archie who doles out great advice!

-”A glorious curse.” Regina, I love you! XD

-”Too much pizza.” I love the implication of this line that Henry DID have pizza before his trip to New York, but it wasn’t REAL pizza. XD

-Damn, the Jolly Roger’s captain’s quarters are so fucking fancy!

-”I’m sorry it had to come to this, Henry.” No you’re not, you little bitch!

-*Neal and Rumple hug* Sorry, I think I’ve got something in my eye...TEARS! Like, that entire resolution got me choked up.

-*Pan fails at taking Henry’s heart* Yeah! Suck on that, you little bitch!

-”You raised him well.” Awww! Golden Queen contrast!

-Stupid thing to point out, but after all of that hullabaloo in “Dark Hollow,” why were we using the fucking lighter?

-”A hero, a villain, a pirate.” I love how David doesn’t classify Killian as a villain despite being fairly justified in it! Captain Charming FTW!

-”You have a dad now. Now and for forever.” I’M NOT CRYING! YOU’RE CRYING! “I’ll never leave you. Okay, buddy?” THAT JUST MADE IT WORSE!!!!! AND IT’S NOT EVEN BEING SAID TO HENRY!

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

The Mission to Save Henry - There’s such a good feeling of payoff here! Everyone’s working together, communicating, and making risks for each other. David and Emma’s conversation towards the end of the episode about how they all accomplished this is just a testament to how far they’ve come.

Regina’s Redemption - What else is there to say? Regina’s redemption was such a big part of this episode and I already talked in length about why! Well, I guess I want to say that this arc is where Regina really takes her form. She knows she’s done bad and she’s still pretty selfish in a lot of respects, but love pushes her to new emotional heights that neither she nor the audience ever expected!

Emma Accepting Her Parents - Just look at the relief on Emma’s face when she hugs her parents who can both go home with her! <3

Rumple Finding Bae - We finally get to see a big reconciliation between Rumple and Neal! I really liked it, but that having been said, I wish there was more to it than simply “You saved Henry, now I forgive you.” Call me angsty, but that slow rebuilding of their relationship was really great. The fact that they have so far to go is part of what made “Nasty Habits” the fantastic experience that it was. To see it all over so soon after that makes me wish for more. That said, one can make a case that they haven’t fully reconciled AND that at the time they wrote this, Neal was on the chopping block and that resolution with Rumple was best off happening here for that reason.

Favorite Dynamic

Regal Believer. Who else could it be? Just...I love these two! Now, part of me feels bad because Henry plays a much more passive role in this episode than he does in other cases where Regal Believer’s won. In the past, he’s just a baby and in the present, he only has one or two scenes where he talks to anyone. But Henry’s effect on Regina just by the sheer fact that he exists is so much in and of itself. Just by being Henry, he inspires Regina to be her best self.

Writer

Christine Boylan and Daniel Thomsen come off of “Good Form” to write today’s episode! And you know that I loved it. “Solid” is the word of the day here. There’s so much that has to be resolved here and it’s paced so well that one would be surprised by all that was accomplished! Like, Henry is “saved,” Emma recruits the Lost Boys, Rumple is recovered and reconciles with Bae, we see Regina and Henry’s origins, and we see the plan to escape Neverland enacted. That’s a lot for forty four minutes! But the writing and pacing make it feel so natural and while fast-paced, never rushed.

Rating

Golden Apple. What a fantastic episode! It’s beautiful, emotional, tightly written, and has some solid character work! It’s just enjoyable as hell!

-----

I’m all caught up...with last week’s entries! Still three left to go, but I’ve got this!

Thank you all for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales!

Next time, we relocate from Neverland...to The New Neverland. See you guys then!

Season 3 Total (86/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (19/60) Kalinda Vazquez (17/40) Andrew Chambliss (17/50) Jane Espenson (10/30) David Goodman (20/40) Robert Hull (20/40) Christine Boylan (20/20)* Daniel Thomsen (20/30)

* Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 3x09 #jenna watches ouat

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yoongiwillforgiveme · 6 years

Text

Just Give Me a Reason Pt. 4

It’s been forever, I’m sorry. Here’s the next part of my Yoongi fic. I hope you guys like it.

Kay 🌹

July 2016

It’s been almost a year since I’ve wanted to work with BTS after I went to their concert in L.A.

I truly started liking their music after that day and after talking to the guys over dinner after their performance the idea of a collaboration came up.

But with both of our busy schedules making it happen seemed impossible for months. Namjoon had been sending me snippets from songs he thought would work for a remix and we ended up with 3 or 4 demos on our hands that never really materialized into anything other than that.

It wasn’t until Tae, whom I had been texting back and forth since we exchanged numbers, mentioned Yoongi had an idol singer coming to work with him in his studio to feature on his mixtape that I started playing with the idea of doing the same.

Maybe we needed to physically meet for a writing session and see if we could come up with something worthy to put out.

So when a small role in a movie took me to Taiwan for two weeks on June I cleared my schedule so I could travel to Korean and hit the studio with the guys for about 10 days during their very little free time.

When I arrived to the BigHit building I realized just how big they were now. They had just recently moved there, it was the super nice part of town where everybody who was somebody in Korea were expected to be found.

The security was tight, and no wonder why. From what Tae had told me they have had several incidents where obsessed fans lurked outside their home and work to catch a glimpse or them and some even tried to sneak in. He said it was weird and they got low key scared knowing the lenghts some of those people went to get their personal information so the company had increasingly hired more security for both for the boy’s dorms and the office.

After my appointment with the guys was confirmed, I was escorted upstairs with a translator my record label hired for me. We were shown to what they said was the studio’s floor.

As we were walking down the corridor I saw a door mat with a cat on it giving the middle finger that read ‘Go away’. It was funny.

We finally reached the room we were looking for and I was told to wait for a bit so they could get the boys.

I was waiting for all of them to show up, so I was surprised when only Namjoon, Hoseok and another guy showed up, one of their songwriters who went by the name of Slow Rabbit.

“Noona, you made it!” After a quick introduction to their song writer we took a seat and started working. After establishing what we wanted to accomplish after out sessions we began throwing ideas here and there for both lyrics and melodies. The guys started working fast on some beats as I scribbled down some verses.

“Are the rest of the guys not coming?” I asked Joon about 20 minutes after we started our session out of curiosity.

“They wanted to come but sadly they were busy today so they’ll probably join us in a few days. Yoongi hyung should be here any minute now noona. He was just wrapping things up in his own studio with another artist” He tells me with a smile

“Right, Tae mentioned something about a feature for his mixtape”

“Yes, she’s very talented. No wonder hyung chose to work with her. We’re all excited to hear his finished work.” I catch a glimpse of Hoseok chuckling softly and shaking his head no after Slow Rabbit whispers something to his ear with a big smirk on his face.

In that moment Suga walks in, iced americano on one hand and a notebook on the other. He’s dressed very casually, black ripped skinny jeans, black t-shirt and black converse.

What is it with men in all black that makes my eyes sprakle with interest anyway?

He carries himself with confidence, even though he slouches a bit he naturally has that “I’m cool and I know it” aura around him that makes him stand out. He’s not smug about it, I can see it’s definitely not something he’s doing on purpose, that’s just the way it is and I’d be lying if I said it’s not attractive.

“Hyung you’re late, noona’s been here for almost half an hour now, we had to start without you.” Suga bows politely but doesn’t say anything to me, he barely makes eye contact and passes me by to take a look at the screen. He exchanges a few words with the boys and asks to listen to the demo we’re working on. At least that’s what I think he did because I haven’t asked the translator to tell me anything since we got here.

Joon has been kind enough to translate for us when it’s needed, even though Hoseok tries his best to speak in english for me. I appreciate that and it makes me want to learn his language so I could at least try and do the same.

Suga points to my notebook and I ask him if he wants to check out what I’ve got. He seems to understand what I said just fine as he replies with a short ‘yes please’.

“Hyung understands some english, mostly if it’s not spoken too fast. And he can read and write in english too. He’s just shy when it comes to speaking you know. Right hyung” Joon smiles proudly at him and Suga takes a minute to acknowledge this with an “uh-huh ” without even looking at us since he’s immersed in my lyrics.

When he’s done he hands my notebook back and nods several times more to himself than me. I quickly reassure him I’m nowhere near finished with it and it’ll get better and he just nods again.

“Hey, do you have a guitar I can use to record a melody? I don’t want to forget it.” We’ve been working for two hours now and I have a beat stuck in my head, Hoseok turns around and excitedly points to the door.

“Guitar? Yes yes, Jin hyung...” He’s stuck at that, so he quickly looks at Joon and Suga and tells them something in korean.

“Ah yes, Jin hyung must have a guitar in his office. We can borrow it. I’ll come get it. Do you want to come so I can give you a quick tour noona? We have a cafeteria too in case you want something to eat, it’s going to be a long night” I say yes to both a quick tour and a late night snack, Namjoon lets the guys know we’ll be right back, I think he asks them if they want anything because Hoseok shakes is head no and Slow Rabbit asks for a coke, I grab my phone and we start making our way to the door when Suga calls for Joon.

He stands up and makes his way to us.

“Noona, he needs to grab something from his studio so he’ll come with you.” I smile and tell him it’s okay

“Hyung, I promised her a tour alright?” Suga looks at him for a moment but doesn’t say anything, my guess is he doesn’t want to waste his time showing me around. We really shouldn’t, we have very little time as it is but then he says okay.

“Let’s go” He looks at me and starts walking. I follow him closely but not too much, this guy is way more distant and shy than the rest of his friends. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“It’s okay you know? No tour, it’s okay” He looks at me and even though it wasn’t a hard sentence I feel nervous. Does he understand what I mean? They hire a translator for me but I don’t use it, such an idiot.

“Uhmm... here.... guitar?” He point to the room to our left and he opens the door for me, I guess it’s Jin’s office since they said this is where I could find a guitar but turns out it’s nowhere to be found.

“No guitar, sorry. Uhmm... You want coffee?” He apologizes and motions for me to follow him so we end up taking the lift down.

“I don’t like coffee but thanks. Tea? Do you have tea?” I make a drinking gesture with my hand and make a point to raise my pinky in hopes he can understand what I’m saying but he frowns and then just smiles lightly as he shakes his head no. He doesn’t understand.

I tell him it’s okay and when we reach the cafeteria I just google what I want and show the picture to the lady. Turns out they do have tea, he goes “Oh tea” as he finally gets what I was asking for. He asks for something and while we wait I get a little uncomfortable so I start staring at everything around me except for him. He seems to be doing the same. Once we get our drinks he motions for me to follow him again and I do

He shows me their practice room, it’s huge. I can only wonder just how many hours they’ve spent here practicing their dances over and over and over again until they’re perfect. He then shows me a conference room, then the closet room completely packed with dozens of outfits for the seven members, two different recording studios, a computer room where from what I can understand Tae, Jungkook, Jimin and Jin play games during their free time and finally we’re back on our floor. As we’re approaching the room with the doormat I saw earlier I point to it.

“What’s in that room?” He looks at me hesitatingly and looks back and forth between me and the door.

“Here, is my studio” He doesn’t make a move to open the door and I understand he doesn’t want to show it to me so I don’t push it

“Oh, your door mat is cute” And with that I start walking again towards the room where the other guys are, Suga follows me. When we get back we dive into our work one more time until we decide to call it a night. They do still have things to do early in the morning so I say my goodbyes and go back to my hotel.

Yoongi’s POV

“Isn’t noona nice hyung? It’s been a while since I’ve worked with someone as nice as her. Not to mention talented, she has a really pretty voice and her lyrics are good. I wish we spoke more english like Namjoon so we could understand her better don’t you?”

Hoseok seems very excited we’re working with Y/N noona, I know all of the guys are, and I am too. This is a good opportunity to try something different and the fact that she’s a big international superstar that was willing to work with us who are still relatively unknown around the world it’s flattering. She travelled all the way here and cleared her schedule so she could accommodate to ours.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t starstruck when we first met her. I’m still a little starstrucked now and we’ve met her a couple times now. It’s crazy to think we’re working with a big hollywood star. I hadn’t listened to her music before we met her. A couple of them after the L.A. concert out of curiosity, but that was it. When I heard we would be working on a collab it’s when I decided to check it out. I focused on the lyrics and the production, of course the last one is good. She probably has the best of the best working for her, but I was pleasantly surprised when I read most of her lyrics are written by her and she also plays some instruments.

I then watched some of her music videos. For work purposes of course, to get to know a bit more about the artist.

Even when most of her songs are not at very sexual, there are a couple, especially collaborations with rappers and non title songs on her albums that are very naughty.

It’s embarrasing and I would never admit it to anyone but even though I felt my cheeks start to redden when I watched some of her more risky scenes play on my computer I didn’t look away.

I know the western culture is a lot different from ours, and as a hip hop fan I’m no stranger to sexual content on songs and their music videos, I’ve also written several suggestive verses here and there. But if I’m being honest with myself I can’t remember another instance where I got semi hard after watching a girl on a video that wasn’t porn.

I’ve tried to forget about it because that’s most definitely not professional of me and it makes me feel ashamed of myself. A part of me rationalized that it’s normal, I’m still a healthy, 23 year old, warm-blooded male and she’s a beautiful and very sexy woman.

Of course she stirs a reaction when she’s being sensual like. But never in a vulgar way, at least I don’t think she looks vulgar. She has found a way to be provocative but still keep it classy.

Maybe that also has to do with the fact the she has a very innocent face, soft, doll-like features that make her look younger than she is, especially when she’s not wearing make up like today.

I’ve also noticed that she has never looked too flashy any of the times we’ve met her before. Mostly wearing jeans and simple t-shirts, natural hair and make up. She must also be tired of being dolled up constantly as part of her job, most girls and a lot of guys around here are not confident enough to go out with a bare face. Always trying to impress. But when that’s part of your daily routine it gets annoying. I see she couldn’t care less about impressing us with her looks.

Today she was wearing flats and I’ve also noticed she’s pretty short for an american girl, I still remember the noonas from the Warren G music video. It was embarrasing how they all towered over me in their high heels. Y/N noona is way shorter than me and I’m not a particularly tall guy. In my eyes she somehow looks younger than me.

“Yeah, we should work on our english but today was still okay” Hoseok doesn’t say more about her and the subject quickly changes to what we’re having for dinner. It’s been a long day. I just want to get home and get some sleep.

Slowly but surely the days are passing by, on the third day we are joined by Jungkook and Taehyung, the last one was excited to see me after communicating via text all these months.

“Noona! I’m so happy to see you” As I hug him Namjoon tells me the young boy has memorized some phrases for today and has been actively practicing his english whenever he has the time and it’s getting better. He also thanks me for helping him with the language. “It’s hard to learn english, especially when you don’t have friends who are native speakers to practice with. You’ve been helping him a lot noona, thank you”.

“Not a problem. Taehyung knows I like him and enjoy talking to him. I know it’s nice to have someone to practice with, I’ve also struggled when I’ve tried to learn a new language so I can relate.”

I spend a lot of that day laughing with the younger ones, at first Jungkook was very shy and refused to make eye contact with me, but he eventually warmed up to my presence and started practicing his english lines with me and then cracking some jokes.

Trying not to bother their hyung too much they rely on the Naver translator to communicate with me and they convince me to download it so I can use it too.

By the end of the day Jungkook and I have plans to cover an english song in the future and we’ve also exchanged personal numbers. Tae has made me promise I’ll go with him to Gucci so he can convince me that’s the it place to shop these days and on the fourth day when Jimin comes to the studio as well the young one recruits his friend for the outing. Jin comes by to say hello but doesn’t stay long, he has a family emergency and has only come to apologize for not being here for the last few days but he has been down with the flu.

On the tenth and final day of our recording sessions I have everyone’s number except for Jin’s and Yoongi’s and we’ve been texting some during the day. With everyone except for Jungkook who apparently rarely ever texts anyone.

“So we just need to start working on the mix now. We’ll be in touch with your label so we can all agree on the final product. Hopefully everyone will be pleased. It’s been nice working with you for these past few days noona. We’ll miss you.” It’s late at night and it’s time to say goodbye. By now the guys have warmed up to me enough that I can give them a light hug and a cheek air kiss as a goodbye. Even Jungkook accepts it, with blushing cheeks but he does.

When it’s Yoongi’s turn I go for it and he stiffens but still awkwardly places his arms around me and pats the air instead of my back, still not comfortable enough to touch me. I on the other hand pat his back very lightly with one hand and can’t help but blush when I smell his cologne and have him so close to my body. It’s a natural reaction, he’s an attractive guy, I mean, they all are, but he’s the only one that I have a bit of a crush on.

I hear a laugh and a voice that doesn’t belong to any of the Bangtan members so I turn around mid hug, still very much in Yoongi’s personal space. The only word I recognized in the sentence was his name so I know they were talking to him.

Slow Rabbit was still in the studio when we were saying goodbye and even though I don’t dislike him I didn’t talk to him at all during my time here, he was always focused on the guys and working so he’s barely an acquaintance.

Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook laughingly push him and signal him to keep quiet. Suga takes a step back and his eyes seem to throw daggers his way. He doesn’t say anything but doesn’t laugh either.

“What did he say?” I look at Yoongi who immediatly looks at Joon.

“Nothing noona, he’s just joking” The poor guy must be tired to translate for us but I’m really curious as to what he said.

“About what?” I laugh half-heartedly and turn to Slow Rabbit who I know speaks a bit of english as well.

“I said I think you like him” He points at Suga and out of reflex I turn to look at him, he looks angry and I start to laugh nervously. The words, ‘haha so funny’, or ‘I dont’ don’t come out of my mouth for some reason.

“Don’t worry, he likes you too” Namjoon takes a step closer to us but before he can start a sentence Yoongi beats him to it.

“Yah, jibeochiwo” He then walks out and everyone tries their best to shake off the uncomfortable vibe that lingers in the room now. I try to act as if nothing happened but to be honest it was awkward.

As I’m making my way down to the main entrance I bump into Yoongi again, I guess he’s on his way upstairs. He’s sipping his brand new iced americano and he’s rubbing his temples.

He looks around to check if anyone is watching us, but it’s late and there’s very few people in the building. No one is paying attention to us. He approaches me with caution, his cool and collected demeanor is back and I feel slightly, or more like very intimidated, but even more embarrased because of what just happened.

“I... I’m sorry... Slow Rabbit-ssi, he... uhmmm.... You are so nice but... I not...”Oh God, Oh dear God please someone kill me right now.

Suddenly my head is spinning and I feel nauseous. I feel like all the blood in my body has gone to my face and I’m about to explode, my cheeks and ears feel hot, I can only imagine what I look like right now.

My legs feel like jelly and I might trip over something on the way out but I speak as fast as I can and make a run for the exit. All I want is to reach my SUV so I can try and collect myself after this nightmare.

“Oh my God, no. Don’t apologize, I know he was joking. Of course I know you don’t like me. Oh God, this is so embarrasing. I’m so sorry if anything I did came out that way. I-I.... I gotta go. Don’t worry and again I'm sorry. Bye”

I get in the vehicle and I take deep breaths. My heart is beating so fast and for some strange reason I feel like crying.

#bts suga #suga x you #suga x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts reactions #suga reactions #min yoongi reactions #suga #min yoongi

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